#coupled with the fact that he's already unwilling to do something as simple as smiling... this man will never have a proper decent photo

[shakingparadigm]

Till is literally the most unphotogenic human pet to to arrive on Alien Stage and it stresses his marketing team out

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Live for us | {SaneObaGiyuu}

Theme: Angst+fluff+angst!

Note: TW's!! self harm, suicide, self degradation, blah blah, ok you get it

they're already dating and tanji doesn't exist <3

×××

There was a thing about life that made it so unappealing. Several things, actually. But for one, you don't even make it out alive. What's the point? What do you live for if you're just going to die in a couple years? You don't even know if you'll make it past tomorrow. So what's the point?

The fact stood, however, that if Giyuu died, he would no longer see Sanemi and Obanai anymore. Which seemed to be the sole reason he was alive. He didn't even know if he should keep living for them. He was a nuisance anyway. He would only bother them and they were better off alone. He wondered, often, if they would notice if he died.

Though they did seem to notice other things. Like if he was quieter than usual—which was saying something, considering he was often quiet—or if he hadn't been eating. His eating problems weren't like Obanai's. They were selfish—Obanai's made sense.

Giyuu didn't eat because he hoped he would starve to death. He would waste Sanemi's carefully made food just because he wasn't happy. He was stupid.

He was so sure that Sanemi and Obanai were quite done with him. He figured that if they weren't so nice, they would've dropped his ass immediately. He had forced them into the relationship anyhow, right? He'd forced himself into theirs. Somehow, for some reason, they had let him. They acted as if they loved him—but did they really?

Sometimes, when he watched them, he could imagine that they would be perfectly fine without him. Smiling and laughing. They looked good together. They were better off without his presence. He was nothing but a river between to pieces of land, pushing them apart. He only ruined things. 

They insisted, for his sake, that he wasn't annoying. They said they loved him. They said they cared. But they couldn't truly, right? Shinobu had said it herself—nobody liked him. Nobody wanted to be his friend, much less his boyfriend. So how had he gotten two boyfriends? Simple. They were too kind to let him down. They probably figured he would cry like a fucking baby and follow them like a stupid child if they rejected him. He would. He probably would.

That was the worst of it. He knew why they hated him. But he couldn't let himself to accept it. Or, at least, leave them be. He stuck to them like glue, unwilling to leave their side. You see, they were the only people who could make him feel, even just for a split second, that he might possibly want to live. That he might be worth it. That life might be worth it. Just for a minute. And it was the most selfish thing he ever let himself keep. He refused to be selfish, typically, but he needed it. Wanted it. He longed for it. Yearned for it to last. A little longer. A minute more. 

×××

Sanemi knew what it looked like when someone hurt themself deliberately. He would know. He used to do it. But that was in the past. He hadn't given it much of a thought again after months—years—passed. He began to feel content again and mostly forgot that he'd ever had an episode like that. 

Obanai and Giyuu were his absolute pride and joy—and Genya, though he would never admit it to anyone. They made him feel as if he could lead a somewhat normal life, or at least die a content death. So he went along with his life just fine for a while. Until Giyuu stumbled into his house, face pale and arms slack.

For a moment, he got a sense of déjà vu. He didn't understand it at first and simply picked up Giyuu, asking if he was alright. Then it hit him.

The first time he had purposefully harmed himself, he hadn't been sure what was wrong with him. It was when Masachika was alive. Sanemi hadn't slept well that day and had awoken with a surge of guilt and pain. He didn't understand himself. He had grabbed his katana and numbly drew it down his own body, watching blood spill from the wounds. The blade had been sharp. And he had pressed much too hard. But the pain felt relieving, as if feeling some pain would make up for the loss of his family, his siblings he'd been unable to protect. It soothed his mind. But then Masachika had entered the room.

The katana had dropped and suddenly his wounds stung in a million other ways and he no longer felt the momentary comfort from them. He cried out, standing. He had wobbled towards Masachika, unsure what he was doing. He was sure, now, that he must've looked exactly as Giyuu did now. Collapsing into Masachika's arms, molded by the concern lacing his friend's gaze.

He must've looked the same. Pale and shaky. Wondering what the hell had he done.

Sanemi tugged Giyuu's sleeves up. When he had done it, it had been all over his body. His legs, his arms, his chest. But he had caught a glint of bandages from under Giyuu's haori sleeve. It hadn't been there earlier and he hadn't gone on any missions since they had last met.

The bandages were stained red. It was only one arm, but it was still one arm. It was still there.

He scooped Giyuu up, taking him to his room. He placed him down on the futon, ordering him to stay there before shouting at his crow to go find Obanai and scouring his bathroom for towels and bandages. 

When Obanai had arrived, they had mopped up Giyuu's arm, putting light pressure on the wounds as they dabbed the blood with the towel. The bandages were wrapped around his arm and then they pulled him under the covers of the bed, quiet. They stole worried glances, holding Giyuu in a tight embrace.

After Giyuu had fallen asleep, they had spoken to one another in hushed tones for hours. They hadn't known that Giyuu had been unhappy to the point he would do something like this. And Sanemi feared it wasn't a one-time thing. That it was worse. That it would spread. 

Obanai suggested they spoke to Giyuu about it. He said that they would have to help him, somehow. To make him have something to live for, maybe.

When they talked to Giyuu, the following day, over this matter, he had brushed it off.

"I'm alright," he had said. "I was just feeling bad yesterday."

Neither believed him. Giyuu had never been the best at lying. He hadn't suddenly gotten the talent to.

They ended up dragging him back to Sanemi's house for another cuddle session. This time, however, they involved Giyuu in the talking. The conversation went back and forth time after time, constantly revolving back to the fact that Sanemi and Obanai loved him dearly and then Giyuu denying it and assuming they didn't.

In the end, however, they were satisfied with the results. Giyuu ended up contently snuggling into their hugs and finally giving up with his argument. he seemed a bit happier after the talk and Sanemi and Obanai relaxed slightly.

Of course, they of all people should've known to never let their guard down. But it's only human to forget every now and then. Even when it comes at the worst times possible.

×××

It would've been a lie to say that Giyuu hadn't felt better after his boyfriends told him how much they loved him for an hour straight. But it would've also been a lie to say that it helped him on the long run. See, it made him feel better for about two hours after the talk. Roughly. And then his mind ran wild.

They must've been telling him that to make him stop being a burden to them. So they would stop having to help him. They probably felt pressured to do it. Yes, that was it. They didn't love him as much as they said they did. Words were empty, right? Promises didn't save Tsutako's life. Neither did they mean much when they told him "I love you." They didn't love him. They shouldn't. They wouldn't. Who would love him anyway? It was illogical. Unlikely. Stupid.

The thoughts molded his mind. They made up his thoughts. They made him want to curl up in a ball and cry. And maybe get dehydrated from that and die. Then in that moment he made a decision. It wasn't a sober one. He wasn't in the right mind. But it was far too late to stop him.

He was being ludicrous. Of course they didn't love him! Of course they wanted him out of their sight right away! Why would they care about him? There was nothing appealing about Giyuu; he was quiet and stubborn and annoying. He was nothing but another person to worry about because he was too childish and careless to take care of himself. So he was better off gone. Out of their lives.

His hand was on his katana, pulling it out of his sheathe. Then the blade was at his throat. He felt nothing more.

×××

It came, as would be expected from anyone but Giyuu, a shock. At first, the Hashira were confused. Was this a joke? It was the middle of the day. What had happened to Giyuu? How had he died? And then one word fell upon their ears and they were stiffened with shock. 

"Suicide."

The news reached Sanemi and Obanai first—who were on their way to Giyuu's house to hopefully spend some time together. They had been making their way idly to his house, talking lightheartedly. Then a crow swooped by. Was that Kanzaburou?

The word of Giyuu's death that he'd inflicted upon himself had barely left the bird's beak before the two had dropped their food—which they'd had to maybe convince Giyuu to eat lunch with them—and rushed to his house. The door was broken open—there was no use knocking.

The house was eerily silent for the middle of the day. Their footsteps, though loud, and their calls of his name didn't fill in the quiet that had befallen over the house. They stopped dead at his bedroom door, eyes wide but face otherwise slack with shock. Giyuu's body was slumped down, his head deattached from his body. His katana was held loosely in his hand, blood dotted vaguely on the blade. He was dead.

First came the shock. The processing. Then panic surged both Hashira forward and they stumbled towards his body, kneeling by his side. There was no hope on saving him. There couldn't be.

They searched the room. Had there been something to trigger him? No. What was it? Had they not done enough? Had they made it worse? What had happened? What the hell had fucking happened?

The news rippled through the Hashira. A death like this, though not uncommon for Demon Slayers, was the first amongst the Hashira in decades. Because of that, several Hashira were at Giyuu's house within minutes of getting the occurance. They found Sanemi and Obanai bent over Giyuu's body, clutching each other and shaking. Tears didn't seem to be coming out but silent screams rendered them useless as Tengen slowly pulled Giyuu from under them, wrapping him in a blanket to be buried.

Neither Sanemi nor Obanai knew what had happened. But both blamed themself. And the cycle began.

×××

« Word count: 1921 »

sun is shining, birds are singing, nice day to write angst!

[tsarisfanfiction]

Family Reunion

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Apollo, Lee, Will, Michael, Cabin Seven Apollo-as-Lester wakes up for the first time in Cabin Seven. Having children older than him is just plain wrong, thanks. TOApril day 11 - First Meeting! This is set in the aftermath of an AU of mine that I haven't yet written, and for the sake of avoiding spoiling the whole premise of that AU before I do write and post it, there is a distinct lack of explanation hanging around, oops.

Apollo jerked awake, his breathing shallow and rapid while his weak, mortal body trembled and sweated in a broadcast of distress to anyone in the vicinity – and any hope that his immediate vicinity was, in fact, vacant of company was immediately dashed into tiny pieces by the gentle touch on his forehead.

It was cool, which meant that either they ran cold or Apollo was running hot (and yes, Apollo was always hot, in both senses of the word, but Lester was not, a fact he was still struggling to come to terms with).  Apollo did not consider that a good sign, although the gentleness of the touch at least suggested it was no-one meaning immediate harm.

“Can you open your eyes?” they asked – a familiar voice, and while the identity of the owner currently escaped Apollo (an alarming fact, given Apollo wasn’t used to forgetting sounds, or anything at all), he was reasonably confident that it belonged to a male.  “Blink once for yes.”

There was a wryness to the voice, a thread that might be light-hearted at the joke.

“What if I cannot?” he asked, cringing at the raspy slur that came out of his mouth.

“Well, you can always just tell me that,” his companion pointed out, and Apollo might feel half-deaf but he could still tell there was a new note to the voice – one associated with relief.  “But given I know you’re awake, I’d rather you at least tried before giving up.”

Rather annoyingly, he had a point – and Apollo was also getting rather fed up with not being able to place the owner of the voice by aural clues alone.  He knew he knew that voice.

His eyes resisted opening, perhaps basking in the chance to be lazy for the first time since crash landing in a dumpster and becoming the servant of one Meg McCaffrey, but his companion had more or less asked nicely, so Apollo persevered until his eyelids cracked open and he could make some sense of his surroundings.

The elegant ceiling was the first thing to catch his attention, simple but homely.  It was also vaguely familiar, a feeling that increased as more of the cabin – because that was clearly what he was in – came into focus.  Plain white walls, simple wooden bunk beds, and wide windows with heart-achingly familiar yellow flowers blooming along the sills.

“Curse of Delos,” he rasped, digging a clumsy elbow into the soft material beneath him until he could force his unwilling sack of mortal flesh into something resembling a sitting position, although perhaps a pathetic recline would be a more accurate description.

“Your flowers,” his companion agreed.  “They’ve grown here for as long as I can remember.”

Finally, Apollo’s sight landed on the companion in question.  A young man, tragically older than Lester’s body by a couple of years, with short, honey blond hair and eyes closer to green than blue was perched on the edge of the cot he had awoken in.  His face was thin and drawn, a little too much to be strictly healthy, and there was dark shading around his eyes as though his eyelids had forgotten how not to have bags.

It was a sight that made Apollo’s already aching body ache a little bit more, because it was wrong.  So much of it was wrong, more wrong than right, although he’d seen those eyes before, set into the face of a first chair violinist in the Portland Symphony Orchestra.

“Lee,” he said, the name escaping him in as a breath.  His son – and the fact that his body was physically younger than that of his son’s was one of the things that was so, so, wrong – gave him a glimmer of a smile, tired and weary but a twitch of the corner of his mouth nonetheless.

“Hi, Dad,” he said.  “It’s good to see you again.”

Apollo couldn’t help the scoff that wrestled its way out of his choked up throat, because how could anything be nice about his current situation.  “Is it?” he asked despondently.

“Yes,” Lee said without hesitation.  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not great that you’re mortal now, but I’ll take that over not knowing.”

He didn’t specify what he didn’t what to not know, but even Apollo’s patchy mortal memory could put together enough of the pieces that he couldn’t really argue that point.

Or perhaps more importantly, that arguing that point would only drag Lee’s mental state down further, and his son didn’t need to suffer any more.

He pushed himself up further, internally grumbling at his reluctant body as it begrudgingly obeyed.  Lee’s hand dropped from his forehead, but settled on his arm instead, a cool touch to Apollo’s forearm.  His son had thick, soft wrist warmers on each wrist, the flicker of gold barely visible beneath the long sleeves of his hoodie.  Had he always liked those?  Apollo couldn’t remember.

Instead of letting on just how many holes his memory seemed to have, enough to make his mind a fully functional sieve, no doubt, he turned his thoughts elsewhere.  “Where’s Meg?”

The smile that crept across Lee’s face was fond.  “Making friends,” he said.  “Connor’s going to need an eyepatch for a few days, and Sherman’s going to be walking with a limp for a while after that kick to the crotch.”  He sounded amused.

Apollo couldn’t say he was surprised, given his brief but intense crash course in the consequences of spending time in the personal space of Meg McCaffrey, but he had to ask.  “Making friends?”

Lee’s smile grew.  “Michael was the same when he was her age,” he said.  “And she’s Kayla’s age.  Either those three are going to tear each other to pieces, or become a gremlin trio.  They’ll be fine.”

He seemed wholly unconcerned at the prospect of Meg potentially tearing apart other demigods – or other demigods tearing Meg apart.  Then again, the necklace around his neck was laden with beads, reminding Apollo that Lee was as close as an expert to camp dynamics as any demigod.

The cabin door crept open and quiet feet pattered across the floor, accelerating the closer they got to him until there was another blond young man in his eyeline, this one still a teenager, although still too close to Apollo’s mortal age for comfort.  “You’re awake!” he said, his hands immediately reaching for Apollo’s head.  “How are you feeling?  I tried to heal you, but-”

“Take a breath, Will,” Lee interrupted him gently, the hand that wasn’t still resting on Apollo’s arm coming to wrap around his younger brother’s shoulders.  “He can’t answer you if you’re still talking.”  Will – his hair had the exact same curl around the ears that that Texan country singer had had, this was her son – obediently silenced, and Apollo found himself the recipient of twin expectant looks.

If he hadn’t already known the two of them were brothers, he would’ve realised then.  Lee’s eyes were greener than Will’s pure blue, and of course he was about five years older, but the look was identical.

“I ache,” he admitted, his voice whining pathetically.  “I have acne and flab.”

“Welcome to mortal teenagerhood,” Lee said wryly, as Will gaped.  “Will, want to give him the rundown?”

“Swollen nose but not broken,” Apollo’s younger son – and Olympus he was not going to be getting used to this teenage son being a similar age to his body, let alone the son that looked to be more or less out of his teenager years and into full adulthood being obviously older – reported.  “Your ribs were cracked but are healing well, and your vital signs are all good for a mortal.”  His voice broke on the last word, and to Apollo’s alarm, his eyes started to dampen.  “I gave you nectar,” he admitted, his voice shaking.  “I didn’t know- your lips started smoking-”

Lee tugged him closer, rubbing his hand along Will’s arm.  “We didn’t know,” he assured him quietly, but that didn’t stop Will’s lip from quivering.  “It’s not your fault.”

Apollo distantly hoped that that explained his fire-and-brimstone-esque nightmare.

“I take it Meg didn’t think to tell you,” he said instead, and got a fond head shake from Lee.

“I think she was too busy screeching at us to remember to give medical critical information,” he said.  “Connor and Sherman winding her up didn’t help.”

“She’s waiting outside,” Will added.  “Along with everyone else.”

As if on cue, the door slammed open, the person responsible clearly not particularly caring that Apollo might have still been passed out.  It was exactly the sort of behaviour Apollo thought Meg would be capable of, but while the height of the figure was about right, the black hair was too long, and there was a distinct lack of glinty rhinestone glasses.

They were also, unmistakably, another boy.

In his wake trailed several other figures, all taller but something told Apollo they were all younger, too.  It might have been the impressive collection of beads around his neck, or – and Apollo was going to persuade himself it was the second option – his memory wasn’t so terrible that he didn’t recognise more of his children, even if some of the newcomers were also the same age or older than his Lester-body.

It took him longer than he liked to put names to faces, but at least they did come, before he had to face the awkwardness of admitting he’d forgotten any of his children.  The two African-American boys, both in their early teens and blessedly younger than Apollo’s current state still, were Elias and Austin – Elias with the long locs, and Austin with the intricate cornrows – while the third boy, the one with a permanent limp and a strangely-dangling jacket sleeve, to say nothing of the trio of slashing scars across one side of his face, was Nathan.  The older girl, liberally freckled with her hair dangling in brown bunches, was Joy, and he was pretty certain the youngest of the group with hair the colour of Greek fire was Kayla.

Then there was the oldest teenager at the head of the pack, striding forwards with all the confidence of someone that was going to get his answers, regardless of anyone else’s wishes – or Apollo’s injuries.

Michael came to a stop next to Will, flanking his younger brother and just about in arm’s reach of Lee if the young man chose to reach out any further, and Apollo found himself fixed with an unimpressed look.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

[akiiyamashun]

“I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you again.“

Star Trek: the Next Generation starters . accepting

Akiyama closed the door to the audience chamber with more determination than required for that gesture; his expression was not one that indicated a peaceful state of mind either, and his entire body language denounced the frustration and irritation coursing through the veins.

It was strange - in many ways, that simple movement of turning the doorknob and placing himself on the other side of that threshold illustrated beautifully his new life. His left hand unconsciously moved to the top of his uniform, undoing a couple more of buttons and leaving some room for his skin to breathe, like the man had been on the verge of suffocating despite all the oxygen around.

Akiyama Shun, Federation commander and 1st officer aboard the Tojo, had just formally cut all relations to his family. Once a proud and dedicated member of the organization and yet another prodigy of his family line, the discussions held within the chamber behind his back had finally put an end to that path. Not that he had been unwilling to stray from that course already - working alongside Daigo and his crew had taught Akiyama much.

But now, after having cleared his captain's name before the selected panel of judges and inhaling the air outside, it was hard not to replay the conversation with his father; the way he addressed a single child with so much contempt and no regard for his life or well-being and pondered only about his slightly unkempt appearance (one button out of place, longer hair now they didn't make port so often to see barbers) as if Akiyama Shun was not a human with feelings, but some sort of trophy to be paraded before his colleagues.

The fact that he was there to defend Dojima Daigo, a Federation-wide pariah, did not help; particularly where there was no way to punish the captain without blatantly disregarding the current regulations in place, which was something Akiyama knew from the beginning. His smug grin and the tone of each 'your honor' delivered to the judges had indicated as much, but there was so much the local arbiters could do in face of sarcasm.

Akiyama finally propelled himself forward - one step after the other, until the movements became automatic and he turned a corner, finding Daigo coming from the opposite way. The captain smiled softly at his first officer, fully aware of the reason for his presence within the building - the two no longer were at odds with one another, but their banter (now playful) remained in their private meetings.

"I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you again," Daigo chuckled, but upon seeing the rather troubled expression on his commander's eyes and the unconvincing grin that followed, the captain placed a hand over Akiyama's shoulder. "Shun - are you alright? Is it the hearing? I hope you know I understand the consequences of my actions and that there is no pressure for you to-"

"Daigo," the younger male said, then laughed a bit while pressuring the other to not jump to the worst conclusions so fast, "Dojima, listen to me. You're fine, you're cleared from the charges - I'm pretty convincing when I need to be and you were not technically wrong. Relax," the first officer explained, and although Daigo's expression indicated some sort of relief, he was still visibly concerned.

Particularly when Akiyama's free hand moved to his jacket and all the buttons came undone - the piece hung open, showing the fitting shirt that was worn underneath and a look that most people exhibited only at bars, holodecks or during off-time, never at the Federation headquarters. Chuckling at the captain's raised eyebrow, the commander placed one of his hands over his superior's shoulder, mimicking Daigo's action from earlier.

"I just joined the exclusive club for kids with asshole dads, that's all. I was kind of hoping you had some pointers - maybe over a beer? There used to be a good place a couple of blocks down the street where all cadets went but I never did because I was always studying my ass off. I probably missed out on a lot of fun back then, so if you're willing to indulge your first officer..."

Daigo didn't say anything right then - his lips were pressed into a thin line and he examined Akiyama with a clinical look, but soon enough there was undeniable warmth and understanding flooding from the captain's dark irises. Nodding, he merely tapped the other man's shoulder twice and offered him a youthful grin, taking the lead and undoing a couple of the buttons of his own uniform - work could wait.

Friends were important, too - they both learned it the hard way.

"Remind me when we're back in orbit - I'll give your membership card of our little association," Daigo joked in relation to Akiyama's comment from earlier, "Our support group for kids with less than optimal parents meets every week, over poker. At the rate our ranks are growing, someday the Federation will send some therapist our way."

[intrepidacious]

almost believing

summary: You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

warnings: miscommunication dialled up to eleven bc it's me; friends to lovers with lots of seething in between; set around christmas, but not a christmas fic; slight spoiler warning for wakanda forever just to be safe

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

prompt: fake dating, baby 😌 title and initial inspiration for this fic were taken from "so close" from enchanted. yes. that scene.

a/n: this was written for my wonderful tiff's sweet as sugar writing challenge!! @traitorjoelite i'm so proud of you and i hope you enjoy this fic. i really thought this one would be short i swear. big shoutout and thank you to @sweetascanbee for listening to me rant about this for weeks, i appreciate you so much!!

masterlist | read on ao3

Here’s the thing: It’s supposed to be a simple mission. Just gathering intel at the hotel for one single night, the two of you pretending that everything is fine for a couple of hours more.

After all, it’s Bucky’s last mission with you before his reassignment goes through.

Well, it’s not like it’s going to make a difference to how much you’re seeing him, to be honest.

You’re not sure when he started making himself rare or why, but once you noticed it, it was impossible not to.

"Sorry, I’m heading out," when you ask him to grab lunch together seems inconspicuous enough, as does, "Ah, I’m already supposed to meet Sam," when you try asking him about that trip to IKEA you’d been talking about for ages.

But it doesn’t stop there. One excuse follows the next, and suddenly there’s always something more important than the two of you hanging out.

Of course, you try to rationalize it at first. Swallow down your hurt feelings, because Bucky is your friend, and sometimes people just need space. You’re fine. The two of you are fine.

Once he starts scheduling dates for Friday night, though—which has always been movie night, always, every week since you met him—you know that something’s wrong.

"Is he angry with me?" you keep asking Steve, who looks very uncomfortable and definitely knows what's going on.

"Just give him a little space," he suggests timidly. So you do. You let the whole thing go.

For like a week.

"I just don’t know what I did," you tell Sam over drinks, your head held in your hands.

"Nope," he answers, downing his dregs. "I’m not doing this. Nuh-uh."

"You know, too?" you cry, accusingly pointing at him.

"I don’t know anything," Sam deadpans. And then he puts his scarf on and leaves.

"Maybe try talking to Bucky about it?" Natasha suggests, either incapable of hiding her amused smile or unwilling to try.

"I would if I ever saw him for longer than a 'hi, how are you' at the gym," you mumble. Fact is, you’re getting pissed about him giving you the silent treatment without even knowing what you did wrong.

Because before this, whatever this is, things were fine. Great, even. Free afternoons were spent on each other’s couches, introducing him to your favorite tv shows and letting him teach you that stupid card game he loves so damn much. You’d even been starting to imagine that there might be something …

Clearly, you were wrong.

Now, you can’t even look at him without your throat closing up. It’s like you woke up a few weeks ago and he’s become an entirely different person around you, much more like he was at the beginning of your friendship, distant and cold.

He didn’t even tell you that he’d signed up for a transfer.

The mission call feels like your last chance.

A whole evening of teamwork and espionage, of him basically having no other choice than talking to you and finally telling you why the fuck he would get himself reassigned without even telling you beforehand. You could’ve hugged Fury for the opportunity.

That is, until you’re handed the file containing your fake identities for the op a few hours before you’re supposed to leave.

"You’re joking," you say as soon as you open the door.

"Great, you’re here as well," Steve says dryly. "Again, a) you both gotta learn how to knock, b) the whole thing wasn’t my idea or my decision, but I also think it’s the best directive for what you’re trying to do, and c) no, there’s no one else available for the mission. Anything I missed?"

Bucky deliberately doesn’t meet your eye, his arms still crossed as he stares Steve down with a look you can’t decipher. He doesn’t even acknowledge you standing in the door, but his foot is doing the tapping thing again.

You purse your lips and join the staring.

Steve sighs, rubbing his temples with the palms of his hands. "Listen, you two work well together and I know these past few weeks have been … strained"—you almost laugh at that—"but it’s just one night."

"We need to pretend we’re married," you say. "How’re we going to pull that off if he can’t stand being in the same room as me?"

"I trust that there won’t be any issues." Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky as he says that, but of course he doesn’t get a reply. That would necessitate talking in your presence.

"One night," Bucky repeats through gritted teeth.

Not for the first time, there seems to be some sort of silent conversation between the two of them that you’re not privy to. You roll your eyes.

"I’ll see you later."

You leave with your back straight and without a glance over your shoulder, the door slamming shut behind you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to barge into Natasha’s office next, but you have a feeling like she’d just give you another one of her looks again, which really won’t better your mood. So instead, you slam another door and flop onto your bed, blankly staring at the ceiling for a while.

Surely, there’s some twisted sort of irony in this whole situation, but you’re not laughing.

Usually, before a mission, you’d get bagels together from the bakery around the corner. You haven’t done that in a while, but you’re still quietly begging your phone to show a new unread message when you look at the time however long later.

Instead, there’s just your lockscreen picture of Bucky’s grinning face that you can’t bear to get rid off, no matter how many times it stings you. It’s almost a year old, now, back when you’d taken him to go do your holiday shopping with you, insisting that "no one’s gonna recognize you, look at that great cap you’re wearing".

It’d started snowing halfway through the afternoon, and he’d kept reaching for your hand in order not to lose you in the crowd. You both gave up halfway through your list and just went to get coffee instead, strolling through Central Park and talking about nothing and everything.

That’s when you’d realized you'd been falling in love with him, laughing and fingers freezing around your paper cup, a strange new warmth spreading throughout your body.

You need to change your lockscreen.

***

Half an hour before pick-up, you leave your room with a duffle bag slung over your shoulder and almost run into Bucky. He’s leaning against the opposite wall like he’s been waiting for you, and it stings because that’s what he always used to do, back when you were still talking. When you could still pretend that maybe, just maybe, your feelings weren’t quite so hopeless.

Now, though, his easy smile is missing. Instead, an ever-present frown is furrowing his brows again, his mouth opened just a little, but nothing comes out.

"Look, I don’t want to do this any more than you do," you sigh. "But it’s a two-person job."

He nods, his tongue poking his cheek. "I know."

"Do you think you’re gonna be alright with us pretending we’re madly in love for a whole evening?"

Bucky’s jaw tightens. "I’ll be fine."

Of course he’s going to be fine.

You grab the strap of your bag more tightly. "I wish you would just tell me what I did."

"You didn’t do anything." If he’s telling the truth, though, why does he look so numb?

For a moment, you want to shout at him, cry, beg, make him tell you when and how this went wrong, but you don’t. You just stare at him in silence, hoping he’ll get it anyway, and he refuses to notice it.

"So," Bucky finally says. "You ready to get hitched?"

There’s the ghost of a grin in his eyes, and even though it’s not enough to mask the uncomfortable tilt of his shoulders, you sigh. At least he’s trying, you suppose.

"Let’s just get fake-married so we can fake-divorce and go our separate ways," you say, walking past him.

"I’ve got something for you."

You turn around again, raising your eyebrows as he holds up a ring between the fingers of his left hand. There’s a giant stone set in its center, striking and sparkling and not subtle in the slightest. Tony really went all out for appearance’s sake. Your fingers involuntarily tighten around the strap of your bag.

Bucky drops the ring in the palm of your hand.

"Quite the present," you chuckle nervously. You don’t even want to know how much this thing costs, and you feel like they're going to chop off your head if something happens to it.

"Try it on, then."

It’s a bit too large on your finger, and it feels foreign. It’s not you at all. Then again, it’s not supposed to be you.

Before you can say anything, though, Bucky shakes his head. "What?" you say with a roll of your eyes.

"That couldn’t look more fake if you tried. Wait a sec."

He turns his back towards you and rummages through his bag for a while, his jaw still set as he holds out his hand once more. With a sigh, you pull the ring off again and return it, but before you can pull your hand back, he catches it in his own.

This one slides onto your finger perfectly, and your eyes widen at the sight of it. It’s a lot subtler, with only a small emerald for decoration, but it’s so delicate and beautiful it takes your breath away.

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes, but he swallows whatever came to his mind. "That’s better," he says instead, and his voice sounds oddly rough.

"They gave you a backup?" you say, angling your hand this way and that to see how the gem catches the light.

"Mhm."

Something is off about this whole situation, but then you feel like you don’t really know Bucky anymore. Not like you used to, anyway. It used to be so easy to get a read on him.

You stand there in silence for a moment, and it’s only then that both of you realize he’s still holding your hand. He drops it immediately, and you pretend it doesn’t sting.

"How come you don’t get a ring?" you ask.

"Says who?" Bucky says, clearing his throat and activating the camouflage sleeve Tony had installed for his arm. Sure enough, there’s a ring on his hand as well.

You grab his hand curiously. When you touch it, there’s no difference between his fingers and the pseudo-platinum band, all of it just cool vibranium in disguise.

"It’s fake," you say. "It’s not the same."

"No," he agrees and pulls his hand away. "Looks real enough, though."

You notice the red splotches on his neck and wonder what it is that you’ve said this time, but it’s pointless anyway. He’s not going to tell you even if you asked.

Maybe you should be used to him icing you out by now, but it still hurts.

***

"Yes, Steve, I know," you sigh. "We’re just gathering intel, nothing else."

"I just wanted to have you say it again so we’re all clear. You both love taking risks when it’s not necessary."

"Alright, punk, we got it," Bucky says, tugging at his tie again.

You can’t even blame him for the nervous habit; you’ve been twisting your fake wedding ring around your finger for the entire drive.

This isn’t the first time the two of you had to go undercover as a couple; hell, it’s not even the first time you’ve pretended to be married. Usually, though, you could have a laugh about the whole thing together.

Now you barely know how to act around Bucky as yourself, let alone as some made up woman.

"I think we’re going to attract a lot of attention if we don’t get out soon," you say, readjusting the collar of your blouse underneath your coat.

You notice Steve staring at your hand for a moment, a frown between his brows, but his lips curve upwards a split second later. "Ready to do this?" he asks and you smile a little in confirmation.

Bucky takes another breath and then he nods curtly. "Let’s go."

The change that goes through him as soon as the two of you climb out of the car is so stark you almost turn on your heels again and beg Steve to let you off the hook, after all. His hand sneaks around your waist and pulls you closely into his side as you walk towards the hotel, all soft smiles and charm.

"Sorry for the holdup," he tells the bellman waiting next to your bags with a wink. "The missus and I just needed another minute."

You lightly slap Bucky’s chest in fake indignation. It’s quick thinking on his part, really.

When you’re checking in under your assumed names for the evening, he keeps his arm around you, and the content look stays in his eyes. A subtle glance at your surroundings tells you some of your persons of interest have already arrived early for the event tonight, looking around the sparkling lobby with the same feigned boredom.

Bucky nudges your cheek with his nose and then smiles again when you look at him. It makes your brain shut off for a moment.

When he looks at you like this, it’s so easy to forget the past couple of months and just pretend for a moment. What if there was no mission at all, and it could simply be the two of you?

But of course, that’s not possible. All of it is fake, including the way he looks at you. You know that.

So how come it doesn’t feel fake to you at all?

***

You hate this dress, you hate these people, you hate this dinner, and most of all, you hate how much you enjoy spending this much time so physically close to Bucky.

It feels so natural when he links your hand with yours, so fucking meant to be, even though he’s just putting on a show for the band of creeps you’re tasked to keep an eye on.

But damn if he’s not good at it.

It’s amazing, really, how his eyes immediately soften when you turn your head towards him, like you’re the only person in the whole room. He looks at you during this charade like you wish he’d look at you daily, even far from prying eyes around you; especially then. It makes your breath shorten, your heart pounding erratically because it thinks it’s getting everything it’s ever hoped for.

Hearts are often stupid like that.

A full night of glances and touches and the pretence of secret whispers will do all kinds of twisted things to your feelings.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and when Bucky squeezes your hand you realize he’s no longer the only one who’s looking at you.

You chuckle nervously. "I’m sorry, I got … distracted for a moment. What were you saying?"

"Ah, newlyweds," one of the investor goons laughs. He’s a particularly vile looking man whose suit is way too big on his spindly limbs.

Bucky, academy award winning actor in another lifetime, chuckles politely while the fondness in his eyes seems to increase tenfold. "We’ve been married three years, actually," he says, sticking to your official cover story.

It’d been Tony’s idea to keep your fake timeline as close to the truth as possible to avoid any slip-ups. It’s a great move on paper, really, but in reality it just adds another nail to the coffin.

Three years ago, you were on a mission in Brussels, only the second one ever where it was just the two of you. It was mostly surveillance, so one of you usually had downtime while the other kept lookout. It became customary that you’d entertain each other during those long hours, getting to know each other intimately for the first time, taking the first tentative steps towards the friendship you now share.

That mission was the groundwork of your falling in love with him in the first place.

"You seem to be doing something right if you’re both still so enamoured with each other," Spindly Arms says.

"I’m the luckiest guy in the world," Bucky responds, still looking into your eyes. "It’s hard not to do the right thing, then."

He presses a kiss to your cheek and you smile timidly. His lips linger for just a moment, and then he moves to whisper into your ear, something you’re sure looks like sweet nothings to everybody else but is actually a, "Don’t fall asleep on me."

You tilt your head, shove him teasingly as if he’d said something inappropriate, and because he’s always been quick to catch on he winks, obvious enough so that the other people that are part of this conversation can clearly see it.

It’s not long after this that you excuse yourselves, walking around the room with apparent aimlessness. Everything is sparkling with pure gold decorations and countless little twinkling lights that have been scattered around the room like millions of fireflies. You spot an actual orchestra right underneath the massive Christmas tree.

"Kind of tacky, don’t you think?" Bucky murmurs with a sideway glance at you.

"Maybe a little," you say.

The truth is, though, the room looks oversaturated and expensive and magnificent. Something straight out of a Hallmark movie, more like a movie set than a real place.

It’s the one thing that keeps this whole thing from being completely unbearable.

He must have seen the truth in your eyes, because he ducks his head and says quietly, "I’m gonna go check out the terrace."

You just nod and smile as he kisses your cheek again and then vanishes through the crowd with a few long strides. Sighing, you take another drink from the tray a waiter offers you, absent-mindedly rubbing your cheek.

"What a lovely surprise," a voice says next to you and you freeze for a moment before forcing yourself to calmly take a sip. "Miss … Winter, was it?"

"Mrs," you say with a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Director."

"Right, of course." Director de Fontaine eyes her martini warily. "I don’t suppose these olives are fresh, do you?"

Your mind is racing. If she’s here on official business, then your entire operation might be compromised.

"So," she continues, looking rather bored. "Met any interesting people yet, Mrs Winter?"

"Oh, yes," you say lightly, clinging to your role of unassuming young wife. "It’s all rather exciting."

"I’m sure. These kinds of events are all very … shiny." She looks into your eyes and there’s an almost explicit warning written in hers. "It’s surprisingly easy to get blinded."

You swallow heavily even as she smiles. "If you’ll excuse me, I think I see someone …"

You quickly walk over to the buffet table where some of the wives have formed a semi circle of gossip, trying your best to hide your sigh of relief when the director doesn’t follow you.

For a few minutes, you lose yourself in pointless gossip, until one of the women takes hold of your forearm.

"You must tell us, what’s your secret?"

"Excuse me?" you chuckle nervously.

"Your husband!" she exclaims, earning a few nods from some of the others. "He clearly adores you," she goes on. "I don’t think he’s looked away from you once since you joined us."

You steal a look around your shoulder. She’s right. Bucky’s gaze immediately locks with yours, an almost bashful grin on his lips. You caught me, his eyes seem to say, and you feel a rush of heat go through you.

He should be nominated for an Oscar with this performance.

Quickly, you turn around again to meet several expectant pairs of eyes.

"I don’t know what to tell you," you say. "He’s just … always been like this. I mean, he’s my best friend. I really don’t know what I would do without him."

There’s not a word of a lie in what you’re saying, and it elicits a round of coos and murmurs even as your heart gives a sharp pang.

"Dance with me?"

You flinch, turning to look at Bucky’s outstretched hand, at the sad, hopeful look in his eyes, and the line between reality and fiction blurs a bit more.

You take his hand, and he pulls you onto the dance floor, some cheery Christmas song ramping up to its big finale. Then, the band switches to a slower song. To you, it sounds mournful.

"That was nice," Bucky mutters into your ear. "What you said."

"I meant it, you know," you whisper, but he turns, and you don’t think he’s heard you.

Bucky places his hand on your hip and you hide a shudder. His gloved fingers wrap around yours, and then you start moving again.

You barely know the steps, but he’s a great leader, and he doesn’t say anything when you step on his toes. In fact, his gaze softens even more when he looks at you after the third time, the hand around your waist pulling you a little closer.

"How are you doing this?" you say without stopping to smile.

"Easy," Bucky says, and the way he says it almost makes you believe it’s true.

You bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from breathing him in. "I didn’t mean the dancing."

With the last note of the song, you stumble over his foot again and he snorts. "Me neither."

The melody changes and neither of you lets go. His steps are getting slower, smaller, like he’s just trying to keep both of you in motion. Your head is spinning. The twinkling lights are starting to blur into a great mass of stars in the background, like you’re at the center of a music box and everything else is just background noise.

You wrap both hands around his neck as you’re swaying, then, your foreheads only inches apart. You could stay in this moment forever, you think, as it stretches into blissful infinity. Somewhere, a clock strikes ten.

Bucky leans in a little closer and your breath hitches again.

"It’s time," he whispers, and your eyes fly open.

You’d almost forgotten about the mission.

"Val is here," you say quietly.

His expression hardens for just a second. "What?"

"She came to talk to me earlier. She knows we’re here."

"Why didn’t you say something?"

"I … There wasn’t time."

"We’re just gonna have to be quick and discrete."

You open your mouth, but then you see the distance close in again between you two, and so you just nod.

The plan is almost laughably simple, but it’s probably going to work out just as you’ve laid out beforehand. Everyone in the room has watched the two of you staring at each other for the past couple of hours, so no one bats an eye when Bucky nudges you gently and you make your way up the stairs to the fancy elevator that’s going to take you up to a bedroom.

Or, more specifically, to a bedroom that’s being used to store all kinds of evidence, but no one else needs to know that little detail.

You notice the director talking to Spindly Arms and a couple of other people, but you force your gaze not to linger on her. Instead, you grab Bucky’s hand more tightly.

He lets go of you as soon as the elevator doors close behind the two of you, dragging a hand through his hair and messing it up. There aren’t any cameras in the elevator, but you’re both pretty sure there will be on the floor you’re going. "CIA exposure, that’s exactly what we needed."

"There was nothing I could’ve done," you say, tugging your sleeves down your shoulders.

"I’m not blaming you, sweetheart," Bucky says distractedly, loosening his tie. Your heart makes a very heavy thud. "But if Walker shows up tonight as well, I’m gonna shoot first and ask questions later."

"No, you won’t," you say with a grin, mostly because you know he didn’t bring his gun because the male attendees were all frisked at the entrance.

"Maybe I’ll throw a knife. I could say it was an accident."

The conversation lasts barely a moment, but it reminds you so much of what the two of you used to be, it hurts.

You follow him stumbling out of the elevator onto the right floor with a breathless laugh. There’s no one in sight as you subtly check the room numbers before making him follow you with a coquettish smile for the security camera.

You find the right door without much trubble, pulling the keycard out of your inconvenient little handbag. "Come on now," you murmur as the lock rejects it at the first try.

Suddenly, Bucky’s hand is on your waist again, and you gasp as he spins around. The keycard drops to the floor.

He presses you against the wall, effectively trapping you in his embrace. Your hands are laid flat against his chest, his heart thundering madly underneath your fingertips. Bucky’s eyes flit around madly, like he’s trying to come up with something on the spot and, for the first time since you’ve known him, is left without ideas.

You gasp as his nose brushes against yours.

"Sorry," he whispers hoarsely. And then he kisses you.

Your body responds immediately, lighting a fire in your core as his lips press against yours, hungry, gentle, almost apologetic. You can taste the champagne on his tongue.

You arch your back against him on instinct as his hands travel down your arms, brushing your hips, your tighs, slowly parting your dress at the slit. Your eyes fly open the moment you realize what he’s doing, even though he swallows your gasp.

In one smooth motion, he pulls the I.C.E.R. out of the garter on your thigh and fires a single, silenced shot. The guy with the earpiece barely has the time to grunt before he sacks against the opposite wall, unconscious, his hand still in the pocket of his jacket.

"Fuck," you hiss, pushing Bucky away from you. He stumbles slightly, the gun loose in his fingers. His eyes are almost black as he blinks at you. "You could have told me we’re being shadowed."

Bucky’s mouth is stained from your lipstick, and the sight of that alone makes your head swim. You can still feel the ghost of his hand on your leg.

"It’d have blown our cover," he replies, infuriatingly calm. "Hate me later, our window has just narrowed by a bit."

You swallow, blinking to try and gain control over your breath again, grabbing your gun back with a short nod. "Let’s finish this, then."

***

Back at the Compound, you both give an exhausted report about the events of the night, leaving out nothing but your improvised kiss on floor fifteen.

Your lips are still tingling with it.

Finally, you and Bucky are left alone in the briefing room, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t just get up and leave as soon as the silence takes hold. Instead, you both sit next to each other, staring straight ahead.

"I guess we should talk," he says slowly, reluctantly, and you can’t help it.

Your defenses shoot up again.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say, squinting.

"Yes, you do." He’s lost the tie hours ago, but he keeps tugging at the fabric in his hands as if it could give him the words he’s looking for. "I shouldn’t have kissed you, not with … Not like that."

"Like you said, the guy would’ve blown our cover," you say, crossing your arms.

"Doesn’t make it right."

"What do you want me to say, Buck?" you say sharply. "That you should’ve talked to me before? Well, I’m kind of used to you not doing that anymore, so just forget it."

"Y/N—"

"No, really, it’s fine. Like I said, you’re leaving, anyway, so what does it matter. Didn’t tell me you were planning to do that, either. You just did it."

"You know why I’m leaving."

"No, I fucking don’t!" There are tears in your eyes now. "I have been trying really hard, Bucky, but you’ve just shut me out. I thought you needed space, which is fine, by the way, but you just—one day you decided you were done with me and that was it."

He stares at you incredulously. "You seriously don’t remember."

"Don’t remember what?!"

"That you were talking about me. To Natasha."

The memory rushes through you so violently it’s almost ridiculous you hadn’t thought about it in months.

You’d just come back from another undercover op, and you’d called her right as the door to your room had closed behind you because not for the first time, your feelings had threatened to spill over again.

"You should talk to him. Be honest."

"No, Nat, come on, I can’t—I can’t do that to him. I can’t risk … you know, he’s my best friend. And that’s all it can ever be. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I just wish he’d make it easier."

"You’re making excuses, you know. Both of you deserve a bit of happiness, don’t you think?"

"I tried," Bucky says now, barely looking at you. "I tried making it easier. But you’re so …"

"So what?" you ask hollowly, ignoring the fact that you can feel the tears starting to trickle down your cheeks now. "So pathetic? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That’s why you asked for the transfer, so you can be rid of me."

"Rid of you?" Bucky starts, but you ignore him.

"You know what, Bucky, fuck you if you think my feelings for you are so much of an inconvenience that you need to leave the state. Silly me for thinking we could be adults about this."

"You’re the one who wouldn’t just tell me."

"Well, now you know anyway and I’m sure once you’re off to Cairo or wherever the fuck they’re going to send you, you can have a big old laugh about the stupid girl who fell in love with you despite the fact that—"

"Love?"

"I mean, obviously?!"

"You … you’re in love … with me?" There’s something very soft and vulnerable in Bucky’s eyes.

"Are we talking about two different phone calls?"

"I thought you hated me."

You huff incredulously. "Why would I hate you?"

"That’s why I gave you space, I thought … but then …" He grabs your hands. "Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you for years."

It punches the air out of your lungs. "What?"

Bucky’s eyes are devastating as he looks at you, then. "I’m so sorry, I—I got it all wrong, I was just—I thought you know and you didn’t see me like that and that’s why I …"

"You …?" you say, still not quite comprehending what’s going on.

His thumb caresses your knuckles, halting when it makes contact with the ring you’re still wearing. "I'm in love with you," he says quietly.

"I don’t understand," you whisper.

"Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up completely."

This time, you’re the one to lean in.

Where your first kiss in the hallway had been feverish, this one is soft, almost unbelievably sweet, both of you still breathless with the fact that you’re allowed to do this. Finally, it feels like all the pieces are falling into place and you’re home again.

You press closer into him and Bucky smiles against your lips, pulling you in with his hands on your hips just like he did when you were dancing earlier.

The loudspeakers overhead crackle. "Alright, kids, we’re gonna break this up until you’re back in your own quarters, I don’t want to expose FRIDAY to the creation of your sex tape."

You break up with a snort.

"Fuck you, Tony," Bucky shouts, but he’s still smiling as wide as you’ve ever seen him do.

You giggle as you nudge your nose against his, curling your fingers into his hair. "That reminds me, you know."

"Of what?"

"Quick and discrete," you mumble, repeating his words from the hotel. "Title of your sex tape."

Bucky groans and shuts you up again.

(A few years later, you get the ring back.)

happy holidays, y'all 💛 thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[burnedbyshoto]

seven

Rich and powerful men can marry seven different women in a wild attempt to produce the perfect heir. Todoroki Enji is one of these powerful men, and you’re his seventh bride.

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pairing: todoroki enji (endeavor) x fem!reader

warnings: edo period!endeavor (king henry viii inspo), forced marriage, alcohol consumption, 18+, smut, non-con, dub-con, size difference, breeding kink, rough-sex, pain, degradation, & mind break

word count: 5,750

a/n: fuck that family who started the fire in socal. my campus is literally raining ashes up in oregon. im so tired. two exams monday. im going to be going on meds for anxiety and adhd soon, so thats new. uh,,, this is like LOL its a bit bad,,, but I really, really lust over asshole enji who only wants to breed bitches and thats it. this is for the bnharem fantasy au collab, i wan’t that creative sorry see ya later skaters.

PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS. PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS. PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS.

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One.

Fate: Spared.

Two.

Fate: Executed.

Three.

Fate: Died during childbirth.

Four.

Fate: Spared.

Five.

Fate: Executed.

Six.

Fate: Executed.

Seven.

Fate: Unknown.

Silks and expensive cloth held a scent that was irreplicable.

The smooth smell of the layers upon layers of fabric wrapped around your body did nothing to quench the building layer of ice in your stomach.

You were scared.

Rightfully so.

Six women came before you, and if you wanted to live, you would have to do better than them.

Marrying the Todoroki Clan head was something that most women could only dream of accomplishing in this day and age. The Todoroki’s, after all, are strong, rich, powerful, undefeated. They held the real power in this age, more influential and notable than the emperor that repeatedly begged the family for support, be it in power, strength, or money.

But, it was also known knowledge that the man who sat at the head of the clan, who held the power of the Todoroki name and future, was a man not to be trifled with.

Todoroki Enji was an endeavor of a man.

There had always been whispers about the head of the family, how he stood eight feet tall, and how his body was not lean like most warriors, but thick and savagely sturdy. His hair was red, blessed by the sun some claimed, or cursed by the devil others alleged. His temper and barbaric nature on the battlefield were, of course, rumored by the people on your lands, who had been indebted by the Todoroki Clan because of their protection and profits. 

Todoroki Enji was not a man to be trifled with.

Especially not if the rumors were true.

He was painted as a demon by everyone. Still, Enji was no demon, he was human, and if he was to allow the Todoroki Clan's legacy to continue, he needed an heir… but since he was human, he was aging.

Six women.

You knew that it was six women because you had been alive to experience five of them.

You remember the newly married couple being paraded through the streets.

Todoroki Enji remained hidden within his vehicle's confines while his new wife, doe-eyed, smiling, effervescent, would greet the gathered crowds. You often wondered what they thought when you would conjure in respect for the man who ensured your childhood and adolescence were not corrupted by thieves and horror.

You wondered what she thought when promising the village elders that she would produce a strong, male heir. You raised an eyebrow at the thought that maybe, just maybe they believed that they would be different -- be able to birth a strong, capable male heir.

Six wives.

Twenty children.

Two weak, sickly boys.

A whole clan of girls.

Were they idiotic, blind, or batshit insane to ever believe that they would be different?

You undoubtedly didn’t know.

Three of the six had been executed.

Three of six had been proud to state they would produce a strong male Todoroki heir, noting that his two sons -- Touya and Natsuo -- would be removed from the family as soon as their strong son was born. 

One of those three birthed a weak, sickly baby boy. She passed in childbirth and took him with her one day after.

Another of those three birthed four girls, two sets of twins because, of course, they were given two chances. She was executed on treason.

The final of those three had simply pissed him off; rumor had it. Her pussy was too tight, unwilling to sheath the thick massive cock that belonged to him… no point in breaking something that wouldn’t bend when there was more pussy out there (you remember she had been ugly too).

But what you didn’t expect was for his clan members to come through your village's streets with an announcement in hand.

Of the six women before you, three had held significant political power -- the three that survived.

Of the remaining three, there was a poet, the other a woman soldier of his, and the last being a clan member.

You had never known what the decision process was, not even a little bit, so when men dressed in dark robes with the Todoroki sigil and katana’s strapped to their sides infiltrated your village, you were on edge.

“All women who are fertile and beautiful, line up, and no, we don’t care if you’re married,” was the short, almost taunting order, and you had never felt sicker.

You were among the seventy females in your village that matched the requirement they demanded. 

Your sight was almost glued to the floor as they walked through you all, your fists grabbing your light blue kimono as the men groped the women in line, teasing the breasts of the pregnant women, rutting their poorly concealed cocks through the valley of asses, shoving between some girls thighs with loopy, proud smiles on their faces, beating any man who attempted to protect any one of their honors. 

But you were towards the end of the line, standing where they decided to save for last, and you were helpless to it all. You watched knowing that of the sixty-something women ahead of you, none of them remained. 

The whimpers, cries, and whines grew louder by your ear, your spine rigid and sore with its tightness as the girl beside you dropped to the floor in her fear. You couldn’t bother looking at her as the parting of their robes seemed to be akin to gunpowder going off in your ears. The horrified squeal on her tongue being silenced when a cock slammed through her lips, the tears pouring down her face useless, if anything, only encouraging their roughhousing. 

Your lip curled at the sound of her pathetic whining, the incessant need of her to tell them that she was not okay with this was nails on an iron plate. It annoyed you, it pissed you off.

“Look at this one,” the snickering laughter of a man breathed by your ear, instantly stilling and freezing the anger that was once radiating like fire from your chest. “She doesn’t look ashamed… she looks like she’s jealous. Maybe these common bitches do have someone good enough for Boss.”

Spluttering gasps and hiccuping cries came from the ground, and you couldn’t even bother glancing at the woman you had known all your life laying on the floor, kimono ripped open, and white, sticky cum dripping from her mouth.

“Well, there’s nothing like taking her out for a test run,” came a sleazy smile, and when two hands gripped at your clothed breasts, you didn’t so much as raise a brow at their perverted actions.

You had won in the end against them. Each perverted, twisted intention they placed against you, dirt crusted fingernails digging into your arms, purpling, throbbing cocks pressed into your backside… it hadn’t mattered.

You didn’t budge.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t make a noise.

A simple smirk remaining on their faces at your inevitable victory against the other women in your village -- against the crying, cum stuffed women who stared at your victorious and stubborn form without a clue on how you managed.

And where did that land you?

In a room with only one window too high up for an average person to reach, white silks and fabrics adorning your body, and ceremonial ornaments in your hair.

Six women came before you, but today, you would become the seventh.

With you, there would be seven women to have wed Todoroki Enji, but you weren’t scared because you feared the fate of the six before you. No, you were much better than them; you already knew that for a fact.

The anxiety that coursed through your veins created that ice pit in your stomach came from one place and one place only.

Your cunt already sobbed at the thought of even attempting at taking his thick, veiny cock you knew was the size of your thigh later tonight.

A virgin like you had no chance of survival.

The doors to your room soon slammed open, and your back stiffened at the sight of a familiar face of an escort you had. His eyes didn’t meet yours; they were focused at the wall, his face tense and tight.

“It’s best we leave now, y/l/n, Todoroki-sama doesn’t like waiting.”

The weight of the white silk on your body felt like a brick when you stood up from your position, and you wondered if the sweat from your pits and palms would damage the kimono -- if it was noticeable. But you had a duty, and as number seven, you had no motive to be executed before even getting the chance to prove yourself.

You knew how wishes worked; the secret was in being silent about your desire… never reveal what your wish was, or the world wouldn’t grant it.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself every time you heard the all too familiar words of: “I’ll produce a fine Todoroki heir,” through the lips of the dead and the divorced. They had spoken it to the universe, acknowledged what they needed, and the cruel world failed them each and every time.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts, so consumed by the idea of what would happen tonight, you hardly realized that with the heaving puffing breathes you took to keep up with the man’s ridiculous strides, that you had made it to the shrine that you had been brought to wed.

But you couldn’t even take in the beauty of the shrine to your left because you were more interested in who was standing in the pathway towards the shrine.

Todoroki Enji.

He stood on the stone-paved path, his bulky, beefy arms folded across his chest, the fabric of his kimono taut and tight against his flexed muscle, and a sour frown on his face. It was as the rumors had spoken, you realized when you stopped mere strides away from your future husband, he was a man that looked both godly and cursed.

Bright red hair glistened like copper pans under the sunlight, waving and flickering like a raging fire with every small burst of wind. He stood at almost eight feet high, maybe eight feet, you had no idea. All you knew is that as your feet stumbled when getting near to this man, you were dwarfed, feeling like a child next to their father as you gazed up at his unmoving, scarred face. His eyes didn’t look down at you, but even you could see the clear, sharp blue in them, and for the first time, you questioned reality.

Was this man truly human? Was he genuinely Japanese?

Seeing him before you made your knees buckle in fear, arousal, and anticipation.

You wanted to see what had made the sixth scream to stop.

You wanted to see just what he was hiding behind the ridiculously tight fitted kimono, but your thoughts were yanked away when his hand -- no doubt bigger than your head -- pressed to space between your shoulder blades and pushed you.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” he merely growled, his eyes burning at something a million miles away, and with a small, pitiful whimper, you allowed him to lead the way.

The wedding ceremony was… odd, to say the least.

While you had never been married, you had attended a few weddings within your lifetime already, and never once had it felt so disturbing dead and raw as it had today. This Shinto ceremony, typically doused with symbolism and motifs for the greatest possible outcome for the union between you and Todoroki Enji, was stripped from the shrine walls, leaving the walls barren and cold as both he and the priest proceeded through the ceremony at breakneck speed.

It wasn’t something Enji wanted; you realized that clearly the moment he refused to meet your gaze; his blue eyes remaining on the priest.

Everything the both of you performed together was done haphazardly, the lack of symbols you had always wished to see in your wedding ceremony forgotten, undoubtedly seen as a farce by a man like Todoroki Enji, but still, your heart ached.

You hadn’t noticed when the ceremony had ended; Enji never once allowing you to move, or do anything for that matter, by yourself. There was no use in fighting against a man who’s entire hand fit around your forearm, his thumb even resting against his fingernail -- oh yes, this man was huge.

There was no telling when he paraded you through the streets of his territory, allowing you to numbly speak to the village elders, to allow your parents to press their sweaty palms to your cheeks because god, please, please survive this, their touch practically sobbed. You smiled at them, eyes numb with the reality of what this was going to be for you, but the cheerful tone on your tongue remained optimistic and bright with every passing word. 

The scornful thoughts of the sixth woman being too weak to handle Enji had dissipated, and you wondered just what the other five did to survive what you knew was a massive fucking cock hidden beneath the shrowds of his black kimono.

You would survive, you would survive, you would survive.

But far before you were ready to, you arrived back at the Todoroki front, the wooden estate standing sturdy and strong, the air of power and aura almost tangible. The samurai and clansmen who had undoubtedly awaited for you and your now-husband (that was still odd to think about) to return. Pairs of warm, weathered hands helped you from the carriage, and without so much of a whisper of thanks, they escorted you away, heads bowed at the mercy of their leader.

Once more, you were abandoned in your room.

The window no longer allowed the streaming setting sunlight in, your room was in the eastern part of the estate, and with the nighttime coming, the setting sun was merely a memory to you.

And in that room, the tiny, unspacious room that seemed much more for a prisoner than the seventh wife of Todoroki Enji, you tried not to cry.

The door slamming open hours after you had fallen asleep had taken you by surprise.

Enji had left you to your own entertainment, and long after you were served dinner, and informed that no, Todoroki-sama would not be visiting you right now because he was busy, you had sat on the bed in your silks and robes, numbly looking at the star-filled sky. Sleep was the only thing you could do, and with the last servant visit being past midnight, you took to sleep.

Except that you forgot a sparing, important detail.

This was Todoroki Enji’s world, and you were merely his legal fuckhole.

The heavy footsteps of Enji entering the room echoed in your ear, and the door closed behind him, solidifying the end of the beginning of what you once knew. 

“Seven,” he growled into the night, and your spine snapped straight.

He loomed above you, the tatami mat suddenly feeling like a brick wall against your side, and you swallowed pathetically at the way his deep, raspy voice sent shivers down your spine.

This had been the first time you had heard him speak, all other forms of communication between him and the priest and he and his clan members had been nonverbal, solely told through those piercing blue eyes that only let you dream of what he sounded like -- of what he was demanding. But you lay confused, your eyebrows scrunched at just why he had called out the number seven?

Seven what?

You twisted where you lay, your eyes meeting his own, and despite the lack of light in the room, you could see the cold, distant glint in his eyes.

“Oh good,” he mocked, his voice low and dangerous, eyes squinted in his apparent lack of approval. “You can hear.”

“S-Seven what?” you stammer, your elbow pressing into the mat, pushing you up so that you could look at your husband, uncertainty and discomfort scorching every nerve in your body. 

You didn’t know what to do.

Then, it hit you. The bitter, numbing smell of alcohol coated in a fine layer around his skin, the small puffs of angry air from his mouth letting you know that your husband was inebriated, and your throat clenched when he began to dismantle his kimono.

“T-This isn’t a good idea!” you stammer, the white silk robes you were still dressed in because they refused to allow you a set of sleeping clothes because the marriage needed to be consummated, felt stiff and not protective enough. “You won’t produce a proper heir if you’re intoxicated.”

Enji raised an eyebrow at you, and your thudding heart failed to cease as his robes hit the floor with an unceremonious thud. 

Whiskey dick wasn’t something foreign to you; the countless men you had sucked off in your time, the numerous sex stories you had been shared with always had some instance of a man getting drunk and being able to get their cock hard, but this…?

If this was Enji’s whiskey dick, you weren’t sure what to expect of his sober cock.

His cock was already hard, the veins in his cock large, plentiful, and bulging in many areas. It was thick, without a doubt thick enough where it would take both your hands to circle around his cock, and it was long, the swollen weeping tip leaking against his abdomen. His cock was magnificent yet deadly, and your pussy spasmed in fear of having that monster all twelve plus inches shoved into your virgin cunt.

“The fuck are you doing, seven?” Enji snarled, his powerful naked legs moving toward you, his feet pressing into the mat, and his hand reaching out to you. “I didn’t marry you for you to just stare at my fucking cock like some piss-shit baby.”

There was no time to panic, protest, or even prepare yourself for the sudden sharp, dull ache in your jaw when he pressed his monster cock past your chapped, chewed lips. 

Immediately, it was overwhelming.

The engorging cock had barely passed your lips, but you were already gagging against the unwelcomed size, the horrid ache sending spilling tears down your cheeks, doing nothing but annoying the man before you. His hands gripped your hair, his eyes not even bothering to look at you as he fucked your mouth.

“Stop fucking resisting,” Enji snarled, his hips coming to meet your mouth in a vicious, unpleasant snap, the head of his cock pressing down your clenched throat, and so much of his cock still remaining far from your mouth. “Take my cock like the fucking whore I know you are, seven.”

You gasp for air, but with his cock ramming further and further down your throat, the scalding heat emitting from his skin burning your throat, making you gag and choke around him in your fear. You couldn’t breathe, you realized in a panic, and your eyes widened in fear, drool and spit spilling down your chin pathetically as Enji hums contently.

“Don’t feel so scared, seven,” Enji cruelly smirked up at the ceiling, his hips lazily, sloppily, yet powerfully delivering his cock into your bulging throat. “I heard what you did to my men, how you let them fuck you however they saw fit, how you scoffed and scowled at the other pathetic weak bitches who couldn’t handle a little groping… I thought you would like this? What is it? Never had a real fucking cock before? A little whore like yourself only gotten shitty little cocks?”

Wordlessly, you begged to be shown mercy, your vision blackening as he choked out all forms of oxygen, his war weathered body unbothered by your clawing fingers on his thighs. No, you were too weak for it to hurt him.

His hands left your hair, and you collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air, choking, and coughing for oxygen that only burned all through your system, sitting unpleasantly in your lungs while tears and saliva mixed on your throat.

“Where the fuck are do you think you’re going, seven?” Enji barked, his body suddenly looming over yours, and you felt trapped, unable to move as the mountain of a man trapped you between his sturdy arms and legs. His cock, warm and sticky with your spit and his precum, sat heavily on your stomach, the size difference between the two of you even more pronounced when the tip of his cock rested at the bottom of your ribcage. “All you did was lube up my cock for your stupid, tight pussy. Don’t think I was satisfied with that childish blowjob -- next time, if you want to cry, make sure it’s loud enough that I feel it against my cock.”

You pathetically moan at his words, the tears still falling from your eyes because your throat and jaw hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

“Please,” you gasped as his cinder hot hands pressed to your breasts against your kimono, he quickly enveloped your tender flesh in his hands despite the fabric. “Please, no more.”

“I don’t remember this marriage being about you,” he mocked, and with no more of a glinting snarl of his mouth, he tore the kimono straight off your body. The horrified scream that left your lips was silenced by the echoing slap across your face.

Pain blistered at the side of your face, and the resulting tears couldn’t be felt against your numbed skin as Enji continued his conquest, his fingers pulling and ripping any and all fabric pressed against your body.

“Get away!” you weakly whimpered, body trembling and twisting as you attempted to escape the man looming above you, finally ridding you of all dresses, hands pressing to the back of your thighs to push you into a position that he liked. “Leave me alone, leave me alone…”

There was no fire in your words, nothing but the aching fear and undeniable terror.

But the words did nothing to Enji, who continued to move you so that your tight, virgin cunt lined up with his throbbing, red cockhead. Even like this, your face was pressed into his chest. His body unworldly larger than yours, incredibly goliath compared to you.

“You know, seven, if you keep trying to escape me and you keep trying to save yourself, then why are you so fucking wet with everything I’ve done?” he growls down at you, his piercing blue eyes staring straight through you, the tears falling down your face doing nothing but encouraging him because he was right… your cunt, just like his cock, was wet, dripping with the undeniable pleasure of this all. There was a fire, a shameful fire, in your pussy, throbbing in time with the stinging pulse in your face that begged for Enji’s cock despite it all. “You fucking tiny little slut… I can feel just how my actions -- how my words -- affect you, getting you off like a bitch in heat! Your efforts to hide it are pathetic, fucking useless.”

Pain.

If you thought you knew what pain was before right now, you had to be wrong. 

Enji’s girth was overwhelming, nearly splitting your shuddering tight walls while he buried his cock entirely within you. Nausea builds in the back of your throat, a soundless shriek breaking past your bleeding lips, your hips bucking in their relentless attempt to adjust to the way that he was splitting your walls in two, and your face flushed in pain and lust press into his chest, the only part of him you could touch. 

Fuck, fuck, “fuck!” you cried, fat and painful tears pushing past your eyes, dripping down the apples of your cheeks while Enji sighed at the feeling of your hot cunt against his cock, blood seeping out of your pussy in such a pretty way he couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ve got a really tight cunt,” he observes, his hips slamming against you without warning, his mind only caring about him, setting off another round of painful screams while he situates within you. “Mhm, this is nice. A tight, young pussy always means a good womb, you’ll give me the heir I need… I’ll make sure to fuck you full of my cum.”

His hips then begin to thrust upward into you, the tip of his cock unable to reach the beginnings of your walls that he seemed to attempt to get to with each powerful blow. But it was his girth that had your body tensed, back arched in pain, eyes clenched in nothing but pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

“Hey.” SLAP. Your head snapped to the side, a burning, stinging pain on your cheek, alerting you that your eyes were closed. Your piqued breathing spluttered and so spaced between it was as if you were having some sort of asthma attack. Enji looked down at you, blue eyes burning demonly down at you (you wondered if this was the same look those who survived to see him on the battlefield claimed he had), his lips curled into an unapproving snarl while his hands pushed at the bottom of your knees. You pressed further into the tatami, the angle of penetration only furthering with your desperate screams to be gentler. “Shut the hell up, you’re annoying me with all this fucking screaming. Don’t waste my time.”

You whimper loudly, the feeling of his forcibly moving hips not becoming any easier on you, no longer a wave of intensive horrifying pain, but still a throbbing pain than had your fingernails cutting into his skin. “You have to be gentler! Be gentler, please be gentler! You’re so much bigger than me!!! My pussy can’t… my pussy can’t handle this!”

The fabric of the kimono under your body seared with heat when Enji shoved you further onto the mat, your legs twitching almost pathetically around his waist while your sight nearly blackened with his next action. He slammed your knees into the mat, increasing the angle of his penetration by a tenfold, sending you into another round of howling pain and pleasure as his cock slammed into your cervix -- bruising and scalding your puffy, sensitive walls with every powerful thrust. With his drilling hips and snarling speed, your screams and shouts of pain and pleasure and fear were cut off by an enormous fist around your neck, and his voice echoed from above you.

“Didn’t your dad teach you fucking whore to be quiet, seven?” Enji hisses, his thick hand clenching around your neck. Oxygen refused to flow to your lung, you went light-headed and limp, choking noises emitting from you while he continued to slam his cock in you, your clenching and splitting walls unable to keep up with the speed of the esteemed nobleman of Japan. “You’re my breeding whore, do you understand? You have no value to me except to be breed, to be full of my cum, to carry my child. You are nothing more than an object. Do. You. understand?”

Your head throbbed, the blood forcibly kept in your head, and the lack of oxygen made your world spin. 

“Y-Yes!” you choke on your tongue.

“Repeat it!”

“I’m your breeding whore! Fill me with your cum, I wanna… fuck, I w-wanna carry your children! I’m your object, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours!”

“There we go,” Enji sighs contently, his broad chest pressing your thighs further into the bed, cutting off what limited oxygen you had left, and increasing the jabbing pleasure within you by a tenfold.

“Shit, such a filthy fucking cunt you have,” he groans, your walls spasming against him with his wild, obscene thrusts. He moves his hands further up your legs so that they press against your knees, your legs then wrap around his body, shaking as he makes no effort to slow in his advances, your finger drawing blood from where they raked down his back because he was burning an outline of your body into the mat. Your strangled scream goes unnoticed by Enji, a desperate plea for him to be softer.

But he wasn’t someone who cared.

You were only here to be bred, to give him a son, the strongest son the entire country of Japan -- nay, the world -- has ever seen.

Pathetically, your hips attempt to rise up to meet him, a prayer that it would ease this brutal force he was using. It was too much -- his cock easily overpowering your throbbing cunt.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping pussy created loud wet noises that made you cry in embarrassment. Your face felt like it was seconds from popping out, Enji’s weight crushing you on top of the abhorrent position he was fucking you in, but he found it as an excuse to speed up. His rugged grunts are warnings in your ears as his cock finally hits your cervix with consistency that makes you wail. The stretch he gave you was boggling, and you were progressively less cognitive aware as he drilled in harder. His slams were so hard that the sound of his thighs hitting your ass let out a continuous and loud slap.

His fingers gouge into your skin, and you cry his name like a hopeful prayer as he is fueled by your appraisal, your breath hot and sticky between the valley of his chest. Your tongue pressing against his skin akin to some infant looking to suck their mothers tit.

The force in which Enji slammed his hips to meet yours. Above your ear, the growling pants that mocked you for enjoying this demeaned you for thinking you were anything more than his breeding whore sent a liquid fire that could never match the heat of a conflagration to your core. When your head smashed against the mat because you could no longer keep your head up. 

“That’s fucking right,” he laughs, drool pouring past your lips with your mindless babble, your eyes fluttering closed. Pleasure drowned in pain sobs expelled from your lips, invigorating something powerful within the entire family who watches on with impatient stares at the sight of your squeezing cunt around Eniji’s cock. “Take my fucking cock, bitch, don’t fucking pass out yet, we’re far from over.”

Enji was raw power, destruction, and strength. He pistoled into your sobbing core with the intent of getting his sperm into your cunt, to get his sperm that would get him a son into you, other than that, he was uncaring, unmotivated by your pathetic whining and crying. Your thrashing and wailing do not stop Enji, nor do they lessen the pace and the force he’s settled in as the floor begins to creak with every powerful thrust.

“I needa — holy shit, r-right there! M-More, more, more, more--”

“What? Do you need to come already, seven?” Enji mocks you pushing up off you so his back is curved, and your body so small underneath him. “Do you really think I’ll let you cum before me?”

Your eyes can no longer stay open as the only noises leaving your mouth are whines and begs for more. You forcibly clench around him to stir a reaction from him, but all he does is snarl quietly as he continues his rutting force. The pounding is rhythmic. His balls bruising your ass where he hits you. The feeling of Enji’s cock entering and leaving you draws your eyes to the back of your head as you pathetically whimper his name, his thighs hitting your ass at bruising force, only adding to your pleasure. 

Each powerful snap of his hips sending your back arching to the heavens, the balls of your feet digging bruisingly into his back. In and out he goes, your cunt nothing more than a cocksleeve for him, and your wanton screams and mewls taking him further and further.

Enji all but laughs into your ear, his hand moving from pressing onto the tatami mat and pushing into your opened mouth, pressing onto your tongue. “Suck my fingers like a good whore, show me that you’re not gonna disappoint me. Suck my fingers.” you sob in the thought, not because you’re fearful of disappointing the man, but because the feeling of his fingers in your mouth makes your cunt throb ludicrously, your tongue desperately wrapping around the appendages, pushing through the space of his fingers. “I’m going to fill you up so good, breeding whore. You’ll be leaking my cum for days. I’m going to make sure you carry the Todoroki gene, and I hope that it’s my son you carry.”

The words incite clenching heat in your core, your lips unable to form anything but a weak, pitiful moan because the thought of being filled to the max with Todoroki cum makes your mind spin. More, you want to milk them all dry. You want nothing more than that. With a ragged breath, a consecutive full thrust that sends his cock slamming against your cervix, Enji cums fully within you. His load is long and heavy, your belly feeling like it’s bulging when he finally emerges from your cunt. His once hard cock limping in his hands while you lay there defeated, his and your intermixed cum spilling from your pulsing cunt. 

Your mouth opened, sobbing at his absence, a need for him to return despite your core's undeniable tremor and ache. He’s off your body as well, and oxygen floods your lungs in dizzying and shallow pants, your vision fuzzies out, and you stare almost brokenly at the window painted with the rising morning sun.

Your room was in the east wing, after all.

You didn’t even protest when he pressed a smooth wooden plug into your cunt to “ensure you were bred to succession.”

He would soon leave your room, stumbling out with a drunken hiccup, leaving you to lay on a once white kimono… a once white kimono drenched in cum, blood, sweat, and tears.

You wouldn’t know until two weeks later, but Todoroki Enji had succeeded in breeding you, and you would eventually lay in a birthing room with blood and sweat and tears soaking your skin as a silent baby boy was placed in your arms.

“And what will his name be?” the midwife asked, her eyes wide with joy for you and Enji.

“...Shouto.”

[morganaspendragonss]

holly's august extravaganza day 17: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team)

for both my incredible birthday twin jenny (@laelipoo) and a little bit for myself! i hope you are having a wonderful, wonderful day and i wish you all the love in the world. i'm so glad we became friends and i cannot tell you how glad i am for our conversations 🥰🥰🥰

many, many, many thanks to jenny as well for helping me out with the plot!

ao3 | 3.1k | firefighter carlos, hurt/comfort, pining, developing relationship, major character injury (two of them 😌)

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the soft blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

The thing about Carlos Reyes is that he isn’t only stupidly hot; he’s also just plain nice. TK can’t even make up a flimsy excuse to keep his distance. Carlos is, quite literally, perfect.

He shares recipes and book recommendations with Paul, he spars with Marjan, he discusses superheroes with Mateo, and Judd has had nothing but good things to say since before Carlos even joined them. Apparently they’d worked together a lot before the explosion, when Carlos was with the 116, and he’s ‘one of the best damn firefighters’ Judd has ever seen.

He even makes time to hang with the paramedics, which...isn’t a new development, exactly. But it is recent, and TK is willing to bet they’d still be pretty divided if Tim hadn’t suddenly transferred back to Maryland and he hadn’t taken the leap to be a full paramedic.

Even after that… His friends were hardly going to abandon him after he switched, but Nancy had still only been semi-included at best. She’d called him out about it during their first week working together, but fixing it had been a slow process.

Until Carlos came along, that is. Excluding Judd, they all regularly hang out at his place now, and Nancy’s inclusion had never even been a question. Safe to say, Carlos has charmed everyone in the firehouse, including both captains, and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

He’s perfect, from his freakishly toned body to his infuriatingly sweet personality to his incredible skills in the field, and TK does not have a crush, goddammit!

One morning about three weeks after Carlos’s arrival, TK is greeted in the firehouse by the sound of a long, beautiful laugh coming from the kitchen. Three weeks is an embarrassingly short amount of time to admit that he’s memorised everything about him, but he instantly recognises the noise as coming from Carlos, even if he can’t see him yet.

He saunters into the kitchen, where Carlos is standing with Paul, and leans up against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Carlos turns with a winning smile and holds out a steaming mug of coffee, clearly freshly made even though TK only got in two minutes ago.

He blinks. “How—” Then, taking in the slight pinkness to Carlos’s cheeks, “Are you seriously offering me your own coffee, Reyes?”

Carlos shrugs, forcing the mug into TK’s hands. “I only just made it so technically it belongs to anyone, and I can always make another,” he says. “Besides, you look like you could use it more than me.”

His grin has TK narrowing his eyes and stubbornly refusing to drink even though Carlos is right—he really, really needs it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was an insult.”

“Who says you do know better?”

TK splutters, momentarily left speechless in the face of Carlos’s smile and the twinkle in those goddamn eyes. He turns to Paul for help, but Paul...has disappeared. Huh. TK honestly hadn't noticed him go.

He shakes his head and looks back to Carlos, only to be stunned silent again by the way his smile has softened into something else, something more.

TK’s heart skips a beat or two and he swallows, staring down into Carlos’s coffee. “Whatever, Reyes,” he mutters.

It was too late for a witty comeback anyway.

Carlos’s laugh follows him out of the kitchen, and TK wonders when, exactly, he let himself fall this far.

*

“Earth to TK? Hello?”

TK is rudely snapped back to reality by one Nancy Gillian’s hand waving violently in his face. He scowls at her, to which she responds with an eye roll.

“Stop drooling over your man and come help me with inventory.”

“I’m not drooling,” TK argues, following her over to the rig. “And he’s not my man.”

“Right,” Nancy drawls, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the ambulance. “So you’re just going to deny that weird energy around you two that makes the rest of us feel like we’re creeping on something?”

“Exactly.” TK nods emphatically, then frowns. “Wait, what?”

Nancy casts her eyes heavenward. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot of things, Strand, but I hadn’t pegged you for oblivious.”

TK’s next words are reflexive, said without thought for the consequences—the story of his life, really.

“I’m not oblivious!”

The grin spreading over Nancy’s face rams home just how much he’s fucked up with those three words. TK drops his head in his hands and groans, unable and unwilling to look Nancy in the eye.

“Not a word,” he warns, which Nancy appears to respect, for now. TK is well aware that there will be words—several of them—later, whether he wants them or not.

The thing is, he really isn’t oblivious. He knows perfectly well what Nancy is talking about and he has often fantasised about all the things he’d do to Carlos given half a chance. TK likes Carlos, way more than just in the physical sense, and he’s pretty sure that Carlos likes him right back. It would be so easy to start something between them and, god, TK wants to. He just… He can’t.

One year—that’s what he promised himself back in New York. One year on his own to sort his head out and figure out how he fits back into the world after the overdose. Granted, his sobriety anniversary is only a couple of months away now, but he refuses to give up on his promise, especially when he’s so close.

Maybe in a couple months, if Carlos hasn’t gotten bored of something that’s clearly going nowhere.

But not now.

*

“He did not ask me out!”

“He totally did, dude, and you know it. You want to say yes, I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Children,” Tommy interrupts from the back of the ambulance. They’re heading to a callout, and Nancy has not let up the entire way about something TK is certain never actually happened. “Either of you want to enlighten me on what the argument is about this time?”

“TK’s too chicken to go out with Carlos,” Nancy jumps in, before TK can stop her.

“I am not!” he protests. “Plus, he wasn’t asking me out, he said we should go over to his place for dinner sometime, which Carlos does all the time. So there.”

“Strand, you are not this dense,” Nancy snarks, probably rolling her eyes. “His exact words were, ‘You should come over sometime’.”

“We were all there! It was obviously the plural you.”

“Oh my god—”

“Alright!” Tommy sighs wearily. “Nancy, can we keep from provoking TK until we’re back at the firehouse and he’s no longer driving?”

“Ha!” TK exclaims, but Tommy’s not done.

“TK, if I weren’t your captain, I’d be telling you that Nancy is right and you should pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late, understand?”

Now it’s Nancy’s turn to be triumphant as TK struggles to form a coherent response. Thankfully, he’s saved from further torment by them finally pulling up at the scene—a warehouse where one of the workers had become trapped after parts of the upper level walkway had broken and fallen. Apparently, the falling metal had caused some of the machinery to malfunction, turning the call from simple to beyond complicated in a matter of minutes.

“TK, grab your turnout gear and your bag; I’m sending you in with them,” Tommy informs him as soon as they’re out of the rig. “Normally, we’d just talk the firefighters through it over radio, but given your training it’ll be quicker and safer for you to deal with our patient.”

TK grins; he’s missed the adrenaline rush of running into emergencies more than he can say. “Got it, Cap.”

“Maybe try and look a little less happy about a serious injury, too.”

“Copy that.”

*

The noise when they enter the warehouse is deafening, an ugly screeching cutting right through TK’s skull.

“Shouldn’t they have shut the machines off?” he shouts, fighting to be heard.

“Apparently they can’t,” Judd calls back. “Something wrong with the control panel, I don’t know exactly what.”

TK groans—just what they need. The sound is lost in the din, but Carlos still looks over and gives him a sympathetic grin, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ motion. TK can’t help but grin back, the mere sight of Carlos easing the annoyance he feels and the headache already beginning to build behind his eyes.

Their patient, when they reach him, is pinned under a large, heavy-looking sheet of metal. He’s bleeding from a gash on his temple and his skin is worryingly pale, to the extent that TK can tell even from a distance. He jogs to the patient’s side and kneels down, pressing his fingers against his neck.

“Cap, I have a pulse,” he reports into his radio after a few seconds. “But he’s unconscious with a head wound, and I think there are probably injuries I can’t see yet. Possible spinal damage, but I can’t tell until we’ve got this metal off him.”

“Copy that,” Captain Vega says. “Get ready to run a line; he’s gonna need it as soon as he’s free.”

TK nods and moves to secure a c-collar around his neck. “We need to cut this thing off of him,” he says, addressing the team. “Quickly, but carefully.”

Judd steps forward, brandishing the saw. He hands TK a couple of spare turnouts and kneels on the patient’s other side. “Couple of you need to cover him, and yourselves.”

TK doesn’t even have to ask before Carlos appears next to him, taking one of the turnouts from him. He smiles gratefully before arranging himself to provide maximum protection to all three of them as Judd starts working on the metal. The vibrations from the saw are unpleasant, and TK dreads to think what effect it’s having on the already unstable machinery, but it’s the only option they have to get their patient free.

Fortunately, everything seems to go off without a hitch, and soon the team are able to remove the metal. TK immediately gets to work, feeling for any damage. As he suspected, there’s a pretty large gash on the man’s leg which is bleeding badly, though thankfully it seems to have missed any arteries. He also seems to have a broken wrist, but he should heal.

TK quickly wraps his leg, then gets Carlos and Judd to help move him onto the spine board. It feels like, for once, the call has gone as smoothly as possible, and TK allows himself a breath of relief as they prep to get the guy outside to the ambulance.

Naturally, that’s when everything goes to hell.

The machine closest to them lets out a threatening groan and shudders before there’s a loud roar and it explodes. On instinct, TK folds himself over the patient as shrapnel rains down on them, and he sees Carlos doing the same in his periphery.

The downpour seems to last forever, but eventually it slows and comes to a stop. TK cautiously lifts his head, his heart pounding, and sags in relief as it seems that the worst is over.

They need to get out of here, now.

He stands, a brief stab of pain running through his back—probably because of his awkward position over the patient—and turns to Carlos, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Only to see Carlos’s face tight with agony, and then the cause—a jagged piece of shrapnel running right through his hand.

“Carlos,” TK breathes, horrified. Carlos looks up at him, his breathing carefully measured and his eyes wide, and TK drops back to his knees, reaching out for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Carlos swallows and nods, his eyes squeezing tight. TK’s heart rate skyrockets, and he’s barely able to keep his cool as he signals to the others to get their first patient out of the warehouse.

“Cap, the team are bringing him out, but we have a problem.”

“Talk to me, Strand, what’s going on?”

“It—It’s Carlos.” TK breathes out shakily and takes a moment to steady himself before continuing, “It’s not serious, but some of the machinery broke apart and some shrapnel impaled his hand. I’ve got to stabilise the shard before we come out to you.”

“Alright, but hurry. I don’t want you guys in there for longer than necessary.”

“Copy.”

Stabilising the shrapnel with rolls of gauze and wrapping Carlos’s hand should be a matter of course—it’s an easy process that TK could probably do in his sleep. But this is Carlos, so his damn hands won’t stop shaking and he almost fumbles and drops his supplies.

He manages though, and soon he’s helping Carlos up, instructing him to hold his injured hand above his heart. Carlos sends him a wobbly smile, which ends up turning out to be more of a grimace, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Things could have gone so much worse today; TK could have even lost him, and he would have never been able to—

But that’s not important. Carlos is okay, or he will be, and they still have plenty of time to figure out whatever this is between them.

Everything will be okay.

TK’s back and side twinge again as they make their way out, but he brushes it off, too focused on getting Carlos to the hospital as fast as possible. Tommy shakes her head as they make their way over, her eyebrows raised despite the concern clearly in her expression.

“Never a peaceful moment with you, Strand, is it?” she asks dryly, hissing as she inspects Carlos’s wound.

“In my defence, Cap,” he says, more at ease now that they’re safe, “it’s not me who’s injured this time.”

Tommy hums, then directs Carlos into the back of the rig, jumping in after him. “Get back here, TK. Nancy’s driving.”

She has a teasing look in her eyes that instantly makes TK suspicious, but he moves to comply, shrugging off his turnout coat as he does. The movement hurts, which is weird, but he thinks nothing of it.

At least, until Tommy’s eyes go wide and she stands from her seat, holding her hands out towards him. “TK, do not move,” she instructs, her eyes firmly fixed on his right side.

TK frowns, then follows her gaze down, and— Oh.

His grey undershirt is stained with blood, and it’s difficult to miss the large piece of metal sticking out of his side. He has no idea how he missed it, but now that he knows, the pain slams into him full force, causing him to stagger.

“Oh,” he gasps, eloquently.

Then, his legs buckle and the world goes black.

*

TK wakes up to a steady beeping sound, which only exacerbates his pounding headache. He groans, scrunching his face up, before slowly peeling his eyes open, almost slamming them shut again after getting an eyeful of obnoxiously bright fluorescents.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised, then the lights suddenly dim, the room lit by the gentle glow of a lamp. TK sighs in relief and shifts to look at his saviour.

It’s Carlos.

“You… You’re here,” TK states, confused. His gaze drifts down Carlos’s body and lands on the white bandages around his hand, the memories of the warehouse suddenly hitting him all at once. “Shit, you— How are you?”

Carlos shakes his head and comes to sit in the chair by TK’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re the one asking me that.”

“I’m a paramedic, it’s my job.”

“Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” Carlos counters, sighing. “If you must know, I’m fine. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so…” He shrugs, and TK can’t help but laugh, which proves to be a very bad idea.

His side lights up, an unnecessary reminder that TK is very much not on the good drugs, and he moans softly, slowly settling back in the bed. “I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

“You love me,” Carlos says, and TK’s heart seizes in his chest.

The silence after his words is deafening, so TK forces himself to crack his eyes open enough to look at him. Carlos is frozen in his chair, biting his lip hard, and he looks like he either wants to bolt or be swallowed by the earth.

TK thinks he should probably be feeling the same. They’ve been dancing around this issue for weeks now, and he’d thought he had it under control. That he could last that little bit longer until his one year was up; that he could ignore these feelings that have been steadily growing since he first laid eyes on Carlos.

It was a hopeless endeavour; he recognises that now. TK remembers the fear he felt when Carlos was injured back at the warehouse, the desperation for him to be better, and now with his own injury…

He could have lost this chance before he ever got it, and TK isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers now. He reaches out and takes Carlos’s good hand, startling him into meeting TK’s eyes.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, just loud enough for Carlos to hear him. “I think I do.”

The smile Carlos gives him lights up the room, and he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down to kiss TK. And it’s… It’s everything TK had hoped and imagined it would be and more. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and perfect, and he never wants it to end.

But end it does, though Carlos doesn’t go far. TK smiles at him, squeezing his hand with all the strength he can muster.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” he says.

Carlos frowns. “What?”

TK’s smile widens and he flicks his eyebrows at Carlos. “To dinner. Or were you not asking me out after all?”

Carlos huffs a laugh, and the look in his eyes when they lock back onto TK’s melts his heart and makes his entire chest ache. “Does Friday work for you?”

He nods, tugging Carlos down for another kiss. “It’s a date.”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Funny Little Ups and Downs

Summary: Loki is having a bad day. The love of his life is being sent away to marry some ridiculous Vanir prince, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Then her little sister shows up to give him a pep talk.

Word Count: 3,824

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Sound the alarms! Alert the media! Cozy wrote something happy! I actually wrote the majority of this over three months ago, then got stuck on the ending and forgot all about it until a few days ago. It’s inspired by “I Love Melvin,” a silly little musical from 1953 starring Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor that employs my favorite trope of all time: the main character’s little sibling bonding with the romantic interest. It’s fun, it’s cute, and I just had to write it. Consider it an apology for all the angst I’ve been throwing your way XD

Warnings: None

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Spring in Asgard was truly something to behold. The last dredges of winter melted into memory, leaving behind a crispness in the air and a radiance in the land as vibrant life bloomed across the planet. It was a kind of brilliance that one could hardly resist, and so it was no surprise that the palace gardens were alive with activity— novice warriors sparring in the field, strolling couples engaged in lively conversation, giggling children chasing each other through the labyrinth of brick and shrubbery.

It seemed the very universe was mocking him.

Loki held his head in his hands, huddled in a despondent heap at the edge of the garden bench. It was truly amazing how quickly the sweet spring air turned foul. The day had started with such promise, and now …

“Hi your Highness!” Loki jumped when the little girl plopped down next to him without a warning, crumbs spilling into her braids as she munched on a cookie.

He sighed. “Oh, hello Milla.” He couldn’t say he particularly cared for company at the moment, but he couldn’t find the energy to shoo her off.

Milla studied him, chewing intently. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course not!” Loki bristled. Was he now so pathetic that he was garnering the pity of a child? He huffed in indignation.

She patted his arm as if in consolation. “It’s okay to cry, Prince Loki. I cry all the time.”

Norns.

He swallowed the temptation to shove her away and abandon the bench, electing instead to change the subject. “Did Sigyn send you?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time she delegated her little sister to the position of messenger. Perhaps Milla was here with some kind of news, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding and Sigyn wasn’t getting married after all. But deep down, Loki knew that was nothing but wishful thinking. If that were the case, Sigyn would have come herself.

“No,” Milla said, dashing what little hope he had against the brick walkway. “I saw you leaving from my window. You looked sad.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Was Sigyn mean to you?”

It was such a childish question that Loki laughed, although there was no humor in the sound. Sigyn didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It was something of which he was in perpetual awe. It didn’t matter how badly her day had gone, how grievously she had been wronged—she always had a kind word or a sweet gesture and an eagerness to help. There was a grace about her, a grace that Loki had never seen from anyone else in court.

The way she had broke the news to him, pushing him into the hallway outside her apartment before he even had the chance to knock … it was cruel, but it wasn’t a cruelty she had chosen. He understood that at least.

Loki heaved another sigh. “It wasn’t her fault.”

For a moment, Milla was quiet. He turned away from her. It seemed he really was that pathetic.

“Sigyn got all upset after you left,” she finally said. “She went running upstairs and hid in her room. Now Daddy’s mad because Prince Sverrir is coming over and she’s not ready.” Sverrir. Loki dug his fingernails into his palms. Milla didn’t seem to notice his tension.

“Do you know Prince Sverrir?” she asked.

Loki grit his teeth. “I’ve met him.” It was astonishing how his opinion of the Vanir Crown Prince had changed from aloof indifference to outright hatred within a matter of words. Loki had known Sverrir since they were both children, when Vanaheim’s royal family had come to Asgard for a few weeks to celebrate the millennial anniversary of the end of the Aesir-Vanir War. He had found him to be tiresome as a boy, a trait that did not improve upon adulthood. Loki had avoided him when he could.

Sverrir had only become relevant to him within the last few years, when after one royal visit he began to express an interest in Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir. At this point, Sigyn and Loki had been seeing each other in secret for quite some time, and while a public courtship was still out of the question, Loki had no intention of allowing the foreign prince to pursue what he already called his own.

The court was appalled when it discovered that Sverrir had been hiring harlots and bringing them into his chambers—his guest chambers, the very rooms in which the Asgardian royal family had so kindly allowed him to stay! His insistence that he had never even interacted with the ladies of the night, let alone allowed one on to palace grounds, fell upon deaf ears and Sverrir was forced to return home to avoid further scandal. Loki remembered watching him cross the Bifrost, with his unnatural posture and his idiotic attempt at regality, certain that they’d seen the last of him.

But now here he was again, back with a few years distance and an ailing father, and suddenly every woman in Asgard was ready to fall at his feet. Which would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he decided upon the only woman who didn’t want him in return.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temples. Besides him, Milla prattled on.

“He’s very dull, isn’t he?” she was saying, brushing the cookie crumbs off the front of her dress. “The last time he came over he just sat in the parlor and talked about how much Sigyn would like Vanaheim. I don’t think she was all that interested. And he kept calling me Mina!” She scowled at the ground, as if Sverrir was there, sitting at her feet, before turning back to Loki. “I like you better. You’re nice to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yeah!” she grinned, tapping his shoulder enthusiastically. “You know my name, at least. And you gave me my good-luck charm!”

She pulled the charm out from under her top, fastened to her neck by thin strip of leather. It was nothing special, just a simple wooden carving of a cat’s head that he had whittled himself during his time serving as diplomat in Alfheim. He didn’t have near the talent for woodworking of the Elven carvers, but he was patient in his practice. By the end of the trip, he had spent hours upon hours working on the carving of a wolf’s head, Sigyn’s favorite animal, to give to her upon his return. Milla’s cat had been something of an afterthought. Still, he hadn’t been able to hide his smile at the way she squealed in delight when he presented it to her, and Sigyn had seemed more touched by the fact that he thought of her sister than at her own gift.

“Has it worked for you?” he asked.

“I think so,” Milla said, running her finger across the cat’s ear. “Good things happen when I wear it.”

Loki laughed bitterly. He could use a bit of that now. “Have good things happened today?”

She didn’t look up. “I’m still waiting to find out.”

A silence fell over the two of them, heavy and stiff. He wondered what Sigyn was doing, if she was still hiding in her room as her sister claimed. She had been waiting for him that morning, ready to push him out into the hall with shaking hands the moment he arrived at her doorstep. He knew immediately that she had been crying—if her swollen eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway, then the little hiccupping gasps that peppered her words certainly were.

“You can’t be here right now,” she had hissed. “If Father sees you, he’ll lose his mind!”

“What happened?”

“Sverrir made an offer for my hand. My father—Loki, he accepted.”

It had taken a moment for those words to sink in. When they had, he had demanded to speak with her father.

“Loki—”

“He can’t do this! He can’t sell you off like cattle—”

Only he could, and they both knew it.

“Prince Loki?” He turned away from his thoughts and back to Milla. She was looking up at him with wide eyes, her voice suddenly very small. “Is Sigyn going to marry Sverrir?”

Loki found he couldn’t answer. There was a threatening lump in the back of his throat, making him unwilling to trust his voice. Sigyn … she was always supposed to marry him. He had been sure of it from the moment he met her, back when they were taking their lessons together. He had pretended to trip when walking by her desk and spilled his potion all over the floor just to have an excuse to talk to her. Thor had rolled his eyes when he heard of it (“could you not just speak to her like a normal person?”), but Sigyn had laughed and offered to help him clean it up, just like the angel she was. And when class ended, he offered to walk her back to her apartment.

Sigyn had smiled, that shy little smile she seemed to reserve for only him. “I’d be honored, my prince.”

Loki was smitten.

And now he was heartbroken.

“You know she doesn’t want to marry him, right?” Milla asked, tugging at his sleeve. “She doesn’t even like him.”

Loki inhaled. “Marriage isn’t just about who you like.” Sigyn had explained this to him just now in the hallway. Her family may have been prestigious in her great-grandfather’s heyday, but a series of poor investments and bad choices had set them on a steady decline. Her marriage to Sverrir would secure their position permanently. Her father would condemn her to a life of loneliness to maintain their status. And Sigyn would accept it, because she was far too good a person to refuse. “You have to think about your future, and your family, and Sverrir is a prince—”

“But you’re a prince too!”

“I don’t have a throne.” Loki sighed. He had never been jealous of Thor’s position as Crown Prince, not really—kingship came with hundreds of little hinderances and headaches that Loki was perfectly content to live without. But if he could stand before Sigyn’s father, not as Odin’s forgotten son but as Asgard’s future ruler … well, he wouldn’t be having to stomach discussion about some Vanir prince, that was for sure.

Milla yanked on his sleeve even harder. “But Sigyn loves you.”                        

Loki’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“No.” She said. “But I know she does. She reads your poems every night before she goes to bed.”

He flushed crimson. “Does she?” Oh, those poems. He had never considered himself to be much of a poet, but there was a soft sense of familiarity in words that he had never found anywhere else. And Sigyn … how could one not write about Sigyn?

He never had the courage to read them to her in person, silly, romantic things that they were. Instead he kept to leaving them hidden in spots where only she would find them—wrapped up in her napkin at dinner, buried in her bag at the healing ward, slipped into her dress pocket as they danced. She never said anything about them to him, but he lived for the way she’d squeeze his hand after he passed one to her.

Milla nodded, grinning. “She has them all in a little book, and she keeps it under her pillow.” Loki smiled too at the image, just for a moment, but then reality came crashing back down. She could hold on to as many poems as he could write—it still wouldn’t change anything. He buried his face in his hands once more.

He felt another tug at his sleeve, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with a creased brow. “You love her too, don’t you?” Milla asked. “That’s why you’re so upset.”

Loki huffed. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! It has too!” she insisted, shaking his arm. “You can make it matter.”

“Make it matter?” Suddenly, looking at her there, with her braids and her “good luck” charms and her childish hope was too much to bear. “What would you have me do?” he snapped. “Kidnap your sister?”

Milla flinched. “No … But—”

“There isn’t any ‘but.’ Your father will never allow her to settle for me when there’s a superior option. My father will never care enough to intervene on my behalf.” Norns knew he had tried. But Odin had nothing to gain from a marriage between Loki and Sigyn, and if Odin had nothing to gain, he saw no reason to act. “It’s useless to pretend otherwise. Now are you just going to sit here and bother me all day or do you have somewhere else to be?”

She gulped, abandoning her place besides him on the bench. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I’ll go.” Loki watched her slink off back towards the palace, head down like a whipped pup. Somehow, he felt even worse.

…

Dinner was miserable.

Loki picked at his food out of a sense of courtesy, with no real appetite to be found. How could he eat, when four seats to his right Sverrir was regaling his audience with descriptions of his perfect bride-to-be? The prince hadn’t yet mentioned Sigyn by name, but he didn’t have to. Loki could see the way his gaze lingered on her table as he described her “perfect form.”

It made him sick.

He had still barely touched his meal by the time many of the merrymakers had moved to the dance floor. Sverrir had gone, too—Loki watched him practically slither across the room to Sigyn’s side to ask her for a dance, watched Sigyn’s nearly imperceptible nod in assent. Now, they commanded the whole of the floor, gliding through the steps as flawlessly as a couple could, Sverrir grinning ear to ear and Sigyn the epitome of quiet repose.

Loki wished he could return to his rooms. He didn’t want to sit there, watching his heart spin and twirl in the hands of another man. But he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from her. Her sea-blue skirt matched Sverrir’s cape as it twisted about her, giving her the appearance of some sort of oceanic goddess. He wanted to hate the color, but of course it was beautiful on her. Everything was beautiful on her.

“Prince Loki!”

He was startled out of his despondent silence by the child shrieking his name. Loki barely had the chance to turn around before Milla was upon him, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull him to his feet.

He frowned. “What are you doing up here?”

“Come on!” She yanked at his cape. “You have to dance with Sigyn.”

Wary of making a scene, and too flustered to push her away, Loki stood. “Milla, I—”

“You have to,” she insisted, giving him a push towards the dance floor. “Go! Dance with her!”

He stumbled forward, but the little girl kept corralling him down the podium stairs, towards Sigyn and her aggravating prince.

“Milla!” he hissed. “Can’t you see she’s already dancing with someone?”

“Who cares?” she hissed back, shoving him again. “Dance with her!”

And so Loki made his way down to the dance floor, cheeks burning, holding himself with as much dignity as one could after a literal child herded them like a sheep away from their meal. Luckily, few in the the ballroom seemed to be paying him any mind.

One of the positives of being the forgotten son, he supposed.

Sverrir and Sigyn were in the middle of the floor, still wrapped up in the music. At least, Sverrir was. Sigyn was holding herself as if someone had strapped a wooden board down her back. He couldn’t remember a time where he had seen her so tense. The sight made Loki stiffen.

With a sudden burst of confidence, he tapped on the Vanir prince’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, not bothering to hide the tightness in his voice. “Would you mind if I cut in?”

Sverrir started. “Oh. Uh—” he glanced back at Sigyn. “Do you mind, darling?”

She shook her head, features still perfectly neutral. Only then did Loki notice that, while she was wearing blue, the ribbons weaved through her braids were emerald green.

“Oh!” Sverrir seemed surprised, but quickly shook it off. “Well, then, of course not!” He stepped aside, making a grand gesture towards Sigyn as Loki took his place in her arms with a rigid nod.

For a moment, they only stared at each other, slowly swaying to the notes of the waltz in silence. Sigyn looked away first, turning to watch her feet on floor as if she were a girl in pigtails still learning to dance.

Loki swallowed the desert on his tongue. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she murmured. When she looked up again, her eyes were glossy, her features twisted in an attempt to hold back the tears. “Loki—I’m sorry.”

There was a lump in the back of his throat. He wished he could hold her to his chest, cup her cheek and promise her that everything was fine. Instead, he only shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just …” She inhaled. “I wish things were different.”

Don’t we both?

“Is he kind to you at least?” he asked. He would at least be able to rest easier knowing that Sigyn was well cared for, and as irritating as Sverrir was, Loki had never seen anything to suggest that he was cruel. Although … he almost wished Sverrir was a beast of a man—horrible, vicious, barbarous— just so he could have another reason to despise him.

Sigyn shrugged. “He talks a lot.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Absolutely nothing!” she cried. “I’ve never heard of a man who could go on so long without a single thing to say. It makes my head ache.” Sigyn sighed. “But Father finds him interesting.”

Loki scoffed. “Your father would be fascinated by grass growing.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

They danced in silence for a while longer. He liked the silence—the soft, soothing movement was almost enough to make him forget why this night was different from every other he had spent dancing with her. But soon enough, the song came to an end, and he made ready to bid her farewell.

A familiar voice cleared his throat, rasping across the hall. The hum of conversation stopped as everyone turned to face the royal podium, where Prince Sverrir stood, smiling over the masses.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention!” he called. “I would like to make an announcement.”

“Here we go,” whispered Sigyn. She reached out to grasp Loki’s hand.

When the crowd thronged around the podium had appeared to reach a size to his liking, Sverrir continued.

“As many of you know,” he said. “My father’s health has been failing for the past several months, and he has voiced that it is his greatest wish to see me married before he passes. Therefore, I am overjoyed to announce my engagement to one of your very own Asgardian ladies—” He stretched his hand out towards Sigyn, grinning widely as the rest of the nobles whipped around to follow his gaze. “The lovely Lady Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir!”

The ballroom erupted into applause. Sigyn sighed, but quickly masked it with a gracious smile, letting go of Loki’s hand in order to make her way to the podium.

To her fiancé.

Loki didn’t even think. When he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his side, he was acting off pure instinct.

“That’s impossible!” he cried to the crowd, to Sverrir. “Completely impossible, your Highness. She can’t marry you.”

The applause fizzled out as quickly as it begun. Confused whispers began skating through the onlookers.

“Loki!” Sigyn hissed. “What are you doing?”

Above them all, Sverrir frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Prince Loki,” he said. “Lord Yngvarr had given me his permission, and Lady Sigyn has accepted. Why can I not marry her?”

Loki didn’t blink. “Because she’s already married to me.”

The crowd exploded into outraged gasps.

Besides him, a wicked grin was blooming across Sigyn’s face.

Sverrir seemed to have been rendered incapable of response. He stood stuttering on the podium, any words he did manage drowned out by the commotion of the entire court processing what was turning out to be even more of a scandal than the last time the Vanir prince came to visit.

Until finally one voice cut through the chaos.

“Liar!” yelled Yngvarr, pushing his way through the crowd. “My daughter would not betray her family in such a manner.” He turned back to Sverrir, fuming. “Your Highness, I’m afraid Prince Loki seems to be playing a prank, and a decidedly unfunny one at that, at the expense of my daughter’s reputation.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest his offense, but before he could find the words, yet another voice joined the foray of madness.

“It’s not a prank, Daddy!” Milla grinned, materializing seemingly out of thin air to pull at her father’s sleeve. “It’s real! I heard them talking about it a week ago.”

Yngvarr whipped around so quickly that one of his whiskers caught on his shoulder plate. “What?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Prince Loki came through the window! They were talking about how they were going to get married as soon as possible, because they love each other so much and they’re soulmates and … and …” she trailed off, seeming to only just be realizing that every pair of eyes in the ballroom was on her.

“And what?” snapped Yngvarr.

Sigyn stepped forward. “And I’m pregnant!”

The roar was deafening.

She turned back towards Loki with a smirk. He could only gape at her.

“What?” she asked. “Did you think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Loki didn’t bother trying to find words. He just planted his lips on to hers. “I love you,” he whispered when he pulled away. He had never meant anything more in his life.

She laughed. “What now?”

“Well,” he said, grinning as he offered her his arm. “It seems we have to get married. After that—” he stopped abruptly. There was something in his pocket, something that he knew hadn’t been there before, bulky and solid. Frowning, he pulled it out to find the rough carving of a cat’s head tied to a loop of worn leather.

He looked up again in confusion. His eyes landed on Milla, beaming at him from across the room. She winked.

Good things happen when I wear it.

Loki smiled, slipping the charm back into his pocket. Next to him, Sigyn tugged at his arm.

“After that?” she repeated.

“After that?” he shrugged, smirking. “We improvise.”

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Happiness Continues

Part 11: The Delivery

Summary: Jensen and Y/n welcome their newest addition to this world.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 7.2K+

Warnings: Language, angst, descriptions of labor and birth

Author’s Note: Baby Ackles is finally ready to make their first appearance. If you have been following this story since the beginning, you may want to grab a tissue, there just might be some tears (happy tears tho). Also, I will preface this chapter by saying I have never been pregnant nor given birth so please don’t @ me with any inaccuracies, I tried my dudes. Special thanks to my loves for the constant undeserved support and my devoted beta @emoryhemsworth​ xoxo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

The winter sun had long ago dipped underneath the horizon, the night bringing a new level of quiet to the residential corner where the birthing center was located. Inside birthing suite two, the only soft light came from the LED strips that followed the length of the walls at the base and ceiling. Currently, they were tuned low and blue, the light mixing with the neutral decor in a way that made her feel like she was underwater. 

Curled on her side in the queen-sized bed, Y/n watched out the window on the opposite wall. Through the sheer curtain, the center’s garden could be visualized. It expanded a few hundred yards until the treeline of the nearby forest began. In silence, she watched the water trickle from the stone fountain in the center. It had been turned off for the season, but the rain that had fallen earlier in the evening still clung to the piece, each drop falling in a slow rhythmic pattern. 

Y/n found it more soothing than what the fountain had looked like last summer when they had first toured the place. She assumed if she was laboring in spring or summer, walking the trails in the garden would be something she found herself doing, even late in the evening as it was currently. But that was a dream she had let go of as the temperature dropped. All she had now was the counting of each drop in between contractions. 

The instinct to hold her breath took over as the next contraction washed over her, the sharp inhale of breath alerting the dozing man next to her. Y/n closed her eyes and focused on taking deep breaths, trying to ground herself to the moment. Fingers pressed into her lower back, one on either side of her spine, applying counter-pressure to the contraction. 

“Harder,” her word was weak, even in the quiet room. The pressure increased instantly, helping her to focus back on breathing through the contraction. It felt like a lifetime later when the pain began to subside before eventually tapering off. The sheets shuffled in the dark behind her before she felt an arm wrap around her abdomen. 

“Where are you at?” Jensen’s voice broke into the room as he pulled her tight against his chest. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her gaze back on the fountain outside. “Trying to be anywhere but here.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“Birth our child?” she tried, unable to stop the smile from creeping up on her face. If there was one thing Y/n didn’t handle well, it was being in pain. She would put back up every wall that anyone had become successful in tearing down, choosing to stew in silence. It was a defense mechanism she had perfected long ago. Never let them see you sweat. Unfortunately, that also meant that she tended to get mean, keeping it all bottled up until she exploded like a shaken can of soda. She truly wished right then that she had a catheter in her back delivering the good meds to her lower body, but she had committed long ago to do this as naturally as possible, her comfort be damned. 

“As soon as they figure out how to do that, I’ve got you, babe,” Jensen chuckled behind her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck. She nodded in unfortunate understanding, her hand coming to rest atop her husband’s where it lay on her belly. 

“Actually, could you top off my water bottle?” Y/n spoke back up after a moment of content silence. 

“Of course. Ice?” He questioned, already climbing from the bed to grab her bottle on the nightstand near her. 

“Please,” she confirmed.

“Be back in a flash,” Jensen pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before leaving the room to get ice from the main kitchen in the birthing center. A sigh left her mouth as she pulled herself into a semi-sitting position on the bed and grabbed her phone from where it lay charging. There was a mix of messages in her notifications, all from friends and family with varying messages of encouragement. She appreciated the gesture but to be honest, what Y/n wanted more than anything was to not have all the attention on her. It was yet another symptom of being uncomfortable. Her solace lay in the simple fact that she was not expected to answer any of the messages she received, considering she was in labor and all. Forgetting why she even grabbed the device in the first place, Y/n noted the time and tossed it back on the nightstand. 

It was officially after midnight. Well, technically it was almost twelve-thirty which meant it was Jensen’s birthday. Y/n had found it funny when he had called his mother earlier to let her know that the baby was coming, Jensen had made his stupid joke only to have his face fall when Donna had laughed a little too hard. Her husband was caught up thinking about his mother and teasing the older woman that it didn’t even cross his brain what Y/n going to labor meant for him. Now, as she found herself nearly seven centimeters dilated as the clock turned into the new day, it seemed their baby would share its birthday with their father. 

Jensen came back then, breaking her out of her thoughts but unable to knock the warm smile from her face. He walked around to her side and perched on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under him as he faced her. Y/n took a drink of the cool liquid, relishing in the calm it brought her. 

“What is that smile about?” He had an equally bright smile of his own, unable to contain it as he watched his wife. 

“Nothing just… happy birthday,” the pregnant woman shrugged in her seat, her eyes casting down to wear her hands now cradled her bump. 

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed, his heart feeling so whole when he thought about it that it felt as though it might burst from his ribcage. There was so much love for the woman in front of him, he didn’t know what to do with it. It scared him sometimes. It didn’t matter what was happening at the moment, but he could look at her and he would forget for a second that the world existed outside them and all he knew was that she made everything okay. His heart would skip a beat so fast he barely noticed and the urge to cry became overwhelming. Only this time, he refused to fight it, allowing a few tears to well up in his eyes. 

“What’s this about?” Y/n sat up, concern now etched into her features as she brought herself close enough to her husband that she could wipe away the single tear that had escaped down his cheek with her thumb. She had caught sight of it, of course, even in the low light of the room. In the few silent seconds that he sat there smiling, she felt warm under his stoic gaze, unsure of what was going on in that head of his. Jensen shook his head, his smile still not faltering. 

“I love you,” he said simply. 

“I love you, too,” Y/n agreed, her concern melting away and taking with it the crease in her brow. Her husband cradled her face in his hands, pulling her face up to press his lips to hers. He poured every emotion that was currently making him dizzy into that kiss, afraid that if he didn’t, she would never know. But she did know, and though Y/n didn’t need more than those three words, she couldn’t deny him the release he so evidently needed. The desperation seeped from his every pore as his lips brushed against hers, unwilling to part until the need for air overtook everything else. 

A gentle knock on the door snapped his brain back down to Earth. Jensen released his hold on her face, watching as it took her a second longer to open her eyes once they parted. He cleared his throat before calling out.

“Come in.”

Their midwife, Melek, snuck into the room, not making a sound as she closed the door behind her. She turned the lights up just a touch, giving the couple a warning beforehand. 

“Hey, I’m just back to check your progress,” she snatched a pair of gloves from their place in one of the drawers and came to the side of the bed Jensen was still perched on. He moved out of her way as Y/n scooted down the bed slightly. Melek asked Y/n how she was feeling as she went about her work. The midwife listened and nodded along to everything she explained. 

“Well, we are getting very close. Based on how you’ve progressed so far, this baby could be here in the next couple of hours. You are going to start feeling the urge to push soon, might feel like you have to poop, don’t ignore that or any other changes you notice.” Melek stood from the bed and tossed her gloves before washing her hands. She made a note on the whiteboard in the room before coming back over to the couple. 

“You are welcome to continue relaxing, whatever feels best. However, if you feel up to it, I would suggest taking a walk in the garden. I know it’s cold and late, but it will help to energize you before the big work starts.”

“Thank you. Is that safe?” Y/n was adjusting her nightgown back into place as she talked. 

“Yes, if you choose to take a walk, I would go now. No longer than twenty minutes outside and I will be back in another hour,” Their midwife confirmed. The couple nodded in acknowledgment of her words, offering her more words of ‘thanks’ as she exited the suite. 

“Well, what do you think, momma?” Jensen put his hands on his hips as he looked down at her. 

“Couldn’t hurt,” Y/n shrugged. She offered him an innocent smile. “Help me put on my shoes?” 

“Deal.”

****

A low groan emanated from her chest as she battled through her current contraction. Her hands were locked around Jensen’s neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. The actor was rocking her back and forth, once again applying counterpressure to her lower back.

“Oh god, I feel nauseous,” Y/n breathed out as the contraction subsided. She let up on the weight she had been putting on her husband.

“That’s normal though, right?”

“Yeah, I was just venting,” she let the air out of her lungs rush past her lips. “I don’t expect you to do anything about it.” Her words were clipped as they tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. The laboring woman cringed as she felt her husband stiffen underneath her. The soda had popped. Her movements were hesitant as she raised her head to look at him, regret written across her face. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay, you are allowed to do whatever you want to me today.” The smile that graced his lips was tight, but she suspected it was more from the exhaustion than anything. She could see the heaviness in his eyes. 

“No, it’s not. Come on, yell at me. Tell me you don’t need that shit because you were just trying to be helpful,” she pleaded with him, the guilt heavy in her chest. 

“You want me to pick a fight with you while you are in labor?” Amusement was heavy in his words. 

“Yeah, please? I deserve it. You are being far too nice to me.”

“It’s not happening. Sorry, babe.” Y/n growled in frustration, causing her husband to throw his head back and laugh. 

The sound of yet another knock had her releasing her grip on her husband as she called the midwife in. It was time for the hourly check of her labor progression, a task that Y/n had grown a distinct distaste for. As the hours came and went and it felt like nothing was happening, it all just felt pointless. At this point, she was begging this kid to come out. 

Melek made quick work of the check, a smile on her face after when she pulled off her gloves. “Seems as though it’s time, momma. You are fully dilated. How are you feeling?” 

“Uh,” Y/n shared a look with her husband as their midwife headed over to the tub on the opposite side of the room and started the water. She gave a quick synopsis of what had happened in the last hour before asking, “Are we pushing now?” 

“We can start. Sounds like you’ve already had some urges to. Right now it’s about listening to your body and what it’s telling you. I’m going to grab the nurse while you get in the water.” Melek left the water running and the couple dumbstruck. 

“Okay, I guess this is happening,” Y/n scoffed, allowing her husband to help her from the bed. He stripped down to his boxer briefs while she slipped off the gown she was wearing, leaving her as naked as the day she was born. Jensen helped her into the tub and down to sit between his legs. As the water reached its max level, he stopped the tap and urged her to sit back against his chest. 

True to her word, Melek was back in no time with a nurse and everything else they would need. They flourished around the room, getting ready as yet another contraction hit. Y/n’s grip on her husband tightened, her mind focused on one thing now. Jensen was whispering in her ear, helping to guide her breaths. Y/n gave in to the urge to push, more than ready now to have this over with. The pattern was quick and repeated itself again, and then again, and again. 

The time clicked away on the clock on the far wall, each passing minute mocking the laboring woman as it turned over the hour. If she had thought she was exhausted before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. Sweat dripped from her forehead, small tendrils of hair that had fallen from the bun on top of her head stuck to her flushed skin. She dropped her head onto her husband’s shoulder, soft pants passing her lips as she tried to relax before the next contraction hit. 

Only it didn’t take long, the pain returning before she even had time to think. The contraction had her doubling in on herself, concentrating on bearing down. Her scream originated low in her chest, the sound of it low as it echoed out in the room. Y/n knew that Melek was coaching her, but she couldn’t hear the words anymore, her body too far spent. 

“I can’t,” As the contraction dissipated, she threw her head back and hid her face in the crook of Jensen’s neck. 

“You can, Y/n. Your body was made to do this,” Melek encouraged, a hand on the poor woman’s shoulder. Y/n swatted it away as she let out another sob. 

“No, I can’t. I’m too tired,” her shoulders shook as she let it all out. Jensen turned and placed a kiss on her temple. 

“Honey, if anyone can do this it’s you,” he whispered in her ear. “I know you’re tired and that means you are ready to quit, but you can’t, not yet. Just think about holding our baby in your arms, you are so close.” 

Another sob shook through her as she indicated her disagreement with his words. She wanted to believe him, she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt but Y/n had never felt so defeated in her life. This was finally it and she couldn’t do it. 

“Look at me, Y/n.” He waited for her eyes to open and focus on him. “You can and you will. I’m right here, I’ve got you. You are gonna push this baby out and we are gonna love it so much all this will be a distant memory. Nothing else will matter but the life we created.” 

“You drive a hard bargain,” she hiccuped out with a laugh. Jensen chuckled along with her, offering another kiss to her temple. They nodded at each other, silent words being passed between them just before the next contraction hit. This time she put all her energy behind it, refusing now to be defeated. It was far from easy, but only she could do it now. 

She couldn’t be sure how many contractions later it happened, the only thing she was sure of was the instant relief that washed over her body. Her eyes snapped open as Melek pulled her gook covered baby from the warm water of the tub, holding up its long body so both her and Jensen could see. 

“It’s a boy!” Melek announced, placing the infant against Y/n’s bare chest. It all happened in a second and Y/n was holding her son in her arms. Jensen was peppering her face with kisses and muttering soft praises, his arms wrapped around her and helping the nurse wipe the baby clean. More sobs racked her body as soft cries came from the tiny body in her arms. Everything felt like too much like her whole being was vibrating on some new frequency she didn’t yet understand. It was invigorating and terrifying at the same time. 

“I told you!” Y/n turned to look at her husband, the sobs that had been shaking through her now intermixed with soft laughter.

“Yeah, you did, babe. I’ll promise to never question you again,” the smile on his face grew as soon as he realized what she was talking about. The giggles coming from his wife seemed to seep into him and soon he was laughing along with her. 

Y/n feigned a scoff, chuckles still seeping past her lips and a beautiful smile on her lips. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ackles.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

****

It took a while before anyone was able to pry her son from her arms and even then, she refused to give up to anyone besides Jensen. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the nurse or midwife, she just felt that if she gave him up, the feeling in her chest would go with him. Only the soft voice of her husband was able to coax her out of the bubble she had wrapped herself into. Reluctantly, she handed the infant off to her husband who passed him on to be weighed and measured. 

The nurse was then able to help her out of the tub and into the shower, washing away the remnants of her son’s birth from her body. In that short amount of time, she ached to hold her son again. Her mind couldn’t focus on anything besides him, and it pissed her off. She didn’t feel in control of herself, consumed by the maternal instincts now flooding her neurons. 

When she emerged from the bathroom, Jensen was propped up against the headboard, his legs casually crossed at the ankle in front of him. Discarded still at the foot of the bed was his shirt he had peeled away before they had gotten into the tub, but he had slipped his Nike joggers back on his tall frame. His large hands dwarfed their son, who was only in a diaper, where Jensen held him against his chest. The couple shared a smile before she made her way over to him, climbing gingerly into the bed next to her husband and son. Y/n curled herself into his side as the nurse left them to be alone. 

“Nine pounds and seven ounces, twenty-one inches long,” Jensen smirked down at the sleeping infant. Y/n choked out a breath, her jaw dropping open in the process. 

“Jesus, I’m never gonna be the same,” she blew out a breath. The tired woman laid her head against her husband’s shoulder, her eyes never leaving her sleeping child. She could feel her husband shaking softly with laughter. Mostly, she was just as amused as him, but on the other hand, she wasn’t kidding. 

As she settled into her spot, their son began to stir, his face scrunching into a frown. Jensen moved quickly, pulling the kid away and offering him to his mother. 

“What, the first time he even indicates he might cry and you immediately hand him over to me?” Y/n leans away from her husband, a confused frown etched into her features. 

“Uh, yeah, I don’t have the goods,” the Texan flicked his eyes down at her chest before looking back at her face. He had one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. 

“Okay, how do you even know he’s hungry? Maybe he needs to be changed?” 

“He’s fresh out of the womb and hasn’t eaten anything, you do the math,” Jensen held him out again. Y/n rolled her eyes for effect when the truth was she couldn’t wait to get her hands on that baby again. 

“Well go get the midwife, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Y/n tilted her head towards the door. She had one hand cradling the infant and her other was working to pull her gown away from her chest. 

“Right,” he bounded from the bed, grabbing his shirt as he went and pulling it over his head. The door barely had time to shut behind him before he was returning, Melek in tow. The midwife was more than helpful, guiding Y/n and her baby through their first feeding. It took them a few tries before it seemed like they finally got the hang of it. Melek left them again to the peace of the early morning. 

The sun had yet to breach the horizon but that didn’t stop the birds from putting on a show outside. Jensen had climbed back into bed with his family, situating himself as close as possible to his wife. It gave him the best vantage to watch the miracle they had created. He rested his hand on the baby’s head, rubbing his thumb across the infant’s hair. 

Y/n didn’t even bother averting her gaze as her husband nestled into her side. She was far too transfixed on her son. Every emotion felt magnified a thousand times since she gave birth, to the point where she felt like she might burst. It was hard to sort through them, the exhaustion of her body not helping at all. Now, as she stared down at the precious life she and Jensen had created, the only thing she felt was calm. His eyes were closed as he fed, the soft gurgles and breaths he let out the only noise in the suite. 

“He’s perfect,” she mumbled to no one in particular, she just felt it needed to be said. 

“He really is,” Jensen agreed. “I had no doubt, which is why I got you this.” Y/n tore her eyes away then as Jensen procured a long velvet case from behind him. He offered the object to Y/n who took it with her free hand. 

“What is this? It’s your birthday today, not mine,” she tried arguing.

“Just open it, you dork. Besides, you’ve already given me the best gift I could ever have,” Jensen urged her to open it. His eagerness washed off him as he smiled at her, his hand back on his son’s head. 

Being careful to not jostle the child eating in her arms, Y/n used both hands to flip open the case. Laying against a dark cushion inside was a gold bracelet with a row of seven round stones in the center. She caught the card that was placed inside when it tried to fall away, reading the small paragraph. 

‘Customised with seven beautifully crafted semi-precious stones amidst a string of shimmering beads. Each stone is traditionally associated with various characteristics that also typify those born in that particular month – The March birthstone is Aquamarine, which has a pale blue appearance and symbolizes honesty, loyalty, and happiness.’

The tears fell from her eyes as she read, threatening to turn into full-blown sobs. Y/n sniffed as her emotions continued to get the better of her, using the end of the blanket to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. Happiness. There wasn’t anything she could think of better to describe how she was feeling. It was indescribable happiness that had begun on that New Year’s Eve two years ago and continues through the life she now held in her arms. It was happiness she feared she would never get to experience, and yet, here she was. 

“Jay, this is beautiful. But how-”

“I ordered one for February too, can’t be too careful,” he answered before she could ask, earning a giggle from his wife. “You really like it?” 

“Honey, I love it. I can’t imagine a more perfect gift.”

“Here,” Jensen pushed away from the headboard and offered his hand to take the case from her. She handed it back to him, allowing him to take the delicate bracelet from its setting. He urged her to raise her arm, making quick work of clasping the piece of jewelry around her right wrist. “There, perfect.”

“Perfect,” she agreed. 

****

The midwife cleared Y/n and the baby to go home just before noon that day. They had spent less than twenty-four hours in the birthing center, but as she dressed her son to go home she couldn’t help but feel like she was going to miss it. That stupid little room now held so much meaning to her, and she hated it. The exhaustion and hormones were making her stupidly sentimental. 

As they turned into their driveway, Jensen was forced to pull their SUV into the yard since the entirety of their driveway was filled with cars. He hopped out of the driver’s seat to help Y/n from the car before grabbing the car seat with their son inside. Her husband allowed her to waddle along in front of him, a smirk on his lips when she looked over her shoulder before opening the gate to their home. 

Across the stone courtyard, she could see their family all huddled in front of the expansive window that saw into their living room. Everyone waved excitedly as the new family made their way towards the house. Y/n took in the faces of her and Jensen’s parents, along with her brothers and their families. Jensen’s siblings were too far out to make it right now, but even still Y/n was surprised to see her brothers. Donna and Alan had come down as soon as they called to let them know Y/n was in labor, staying in their guestroom for the coming week to help the new parents adjust. She expected her parents too, even though they couldn’t stay longer than the night, rooming in Jared’s guesthouse and leaving in the morning. But yeah, her brothers were a surprise. 

The family was greeted and the door, an array of excited faces welcoming them home. Someone had hung a ‘congratulations’ banner, with a matching ‘happy birthday’ one just below it. Everyone wrapped the new mother up in a tight embrace before passing her along to the next family member while the kids swarmed Jensen and the baby. It took quite some convincing from the parents to quiet down the little ones, all excited to meet their new cousin and forgetting that they needed to chill out as he was sleeping currently. 

“Alright,” Jared’s voice broke above the commotion of multiple conversations. “As the godfather and the whole reason this child even exists, I call dibs on holding him first!” He looked to his sister, his brows high on his forehead as he waited for her answer. 

“You all are going to get a turn, I don’t care who goes first. But stop saying you are the reason he exists, it’s weird… ” She waved him on before adding, “and don’t forget the sanitizer.”

Jensen lifted the car seat to the island as Jared bounced over to him. He literally was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his sister rolling her eyes as she followed behind him. The giant of a man moved delicately as he pulled the sleeping infant from the car seat. If she had thought her son looked small in her husband’s arms, it had nothing on how he looked compared to Jared. He took the newborn over to sit on the couch, all the cousin’s swarming him in no time. 

“You need anything?” Jensen put his hand on her lower back to bring her attention from their family to him. 

“A water?” She suggested as she looked over to him, knowing she would need it sooner rather than later. He nodded and turned to grab a water bottle for her. A soft ‘oh’ had her turning her head back towards her husband. Jensen stepped out of the way to show her their freezer full of Tupperware of different foods. 

“We all made a few things for the freezer. I know Donna is staying with you for a little while, but once she is gone, you’ll thank me,” Y/n’s mother appeared next to her. 

“Thanks, mom,” Once again she found herself fighting back the tears as she pulled her mother into a tight embrace. Sharon ran her hands up and down her daughter’s back as the younger woman refused to let go. Half of it was not wanting to let go, the other half was hiding her tears in the black sweater her mother wore. When she finally relented, Jensen was standing there with a tissue. He offered it to his wife who took it with a sheepish smile before he also hugged his mother-in-law. 

The group in the kitchen returned to the living room where the rest of the family was, fussing over the baby. Jensen sat down in his chair near the fireplace that was angled to where the rest of the family was on or near the couch. He grabbed his wife’s wrist and pulled down along with him, situating her into his lap. The new mother fidgeted in her seat, struggling to get comfortable. 

“Would you stop that?” Jensen’s voice was low in her ear as he squeezed her legs in a vain attempt to hold her still. 

“I-,” She shifted again with a soft sigh before turning to whisper in his ear. “I’m very sore down there, and your legs are not the most comfortable right now.” His lips formed a thin line as he nodded. Before she could say anything else, he lifted and moved them both so she was situated in between him and the side of the chair, effectively taking the pressure off of her sensitive area. 

“Better?” 

“God yes,” she huffed before snuggling into his side. The couple watched content as their family traded their son around. The looks of amazement from the kids and the near tears from the adults filled her heart more than she imagined it could have ever been before. Just when she thought it was full, it somehow found room for more love and happiness. 

“So, have you two decided on a name yet?” Sharon spoke up as he was passed to her. The older woman was gently bouncing on her feet, her husband peering over her shoulder. 

The new parents shared a look, unsure which of them should answer the question to the information they had filled out in his birth certificate just before leaving for home. Everyone had been asking since they got the news he was officially here, though the couple didn’t have an answer as they struggled to come up with something. Jensen tilted his head to her, signaling that she should answer. 

“Yes, after an agonizing two hours of staring at him and willing him to tell us what his name should be, we finally picked one,” Y/n explained, her husband chuckling next to her at the memory of her talking to him as he slept. “His name is Ezra Jay Ackles.” 

There were murmured compliments and agreements that the name more than fit the little bundle of joy they had just welcomed into their family. Sharon passed Ezra on to his other grandmother, the woman giddy as she took over baby holding duty. Ezra had woken up by now, his dark eyes searching and unsure of the commotion around him, but he had yet to fuss. 

“Did you go with Jay because he looks just like Jensen?” she questioned, not taking her eyes off the infant in her arms. 

“Ugh don’t remind me,” Y/n huffed, her face scrunched up at her mother-in-law’s words. 

“Hey, I thought you liked the way I looked,” Jensen pouted next to her, but she could see the twinkle in his eye. 

“That’s not the point. It would be just my luck that I carried him for nine months, was in labor for over eighteen hours while also needing to feed him every two hours, for him to look just like his dad. Where’s the justice in that?” Y/n frowned as her family laughed at her confession. 

“Welcome to my world,” Gen piped up. “All of them, little clones of their dad.” The Padalecki women all nodded in agreement to that sentiment, much to the annoyance of their husbands. 

“Hey, the Padalecki genes are strong, we can’t help it,” Jared protested, making Jensen throw his head back in laughter. 

“If that’s true then I guess the Ackles genes are even stronger,” the new father countered, earning a shove from his wife. 

“Alright you two, put the rulers away,” her joke got the rest of the room cackling at the boys’ expense. That satisfied the woman more than she would ever admit. 

Not long after the reveal of their baby’s name, the family began to pack things up and head out. It had been a busy and tiring twenty-four hours for the new little family, and their loved ones headed out to give them some peace. Once everyone was gone, Alan offered to go to the store and grab something to whip up for dinner, leaving just Donna with the new parents. 

“Y/n, honey, why don’t you go lay down. I know you haven’t really slept since yesterday,” Donna piped up, noting how the woman’s eyes were getting heavy. She was curled up on the couch next to her husband who was holding their son once again. Donna was picking up the mess left by the family. 

“Mmm that sounds good but he will have to feed soon, I should just stay here,” Y/n answered with a hum. She couldn’t deny, a nap sounded wonderful but everything was about Ezra and his needs now. 

“Couldn’t we just give him a bottle?” Jensen asked, earning a shake of the head from both of the women in the room. 

“No, if you guys are committed to breastfeeding, she’s got to get her milk supply in and the best way to do that is for him to feed. Also, there is nipple confusion,” Donna stated matter of fact with Y/n nodding along the whole time. 

“Nipple confusion?” Jensen looked to his wife, confusion written all over his face. The term sounded familiar to the actor, but he couldn’t for the life of him come up with a definition. 

“It means that Ezra could get confused between the bottle and the breast, and the concern is that he would prefer the bottle,” Y/n explained, her hand absentmindedly running along her son’s cheek.

Jensen nodded in understanding and shrugged, “Not if he’s my son.” 

The new mother reared back in confusion. “Why?” was the only thing Y/n could say after she and Donna looked at him with equal disgust and disappointment. Jensen grimaced under their looks before she continued. “Your mother is in the room.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mom, I don’t know why I said it,” the look of shame on his face morphed into fear as he prepared for a scolding, but that moment never came. Instead, Donna stood and walked over to where they were seated. 

“Alright, give me the kid,” the older Mrs. Ackles reached out for her grandson. Jensen gave him up without question. “Both of you need to sleep. Don’t worry, I will come and get you if he gets hungry.” 

“It’s best not to argue with her when she makes that face,” Jensen muttered under his breath, but not so quiet that his mother didn’t hear him. She raised her brow at him, an action that was remarkably similar to the one Jensen often emulated. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Y/n agreed, allowing her husband to help her to her feet. Jensen gave his mom a quick peck on the cheek in passing as he pulled his wife along with him to their bedroom. 

Inside the curtains were still drawn from when they had left yesterday, only a small sliver of light peeking into the room from its edges. Neither of them bothered with changing, knowing it was too much work for now. Instead, Jensen just turned down the bed, allowing them to slip under the cool covers. He settled into the pillows, lifting his arm to invite her back to his side. Of course, she obliged, snuggling into his chest with one hand placed where she could feel the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips. 

Jensen wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting against her arm, rubbing soft circles against her skin. He stared up at the ceiling in the semi-dark room, watching the spinning blades of their ceiling fan make countless revolutions. His mind was racing, all the emotions of the last day starting to get to him now that he had nothing else to focus on. 

Y/n was silent as well, but he knew she hadn’t fallen asleep yet, her body still too tense to have fully succumbed to the exhaustion. If he wanted to ever get some shut-eye, he knew he had to get some things off his chest. He needed to let go. 

“You know what this reminds me of?” There was a gruff undertone to his voice, yet it still managed to be soft as he sought to not startle his wife. She hummed in response, letting him know she was listening. “Our first night together. Well, after… everything.” 

“How so?” Y/n shifted so she could have a better view of her husband who now had her full attention. 

“I couldn’t sleep then either. Too much going on in my head,” Jensen took a deep breath, his eyes still on the ceiling as he continued. “I kind of have this tendency to push all my emotions to the side to deal with them another time, even if that other time never comes, but that night, I just… I couldn’t get myself to do it. As I stared down at you, sleeping against my chest with that stupid little content smile on your face, I realized that you were worth all of it, every emotion: the fear, the anxiety, and even the guilt; they were all worth feeling for you.”

The crease in her brow deepened as her husband confessed to her what he went through that night. Jensen looked down at her then, a smile on his face and tears once again pooling in his eyes. He brought up his hand to caress her cheek before continuing. 

“I never believed in love at first sight, hell, I still don’t, because even through all of that fear and anxiety what I felt most of all was love, and that didn’t happen overnight. It happened in the weeks we had spent in the makeup trailer, in the way you trusted me with the things you wouldn’t even tell your brother, and in your sarcastic comebacks that never failed to surprise me. I spent weeks falling in love with you and didn’t even realize it.”

“The only thing I could do was watch you sleep, so irrevocably in love with you that I was scared if I pushed away those bad feelings… if I didn’t consider every possible thing that could wrong from that moment on, that I would lose the best thing in my life now, so that’s what I did, just watched you sleep and go over every possible scenario my mind could come up with of how us being together could go wrong. I know...” He had to stop again, needing a moment to take a shuddering breath. “I know that day when I told you we needed a break hurt you and made you question everything I ever said to you and sure we’re past it now, but I really need you to know that when I came to you that next morning and asked you to go on one date with me, I didn’t make that decision lightly. I had decided before you even tried to sneak out of the guesthouse that you were worth everything.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” After he was silent for a moment, she couldn’t bear it any longer. 

“Because I… I feel so much right now that I can’t shut it out. The love I feel for you and our son right now, I want to stay in that feeling forever. Even if it means facing every fear or anxiety over making sure you both are safe and happy and thriving. I just had to let you know that you two are my whole world now and I will spend the rest of my life never letting you forget it,” Jensen confessed, allowing the tears that he had been biting back now flow freely. Deep down he knew it was what he needed, that release of every emotion before he could truly relax. Just like she also knew that the time for words was over.

“Thank you for telling me that,” she nuzzled back into his side, pressing her cheek against his chest to listen to his heart again. Y/n knew it wasn’t easy for her husband to admit all of that to her. Those true moments where he exposed himself fully to her were rare. Not that she minded, Y/n didn’t need him to cut out his heart and serve it on a silver platter. Her husband was a man of action. He showed her all she needed to know in every first cup of coffee he brings her in the mornings or running her a bath when she needs time alone. Marriage is as much about the little things as it is about any grand declaration. If you asked Y/n, she would take the soft smiles and lingering touches over a grand speech any day, but this was nice too. 

Part 12: Home

Forevers: @22sarah08​ @akshi8278​ @anathewierdo​ @atc74​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @briagallen​ @callmekda​ @dawnie1988​ @deandreamernp​ @deanwanddamons​ @ellewritesfix05​ @emoryhemsworth​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @janicho88​ @jensengirl83​ @katehuntington​ @lyarr24​ @malfoysqueen14​ @miss-nerd95​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @suckmyapplejacks​ @superfanficnatural​ @supraveng​ @talesmaniac89​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​

Happiness Continues: @afangirlreacts​ @anaelsbrunette​ @ashleyrose0117 @austin-winchester67​ @cno92​ @deanbowlegsackles​ @deangirl93​ @deans-baby-momma​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @dvnmbabe​ @fangirl199813 @spndestiellover​ @hoboal87​ @itsdesiree86​ @jbsgirl4eber11 @let-me-luve-you​ @linki-locks11​ @lunarmoon8​ @neverland14353​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @parinarain​ @rebeccathefangirl​ @rebelemilu​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @spnfamily-j2​ @squirrelnotsam​ @stoneyggirl​ @supernatural3002​ @traceyaudette​ @winchestergirl82​ @winqhster​ @zpandaqueen​

[clonecest-bin-account]

Assorted Clonecest Fics - Missed you (Alpha-17/Fordo) | E

(First time writing this pairing and these characters. I hope I did a good job!)

(Fic under the cut)

Despite being relegated to instructing troopers on Kamino, Alpha-17 still hasn’t lost his touch. Fordo knows it well, now that he’s pinned chest to the training mat, with 17 that holds him by the arm. If he twists just a bit, he’s going to break it.

“I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” 17 mocks him. “What is it, Ford’ika? Have the frontlines softened you?”

Despite the hurting joint, Fordo still manages to grin as he tries to turn his head as much as he can to look at the other. “And to think that I’m offering myself so willingly to you-- Ow!” Judging by the way Alpha-17 twists his arm, he mustn’t have liked the teasing tone in Fordo’s voice, though he hasn’t broken it like he could’ve had.

“Excuses excuses,” 17 says then, unwilling to leave the last word to Fordo, though the grip on him does lighten a bit, enough that, if Fordo wanted, he could’ve turned them around. Tsk, trying to bait him with such a simple trick.

 Instead of falling for it, Fordo grinds his hips against Alpha-17, pleased by the surprised grunt he manages to coax out of him. “You little--”

Now it’s Fordo’s turn to be surprised when 17 rushes down to bite at what little of the back of his neck that is exposed. Unfortunately for him, he can’t manage to suppress and involuntary shiver, something that Alpha takes notice on. “Did you miss me?” he asks, mocking tone obvious, and yet, Fordo still manages to surprise him with his answer.

“What if I did?” he replies in fact, because despite everything, he’s truly missed Alpha, who is suspiciously quiet.

 Fordo doesn’t have to wait long for 17’s next move though, because soon he forces him to get up and drags him to his quarters. He doesn’t even try to resist him, knowing exactly where this is all leading up to. Well, he was the one who began, after all…

 Once they’re in the privacy of Alpha’s quarters, he slams Fordo against the wall, finally kissing him, if that can even be considered a kiss with all that tongue and teeth he’s putting into it. Fordo wouldn’t want it any other way, and in fact he smiles in the kiss, something that 17 notices. “Having fun?” he asks after pulling away. He looks displeased but Fordo knows it’s just a front, so he’s not intimated at all by the way he’s acting.

“A bit,” he admits, before dragging Alpha for a proper kiss, slipping his tongue between his lips. Alpha’s fingers twitch against Fordo’s hips, and he grips him more tightly, though it’s not like Fordo can really feel it, since they’re both still wearing their armor. Speaking of which… “Shouldn’t we take these off?”

Alpha doesn’t even bother to reply with words; he just grunts as he begins to tear Fordo’s armor off, a gesture that gets soon returned by the other.

 Once they’re bare, they go back to kissing. Alpha hoists Fordo up; now he has to hold onto 17’s waist with his legs, or else he’ll fall. Well, Fordo can easily do that.

A shiver runs down his spine as he feels Alpha’s hands brush against his thighs as they reach for his ass and…

Alpha stops, circling Fordo’s wet rim with his finger, finding it extremely loose already. He raises an eyebrow at him as a smirk - the closest thing to a true smile he’s ever been able to make - appears on his face. “Eager, aren’t you?” He can’t believe that he already opened and lubed himself up, and more than anything that he walked around like this. Truly shameless.

Fordo chuckles. “I said I missed you, didn’t I?” he replies, before grinding down against 17. “So you better get a move on.”

“And if I don’t?” Alpha challenges him.

Fordo rolls his eyes. “Like I don’t know it’s the same for you,” he replies, grabbing Alpha’s already erect cock. Yeah, he definitely missed him.

 17 snarls, slamming Fordo against the wall again, though Fordo laughs at his gesture, still unbothered.

Thanks to the other guiding him, he wordlessly lines his cock up to the other’s ass. He licks his lips - suddenly dry - and narrows his brow in concentration, then he thrusts up, penetrating Fordo in one smooth go. If Fordo hadn’t had enough foresight to prepare himself beforehand, it would’ve hurt like hell, but right now he just sighs, happy that Alpha, for once, has listened to him.

He sets up a very rough rhythm, another sign that he’s missed him. Look at him, he can’t get enough of Fordo.

“Alpha… Alpha!” he moans, his lips dangerously close to 17’s, who decides to shut him up with a kiss - like he doesn’t love hearing Fordo call his name like that.

He thrusts, he thrusts, and he thrusts again, each movement accompanied by the loud sounds of skin slapping against skin. Slap slap slap…

 The first one to break is Fordo. He would’ve loved to play around more, but it’s been too long since the last time they were able to stay like this, so he reaches down, grabbing his cock in hand and furiously jerking off while Alpha keeps pounding inside him.

It takes him very little to come, groaning as Alpha helps him ride the orgasm from beginning to end, hammering down his prostate like he would a simple target.

17 too doesn’t last long. After another couple of thrusts, in fact, he pushes one last time, as deep as he can, and he comes, biting a grin off his face when Fordo squirms at the sensation. He got what he deserved.

 Only once Alpha pulls away, maybe under the effect of that sensation of lightheadedness that always takes him after an orgasm, he whispers, forehead pressed against Fordo, “I missed you too.”

It’s a quiet admission, one that Fordo almost doesn’t catch, but he does, and it’s enough. He knows Alpha, he knows the way he is and he accepts it.

He knows that, deep down his prickly self, Alpha-17 has enough place in his heart to care for some things, and he knows that he’s one of them.

It’s enough.

Tag list: @maulusque @captainrexwouldnever @anameofanykind If you want to be added feel free to let me know!

[writefightandflightclub]

Mixed signals

Author’s note: just a quick, simple hit of pure fluff, sweeties. Wrote this super quick idk. 

Summary: you are Poe’s favoured comms officer, and it means so much to him to have your voice on the end of the line during a mission. You’re great at comms. You’ve talked him through some tough times. So why in the hell can’t he get you to speak to him when you’re face-to-face? And will his cute idea to get you talking work?

Warnings: hell, not a one.

(GIF by @cmorgana​)

Poe has grown pretty fond of you over the past few months. The first time he spoke to you was over the comms, when his usual signals operator was injured and you were drafted in. He liked your style and you gelled well, and soon after he requested with the General that you be assigned to him and his squadron permanently whenever he was out on a mission. He trusted you to get the job done clearly, calmly, and decisively. You always stayed admirably cool in a crisis. And, to be honest, the other guy had always rubbed him up the wrong way, which was the last thing he needed when already under pressure.

He has come to depend on your voice on the other end of the line. Particularly the way you go over and above for him. Sometimes you talk him down if he’s scared on a mission -whether on the ground or in the air-, you boost him up when he’s hopeless, and sometimes you’ll even just keep him company through a private channel on his long flights home. You’re even ballsy enough to call him out when he’s being a dumbass, which he respects, even if he doesn’t admit it at the time. Your voice is often his lifeline, his saviour, and he’s losing count of the number of times you’ve guided him back home. 

But when he’s face-to-face with you things are different. He can’t -for the life of him- get you to speak to him. It’s not like he hasn’t tried, of course. Case in point, the first time he spoke to you face-to-face, when you had just a couple of missions under your belt together, didn’t go down so well. He’d sidled over to your table in the canteen, thinking that he wouldn’t mind grabbing lunch and introducing himself to this (cute) new recruit he’d laid eyes on.

“Hey. Can I sit here?” he asks with a broad smile. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

“Yes, Commander Dameron.”

He recognises your voice instantly, suddenly turning goofy when he realises it’s you. “It’s you! From the comms!” he exclaims, with a succession of finger guns, cringing inwardly even as he does it, a heat slowly rising up his neck.

“Yes, sir. It’s me from the comms.” you slink away immediately, setting your empty tray down on the side without so much as a smile. He’s left sitting there alone, feeling like a bit of a buffoon, if he’s honest.

From then on, even in spite of that, he couldn’t stop wanting to talk to you. Your voice, the way you were with him on the comms already... did things for him, got him thinking about how he’d like to spend more time with you. But meeting you in-person, seeing how gorgeous you were, it had only cemented his attraction to you.

So, he tries again. And again. But no matter the situation, the topic, the time of day, the weather, you always seem to clam up and disappear, tight-lipped. For someone apparently skilled in communications there has definitely been some kind of break down between you. Maybe you’re just shy, he thinks; hopes, at first. But after a while he comes to the conclusion that you simply don’t want to talk to him unless you’ve been ordered to.

Finally, after months of pining, after becoming desparate to recreate the rapport he has with you over the radio, he just has to know what he’s doing so wrong. Did he piss you off? Is there something about him that you find deeply offensive? He needs to get you talking, and after some consideration, he figures out a way to do just that. At least, he has an idea and he prays it doesn’t make things any worse.

So, to implement his master plan, he approaches you in the canteen one day. He pulls you aside and softly asks if he can borrow you for a minute.

You clear your throat and respond stiffly. “Yes, sir.” 

He smiles thinly when you fail to call him Poe, yet again, but motions for you to follow him anyway. He leads you into a spare bay in the hangar -now cleared out while everyone dines or hangs out in the mess hall- and gestures for you to tak a seat in the chair opposite him. Seeing the nervousness, discomfort in your expression, your tense shoulders, he reassures you that there’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s just a comms exercise. Then, he passes you a little hand-held radio and asks you to close your eyes tight.

“What’s happening?” you say, clutching the device in your fingers, your brows furrowed in confusion as you perch on the edge of your seat, clearly unwilling to relax.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions. And I just want you to close your eyes and talk to me like I’m in the air, ok? Just imagine I’m in my X-Wing, and you’re in the control room.” he sees a soft, subtle smile pass over your lips, sees you visibly unclench, just a little.

Maker, he likes looking at you. It kinda makes his heart flutter. Great, and now he’s getting nervous; he hopes this isn’t another of his utterly dumbass ideas. Only one way to find out, as per usual. Dive in.

“Black Leader to Nav Six. Do you copy?” He calls out, then mimics the “kchhh” sound of the radio.

You hesitate, your lips twitching up at the corners, but you respond. “Nav Six, I copy.”

“Do the noise.” he prompts you, with a gentle whisper. 

You shake your head in confusion, flashing your teeth in a good-natured smile all the same. “Nav Six, I copy. Kchhh.”

“Black Leader to Nav 6. How’s your day going? Kchhh.”

 “It’s getting a little weird, over. Kchhh.”

Poe notices your nose crinkle in amusement. He finds it adorable, and can’t help but smile in response to you. “Ok, Nav Six, I got eyes on the prize.” You must be able to hear the smile in his voice, because you reciprocate with your own broad grin. He always swears you can detect the emotions in his voice better than anyone. Always know what he’s feeling, often better than he does himself. Maybe that’s why your face drops as his tone switches, becoming more serious. Again, you mirror his expression unconsciously. “I gotta ask, Nav 6. Why do you talk to me on the comms but never face-to-face. Over.”

The radio drops from your lips and your face scrunches in mild distress. He swears a flush creeps up your neck, your skin beginning to glow with a soft sheen. He watches as you let out an audible, nervous breath, but determinedly bring the radio back up to your mouth. “Your voice alone is bad enough and then face-to-face? I have to look at you too?!” you blurt out.

“Wow, OK. Kriff. Copy. Loud and clear. Black Leader out. Kchhh.” He sits back in his chair, defeated, face agape. Maker, he hadn’t quite expected you to be that blunt. But at least he had some answers now. Mission complete?

“No, wait! I mean...” you appear to clutch the radio a little more tightly, screw your eyes up a little further. He watches your shoulders rise as you suck in a slow, deep breath. There’s something more. Something worse?

Searching your face, he leans forward again in his chair, his voice soft and gentle. “Talk to me Nav Six. Over.”

After one more long inhale you blurt out: “I have a huge crush on you, Poe!”

Oh. Oh. It’s a classic case of mixed signals.

“What?! You do?!” he smiles in utter delight, a warm feeling spreading through his chest, giving him jitters. Happy beeps. Happy kriffing beeps. 

And now that you’re talking you can’t seem to stop.

Your hands are clasped together nervously, your shoulders practically tucked up next to your ears but you’re talking. “On the comms I can hide how I feel, a little, but in real life you’re so damn handsome and you smell too good and you make me so kriffing nervous that I can’t even speak.”

Now this. This he could work with. He scrapes his chair across the floor to come closer to you, and you bite your lip with apprehension as you hear the sound.

“Tell me more,” he encourages. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

You huff a little. “I was trying to avoid you finding out because it’s embarrassing and... and there’s no way you can like me back.”

He just looks at you, checking you’ve finished your outburst. Unbelievable. You really have no idea how utterly perfect you are, do you? You gulp as he shuffles his chair closer to you once again. He must be close enough for you to smell him now, he estimates, as your nostrils flare slightly, your breath quickens a little.  

“Ok. Let’s review, Nav Six.” He can’t keep the smile off his face at the fact you still have your eyes screwed tight shut. “Some of that was correct- I’m handsome. I smell great. What I wanna know is why is there no way I can like you back?”

“You’re Poe Dameron...”

His eyebrows jump up in surprise and confusion. “What does that even mean?”

You laugh, hopefully realising how silly that sounds out loud. 

Then he simply asks you: “Open your eyes.”

“Nuh-uh.” you shake your head, nibbling nervously on that delicious lip of yours.

“Fine, if you really don’t want to see me when I tell you I do like you back.”

Oh, you open your eyes now. You open them wide.

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he finally gets to gaze into yours. He looks up at you from beneath his pretty lashes, a little more nervous himself now. “In fact, I like you so much that I don’t even mind if you get all spluttery and nervous. If this is any indication? Then, it’s adorable on you anyway, quite frankly.” He reaches out tentatively to take your hands in his, scraping his chair a little closer. “But one thing I do kinda mind” he says, dropping his voice a little into his throat “is not getting to talk to my favourite person and look them in their gorgeous face at the same time.”

You’re grinning. “Are you done? Do the noise.”

“Sorry, Nav Six.” He says, matching your grin. “Kchhh.”

You giggle, and he just looks ardently at you, drinking you in. He traces his thumb affectionately along your jaw line, under your chin, over your bottom lip.  Your breath hitches. 

“See, this is exactly what I mean..” you say, becoming evidently flustered.  “You ... you make me feel really... nervous.”

He leans in until his lips are almost on yours, enjoying the effect he’s having on you already. “Hmm, but I only wanna make you feel good, baby.”

Then he presses his mouth to yours, and suddenly... you’re giving him all the right signals.

[jetaime-jespere]

Inopportune

An early Sunday morning conversation with @sweetsecretskeptinside about what could have happened pre and post Milwaukee inspired this little thing. It was meant to be a lot shorter, but you all know brevity isn’t my strength. This is rated M for smut!

As they say, timing is everything.

When Aaron slams the front door shut, he knows his marriage is over. Maybe not officially, but it’s the beginning of the very end.

 He purposefully ignored Haley’s final ultimatum, once again choosing this job over his family. And it’s not even the hurt on her face that lingers in his mind as he throws his bag into the front seat, but the fact that he didn’t even hesitate to make the choice he did. The disintegration of their marriage has built over time, an almost natural erosion of the intimacy they’d shared in the early days. What used to be Haley’s proud acknowledgement of the challenges of his job has turned into shades of resentment. It’s a constant ebb and flow of disappointment and hurt, coupled with the challenge of being rendered a single parent not in name, but in practice. Not to mention, the cold slap in the face of her all but confirmed infidelity. That had been the final straw. The worst part is, it isn’t his marriage that he grieves anymore. Grief is reserved for his son, the one whose life will soon change drastically when the inevitable happens and the papers are signed.

Aaron can pinpoint exactly when things finally spiraled past his control, much to his chagrin. The arrival of a certain dark haired agent less than a year ago, with a box in her hands and a smile on her face. They’d met before, in another lifetime, when she was barely an adult, privileged and proud, while he struggled to be one at all, barely making ends meet but worlds happier than he is now. The turning of the tables nearly makes his head spin.

And even though Aaron knows better, he’s driving to Emily’s apartment with his foot on the gas just a little heavier than usual. It’s technically against protocol to get her address from her personnel file, but he doesn’t have to, because what he’d never tell anyone is that he’s taken her home once before. Once, early on, when she needed a ride thanks to a flat tire. Twice, if he counts the time he drove them all home from the bar after New Orleans a few months ago. He’d purposefully saved her for last, and she’d fallen asleep in the front seat after dropping a very tipsy Penelope off. Emily had blushed with embarrassment when he woke her up, her eyes glassy and ringed with exhaustion, insisting that no, she hadn’t fallen asleep, and of course not, when he suggested walking her up to her door. I can walk by myself, she’d said, stumbling on her own two feet towards her building.

There’s another secret he’d never tell a soul. He kissed her once. To be fair, she kissed him back. It had been a mistake, they’re both abundantly aware of that. But San Francisco had been hell, particularly for her  - arson is never easy - and he had a front row seat to her more human side that had stayed so carefully hidden since she’d joined the team.

Aaron offered her a drink in his office upon their return, against his better judgement,  when he found her in the doorway with her reports in her hands. He doesn’t tell her they’re a few days late. He’ll cut her some slack on this one.  She quickly refused the drink, a nervous shake of her head, muttering something about getting home as she passed over the paperwork. “Have a good night, Sir.” The discomfort in her voice is evident, still unsure of how to read him.

“You did well in San Francisco.” It might be one of the first times he’s complimented her work, at least privately. “This wasn’t an easy case, you know.” His voice echoes through his empty office, and he can’t help but wonder how many more of these lonely nights he’ll have, just himself and a wayward custodian for company.

“None of them are,” Emily says somewhat dismissively with a wave of her hand and a nervous laugh. “But thank you.” She looks tired and drained. “I … appreciate that.”

“I was wrong, you know.” It’s about time he told her the truth. She’s more than proved herself at this point. “You are an asset to this team, Emily. Please know that.”  

To his surprise, she doesn’t even crack a grin, just stares at him in surprise, waiting for him to say something else.

“And I’m sorry for not acknowledging that until now.”

She nods slowly, her eyes narrowing just enough to tell him she still doesn’t fully trust him. He can’t explain why it bothers him, or the fact he’ll think about it for hours afterward.

“I’ll walk you out.” He doesn’t have to walk her out at all, they both know this, but he does, just a few inches too close to her than he should. It’s the subtle attraction to her he feels that possesses him to do it, and before he can stop himself, right before she steps into the elevator, he wraps a hand around the back of her head and kisses her, quick and chaste, on the lips.

What he didn’t expect was for Emily to reciprocate, a hand slipping around the nape of his neck. Her lips collided against his, deepening the kiss for a moment that felt frozen in time, yet all too brief. And before he can think it through, she’s pulling away, her eyes on the ground as the elevator doors open, then close, with a metronomic chime.

He stares at the closed doors for a full five minutes after she’s gone.

...

They both knew it could never happen again, and it wasn’t spoken of after that. Sometimes, Aaron has to remind himself that it actually did happen, and the fact that he even thinks of it often is another issue entirely.

And all of that aside, Emily Prentiss had surprised him. He’d all but fought against her appointment to the BAU and reluctantly agreed to give her the chance she deserved, and certainly didn’t make it easy for her in the early days and weeks. It’s a twist of irony that Haley was the one who suggested he give her a chance, for the stress of being down an agent had already taken its toll on the team but mostly him. And now, he can’t imagine the BAU without her.

Aaron knew Strauss would have it in for their team after Atlanta, Manhattan, and most recently, Flagstaff. Mistakes had been made, that he wouldn’t deny. But what he didn’t see coming was that Strauss would have gone after Emily, too. Foreign Service Exam my ass, he’d thought when she came to him with the news. He swallows angrily, yet feels an undeniable surge of pride, for she’d beat Erin at her own game by resigning. Another surprise, Aaron thinks as he makes the final turn onto her street. What he’s about to do is a gamble at best and downright stupid at worst, but it doesn’t stop him from taking the five hundred steps through her building, up the stairs, until he’s standing outside her door, his knuckles tapping against the smooth metal.

Emily clearly wasn’t expecting to see him standing there. The shock on her face is evident when she opens the door, her displeasure of him being there, in her home, even more so.

“Can I come in?”

Emily says nothing but lets him through, eyeing him warily as she closes the door behind him. It’s the first time they’ve ever been alone together, besides the kiss he’s spent months trying to forget. He wonders if she remembers it too. The silence is deafening as he takes a quick look around her apartment. The view of the Capitol is impressive, he notes with interest, before turning back to face her.

“The team needs us. They’re working a case in Milwaukee.” Best to keep it simple, he thinks. The fewer questions she asks, the better. “Gideon hasn’t shown up, and don’t tell me you quit or I put in for a transfer.”

“You put in for a transfer?” She asks with disbelief, still tense.

“They’re both still hung up in the system, so technically we’re both in dereliction of duty by not being there.” He keeps his tone even, reminds himself to keep his eyes on hers instead of letting them trail over her body.

“I’m sorry,” she says pointedly. “I can’t go.”

As he expected. “Right. Sorry I barged in.”

“Wait.” Her voice pierces the air, questioning his ulterior motives. “Can I ask - why are you really here?”

There’s the long answer and the short; he knows she’ll soon figure out both, and for a moment, grapples with his words. “I think Strauss came to you and asked for dirt on me.”

Emily stiffens, her teeth biting into her lip as her foot taps against the floor nervously at the accuracy of his statement. There it is, he thinks. He guessed correctly.

“Why would she do that?”

Aaron patiently explains his theory - the culmination of the drama with Gideon and Reid, Strauss’s desire for top leadership at the bureau, and her face twists into a frown when he reaches the final blow. “I think she put you on our team, and expected something in return.

Her reticence tells him everything he needs to know. “And to your credit, you quit. Rather than whisper in her ear.”

“I told you, I hate politics,” she shoots back, her tone full of contempt.

Aaron remembers that conversation well. It was months ago, back when he was all but annoyed by her presence, unable to admit her talent at profiling and maybe that she did belong on their team, as she insisted from day one. He’d been more than dismissive of her, and yet she’d proved herself time and time again. He’d messed up, and now it’s come to a head.

“Come to Milwaukee,” he presses her, his eyes never leaving hers. The way she bites her lip tells him she’s at least considering his request. Her head tips to the side, revealing her neck, and he swallows because his throat suddenly goes dry. “I’ll make you a deal. If your bag isn’t here, packed, I won’t bug you anymore. If it is, I want you on that plane with me. One more case.”

“I already turned in my badge and gun.” She tries to push him off but he sees right through her, unwilling to leave without her.

“That’s just hardware.”

Emily eyes him suspiciously, knowing he’s won, and she silently curses him in her mind because her bag is indeed packed, on the floor in her bedroom just a few feet away. But then something else catches her eye - something she can’t miss.

“Where’s your wedding ring, Aaron?” She asks coolly, taking full notice of his bare left hand.

The use of his first name could be considered insubordination. But, technically, she doesn’t work for him anymore, having given her resignation to Strauss, and the first thing that comes to mind is how much he likes the sound of his name rolling off her lips.

Not the time, he tells himself.

“Is that why you’re taking on this case?” Emily isn’t stupid - she’s seen the signs that things at home weren’t exactly great for him. His distraction around the team, the indifference when a well-intended question about Haley or Jack was all but brushed over. It’s been like that for weeks, and she’s too astute to not have noticed.

“My marriage is over,” he confirms, the confession ringing in the air.

Emily’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open ever so slightly, at a loss for words. She says nothing, just stares at him for a few long moments, blinking in disbelief.

“It’s been over for a long time,” he adds. “But today … I left. There’s a lot to figure out but it’s done. It’s been done.”

“And you came here?” The expression on her face is one he can’t identify but isn’t sure he wants to. There’s anger and confusion, but also intrigue, as if she learned a secret she shouldn’t ever know in the first place. “Why?”

“You belong in Milwaukee. We both do.” Maybe so, but that’s not the only reason he came here today, despite what he tells himself. He knows it, and so does she.

Emily looks indignant. “But that isn't the only reason.” She’s challenging him, calling him out on what he’s denied since that night in her office, maybe even before that. “Don’t lie to me.”

“What are you talking about?” Aaron swallows nervously, doing his damn best to hide the fact that all he wants to do is exactly what he shouldn’t.

She steps towards him defiantly, deliberately invading his personal space. “I think you know.” There are a million reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s inevitable.

He takes a step closer, the distance between them all but closed, drawing a ragged breath that matches hers. When their lips meet for the second time he knows there’s no chance of him being able to stop things, and what comes next happens before either of them have a chance to think better of it. Aaron’s hands slide into her hair as he kisses her, pulling gently to expose her neck, and he gives her a moment to breathe as he sucks a bruise right beneath her jaw. Emily’s hands push at his shoulders, an attempt to rid him of his suit jacket, and it falls to the ground in a heap at their feet. But the sudden absence of the confines of the material gives him the leverage he needs to wrap her in his arms, and he does, anchoring her against his chest as he takes her mouth again with his own. It’s dizzying, the scent of her intoxicating as he kisses her, his tongue pushing past her lips, delving into her mouth.

Except Emily isn’t passive in her response to him, her teeth clashing against his as he explores her mouth with his own. She digs her fingers into his arms, bites at his bottom lip, sweeps her tongue across his teeth, then shifts to press her mouth to his neck as his hands drift down to the hem of her blouse. Aaron pulls away, running his thumb over her lips, cupping her chin in one hand as he looks her over.

He wants to tell her she’s beautiful but he can’t form the right words, just holds her chin in one hand, pushing her hair from her face as he slips a knee between her legs, applying pressure that causes her eyes to roll back just enough that he keeps it there. The moan that escapes and the buckle of her knees are the impetus he needs to lift her up onto the counter, a pile of mail and loose papers falling to the floor along the way.

Aaron gets his hands to the openings of her blouse, pulling too hard as the fabric tears open, falling around her shoulders. It reveals a practical beige lace bra, something he’s almost surprised to see - he had her pegged as someone who only wore red. But he deftly unhooks the back clasp, letting it fall from her shoulders, and her skin flushes scarlet as she’s bared to him. As he already anticipated, she’s as beautiful, if not more so, than he imagined. He’s done that  a few times over the last few months. He palms her ribs with gentle hands, much more gentle than his mouth had been just moments before, fingers dipping between the delicate bones and over soft skin. Emily mewls in his ear, her head tipped to the side as he explores her. His fingers smooth over her breasts, paying equal attention to each as he starts to kiss her again, then bends to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. Her hands grip the sides of his head, holding him in place as his teeth scrape and his tongue soothes, a rhythmic pattern of pressure that starts to blur her vision. Aaron’s hands span across the width of her back, his fingers stroking the delicate curve of her spine as Emily arches into his mouth, pressing herself against him.

“Aaron,” she moans, her heart fluttering against his chin, and it sounds like she’s forgotten to breathe this whole time. And when he fully stands, taking her face in his hands again, his eyes darken with lust as he kisses her, lush and full, one more time.

“Back,” he says, pushing her flat until she’s laying on the counter, hair spilling over the edge, her legs hooked over his arms. She perches on her elbows, watching him intensely with hooded eyes as he unbuttons her jeans with a deliberate slowness. His hands are steady as he drags them down over her hips and past her knees. The muscles in her stomach flutter as Aaron repositions her legs on his shoulders, carefully spreading her open to him. Emily’s back arches up even though he hasn’t even touched her as he presses kisses to the insides of her knees.

“Aaron,” she pleads again, needier this time, her eyes dark and her legs trembling on his shoulders, and when he finally touches his tongue to her clit, she doesn’t even try to muffle the sound that comes from the very back of her throat. He does it again and her hips fly up, her fingers sliding through his dark hair, then gripping his head in place. “Fuck,” Emily chokes when his tongue pushes inside of her this time, her hand dragging down her face as he continues to stroke her with his tongue languidly until her moans become constant, a beg for more. Not that she had any doubt, but he’s somehow better at this than she ever imagined.

“You should see yourself like this,” Aaron says darkly, his lips on her knee as he gives her a moment to breathe, still spread out on her counter. “You are beautiful,” he tells her and he means it, pushing her leg higher as his head ducks back between her legs, this time he sucks her clit between his lips and pushes two fingers inside of her, curling up to press against the spot his tongue had found just moments before. Emily comes almost instantly and loudly, nearly sliding right off the counter as she writhes beneath him. Aaron pulls her up to his chest, wrapping an arm around her back as she shudders against him, her skin glazed over with sweat. Emily kisses him, her hands scraping down his back as she tastes herself on his tongue, smiling into his mouth as he groans. Her arms wind around his neck, his fingers dip in the curve of her spine, a soothing comedown coupled with his voice in her ear.

Aaron is still almost fully dressed, and Emily wastes no time with the buttons of his dress shirt, almost forceful in her attempts to divest him of his clothes. “Careful,” he breathes, his hands closing around her wrists. “I only have one shirt.” He helps her get it off the rest of the way, followed by his pants and belt, and he hisses when her hand wraps around the length of him. Her own eyes widen ever so slightly, and the kiss that he presses to her forehead is reassuring as he surveys her kitchen and living room. He doesn’t want to fuck her on a counter, at least not now. “Not here,” he decides, and with more finesse than he anticipated, carefully gets her legs around his waist and lifts her up. “Bedroom?”

A jerk of her head in the general direction guides him to her room, and with her body wrapped around his, he carries her there, carefully depositing her onto her bed before he settles over her.

“Yes?” Aaron rasps, his forehead pressed against hers as her chest rises and falls in a series of breathy pants, her fingers smoothing over his cheek. Emily nods, giving him the permission he asks for, her legs closing around his hips as hovers above, lining himself up against her. The initial press of him inside, coupled with how sensitive she already is, emits a slight whimper from Emily, her eyes fluttering as she adjusts to the stretch of her body around his. It’s a few moments of complete stillness, careful kisses and gentle touches, his body spread over hers. It takes most of his effort to remain still, giving her those few moments.

“God,” Emily breathes a few long seconds later, when he’s fully seated, her eyes locked on his. At her insistence he moves, a series of tentative thrusts that only leave her needing more, her legs tightening around his back to keep him as close as possible. He begins to thrust faster, every drive of his hips pushing her higher and him too.

“You feel amazing, Emily,” he encourages as her hips meet his thrusts, a rhythm that comes almost easily to them both. “So fucking good.” His movements become erratic as he nears the end, but he’s determined for her to go first. “Come for me,” he murmurs into her ear, lifting her legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. The change of angle nearly sucks the air right out of her lungs. “Come on,” he coaxes one more time with a firm push of his hips. “One more time.”

Emily gasps then curses faintly when she finally clenches around him, Aaron sealing his mouth over hers to stifle the scream that would most definitely be heard by anyone in the apartment next to hers. The sensation of her fluttering around him, moaning his name, her nails scraping down his back are enough for him to follow suit, and he kisses her once more before tipping over the edge too, spilling into her with a groan.

Aaron buries his face in her chest, Emily’s hands hold his head in place, for another few peaceful moments, ones that will soon vanish.

…

When it’s over, Aaron can’t help but feel inordinately guilty. He isn’t exactly sure why, but the voice in the back of his mind tells him he fucked this up, royally. Not because of what might wait for him beyond the confines of her apartment, but because now she’s a part of the mess he’s in, whether she likes it or not. Just add it to the list.

This shouldn’t have happened, he thinks as they search through the pile of clothes on the floor - some his, some hers - and it’s an awkward, side-stepping dance around one another, the first of many.

“You ruined my shirt, you know.” Emily holds up the torn halves of her red blouse, covering herself with her other free hand. Her skin is still flushed, her hair askew, and he wants to tell her she has other things to worry about right now than a torn shirt. Like the rapidly forming bruise on her neck, thanks to his teeth, or the scrapes that undoubtedly mar the smooth skin of her back, because he’d gone a little too far. It’ll be hard to explain that bruise (and any others that might appear) once they get to Milwaukee.

“You mean to tell me you don’t have another one?” Aaron quips,  busying himself with fixing his suit jacket, fastening his belt, taking note of his own appearance in the mirror. There’s a small bite mark on his neck that’s easily hidden by his collar, and a few on his shoulders. She’d given as good as she got, clearly.

Yet no one will suspect a thing. As it should be.

Emily scoffs, rolling her eyes as she disappears into her room, grumbling about it being an expensive shirt, but he barely hears her. Instead, the events of the last half hour replay on loop in his mind, one he won’t forget for quite some time. The tension between them hangs in the air even after the bathroom door closes, the sound of the shower permeating his thoughts.

This all just got a hell of a lot more complicated, and it’s just the beginning.  

“Don’t we have a plane to catch?” Emily impatiently taps her foot against the floor a half an hour later, dressed in different clothes - a pink shirt and a different pair of jeans. The marks on her neck are covered, he notices. Somehow he still manages to stare at her, despite his best intentions not to. “Or are you just going to sit there thinking about how you just fucked me for the next thirty minutes?”

By the time Aaron has processed what she just said, she’s already halfway out the door of her apartment, and all he can do is follow her to the car.

…

As he expected, Milwaukee is a mess. Strauss’s presence doesn’t make anything easier, and he certainly wasn’t expecting Emily to take matters into her own hands and almost get herself killed at the hands of Joe Smith. But it’s what happens, and less than twenty-four hours after showing up in her apartment, he watches from a safe distance as a paramedic cleans and dresses the wound on her forehead.

“How’s your head?”

“I’ll live,” Emily says with a wince. It doesn’t take a genius to know she’s lying right through her teeth, because she’s clearly in pain, not that she’d ever admit it. “But is it weird I’m glad to be back?”

“I’ll make sure it stays official.” It’s all he can say with the rest of the team hovering close by. He makes a mental note to order her to get medical clearance before she returns to the field as he moves closer to Strauss. She’s clearly ready with a few choice words of her own, having watched them all like hawks as Joe Smith was led away in handcuffs, his son in the back of a police car. There isn’t much to convince themselves this was a win. It’s anything but that - women murdered, a child’s life forever changed. Not at all a win. In fact, it feels like a loss.

As if today couldn’t get any more complicated.

…

Aaron drives her back to her apartment, because once they get back to Quantico, Emily realizes she has no other way of getting home. She’s taking out her phone to call a cab when he’s at her side, a gentle hand pressed to the small of her back with an offer to drive.

It makes her flinch and yet she’s too tired to turn him down; the thought of riding in the backseat of a bumpy cab down 95 makes her stomach churn. So she agrees reluctantly, and sits as far away from him as she can in the passenger seat of his sedan. And history repeats itself once again when she firmly refuses his offer to help her get settled.

Not a chance, she thinks, her mind flashing back to the events of the day before. She’s smart enough to know it’s only a matter of time before it happens again.

...

Emily showers and changes into sweatpants, being careful to avoid irritating the wound on her forehead. It still hurts; she knows it will for a few days, and that doesn’t begin to cover the headache that throbs through her temples. Only when she’s taking another dose of Advil does she hear the knock at the door.

A glance through the peephole makes her blood pressure rise. “What are you doing here?” She sighs tiredly. “You came all the way back to check on me? I told you, I’m fine. I have a headache. I will live.”

“I never left.” Aaron says honestly and simply, shifting from foot to foot outside her door. He feels exposed, scrutinized under her gaze.

“You’ve seriously been waiting outside my door all this time? You don’t think that’s a little … invasive?” She sounds annoyed and rightfully so. He has no right to be there in the first place. Just because they fucked once and kissed twice doesn’t give him those privileges.

His jaw flexes, a hand runs through his hair. “I sat in the car for a little while.” Admitting it sounds a lot worse than he anticipated. In fact, she looks downright annoyed at his revelation. “Can I come in? Please?”

And for the second time she relents with a heavy sigh, letting him past. “Fine. What the hell is going on?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He stands a little closer than he did before, reaching out with an unsteady hand to touch the gauze pad on her forehead. “I was worried … I am worried.”

“I’ve had concussions before,” she tells him curtly. “This is no different.”

“Then you should know you shouldn’t be alone.”

Emily laughs bitterly, now fully aware of his intentions. “And you think you’re going to stay here? Keep me company?” She waits, her hands on her hips with a shake of her head. “Or are you here because you can’t go back home?”

Aaron opens his mouth to speak, attempting to smooth things over because clearly something has changed since Milwaukee, but she cuts him off again.

“No. I can’t do this. I’m not your rebound until you figure things out.” Her eyes flash with anger, maybe even a touch of regret, which only makes him feel worse about it all. Maybe it should never have happened in the first place.

“There’s nothing to figure out,” he attempts weakly. “That’s not what I -”

“You need to figure things out with your wife, Aaron. What happened between us was a mistake. One we’re equally responsible for. But it cannot happen again.” She folds her arms over her chest, already going for the door to throw him out.  

“Emily - “

“Go home, Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow.” While she wears a brave face, there’s no hiding the disappointment in her eyes, the subtle hurt she undoubtedly feels at knowing all of this was never supposed to happen. Only then does it come to him that maybe, just maybe, she wanted it just as much as he did, and knows it can never be. “And don’t worry. The secret is safe with me.”

He’s about to object - to tell her what he should have already said -  when the door slams in his face.

[burningcowboyhoagietaco]

A Way to Learn a Lesson

written by:

@burningcowboyhoagietaco

illustrated and edited by the amazing, the one and only:

@lenle-g

Before I publish the story id like to thank @lenle-g from the bottom of my heart for being patient with me, being nice to me the whole time, and for making my story even better and more exciting. Without her I would have stayed in my normal, not that good English story. so thank you for everything!!! <3<3

And here's my part at @tagminibang submission:)

☆☆☆☆☆

Scott, no!!! No way! I am not going to give any lectures to anyone." John's voice comes out tight. "Especially not in front of a crowd. No way."

"Why not?" Scott raises a brow, his voice honeyed with ‘big brother wants something’. "It's not like you're gonna get executed by some children just for talking space at them, right? You love talking about space. It's all I've heard since you were, like, seven."

"No, that's not it." There's a sharp shake of the ginger’s head, "Scott, come on!" John knows for a fact that his oldest brother knows he's the most socially awkward person to have ever lived on Tracy Island (and maybe the entire planet). "You’ve lived with me long enough to know how much I hate social.... anything." John complains. "Why would you ever think I'd want to do this?""

"Well, yes, I know that," Scott shrugs, "I've seen that look you get on your face when there's a lot of people around." He’s well aware that his brother is an introvert who hates socializing with anyone, so he quickly changes the subject to try and make his younger brother feel a little more at ease. "But hey... everyone knows how much you like it when anyone talks about space or anything about astronomy. You'd be amazing at it."

"That's a different thing." John says flatly. Flattery, it seems, wont get Scott very far. "It's like, whenever you guys ask me anything about space, I like to answer them for you, but from random people…? And in huge crowds? I just simply can't." Surely he doesn’t have to explain himself much more than that?

"Oh trust me, everything is going to be fine." Scott was a flippant hand around, talking without really thinking, because all he wants is for his brother to get out of Thunderbird 5, to visit Earth for a little bit, to mingle with people a little. It can't be that bad. "If anything happens, Gordon and Alan'll be in Thunderbird Five doing Space Monitor duty, me and Virgil are gonna keep an eye on everything, and you’re in safe hands with Lady Penelope and Parker. It's all set up, so please go have some fun for once and teach the children something cool."

"My answer is still no." John says persistently, without hesitation. He's pretty sure it'd be worse than being in the middle of a hurricane, or testing one of his Grandma's new cooking experiments. It’s lucky Scott misses his involuntary shudder.

Scott, though, is so done with him at this point, that he's pretty sure there's no choice but to use plan b and hope that that works instead on his unwilling, stubborn, red haired brother. They've got to get him down from orbit and to that lecture somehow. Scott's just not going to stand for anything else.

"Are you sure that's your last answer?" Scott asks, with a heavy sigh, already planning the best way to call in the big guns.

"Yes," John scowls, arms folded. "Yes, it is."

They'll see about that.

...

"Is everything ready?" John adjusts his sleeves, smoothing down his vest and putting the last touches on his collar. Neat, simple, formal. Can't go wrong. "My presentation papers, laptop, and my mini simple dimple?”

"Yes, all in the bag." Scott calls back, rapidly checking everything, "But do you really need that little fidget thing of yours?" He picks his younger brother's old toy up between forefinger and thumb to examine it, remembering the day John made their Mom buy it for when he gets stressed.

"What fidge- oh, yes I need it." The look on John's face leaves no doubt about that. "I've used it ever since Mom bought it for me."

"Hey… Mom would've been proud of you, you know?” Scott tells him, in a quick flash of brotherly pride. “For, you know, going out of your safe zone for a little while and teaching the children and all that."

"Yeah, I know…" John finds him a nervous smile, "But I'm not doing this voluntarily, you've forced me with that plan b of yours."

The second John says that Scott's cheeks dimple, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he grins victoriously, his teeth a bright white in the earliest rays of morning sun.

“All I had to do was make a call." He shrugs, "Lady Penelope did all the talking and somehow convinced you to go." Scott got a little more excited. He took a couple of steps forward, slightly standing on his toes reaching John's level asking"How did she convince you?" Clearly waiting teasingly for an answer to come out of John's lips

"Huhhhh." John exhales loudly, a little despairing. "She promised me we'd go to the Pagasa Astronomical Observatory after I finish the lecture with the children." He shrugs, keeping his eyes down, embarrassed.

"The what now?" Scott stares at him, thoroughly confused.

"The Pagasa Astronomical Observatory in the Philippines.” John says, like that was obvious, “It's equipped with a 45-cm computer-based telescope. It's so powerful that astronomers and astronomy enthusiasts can now conduct effective observations of stellar bodies and other distant space objects! Scott, it’s been my dream to go since I was, like, 17."

Scott always knew how much of an astrophile his younger brother is; he never cared about his physical appearance, nor his poor eating habits and he always used to make excuses to read his books alone, yet no one has ever interfered in his personal life.

"Okay okay space lover boy,” Scott grins at him. He'd expected Penny to be persuasive, but resigning herself to hours stuck with John in full excited-about-space mode would hardly be in his top ten. Either he's gonna owe her one, or Penny's more resilient than him. “You can go, no one is holding you back."

The short silence between them was broken by a ringing sound from a nearby table, which John answers.

“...Mhm, yes? Oh, the lecture." It must be Penelope calling, "Yeah, I'm ready, I'll head out now." John grabs his bag, wandering toward where the FAB1 must already be idling on the Tracy runway. "Time to go."

"Mhm,” Scott makes an agreeable noise, watching him go. “Please stay safe and please don't make an idiot of yourself." He's teasing… mostly.

"Yeah yeah," John waves at him over his shoulder, not even looking back. "I won't."

…

"Are we there yet?" Despite the consistently amazing views out of FAB1’s windows during the flight, John’s found himself mostly looking down, fidgeting with his fingers. He’s worrying, just a little, about what awaits him in the Philippines - a whole different tropical island to his own, though still in the South of the Pacific Ocean.

"Just give Parker ten more minutes, darling,” Her Ladyship smiles at him, “We'll arrive in no time."

There’s a moment of silence before, unexpectedly, it’s broken by a call flashing up from, of all places, Thunderbird Five. There’s a prickly sense of discomfort as John realises that, of course, it’s not him calling. Gordon must be trying to reach them.

"Heeeeey Lady Penelope,” The kid greets, as Penny flicks it on, seemingly a lot less bothered by the change than he is. “Oh, and Mr. Tracy.” There’s a huge smirk on his face. “How's our newest teacher holding up?"

"Firstly, my name is John.” John points out, flatly, “Second, I'm not your teacher so please don’t call me Mr. Tracy ever again. Thirdly…” He concedes, quirking an eyebrow, “Yeah, I'm good for now, but fourth… How are you holding up, up there in my Thunderbird? She’s not much like Four, is she?"

"Ooooooooo that's a good question,” Gordon looks half like he’s considering it, half like he’s really missing his own ‘bird. “I'm holding up pretty well thanks to Alan. He’s taken all the Monitor duty stuff, so all I gotta do is keep an eye on you guys." He sounds a bit… sarcastic about that. “It’s pretty boring, honestly. How do you survive up here without a pool?”

"Young Master Gordon, are you quite done talking?" Parker glances, unimpressed, at the little floating hologram of John’s brother in his rearview mirror, "Because we're about to arrive at our destination."

"Huh… oh yeah,” Gordon doesn’t seem too bothered about that, but he waves merrily at them all the same, “Okay bye and John, please have fun, you too Lady Penelope, okay bye guys."

It’s only a few moments later that Parker opens his mouth to tell them that they’ve arrived at Chino Roque Theater, pulling up out front to let them both climb out.

John's eyes widen: it’s nothing like what he saw on the internet. It was more enormous, more luminous, more spectacular than anything he’d seen or read online. All he remembers reading is that it's a sphere shaped building located in the Philippines, in Anilao Hill, but the pictures on the webpage didn’t do it justice like being there in person does.

The building was smooth and round; the auditorium shaped like a massive egg nestled in amongst the other buildings. They were early enough that the sun was just cresting the horizon, colouring the sky with reds and oranges, visible through the geometric front of the building - where giant triangles of glass intersect together to give the people inside an amazing view of the sky at night.

"M'lady, you and John can go ahead. I'll park FAB 1." Parker said, before going to the parking lot - unaware just how tiring and long his journey to find a place to park is going to be.

They both head inside the building, admiring the sweeping glass fractals of the roof high above them. It’s incredibly beautiful, really a feat of engineering. So much so, that John almost forgets why he’s even there, until he spots a couple of buses arriving on the other side of the building, and the panic sets in. He was expecting to be a little bit anxious, but this feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. He presses a hand hard against it, trying to calm his racing pulse and stop the sudden shake of his fingers, and Penny must notice, because a little hand settles, ever so lightly, on his shoulder, drawing his attention to her.

"Hey John," Lady Penelope looks him steadily in the eye, projecting warmth and reassurance. "They're just a small, mixed group of children and teens. They can’t possibly hurt you, now can they? They just came to have a small lecture because all of them like space and astronomy just like you. Imagine yourself at their age, meeting a real life astronaut.” John tries very hard not to remind her who, exactly, his Father was, as she goes on - trying to visualise being a kid that didn’t get ‘take your son to work days’ at NASA’. It’s a pretty horrifying concept. “Most importantly,” Penny adds, “it's only for an hour or so, so you don't need to worry so much." She had to smile just to reassure him. “You’ll have filled their heads with space facts and be out before you know it.”

"O-okay,” John takes a deep, steadying breath, “I don't know if I'm supposed to trust you on this, or whatever, but I really don't have any other choice." He also wants to add that they forced him to go, but at the last second he remembers that they never forced him - he agreed to go because Lady Penelope promised him a trip to the observatory.

It seems like a pretty weak reason, now that he’s outside the stage door, knees shaking.

"Mhm, I think it's time to go inside.” She nudges him callously in the right direction, and John’s palms meeting the solid metal of the double doors is the only thing that keeps him from following gravity’s call and landing on his face. “Again, if anything happens, I'll be at the back of the room and I have a plan b if things get too much." John, pretty shocked by just how many plan b's the Lady Penelope might have prepared for the day, can only shake his head, bemused. “So stop worrying and get out there!”

She vanishes off into the atrium, and John can’t help the loud exhale that escapes his mouth before he musters up all the courage he can, and enters the room.

Bright lights startle him for a moment, and he’s pretty sure he does an awful, awkward impression of a blind baby giraffe as he stumbles out onto the stage and freezes as he notices the first smatterings of audience are already taking their seats.

The moment he placed his foot on the smooth wooden floor, his heart had started to beat faster, his hands began to sweat, the more steps he took forward the more he felt anxious. It was, he’ll think later, one of the toughest moments of his life, and he’s been to space. Multiple times.

Come on John. He tries to straighten up, shake off his anxiety, This can’t go worse than your first EVA.

Taking another deep breath, John waits patiently for all the attendees to take a seat inside the room. Waiting doesn’t help his anxiety levels at all, and he can feel them increasing by the second, but, determined, John doesn’t let it stop him from starting his lecture.

"H-Hello everybody,” He starts, incredibly conscious of the hushed silence that falls across his audience. “I'm John Tracy, M.Sci, PgDip, B.Lang Hons,” he rattles off his credentials, his nerves almost blurring them together, “I worked with NASA as an astronaut for three years before going… uh… solo in my astronomical studies, and I'll be your guest lecturer for the day.” He swallows around the lump in his throat, as a ripple of hushed oohhhs and ahhhs goes through the crowd. John’s pretty sure his face has gone bright red. “Thank you for having me at the Chino Roque Theater,” He goes on, before his embarrassment can bet the better of him, “I hope everyone’s had an amazing day so far. We'll be spending the next hour or so talking about astronomy and space physics, so shall we get started?" John thought it was a good opening, and yet his back was really wet from all the people's eyes on him. Glancing offstage, Penelope throws him a thumbs up, and he feels a little better.

"Um,” He blinks. “So does anyone here know how old the universe is?" John ventures, only to be surprised as almost everyone answers at once;

"Almost 13.8 billion years!"

"Yes,” The edge of a smile works its way onto John’s face. Clearly this was going to be a shout out the answer kind of lecture. He can work with that. “That's correct, now does anyone know how the universe started?"

"The Big Bang!" Most of them answer, and John feels a surge of relief. These guys really are into space.

"Okay, okay, not bad at all." He nods affirmatively at them, and the screen behind him lights up with an artist’s rendition of the Big Bang happening. "Now if I were to go and search ‘how old is the universe’ in, say, Google, the answer would be 13,772 billion years. It’d be the same thing if we looked at NASA, or even Wikipedia - so how did people get to know the age of the universe? How do you even start calculating something that old? Well I'm going to explain it for you in two ways: the good, nice way, and the kinda not that good and not that scientific way." There’s a bit of an awkward pause as John wonders whether or not he’s explained that well. When only silence greets him, he very quickly realises he needs to press on.

"So, uh, the good way.” He folds his fingers together behind his back, trying to resist the urge to fidget. “Well, in the middle of the previous century, as telescopes developed, we noticed something strange. We found that stars in very distant galaxies tend to look red… Umm, which is something that’s not supposed to happen.” A chuckle escapes John and, to his relief, the audience laughs with him. Scott never gets his space jokes. “So why’s that?” He asks, “See, if a chemical element gains or loses energy it’ll emit light in certain frequencies, thereby creating certain colors.” A small movement of his hand signals the slide to change, and a picture of the visible section of the electromagnetic spectrum appears, colouring the room with rainbow light. “For example,” John goes on, bathed in blue and violet, “Consider something like… a desk lamp, as like an element. If you give a lamp electrical energy, it’ll release that energy in the form of heat and light, yeah?" There’s a murmur of uncertain understanding in the room. “Electricity goes in, the bulb gets hot, and it gives off light. Well, we know stars do pretty much the same thing - only powered by nuclear fusion rather than a nine volt plug.”

"From studies of the sun and stars that are near Earth, we know that they’re made of helium and hydrogen, yes?” There’s another murmur of agreement in John’s crowd, “Well, hydrogen and helium can create red light, but they don't have the ability to create these shades of red that we see in deep space." The slide behind John clicks to a comparison of the two shades, on two different stars - making the difference clear.

"So, if stars are made of helium and hydrogen then why do distant stars have different colours? Are their compositions different?uh, well It’s possible, but not likely. The strongest explanation is that the color difference is due to the movement of the stars." The room gives a soft gasp at this news, and John knows he’s onto something good.

"So there's something called the redshift and blueshift phenomenon that says that if an object radiates light and approaches you, the color of the light begins to turn blue, and if the object is moving away from you, the color will turn red. This happens because the wavelength of light contracts and expands with movement meaning that something stretching equals red and contraction equals blue."

"And the strange thing is,” John adds, his audience listening raptly, “That most, if not all, stars show the same behavior, so, if we think about it, if all stars are moving away from us, that means that they were close to us at some point, and if we follow their path, we find that everything in space meets at a point named ‘singularity’."

"It was believed, in the past, that everything in the universe, or at least in the visible part that we have observed, that is to say,” John flicks to a graphic on his next slide. “All the galaxies, planets and stars, were all gathered at one point - the singularity. The theory is that this point exploded in what we call the ‘Big Bang’, and from that time onward, the universe has been in constant expansion.”

"So it’s with data from this knowledge that we can calculate the age of the universe:” With a wave of his hand, John puts a series of bullet points up on the screen behind him, then reads them aloud.

“One, the universe began as a very small, single point.” He reaffirms, “Two, the universe is constantly expanding outward from that point, and three, from these we have the ability to calculate the expansion rate of the universe, by calculating the speed of the stars that are moving away from us. If we take the furthest accelerations and enter them into this equation,” John’s board merrily does it’s thing behind him, “Then, we get the age of the universe."

"And, so we don't forget, all this talking was about the good way. There is another way to calculate the age of the universe, the, uh, not as good way, or, more specifically, the less scientific way.” A ripple of laughter goes through John’s audience - and he relaxes a little more. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe these are his kind of people. Scott’s never laughed at a space joke for sure. “There's no problem with it,” He quietens them again with a gentle gesture, “and it does support our theory and calculations, so I guess we should talk about it."

"Since ancient times, humans have been looking at the sky, watching the stars, and giving them names like Cygnus, Canis Major, Orion.” All names any young astronomer in the Southern Hemisphere would recognise, and be able to enthusiastically point out in the night sky. “In those days, there wasn't the internet so they were looking up at the stars instead.” Much like John himself, when he’d been a boy.

“As a way of calculating the age of the universe, astronomers set out to search for the oldest celestial bodies in space.” He goes on to explain, “The idea was that if we find a star whose age equals X, then the age of the universe must be greater than the number X. So we pointed our telescopes up there and started trying to find out their ages from birth, to youth, to their old age until their end."

"Can anyone guess the age of the oldest star we've found?" A lot of answers were guessed, some of them were pretty close, but some, amusingly, were way too far. "Ok, ok…” John puts his hands up to pacify his excited crowd, “Umm I see there are a lot of answers, but the oldest star people discovered was actually estimated to be 13.5 billion years old. The HD-140283, or as you might know it, the Methuselah Star. That number is very close, you’ll notice, to our estimation of the age of the universe."

"But if we found a star that is 13.5 billion years old today, then we could find an even older star next week and that would ruin all of that,” He chuckles, mostly to himself, “We also should note that this method alone isn't suitable for determining the universe’s age, but as long as we have two methods with corroborative results, we can be reassured that the estimate is correct.” He pauses for a second, “So, does anyone have questions?" A couple of hands raised, and John found himself suddenly answering a lot of questions - but he managed all of them despite his fear of the huge crowd.

He’s starting to feel more than a little overwhelmed.

"Umm… W-well that was a lot of questions,” John tries to pull it back in, his allotted lecture time ticking away on the big clock at the back of the hall. He feels a little panicky from the bombardment, and his palms have gone sweaty. “We’d better move on.” To distract himself from the people, as much as anything, “Our next topic is the theory of relativity, so l-let's get started on that."

Lady Penelope, from her fold-out seat at the back of the room, frowns. It’s clear John’s terrified and she wants to use plan b, but as long as he’s still standing on his feet, and giving the lecture, he's probably fine for now. If anything, it’d cause more of a disruption to drag him away now.

"Umm,” John takes a breath, trying to centre himself in the science of it all. “Let's start with a supposition, a hypothesis if you like, and consider it together. Okay, you’ll have to bear with me on this one, but let us suppose that we were all asleep, and the universe suddenly inflated by a thousand times.” There’s a murmur in the crowd at how odd everything abruptly getting that much bigger sounds, “Your bed, your pillow, your desk,” John extrapolates, “even the meter we measure stuff with. If humans became a thousand times bigger, when we woke up would we feel something strange? Would we even notice anything had changed? You’d think so, but no.” John’s settling back into his rhythm now, “So why is that? Because the bed and everything became a thousand times more inflated and our bodies also inflated a thousand times, with everything scaling in parallel relation to each other so that this percentage, this scale, was preserved throughout the room. You’d never know the difference."

"Henri Poincaré, the well known mathematician and theoretical physicist, says that we will never be able to discover that something like this has happened, even if we use all the mathematics and calculations ever invented.” John drives the point home with another illustrated slide, “This hypothesis is called the Poincaré hypothesis, and simply, because the meter with which we measure things will have also expanded a thousand times, there’s never going to be any equation or calculation or any analysis possible that could lead us to the truth, because the ratio is preserved in all parts."

"Now, this is important, because the same thing also happens with time. If everything suddenly got a thousand times faster, we’d still never feel anything different. Why’s that?” He asks, rhetorically, “Because time is also a thousand times faster, your heartbeat is also a thousand times faster, your body would function a thousand times faster to keep up with it all. As long as everything is increased by the same amount, the ratio is preserved, and none of us will be able to detect any change."

"So Poincaré asked the scientific community; is there no way to know that time increased or that things inflated?" John tells the room, "Well, it was Albert Einstein who answered him, deciding that the one and only way to tell, would be to have someone observing what happened to the world from another galaxy, from another world, lightyears away. For someone to point a telescope in our direction, and look through it at us, and say what happened to the Earth? Why are humans walking a thousand times faster than in the past? But this person who realized the situation,” The astronaut waves a flippant hand, starting to feel much more confident again, “would have to be a person standing on a fixed external platform in a different world, so that what happened to us was not also happening to him."

"But, as Einstein commented, this hypothesis is impossible for a simple reason and it's that there is no fixed platform in the universe - the entirety of it is in constant, turbulent motion. For example, the Earth rotates at a speed of 460 meters per second, revolving around the sun at 30 kilometers per second, and at the same time, the sun and it’s planets and dwarf planets and moons and asteroids, all revolve around our galaxy, The Milky Way, at a speed of 300 kilometres per second, and so the whole universe revolves. That's,” John takes a deep breath, finding himself out of air after so much explaining, “why it's impossible for us humans to completely accurately judge the motion of any astral body."

"Because there is no fixed berth, we can only offer relativity. This is the first part of the theory that Einstein came up with, in summary; it cannot be said that the monotony of a body is absolute motion."

"Another thing he said was that, because of the vastness of the universe, it’s impossible to synchronize, what does that mean? Well, I will give you an example.” He flicks his slide, “Say I’m a person in the Philippines, and I'm talking to someone from the United States. We synchronize, and hear each other in real time, because we have a method of fast communication. I can hold my device and say; hello, how are you?” John holds up the slim, sliver slice of his phone to show the audience, “How’s the weather there? And they’d answer me with something like; I’m fine thank you, it's night here so it’s a bit hard to tell what the weather’s doing! What’s the weather like there? And I’d answer them; it's daytime, and maybe ask them something like, what are you eating? They’d answer me; a burger, and then I’d tell them that I'm eating kaldereta, and it’s much better than a burger."

In the audience Penny quietly hopes that Gordon, who's probably listening in with the rest of his brother’s, missed the fact John was making jokes on stage. The poor little bugger’ll never live it down otherwise.

"These two events, each person talking to the other, are compatible.”  John goes on, absolutely oblivious, “It’s possible because the two wireless devices, be they mobile phones or more sophisticated comms systems, are on the same globe, creating a fast means of communication.”

"But,” John postulates, “If I was talking to someone from another galaxy and I used the same means of communication to make a call, do you know how long it would take to get to them? It would be about five to six thousand years until my signal reaches the phone of our friend, and they’ll have married, had children and died, and their children would have married and had children and died, and so on, for thousands of years before then."

"And that's why it's impossible to synchronize between the ends of the universe,” John balances his palms like he’s weighing two invisible ends, “It rather puts a damper on our chances of finding and communicating with extraterrestrial life, for sure, but at least it’s possible to synchronize within one system, like the system of the Earth. "

"This is a thing that also applies to light, for example: any star you could look up and see now, the light emanating from it may be coming from thousands of years ago. This means that it’s possible that the star you see shining could have exploded and disappeared, and hasn't existed for a long time. Why? Because it takes a couple of thousand years for the light from that explosion to reach us."

"There isn’t any proof for the hypothesis that the universe is linked by time, but the thing that happens that we’re sure of is that the universe is made up of, sort of, separate islands of different times that have no connection between them. The connection between movement and time in space is something we all know about, for example, a day on Earth equals twenty-four hours, yes?” There’s a chorus of agreement from the audience, “But on Saturn, a day is ten hours because it rotates faster. Astonishingly, a day on Mercury is the same as fifty-eight whole Earth days, which, infact, is also a Mercurian year, because the planet revolves around the sun for the exact same period as it revolves around itself."

"Okay, so, to what extent is movement related to time?” John asks, well and truly into this whole teaching thing now, “Well, Einstein was the first person to discover the connection between them and suggested that; suppose you’re on board a very fast rocket, 100,000 miles per hour for example. The mechanical watch on your wrist would be delayed over the flight, but you wouldn’t feel like time is being delayed. Why’s that? It’s because the rhythm of your heart would slow down - all of the vital processes in your body that are inside the rocket will slow down."

"As you move more, something called the dilation of time will happen.” He steps to the side, as if to illustrate the point, only to find himself stumbling a little, like if the ground beneath his feet had moved. “T-Time slows down,” John tries to recover it smoothly, but everything’s starting to feel, weirdly, like it’s shaking, and he doesn’t think it’s the anxiety anymore, “and that's-"

John doesn’t get to finish his sentence because there’s an abrupt shift and a loud cracking from under him, and getting off the stage suddenly seems like a good idea. Someone screams outside, and the volume in the room skyrockets as the children start panicking. John’s one hundred percent sure this wasn't anything planned.

He knew he shouldn't have come.

Earthquake? He wonders first, then; Tsunami? Ground slip? Hurricane? Whichever it is, John has to prioritise calming the people and evacuating them out of the building. The giant glass panels above them are trembling with the force of the shaking, and, as a professional at this sort of thing, Thunderbird Five’s Space Monitor doesn’t like the look of it one bit.

"Everyone calm down,” He has to shout to make himself heard over the roar of people, even with the microphones pointed his way, “This is a normal thing. All we have to do is evacuate immediately, as calmly. as. possible. I don't want anyone crowding the exits, do you all understand what I just said?" The front rows, white faced with fear, nod encouragingly at him, and he watches as they begin to lead the way toward the glowing green signs that signal the emergency exits. Immediately after making sure the crowd is moving, John pulls up his comm to contact Gordon.

"Gordon, are you on the line?” John’s a little breathless and he climbs down from the precarious stage, into the throng of terrified bodies, “We have a situation in here."

"Let me guess, you caused it?" Gordon seems so excited to hear something other than his brother's boring lecture that humour has outweighed his professionalism.

"Gordon,” John grits his teeth, “I'm being serious right now, there was a huge movement in the ground beneath the Chino Roque Theater, and it's still ongoing. Tell Alan to do a check on what's happening beneath us using the Ground Penetrating Radar." He orders.

"F.A.B." Comes the far more serious response, before Gordon clicks off the line to do just that. Squashing down any fear he’d about the now swelling, shuffling crowd, John opens his arms wide and walks toward them, the motion sort of like he’s trying to herd sheep, as he tries to evacuate the people safely out of the building.

He’s not exactly an expert at being on the scene during rescues.

"John, there's a landslide going on right now,” Alan’s worried little voice comes ringing out of his comm speakers, “Right next to the theatre. You’d better get out of there. I’m monitoring the situation, but it’s looking like you’re going to need International Rescue to get you and the people out of there. The debris field is spreading fast." John would do almost anything to be up there instead, at his own screens. “I've contacted Virgil and Scott, I’m patching them through now.” Alan clicks Scott and Virgil, both clearly just finishing their suit up sequences, into the conversation. It seems important to keep them up to date with John's developing situation.

"Hey Mr. Tracy, how are you holding up?" Scott jokes over the roar of his launching Thunderbird, the sound filling the background of the call with white-noise, "Oh, and how was your lecture?" John thinks he sounds far too casual in contrast to the impending danger all around him.

"Oh my God, Scott, is now really the time?” John groans, and a kid with mousey blond hair not dissimilar to Alan’s looks up at him, very confused, before the astronaut waves him on, “You are an adult person,” He reminds his big brother, “Please don't be like Gordon right now. He’s practically still a child."

"Hey!” Gordon had clearly overheard the conversation between his brothers, and springs up to defend himself. “I'm only two or three years younger than you!" He complains, not about to do the math.

"Gordon, we don't have time for arguing about that now,” John frowns, “and Scott, I'm holding up alright at the moment. Please don't ask me anything about the lecture until I get back home." If his voice cracks a little on that last bit, he’ll never admit it.

"Okay, okay I won't ask anything about that,” Scott reassures him, his amused, big brother grin very much in place, “Keep on evacuating the people safely until we arrive John, you’re doing great. It won’t take us that long. ETA at 15,000 mph is sixteen minutes.” He reassures, “We’ll be there before you know it."

"F.A.B. Scott." He reluctantly signs off. Now that he’s finished talking with Scott, John’s pleased to see that a lot of people have already made their way out of the atrium’s three sets of double doors, evacuating the building to get as far away from the landslide as possible. His fingers itch to pull up the schematics from Thunderbird Five on his comm, no matter what the people around him might think. He quickly caves, and it feels worth it to be able to see the incoming tide of slipping land.

They don’t have much time.

“Let’s go!” He shouts, chivvying. He’s a little breathless with the tension, so he keeps things short. “Come on! Let’s move guys!”

From his vantage near the crumbling stage, John can make out Lady Penelope and Parker by the main doors, ushering people through, and the sight of them fills him instantly with immense relief.

“Okay, that's a good amount of people out.” John has to jog to catch up with them, skirting around a little old lady with a zimmer frame and taking a second to correct her course, “Lady Penelope, Parker, I think you should go and check on the people who’re out. They could have minor injuries from the stampede, and International Rescue are still ten minutes out. I'll make sure the last few stragglers exit safely."

Penelope just nods, pale and worried. Her blond brows are all pinched in together, nervous and Parker looks practically haggard as he claps a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder, her faithful old companion following her pink shape dutifully out the doors. Hopefully they’ll go make sure that no one was badly injured in any way.

Turning back to the slow cascade of cracking rubble behind him, John finds the stage area has been all but obliterated, and his heart aches for the patrons of the Chino Roque Theater who’ll have to rebuild from scratch when this is over. He imagines the Tracy fund can contribute a significant amount toward that though. They often do for worthy causes.

John pushes the damp curl of his slightly sweaty bangs out of his eyes and climbs over what looks like a twisted piece of ceiling girder toward the sound of people, possibly trapped stragglers, who are calling for help.

"I miss Thunderbird 5 so much,” John mutters, keeping it under his breath so that no one hears him, as his palms are scraped raw against the concrete he’s trying to clamber around. There’s a rippp of fabric on a jagged piece of metal and the knee of his previous pristine brown jeans meets much the same fate as his poor, scuffed hands. “Oh, come on!” He’s having no luck today, “I'd so rather be assisting the situation from space. I can’t believe I’m stuck here." John grumbles, to no one in particular. He’s just not built for this kind of thing. Heavy labour and getting sweaty pulling people out of scrap heaps is what his other brothers do. At least rescues in space don’t have all this… gravity to contend with.

"John?” The crackle of a comm cut’s across his complaints, “What’re you still doing in there?” Gordon’s voice breaks him from his thoughts, little brother’s tone heavy with concern. “The building could fall any moment! You're so lucky the landslide isn't moving very fast, but it’s not gonna stay that way forever." Gordon was really worried about the fact that his older brother was still inside. “It could engulf the building! You need to hurry it up, bro.”

"I'm evacuating the people as fast as I can,” John gets both hands under the armpits of a boy who couldn’t be older than seven, and swings him above a pile of rubble toward safety, “I'll be out in no ti- Ah!"

John’s voice gets cut off with a startled cry, and it takes Gordon a second or two, time John might not have, to remember how to breathe so that he can yell in any way coherently into his comm. His eyes are wide, his anxiety levels through the roof as he tries, and fails, to rouse his brother on the other end.

"SCOTT! You need to get there now.” Gordon’s aware that he’s totally losing his cool, panic creeping in over his weak layer of professionalism, “I just lost contact with John.” He gasps, “He was evacuating people and I heard him yell and now he’s not responding! And- and it's not just him. There were other people he was trying to get out."

"Hey Gordon,” Scott tries to keep his voice steady to inject some kind of stability into the conversation, “Don't lose your cool yet. I'm sure nothing that bad happened to John. Just stay your positive self, okay? I’m arriving right now and Virgil isn’t far behind me."

Thunderbird One is panning over the city, low enough to ruffle the hair of people looking up, but it’s not a problem until the usually so sure and steady pilot finds his hands nearly slipping off her controls as Scott catches his first, horrific glimpse of the building that he knows his younger brother is inside.

“What the…?”

The Chino Roque Theater is almost flat.

"Virgil,” Scott swallows hard to try and remove any of the tremor from his voice, “A-Are you seeing what I'm seeing right now?" He almost succeeds.

"Scott this isn't a joke, it looks like half of the building has come down with the landslide! John’s in there!" Virgil sounds more terrified than Scott thinks he’s ever heard him. What scares him the most is that the exit was on the side that has fallen in, which means that a lot of people are trapped under it, their John included. "Scott, we need to help them right now.

"Okay, here's the plan,” Scott’s hands tighten white-knuckled on the steering yoke, “You wear your exo-suit and go clear the debris out of the way so that we can save them, and I'll get rid of that roof with Thunderbird One and check for life signs. Remember that saving lives is our top priority, got it? No matter what’s happened to John."

"F.A.B." Virgil sounds incredibly tense. He lands Thunderbird Two as fast as he can in the crowded, limited space. Local people are beginning to make their way out of their houses to see what all the commotion is about, and the cramped city streets aren’t ideal for International Rescue’s four hundred and six ton workhorse.

Two’s pilot struggles into his exo-suit, rushing to get the Jaws of Life prepared despite Scott’s insistence that he focus and take things slow and sensible. It’s not long until he finds himself digging among the debris looking for buried people and, in the white rush of it all, Virgil’s not even sure how he got there.

"Scott,” he presses on his comm, “Please tell me you’ve got something?"

"Fortunately and thankfully yes,” It’s hard to find the hopefulness in big brother’s clipped Mobile Control voice, but it’s there to Virgil’s expert ear, drizzled in nervous relief. “I've got a whole cluster of life signs,” Scott reports, “BPM signalling in the green. "I think they’re just trapped under the debris." Alan’s echolocation report came back suggesting that there’s a big space under what could be folded sheet metal from the ceiling, that they’ve huddled in. I'm really sure there's nothing that bad, but still we have to continue otherwise it will take a bad turn for us and the people in there."

“I can use the grappling cables in Thunderbird One to take the strain off the roof,” Scott adds, “But I need you in there to get those people out.”

“Already on my way,” Virgil ducks under some rebar, skirting around the rubble and pulling away loose debris as he goes. His heart is loud in his own ears, and Virgil hopes the creak and groan of metal and concrete above him is Scott lifting the weight off the roof, keeping it from collapsing any further onto the people below, and not anything more sinister. Virgil gets peppered by a slide of small stones, but the roof holds steady.

He presses on until he catches sight of the cluster of around forty people, all huddled together around a tall, central figure with a shocking amount of rubble dust smeared over his face, and powdered through his ginger hair.

“John!” Two’s pilot makes a beeline for his brother, despite the fact three of the people are stuck under rubble. Clearly John’s in control of the situation here, and he’s never wanted a mission update from their Space Monitor so much in his life. He can’t help but hone in on the fact John's left arm is crudely wrapped in a piece of cloth from his sleeve, which he must’ve ripped off in order to tie it.

"You have to tell me exactly what happened,” Virgil drops the controls for the Jaws of Life, and grasps his brother’s biceps in both hands instead, resisting the very strong temptation to pull the spaceman in for a hug. “And what happened to your arm?!?" There’s a river of blood seeping from beneath the make-shift bandage, but John, it seems, isn’t bothered by it in the slightest.

"Not now Virgil.” His concerns get thoroughly dismissed, “We’ve got to get these people out of here, and then I'll tell you everything." Virgil didn't like the idea that something happened to his brother and he's silent about it, but after all John was right about saving the people first since his arm is under control for now.

John crouches by the nearest injured person; a pale, skinny teen with a sizable piece of rebar keeping him pinned.

“You’re gonna be out of there in just a second, Lito.” Virgil watches him reassuring the young man for a long moment, “Uh, Virgil?” John prompts. “Any time?”

“What?” He blinks, “Oh, yeah!” His brother is clearly waiting expectantly for him to use the Jaws of Life to get the poor kid out. "I’m on it, but you better tell me everything after we're done saving them." Virgil demands. “But, uh, Scott’s kind of holding the roof up right now, so you’re probably right.”

"Okay,” John literally rolls his eyes, busy stealing a pair of blue rubber gloves from the Med Kit Virgil brought with him, and snapping them on to protect his hands and the fine cuts he’d gotten from climbing over rubble. “I promise I'll tell you everything, but can we start actually rescuing them now?" Rolling his eyes right back, the bigger man uses his exosuit to heft the rubble off Lito, before John swoops in to apply pressure to his injuries.

“Give me the fold out stretcher from your sash.” He orders, hands bloodied “Then go get the next person out. Efifania, Sergio?” John beckons a pair of nearby dad’s in closer, clearly having singled them out as capable stretcher bearers. “Think you can manage Lito here for me?”

As Virgil starts removing the rubble from above the other two trapped people, a middle aged man and a younger woman, it becomes immediately obvious that both of them have more severe wounds than young Lito. They both need medical treatment immediately.

“I’ll carry one of them.” Without the three extra sets of hands he’d need, Virgil has to leave a couple of crowd members applying pressure to their wounds, as he moves back to where John is helping Lito unsteadily to his feet. “Think you can walk, young man? We’re gonna need that stretcher for the big guy.”

“I won’t let you fall.” John promises, and Virgil feels a real swell of pride at how well his brother is handling the situation whilst being outside of both his space station and his comfort zone. It looks like having a rescue and a job to do really gives him no time for anxiety. "I agree that that's our best plan.” He adds, nodding, short and sharp, to confirm it, then John turns, an arm around Lito’s waist and the kid’s arm slung over his shoulder, to address the crowd.

“Anyone not so severely hurt needs to help get the injured out of here.” John instructs, the small crowd listening raptly. The look on the faces of these scared people is one Virgil is all too familiar with, but he knows John has far less experience of in person. They’re really looking to him as their saviour. “Virgil here is going to lead us through the path he just made.” Which is news to Virgil, but does seem like the best plan. “International Rescue will then be able to take us all to the hospital to get checked out, and then I’m sure you’ll be released to go home to your families before you know it. Got it everyone?"

In that moment Virgil finds himself struck with amazement at how John seems to have become almost as fearless as Scott, as they started carrying the two injured people out to safety. It was really a new side to him that Virgil doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

"Virgil… I need you to check on Lady Penelope and Parker.” John’s keeping pace at his side, helping the boy they’d dug out along as he goes, “I told them to check to see if anyone was hurt."

"Hmm, yeah you're right.” Virgil frowns. If Penny and Parker have any more injured party members, even minor ones that just need a check up, Thunderbird Two will need to evacuate them to the hospital as well. “Have you got any idea where they might be?"

"Well, I told them to get somewhere away from the landslide,” John frowns, as their limping, shocky party stumbles out into the bright light of day, to be greeted by the roar of Thunderbird One’s engines high above them. “They should be near here.” He yells over the sound of it.

As usual, it turns out that John is completely right. Penny and Parker are waiting for them, but neither John nor Virgil find the look on Lady Penelope's face all that reassuring.

"JOHN!” She rushes toward the battered, bloodied spaceman, her arms outstretched. Virgil very quickly and carefully finagles poor Lito out of the way as his brother gets ambushed. “Are you okay?!?” Penelope demands, frantic, “What happened to your arm?” She reaches for the bloodied bandage, and John winces, “I'm so sorry,” All of John’s carefully constructed rules around personal space are shattered as she cups his cheek, inspecting his face for injury. It’s lucky that John is by far the most patient of the Tracy boys. “I shouldn't have left you there.

"She’d been so terrified, perhaps more than anyone else here. The horrific view she’d seen with her own eyes is going to haunt her for a long time yet. One second she was getting out of the building to reassure and check up on the people, and the next she was watching half the structure collapse completely, with John under the side that fell. She still feels a little sick.

"I'm so, so, so sorry John,” She repeats, before he can get a word in edgeways to reassure her, “Please, you must tell me if there's any way I can make it up to you. Ask me anything and I'll do it."

"Okay guys,” Virgil chuckles, “while you talk things out I'll go to get the injured people aboard Thunderbird 2. Make it quick though, we’ve still got people who need immediate medical treatment, got it?"

"F.A.B. Virgil.” John nods, “We'll be quick. Penny, I..."

“I’m so sorry.” She repeats again, and pulls his good arm over her shoulder as if to steady him as they make their way at the back of the crowd toward the big green Thunderbird.

"No no no, Penny, please stop apologising.” John’s fingers tighten for a quick moment on her shoulder, in brief reassurance, “I'm not going to ask you for anything because it was never your fault.” He insists, “It was just some bad luck, that's all. Fortunately I, and most people, got out safe with no severe wounds. These things happen.”

“Your arm.” She points out softly, hoping that all that blood looks worse than it is, “John I can’t believe you stayed behind like that, it’s so...”

“Tracy?” He grins, amused but very weary.

“Scott Tracy.” She corrects, scowling a little as she holds on just that little bit tighter around his waist as his adrenaline from the rescue starts to flag. “I thought you had more common sense.”

“Hate to disappoint.” She feels the warmth of him chuckling, “I’m lucky it was nothing worse than his cut from some shattered glass that fell on my arm while I was helping one of the guys who got stuck. I don’t think any arteries or anything have been damaged, but it is... kinda deep." And he might be getting a little lightheaded from the blood loss. Still, he really wants to reassure her, just like she had reassured him before he’d gone in to give the lecture.

"Hate to interrupt your moment, but are you guys done?" Scott pops up from who-knows-where amongst the crowd to yell at them. He’s clearly joined the relief effort. "Virgil’s just finished getting everyone aboard Thunderbird 2, and he's ready to launch." He adds, squinting at the pale, wobbly mess of his brother. "And you really do need to check your arm. That looks nasty.”

"Yeah Scott,” John wipes a tired hand over his dirty face, dislodging dust, “We're done. Don’t let Thunderbird Two wait for me, I'll hitch a ride with Lady Penelope, uh,” He turns to her, bashful, to check, “If that’s okay?"

“Of course,” Her Ladyship concedes, “Scott?” She is mildly concerned that big brother might want to have the injured member of his flock under his wing so he can smother him.

"Yeah sure, ride whatever you want.” Scott flip flops a dismissive hand at them, “You can ride a pod, I won't care as long as your destination is the hospital."

"How about you, Gordon?” John knows his little brother is still on the line, probably sulking. “Is it okay if I take the ride with Lady P?"

"W-what do you mean by that?” Gordon sounds confused and maybe a little embarrassed, like he’s been caught out. “Scott already said you should go, why’re you asking me?"

"Well, she's your girlfriend.” John grins, teasing, as Penny helps him into the back of FAB1. “Of course I have to get permission from her boyfriend.

"Penny swats at him for that, amused, but careful not to hit his injured arm. She doesn’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, but it is fun to see Gordon squirm - especially as Scott and Virgil both crack up, and even Alan in space starts teasing him.

"What?!?” Gordon’s face, bless that darling young man, has gone bright red. “J-Just go already." He ducks off the comm screen to try and hide his embarrassment, but it’s far too late for that.

He’s lucky that Penelope finds it incredibly endearing.

"John,” She nudges him, as the Tracy’s all click off the line to go do their actual jobs. She’s a little concerned that he’s looking a bit spaced out, if you’ll excuse the pun, and it’s probably a good idea to keep him talking. “You know we're still going to The Pagasa Observatory, just like I promised you, right?"

"Wait really?” John’s head tilts, a little floppy, towards her from where it had been sinking into FAB1’s luxurious headrests. He’s looking a little grey, but it’s good to see his eyes open. “After all that happened?” A ginger eyebrow quirks, “Are you sure there's time for that?"

"Well, we’re on our way to the hospital now, but there’ll be plenty of time this afternoon.” As long as the medics give him a clean bill of health. “You can change your clothes after we're done checking your arm then there should be time for you to go see that big telescope you've been dreaming of visiting. After all, I did promise you we’d go there after we're done."

"Well, that sounds good to me!” John smiles like there’s a supanova fuling him, “Penny you’re the best."

They reach the hospital a little after International Rescue has dropped off the fourty or so injured people, and so there’s quite a wait for a Doctor to be free so that they can have a look at John’s poor, sliced arm. Penny seems to be doing a worried hover at his side, while he waits, shaky from blood loss, and though he’s not used to having so much company, John has to admit it’s nice to have a chance to catch up with his old friend with no rescue alarms blaring.

Alan reports in that the two worst injured in the landslide have been hospitalized as fast as possible, that they were stable - the doctors have said their prognosis looked good. He also tells him that Lito’s family had been asking after the redheaded lecturer who’d helped him out of the rubble, and that John Tracy, M.Sci, PgDip, B.Lang Hons, should probably expect a gift basket in the mail quite soon.

John gets quite flustered about that. He’d just been doing his job.

The spaceman's arm was eventually treated, and Scott calls in to ask what actually happened to his arm. It still hurts, a properly bandaged throb just under his elbow, but not like before. The painkilling injection and little bit of morphine they’d given him when they stitched it up had probably helped with that.

Alan’s reports dug up that the landslide had been caused by a water main leaking under the building, and destabilizing the soil. Over time, water can do a lot of damage, washing away vital infrastructure if it’s not been properly reinforced during construction.

As the Chino Roque Theater was a new build, there must have been a mistake in the installation of the pipes during construction.

Someone was getting a big lawsuit heading their way, and Tracy Enterprises will be more than happy to fund the lawyers for the theatre.

As Lady Penelope promised him, they found John a change of clothes and went to the Pagasa Observatory. Penny’s quite sure she’s never seen anything as wholesome as the moment John sees the telescope - his eyes went all shiny, and the smile on his face was massive.

"Lady Penelope, Parker come take a look at the stars!!!” He calls, over his shoulder, with the enthusiasm of a boy half his age, “They’re really beautiful from here!" With such a high-powered lens pointed up at the cosmos, it rivals even his view from Thunderbird Five.

"Indeed, they are." Lady Penelope and Parker both step up to take turns, but John was the one to look through the telescope the most. With all the stealth her years as a secret agent offered her, Lady Penelope took a picture of him.

"Parker, come take a look." She whispers, beckoning her old companion gleefully over. "He looks so happy and innocent in this picture. Wouldn’t it be lovely to see his face like this always?"

"We still have some time before they close,” Parker points out, a sly grin creeping onto his nosey old face. “How h’bout we leave him like this for a little longer?"

"That, Parker.” she smiles, “Is an excellent idea.”

The End

[boxofbadaddiction]

The Friends to Lovers Cliché

George Weasley x Reader

This story is inspired from a request of my F.R.I.E.N.D.S Themed Prompt List.

Prompts: 13 and 15

"I'm so happy and not at all Jealous."/"I'm sorry. Maybe I can make it up to you by taking you roughly in the barn."

Warnings: Light Swearing.

Not many things in life had been clear for [Y/N]. She could never understand why her parents fought. Or why Snape despised Gryffindor so much. Above all she couldn't understand why the Weasley Twins had taken so much of a liking to her, not that she was complaining. The Weasleys were the type family she'd always dreamed of being apart of.

There was one thing however she knew for certain. That was, George and her were never meant to be 'just friends'.

The transition was simple. Hell, they practically melted together into the perfect couple. After 4 years of friendship they both just knew they were right for one another.

Today, however, there was one other thing she was sure of. The fact she was positively shitting herself at the prospect of spending this Summer at the Burrow. Yeah, she'd done it plenty of times in the past, but they were different. This time she was wasn't just 'the Twins best friend', she was 'the Girlfriend'. The thought terrified her for reasons she couldn't understand. Evidently, her nerves must have been playing painfully obvious as George noticed and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

"Relax, love" he whispered, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck. She'd been bouncing on the balls of her feet, biting her nails, while staring fixedly at the train tracks in front of her. George wasn't sure whether she were willing the Hogwarts Express to speed up...or to slow down.

"You realise you've been to our house before, right?" Fred joked as he watched her amusedly.

"Ah, but that was before", Ginny spoke stepping closer to her family and friends, "before she'd began smooching our precious, little, Georgie all over the school." She pursed her lips, making various kissing noises while she did.

"Oh shove off, you two." George swatted away his pestering siblings as the Train rolled into the station before them.

"They love you, my parents, you know that. I'll be with you the whole time, don't worry." He kissed her cheek and gave her waist a reassuring squeeze before they made their way toward the carriages. She nodded once in response, sighing deeply in uncomfortable anticipation. George, walked beside her, hands intertwined, trying to restrain the giggle that formed in his throat at the look that had appeared on her face.

The train ride went by in the blink of an eye. Much to [Y/N]s displeasure. Walking onto the platform she kept a firm grip on her luggage in one hand, and a firmer grasp on George's hand in her other.

"Love, I know you're nervous, but you're sort of breaking my hand." He chuckled. His words broke the girls intense focus that had set on the pounding of her own heart beat and the crowd of people bustling about the train-line, as she scanned the various faces for the familiar features of Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Quickly shifting her gaze to see the whites of her knuckles and the red tips of Georges fingers she gasped, dropping the hold immediately and apologising.

"It's okay" he laughed, shaking the pins and needles from his hand as he threw his arm over her shoulders. "There's Dad." He nodded, feeling [Y/N] tense under his hold at the words. She whipped her head around so fast she saw spots. Mr Weasleys attention was set directly on the couple, with an endearing smile on his lips. Ducking her head away in an attempt to hide her blushing face the other Weasleys laughed leading the way.

Arthur was greeting Ginny in a tight embrace when George and [Y/N] approached. George saw his chance for a laugh and took it. As Ginny stepped back from her father George nudged his girlfriend forward with his shoulder, watching her fumble forward slightly to stand infront of the man in question. She glared back at him, eyes like daggers.

"[Y/N] DEAR!" Mr Weasley exclaimed in excitement, greeting the pale faced teen, shaking her hand with both of his, "so glad you could join us for the Summer." He was grinning broadly. "Thank you for having me" "No problem at all! Molly and I were thrilled when we heard the news", he let go of her hand. "Hope you've been keeping our boy in line." he looked between her and Fred who promptly shook his head and pointed to his brother next to him - who stood with poorly contained laughter. Arthur turned his attention back to [Y/N] who was blushing a deep red as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, bowing her head. What was she meant to say to that? Control George Weasley? Talk about the impossible.

"Right then." Arthur spoke to the group of redheads, and [Y/N] "if this is everyone we'd best be off. Your mother's got dinner on already, hate to be late."

"Excellent!" Added Ron eagerly as they departed for the Burrow.

Okay so, maybe [Y/N] was a little out of her mind to be so worried about visiting this Summer. Everything was exactly as it had been before. Molly had greeted her with a warm hug and smile which always made her feel at home. Although, this smile was considerably brighter in [Y/N]s opinion. Molly couldn't restrain herself from gushing over the happy new couple whenever she saw them together, even if they were just talking at the dining table. Her compliments prompting countless redcheeks from [Y/N] and more than a few snide comments from George about 'personal space'. But other than that, everything was exactly as it had been.

At the beginning of their second week home the restless teenagers currently occupying the Burrow found themselves bored beyond death. Not that Molly hadn't done all she could to keep them busy with a surplus of chores, of course. Now however they found themselves faced with an entire day free for whatever their desperate little hearts desired. If only they could think of something fun to do. There was always Quidditch...but without Harry due for another few days they were left as an odd number. Rather it was decided that a leisurely stroll into town would hold them over for now.

The day was spent simply browsing through the many stores which lined the small streets. Fred and George were sure to drag everyone to their favourite muggle joke store. Ginny and Ron didn't miss a beat in rushing to their favourite sweet shops. [Y/N] wouldn't have changed it for the world. Between the laughter and joking, and Georges ever present hold on her - he hadn't let go of her even once all day, much to the disgust of Fred, Ron and Ginny, it was perfect.

But as they say; all good things come to an end. At least they did for George.

"[Y/N]?" an unfamiliar voice rang through his ears.

"Oh my goodness...JEREMY?" [Y/N] had replied.

The Weasleys turned to see a, very handsome, boy striding quickly toward their friend with a wide smile.

They exchanged various pieces of small talk, [Y/N] being sure to introduce everyone as they caught up. Jeremy had attended Hogwarts briefly. He was a year older than Fred, George and [Y/N] and had transferred to Ilvermorny when his parents were needed in America for business reasons. Apparently the two were quite close before his final year.

George was torn.

He couldn't help but admire his girlfriend in this moment. How happy she looked. How passionately she spoke about school, and her friends. She was truly glowing.

That being said. George was not so fond of Jeremy.

Of the way he leant himself slightly toward [Y/N] as he spoke. Of the way his lips curled as she got lost on her own stories tangent. How his eyes traced her body whenever he thought she wouldn't notice. Of that look he held toward her. George knew that look. It was the same one he had everytime he saw her.

"They're just friends." He told himself. "She's with you." He repeated the words over and over in his mind seeking comfort in the fact she was his and his alone. That, after their little reunion, she was going home with him.

Still he couldn't help as he stood there, grinding his teeth slightly, but to size him up. No contest. He could take him easy.

A slight tug on his hand brought George from his thoughts. Everyone was saying goodbye. With the sun already set low in the sky the group were pressed to get home. Unwilling to tempt the wrath of Mrs Weasley lest they be late.

"So, [Y/N]" Fred began, making conversation on their walk home, "how'd you get to know Jeremy at school?"

"Oh, ya know through the grape vine. He was a-ah friend of a friend." She seemed nervous. Why did she seem nervous?

"He's not...that Jeremy, is he?" Ginny asked grinning with a knowing look on her face. "The one you-" [Y/N] smacked Ginny hard on the shoulder to stop her talking.

"Oooh, the one you what?" Fred asked wiggling his eyebrows..

"Nothing. It was nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing" George said with a forced smile, tickling her sides.

"We just-UGH! It was a dare. Stupid really. Seven minutes in Heaven or whatever you call it." She tried to play it off. "Can we please talk about anything else." She shrugged with a pleading look.

"Awe, our little [Y/N/N]. Such a sinner!" Fred teased pinching her cheek.

"Lay off." She swat his arm.

The mocking would have continued if it weren't for the call of Mrs Weasley as soon as they entered through the house doors, calling for them to head straight up stairs to clean up for dinner as Percy and Mr Weasley would be home soon. [Y/N] offered to help prepare dinner but Molly insisted she could handle everything. Shooing them upstairs while she did so.

Fred and George were changing in their room with their backs to one another. Abnormally silent. It was making Fred uncomfortable.

"So. [Y/N], huh? Was about time you two made it official." George hummed in response. Fred glanced over his shoulder to watch his brothers reaction as he continued. "I mean, Mum loves her. Wouldn't be surprised if she tries to get her living here before the holidays up." He joked turning to face his brother who hadn't moved, shaking fluff from his favourite green sweater. "No doubt that'd make you happy." Nothing. " unless you're not happy she's here? That or it's just the jealousy" "What?!" George turned his head over his shoulder to stare at his twin, looking insulted by his insinuation. "No. Of course I'm glad she's here!" He threw his jumper over his head. "I'm so happy, and not at all jealous." He grumbled, pulling the ends of his jumper to cover his waist with a little too much attitude for someone who was "so happy".

"Right, cause you always sulk like this when you hear something you don't like. Forgot sorry, that I was talking to Ron." He threw a sock at his brother.

"I'm not sulking." He sulked, rolling his eyes and turning his back to his twin.

"What's the big deal? You've snogged loads of girls before [Y/N], don't see her pouting."

"I know!" George snapped, turning to sit on the foot of his bed with his head bowed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. So they kissed. What's the big deal?" He looked up to Fred, arms wide in question.

"Jealousy, mate. Gets to the best of us" Fred laughed walking to the door past George, clapping him on the shoulder as he did so. "You'll get over it. Come on, let's eat."

George stared at the wall for a moment, before rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. "Get a grip." He told himself, following his brother. They stopped by Ginnys room where [Y/N] had agreed to meet them. They could hear the girls voices through the door. Fred was about to knock when...

"He's so cute though!" Came the giggle of their sister. His hand froze centimetres from the door, eyeing his brother curiously. "Like, ridiculously cute!" She squealed causing [Y/N] to laugh. "They're not still talking about that tosser, surely?" George wondered aloud.

"I know he is, Ginny. You forget I used to snog him." She replied. Unknowing to her, [Y/N]s comment had made her eavesdropping boyfriends heart drop. She said it was just one time.

"Why didn't you two date?" Ginny asked.

"What we had was way more fun." Smirk evident on her tone of voice.

"[Y/N]!" Their sister shouted.

George had heard enough. His blood boiling he stormed away. Fred watched as his Twin disappeared from sight followed shortly by the unmistakable open and close of the front door. Fred hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

"I'm kidding. To tell you the truth I was too hung up on your brother at the time."

"Of course." Fred thought, "the one bit he doesn't hear!" He shook his head. Knocking lightly on the door, pushing it open. "Hey" he spoke awkwardly "uh, [Y/N], mind if I have a word?" "But of course, Fredrick." She giggled. Following the boy from the room.

She stood patiently on the landing behind him while he closed the door, she couldn't help but notice the serious expression on his face. One that didn't look like it belonged on the face of Fred Weasley. "This is awkward, but..."

"Don't tell me you've come to confess your undying love for me now, Freddie. I only just got with your brother." She teased, pushing his shoulder playfully. "Ah, not exactly. But this is about him actually. You need to go talk to him." "Why...what's wrong?" Her cheeky smile suddenly fading.

"Well, um, Georgie may have gotten a bit jealous today, of that friend of yours. Aaannd he may have also just heard a snippet of your conversation with our darling sister." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling greatly uncomfortable. "You're joking." Fred grimaced. "But" she laughed exasperated, "George doesn't get jealous!..does he?" "Apparently so. Go see for yourself. He stormed off out the front, he'll be by the pond for sure." Fred gestured down the stairs. "Thanks, Freddie."

[Y/N] was at a loss. What could George possibly have to be jealous about? I mean, yes it was unfortunate timing that he had overheard her joke with Ginny but, other than that, Jeremy and her were just friends! And it's not like George hadn't had his fair share of flings before they got together.

Walking out toward the pond, [Y/N] could just make out the silhouette of her boyfriends body. Standing rigid by the waters edge, hands in his pants pockets. The sky was all but dark now, a mere sliver of orange and cream way on the horizon. Not a cloud in the sky as the stars shone brightly over head. She walked toward him wishing she were wearing warmer clothes as the nights air nipped at her exposed skin.

"Hey, Georgie." She spoke softly, standing just behind him. He turned his head to the side at the sound of her voice, able to see her only just by the corner of his eye. "Hey" he mumbled before looking back to the water.

Taking a deep breath she stepped toward him, shivering slightly. "A little birdie tells me..." her voice was soft and playful as she put her arms out wrapping them around his waist "that you're a little jealous" she nuzzled into him. Eyes gazing up to his profile. George opened his mouth to speak before closing it deciding against whatever retort formed on the tip of his tongue. She tilted her head walking in front of him to hug him once more, her tone now sincere. "I'm sorry. Maybe I can make it up to you by...taking you roughly in the barn." She chuckled against him.

He shook her off him turning away again. [Y/N]s face dropped slightly while the last of her giggles faded. She'd never seen him like this before. Even when they weren't dating.

"Oh, George..." "just don't." He snapped. "You don't have to say anything." "I'm sorry about what you heard. But it-it was just a joke-" "so you didn't sneak around with Jeremy while he was at school?" He interrupted. "Well...yes that happened but" he scoffed.

[Y/N]s temper began to rise at the reaction. "Hey! Wait a minute you can't hold that against me. We weren't together at the time and it's not as if you were an angel before us! Need I remind you of your time spent with Katie. And Alicia. And Felicity. And-" "ALRIGHT!" He turned to face her now, brows furrowed.

His expression softening as he looked at her. "Alright...I'm sorry, I know I don't have any right to get angry. Or any reason to be jealous I just...I don't like to think about you with anyone other than me." He stepped forward, "and after the way he was looking at you today. Looking at you the way I do, and hearing you with Ginny I just-" he cast his eyes over to the House. Not knowing the words to say. "I just need to know that you're mine." He moved into her, placing his hands against her sides and leaning their foreheads together.

They stood there for a moment, eyes closed just feeling each others warmth in the cold night air. [Y/N] was the first to open them again, searching his face which bore a painful expression. As if worried she were going to say she weren't his.

Placing a hand gently on the back of his neck she pulled their lips together. Kissing him tenderly at first before filling it with as much passion and love as she could. Wanting him to feel just how badly she needed him. [Y/N] pulled her lips from his, pushing her forehead against his again as she spoke softly, "I'll always be yours, George."

He leant into her, lips crashing with hers hungrily. Lifting her into his body while she giggled. He placed her back down layering quick, sweet, kisses to her cheek and neck.

"Feel better now?" She teased.

He smiled against her skin. "Absolutely."

Pulling back to whisper in her ear, his grip tightened on her hips, "Now, about that barn idea..." he grinned, biting his lip.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier. 

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents. 

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

~

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

~

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

[ladyreapermc]

Rules of Engagement 1/? (Henry x OFC)

Summary: Henry and Em have been friends for almost ten years and involved in a casual affair for just as long. The rules were simple: no romantic attachment and their friends and family couldn’t know. Easy enough to do right? However, when new complications emerge, Henry and Em will need to navigate this relationship of theirs, if they can even call it that. Chapter 02 | Chapter 03 |  Chapter 04  | Chapter 5  | Chapter 06

Author’s Notes: Here it is. My first official series for Henners. I’m strangely nervous, because it’s sort of my baby and I have been putting lots of work on it for a couple of months now. So I would really, really appreciate feedback if you could take some time to do it.

Wordcount: 4815

Warnings: alcohol consumption; smut (oral; dirty talk; penetration)

Chapter 01: Casual Affair

It was by pure chance that when Emeline’s flight coming from Istambul had technical difficulties while on air, they stopped in Budapest of all places. However, it was straight bad luck that what was supposed to be just a quick stop turned into an allnighter due to more serious engine problems, with her new flight being scheduled for the next morning.

She considered just getting herself a hotel but it was nearly ten p.m. she was exhausted and Em really didn’t want to deal with finding a half-decent place to crash when she could just call Henry. That was what friends were for right?

Henry came, of course. That was the kind of person he was. Kind and helpful. Dependable. He hugged her tight, since they hadn’t seen each other since Clara and Todd’s baby had been born, before taking her carryon like the perfect gentleman and ushering Em into the rental car he had been using during his stay.

During the drive, he talked in an excited tone about the series and all the work he had to do. Em could only smile at the huge grin on his lips and the glint of excitement in his blue eyes. It was quite something to see Henry this happy and engaged with a project. Em was truly glad for him, but she was also tired, never being one to sleep on airplanes, so her contributions to the conversations were just hmms and nods every now and then, not that Henry seemed to mind.

“Did you eat?” Henry asked once he parked at the driveway of the cute white house and its perfectly maintained lawn that had been his home for the last couple of months.

“Airport food? Please!” she pulled a face, making Henry laugh as he led the way through the stone pathway.

“You’re such a food snob,” he commented, pausing by the front door, and Em was already smiling because she could hear Kal’s whines through the door.

“I’m not. I just have good taste.” Em dropped to her knees to pet and greet Kal which shot out the second Henry opened the door.

She had always loved dogs but never had a chance to have one for herself. At first, her father didn’t allow it, but once she moved out Em didn’t really have the space to keep one so she channeled all her dog mom tendencies towards Kal.

“Sometimes I think you’re only friends with me so you can see Kal regularly,” Henry teased once she let go of the dog long enough to step inside and Em smirked at him.

“You are not wrong, Cavill,” she said, her gaze traveling over the tasteful décor of the house, but her focus was instantly drawn to the kitchen and as soon as she shook off her coat on Henry’s waiting hands, she made a beeline to the room, in Em’s opinion the most important part of any house. “I love your kitchen.” She ran her hands over the wooden countertops and light blue cabinets.

“Technically, it’s not mine,” he chuckled, moving towards the fridge. “I have aubergine lasagna leftovers. Want some?”

“That sounds disgusting,” Em said with a grimace. “But it will do.”

She settled at the isle with the heated lasagna, once again listening to Henry babble about the project and his castmates and how things were going in the set. Some of it she had already heard since they texted every day, but Em enjoyed listening to Henry and actually missed his deep baritone voice.

It made her glad that she chose to do this, instead of staying at some crappy motel by herself, awake most of the night since Em had a hard time sleeping in other beds that weren’t hers. At least here she had Henry and she missed him.

“So how was Istambul?” he asked, bringing her plate to the sink, refusing to let her clean up herself.

“It was amazing,” Em sighed, chin resting on her hand as she watched Henry’s back unseeingly. She was actually thinking back on her journey, in which she had spent a week exploring the city and the sights, completely by herself just like she preferred.

Now, with her belly full, it was her time to babble about everything she saw and experienced while there. Em knew Henry had seen the pictures and stories on her Instagram. He liked everything she posted during the week, but there something about the way he was watching her, the focused look in his dazzling blue eyes like she was telling him the most interesting story in the world, that just made Em keep going, even as Henry finished the dished and they moved to get more comfortable in the couch.

“It does sound like you had fun,” he smiled at her, body turned her way on the couch, head resting on his palm as he listened, his other hand holding his glass of wine. “But don’t you miss having someone to share the experience?

“Sometimes,” Em shrugged, sipping her wine, she was in her third glass by now and she really ought to slow down, her mind was already getting a little foggy.

She had been doing these travels since she turned eighteen. First, she had her best friend Clara as her companion, but as they got older, Em started doing by herself since Clara couldn’t. One or two boyfriends in her time had offered to come along once, but it felt wrong to taint the memories of those trips with someone that might not be with her for the long run.

“But it’s nice too, you know? To have my own thing, without anyone else,” she scratched Kal behind the ears, just like he liked it, smiling at the way he rested his head on her knee to keep being petted. “Thanks again for letting me stay.”

“Anytime,” Henry replied with a smile, his own eyes clouded with alcohol.

They had been talking for hours, one and a half bottles of wine gone in the process. Enough alcohol to make Em’s mind wander as she took in Henry’s impressive physique, the stupid amount of muscles he built up for the series stretching his blue button-down. His dark hair falling in messy curls over his forehead, just like she Em liked it and the blush of alcohol making his cheeks even sharper.

Fighting the allure of the man before her, Em shifted her gaze down to Kal, but it was like he could pick up that something was about to happen, because pulled away from her touch, trouting out the back door, leaving her with only one option now.

Henry’s palm was warm and rough against her jaw as he tilted Em’s face back towards him, his eyes searching for her consent before his lips landed on hers in a soft kiss that gradually grew heated as their mutual need for each other was set alight.

Em sighed against his lips, giving in to the urge that had been brewing from the second she dialed his number. She inched closer, fisting his shirt, licking into his mouth and chasing the taste of wine on his tongue as Henry let his fingers wander down her torso, sneaking under her blouse to touch skin.

“Bedroom,” she mumbled against his lips. “Last time on the couch was a mess.”

“Yeah,” Henry chuckled getting to his feet and leading the way backward, his mouth never leaving hers, his touch getting bolder as their kisses because more desperate.

“This is the last time we do this,” Em declared, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt or at least trying to. The amount of alcohol she consumed was enough to leave her a little uncoordinated. Henry was doing only slightly better.

“You’ve said that the last five times.”

Em could feel his smirk as his mouth descended over her jaw, pressing sucking kisses on her neck. He loved to leave marks all over her. No matter how many times Em asked him not to, Henry would just ignore it. It was as if he knew she secretly loved to watch herself in the mirror in the following week and be reminded of how amazing the sex had been.

“I mean it this time,” Em said, finally undoing his shirt and pushing it down his shoulders, exposing Henry’s chiseled chest to her wandering hands.

“I think you said that too, last couple of times,” Henry pointed out, shaking his shirt to the floor and pulling hers over her head, leaving Em standing there in only jeans. “Just admit it: you love how I fuck you.”

“Like you don’t enjoy it too,” she said, pushing him towards the bed, and Henry fell back with a bounce and a chuckle.

“Oh, I definitely enjoy it,” he declared, that same smug smirk in place as she undid his pants. “Never said otherwise. Never been in denial either. You’re the one…” He trailed off with a groan when Em freed his hard cock, giving a couple of quick tugs before running her tongue over the underside vein.

Em didn’t want to think about the fact that Henry was absolutely right. She had always been the one to often have second thoughts about this casual affair the two of them had been keeping for years, but not because she didn’t like Henry. It was quite the opposite, Em liked Henry a little too much, but knew it just wouldn’t work, not when he was always all over the world shooting his movies and tv shows, while mostly she stayed in London due to her own work.

And they were both too career-driven and unwilling to concede to the other. If even as just friends, she and Henry were frequently bumping heads, Em could only imagine how terrible they would be as a couple.

She still remembered that fateful night that Clara dragged her to a sport’s bar of all places because she wanted Em to officially meet Todd. She had been at one of his rugby matches earlier that week but ended up leaving before being introduced. In hindsight, Em should have known something was up because of the way Clara made such a big deal about this meeting and fussed over her outfit

“You can’t wear jeans and t-shirt!” she complained, digging though her friend’s wardrobe as Em just huffed a breath and laid back in bed.

“Why not? I’m meeting your boyfriend. What I’m wearing doesn’t matter.”

She had just baked and decorated 150 cupcakes for a children's birthday party. She was exhausted and the last thing she wanted to do was going out, but Clara invoked the best friend rule, so Em was stuck.

“What if there’s a cute guy there?” Clara asked, coming out with a tight, black dress that Em hadn’t worn in 3 years and it definitely wouldn’t fit her now since she gained more than a couple of pounds. She really needed to do some spring cleaning in that closet.

“If a cute guy is hanging in a sport’s bar, big chances he’s a douche, and I already filled my douche quota for the year,” she replied as Clara dove back into the closet. “Besides, I don’t have time for relationships.”

And Em really didn’t. She has just invested all her savings in opening her dream bakery. No way she would be getting distracted by guys while she was trying to get her business off the ground.

“There’s always time for relationships!” Clara declared, coming out of the closet, this time holding one of Em’s favorite sweater dresses. “You never know when true love is gonna knock on your door.”

“Tell it to come by later,” she joked, grabbing the dress and walking into the bathroom to change. It would be a lost cause to argue with Clara. Her friend was a lawyer and could talk her ear off, so Em might as well just get this over with.

She put on the dress and the heels and the makeup Clara pushed her way before she was finally deemed worthy of stepping out of the flat for the bar. At arrival, they found Todd already in his third beer and accompanied by his friend Henry.

Todd and Clara played innocent, pretending to be surprised that the other decided to bring a friend too but Em knew right away this was an ambush. And if Henry’s eye roll was anything to go by, he knew it too. It was their friends' not so subtle attempt to set them up.

Em had to give it to Clara though, Henry was a handsome man but maybe too handsome. She was a run of the mill kind of girl. Not unattractive, mind you. She did pretty well dating wise, especially when she put an effort like tonight, but never with guys that looked like Henry.

He was all dark, curly hair, blue eyes with just a tiny fleck of brown. Perfect features and the kind of chiseled physique that his hoodie didn’t manage to hide completely. He also looked kind of familiar, but Em couldn’t place him right away in her memory.

As they talked, she kept staring at him with a thoughtful frown, trying to come up with subtle questions that could enlighten her of where she knew Henry from because the longer Em talker to him, and she couldn’t help but notice that Todd and Clara kept finding excuses to leave the table so she and Henry could be alone, stronger that familiarity became.

“So how did you meet Todd again?” Em asked, sipping on her drink, which was too sweet but she didn’t mind.

“We went to school together and still play rugby from time to time,” Henry replied, cradling his pint of Guinness. He had shifted on the booth so his back was to the corner and he could properly look at Em. “How about you and Clara?”

“We grew up together. Neighbors all our lives,” she replied, popping a chip in her mouth. “Clara dragged me to one of Todd’s matches on Sunday. Did I see you there?”

“Umm, no.” Henry smiled indulgently. “Just got back yesterday. I was out of town for work.”

She only hummed in response, trying to think back on anything that could have put her and Henry in the same place and explain this feeling of familiarity.

“The Tudors.”

“What?” She asked in confusion at Henry’s random comment.

“You’re trying to figure out from where you know me,” he pointed out with a smirk and Em felt her cheeks heating up. “I mean, I did some other stuff too, a couple of very bad horror movies but that was my biggest role, so you might know me from there.”

It was like a lightbulb finally switched in her brain and she finally managed to place him in her memory.

“Oh my God, you did that weird-ass movie with the nazi vampire zombie! The one with Fassbender and the guy from Prison Break.” Em exclaimed a little too loudly, but Henry only chuckled. “That movie was terrible.”

“Yes,” he nodded, ducking his head a little, and was that a blush? “And seriously? That’s where you know me from?”

“I like crappy horror movies, ok?” Em shrugged with a grin.

“Clearly.” Henry laughed too.

And just like that, conversation flowed easily between them. Henry was a fun guy, surprisingly dorky, and a huge geek for videogames and the fantasy genre. It was nice to talk to someone that seemed to appreciate Lord of the Rings as much as Em did and she didn’t even notice when Todd and Clara slipped out without a word, obviously thinking their job was done.

Maybe if Henry was someone else, not an actor or that hot, they could have been right but as it was, Em didn’t see things going beyond a cool friendship.

That was what she thought at least until Henry walked her home, like a perfect gentleman, making her laugh with so many stupid jokes her sides were aching and she felt like she hadn’t smiled this much in days.

“You didn’t need to walk me all the way to my door,” She commented, turning to face him, her back leaning against the frame. Even in her heels, she needed to tilt her head up to look at him.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Henry snorted. “You can barely stand on those.”

He wasn’t wrong, but it was more because her feet were sore from the constricted space than from the amount of alcohol she consumed, though that definitely played a factor on Em turning her head just when Henry leaned closer to lay a goodbye kiss on her cheek, making his lips land on hers instead.

They just stared at each other until Henry closed the distance again, his mouth returning to hers for a harder, much hotter kiss that had Em pressed against the door. His hands found their way under the hem of her dress; hers to his hair, pulling him even closer, desperation clawing inside her gut because it had been a while for her.

That was only the first of the one-night stands with Henry. Back then, Em thought it would be the only one, but as years passed, whenever the two of them found themselves single and in need of release, they would get together, no strings attached, no commitment, just a purely physical thing that none of their mutual friends knew about.

Her attention snapped back to the present when Henry tugged on her hair until she let his cock out of her mouth with a pop, crawling on top of him to meet his lips for a messy kiss.

“Where did you go just now?” he asked, panting. His hands working on the buttons of her jeans to push them off. “Your mind was so far away.”

Strangely enough, this casual affair they shared made her friendship with Henry stronger because once you’ve seen a person naked and on one of their most vulnerable moments, it could be so easy to open up to them.

“Just thinking about when we met,” Em replied, sucking on his lower lip and Henry let out a weird wheezing sound that it was half a groan, half a laugh.

“That’s was a good night,” he said, rolling them until Em was lying on her back and he was on top of her. His blue eyes, despite being clouded by lust, were still so intense and seemed to be able to look straight into her soul. “But I want you here, in the present with me.”

Henry met her lips so softly and with so much affection that her breath caught in her throat, hand tightening on the sheets beneath her as his mouth descended over her body, kissing and sucking and biting. Lingering over all her pleasure spots and lavishing them with attention.

This was why Em needed to put an end to this thing with Henry. Lately, every time the two of them ended in bed together, it was getting harder and harder to keep the doors closed against the growing feelings in her heart.

To keep herself from not letting the love she felt for her friend Henry to be contaminated by the lust that ignited in her body whenever the two of them fucked, turning this into something else that would definitely end with her heart broken.

“I can hear you thinking,” Henry chided, biting her lower belly and making Em jolt and giggle.

“Sorry, sorry,” she looked down at him with a smile. “Just too much in my head tonight.”

“Let’s see if I can make you relax.”

He smirked at her, his mouth moving lower, planting soft kisses over your hipbones, tongue tracing the waistline on her panties, and anticipation started building in her center. Em wanted to press your legs together to find some kind of friction, but Henry was kneeling between them, his strong hands keeping them open; thumbs rubbing circles on the sensitive inner skin of her thighs and she couldn’t focus on anything else even if she wanted to.

His mouth finally moved lower, tongue teasing her folds through the lace of her panties and she gasped and tried to thrust up but Henry kept her down before hooking his fingers on her panties and pulling them down, exposing her wet cunt to his warm breath and she shivered in expectation.

Henry seemed to be keen on driving her crazy because he was taking it so very slow, kissing and nipping her mound on his way down until finally, his tongue flickered against her clit. Only the briefest of touch but it was enough to make Em buck and moan, her hands coming to his hair and fingers digging in his scalp.

“Stop teasing,” she asked, making Henry chuckle against her and a groan ripped from Em’s throat at the sweet vibrations. “Hen… please.”

“That’s better,” he replied, rewarding her with a broad stroke of his tongue over her slit before he sucked hard on her clit. Her eyes rolled back and she raised her hips to try to get more of it.

Fortunately, Henry seemed to be done teasing because he moved things along, licking and sucking and even nipping very, very gently on her clit, while two of his thick fingers moved in and out of her drenched slit. Every outer motion he crooked his fingers up, hitting right in that spot to make Em see stars.

It was easy to get lost in sensations whenever she was with Henry. He knew her body like the back of his hand and made sure to keep her completely engaged. He kept his eyes on her face, reading her expressions to make sure she was enjoying herself but also because he knew Em loved the sight of him like this, his mouth on her cunt, his eyes dark with his desire for her.

He also made sure to hum and grunt for her, so she could hear how much he loved her taste and smell. Whenever his mouth wasn’t busy, he would also whisper the filthiest things in her ear, because he knew it turned her on.

His free hand roamed her body, touching and kneading her breasts, pinching the nipples to make Em arch and mewl, sending bolts of pleasure that seemed to gather on her core, coiling into a knot of ecstasy that made her writhe and shake. Her body tense with arousal, toes curling and thighs quivering as her orgasm approached like a rushing wave.

Henry also knew exactly when she was close to the edge. Em never needed to let him know and he would always redouble his effort, suck her clit harder, finger her faster, until that knot finally snapped and she arched against his mouth, her release soaking his fingers and chin.

Her body felt weightless like she was floating. Her muscles spasmed with the aftershocks of her pleasure and her mind, always running, was for once pleasantly blank as Em grinned wide, enjoying her high.

She barely noticed when Henry pressed one final kiss to her clit before he crawled on top of her again, meeting her lips and letting Em taste herself. It was one of the things that turned him on, to have her lick her juices from his mouth and chin, letting her tongue running over the rough skin of his stubbled jaw, chasing every last drop and Em felt his cock twitching in response against her hip.

“Fuck me, Hen,” she gasped against his cheek before her lips moved to his ear, nipping the lobe to make him groan. “I wanna feel you deep inside me.”

With her brain still swimming in endorphins, She barely noticed Henry getting up and moving to the bathroom. She only registered the curse he let out as he came back to the room with an empty box.

“Do you have some?”

She gave Henry a look, propped in her elbows. Em was a little too old to go around with condoms in her purse. She kept them on her toiletry bag which was in her suitcase, still at the airport.

“Shit! I really wanted to fuck you tonight.” He dropped the box on the ground, combing his fingers through his hair before climbing on top of Em, his kiss searing and stealing her breath away.

She moaned against his mouth, fingers digging on his shoulders. It had been a while for her and Em shared Henry’s frustration. She wanted to feel him inside her, filling and stretching her in that perfect way only Henry could do.

“Do it,” she declared, meeting his confused gaze. “It’s fine, I have an IUD and it’s not like I’ve been with anyone else in the last four months.”

“Me either,” Henry replied, his forehead resting against hers. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, smirking at him. “Fuck me, Henners.” He groaned and glared, making her chuckle. He hated the nickname and Em knew it.

“I’m gonna make you regret that.”

He flashed her a mischievous smirk, reaching between the two of them to guide his cock to her slit, pushing inside in one rough stroke and Em cursed and clawed at his back, the sudden intrusion with just that edge of pain made her clench tighter against him and Henry grunted against her ear, pulling her legs around his waist.

“Fuck, Henry!” she hissed breathlessly, slapping his shoulder blade, which felt more like hitting a brick wall. “A little warning would be nice.”

“You love it,” he smirked down at her and nipped at her bottom lip before grinding his hips against hers, making Em moan. “No point in pretending otherwise.”

His movements started slow and deliberate. Henry’s goal was to drive her crazy all over again because he loved to see Em lose control and he loved to gloat over the fact that he was the only guy that ever managed to make her cum more than once on the same night.

Taking her hands in his and pinning above her head, Henry started to add some more strength to his movements, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making Em mewl at how deep he was going.  His mouth on her neck, and collarbone returning to the task of marking her as his, even if the two of them weren’t like that.

Her hips raised as best as she could to meet his movements and welcome him in. Her walls clenching tight as if refusing to let him go and every time, it made Henry grunt and suck harder on her skin before he soothed the spot with his tongue. She arched closer, seeking more as he licked a path from the hollow of her throat to her chin, lapping at the sweat gathering in her skin before his lips met hers again.

Soon, all Em knew was the way their bodies moved in tandem, meeting each other in search of pleasure. Henry praised and whispered dirty things in her ear, while her fingers entwined with his and her heels dug on the small of his back, urging him to move faster, harder, give her everything she craved for.

The knot of pleasure started to form in her core once again, growing and expanding as she could feel every single ridge of Henry’s thick cock filling her up, his pelvic bone slapping her clit at each thrust. She knew he was close too, his motions losing its controlled rhythm, becoming wilder, messy. His grunts turning throatier, his words filthier.

“God, I love your cunt. The way it squeezes me so tight,” he mumbled against Em’s mouth, his breath coming in short pants. “It feels even better without that fucking latex. Shit! I wanna fill you up with my cum. Do you want that? Can I cum inside you?”

“Yeah.” Em nodded, too far gone to form a reply more elaborate than that.

“I wanna see it trickling down your pussy.” Henry’s grin was absolutely filthy and she cried out as his words brought forth her second orgasm of the night.

“Oh fuck, yes!” He grunted his grin widening, his hips snapping harder against hers, dragging out the ripples of pleasure shaking her body. “Just like that! Yeah. Fuck! I’m gonna…”

His words hung in the air as Henry stilled above her, muffling his growl against her shoulder as he spilled inside her and she could feel his cock pulsing against her quivering walls and Em never felt more complete before.

In the back of her mind, a treacherous thought broke free and she couldn’t help but think that she could definitely get used to this. Having Henry every night, without barriers, without anything in the way. Just the two of them. Like it was meant to be.

x(tbc)x     Chapter 02

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