#flat can be nice especially if it crack the lower back open some

[baekuras]

Sometimes I forgot how fully shit your period can be

and sometimes i wake up in a sweat,nauseous and in pain at 1am and its been an hour and we are making the slowest improvements pain management wise in a long time

[blackbloodteeth]

Okay so last night I decided to use this week's ficwip's Word Game Wednesday post as a writing prompt ("Magic"), especially since I was casually prodded into writing a snippet by a friend. However, I was apparently possessed by my sleep debt demons, and not only did this reach 2.6k, I didn't even use the prompt word at any point. Nice.

As said, this is a little bit of a long snippet and apparently awkward dialogue takes me places, but here's somethin' for today while I see if I got the spoons to finish The WIP™️ after having actually gotten some sleep today despite accidentally staying up 23 hours previously.

Reject normality, return to italics.

————

The feeling of sand continuously clops beneath each slow step as he quietly sighs again, looking down at the pitch-black sea stretching endlessly throughout the darkness surrounding him. If it weren't for his light keeping him company he wouldn't even be able to see his legs, and he's quite grateful for it as he holds onto it as the only thing he has out here, but… feels like the more he wanders, the dimmer it's been getting.

Another sigh drags on while he wonders how long he's been wandering, how much longer he has to go, and if his family even misses him right now. Do they miss him? I mean, they'd have to, right? Even if he's not… the smartest or the most talented… or…or……

He gives his head a good shake to toss those thoughts out when the darkness starts to creep across his steps, instead trying the best he can to think about their worried faces and his poor ol' nana… Well he misses them, even if they don't notice he's gone, right where he shouldn't've ran off to……

The ache in his chest weighs him back down to his light weakening up his arms, leeching the hope of finding his way along with it. If only he could say sorry. He's always been the cracked stone of the family, but… but…… maybe if he……….Huh? What's that?

His head suddenly perks up when he spots a different light in the distance, new and- and exciting, breaking him into a gallop just to catch up with it and finding a warmth he's never felt before begin to fill his chest when he gets close, its light glowing brightly against his body. He trots in place a little, curiosity practically bounding around it at this feeling it gives him, like… being strong? Brave. It looks kinda like… a star? Weird…

Lowering his neck, it doesn't particularly smell like anything, but somehow it reminds him of all the bright, warm days of spring as they lead into summer. It makes him giddy to think that this may even be some sort of exit, like a portal, and with an eager prod of his horn to investigate this theory, the contact instantly engulfs him with the same light and makes his mind go blank.

. . .

…Huh?

Suddenly his eyes are blinking open again, and here he is, sitting in some kind of… field? Or well, less sitting and completely slumped over onto the grass as he's overwhelmed by the sensation of a world around him, and soon the voice of someone right next to him before he notices they're there.

"Hey, are you okay?"

He jolts when the… girl? Bu-But not like him, with weird colors and front legs that reach up to him with small horns at the ends- "I said are you okay? Geez, you might actually have a concussion…"

Both his mouth and his stare are just gaping at her(?) and how flat and hornless her face is, with the only thing he really recognizes being the pretty mossy eyes and the mane dangling where her ears are supposed to be while her weird, furless face keeps moving around like that- Until he scrunches back when she tries to prod him with her freaky arm horns because this just too weird-

"Okay, now you're just being a jerk," she snorts, which he thinks might be a laugh?

Like you're one to talk, you're just being weird…

"…So, you gonna say anything, or…?"

Wait, what are you on about, can't you hear me?

"…Ooookay, guess not…" His head darts wildly up and down when the weird girl gets up- on just two of her legs?!? What the h- "What? Are you going to keep staring at me like that, or are you actually having a stroke or something?"

Frantically, having no idea how to communicate at this point given apparently whatever had just happened to him weakened his horn too much, he begins flailing around like any still-sane horn-haver would until, as it just so happens to turn out, he is not in fact still sane: Completely frozen in place after seeing his arms and… an-and they're not right in the slightest! They're just like hers, with- with the color hide over him and the freaky flesh horns and- what happened to his hooves?!?!?

"Okay, so this might be a stupid question at this point, but like are you actually okay; you're really starting to worry me now."

His face whips back up towards her, lungs breathing a gallop a second while he quickly reaches his hoofless arms into his mane and- Oh. Oh no, oh starlight where is his horn- No no no no no-

"Soooo… you did hit your head?" He completely ignores that as his twisted, messed-up flesh hooves jitter and tap all around his eyes and feeling everything wrong with his freaking face being flat and furless and- and-

When she goes to talk again he's cutting her off by slapping his hooflessness in desperation on top of his hornlessness, causing her to jump down to his current eye level and thrust her arm ends into his mane. "Wait, crap; Are you bleeding-"

Just like that, another wave of light from before swallows him like a current, whirling through his mind and body until almost just as quickly he's sitting again, but differently this time, held up entirely by her hands.

Wait. Wait.

"…Um."

Hands. They're called hands?

"Y…Yes?"

Wait, you can hear me now!?

"Oh good, so you do speak." The girl… Maka? How does he know this and that she's laughing because she's nervous- "Okay; one, um, step at a time…"

He sits there as he's told, partly because he's trying not to freak out right now, and especially because he's really trying not to freak out about how he can't move while avoiding looking at his body again so that he can remember how to breathe normally.

"Okay, so… Yeah, I'm Maka. I have hands, you're… currently in my hands… and I just met you after you suddenly bumped into me out of thin air, and for some reason I have a really big feeling you weren't a human boy before this." Human… Human, that's what… Why… "One step at a time. I've got this right so far?" …I think so. "Okay… So you're a human now, I guess, and just learned about hands and that you… don't have a horn anymore? I think??"

Deep breath, deep breath- Yeah. I have… I had a horn, and now it's gone because I guess I… turned into a human after touching that light I found, and I- I'm… Wait, why can't I remember what I'm named, Maka; I know yours but I-

"Okay, don't freak out. Just… I can kind of… see? That you were somewhere dark until you saw the light, and you got flashbanged by it, so I think…" That it made me forget some things when it changed me? "Exactly. Now that we're on… the same wavelength kinda, and know we both just met and are really confused and for some reason you can talk to me through my head because I guess you don't normally speak with your mouth…"

He lets Maka take a deep breath as the dread of their conclusion slowly lifts her hands to straighten his handle up.

"…Why did you just turn into a scythe when I touched you?"

Maka, I'd reeeeally love to answer that right now.

The dread fully plummets down his nonexistent stomach when she flops her forehead against him and he finally lets himself look at his body now being a metal pole and his horn… blade curves longer than probably even her size. It's black on top, and sharp and red on the bottom, which kinda isn't that much different from what his horn was like actually except its much more… vivid. Pronounced. Clear works, actually.

"God, this is so weird… Just like all the stories my papa used to tell me when I was a little kid……" Something curious bubbles up even through his deluge of anxiety and bafflement, making him interested enough to speak up a So you… have a family too? Like a human family? "Of course I have a family," she chuckles, at least until it snuffs out. "Had."

I don't think I'm supposed to ask, but somehow I feel a lot like you're feeling just now.

"Yeah, weird how I can feel that too… Do you have a family? Not humans, or…" Yeah, but we looked a lot like each other when I wasn't here. All of us have a horn and hooves, and a mane… oh, I guess you call it hair. 'Cause normally you don't have short fur all over you. "Yeah… Wait."

Somehow he can still move his eyes (although only at the same time and just one is facing her) to watch as Maka suddenly cranes her head up, staring at him with… wonder? Intrigue? Man, he's learning way too many words today- "Are you… are you telling me you're actually a unicorn?"

Images flow through his head like sand into water, of… horses, with long seashells for horns, and… That's… pretty close to how we look, actually. Is 'unicorn' what we're called to you? I don't think we have a same word for our family…

"Holy crap you're a unicorn…" she utters as if that somehow was any less strange than whatever the hornhole is going on with him right now, and also her. "All this time you're actually a unicorn, and now you're a scythe- and oh god, I must be dreaming. Hit by a car because I finally studied too much. I'm probably in a coma right now and this is all just a dream and you're just in my head, or an angel, or-"

Maka. One step at a time.

He feels her breath shudder when he does the same thing she did just now, playing his memories for her like reflections on calmed water of his brother and him racing through the burrows, and his nana humming her tune that turns the air into waves of starlight, and his ma and da greeting each other with their horns before he inevitably can't make his horn glow as strong as his brother's- Okay, maybe not that one.

A lighthearted giggle, like the fluttering wings of a bird taking off, raises Maka up onto her feet, looking right at him again with… a smile. It's so… warm, and… pretty? I like that a lot actually, it's a lot like when the sun hits the sea when- Oh my godlight, I just said that to you.

There's a way her face is turning red that he is just now learning is blushing and is the exact feeling of embarrassment she is showing by covering her mouth with one of her hands and not being able to look away while her voice goes soft from under her palm. "I've never been called pretty before- by a unicorn…"

We-Well you've never met a unicorn before so that makes it different and it's not like horn-sparking so just- I was just saying what I saw, yeah, he deflects, much like one deflects the dirt off of their shovel while digging their own grave. And yet somehow, mysteriously, he feels like he's deep beneath the ground where he could end up finding that dark place again at how she's… laughing? Happy? Entertained? This is too many words and thoughts to have in my head anymore.

"Y'know, when I imagined actually meeting a unicorn, this definitely wasn't what I thought of." Yeah that's one way to put it. I'd probably say the same thing if I even knew about humans first, and also hadn't turned into one. And then a scythe. "Well, um…"

Her smile falters when he can feel that the particular detail on the 'becoming human' bit also made him unable to think of what he's called (like as himself, not being a unicorn) so she has no idea what to refer to him as. "…Do you want a name right now?"

…I think that would make things a little easier, yeah.

"Okay, how aboooout…" Strange reflections ripple into him again, much faster this time so he doesn't have much room to grab onto any of them until they start to slow down, memories of some… movie? What's this fast-running pictures of?

"Oh sorry, I was remembering the time I used to watch The Last Unicorn when I was a kid; just trying to think of a name that would fit, sorry if that's offensive." He laughs, No, it's… interesting. I want to see it sometime, just maybe after I figure this out. "Yeah, alright. Let me try to actually pinpoint a name for you."

Words of stars and light rain like droplets through his mind, and strange words he could not possibly understand fall like pebbles, things that tie this earth to people and ones that reach the heavens, while everything in between- "Okay, potshotting now – How about Aether?" What a weird word. "I'm trying, okay- Grimm? Edgar? Stephen?" These are all weird words.

"Uggggh, fine," Maka rolls her head back, very much out of frustration until a moment of… something different goes through her head to him. "Okay, this might be a little stupid, but I think I have a good name…"

Should I want it if it's stupid?

"No, no; the name is fine, it's just the reason I thought of it…" A sense of interest looks at her with what he feels is called an eyebrow raise when another movie? gallops through his head, ushering her to well, tell me, then. "Alright hear me out, but… It's a name that's kind of similar to my dad's but I thought of it because there's a, um, horse movie with the same name, so I thought since you're like a horse- but cooler, I thought I'd give you… a name like that, but cooler than my dad, so…" he's on the edge of his what the hell is a seat when Maka takes a deep breath through her teeth and offers it up hesitantly. "…Can I call you Soul?"

…Y'know… I think I finally understand what grinning is.

Soul starts to get infected with her laugh as she readjusts his handle in her hands, the name likewise looked around in his head like he's had hands his whole life. "…So, I take it you want it?"

Yes, actually, this is like, the opposite of stupid. It's so cool even though I've never heard it before but it's cooler than your dad. Like cooler than cool, like- This feels like my name. Like you call me this and it's what I'm called- His feelings in his- his soul light up like they were his horn again, voice all giddy and practically leaping in place. Maka, call me it. I wanna be called it.

She can't help but chuckle, "Okay, okay; You're Soul. Nice to meet you."

Yeah. Yeah. That is so my name- THIS IS AWESOME!!

"Yeah! Yeah it is!!"

This excitement racing through them both is unstoppable and unlike anything he's felt before, almost like he is strong and bright, better than he ever could be on his own – but in a way that made him not alone, and like running across the world, also.

It's just something so unique and precious and he wants to hold onto it forever, much like the way Maka actually starts twirling him around while they both start whooping, until she pauses as a quieter thought rises up to the surface of even his mind. "…Hey Soul, if you came from somewhere else… what are you going to do now?"

And it just sinks into him for a moment while they're standing there out in the middle of a trail in the woods that he doesn't recognize.

…Huh.

[forwhump]

a/n; instead of apologizing I wanted to switch it up this time & say thank you thank you thank yooouuuuu !!! thank you so so much to everybody who has been so nice to me about my sad little guys from my notes app <3 I cry every time about it being scary to post & IT IS but you’ve made it so much more bearable so thank you sm :’)

tw/cw graphic depictions of violence, beating, guns, graphic mentions of noncon, misgendering, transphobia

human weapon whumpee, whumpee whumping whumper (?!)

The thing about Silas, the elephant in the room, is that he isn’t human, and he isn’t even close.

It was something that had been done to him, something horrible, something outside his control. He’d kicked and he’d screamed, fought and clawed and bitten, dug his nails into the last human parts of himself but it hadn’t mattered because Silas’ body was no longer his own. It belonged to the government.

And it’s kind of funny, isn’t it?

Funny in a way that’s pretty fucked up, sure, and maybe Silas’ sense of humor has crumbled after the years of repeated brain surgeries, but funny is funny all the same.

And it’s funny, because Silas had no say in whether he became a weapon or not. These men, this place, they did this to him. They created him.

And they’re so fuckin’ scared of him.

He can see it in the stiff line of Neat’s shoulders as he lowers himself into his chair, across the table from Silas.

Silas’ ankles are shackled together and his wrists to the table. The thing about Silas, the big thing, is that he isn’t human, and it’s obvious in every inch and ounce of him, the raised ridges of scar tissue, the bulk of mass and muscle.

Silas dwarfs that table and that chair. He could lift Neat by the throat and crush every bone in his neck with one hand. Silas is a monster, and they know exactly what he’s capable of — they had engineered it. It scares them, and Silas would be lying if he said he didn’t delight in it.

He squares his shoulders, tips his chin back, makes himself as big and as daunting as possible.

Neat clicks the end of his pen like he always done when Silas is making him nervous.

Silas thinks about how gratifying it would be to crack open the roof of Neat’s mouth with that pen like he always does when he’s forced to sit across from him.

“Park,” Neat says.

He’s a soldier by trade, but some kind of therapist to their unit. To Silas, at least. He’s forced to talk to him after every big trauma and especially grievous injury. Silas can’t fuckin’ stand him, and he spends a lot of what little brain power he has thinking about how brutally and violently he would put him down.

He’s wearing a therapist's costume, sweater vest and sport coat and round glasses, but even with a name like Neat, he’s a soldier. He’s one of them. The soldiers that mind them were hand picked from some special branch of the military — Silas could give less of a fuck, but it means they’re all the same. They’re all big. They’re all mean. They’re all bastards.

“Neat,” Silas greets, flat.

“How are you feeling today, big guy?” He asks. He always plays pretend therapist. Always plays nice. Mild, at least.

Silas can’t even pretend to play nice. “Where is he?”

Neat looks at him over the top of his glasses before he looks away, scribbling something onto the yellow legal pad he has in front of him. “We’ve told you, Park,” he says. “The girl is none of your concern.”

Silas leans forward, forearms braced against the table, because he revels in the way Neat’s back tenses. “Where is he?”

Silas hasn’t seen Wren in three days and his heart isn’t beating the same in his absence. It’s an abscess, as a matter of fact, an infection that festers and spreads the longer Wren’s away from him. Is he in pain? Is he scared?

What have they done to him? What are they doing to him now?

They’ve always been especially cruel to Wren, a sort of cruelty that even Silas can’t fathom and Silas hasn’t known kindness a day in his life. They’re hurting him, Silas knows they’re hurting him, and it makes him restless, it thrums under his skin, how helpless, how fuckin’ useless, that Silas knows he’s hurting and he can’t fuckin’ stop it.

“The girl,” Neat tells him, “is none of your concern.”

Silas curls his hands into fists so tight he cracks each of his knuckles. “Where is he?”

He looks up again. “Don’t waste your time worrying about her,” and back down at his legal pad. “How’s your head?”

“Great,” Silas deadpans. “Where is he?”

“Are the headaches still bothering you? The tremors?”

“Since I was shot in the face?” Silas asks, raising his eyebrows. “Yes.” He leans a little closer across the table, a little closer to Neat. “Where is he?”

Neat has a cute little burst of bravery and looks at Silas clearly across the table. “The girl is a whore, and not worth your concern. Have the tremors improved at all?”

It tells Silas everything he needs to know. It tells Silas more than he would like to know, in fact. But he’s glad he knows it. He’s glad he can resolve it in real time. “You’re fucking him, too?”

Neat’s face doesn’t change, but a muscle in his neck flexes.

Silas doesn’t miss it. Silas has been trained not to miss it. “Neat,” he says, soft, and shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Neat.”

“Enough, Park,” he says.

Slowly, Silas leans back again, lifting his chin. “Where is he, Neat?”

“Your obsession with this girl is starting to concern us, Park.”

“It should,” Silas agrees.

Neat clicks his pen.

Silas raises his eyebrows.

Neat clicks his pen.

Silas curls his hands around the chains keeping him shackled to the table. “Where is he, Neat?”

Neat clicks his pen. “She isn’t your concern.”

His knuckles crack again as he grips the iron in both hands. “Where is he?”

Neat clicks his pen. “She isn’t your concern,” he repeats, “and she isn’t anything special. Let it go, Park.”

Silas stands.

Neat clicks his pen. “Sit down, Park.”

“Where is he?”

Neat clicks his pen. “You can’t get to her.”

Silas loses his grip on his impulse control. “We’ll see.”

The table between them is something stone, something solid, and it makes a sound like lighting in the small interview room as it cracks down the middle and Silas tears himself free.

Near pushes back from the table quickly as it crumbles. He pushes himself even further back as Silas grins at him over the wreckage of it.

He loses his pen in his scramble. Silas, slowly, kind of taunting, if he’s completely honest, steps over the chunks of the table and picks it up from the floor. He clicks it, and steps closer. The shackles at his ankles drag the concrete but don’t stop him.

Near pushes himself further back, into the wall.

Silas is slow in his stalk towards him. He clicks the pen.

“Park —“

And Silas takes the opportunity to execute a fantasy he’s had for a long time.

As he speaks, as his mouth opens, Silas grabs Neat by the jaw.

It twitches in his hand as Neat tries to protest, maybe to plead, but Silas is quick to press his fingertips into the hinge of his jaw so hard the bones splinter beneath his hand and Neat’s jaw drops, hanging free, tethered to his face only by his flesh.

Neat makes a very small, very choked noise.

Silas rams his fuckin’ pen up and into the roof of his mouth.

The noise his palate makes, as it cracks, is almost as loud as the table.

The noise Near makes is one of the wetter sounds Silas has ever heard a person make.

He tries to lift a trembling arm and Silas grabs him by the face. He tries to reach for the panic button and Silas cracks his head back against the concrete wall so hard his face is sprayed with blood and brain matter.

He slumps down in his chair as he dies and Silas spits on his corpse.

Then he pushes the panic button on his behalf. He cracks his knuckles, cracks his neck, and waits for the cavalry that follows the alarm.

[wildbornsiren]

Rise and Shine | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw /F!Reader.

Rise and Shine 1/4

What: Waking up to Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw hogging your bed after a night of fooling around leads to some birthday morning celebration.

1661 words. AFAB/female reader. Reader is an enlisted medic.

Warning: 18+ MINORS DNI. Smut, porn no plot. Unprotected vaginal sex, oral (male receiving), internal ejaculation, ejaculation kink. 

Notes: Um, this is absolute filth for our favorite Rooster on his birthday. Thanks for reading. :) I would formally like to blame @evansrogerskitten​ simply because I can. Thank you so much for @therebeccaw​ for the header. 

 You had only been gone for five minutes. That’s how long it took to walk into the kitchen, get a glass of water, drink it and walk back. In the short amount of time you were gone, the man in your bed had completely taken it over. He was all arms and legs, tanned skin standing out in stark relief to your white sheets. The blanket is bunched low around his hips, chest rising and falling slowly as he snores. It’s not often that you get to see Rooster relaxed, but his face soft as he slept made your heart skip a beat. There’s no tension in his toned body, and you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching him sleep.

Idly, you trace your fingertips along his side, watching for any reaction. The flat planes of his stomach jump under your touch, and he shifts slightly on the bed, a quiet sound coming from him. There’s a slight shift in his breathing, and you know he’s awake.

“It’s not nice to tease.”

He hadn’t moved, and just the grit in his voice made you shiver. “It’s not nice to steal the entire bed, Bradshaw.”

“I conquered what was available.” His hips roll up meeting your wandering fingers. “Started with that pussy last night and continued with the blankets.”

You bite back your smile, adopting your work voice. “You know Lt. Bradshaw, that’s no way to talk about medical staff.” The two of you had been dancing around each other since he stepped foot on North Island, the near daily interaction leading to a buildup of tension that had finally boiled over the night before.

“Sorry, Doc.” He cracked open one eye and grinned. “I will say that your bedside manner is absolutely delightful.”

“That was the passenger seat of my car, not the bed.”

He laughs then, and everything fades away for a moment. You’ve heard him sing, you’ve heard him tell you stories, recount training runs, you’ve heard him cum with his cock buried down your throat, but the sound of his laughter----that was something you were willing to do anything to hear again.  

Instead, your hand slides lower, dipping under the sheet, tracing along the sharp jut of his hip bones. He’s still under your touch, both eyes open, propped up on his elbows watching you. He’s warm and willing, skin sun kissed and pliant. A slow shiver works through him, and he licks his lips when you move the blanket lower.

“It’s the 27th isn’t it?”

“Doc, I don’t care what day it is.”

You hear his breathing shift when your hand grazes the head of his cock. He’s already struggling to stay still under your ministrations, and you haven’t even gotten started. “You should, especially if you’re getting wake up birthday sex.”

“I’m already….” He thinks about finishing the comment and groans instead, eyes fluttering when you lean in, placing a light kiss low on his stomach. “Please…” His cock twitches when he moans your name.

Your pussy clenches, remembering how hard he had fucked you, your name falling from his mouth like a perverted hymn. Tugging the blanket completely free, you settle lower on his body, licking a long line along his cock. Liking the moan that tears from his throat, you tease, peppering his skin with kisses, nails skimming along the inside of his thighs. Easy touches, nips to the soft skin high on his thigh, and his back arches slightly. You lick the smear of pre-cum from his belly, intentionally lapping at it slowly. His voice breaks, nearly sobbing when your lips close around the head of his cock. You keep your throat relaxed, taking him further, humming at the slight stretch of your jaw. Slow and easy, you take your time, not caring about the wet sloppy sounds that slide past your lips as you suck his cock.

His voice is a constant murmur to you, absolute filth spilling from him. One large hand slides into your hair, tangling in it guiding you to take just a bit more of him. You oblige his request, feeling the press of his cock further in your throat. You soften your jaw, tapping his hip when his hips rock up. Bradley thrusts up, pushing into your throat and you take it with a needy sound. The hand tightens slightly in your hair holding you still, and he rolls his hips again testing his options before fucking into your throat.

Your jaw aches, spit and pre-cum sloppy on your chin, your nails leaving half moon imprints on his thighs. You shift your weight slightly, hand dipping between your legs, sliding into your panties. Your cunt is soaked, aching, fingers teasing through the slick, the wet sounds of your fingers fucking into yourself paired with his cock sliding past your lips makes you whine needy for him.

“Fuck baby…” He moans, “that’s so goddamn hot. Stretch yourself out for me.” He’s breathless and raspy. His head thumps back against the pillows, the movement shoving him further down your throat. His cock is so heavy, so hot, twitching as he takes your mouth. “I’m going to fucking ruin you. You’re gonna fucking crave me, baby.” That rough baritone cracks again.

You find yourself flat on your back, calloused hands pushing your knees apart, panties yanked from your hips and tossed aside. He’s sucking on two of his fingers, releasing them with a lewd pop before they’re pressing into you. The stretch is incredible, and you moan, back arching wanting more. Slow, lazy circles of his thumb drag across your clit, as those two fingers fuck into you. His mouth is on your neck, the scrape of his moustache on heated skin, teeth grazing your collar bone. It’s all you can do to keep your hands splayed on his back, gripping his shoulders.

His fingers curl just right, your eyes nearly rolling back in your head, whimpering his name. Pleasure is spiraling through you, you feel too big for your skin, aching and desperate for him. “Not yet baby, I wanna feel this pretty cunt squeeze me tight.” He’s sucking red patches on your skin, and he’s taking, the only thing on your mind is his touch, and how he’s under your skin already. One night and your body is already craving him, needing more, even with two of his fingers buried inside of you, sloppy wet sounds filling the space between you.

“Please, please, Bradshaw…” your hands grab so tightly at him, your sure your nails have broken skin.

“Say my name and I’ll give you this dick.” His hand, coated with your slick strokes his cock. “Come on sugar, I know you know it.” He braces over you, cock teasing against your wet heat, “Your neighbors may have forgotten it though, let’s remind them.”

“Bradley, fuck me.” He trembles under your hands, and he smirks, eyes heavily lidded and blissful. You let your legs fall open, baring yourself to him completely.

He growls, those rough hands bringing your legs up over his shoulders. He slides into you in one smooth motion, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt. The ache of the previous night’s activities roars to life, but you can’t bring yourself to care. He fucks into you, dragging the full length of his cock in and out with each stroke. Higher thought leaves you and there’s only him. Bradley is staking claim to you, urging the most illicit responses from you. Your body moves against him, meeting his relentless thrusts.

Your toes curl when he whines, shifting his weight. You’re nearly folded in half, his hands braced on the wall, fucking into you with his full weight. He’s fast, sloppy, rhythm lost, only concerned with drawing more from you. That tight spiral of pleasure winds ever harder, and you’re so close to that edge that when his hips snap hard enough to jerk you on the mattress you lose it. His name rips from your throat, as you wrap around him, Bradley continuing to fuck into you through your orgasm.

“I’m close baby, where...”

“In me.”

His hips snap into you, head bowed, eyes shut tightly. Your name is on his lips when he comes. You get a glimpse of that absolute bliss as he pours into you. He drops his weight on you, panting for breath. “Fuck, Doc…” He murmurs pressing a lazy kiss to your mouth. “You’re fucking milking my cock. Squeezing every fucking drop from me. You take it so well baby.” He shifts his hips, not completely soft, pressing into you again. You whimper, and he kisses you again. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry baby.” A soft kiss to your forehead, and he’s pulling out.

You whimper, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. He chuckles softly, nudging your legs apart, sitting back on his knees.

“I should have laid down a towel. You soaked my cock when you squirted.” His gaze is focused between your legs. “So fucking pretty. You’re so goddamn soft.” His fingers swipe gently at your slit, sliding inside just barely. “I’d sit here and watch my cum slide out, but I want you to keep it in.” He licks his lips. “You’ve got such a pretty cunt. I want to fucking fill you until I’m dripping down your thighs.”

Heat rises on your face, and you hide behind your hands. “You’re awful.”

He chuckles, licking your inner thigh. “We taste good baby.”

��You realize I’m not going to be able to keep a straight face at your post flight exam.”

“I’ll go last. Bend you over that counter and wreck you.” He grins up at you, reaching to pull your hands away from your face. “Get your cunt nice and sloppy and if I ask nicely maybe you’ll let me fuck that sweet ass.” That sweet boyish grin should not be on his face with the words that he’s saying. “It is my birthday after all.”

[urimaginespimp]

A Half-naked Nurse and Wrong Ideas.

Bucky x Reader with fever.

Thank you @daredarling for the “you’ve gotten sick and Bucky takes care of you” idea.

——–

You should’ve known better than to race Sam under a thunderstorm last night. Waking up the next morning, you had a massive headache, your muscles felt sore, and you were shivering.

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Barnes says you’re half an hour late in training.” FRIDAY’s voice spoke, making you groan and bring your comforters above you.

“Tell him to fuck off.” you muffled under the sheets.

Barnes… He has been nothing but a pain in the ass to you. To this day, you don’t know what you’ve done for him to dislike you this much. And as if his snarky comments and glares thrown your way wasn’t enough, Steve actually paired you both for missions and trainings.

If he wasn’t so handsome you would’ve cut him already. If Steve allowed you.

Loud bangs hit your door outside. “Y/L/N you’re already 30 minutes late! That’s 5 laps extra for you!” You could hear the irritation lacing his voice.

Maybe if you ignore him long enough, the pest would go away.

“I know you’re in there!” He followed up after you ignored him.

Sighing in annoyance, you got up, with the blankets still wrapped around you, and weakly waddled your way to your door, not bothering to open up your curtains. Opening the door, A frowning Bucky was looking down on you. If you weren’t feeling so shitty, you would’ve snickered at his expression.

“Barnes why are you so obsessed with me?” your cracked voice barely managed to finish asking.

He was observing you from head to toe, noting how pale you are, and shivering under a huge comforter despite that your AC was off.

“You’re stupid.” That was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“Well, you’re not that sma-”

“Will you shut up and go back to bed? You look like you’re about to drop dead any second now.” He interrupted you, his face still stern with no emotion.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back and weakly made your way back over to bed, pausing to groan as you remembered you forgot to close the door.

“If you’re still there, could you please close the door.” it almost pained you to even be so polite to him but you blame it to being sick.

Finally managing to lie back down, you stared up the ceiling when you heard the door finally shut gently. Sighing, you were about to let sleep take over you when something caught the corner of your eye.

Bucky was by the closed door, taking his shirt off over his head. You let out a shriek. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?!”

“You’re sick.” he replied nonchalantly, while kicking off his shoes, leaving him in his sweatpants and socks.

“And taking off your clothes is supposed to make me feel better?!” you were trying to support yourself with your elbow, facing his way. “And I meant that you close the door before leaving.”

“I don’t want to die of heat while taking care of you.” he replied in a duh tone before entering your bathroom to fetch some warm water in a basin.

You were still trying to process what he was getting at when he finally went back out, now basin with steaming water in hand.

“You got a clean towelette I can use?” has asked as he placed the basin on the foot of your bed.

“Yeah, it’s by the third dra- what the hell are you doing again?” you caught yourself as he was opening your drawers. “Because if you’re trying to kill me, doing it while I’m defenseless is just beneath you.”

“Didn’t think your IQ could get any lower but you’re sick so I’ll let this pass.” He rolled his eyes before soaking the cloth on the water. “I’m nursing you. Now lay flat and still so the cloth won’t fall off that forehead of yours.” he instructed, again sounding so casual.

You followed his orders before realizing that this whole ordeal was still very weird. “I’m sorry, I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He went by your head and placed the cloth on your forehead, making you sigh at the warmth it brought your chilling form. “Steve will have my head if he finds out I knew you’re sick and let you die.”

You stared at him deadpan.

“And partners are supposed to be taking care of each other.” he muttered, making the side of your mouth twitch.

“If you tell anyone I said that I’ll kill you.” he lightly threatened when he noticed your mouth twitch.

“Fair enough. And I should probably tell you that I’m prone to get mentally confused when I have fevers which is a normal symptom, but just letting you know in case I start saying something nice.” you chuckled.

He went over your mini fridge and opened a bottle of water to drink.

You look at him, noticing that he was starting to sweat a lot from the heat. His skin was glistening making you mentally kick yourself from staring.

“You got underwear?” you found yourself asking, making him choke on his drink.

“What?”

“I-I’m just saying i-if you’re that hot, you can just take off your sweatpants and I won’t mind.”

“You’re saying I’m hot?” he chuckled, having fun twisting your words, making you flush. “Hey, color’s back on your face. Maybe I should get you all flustered more.” he teased further.

“Shut up Barnes, I meant that the room’s too hot for you because the AC is off. You’re sweating like a pig.”

“Save the excuses, Y/N. You won’t mind if I’ll just be in my boxers?” he smirked at you as he took his socks off and started working on untying the strings of his sweats.

“Puh-lease, Barnes, it may come as a shock to you, but I’ve seen enough men in boxers. You’re not that…”

You trailed off what you were going to say when you noticed that this was a different kind of boxers. Why were they so tight?

You thought he meant boxer shorts, not boxer briefs. Dammit.

“I’m not that…?” He asked.

“I forgot. Fever brain.” You shrugged, diverting your eyes away from him. “Anyway, why are you so nice to me? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” He contradicts, placing his hands on his hips.

“Uh, yeah you do.” you paused to let out a cough. “You always make fun of me or provoke me in front of everyone else.”

“And how do I treat you when we’re alone, especially in missions?” he raised his brows at you, expecting that you’ll put two and two together.

“A lot nicer actually.” You muttered.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that the team keeps insisting I have a crush on you.” he scratched the back of his head.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they even think that?” you chuckled.

“It’s Sam’s fault. He tricked me.”

“What?”

“He was being all hypothetical, saying what if I was only allowed to date someone from the team and who would I choose. And I uh… may have said I’d choose you. And everyone else heard.” He muttered the last part, embarrassed.

It was your turn to smirk at him. “And why me?”

“Stop that. You look like a smirking corpse.” he snapped at you defensively and cleared his throat. “It’s just that you were actually really nice to me when we met. Didn’t feel like you were masking apprehensiveness like everybody did when I first got here.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on me.” you had the courage to tease him, seeing how flustered he got from telling the story.

“This is not how you treat your nurse, Y/N.”

“Yeah, a nurse in his underwear. Very ethical. And I’m not your supervisor, but I think brooding is not advisable.”

“And now as your nurse, I would advise you to quit talking and get some sleep.”  he playfully glared at you. “I’ll be by the chair to constantly check on your temperature and replace the cloth on your forehead.”

“I really appreciate what you’re doing, Barnes. I’m starting to think the team’s right.”

“Ma’am flirting with patients and vice versa is frowned upon. Now sleep.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

——–

While you were finally snoozing for over an hour, gentle knocks were heard on your door.

Standing up from his chair, Bucky quickly made his way over the door to prevent more knocks from disturbing your sleep, forgetting that he was still only in his boxer briefs.

Opening it slowly, he was met with three pairs of wide eyes belonging to Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Hey you guys, could you keep it down? Y/N is getting some rest.”

“Uhuh… I bet she needs it.” Sam replied slowly, still wide-eyed, noting how Bucky’s slightly sweaty.

“So… when did this happen?” It was Steve’s turn to speak up.

“Oh, just this morning. She was running late and I came here with the intention of punishing her for it but I ended up taking care of her.” He explained in a low voice, still oblivious to how their teammates were getting a totally different idea.

“Woah.” Nat muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, I guess her muscles are all sore because she was moving so weakly, and her voice is all hoarse now when she talks, and -”

“Look we’re happy for you, but TMI, Buck! TMI.” Steve cut him off and the three of them scrambled away from your room, with Sam muttering he didn’t need the unwelcomed visuals, and Nat screaming for Wanda.

Now left alone and confused by the doorway, he was trying to figure out why they reacted that way when it finally clicked.

“Fuck.” he whisper-yelled, knowing that the teasing was about to get worse.

——–

Final Part

Permanent tag list: @lizzarooni

Marvel Masterlist

[egg-on-the-run]

Massage

The turtle's s/o is exhausted, they help make things better with a massage.

(she/her pronouns used)

Leonardo

She's already asleep in his bed when he comes home from patrol. Usually she waits for him on the couch, even when she was tired, but Splinter had specifically told him she was already asleep, warned him to do his best not to wake her up.

She must be exhausted.

He tiptoes in as quietly as he could after his shower, spots her lying flat on his bed: not tucked in, just lying atop his blankets on her stomach. She had been too tired to lift the sheets.

He can see how tense she is, can see the way how even in her sleep her shoulders still rise to her ears, how her finger twitches with an anxious need to keep moving. Her face scrunched up slightly, adorable, but he would rather it be relaxed and soft.

He's careful and slow moving her onto the bed properly, still not setting her under the covers just yet. He's even more careful when he straddles her legs, keeps his weight off them almost entirely. His hands start at her lower back, kneading into her very softly.

She jolts and eyes snap open, "What are you doing?"

"I uh, I was giving you a massage, you look tense, even in your sleep."

"Oh," She relaxes, "You're an angel, just scared me a little." Her head hits the pillow again, already drifting off.

He tries once more, hands softly pressing into her lower back. She lets out a breath of air, sinking further into the mattress. He continues, travelling further up her spine. Usually he hates the sound of bones cracking (all of his brothers teased him constantly about it), but tonight he was quite happy to hear little pops coming from her spine. He especially didn't mind when she gave a little moan afterwards.

His hands travel further up towards her shoulders, kneading and rolling his wrists into the dozens of knots in her back. Her shoulders were so tense that she whined whenever he was too rough. He had to be gentle, working them out slowly.

By the time he was finished, she was sleepily trying to reach his hand with her eyes closed.

"Cuddle me," She mumbled as she found his hand, "Pretty please? I've got tomorrow off."

"Of course," He replied, moving to help her under the sheets, "That was the plan anyway."

He pulled her tight against his chest, hearing her bones crack once more as she melted like putty in his hands. He kissed her forehead.

"Thank god you've got tomorrow off, I'll let you sleep in as long as you want." He sighed, relaxing himself, "I'll make sure the lair is quiet."

She didn't hear a word of what he said, she was already fast asleep.

Raphael

Raphael was the king of tension. He wasn't like Michelangelo where little bothered him, or like Donatello who had those random self care days, or even like Leonardo who learned to de-stress through meditation. Oh no, Raphael carried tension like a mother with a clingy child: pulling on his shoulders, weighing him down and making him irritated.

It came with the whole anger thing.

So there have been countless times where she has used her knuckles to work the knots out of his shoulders. It was no easy task, especially when she had to use most of her body weight to actually get through each and every knot.

But she'd do it a hundred times more if he needed her to, and Raphael knew that, knew it all to well.

So when he sees her already grumbling to herself at the latest email that just came through to her laptop, when he see her shoulders rising to her ears in frustration and hands balling into fists, he knew he had to do the same thing for her as she had done countless times for him.

She jumps when he first puts his hands on her shoulders, but recognises the warm touch shortly after.

"What are you doing?" She asked, one hand reaching up to rest on top of his, she kept her attention glued to her screen, "I have a lot of work to do, Raphie."

"I know," He said, beginning to knead into her shoulders, "Just a massage, you look stressed."

"Oh with that lovely email, I am more than stressed."

She's always had a sharp tongue, never directed it to him (never intentionally) but he knows her patience is wearing thin and work certainly wasn't helping. He thought about taking his hands away entirely, not wanting to pester her; but she ran her thumb across his hand, typed with only one set of fingers, and Raphael remembered how often she did this for him when his patience was thinner than a piece of paper.

He pressed his hands into her shoulders again, watched as her head leaned back and body moved with his hands. He knew the feeling, when the knots were so tight they just hurt. He continued to work his hands into her shoulders, and slowly it seemed to stop hurting and the tension started to melt away. She closed her eyes, pushed her laptop away from her and just let herself be for a moment.

"Those big ol' hands of yours," She said, voice more like a breath, "So gentle with me."

"Not like you, using your damn elbows to get the knots out."

"But does it work?" She laughed.

He chuckled, "Of course it works, you're the best at this."

"Oh I dunno, you might give me a run for my money, this feels like heaven right now." Her head rolled to the side, turning slightly to kiss his hand, "Take me to bed Raphie, please."

With one final squeeze he let go, moving his arms to wrap around her waist and carry her to bed. Work wasn't important, this was.

Donatello

The lair was far too noisy, Donatello's lab was far too bright. Everything was just too much, all at once. Even as she sat on his desk, the reflection of his computer in his glasses from behind her was glaring into her eyes. He sat between her legs, arms around her waist and rambling about — god, she didn't even know at this point. She'd spaced out long ago, too overwhelmed to even try and catch up.

He moved his head at he spoke, Donatello was always an expressive fellow, and the light bounced off his glasses right into her eyes. She squinted, scrunched her entire face up and groaned.

"You have a migraine," He said plainly, "I have some painkillers in my drawer—"

"I took some earlier, they just haven't kicked in yet." She frowned.

She looked in pain, Donatello hated to see her like this, hated when there wasn't anything he could do.

He reached up and cupped her face, "Have you had enough water today?"

"Yeah," She mumbled, "Been using that new water bottle I got."

"When did you last eat?"

"Went out for dinner with some coworkers."

Donnie hummed, not knowing what else could cause her such a migraine. They usually had a reason behind them, she didn't usually just get them randomly. He wondered if she'd be on her phone too much, not to sound like Splinter, but she's been talking to him for the past hour or so, her eyes should have rested by now.

She pushed her cheek into his hand, letting his hand squish the chub on her face. Donatello squeezed gently, rubbing her cheeks in a circular motion.

"What are you doing?" She asked, voice muffled by his hands.

"Massaging your face," He replied, moving to knead her cheekbones with his thumbs, "Maybe it's tension that's brought this on."

"Maybe..."

He moved his thumbs over the bridge of her nose and followed the shape of her eyebrows, he repeated the action a few times before gently rubbing her temples.

"You're really good at this..." She murmured, eyes closed and jaw slack. Her face was no long scrunched up, but instead so completely relaxed she looked as though she was already asleep. Donatello persisted, using his thumbs to move the tension away from her face. His hands moved to her hair, grasping tightly and then releasing, he tickled his fingers through her locks: slowly so as not to pull on any tangles.

By the time he'd moved back to her jaw, he was pretty sure she'd fallen asleep where she sat. He smiled softly at her, kissed her forehead, and carried her off to bed.

He needed an early night as well.

Michelangelo

She had been on her feet all day, running errands for a coworker who had recently hurt their leg. Said coworker was fine, and would be perfectly capable of putting of such errands until their leg was better (really, Mikey huffed, using his girlfriend like a servant). But she could never just say no, and even after she'd ran around the city collecting bits and bops, dropping off items and buying groceries, her coworker hadn't even offered her so much as a sit down before he not-so-subtly led her out of his apartment.

So she came stumbling to the lair, exhausted and drained beyond compare and ready to collapse but still so eager to see her darling Mikey. He was in the shower when she arrived, she knew because Raphael told her, and because she could hear his singing before she'd even arrived.

She dragged herself to his bed, kicking her shoes off and not even caring where she left them. She collapsed to her knees before she could crawl under the blankets, lying surprisingly comfortably on the floor.

"Hey, hey angel! What are you doing down here?" Mikey's cheerful voice woke her up, along with a little shake of her shoulder. "We snoozing on the floor now?"

"So tired..." She mumbled, eyes fluttering closed, "Carry me to bed."

"No problem, the whole five feet distance it is." Mikey chuckled. He picked her up, sliding her onto his bed, careful not to bump her head on Raphael's top bunk. "All those errands huh? Guy owes you a thanks at least."

"Jackass kicked me out before I could even sit down at his place," She glared at the mattress above her, "So rude."

"Uh, totes rude? My girl did all that for him and he doesn't even let you sit down? Jackass is a very nice way to describe him." Mikey smiled at her, "Your poor little feet must be sore after all that running around."

"I think my ankles are swollen."

"Just a little." He teased, moving to sit between her legs. He took one of her legs and squeezed firmly along her calves. His hands slid down to her ankles and he frowned: they were slightly swollen, he had only been joking but turns out he was right. He rolled her ankle for her, moved her foot so that it pointed and then helped stretch her heel. He squeezed her calf one more time before moving on to her other leg.

"You're so sweet," She babbled, "Thank you for taking care of me."

"No problem babe, somebody has to," He laughed, "And it's not hard work."

She smiled at him, eyes struggling to stay open. He smiled back at her, not that she could see him, and softly told her to go to sleep; he'd take care of her.

[adobe-outdesign]

For pokemon reviews, any thoughts on the diggersby line? I think bunnelby is cute but I'm not sure how I feel about the evolution

Honestly, I like Bunnelby a lot. Unlike a lot of the other rabbit Pokemon out there, this one feels like it has a good amount of rabbity attributes mixed in there with the buck teeth, muzzle, whiskers, and haunches. Something about the way its face is drawn makes also makes it the cutest out of all the rabbit 'mons as well for me. The colors are nice and simple and reflect the digging theme.

My one issue with it is that it uses its ears to dig, but they don't really seem like they should work for that; even assuming they're prehensile, they're shorter than the body is, meaning that they'd have to get down on all fours to dig or something. Lop ears might’ve helped with this.

Side note, I would like to ban Pokemon Adventures from ever drawing this Pokemon again.

I also like Diggersby a lot, even if I understand why it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. With all the rabbit Pokemon out there that are trying to be furrybait or badass, it's nice to have a rabbit that looks like it would flop over on your couch after a battle and crack open a beer. Plus the “old man with 5-o’clock shadow” look works well with the theme without being too obtrusive.

In terms of design things I like, I really like the ears here; these look a lot more plausible as digging tools than Bunnelby's, and have a nice excavator look to them. The brown ears with brown spots evoke the idea of them being covered in dirt even when clean. And while I have no idea why they gave a rabbit slit pupils like a goat, they’re a lot more interesting than generic anime eyes would be.

In terms of things I don’t like: the body is a bit strange. Bunnelby has very solid anatomy: you can tell how it moves by looking it at and it has depth. Diggersby is weirdly flat in comparison, especially on the lower body; like look at the legs, which have no separation or haunches, or the arms. It’s a minor thing, but it always throws me a bit, mostly because the upper body doesn’t have this issue.

Also, I don’t know why those spikes on the back of the ears are needed, but I would’ve dropped those. The inside of the ears should also be bigger, running underneath of the length of the ears (Bunnelby’s aren’t quite right either but they’re closer).

And finally and more importantly, the colors are sort of random when it comes to placement. The addition of yellow is a good choice that adds to Bunnelby’s palette and isn’t as neutral as the browns and greys, but it’s only on the belly fur for some reason. Typically, if you’re using one color in a design you want to use it to draw attention to something--think like Pikachu’s red cheeks. But here, the belly fur is not something that needs focused on. If anything, there should’ve been yellow bands added to the ears right after the brown tips, as they reference excavators and those are usually yellow. Likewise, the white front paws aren’t terrible, but are kind of random when they could’ve just stayed grey.

Overall though, a good line that I would share a beer with.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao. 

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings. 

 The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow. 

 The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway. 

 "Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!" 

 A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough. 

 "Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

 He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy." 

 "My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please." 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

 "'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice. 

 Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you." 

 You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it. 

 "Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

 "Didn't even notice," he reassures you. 

 Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen. 

 Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

 She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

 "Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later. 

 "You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

 "Uh, yeah. I could eat." 

 Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything. 

 "Sandwiches okay?" 

 Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth. 

 "Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich. 

 You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

 He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask. 

 He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days. 

 Mike isn't judging—not in the least���but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow. 

 After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

 It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer. 

 "It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free." 

 Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better. 

 You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie. 

 He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow. 

 "I can pick something else," he tells you quietly. 

 You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften. 

 "'S'fine."

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

 He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be. 

 He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies. 

 "You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

 "You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

 You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress. 

 Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep. 

 That's good. You could use a nap. 

 He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours. 

 But first. 

 As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf. 

 It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before. 

 The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses. 

 Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward. 

 They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother. 

 Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

 He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book. 

 Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

 He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole? 

 Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible. 

 It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on. 

 Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

 Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left. 

 The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album. 

 He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

 "Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album." 

 Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes. 

 "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

 You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

 But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length. 

 "Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

 "What's there to tell?" 

 Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth. 

 "It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

 Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books. 

 "Is it, though? Is it really?" 

 "I..." 

 Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language. 

 Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you. 

 It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

 At least it makes sense now. 

 "I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it. 

 You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

 Then, you flop back down on your pillows. 

 "So. Any questions, Zacharias?" 

 He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

 A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

 "Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease. 

 "Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

 Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up. 

 "Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous. 

 "He left." 

 "Yeah."

 And then he gets the full story. 

 Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

 "Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

 The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom. 

 "He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick." 

 He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since. 

 "I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

 "Were you ever close with him?"

 You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

 It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

 At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him. 

 He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk. 

 "Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

 Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice. 

 Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him. 

 "I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

 Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies. 

 "Have you seen him since?" 

 You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

 Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction. 

 You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

 "Anyway," he mimics. 

 "I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

 "Is this why?" 

 "Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

 "Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know. 

 Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months. 

 "So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

 "For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

 "Mm. I guess."

 The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better. 

 Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster. 

 Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark. 

 When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest. 

 It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate. 

 You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth. 

 He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut. 

 Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer. 

 He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth. 

 Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

 Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

 He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

 So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you. 

 After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other. 

 He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now. 

 If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back. 

 He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself: 

 I love you. I love you, I love you.  

 You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day. 

 You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

 Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

 Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear. 

 Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it. 

 And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

 You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

 It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

 He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening. 

 The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

 You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail. 

 Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence. 

 Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can. 

 Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

 “Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

 He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

 “You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

 “Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

 “Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

 He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

 Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip. 

 “Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

 It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you. 

 “I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

 After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way. 

 You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done. 

 Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it. 

 Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock. 

 He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

 It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying. 

 Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

 Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger. 

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books. 

 It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice. 

 Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town. 

 It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway. 

 Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder. 

 The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!" 

 Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

 A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles. 

 "It's fine. You can calm down."

 You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused. 

 The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him. 

 "You're Zeke Jaeger."

 He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

 Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players. 

 You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face. 

 "Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

 He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

 You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself. 

 "Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

 Your stomach flips at the mention of him. 

 "We're not dating."

 Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

 "No. Just friends."

 He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain. 

 "Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try. 

 He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

 "I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

 "Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

 You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

 "I'll walk with you," he states more than offers. 

 Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.  

 But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen. 

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does. 

 Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

 These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip. 

 Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

 You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

 He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

 You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

 It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

 “You listening, sweetheart?”

 Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 “No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

 “That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

 “It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

 Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

 You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor. 

 Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

 The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

 “Yeah, okay.”

 He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

 No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said. 

 What a fucking joke. 

*

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside. 

 “You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

 “Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

 “Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

 You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

 “Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

 He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.” 

 He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

 Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day. 

 And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

 Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

 Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece. 

 If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

 But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

 What is happening to you?

 “So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

 But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

 You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

 Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

 His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

 You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car. 

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

 Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

 You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys. 

 “I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

 “Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

 Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

 “I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

 You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes. 

 “Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

 You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

 Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

 “Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

 “You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

 “I—”

 “It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

 Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him. 

 But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

 He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

 Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

 Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that. 

 “What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

 You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

 “Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

 “Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.” 

 God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

 Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

 “Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

 Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

 More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

 “Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem. 

 “I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

 “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

 You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

 That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his. 

 He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth. 

 You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

 “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

 The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more. 

  And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

[mypoisonedvine]

Getting In Tune | Chris Evans x reader fluff

summary: taking house calls as a piano tuner doesn’t usually mean meeting hot guys… mostly just old ladies who offer you lemonade, which is great and all, but did not prepare you for an appointment to tune chris evans’ full grand.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: swearing, dirty jokes about pianos, allusions to nsfw things?? vaguely?, mostly just fluff and flirting and awkwardness

Checking that the address on your worksheet matched the one on the door in front of you, you reviewed the nature of the appointment as your boss had written out for you: 

Customer: Christopher Evans

Appointment type: Warranty tuning and check-up

Arrival time: 10 a.m. 

You checked your watch and saw that it was 9:58, but hopefully that wouldn’t bother him too much.  Leaning forward, you knocked on the door and waited.  You could hear a dog barking inside, running up to the other side of the door as someone unlocked the bolt and cracked it open, poking his head out while he held the dog back with his leg.

He seemed a little surprised to see you standing there, made even more apparent by the fact that he was obviously wearing pajamas— specifically, a baggy tank top and gingham flannel pants.  A few tattoos were visible on his arms and collarbones, though you tried not to stare at them or anything.

“Did you not know you had an appointment today?” you asked him.  When he didn’t answer, you tried to give a bit more of a prompting.  “I’m here from Boston Steinway…?”

“Right, right,” he agreed, “uh, let me put the dog out, and… put on a shirt…”

“Good idea,” you suggested, “I’ll be here!” 

He smiled at you one more time before shutting the door again, his footsteps shuffling away as you waited for his return.  Thankfully it was a nice day out so you weren’t too cold in your work uniform (yes, you felt like a total dork having to wear a polo with a nametag on it, but such is the life of a piano tuner).  When you heard the dog run into the backyard, and the sound of Chris coming back to open the door, you took a moment to straighten yourself in hopes of looking like you’d been waiting patiently.

“Come in please,” he offered as he opened the door one more time, wearing a navy sweater and jeans now (and a NASA ball cap, for whatever reason) and stepping aside to invite you in.

“I hope I didn’t scare you too much,” you smiled as you stepped past him, letting him shut the door behind you, “a lot of people forget when I’m supposed to show up, trust me.”  You shuddered as you remembered those times you caught people in a lot worse than pajamas.

“No, I knew somebody was coming today, I just… wasn’t expecting…” he trailed off.

“A girl?” you finished for him with a smirk.

“I… yeah, I guess I wasn’t expecting a girl,” he laughed, looking a little embarrassed.

"Well, piano tuning is a real boy's club," you joked.  

"Is it?" he asked sincerely.

"Um, no, not particularly."

"Oh."

After an awkward moment passed while you cringed internally at your failed joke, he finally guided you across the house to where the piano was; you set your toolbag down beside it, stepping back to admire the instrument.  “It’s gorgeous,” you told him.

“Oh, thanks,” he smiled a little.  “Yeah, she’s a beaut.”

“How long have you been playing?” you asked.  “Or are you one of those people who keeps it mostly for decoration.”

“Decoration?” he repeated incredulously.  “Do people do that?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “more often than not I end up doing cosmetic repairs instead of internal ones because families are basically using this as the most expensive object possible to put framed family photos on.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, “I mean, I’m sure I’m not using this thing the way it deserves, cause I’m still not very good at it but… yeah, at least I play it a few times a week.”

“Good, it deserves that,” you agreed.  “Mind if I…?”

“Oh, go ahead,” he prompted, stepping back and motioning for you to touch the piano.  You didn’t sit down, just leaning over to do a quick scale up and back down.  "Anyways, I think it's mostly fine but those higher notes are getting kinda squeaky…" he mumbled.

"Right,” you noted, messing around with the keys near the top to check what he’d said, “well, they do that, especially out here with these cold winters making the strings tighten up.  Should be fixable."

“Great,” he smiled.

“Alright, pretty girl, let’s take a look at your guts,” you grinned, groaning a bit as you lifted the heavy lid to see the strings inside.  "It's in great shape,” you observed aloud, “this can't be more than a few years old."

"Yeah, I got it pretty recently actually.  It's never been tuned before."

"Oh, this is its first time?" you smirked, leaning in to whisper to the strings: "don't worry, I'll be gentle."

He blushed a little as he laughed, making you pretty sure your joke hadn't gone too far.

“You, uh, don’t have to be around for this part,” you informed him.  “I mean, unless you want to, but it’ll just be me messing around in here for a few hours.

“No, I’ll give you some space,” he decided, “just let me know if you need anything.  Do you want, like, water or something?”

“I’m fine, but thanks,” you dismissed, “just continue as if I wasn’t here.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna see that,” he disagreed, looking like he regretted saying it as soon as he finished his sentence.  You felt your face warm and hoped he just meant that he’d be eating cheetos out of the bag in his underwear and not anything more… mature.  

As he awkwardly shuffled away, you opened your toolbox and got to work.  Your first task was to get a pitch reader so you could figure out how well-tuned each string was— you set that on the soundboard and got to work testing keys and reading the little digital display of your device.  Once that told you how much work each key needed, it was easy to just put your tuning hammer on one pin at a time, loosening or tightening until the pitch was just right.  You couldn’t just start at one side and tune all the way up to the other, oh no, there was a very specific ideal tuning order that you’d memorized by now: first the middle strings of the octaves from C3 to C5, then the one of each of the unison strings in the double bass section, then the middle strings from C5 to C8, then the lower single bass strings, then every left string of all the unisons from C3 to C8, then the rest of the double bass section, and finally all the right strings from C3 to C8.

Easy peasy, right?

It actually sort of would be, if you hadn’t gotten stuck on the unison bass string of E flat 3, your tuning hammer suddenly unable to turn even when you tried to brace yourself against the piano for some leverage.

"Um, Mr. Evans?" you called out.

"Yup!" he answered, swinging out from the entryway instantly— he must have been waiting just outside, which made you feel a little like you were being spied on.  

"Would you maybe come over here and use your manly-man strength on this?"

"My what now?" he laughed, walking towards you.

"You know," you explained by flexing your biceps and making a sort of serious face; your charades version of what a muscular man looked like, apparently.

"Oh, I see," he nodded, "my—" and he repeated the charade, except it made your face warm and your eyes all but bulge out of your head.  That was him jokingly flexing?!  What did he look like when he was actually trying to show his muscles?

You tore yourself from that train of thought as he leaned over the edge of the piano, gripping the tuning hammer you'd left on the pin there.

"This one?" he asked.

"Yeah, just give it a little nudge counter-clockwise, please."

He did it like it was no trouble at all.

"You could've at least pretended it was difficult," you rolled your eyes.

"No, you loosened it up for me," he winked.  WINKED.  Was he trying to kill you or something?  "Chris is fine," he said abruptly.

Chris is fine indeed, your brain supplied instantly.  "I'm sorry?" you choked out aloud instead.

"You can call me Chris, I mean," he explained.  "You called me Mr. Evans before."

"Oh, right," you nodded.  "Chris.  Thanks for your help with that, Chris."

"Sure thing," he smiled.

Just as the conversation began to lull, you could hear the dog whining and scratching at the back door, and you felt so guilty that he had been left outside.  “You can let the dog back in, you know,” you suggested, “I don’t mind.”

“I shouldn’t,” he shook his head, “he’ll jump all over you and stuff…”

“No, really, it’s fine, I love dogs,” you assured him.

“Alright, just prepare yourself,” he chuckled a little as he slipped over to the back door to let the dog in.  Running past his owner instantly and straight to you, you knelt down to let it lick your face as you laughed.

“Hi puppy!” you greeted.  “Oh, thank you for the kisses, it’s nice to meet you!”  He calmed down a bit when you scratched behind his ears, wiggling and putting his paws up on your knees.  “What’s his name?” you asked, turning your attention to Chris who had his arms crossed and a prideful smile on his face.

“Dodger,” he informed you with a nod.

“Aw, hi Dodger,” you cooed at the pup, “I’d sit here and pet you all day, but your dad’s not paying me to play with you— apparently.”

Chris laughed a bit as you stood up, and Dodger actually took it pretty well, dashing to curl up on the nearest couch as you got back to work on the piano.  

“I’m just about halfway done,” you informed him as you started to move on to the next string, occasionally plucking the string to test that the pitch was right.

“I’ve never heard a piano plucked before,” he observed, leaning in to watch you work.

“Yeah, probably better to just stick to hitting the keys,” you smirked.

“Psh, anybody can do that,” he scoffed, “you could invent a whole new genre of music!”

"I'll leave the musical experimentation to you," you decided, "and I'll stay on this side of the action board."

"See, I didn't even know that was a part of the piano," he admitted.

"And that's why you're on that side."

You two chatted while you worked— he asked some questions about you, you asked some questions about him, classic small talk sort of stuff.  He managed to keep it interesting, though, and keep you laughing throughout the whole conversation.  It was significantly more fun than you usually had during house calls like this, and instead of distracting you it actually seemed to help you keep your focus.  It was easier to talk to him when you could keep your eyes on the strings anyways: looking right at him was sort of overwhelming.

With the last string adjusted, you slipped the tuning hammer into your back pocket and dusted off your hands as you stepped back to admire your work.

"That's it?" he asked as he stood up from the couch, noticing the signs of completion.

"It is if it sounds good!" you smiled.  "Go ahead, take it for a spin," you suggested.  "Play something and tell me if it sounds how you want."

"Okay," he nodded, slipping around the bench and sliding onto it.  He took a breath before he placed his hands on the keys, but then suddenly stopped and set them back on his lap with a sigh as he turned to you.  "Um, it's a little weird with you watching me."

"Oh, are you not used to performance?"

"Not outside of my family and friends and stuff, no."

"I don't really have to be here for this part, as long as you're happy with it then that's fine," you shrugged, "but you know, I wanna be able to fix any issues while I'm still here—"

"No, it’s not a big deal," he shook his head quickly, "I should get over myself.  I guess it's just scary cause you've probably heard people a lot better than me play…"

"Don't worry about that," you laughed, "just play something, really, I won't judge."

He spun back to face the keys, placing his hands on them— for a second you wondered if he struggled to hit just one key at a time with those thick fingers, but you pushed that thought away quickly.

As he started to play, you found yourself focusing on the music more than the sound of the keys like you should've been.  He was good, actually, although you could hear the hesitance in the way he played.  He didn't rush as much as most people did, though; he was savoring the piece, one note at a time, and you let your eyes fall shut as he continued to play.

You broke from your trance when he suddenly stopped, repeating the phrase he'd just finished and stopping on the same note.

"Does this one sound kinda… off to you?" he asked.

"Um," you paused, "play it again?"

He poked the key with one finger a few times, and you frowned.  "I can't really tell." You stepped forward and leaned over his shoulder, caging his body in accidentally as your arms wrapped around his shoulders to fiddle with the keys in front of him.  You rested your knee on the bench beside his legs, not even realizing that it was a massive invasion of his personal space until you were already in it.

He moved his hands out of the way so you could repeat the phrase, and although you didn't hear anything wrong, you felt the key sticking.

"Oh," you mumbled to yourself, "it's the key, not the string."

"Can you fix it?" he asked looking up at you.

"Yeah, I—" you stopped in the middle of your word as you looked back at him because his face was really close, so close that his bright blue eyes were burning right through you; so close that you completely lost your train of thought.  "I can fix anything," you finished softly.

"Great," he whispered back, eyes seeming to glance down to your lips quickly before moving back up to meet your gaze.

You cleared your throat as you stepped back, giving him space again as you nervously crossed your arms.  "It's probably just something stuck under there or whatever, but I can order a replacement key if not."

"Right," he agreed with a nod, sliding to the side of the bench to give you room to fiddle with it.  You grabbed your smaller toolkit and sat beside him, starting with your flashlight to see if there was anything hiding underneath there.

Moving to peer behind the action frame, you realized it was a problem with the hammer hitting the string— or, more specifically, with the mechanism that kept the hammer balanced.  All you had to do was reach in with a long screwdriver and shift some parts around, and it seemed to be back in working order.

“Play it again?” you requested, and he slid back to the middle and started the piece over.  He grinned when he reached the part he’d stopped at before, flying through the phrase without stopping.

“Hey!  You fixed it!” he beamed.

“I’m a genius,” you shrugged, smirking a little.  He stopped playing and you found yourself a little disappointed by that, unexpectedly.  “Any other musical ailments I can magically cure for you today?”

“Unless you can make me a better sight reader, that’ll be all,” he smiled, standing up from the bench.

“Ah, if I could do that, I’d be using that power on myself.”

He shrugged; "Fair enough."

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," you announced as you put the last of your tools away and picked up your bag.  "Hope I didn't disrupt your day too much."

"You did, actually— in a good way," he grinned.  "I definitely learned a lot more than I was going to just watching TV and drinking beer."

You followed him back to the front door, which he opened for you.  "You can always give us a call if you need anything.  Um, anything piano-related, that is.  Tell the dog I said goodbye, okay?"

Chris smiled a little, softer than his normal expression.  "I'll be sure he gets the message."

As you got back in your car, you took a minute to just catch your breath for the first time since you'd gotten here.  Trying to be funny and cute and charming when all you wanna do is stutter and gawk and melt is exhausting!  As enjoyable as it was, in a certain sense, you were relieved at the idea of returning to your routine— which typically did not include super hot dudes chatting you up at work.

//

“This must be a mistake,” you shook your head as you showed the work order form to your boss, “I was at this address two weeks ago, the piano’s in perfect condition.”

“Well, he has an unlimited warranty, so either something happened since you were there last, or you fucked something up when you were there last, or he’s just determined to get his money’s worth out of us,” she explained without looking up from her computer.

You sighed and left, heading back to the same address and hoping you weren’t about to get chewed out for somehow ruining Chris’ like-new piano.

Knocking on the door, you found yourself chewing your lip as you waited for him to answer the door.  You were a little surprised when he answered in a button-up and slacks— entirely opposite to pajamas, although you sort of missed that get-up if you were being honest.

“Hey,” he greeted with a grin, stepping back to motion for you to come inside.

“Hi,” you responded awkwardly as you stepped past him.  “Is... everything alright with the piano?  I didn’t damage it, did I?”

He cleared his throat as he shut the door behind you, the size of the hallway forcing the two of you to stand slightly closer together than you would’ve personally preferred; it was hard to focus with him so close, sometimes.  “No, no, it’s not that,” he answered, “the piano’s fine, I just…” he stammered a little, starting over.  “Uh, there was something I wanted to ask you about last time, and I called the Steinway store but I couldn’t figure out how to call you specifically, so I just had to make a new tuning appointment.”

You furrowed your brow with confusion, not sure why someone else on the phone couldn’t answer whatever question he had, but decided to let him go through with his thought.  “What did you wanna ask me?”

“Uh, I just wanted to ask you… out,” he finished plainly.

You paused as you processed that.  “Out?”

“Like, I was wondering if you’d wanna… go out, with me.”

You hoped your face didn’t give away all of your shock, but at the same time, you figured it probably did.

He winced as you continued to stare at him in silence.  “I’m kind of out on a limb here,” he reminded you.

“Right, I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “um, I guess I’m just sort of surprised because you’re, like… hot, and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“Yeah, like… nice…” you explained.

“Hot and nice?” he laughed.  “Slow down, you’ll give me an ego.”

You laughed, too, and less nervously than you expected.  Feeling the rare urge to be spontaneous, you scratched your neck as you prepared to propose an idea.  “Listen, so, this might be crazy but... I have another appointment today, at the Symphony Hall— it’s a final tune-up on the pianos and harps before this massive concerto thing and they always let me stay to watch the performance afterwards.  If you came with me, I could get you in for free.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, you probably have better things to do today—”

“I don’t,” he refuted.

“And if you just wanted to, like, get lunch some time then that would be great, I just thought I might as well invite you to hear the chamber orchestra from the best seat in the house,” you shrugged.

“The best seat?” he questioned incredulously.  “And where is that?”

“The rafters,” you laughed.

And that was how you and Chris ended up sitting on the steel catwalk suspended on the ceiling of the Boston Symphony Hall, dangling your feet over the edge as the sounds of the concerto echoed out from the stage, over the silent audience and, finally, up to you two.

The music was incredible, if a little quiet from where you were listening, and so soothing that you felt compelled to close your eyes and focus on the sound.  You were partial to the piano, as always, but the violins and cellos in harmony made your chest warm unexpectedly.  Or maybe that was from the feeling of Chris’ gaze on you, as you opened your eyes to find him looking at your face rather than the performance below.  

“What are you looking at me for?” you asked him with a nervous laugh.

“For fun,” he shrugged.

“Doesn’t seem very exciting,” you scoffed, looking back to the stage.

“Oh, it’s exciting,” he mumbled his reply as he returned his gaze to the performance as well.  

Your cheeks burned when you heard that, in spite of the fact that it was actually a bit drafty in the auditorium.  Even though your nerves were buzzing with anxiety, a rush of bravery struck you and suddenly you were leaning your head onto his shoulder.  Just the warmth of him through his shirt— hell, even the smell of his cologne— somehow managed to relax you and energize you simultaneously.  His hand gingerly slipping around your waist was even better.

After this many years of tuning pianos, it felt like you were getting yourself in tune for the first time.

[jungshookz]

omg mean mr. park trying so hard not to give ballet!y/n special treatment that he goes too hard in the other direction and makes her cry!!!! and he’s like well i can’t fix it here in front of all these people what do i do what do i do

➺ pairing; park jimin x reader

➺ genre; balletteacher!jiminiverse!!! except uhhhhhh jimin’s a little scary in this one not going to lie <3 

➺ wordcount: 3.6k

➺ what to expect; “and take those goddamn leg warmers off.”

➺ optional readings: one; two; three; four

➺ note; this has been one of the hoTTest requests for a long time which doesn’t make any sense to me because whenever i get asked to write about this specific scenario i’m like?? you?? you WANT me to make y/n cry???? also i hope u don’t mind but i changed ur original request just a teensy bit because i didn’t want y/n to have to cry in front of everyone again otherwise she’s just going to be known as the class cry-baby and we should at least give her a tiny crumb of dignity 

                                      »»————-　♡　————-««

jimin… is getting soft.

which isn’t super great because he feels like his reputation as scary strict ballet instructor is going to go down the drain and disappear forever if he keeps going on like this

it’s not like he can help himself when his girlfriend is one of his students

(which… is still a secret, by the way. the two of you are surprisingly very good at keeping things somewhat professional. teamwork makes the dream work, right?)

the other day in class he literally had to pinch his arm to remind himself to stOP looking at you so fondly

he caught himself in the mirror with this dumb little smile on his face and his eyes all bright and twinkly as he watched you dance

and it certainly didn’t help that you smiled back at him before wiggling your brows knowingly

he can’t do things like that!

he has to be more careful!!

he has to toughen up!

he has to take a stand!

he’s going to have to pull out the big guns to prove to everyone that no, i don’t have any favourites, and no, i’m certainly not romantically attracted and in a very real relationship with one of you, not at all!

it just feels like no one really takes him seriously anymore??

especially after he gave all of you guys individual roses on valentine’s day

sometimes he thinks that maybe that was a little extra of him but he did genuinely feel bad about keeping you guys here when you could’ve been out spending the night with your significant others

anyways

his point is

he thinks that everyone is starting to fear him less and less with every passing day and he just can’t have that

and it doesn’t help that yoU very openly don’t take him that seriously in class because then everyone sees that as their opportunity to not take him seriously as well

it’s like suddenly you’ve labeled yourself as the ringleader of this circus and now he’s just one of your clowns

that’s not the way things should be!!!

hE’S the ringleader of this stupid ballet circus!!!!

the other week when he announced that your guys’ break would be over in approximately thirty seconds, you just turned around to look at him with big, pleading eyes and: “can’t we have five extra minutes of break time, mr. park? please?” and obviously he couldn’t say no to that because of your dumb stupid pretty googly eyes

and he thought that that would be the worst of it but nO

he was very wrong

because it got worse

people are starting to show up in sweatpants and hoodies instead of leotards and chiffon skirts and if there’s anything he hates the moSt on this planet, it’s people who don’t dress for the part

he hated watching all of you prancing around the room wearing grubby HOODIES

disgusting!!!

you can wear whatever you want outside of class, but he likes to think that he’s made it relatively clear that once you are in the confines of his classroom, the standards are higher than the heavens above

so, yes

he’s decided that today is going to be the day he grabs the reins and takes control once more

today’s break will be ten minutes and ten minutes only - with no extensions!

if he has to yell at someone today for messing up a move, you bet your ass he’s going to do just that - show no mercy!

he’s mr. park!

he’s in charge!

“i’m in charge.” jimin mutters to himself as he stands outside the classroom door

he nods firmly to himself before pushing the door open

“alright, ladies! let’s get ready to do some warm up exercises…” jimin announces loudly as soon as he steps into the classroom, a couple of the girls rushing to get up from the ground (it’s nice to see that some of you are still scared of him)

he pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head when he notices that you’re continuing to gab away in the corner with lisa and the others

“uh, hello?” he clears his throat and you turn to look over your shoulder

“oh! hold up, mr. park, i’m almost done telling my story. so as i was saying-“ you turn back to the girls and jimin frowns

see?

this is exactly what he was talking about

when he used to walk into the classroom everyone would immediately get into neat rows of four

and now?

there are five girls who are lined up

five girls out of TWENTY

jimin pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he approaches you slowly, “miss y/l/n, i mean it.“ he warns, his grip tightening around his iced coffee, “finish your conversation now, please.”

he raises a brow when you flat out ignore him and he notices lisa reaching over to smack your kneecap before subtly gesturing upwards to him

he doesn’t know if you’re doing it on purpose but you’re really starting to push it

your shoulders drop as you let out a sigh and you turn around to look at him

“well?”

you frown and your lips twist  

“yeah, whatever- just gimme one more second, okay?“ you dismiss him with a flick of your wrist anD a roll of your eyes and his jaw drops in surprise

wha-

did you just-

did you-

did you just… flick your wrist at him?

and roll your eyes?

…

who exactly do you think you are?

jimin turns on his heel to go over to the cabinets that he usually puts his bag and his jacket in

he shakes his head and chuckles darkly to himself as the image of you flicking your wrist and rolling your eyes at him plays over and over again in his mind

are you serious?

did you actually do that to him?

in front of everyone?

wow

you really grew a pair since your ‘i’m 100% attracted to park jimin and i would love to sit on his face’ days, no?

what, you think that just because he’s your boyfriend that you get to get away with stunts like that?

how dare you!

outside of the classroom, yes, he’s your boyfriend, and yes, you can flick your wrist and roll your eyes at him all you want

but inside of the classroom?

jimin’s grip tightens around the edge of the cabinet door

absolutely fucking not.

the cabinet doors slam shut with a loud bang! and a couple of girls let out yelps of surprise at the sudden noise, “everyone get in line right now!”

your neck nearly snaps off from how quickly you turn to look and your eyes widen when you suddenly see everyone scrambling to get off the ground and to get in line

seriously??

you were almost done with your story :-//

you frown to yourself before getting up off the ground (and taking your time in doing so, because your knees are a little creaky this morning)

((you chose to snack on some crackers and dip instead of stretching before class because as far as you’re concerned, snacking is way more fun than stretching))

“y/n, let’s go-!“ lisa hisses and grabs your arm before dragging you up towards the front where you guys usually stand

“oh, would you relax?” you snort as you make your way to the front before moving into first position

you turn your head to let out a quiet yawn before turning back to face the front to see jimin looking directly at you

“am i boring you this afternoon, miss y/l/n?” he crosses his arms and you shrug sloppily in response  

jimin tilts his head, “can you use your words like a normal human being, please?”

you let out a sigh and resist the urge to roll your eyes at him again

he’s so uptight today!!

he was fine this morning before you left to go to class

what’s his problem??

“no, sir.” you raise a brow, “you’re not boring me. are you going to spend the rest of the class asking me questions or are we actually going to learn something today?”

in your peripheral vision you see lisa’s eyelids flutter shut and her head lower a little bit

what?

that was a genuine question!

it was supposed to be a joke???

tough crowd today lol

everyone can practically feel the tension in the air when jimin doesn’t immediately respond and instead glares at you with nothing but pure rage behind his brown eyes

“would you like to say that again, miss y/l/n?”

“oh, would you look at that? another question for me.” you chuckle lightly and look around at your peers to see if anyone else is cracking a smile

but everyone’s looking at you with wide eyes filled with what you can only make out to be complete and utter… is that fear?

even seulgi shakes her head no when the two of you lock gazes

???

what is going on today???

you turn back around and jump in surprise when you realize that jimin is now standing directly in front of you

and for the first time in a long time, you’re starting to feel a little nervous

you shift uncomfortably in your position and make an effort to stand up a little straighter

maybe you should-

“get out of my classroom.” jimin speaks lowly and your eyes widen in surprise

…

what?

“i-i’m sorry, sir?” you stammer before shaking your head, “i don’t unders-“

“get the hell out of my classroom, miss y/l/n!” he snaps before taking a step back and tilting his head at you, “and take those goddamn leg warmers off. do you think anyone at the academy is going to take you seriously if you show up to an audition with bright blue, fuzzy leg warmers with sheep all over them?”

oh god

okay

he’s not kidding

this isn’t funny anymore

“n-no sir, of course not-!” you shake your head quickly before bending down to yank your leg warmers off, “i-i’m not- i would never show up to an audition wearing these-”

you stumble over a little as you struggle to pull them off and lisa quickly reaches out to help you stay balanced

“can’t even keep yourself up on one foot without falling over, huh?” jimin scoffs before crossing his arms, “what, did you just sit on your ass for the entirety of quarantine?”

“of course not, mr. park.” you swallow thickly and shake your head again as you get back up onto your feet, tossing the leg warmers to the side, “i’m so sorry, sir.”

and just when you think you’re in the clear-

“don’t be sorry, just be ready.” jimin snaps and you feel your entire face flush bright red, “now get out. miss kang, can you move up to the front please?”

you’re not even bothered by the fact that you’ve just been replaced by seulgi

you’re more bothered by the fact that he just used his phrase on you

don’t be sorry

just be ready

don’t be sorry, just be ready  

that’s his phrase and he’s never once used it on you in the entire time that he’s taught you

he only uses that phrase when someone messes up really bad

and one thing you can say for sure is you very rarely mess up in class

he only uses that phrase when he’s angry!!!

“by the way, let this be an example to the rest of you, hm?” jimin paces up and down the front of the classroom slowly, everyone standing up as straight as pins as they look ahead, “every single one of you has been slacking immensely as of late and i won’t have it. the next person who shows up to my class wearing sweatpants and a dirty hoodie - well, i’m sure you’ll be comfortable out in the hallway. or maybe you’ll be comfortable not coming back to my class ever again.”

you lean over a little to peek over at jimin but quickly get back in line when he turns around

“miss y/l/n, i think i asked you to leave, did i not? i’m not going to ask you again.”

you jump when you feel seulgi tap on your shoulder from behind and she smirks at you in the mirror

“y-yes, mr. park.” your voice gives out halfway through and you turn on your heel to manoeuvre your way through the other girls to get to the door

“now that that’s been taken care of, this is what we’re going to do today…”

you shut the door behind you quietly

to say the least, that was…

humiliating!

sure, jimin’s always been a little (very) strict, but that was just plain mean

he yelled at you AND he kicked you out!

and you don’t think he’s ever been so harsh with any of the other girls before

you’ve seen him yell at the other girls but this felt more like a personal attack instead of criticism on dancing like it usually is  

and you always thought he liked your leg-warmers

:-(

…

uh-oh

it doesn’t take very long for your nose to prickle and your eyes to start welling up with tears

you sit down on the bench and your chin starts to tremble as you think about what just happened  

oh no

and now you’re going to cry?!

oh god

okay

no

no!

you can’t cry right now!

what if he comes out??

and sees you crying??

you cannOT cry in front of mr. park right now

the last time you cried in front of him was when you twisted your ankle but at least you had an excuse to cry because you were in physical pAIN

emotional pain is not the same as physical pain and therefore cannot be used as a legitimate excuse to start blubbering

you are not a cry-baby!!

your nose scrunches as you try your best not to let out a whimper and you blink quickly in an effort to make the tears go away but one single tear ends up rolling down your cheek

you reach up to swipe the back of your hand against your chin before putting your arms back down  

what are you supposed to do now?

you sniffle before leaning your head against the wall and crossing your arms

whatever

if you have to stay out here for the rest of class, you’re just going to take a nap and try noT to think about mean mr. park

                                                              ♡

“y/n… you feel someone shaking you gently and you shoot up from where you’re leaning against the wall

“wh- what-“ your voice is a little raspy from your sad-nap, “i wasn’t asleep-!”  

you relax a little when you see that it’s just lisa

you take a quick glance around to see that everyone’s packing their bags, so it’s safe to assume that class is done for the day

“mr. park wants to talk to you.” lisa whispers and glances back towards the classroom door, “by the way- you were a real idiot in there, you know that?”

“oh, god.” you reach up to pinch the bridge of your nose, “i know, i know! i don’t- i mean, i didn’t think he was going to kick me out-“

“hey, y/n! smooth move today-“ you’re cut off when suddenly seulgi pops up behind lisa and you can’t help but frown at how pleased she looks with these conditions, “thanks for handing your status as favourite student over to me on a silver platter!”

“can it, seulgi.” lisa scowls before shoving her gently

“the view was super great from the front.” she whistles, “mr. park is a lot hotter up close.”

you’ve never considered yourself to be a violent person, but…

you would give an arm and a leg just to strangle seulgi for a good five minutes <3  

lisa rolls her eyes and turns back to look at you, “good luck in there though, for real. you… you were real ballsy today.”

yikes

it takes you approximately one minute to muster up the courage to knock on the classroom door

you press your lips together tightly as your fist hovers over the surface of the door

just knock!

it’s not hard

just move your hand

you squeeze your eyes shut before tapping your knuckles against the door in three short beats

“come in.”

you swallow your nerves before pushing the handle down and opening the door slowly with a creak

okay

it’s fine!

you’re fine

class is over, which means mean mr. park is gone and nice boyfriend jimin is here, right?

…right??

you cautiously poke your head into the room

jimin’s busy packing up as well but his back is facing you which makes you feel a little better because if you’d opened the door and he was standing there staring directly at you, you probably would’ve immediately burst into tears

your poor sheep leg warmers are crumpled pathetically in the same spot where you tossed them

maybe you should just grab your leg warmers and run for the hills

“you… wanted to… see me?” you clear your throat and freeze when jimin turns his head to look over his shoulder

“yes, i did. shut the door and come here.”

okay, well

there goes your chance to run for the hills

you’re basically traPPEd in here now

you hesitantly shut the door behind you and you feel your heart starting to beat a little harder in your chest as you make your way over to the middle of the room

you keep your gaze downwards as jimin stands in front of you and you clasp your hands in front of you, twiddling your thumbs nervously

a moment of silence ticks by and you want nothing more than for the ground to cave and just swallow you up entirely

“you know why i had to do that, right?”

“because we’re… da…ting?” you offer weekly before lifting your head up to look at him

jimin scoffs before shaking his head, “no. you blatantly disrespected me in front of your peers, that’s why i kicked you out. your attitude today was completely unacceptable. completely.”

oop

okay

it appears that your theory about mean mr. park disappearing as soon as class ended was incorrect

to be fair… he is right

you have to admit that maybe you let the fact that you guys are dating cloud your judgement a little

obviously he’s not going to show you special treatment in class just because of that

you feel your insides twist when the realization sinks in that you were… kind of an asshole today

and you pride yourself on being a good student!

you immediately drop your head once more as your cheeks flush in shame, “yes, mr. park. i’m… i’m sorry for my poor behaviour today, sir. i disrespected you in your classroom and it won’t happen again.”

“it better not.” jimin nods, “apology accepted, miss y/l/n.”

you chew on the inside of your cheek anxiously

you’re not… too sure what you’re supposed to say now

you hear jimin let out a sigh before he speaks up again, “i’m… your boyfriend, which i know makes things a little confusing, but… you can’t act like that when we’re in class, y/n.” he hooks a finger under your chin before tilting your head up, “just because we’re dating doesn’t give you an excuse to act like a prick, baby.”

“i know. i’m sorry.” you respond meekly and nod in understanding

jimin’s eyes soften when he notices you starting to get teary-eyed

!!!!

now he’s starting to feel bad!!!

he’ll admit that maybe he was a little harsher than usual and it was probably a little more than embarrassing being called out like that in front of your peers, but he had to what he had to do!

you flicked your wrist at him!

and rolled your eyes!

double whammy!

“y/n…”

“i thought you liked my leg warmers.” you whimper quietly and jimin snorts in response

that’s what you’re getting upset about??

your leg warmers??

“why are you- why are you laughing??” you whine when he begins to giggle softly and you reach up to wipe at your falling tears (though now you can’t tell if they’re tears of sadness anymore because the sound of jimin’s giggling never fails to put you in a better mood), “you were the ones who chose these dumb sheep ones for me to wear today so h-how am i supposed to feel when you-“

“oh my god, you moron-” jimin immediately tugs you in for a hug and props his chin up on the top of your head, “i do like your leg warmers! they’re really cute!”

“that’s not how it seemed-” you sniffle as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around him

“it was the only way i knew to show you that i was being serious!”

“you know how i feel about my leg warmers-!” you pull away with a pout and jimin quickly leans down to plant his lips against yours (mainly to shut you up about your leg warmers, but also to make u feel a little better)

he gives you a couple of sweet pecks before reaching up to cup your cheeks in his hands, “will pizza for dinner tonight make you forgive me for insulting your precious leg warmers, silly girl?” jimin hums as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs before leaning down to nudge his nose against yours affectionately

“…throw in some dessert and i’ll think about it.”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

requested drabbles masterlist

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harrison Osterfield - A Happy Day (& A Puppy)

A/N & WC - I don't know Haz, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.2k

Warnings - Mentions of a dog rescue centre and poorly dogs, slight anxiety, copious amounts of fluff.

Summary - Today is the day you and Haz get a puppy. It's the next big step in your relationship, and despite your anxieties, you know it's a happy day.

YOUR HEART FILLS WITH GLEE at the prospect of the day. You and your boyfriend, Harrison, have been together for a long time now, by ‘young people’ standards, and have recently taken the giant step of moving in together. Only, after you lived in a flat with various different people for a long time, and after he spent so long in a house with three other blokes (where you also spent a substantial share of your time earlier in the relationship, much to your dismay,) it’s quiet with just the two of you. And not the good quiet, though sometimes it’s nice and peaceful. You’re just both so accustomed to the constant bustle of people. And the only comprisable solution you could come up with, save for moving back in with Haz’s old housemates? Get a dog.

Obviously you want to, you love dogs, but it’s also a bridge to your future.

“Are you ready to go sweetheart?” Haz shouts from the doorway, rustling with his coat, while you’re still in the bedroom.

“Do we have to?” you beg.

“Yeah we do. You want this dog, don’t you?”

“Of course I do... it’s the rest I’m anxious about.”

See, you’ve been conversing with a shelter home for some weeks now, ever since they got an influx of puppies. A big litter of little blighters, separated from their mother and left to die on the side of the road in a damp cardboard box. Thankfully, and by some kind of God-given miracle, they all survived, and many have already been adopted, but your little treasure? You were the only takers. Not that you’re complaining, obviously.

Haz appears in the doorway, his own pea coat fitted to his form perfectly, tailored and tan to suit his complexion. He holds yours out to you and edges closer to your shared bed, made and done up by him.

“I know, baby, but it’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You loose a sigh. “Is there any way we can go in the back way?”

Your own puppy eyes convince him and he kisses you. “I’ll see what I can do. If not, just close your eyes and I’ll lead the way.”

Shelters upset you immensely. How anyone could hurt a dog or abandon it is beyond you, they’re the most precious things ever and need to be protected and adored at all costs. You knew you wanted a rescue dog from the get go, but you’d never be able to bring yourself to actually scour shelters to look for a dog. You just hope this one likes you, or else Haz is gonna have to do it all himself. You can’t face the pleading faces and the imploring eyes and the sadness around the whole place. If you could, you’d buy them all, give them a good, loving home, but you can’t, and that harsh reality leaves a pit in your stomach and a hole in your heart.

“Don’t cry darling.” he coos, kissing your tears away with tender brushes of his lips.

You hadn’t even realised you were crying. How emotional can you be? Today is supposed to be happy, but you’re breaking at the first hurdle. To make the pressures worse, you know that, if you don’t take this little bean, it’ll be put down.

“Come on, it’s a happy day,” he prompts once he realises you’re no longer crying. He stands, shrugs your coat onto you, and pulls you to standing, wrapping his arms around your torso as he sways. “We’re getting a puppy!”

His sheer excitement in his voice brings joy to you too, any doubt being left behind as you sway with hum, holding him close. You’re getting a puppy.

A little more pep is in your step once you stand up, ensuring your hands are adjoined the whole time. Concealing your nerves with excitement is a solid step, so you paint on a happier face than before and clutch him close as you tug him to the front door.

“We’re really doing it, we’re getting a puppy,” you say.

He nods, keying the door open, “That we are. Think we’re ready?”

You almost howl laughing. In many ways, yes. You’re mature people in a committed relationship, you’re both incredibly responsible in all the ways that matter, and know when you need to take the next step or hold back. Getting a puppy is a huge leap, though. But you’ve thought about it, planned for it, prayed for it to work, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t be ready, but it feels like a giant step. In the right direction. That’s all that matters; that, and the fact you’ll love this puppy endlessly.

“Y’know what? Yes. We’ve worked for this.”

“That we have, darling.”

Reaching the car, he places a kiss to the crown of your head. “Conserve your energy, honey. How about I drive?”

“Okay,” you answer, pecking Haz on the lips after he opens your door for you and hovers at your height until you answer him. “That means I can cuddle it on the way home.”

“It’s not an ‘it’, remember?” he chides, but the excitement is evident in his tone and the sparkle in his eyes, “we gave it a name.”

“Bixby, and he’s a boy, I know. How long is the drive?”

You fasten your seatbelt, smiling at him as he limbers into the drivers side. He’s attuned to your subtle mood shifts now, and realises that you’re slipping more from anxiety into anticipation, and he needs to work to keep you there, soothe you so that you don’t cry at the shelter. He’s a gem is Harrison, and you know he’ll be a brilliant dog-dad. It’s a huge part of why you’ve lasted so long together. The second you saw him with Monty, you knew he was a keeper.

After strapping his own seatbelt and manoeuvring the car into gear, he reaches over and curls his fingers around your thigh, pulling on that invisible connection between you, tugging you to look at him.

When you do, he spies that your current happiness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but is in part a façade. Haz loves you, but you’re the damn most sensitive soul he’s ever come across, especially when it comes to animals. The main reason the two of you got your own place was because living with people you weren’t close to took a real toll on you, as it did him—no matter how reluctant he is to admit it, the forced intimacy of it all, so this puppy is a big step to comfort you both and help you settle down to this new walk of life.

Of course the delight is there, of course you’re happy, but your slight snags and worries are visible to him too. “Love you, baby,” he whispers, leaning over to lock your lips together, applying a certain pressure, sucking on your lower lip gently as his hold on your thigh increases.

Once he pulls away, he sees the true you, calm gracing all of your beautiful features so nicely, happiness in your eyes and a wry smile on your lips, no overt anticipation of any kind.

“You can choose the music, yeah?” is all he says, offering you the twitch of a smirk before he’s locking the key into the ignition and you’re off.

You nod, whether he sees it or not, and plug your phone into the radio, allowing yours and Haz’s playlist to stream through the speakers, the melodies wrapping you in their embrace the whole journey.

One thing Haz has learnt through his time with you is that his touch grounds you. No matter what it is, as long as he’s touching you, you’re okay, your breathing regulated, your nervous habits quieted. And though you’ve never outwardly confessed it, his comfort has helped you more times than you’d ever care to admit aloud. He knows this, but no one else needs to.

Once you park up, Harrison leans over to kiss you again, more gently this time. “I’m gonna ask if there’s a way we can get you around the back, okay? Don’t want you getting upset on such a happy day.”

“Thanks babe.”

You peck his lips, but tug away almost instantly, afraid if you don’t, you’ll be here a while. He smiles, and shuts the door behind him, tapping on your window and pulling a silly face as he passes your side of the car. You wait patiently, scribbling down a list off the top of your head of things to buy for the pup. Basket, bowls, toys, mat, brush, collar, lead… you’ve already got a lot of Monty’s old things, puppy baskets he outgrew, his old crate and such like, but you’re adamant that Bixby needs a basket in every room of your place… just in case.

“Hey dreamer,” Haz’s voice snaps you from your reverie, that cute nickname he uses when you drift off into your own little world easing a smile onto your face. “He’s waiting for us, you can come in now.”

You draw your lip between your teeth, and peek over your shoulder to the little puppy holder in the back one last time, filled with a blanket and a cuddly toy. Completely unnecessary, since you plan on holding him, but Haz thought it’d be a good idea nonetheless.

He holds your hand as you tread out of the car, and the whole way into the building, and you’re glad to find a member of staff waiting to greet you with a warm handshake by the back door, happily guiding you inside to the office, more than likely. And there he is, with his big floppy ears and his droopy eyes, sitting on the chair inquisitively, looking like the prince of the palace.

“Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!” you cry, and with little reluctance, you tug away from Haz, bounding over to the puppy.

You know how startled they can get, so you ensure to stop at a safe distance, tentatively holding out your hand for the pupper to let his black nose sniffle at you, before his long pink tongue laps out and licks your hand heartily, a doggy smile breaking across his face as he pants.

“He likes me. Haz, look, he likes me!”

He chuckles, “I can see that, sweetheart.”

You firstly pat at the chestnut-dappled white fur between his ears, stroking his silken fur, before moving down his body, scruffing a little at the rolls of fat there, completely natural for a basset hound-mix. His paws are huge, though, for such a tiny dog, especially considering his stumpy legs.

“Okay, should we settle down and talk about paperwork?” says the kind lady, a completely rhetorical question.

“Come on baby, if we want Bixby to come home with us, we need to fill these forms in, yeah?”

“Yeah babe.” you nod, and glance at the only remaining available chair. “Well, Bixby, it looks like I’ll just have to pick you up. How about that?” you coo.

His tiny tail wags enthusiastically, and he slobbers another kiss to your hand, so you cautiously scoop him up and settle him on your lap once you’ve sat down.

“First of all, we need to remind you that Bixby is the... runt of the litter, and has more significant health issues than other puppies of his breed, requiring more care, including a limp and slight hearing loss in one ear, and he is small for his breed.”

“We know,” you and Harrison answer simultaneously, his one hand occupied with stroking Bixby also.

He’s dealt with business thus far, bringing Bixby blankets from the house to get him used to your scent, meeting him and meeting with the managers, filling out your application forms, making visits to the shelter. It was actually quite a miracle that you were allowed to get a puppy from here, since you both work, but due to Harrison’s schedule as an actor with press and such, he works from and near home a lot, and whenever he’s working away, despite your own job requirements, you’re able to work from home to hold the fort down. So it worked out okay. And with the compromise, they said you met the necessary guidelines to qualify for adoption with one of you almost always at home.

“And he costs £250, but he’s already been vaccinated and microchipped.” she says. You both nod; you’ve already discussed donating a hearty amount to the shelter to keep it afloat, and because Bixby should be worth a damn lot more.

For the rest of the meeting, you zone out rather a lot, only paying attention when you have to sign papers or a cheque, the rest of the time tickling and fussing your new bundle of joy, already so relaxed within your lap. The time seems to whizz by, as before you know it, you’re clambering back into the car, a towel sat over your lap, and Bixby licking happily at your cheeks.

“You know, I showed him a picture of you,” Haz says, smiling wistfully, “the first time I came to visit him. I told him you were my wife and his mum—” he trails off, and darts his eyes to yours, realising what he just blurted out with a dry mouth and knitted brows. “Baby, I didn’t mean—”

“You want to marry me?” you ask, your voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“Of course I do, sweetheart. One day you’re gonna be my wife, and Bixby can be the ring bearer, and everything will work out the way it should, and you won’t be sad anymore.”

“What makes you think I’m sad, babe?”

He raises his thumb to your cheek, capturing a tear before it falls. Again. He’s been stuck doing this a lot.

“Point taken, but for once these are happy tears. I’m just overly sensitive with… everything, but I promise I’m not sad.” Never with Haz, you think. You look down at the puppy, now half asleep, contentedly wagging his tail at a leisurely pace atop your thighs. “This is a happy day, isn’t it?”

“So happy, y/n. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I love you too, so much.”

He smiles, and slowly pulls out of the parking spot, ensuring to drive extra carefully, avoiding even the smallest of potholes on your journey. You keep one eye firmly on Bixby the whole time, but let the other roam your gorgeous boyfriend; the breadth of his shoulders, the veins in his hands, the intricate details in his blue orbs…

“Stop staring,” he whispers, “I can’t focus when you’re looking so pretty.”

You feel yourself flush, and turn your attention back to Bixby wholly, listening to your music as you quietly say, “I’m sorry.”

He says nothing more, but holds your hand over the gear stick the rest of the way.

*

You get a lot of attention in the pet store, carrying around a half asleep puppy with floppy ears the size of your entire face, meaning that your supposedly swift visit is elongated, but you survive, and are packed into the car shortly with everything you needed and more. A few people wanted to take a picture of Bixby, actually, having never seen a puppy basset hound in real life. You let them, leisurely trailing after Harrison as he got everything on your list, only purchasing if it passed Bixby’s sniff test.

Arriving home for the first time as a three is what makes everything seem so real, your heart overflowing with joy as you get out of the car, and walk to your door, and unlock it…

The first patter of paws on your wooden floor lets you know that this is home now, for all of you, as a family. That much is intrinsic.

“We did it. We got a puppy,” you say to Harrison, placing your hand over his chest where his heart steadily beats at a slightly faster pace.

“And we’re going to love him with everything we have.” he responds, kissing you softly, meaningfully, letting only love fill your embrace.

The skitter of Bixby’s claws coming towards you soon brings you back, though, and you begin to introduce him around the house, never once letting go of Haz’s hand. You show him the living room, where a blanket is already laid out on a sofa cushion for him to join you, and then the kitchen where his food bowls and water are, as well as his exit to the garden, and then to your bedroom, where the fluffiest basket you’ve ever seen sits in the corner, covered with swathes of blankets and scattered with toys. Treats already cover the floor all over your home, puppy training pads laid out just in case, and a hook by the front door with a blue lead dangling off it, as well as a tiny coat. Only…

“I didn’t buy this.” you say, spinning to face Haz, Bixby gnawing at his socks, rolling around at your feet.

You point towards the sturdy hook, embellished, engraved with two words. ‘Bixby Osterfield.’

“No, I did. I thought it was a nice surprise for you.”

He answers you as though it’s the most blatant thing in the universe. And really, it is something relatively small, but so thoughtful at the same time, so you open your arms wide, and nuzzle into him.

“Thank you, Haz. For everything. For this, for today, for loving me, for buying me Chinese takeout tonight.”

A laugh rips from him, his face breaking out into a wide smile, raising one hand to clutch at his chest while the other still securely encircles your waist.

“You’re more than welcome, babe. I’ll always love you. But I'm knackered.”

“Oh my God, same,” you breathe, slumping a little into him as you tickle the dog with your toes. “Who knew playing with a puppy would be so tiring?”

A low chuckle resonates from him, but he just holds you tighter, bending down to pick Bixby up as you trail over to the sofa, Haz’s footsteps silent on the glossy parquet floor of your home.

*

It doesn’t take long for you to get settled down, contentment filling you both, alongside ample Chinese food servings, and a fair amount of exhaustion too. Bixby has been with you the whole time, and while Haz sat down first, tugging you into his lap, legs spread wide as he lounged against the cushions a moment later, he ensured to position himself accurately on the ‘L’ shape of your sofa, so you could both reach the tiny snoozing puppy who curled into your side without a second thought.

“I’m glad we got a puppy,” you whisper into the darkness.

Night has come, the day having slipped away, and the movie you had playing is close to rolling its credits. You didn’t close your curtains but instead decided to watch the sun set and the star sparkle in the onyx sky, a stark contrast of beautiful silver, the light mirroring that that Bixby has brought into your lives.

“I am too, babe,” he replies, his nose burying into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, gently kissing your exposed skin, “how about we just settle here tonight?”

“Hmm, good plan,” is all you can muster, already feeling the tug of sleep, one hand on Bixby’s soft silken fur, the other holding Haz’s hand.

This is it, you think to yourself as you drift off, this is your family. Haz and Bixby, both of them snuggling into you, keeping you tethered, bringing you sheer joy. A happy day. All because you got a puppy.

[1kook]

dreamy

—pjm x (f) reader

summary; You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. warnings; ANGST lol, fwb, reader is very :(( rating; mature (18+) bc tiny smut lol  misc; small smut scene, a happy ending <3 wc; 2.5k

notes; i have to post on #JIMIN’s bday or else i cannot live with myself anyway here’s me trying to fit an entire novella plot line in less than 5k words clap for me except maybe don't bc its not proofread anyway hbd jimin <3

Jimin is a nice guy, but you doubt he’d make a nice boyfriend. He fucks you hard and fast, just as you like, but hardly goes out of his way to sprinkle in any other requests. He’s got a one track mind, doesn’t dwell too long on what you say or how you’re feeling. Doesn’t matter because he’s just supposed to be a fuck buddy, the hot guy you met at a party, so you don’t let it phase you. But, well. Jimin is dreamy.

Sometimes he holds your hand while he eats you out and it sends your thoughts into a frenzy, makes your heart pound a little too fast to brush it off as just arousal. He’s got this gorgeous smile, plush lips framing pearly teeth, and when he flashes it your way, it makes your knees weak. Tells you you’re pretty when he picks you up from class, always holds your hand on the way to his place for your routine fuck. Cute and nice like an angel, but just like an angel, he hardly gives a shit about anyone’s feelings but his own.

He laughs when you ask him to hang out that weekend.

“What, like a date?” he snorts, bare chest glistening from his post-fuck exertion. You're pressed against his side now, circling his pretty brown nipple with your finger. “That’s corny.”

You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. “Yeah, silly right,” you murmur, ear pressed to his heart. It’s calming and soothing, a slow thrum that contrasts with your own racing heart.

He’s not one for dates or for romantic things like that. But neither is he some player, a cheater, a two-timer. You can count the number of times he’s slept with someone who wasn’t you in your weird fuck buddy relationship, and all four of those had been when you first started sleeping together and only when you had been out of town. You’re no saint either, so you try to understand. He was just horny, liked getting his dick wet, and sometimes he couldn’t wait for you. Understandable, you tell yourself, but your heart hurts a little bit when he begins snoring without really answering your question.

See the thing is, you really like Jimin. It’s been a little over a year now since you’ve met, so you’ve had plenty of time to learn all about him. He doesn’t like pancakes for breakfast, prefers them for lunch actually, and laughs when you tell him that’s weird. He’s got this really dorky laugh, something between a bell and a whistle— it depends on the situation. Sometimes, Jimin likes when you play with his hair, and other times he doesn’t. He’s a sweet boy, you know he is, so why won’t he settle down?

You hate to attribute it to some past trauma, some “my girlfriend broke my heart when I was seventeen” mess, but the more time that passes you begin to believe it’s true. Jimin was a tough nut to crack, and the longer this drags on, the longer he ignores your feelings, you begin to doubt you will ever see them fulfilled.

Maybe you should end this now before it’s too late.

You don’t stay for breakfast the next morning, simply kiss him goodbye at the door like always. He’s older than you, about two years, so he doesn’t go to school anymore, just chills at home all weekend. “I’ll see you soon?” he grins, low-lidded eyes tracking the movement of your mouth as you bid him adieu. You never give him a solid response, figure a guy like Jimin will forget about you soon enough.

Then, suddenly, it’s been two weeks and he doesn’t reach out. Yeah it hurts, but it’s better than having confessed to him and losing him all at once. You’d rather this ending than the one where he terribly rejects you, breaks your heart into a million pieces, and throws you away. Still, it hurts.

Jimin was so cool. He was smart and confident, had a snappy sort of attitude that he liked to use now and then. He could be mean in bed, lick your cunt until you cried and call you a stupid girl when he wanted to. But that same tongue had snapped at a guy who was trying to pressure you into bed with him at a party. That first night you met, where you had sillily followed him home after his dashing intervention, you had thought it would be nothing more. Just a fling, just a fuck.

But then he was in your bed and in your head, twinkling eyes and cocky grin trailing after you everyday. He was so pretty and so suave, made you feel good even when he was being mean. But you suppose most cocky men like Jimin are like that. They know they don’t disappoint, even when they’re not really trying.

Jimin doesn’t call or text. You don’t see his car pull up outside your campus anymore. He’s gone and that’s that. You cry a little (see: a lot) and pretend you’re over him. You definitely don’t think about his soft laughter or his hands on your chest. Nope.

So that ends.

Or so you think.

Your friends say you’re mopey and sad, too down for someone who wasn’t even your boyfriend. It’s true, which sucks, but they honor your admittance by taking you out to a bar that night. It’s supposed to be chill and relaxing, just some drinks with the girls to soothe your aching heart. But the name of the bar reminds you of something, of someone you can’t reach anymore, and you don’t even know why. You’ve never been here before, never even knew this place existed. But everything about it brings you back to Jimin, like you’re in his space now, and you’re unsure why.

It reminds you of his laugh, his smile, to the point you swear you can hear it, right beside you, down the bar, to your left—

He waves.

There’s this look he used to give you every time he picked you up from your last class, this mix between adoration and lust that made your skin tingle with excitement. It’s not there now, in fact, it’s replaced with the complete opposite. It’s, like, the meanest look he can muster, something akin to a scowl. He smiles, but it’s so plastic-y and fake, it makes your head hurt. He’s so obviously unimpressed with you, probably because you ghosted him before he could ghost you. Maybe his pride is hurt and looking at you grosses him out. Maybe he just hates you.

Either way, eleven pm rolls around and you’re crying in the bathroom. Your friends are out on the floor having fun and singing karaoke. They think you’ve gone inside because you got your period, because that’s what you’ve told them. You don’t know how to explain that your ex who isn’t really your ex is out there looking at you like you’re a piece of gum stuck under his shoe. They’ve never even met Jimin. Why? Because he wasn’t your boyfriend. Who meets their friend’s fuck buddy? No one.

You sniffle, press a balled up tissue against your eyes in a feeble attempt to save your makeup. The bar isn’t that small, but neither is it huge. There’s only a few bathrooms in the back, and you’ve been hogging one of them for some time now. Someone knocks on the door, and you don’t even get the chance to ward them off before the crappy knob jingles and the door bursts open.

“Come on,” he grumbles, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta piss—“

He pauses, meets your eye through the mirror in surprise. “I’m sorry,” you blubber, hurriedly washing your hands in an effort to avoid his gaze. Jimin lingers at the door, which has long since fallen shut, and watches you with the eyes of a hawk. Your hands tremble and shake, fumble over the towel dispenser three times before you’re hastily making your escape. “Sorry,” you mutter again, head downcast as you move around him for the door.

Just as it cracks open, the music from outside filtering in, he slams it shut with a flat palm. You flinch, close in on yourself as he steps behind you. “What’re you doing here, doll?” he murmurs, deep yet careful. Tentative. “You don’t like bars.”

You know you don’t like bars. You didn’t know he knew that. “I’m with some friends,” you explain, jump when a hand touches your shoulder. “I— I’ll leave soon.”

A second attempt for the door is thwarted by Jimin. “Don’t,” he startles, breath heavy against your ear. “Don’t leave again…” he sighs, forehead against your shoulder. And then, quietly, “why did you leave me?”

Your heart syncs up with the music outside, thunders in your ears as you purse your lips. You don’t want to talk about it now, don’t want to confess to these emotions that drown you. Especially not when he’ll never understand nor will he ever care. It’s best to leave it as is, you convince yourself, slowly shrugging him off.

“We don’t want the same things,” you reply, eyes burning with the need to cry like a baby. But it’ll weaken your argument, make you look like the sentimental girl you know he won’t like. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”

The hand on your shoulder jerks you around, makes a gasp catch in your throat when he crowds you against the door. He’s got that same glare on from before, the one he had sent you across the bar earlier, and it makes your lower lip tremble when it’s this close. “You never asked me what I wanted,” he hisses.

It is then that you realize it isn't anger or disgust, but frustration that paints his features. It’s pure, unadulterated confusion and distress on his pretty face, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes pointed your way. You don’t know what it means, don’t know what he wants. “I,” you choke, weakly covering your face with your hand before he can see you crumble. “I just wanted you.”

Jimin deflates, steps closer until his body is pressed against yours, hands on your shoulders. “And you have me, doll,” he murmurs, bumps his nose against yours. “Always have.”

You shake your head, choke on a sob that bubbles up your throat. “No, not like that,” you stress, losing yourself in the emotions you spent so much time bottling up. “I wanted more.”

Jimin shushes you, guides your head into the crook of his neck where you paint his skin in dark mascara tears. “Is this about the date?” he sighs, patting your head gently.

“It’s more than just the date,” you cry, fists curling into the material of his shirt until it rumples beyond repair. He doesn’t understand.

Jimin nods, let’s you cry and sob until you’re feeling better and someone else is pounding at the door, yelling at you two to get a proper room. You don’t want a room, you only want his heart. 

He takes you home again, helps you out of your shoes at the door because you’re still sensitive and quiver like a leaf when you walk. His bedroom is familiar, smells like him and his detergent. You miss it so much, want to savor it once more. Something in your gut says this is the last time, this is just Jimin getting one last fuck out of you before he really abandons you.

So you cry when he sits down on the edge of the bed. He hasn’t even said anything, hasn’t even taken his socks off yet, but you’re already a mess.

And of course he’s there to catch you, tugs you between his legs to look up at you as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, reaching up to brush away your tears. But it’s not your fault that he looks like that right before he’s going to break your heart.

He’s so cool, even when you’re falling apart in his hands. “You don’t want me,” you sniffle, let him guide you onto his lap. “You just want to fuck and that’s it.”

Jimin leans his forehead against yours, warm breath washing over your skin. “I never said that,” he murmurs. “We’ve been over this.”

You huff. “Well you never said you did either,” you snap, rubbing at your eyes.

You cry and cry some more, until your sobs subside and you’re left with the hiccups afterwards. Jimin maneuvers you beside him, lets your hair spill across the sheets as he lays you down. They smell just like him, make your head spin when he kisses your cheek softly. “I want you,” he confesses. “I want this.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, you don’t,” you sniff, but you’re not so sure. It’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the longest. Hearing him say otherwise sounds weird, even if he’s saying what you want to hear. “You don’t.”

Jimin catches your hand in his, pins it to the mattress. “I want you to be mine,” he adds, swallows your cries of denial with his lips. He kisses softly, and for the first time, it feels like he’s paying attention to you. Not your body or your lust, but your heart. “Had me feeling like shit when you didn’t come back. Like I lost something big.”

You still cry when he kisses down your neck, over your chest. His hands pull your clothes off, carefully like you’re a present for him to unwrap. Those plush lips you love so much drown you in kisses, over your tummy and your mound, until they’re buried between your cunt. “You’re mine,” he husks out, hand entwined with yours.

His eyes are dark from down there, long lashes blinking up at you as he dips his tongue in the places you crave him most. It brings you to a shuddering end, has you whimpering his name into the empty air until your toes are curling and you’re coming against his mouth. Jimin has never shied away from you, and doesn’t know, sits up with a hazy look in his eyes as he wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Jimin wastes no time undressing, pushes off that sexy jacket until his lithe body is coming into view, thick thighs and lean abdomen. He slides right into you, holds your knees to your chest as he fucks you like never before. It’s slow and sensual, makes you shiver when he says your name in that low register of his. “Don’t leave again,” he whimpers, cock throbbing between your walls. He’s desperate today, ruts like you’ll slip right between his fingertips. It’s funny because you're the same way, clinging onto his shoulders until you’re practically glued together.

You come and so does Jimin. He pants against your ear, feels so warm and heavy on top of you. He doesn’t say much more that night, just plays with your hair. But he asks you on a date, mentions something about a carnival. “Yes,” you respond right away, because, well.

Jimin was dreamy. Maybe he’d be a good boyfriend.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[maxinaptak]

(AoT/ SNK) Key to Salvation: Eren X Abused!Reader

WARNING: REFRENCED NON-CON, FORCED DRUG USE

This is a rough one you guys. Proceed with caution.

You groaned as you rubbed the fairly fresh bruise on your shoulder, letting your head fall against the locker in front of you. The bruise on your shoulder wasn’t the only one you had; in fact, you had several more, both new and old, littering your body. You groaned again as you heard your best friend’s voice coming down the hallway. You lifted your head off your locker and pulled your sweater sleeve down your arm more, making sure it covered your bruise and the needle marks.

“________,” Eren called loudly, causing you to cringe lightly at his volume, “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

He stopped next to you and looked at you with such innocent turquoise eyes. Oh, how you loved those innocent eyes. You could never tell Eren about what was going on at home. You just couldn’t.

“I was sick, that’s all,” you lied, faking a smile up at the boy, “Just a little cold. I'm fine now though.”

It almost pained you physically to lie to him, but how could you tell him that you had spent the last three days being given drugs against your will in a dirty basement where dozens of men abused your strung out, limp body while your mother collected their payment.

“Well, I'm glad you’re feeling better!” Eren said, smiling brightly.

You smiled almost sadly and sighed. Eren was your sweet, caring best friend. He had been since you were both in diapers. Fifteen years of friendship and you still couldn’t tell him what was happening; couldn’t tell him that you need help, beg for his help.

“Eren, will you lower your voice? I can hear you all the way down the hallway.” Mikasa, Eren’s adopted sister, said, flicking the brunet in the ear.

“Ow!” He cried, cupping his assaulted ear.

She rolled her eyes and looked at you.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better ________,” Mikasa asked, frowning, “You look more tired than normal.”

You faked another smile and said, “Yep, just fine!”

In all reality, you were going through a nasty withdraw from the clonazepam and oxy your mother normally gave you. This last time, she decided to give you something else to sedate you through your ‘work’, something she injected several times into your veins over the days. You had a feeling that if anyone would notice something was off, it would be Mikasa.

The other girl didn’t look too convinced, but nodded anyway and said, “If you say so. It’s almost time for class to start, so we should get going. You too Eren. If you’re late again, mom will have your ass.”

The tall boy rolled his eyes and hugged you goodbye. You tried your hardest to hide your pained flinch as he squeezed you tightly, but you knew Mikasa had seen it. Once he left, Mikasa set her hard gaze on you again.

“I saw that,” she said, crossing her arms, “What was that about?”

“Ok, so I may have hurt my back trying a new yoga pose yesterday. But I wasn’t gonna tell him that.” You said, jutting your thumb in the direction Eren had left in.

It wasn’t a total lie this time. Your back did hurt, but it sure as hell wasn’t from doing yoga. Your slightly older friend rolled her eyes and turned to head to your first hour class. You quickly ran after her, trying your best not to limp. You reached your AP Psychology class and took your seats. Your teacher had the desks in clusters of six or seven seats and you two got lucky enough to be put with your friends.

“Hey guys.” You said, plopping your book down onto your desk.

Krista, Ymir, Sascha, and Max all smiled back and greeted you both. You made small talk for a few minutes before the bell rang, signaling the start of the school day. You turned your attention to your teacher, Mr. O’Neil, and swallowed hard when you saw what he was writing on the board.

Drug Addiction: The effects, the signs, and withdrawal symptoms.

‘Fuck my life with a cactus….’ You thought, slowly sliding down in your seat a little.

You prayed to whatever god there may be (though you didn’t really believe that there was one anymore) that none of your friends, especially Mikasa, would notice that you were exhibiting some of the signs and symptoms.

You had managed to make it through the class with your teeth clenched and practically sprinted out of the room when it was over. You made it to your economics class in record time and slumped into your seat, letting your head slam down on your desk.

“Damn kid, rough morning?”

You slowly raised your head to look at your student teacher, Levi Ackerman. Apparently, he was a distant cousin to Mikasa, but she didn’t really know him.

“Rough couple of days.” You admitted, voice flat and eyes dull.

The short male regarded you carefully, as he had taken note that you had been absent for the past three days and went to his bag.

“Alright kiddo, I’ve got some dark chocolate and a Red Machine Naked Juice,” he said, placing said items on your desk in front of you, “You look like you’ve been through some shit, and you need these more than I do. Besides, it looks like you’ve lost a shit ton of weight since the semester started.”

Your face flushed bright red. You didn’t think Mr. Ackerman paid that much attention to any of his students, let alone you.

“T-thanks Mr. Ackerman….” You said, opening the chocolate bar and taking a small bite.

“No problem kid.” He said, turning to go back to his desk, but stopping.

He hesitated for a moment before turning back to you and crouching down next to you.

He waited for you to meet his gaze and quietly said, “________, you can come to me if you need to talk or if you need help, ok?”

You stared at him in shock and slowly nodded. You’d never heard him speak like that and it almost freaked you out. He nodded at you and returned to his desk. You let your eyes fall onto your desk and stared at it blankly.

“________?”

You jumped and whipped around to see Eren setting his stuff down on the desk next to you.

“What was that all about?” He asked, discreetly nodding his head in your teacher’s direction.

You swallowed hard and stumbled over your words as you tried to reply.

“N-nothing,” you said, averting your eyes from his, “He was just telling me that I looked like crap and needed to eat something, so he gave me this, that’s all.”

You quickly grabbed the bottle of juice and tried to open it, but struggled. You knew you had been having a bit of a hard time doing normal things, but never had you struggled to open a beverage bottle. You frowned and stopped trying to open the juice.

“Here, I got it,” Eren said, taking the bottle from you and cracking it open easily with his large hands, “I'm kinda shocked he’d be nice enough to give you something, but you should drink this. It’ll help you feel better.”

He carefully put the bottle back into your hand and you weakly smiled at him. You took a long drink from the juice and sighed, satisfied by the taste. Soon the room was full and the bell rang, class starting.

Levi’s eyes scanned over his students as they worked on the small packet he had given them to complete before the end of class. He heard a snore from beside him and looked at the teacher he was supposed to be shadowing, Dot Pixis, and rolled his eyes when he saw him asleep again. How that man became a teacher was beyond him. He heard footsteps approaching his desk and turned his attention forward again.

“Eren and I are finished with the packet.” ________ said, holding out two packets.

“As always, finished before anyone else. The brat is lucky you partner with him every time.” Levi said, shaking his head and reaching out for the papers.

As ________ pulled her hand away, she accidently knocked over the cup of pens and pencils on the desk.

“Shit, sorry Mr. Ackerman. I’ll take care of it.” She said, crouching down quickly.

“It’s fine, kid, don’t worry about it.” He said, looking over the side of his desk at her.

His eyes widened as the left sleeve of her sweater raised up, revealing a bruise vaguely shaped like a handprint and several track marks on her upper forearm. He froze, not knowing what to do as he watched her quickly pick up the scattered writing utensils and put them back into the cup. He swallowed hard and tried to formulate words, say anything to her, but he couldn’t manage it, too shocked. She smiled smally at him before going back to her desk. His eyes followed her and jumped over to Eren, her best friend. If he couldn’t talk to ________ directly, he sure as hell could talk to the brat.

“Jaeger, see me after class.” He said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Eren groaned loudly.

“What the fuck did I do this time?” Eren practically whined.

He dramatically draped himself over where your desks were pushed together, making you breathe out a laugh.

“I don’t know, but this happens at least once a week and you know it.” You said, petting his shoulder length hair.

He sighed deeply and peeked up at you with his beautiful turquoise eyes, pouting. You stared at him and couldn’t help but smile lovingly at him. You’d never told anyone, but you’d been in love with the tall boy since you were eleven and he was twelve. He’d always been there for you, doing everything he could to make you laugh and smile. Usually, he’d drag Armin into his antics too, but it was all in good fun and you all laughed together.

“Your hair’s get long,” you murmured, playing with the little bun that was tied at the base of his skull, “Are you gonna cut it?”

Eren hummed and said, “Nah, I kinda like it like this. What do you think about it? Does it look bad?”

You shook your head and said, “No, I like it. I think it looks really good on you.”

“Then I’m definitely keeping it long.” He said, smiling up at you.

You smiled back and continued to talk to him for the rest of class. When the bell rang, you gathered your things and gave Eren a sympathetic look.

“I’ll see you later Eren. Have fun with Mr. A.” You said, waving.

“Yeah,” he groaned, standing up, “Have fun in anatomy with Armin. Embarrass him for me, would ya?”

“Sure! I’ve got a good dirty joke or two that I haven’t told in front of him yet.” You said, grinning.

Eren sighed and picked up his bag before walking up to Levi’s desk.

“You wanted to see me sir?” He asked, shoulders slumped.

Levi nodded and said, “Yes. What class do you have next?”

Eren was confused but answered, “German. Why?”

“Are you doing well in that class?” Levi asked.

“I’ve been speaking German since I was born basically,” Eren said, still confused as all hell, “My dad’s family lives in Germany, and my grandparents don’t speak English very well. I only took the class so I could get an easy A…. Why do you ask?”

Levi stood from his desk and motioned for Eren to follow him as he said, “I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be a problem if you missed part of the class. I need to speak to you, but somewhere private.”

Eren was beyond confused now but followed his teacher anyway. The shorter man always seemed rather serious, but this time, he seemed deadly serious about whatever it was. He followed Levi to one of the biology labs and went inside.

“Hanji, I need to borrow your lab for a little bit,” Levi said, addressing one of the other student teachers he was friends with, “I need to speak to Eren alone.”

The crazy science teacher looked up from her notes and said, “Oh! Ok, sure! Just let me know when you’re done!”

She quickly left the room and closed the door behind her. Levi sat down and motioned for Eren to do the same. The younger boy did, facing his teacher.

“What’s going on Mr. Ackerman?” Eren asked, frowning.

Levi took a deep breath and said, “I need to talk to you about ________.”

Eren’s eyebrows furrowed and he asked, “________? What about her?”

“Something’s going on with her. Has she said anything to you?” He asked.

Eren thought for a moment before shaking his head as he said, “I mean, she said that she had a cold and that’s why she wasn’t at school the last few days. Other than that, no.”

Levi nodded and thought for a moment before he asked, “Eren, you’re her best friend, right?”

The brunet nodded.

“Do you pay close attention to her? The way she looks, the way she acts?”

Eren blinked a few times before shyly nodding his head.

“Then have you noticed that she’s lost quite a bit of weight since the semester started?” Levi asked.

Eren nodded again and said, “I tried to ask her about it once, but she got really upset about it and snapped at me, so I didn’t say anything after that. But I noticed that she was losing more and more weight as the weeks went on. And every few weeks she looks really sick and upset, but she won’t talk to me about it….”

Levi sighed deeply again and said, “Eren, I saw something on her arm today, in class when she was picking up the pens. That’s why I asked you to stay after.”

“What was on her arm?” Eren asked, worried and confused at the same time.

“There was a large bruise that looked like a handprint. And she had several… track marks on her forearm.” Levi said, letting his own shoulders drop in sadness.

“What are track marks?” Eren asked, still confused.

Levi looked up at Eren and said, “Needle marks, Eren. From using drugs.”

Eren’s eyes widened.

“Drugs?! No way! ________ would never!” Eren said, denial evident in his voice.

Levi sighed again and said, “Eren I know what track marks look like. It’s no secret that I grew up on the streets. A lot of people I ran with did drugs back then. I know what I saw.”

Eren’s heart dropped into his stomach, knowing that his teacher couldn’t be wrong. He thought back over the months and remembered seeing ________’s forearms and elbow crooks all the time. There were never any needle marks before. Bruises, sure, but ________ was clumsy.

“I-it must be new…,” he said, looking down at his hands, “She’s never had needle marks on her arms before….”

“What about the bruises?” Levi asked.

Eren shrugged and said, “She’s always had a few bruises here and there, ever since we were kids. She’s clumsy as hell, always has been. And she bruises easily because she’s anemic.”

“Has she always been anemic?”

Eren shook his head and said, “No…. It started around the time we started high school. That’s also when she started to look sick and upset every few weeks…. And her weight started fluctuating and her eating habits changed too….”

Eren’s eyebrows furrowed again and he started to get more upset, thinking about how something was wrong with his best friend, the girl he was in love with, and he didn’t even realize, even though he saw everything.

“I should have known something was wrong….” Eren whispered, clenching his fists.

“Eren, it’s not your fault. You guys are kids still. It’s not your job to watch every little detail about her.” Levi said, trying to make the teen feel less guilty.

“But I love her,” Eren almost cried, a desperate look on his face, “I have been watching every detail about her for years! I should have known!”

Eren hung his head and let out a shaky breath, resting his head in his hands. Levi looked at his student sadly. He knew that the boy was in love with ________; it was pretty obvious, at least to him. And he could see that ________ loved him back. It was beyond him why the two hadn’t began dating yet, but that was beside the point at the moment.

“Now you know something’s up with her. Use the information you have now and talk to her.” Levi said, putting a hand on Eren’s shoulder.

The younger male looked up at his teacher and sighed, nodding.

Levi nodded back and said, “Alright. Now come on. I’ll write you a note to excuse you for missing class.”

Eren nodded again and sadly trailed behind his teacher. He got his note and trudged to his German class. He gave the note to Herr Ham and took his seat in the back of the classroom, spacing out. It didn’t matter if her paid attention or not. His teacher was horrible and taught in a ridiculous way that confused most students. The only reason he was top of the class was because he’s a native speaker. All he could think about was ________. He would see her again fifth hour for lunch and he didn’t know how he could face her without saying anything. He didn’t want to talk to her in front of their friends. He sighed and rested his head on his arms on his desk.

“For fuck’s sake….” You muttered, sitting back on your legs.

You were currently on your knees in a bathroom stall, retching into the toilet every so often. It didn’t surprise you that this was happening; you were going through oxycodone withdrawal after all. Nausea and vomiting were normal. You’d gone through this a few times before, but never this badly. You wondered if whatever drug your mother gave you the last few days was making it worse this time around.

“Oh god,” you groaned, feeling bile rise in your throat again, “Not again…!”

You heaved into the toilet again, hot tears running down your cheeks. All you had had to eat that day was what Mr. Ackerman had given you during econ, and there was no way any of it still resided in your stomach. All you could taste was stomach acid, your throat burning. You checked the time on your phone and sighed. Fifth period was almost over and you knew Eren would be worried that you weren’t there. You tried to get up and leave a few times, but it was obvious that your body wasn’t done. You shakily unlocked your phone and typed out a choppy text to Eren.

Eren frowned as he arrived at his normal lunch table. Armin and Max were sitting together, holding hands and feeding each other like normal; Mikasa and Annie were sitting across from each other, glaring at each other with an awkward sexual tension between them, like normal; and Jean and Marco were holding hands and eating quietly, like normal. What was not like normal, was the fact that ________ was missing. Eren was always the last one to arrive at the table and ________ was always sitting in one of the two open seats left at the table when he got there.

“Has anyone seen ________?” He asked, sitting down.

Max swallowed a strawberry Armin had fed her and said, “Not since third hour.”

“I saw her heading towards the cafeteria on my way here,” Marco said, frowning slightly, “But then she ran into the bathroom. I haven’t seen her since.”

Eren frowned deeply and stared down at his food. He sighed and ultimately started to pick at his food, eventually shoveling it into his mouth quickly as his dumb teenage body demanded him to. Near the end of the hour, his phone vibrated. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at it. It was a text from ________.

Felt sick, stuck in bathroom. Sorry. See you later.

Eren frowned again and sighed.

“What’s wrong Eren?” Mikasa asked, finally breaking her gaze away from her (not so secret) secret girlfriend.

“________ texted me. She said she was feeling sick and was stuck in the bathroom.” Eren said, shoulders slumping.

Max frowned and said, “I can go check on her if you’re really worried.”

Eren looked up at the red-haired girl gratefully and said, “Yes, please.”

She smiled and nodded. She leaned over to Armin and gave him several quick kisses before getting up and leaving the cafeteria.

“________?”

You jumped as you heard someone call your name. You knew that voice; it was your friend Max.

“M-Max?” You choked out, coughing.

You heard her run to the large stall you were in and try the door.

“________, are you ok? Eren said you were sick and you don’t sound good at all!” She said, voice full of concern.

You weakly moved to open the door to let her in before going back to slumping against the wall. She quickly came in and dropped to her knees in front of you.

“Oh my god, hon, are you ok?” She asked, gently putting her hands on your arms.

You sighed as more tears slipped from your eyes and shook your head as you breathed, “No…. I’ve been throwing up all hour….”

“Oh no, ________...,” Max said, looking at you sadly, “You need to go to the nurse and go home!”

You sighed again and said, “My mom won’t come get me….”

“I’ll take you home. They’ve let me do it for Armin before, and he wasn’t nearly this sick.” Max said, pulling her phone out.

She called Armin and asked for him to come to the bathroom and help. She hung up and pocketed her phone before gently stroking your (h/c) hair.

A minute later the door to the bathroom opened and you heard Armin call out, “Max, ________? Is there anyone else in there or can we come in?”

“It’s just us, come in.” Max called back.

Soon Armin was in the doorway of the stall, Eren behind him. Eren quickly pushed his way past him and gently scooped you up into his arms. Armin grabbed your backpack and followed you out of the bathroom. A security guard saw you being carried out of the bathroom by Eren and Armin following behind and asked what was going on.

“Our friend got really sick and needs to go to the nurse, but she couldn’t walk. I couldn’t carry her on my own, so I asked them to come and help.” Max explained, giving the older man puppy dog eyes.

The security guard was a little flustered by the look she was giving him and he let you guys go. You giggled a little, knowing your friend would use her incredibly seductive puppy dog eyes to get you out of any trouble. Armin may not like it, but you thought it was hilarious. Your little group made its way to the nurse’s office and Max explained the situation to the woman. Taking one look at you, the nurse gave Max permission to drive you home. She called the office and asked for a teacher to escort you out so you wouldn’t get in trouble. You were a little surprised to see Mr. Ackerman walk into the room, concern written all over his usually stoic face.

“I knew you were feeling sick this morning, but I didn’t know it was this bad.” He said, frowning.

You looked down shyly and shrugged your shoulders as best you could in Eren’s arms. Your group, now escorted by your teacher, made its way outside to Max’s car. Eren carefully placed you in the passenger seat and handed you a plastic bag for ‘just in case’. Armin put your bag in the backseat along with Max’s and kissed the girl before she got in. The three males stepped back and your friend pulled out of the parking spot. She drove carefully to your house and parked in your driveway.

“Do you need help inside?” She asked, turning to look at you.

You hesitated, not know if you really wanted to bother her anymore.

“You know what, don’t answer,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt, “I’m helping you to as least the front door.”

She got out of the car and you sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your door opened and Max helped you out of the car. She grabbed your bag from the back. She took your arm and helped you slowly walk to the door. You unlocked it and stepped inside, taking your bag from your friend.

“Thank you.” You said, smiling at your friend.

She smiled back and said, “Anytime. And if you’re not feeling better by Saturday morning, one of us is taking you to the doctor.”

You opened your mouth to say no but you didn’t get a chance.

“No arguments,” Max said, finality in her voice, “If you’re still this sick, you’re going to the doctor.”

You sighed in defeat and said, “Ok. Thanks for today. I’ll see you tomorrow. Hopefully.”

Max smiled at you sadly and nodded before getting back in her car and driving away, heading back to school. You closed the door and dragged your feet towards your room.

“What the fuck are you doing home?”

You silently groaned and turned to look at your mother.

“I got really sick.” You said, rubbing your face tiredly.

“That’s no excuse for you to come home.” The woman said, irritated.

You dully stared at her and said, “I was throwing up every few minutes all of fifth hour. It finally seems to have calmed down but I still feel like shit. My friends took me to the nurse and they made me go home.”

Your mother glared at you and said, “Well why the fuck are you sick anyway?”

You glared back and said, “I don’t know, maybe it’s because I'm going through serious withdrawal from the clonazepam and oxy. It’s been four days since you last shoved oxy down my throat and it’s hitting me hard as fuck this time.”

Your mother rolled her eyes and turned back to her magazine. You shook your head and made you way to your bedroom. You set your bag down by your desk before falling face down on your bed. Luckily, your bed was still sacred and safe. The only man that had ever been in your bed was Eren, and those times were never sexual. Only lazy weekend naps and scrolling through social media together, showing each other things you found funny. You sighed heavily again and wiggled your way under your covers, managing to fall asleep a little faster than normal due to how horrible you felt.

Max pulled back in to her parking spot at school and turned off her car. She sighed and stepped out, shocked to see the three males she’d left fifteen minutes ago standing in the same place.

“You guys waited here this whole time?” She asked, confused.

They nodded and Armin took her hand, leading her back into the school. Eren and Levi slowly trail behind them and spoke quietly.

“Did you get a chance to talk to her?” Levi asked.

Eren shook his head and said, “No…. She got sick before I even saw her….”

Levi nodded and they walked in silence. They’d figure out the best way to talk to her eventually.

You groaned as you rinsed your mouth out for the fourth time that morning. You hadn’t made it to school the day before and you were still sick. It was now Saturday, and you knew your phone would be ringing soon. One of your friends would be taking you to the doctor today, and you were dreading it. As if on cue, your phone began to ring. You sighed and walked into your room to pick it up.

“Hello?” You asked, answering without checking the caller ID.

“________, how are you feeling?” Eren’s voice came through.

“Oh, Eren…,” you said, not expecting him to call this early, “I-I’m… not doing so hot….”

You finally admitted to him that you weren’t alright. You sat on your bed and wrapped your free arm around your stomach.

“You’re still feeling sick?” Eren asked, a frown evident in his voice.

You sighed and answered, “Yeah. Honestly, I'm not feeling any better than I did at school the other day.”

“Alright, I’m taking you to the doctor,” Eren said, sounding like he was getting up, “Get ready, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

You were surprised, but said, “O-ok…! Um, I’ll be ready.”

He hung up with a quick goodbye and you stared down at your phone, blinking owlishly. You sighed again and set it down on your bed so you could get ready. You pulled on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt with your school’s mascot on it. You grabbed the hoodie that you had been wearing to bed, which actually belonged to Eren, and pulled it on, smiling at the way you drowned in the large garment. You pulled on a pair of slip-on boots and grabbed your small backpack purse. You grabbed your phone and made your way downstairs. Your mother was snoring loudly on the couch, an empty bottle of vodka still gripped in her hand that was hanging off the edge, resting on the floor. You rolled your eyes and leaned against the wall next to the window by the front door. A few minutes later, Eren’s beat up old car pulled into your driveway and you slipped out the door, locking it behind you. Eren met you halfway to the car and gently took your hand in one of his and braced your arm with the other, helping you to walk to the car. He opened your door and helped you in, even buckling your seatbelt for you.

“Thank you.” You said, smiling up at him.

He smiled back at you and carefully closed your door before going around the car and getting in the driver’s seat. He backed out of your driveway and took off down the street, heading towards downtown.

“Where are we going anyway,” you asked, biting your lip, “You know I don’t have insurance….”

He grinned over at you and said, “We’re going to my dad’s clinic. He said he’d see you free of charge.”

You smiled hearing that. Grisha Jaeger was a good man. Since your families had known each other since you and Eren were babies, you grew up seeing the man often. He was always kind to you, and you knew he was a good man since he took in Mikasa after her parents died when she and Eren were ten. He was the only father figure you had left since your dad died when you were eight. It was around that time that your mom started drinking and selling sex for money. When you turned fourteen, she realized that she could sell you instead and get even more money without her having to do anything. You sighed lightly as all of these thoughts swirled through your head, making it throb slightly.

“Hey, you good? Need me to roll the window down or something?” Eren asked, looking at you worriedly.

You smiled nervously at him and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna throw up in your car. It’s passed for now at least. I was just kinda spacing out, that’s all.”

Eren nodded and said, “I’m glad you feel better now. And you throwing up in my car probably wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened in here. I’m pretty sure Jean and Marco fucked in the backseat that time we went camping last summer.”

“Oh my god, seriously?!” You asked, shocked and kind of amused.

Eren nodded and said, “I saw them sneaking back to the campsite from the parking lot and then my car smelled nasty the next morning. And Marco couldn’t look me in the eye for a week.”

You laughed harder than you had laughed in a long time at this, holding your stomach as it cramped lightly.

“Ow…,” you cried, tears of laughter streaming down your face, “It hurts! It’s so funny it hurts!”

You quickly pulled you phone out and dialed Jean’s number.

“Hello?”

“Jean, did you and Marco really fuck in Eren’s car last summer when we went camping?!” You asked, still laughing.

You could hear the horror in his voice as he said, “How did you find out about that?!”

You barked out another laugh and said, “Eren’s known about it since it happened! He saw you guys sneaking back to the campsite that night!”

Jean swore and hung up on you, causing you to laugh even harder. You put your phone back in your purse and leaned back in your seat, your laughter dying down.

“I can’t believe you called him.” Eren chuckled, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe he admitted it to me. Well, in a way.” You said, giggling again.

Eren rolled his eyes and pulled into the empty parking lot of his dad’s clinic.

He must have seen your confused look and said, “The clinic doesn’t open until 11 o’clock. Dad wanted me to bring you in early to make sure there was time to do a thorough exam and run any tests needed before any other patients were here.”

You nodded in understanding and bit your lip nervously. At least one of your secrets was about to come out and you were not ready for that. Your door opened and you jumped slightly, looking up to see Eren shaking his head at you. He leaned down and unbuckled your seatbelt for you. He took your hand and helped you out of the car. You expected him to let go of your hand, but he didn’t. Instead, he held onto your hand tightly and guided you to the back door of the clinic, unlocking it and opening it, leading you in.

“You have a key?” You asked.

He nodded and said, “I sometimes help dad out by coming in before or after hours and help clean and stuff.”

You nodded and looked around hesitantly, not ready for this.

“Dad, we’re here!” He called into the mostly dark clinic.

“Back here, room 3.” His father called back.

Eren lead you down two hallways to the only room with lights on. You saw Dr. Jaeger setting up several different things and you immediately froze. He must have noticed because gave you a gentle smile.

“Relax ________,” he said softly, “Eren told me that you haven’t been to a doctor in quite a while, so I figured we’d just do a full work up.”

You swallowed had and nodded, letting Eren lead you over to the exam table, helping you to sit on it. He smiled at you a little before letting go of your hand, turning to leave the room.

“W-wait…,” you said, reaching out and grabbing his arm, “Stay… please…?”

He blinked at you a few times before looking at his father and asked, “Is it alright if stay dad?”

“As long as she says it’s alright, then yes.” He answered, nodding.

Eren nodded as well and moved to stand next to the exam table. You didn’t look at him or his dad, instead, just staring down at your hands in your lap.

“Alright, let’s start with your height and weight.” Dr. Jaeger said, motioning for you to come over to the scale.

You slipped off the table and went over, letting him measure your height (A/N: anything shorter than 6 foot so you’re shorter than Eren). You couldn’t look at the little screen on the scale where the numbers would pop up, indicating your weight.

“94 lbs,” Dr. Jaeger said, frowning, “________, that’s extremely low.”

You swallowed hard and said, “I know…. I knew my weight was low but I didn’t know it was that low….”

You trudged back to the exam table and climbed back onto it, not meeting the eyes of either Jaeger. The older man came over and grabbed the blood pressure cuff.

“Can you take your sweater off please?” Dr. Jaeger asked.

You took a shuddering deep breath and slowly pulled off your hoodie. You shyly offered the doctor you left arm, looking anywhere but him. The room was silent as you felt both males staring at you.

“________, I’m going to ask you some questions, and I need you to be completely honest with me, do you understand?” Dr. Jaeger asked.

You nodded, pulling your arm back, wrapping both your arms around your body.

“Are you taking drugs?” He asked.

“Not willingly….” You answered quietly.

“Someone’s making you take them?”

You nodded again.

“Who?”

You swallowed hard and said, “My mom….”

You felt Eren’s eyes boring into the side of your head but you refused to look at him.

“What is she giving you?” Dr asked.

“Normally she gives me clonazepam and oxy when I… have to work…. But last time she injected me with something instead. I don’t know what it was though….” You said, bringing one hand up to bite on your nails.

Dr. Jaeger was quiet for a moment before he asked, “What kind of work do you do?”

You squeezed your eyes closed tightly and said, “Sex work….”

“What?!” Eren cried, making you cringe.

“Eren, calm down,” Grisha said, “Freaking out right now isn’t going to help her at all.”

“S-sorry….” Eren stuttered, gently taking your hand.

“Does your mother force you to do this work?” Dr asked.

You nodded and said, “Yes…. When my dad died, she couldn’t pay the bills anymore and started selling herself. When I turned fourteen, she realized that if she sold me, she could make twice the money without having to do anything herself. I struggled and fought at first, and she would always get mad and say that I was too loud and that we’d get caught. So, she started drugging me to get through the meetings. It started out with just the clonazepam, but somewhere along the way she added the oxy.

“It was only once every few weeks at first, but then she started taking me to that place every week. Now it’s at least three nights a week, for… well, I’m actually not sure how long were there for since I’m drugged the whole time…. After she started bringing me every week, my body got dependent on the drugs…. That’s how she controls me now…. I've been going through really bad withdrawal this whole week…. The last time I had either was Sunday night….”

Both Jaegers were quiet for a moment.

Dr. Jaeger sighed heavily and said, “________, because of what your mother has been forcing you to do, I’m going to have to ask you some difficult questions, alright?”

You nodded.

“Do you know how many men have… been with you?” He asked, sounding like he didn’t want to be asking you these questions, just as much as you didn’t want to be asked them.

“I’m not sure…. I’m drugged every time now…. But if I had to guess… probably at least 300, maybe 350….” You said, rubbing your arm in shame.

Another sigh came from the doctor and you could hear Eren breathing heavily.

“Do you know if protection was used?”

You sighed and said, “Mom never put me on birth control and from the number of times I woke up to… fluids dripping down my thighs I assume not.”

Sighs were heard from both males in the room and you finally looked up. Dr. Jaeger looked conflicted and Eren looked so sad and so angry at the same time.

“I’m sorry I never told you Eren,” you said, hesitantly gripping his sleeve, “I was so embarrassed and… I was scared that if anyone found out that I would get in trouble….”

Eren shook his head almost violently and said, “Don’t apologize! It’s not your fault she made you do that! I’m sorry that I never notice anything was going on!”

“It’s alright Eren. I did everything I could to make sure you didn’t know.” You said, shrugging.

You both fell silent and Dr. Jaeger cleared his throat. You turned your attention back to him.

“Given the information you’ve provided me, I’m afraid I need to perform a pelvic exam and take some swabs and samples to make sure you’re not seriously sick.” He said, looking at you apologetically.

You sighed and nodded, figuring this was coming.

You looked at Eren and asked, “Will you stay with me still?”

He looked at you confused and asked, “Are you sure you want me to stay in here while he exams your… you know… girly bits?”

You nodded and said, “I already know it’s gonna be uncomfortable as hell. I've heard these exams can hurt a little, especially if samples need to be taken. It’s also going to be awkward as fuck since it’s your dad and all, so I might as well have some sort of comfort. You can face the wall behind me if it helps.”

He hesitated, but nodded. Dr. Jaeger began to gather all of the instruments and things he needed for the exam while you put on the paper gown he gave you. You asked Eren to tie it for you and her did. Once it was tied, you slipped off your leggings and panties without him seeing anything. To spare both of you any extra embarrassment, you folded your panties inside your leggings so he didn’t see them.

“Lay back and place your feet into the stirrups, then slide your bottom towards the end of the table.” Dr. Jaeger said, sitting on the rolling stool.

You did what you were told and held your hand out to Eren, who was facing the wall behind you, but could still see you. He took your hand and held it tightly. Dr. Jaeger started to examine you and you breathed deeply, closing your eyes. You could feel your face heat up in embarrassment and couldn’t bring yourself to look at Eren, even as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. Once you felt the speculum touch you, you breathed deeply again, anticipating the pain of something entering you. It didn’t hurt while going in, but when it started to open, you whined slightly at the burning pain.

“I apologize ________,” Dr said, “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

You nodded and bit your lip. After what felt like forever, but was only about a minute and a half, the speculum was pulled out of you and you sighed in relief. You sat up and looked at Dr. Jaeger, watching as he collected all of the swabs and samples he had taken.

“I’m going to go process these and we should have the results in about twenty minutes. I’ll also need to take some blood samples to check a few things.” He said, standing.

You nodded and took the towel he handed you. He left the room and Eren turned his back so you could clean yourself up and get dressed again. You did so quickly and tossed the towel into the labeled basket.

“I’m done.” You said, sitting on the table again.

Eren turned back to you and leaned against the exam table, pulling you into a tight, but gentle hug. You hugged him back and buried your face into his neck.

“I love you,” he said, stroking your (h/c) hair, “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long but I was too scared. But after hearing that your own mother was forcing you to do that kind of stuff, I felt like I had to tell you… tell you that someone loved you….”

You teared up a little and said, “I love you too Eren…. But I was so scared to tell you because I thought no one could love me when I’m so used and disgusting….”

“You’re not disgusting,” Eren said, kissing your forehead, “You’ve been abused. None of it was your choice or your fault. Nothing could make me stop loving you.”

You looked up at him and he smiled at you. He leaned down and kissed you gently. You kissed him back before resting your head against his chest while he stood between your legs, hugging you. You stayed like that until the door opened again.

“Can I assume that you two finally confessed?” Dr. Jaeger asked, raising an eyebrow.

You giggled quietly and Eren nodded.

He nodded back and said, “Congratulations, and finally. Now, I’m sorry to have to separate you two lovebirds, but I need to take some blood samples.”

You nodded and pulled away from Eren to offer your arm to his father. He tied a rubber strip around your arm and felt for your vein. Once he found it, he skillfully stuck the needle in your arm and collected the blood he needed.

“Eren, hold this here for me.” He said, nodding down to the folded cotton pad he had placed over the needlestick.

Eren’s tanned fingers gently pressed down on the cotton and his father went to dispose of the needle. He came back with a roll of (f/c) coban and wrapped it around your arm. You thanked him and moved back to your embrace with Eren.

“I’ll run these tests and when all the results are back, we’ll go over them. For now, relax.” Grisha said, nodding at you two.

You nodded and rested your head back on Eren’s chest. He rested his chin on top of your head and hummed happily. You talked idly for a little over half an hour before Dr. Jaeger came back in, a dark look on his face.

“I know that look,” Eren said, sounding a little scared, “And nothing good comes after it….”

Grisha sighed and pulled the rolling stool over again, sitting down in front of you.

“Don’t sugarcoat it.” You said, trying to steal your nerves.

“There are a few things that we need to discus,” Dr. Jaeger said, looking down at the clipboard in his hands, “Are you sure you ok with Eren hearing this information?”

You nodded and said, “Yes. He knows everything else now. I’m not going to hide anything from him anymore.”

Dr. Jaeger nodded and said, “Alright. We’ll your anemia has gotten worse, which judging by how low your iron levels are, is probably due to your lack of nutrition. And your extreme weight loss is most likely due to your body’s dependence on the drugs.”

You nodded at his words. You had kind of figured that would be the case, but you were dreading whatever other diagnoses you might get.

“You have a few other vitamin deficiencies and insufficiencies, but that’s to be expected.”

You nodded.

“Unfortunately, I have two more rather serious diagnoses for you.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, holding onto Eren’s hand tightly.

“The lesser of the two is that you have a bacterial infection. It can be taken care of with antibiotics though.” Dr. Jaeger said.

You closed your eyes and sighed sadly.

“It’s an STD… isn’t it…?” You asked, looking at him.

“Yes. You have chlamydia, which, like I said, is treatable,” Dr said, trying to reassure you, “All you have to do is take the antibiotics that I give you and abstain from any sexual activity for a while and you’ll be cured.”

You nodded sadly and asked, “What’s the other bad news?”

Dr. Jaeger fell silent and his face grew dark again. A chill ran down your spine at the look.

“Dad,” Eren said, “What is it?”

The man sighed heavily and said, “________, according to your blood test, you’re somewhere between four and six weeks pregnant….”

The blood drained out of your face and your heart dropped into your stomach. You could see Dr. Jaeger’s lips moving, but all you could hear was a high-pitched ringing. It hadn’t been the withdrawal that was making you so sick…. It was because you were pregnant….

“I think I'm gonna be sick…!” You said, jumping up from the exam table and running to the garbage can that was built into the counter next to the sink.

You hunched over it and heaved roughly, bringing up stomach acid again. Gentle hands gathered your hair away from your face and another hand rubbed your back. You retched a few more times before gasping and coughing.

“Rinse your mouth out dear.” Dr. Jaeger said, turning the water on and grabbing a small cup.

He filled it and handed it to you. You took the water in, swished it around and spit it out in the sink. You coughed a few more times before straightening up, stumbling slightly. Eren quickly steadied you and brought you into his chest. Tears flooded your eyes and you began to sob.

“What am I going to do…?!” You cried, grabbing onto Eren’s shirt tightly.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, hugging you tightly, “We’ll get through this. I swear…!”

You spent a while crying into your boyfriend’s chest before you were able to calm down.

“Eren, I want you to take ________ to our house,” Grisha said, taking his phone out, “I’ll call your mother and explain what’s going on. She’ll know how to help.”

Eren nodded and lead you out of the clinic and back to his car. He got you in and quickly drove to his house. He helped you out of the car and to the front door where his mother met you.

“Oh ________, darling.” She cooed, pulling you into a hug.

You started to cry again and she slowly brought you to the couch. She lowered you both down and stroked your hair. Eren came and sat on your other side and rested his hand on your knee, letting you know he was there. You managed to calm down quicker this time and pulled out of Carla’s loving embrace.

You sniffled and said, “Did Papa call you yet?”

Carla smiled lightly at the name you had called Grisha since your father died and nodded.

“I have a plan.” She said, petting your hair.

You nodded and Eren asked, “What is it?”

“There are obviously a few things that we need to address, but the first one is ________’s mother. We need to get the police involved.” Carla said.

You sighed. You were afraid she was going to say that.

“I know you don’t want to ________, but we have to,” Carla said, petting your hair gently, “But don’t worry, we’ll be with you the whole way.”

You nodded and asked, “What do we do after that?”

“We get you in a rehab program to get your body to not be dependent on the drugs anymore.” She answered.

You nodded again and looked down at your hands.

“What about… the baby…?” Eren asked, hesitant.

You peeked up at Carla through your lashes, curious to see her reaction.

She smiled a little sadly and said, “It’s still early on. We need to take care of those two things first, and then we’ll turn our attention to that. Oh, and we need to get that infection cleared up! That’s really priority number 1. Well, 1A, since we can do that and the police at the same time.”

You giggled a little at her, causing her to smile at you.

“Mom, can ________ stay with us from now on?” Eren asked.

“Of course! We’re getting that bitch thrown in jail so she needs somewhere to live. And this is the safest place for her.” Carla said.

You and Eren looked at the woman in shock.

“Mom!” Eren exclaimed, wide-eyed.

She looked at you two and asked, “What?”

“You never swear,” you giggled, “At least, not like that!”

The woman shrugged and said, “I’m just calling it like I see it.”

You giggled again and nodded.

“My mom should be out doing god knows what right now, so we should probably go get my stuff.” You said, looking to Eren.

He nodded and you stood, say goodbye to your new mother and going to the car. It didn’t take long to reach your house and you sighed in relief when you saw that your mother’s car was indeed gone. You quickly went inside and to your room. You went to your closet and reached for the large duffle bag that was on the top shelf, but couldn’t reach it.

“Need some help there?” Eren asked, coming up behind you and putting a hand on your waist.

“Yes please.” You said, tilting your head back so you could look up at him.

He smiled down at you and gave you a quick kiss before grabbing the bag. He placed it on your bed and helped you shove your small wardrobe into it. You didn’t have a lot of stuff, since you didn’t see any of the money you made from ‘working’, so your belongings were few and far between and all fit into your duffle and backpack. Shoving the last item into your bag, a photo of you and Eren from when you were kids, you froze as you heard the front door slam shut.

“________, are you back? Whose piece of shit car is that?” Your mother yelled, sounding mostly sober.

You took a deep, shuddering breath and felt Eren wrap his arms around you.

“We’ll make something up and get out of here quickly, I swear.” He whispered, kissing your forehead.

You nodded and took another deep breath before steeling your nerves and walking downstairs.

“There you are,” your mother said, her drawn on eyebrows pinching together when she saw you, “What the fuck is all this?”

Your mind blanked and you started to panic slightly, looking to Eren for help.

“Max asked to barrow some stuff from ________ for a project and since we were all planning on hanging out today, I just decided to drive her.” Eren said, forcing a smile.

Your mother eyed you both for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Whatever. As long as your back in time for our plans tonight.” She said, staring you down.

A chill ran down your spine and squeezed out “Yes ma’am….”

She nodded again and waved her hand dismissively as she walked towards the kitchen. You quickly ran out the door and Eren threw your bags into the back seat. You got in the car and Eren sped the whole way back to his house. Once there, he put your things in his room and you sat down with his mother again.

“So, you’re supposed to work tonight?” She asked, pulling out her phone.

You nodded and watched as she dialed a number.

“Hannes, hi, it’s Carla,” she said, tilting her head a little, “Listen, Grisha and I need a favor.”

She listened for a moment before humming.

“Great,” Carla said, smiling, “You remember Eren’s friend ________, right? Well, turns out her mother is a horrid bitch and has been forcing ________ into sex work for the past few years. She was so scared that she wasn’t able to tell us anything before today when she saw Grisha for an exam. The bitch has also been forcing ________ to take drugs. Is there any way to set her up tonight to get her arrested?”

She listened again and you could faintly hear someone talking on the other end of the line, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Wonderful. We’ll come by the station when Grisha gets home. Thanks.”

The woman hung up and looked at you with a smile.

“That hag should be in jail tonight.” She said, a sly smirk on her lips.

You were still a little shocked to see this side of Eren’s mother, but you kind of liked it. You smiled yourself and hugged your new mom, thanking her.

“What do we do after she’s arrested?” Eren asked.

“Well, first, since ________ is still 17, your father and I will have to take care of whatever legal paperwork needs to be done to become her guardians. Then, rehab.” Carla said, stroking your hair.

You nodded and reached out for Eren’s hand. He laced his fingers with yours and brought your hand up, kissing it lovingly. You ended up cuddling up with Eren on the couch watching tv with his mother while waiting for your father to get home. Once he arrived, you all got into his car and drove to the police station.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding as you watched a cop handcuff your mother.

“You little bitch! How dare you do this to me! I’ll make you regret it!!” She screeched, fighting against the cop.

You huffed out a breath and turned away from her, searching for Eren. You spotted him quickly and made your way to him. He hugged you and kissed your forehead. The next step now was rehab. It turns out that your new mom had a friend that ran a really nice rehab facility. And you didn’t have to pay for a thing, since the courts had decided that your biological mother owed you sever hundred thousand dollars for all of the trauma and damages she caused. You kept up with your school work while in rehab, but a little over two weeks into the program, you ended up in the hospital. They called Carla and your family quickly raced over.

“________,” Eren cried, bursting into you room, “Are you ok?! What happened?!”

You smiled tiredly at him and reached out for his hand. He quickly came to your side and held your hand with both of his.

“I miscarried.” You said simply.

Eren’s eyes widened at the news, and he didn’t know how to react, not knowing how you felt.

“How do you feel about the situation?” Your mom asked, sitting next to you on your bed and petting your head.

You smiled sadly and said, “I’m a little sad but, it’s best that this happened. I’m not ready for a baby and I honestly don’t know how I would have handled having a child from that situation. So, I'm ok.”

Eren frowned and said, “You don’t look like you’re ok.”

You laughed lightly and said, “I meant mentally and emotionally. Physically I’m tired as fuck and still in pain. Both from rehab and this. But I really am fine. I’ll be better in no time, I promise.”

Eren sighed lightly but nodded. You leaned up and kissed him gently before resting back in your bed.

Two months later, you were back home with Eren and your new family and you would be graduation high school soon. You were clean and sober a little over two months and you had recovered from the miscarriage completely. Your life was normal now, and you couldn’t be any happier with your boyfriend and your new family.

[writeforfandoms]

Merry Go Round of Life 4

Find my masterlist

Part four! We’re starting to get plotty. A little bit. Still mostly fun. 

This will be Din x f!reader eventually. By the end of this we’ll get there.

Warnings: None, maybe a bit of swearing, a troublesome child. 

Chapter four: In which there is snooping

It took about three minutes for the child to become bored of being held, so you set him down and played for a while. The child was particularly fond of peek-a-boo. 

Once the child was worn out (and honestly so were you - being old was hard), you set him in the chair for a nap and started poking around again. 

The knob you’d noticed next to the door had four blobs of paint. One blue, one green, one red, and one black. The blue blob was currently towards the door, and you very cautiously opened the door, just enough to see outside.

The sky was the first thing you noticed. Blue-grey and half covered with clouds. Then the smell of the place - salty and a bit fishy, with notes of spices carried on the breeze. This was very clearly not Kalevala. But you had no idea where this was, or how this even worked. 

Carefully, moving slowly, you shut the door and twisted the knob to the green blob. When you opened the door again, it was to the rolling hills outside of Kalevala, green with bursts of wildflowers all over. Way off in the distance you could just see where the green turned tan where the desert of Tatooine started. 

“Stop playing with the door!” Peli yelled from the hearth. A little reluctantly, you closed the door. “Sheesh, how old are you anyway?”

“Does it matter?” you shot back, a little irritable as you made your way over to check on the child. Still napping. Good. 

“Suppose not,” Peli admitted, sounding grumpy. The fire huffed, which puffed some smoke at you, and you frantically waved it away from the kid. This house was weird. 

“Yell if he wakes up,” you told Peli before you rolled up your sleeves. Time to get a little dirty. Surely there would be some clues hidden in the piles of junk shoved into the corners of the room. 

The room wasn’t bad, all things considered. Some mess, sure, but the main portion of the room was pretty clean. But you made it even better - all the bits and bobs got put away where a curious child couldn’t accidentally choke on anything. You cleared all the ash out of the fireplace (steadfastly ignoring Peli’s grumbling complaints that it should have been done weeks ago, and on a regular basis). You swept and mopped, mostly because you didn’t like dirty floors, especially if you were going to be playing with the kid on them. 

And still no clues popped out at you. Nothing seemed odd. Well. Odder than to be expected in a wizard’s home, anyway. Quite honestly, you were a bit stumped. You sank into a kitchen chair you had unearthed with a little groan, aching again. Getting old really was not pleasant, you’d like to be done with this now please. 

“Kid’s waking up,” Peli told you. One thin little fire-arm reached out from the grate to grab one of the logs you’d stacked in easy reach. 

You sighed but got up again, meeting the kid half-way across the floor. Back to peek-a-boo it was, especially since you hadn’t found much in the way of toys or games for him. Something to speak to the wizard about, perhaps. 

Wizard Djarin showed up in the middle of another game of peek-a-boo. You were sitting on the floor, and the kid was hiding behind various pieces of furniture and then popping out at you. It was honestly adorable. And required very little movement on your part, which was nice, since you didn’t have your usual amount of energy. 

Djarin stopped just inside the doorway and looked at the two of you. The kid made a happy noise and started babbling, even as he attached himself to one of the wizard’s legs. Djarin just sighed, a noise that was part amusement and part exasperation, before he bent to pick the kid up.

“How was he?”

It took you a few moments to realize the wizard was speaking to you, and you blinked at the helmet. “Fine. He took a nap and we played.”

The helmet dipped in a slow nod before turning slowly to survey the room. “You… cleaned?”

“Cleared up a bit,” you told him primly, straightening your back (as much as you could). “It’s dangerous to leave things laying around where kids can get their hands on them, he could have choked on something. I just tidied up a bit.”

The helmet dipped again, and then the wizard swept past you, still holding the kid. With a final flap of his cloak, he vanished up some stairs you honestly hadn’t even paid attention to earlier. 

“You’re pretty good at that,” Peli commented as you sank into the armchair. “I think he believes you.”

“It’s true,” you pointed out. “Children can choke on things. I don’t want to see the kid get hurt.”

Peli snorted, sending sparks everywhere again, but settled down. 

“I haven’t found any clues yet,” you pointed out. “How am I ever supposed to lift your curse if you can’t tell me anything?”

“Give it time,” Peli told you, settling lower into her logs. “I bet you’ll get a clue tomorrow.”

You narrowed your eyes at the fire demon but didn’t ask further questions. Now that you were seated in front of the nice warm fire, your energy was just draining out of you. Your head dipped back against the armchair, and you were out.

Sharp raps on the door woke you, and you nearly jolted from your chair. There was a clatter behind you, a few soft swears, and Djarin swept past you, sounding vaguely annoyed. He yanked the door open, but when he spoke his voice was calm. You creaked out of your chair with a low groan and a chorus of cracks, and then tip-toed over behind the wizard.

There was yet another city in front of you, this one large and sprawling. The person at the door was dressed in fine clothing, richly made and expensive to your eye. He asked the wizard to accompany him to the Palace, but with many extra words. Djarin said no, very simply. More flowery turn of phrase from the messenger gave you a chance to peek around Djarin’s side. If you had to guess, you would say you’re looking at the capitol, Mandalore. You’d never been there either. But it was the only place you could think of that would be so large, and have people dressed so finely. 

Finally, Djarin swept an arm back, expertly herding you back inside while telling the messenger more sternly that no, he would not go to the Palace. He swung the door shut and then turned away with a grumble.

“Why did Viszla have to go and vanish,” he grumbled, clearly not actually expecting an answer.

“Viszla?” You blinked after the wizard.

“Royal wizard,” Peli answered. “He’s been missing for weeks now.”

“Idiot,” Djarin scoffed. He paused mid-stride, helmet turned towards you, and then he shook his head and continued. 

“How does a royal wizard go missing?” you asked, blinking. It didn’t make sense to you. Sure, things could get misplaced, but an entire person? A wizard, no less?

“Who knows.” Djarin sounded aggravated, but not necessarily at you. He huffed, the sound coming out a little odd from under the helmet. He stopped at the end of the room, looking up the stairs, and then swore and dashed up them. You turned to see what had him in such a hurry, but couldn’t see anything.

“Probably the kid,” Peli told you with the fire equivalent of a shrug. It was odd to watch. “Kid gets into all kinds of trouble, even with Djarin around.”

“Kids,” you murmured in agreement. 

Djarin came back down the stairs, holding the kid. You couldn’t see his expression, of course, but his shoulders were a bit tight and high. 

“Keep an eye on him,” he ordered you, handing over the kid. You blinked down at the kid, who grinned up at you with sparkling eyes. 

“What did you do, little one?” you asked, moving over to the table. The kid burbled at you, a burst of wordless noises that sounded quite happy. Whatever he’d done, clearly he knew he’d gotten away with it. 

A knock on the door interrupted all of you, and Djarin strode over to it. He spoke quietly to the person on the other side of the door, too quietly for you to make out the words. He came back inside, grabbed something from a shelf in the “wizardly things” portion of the room (you’d dubbed it that after side-eyeing several packets of questionably-colored dusts and things), and then went back to the door. 

“I wonder what he’s up to?” you murmured to the child, who merely grabbed your shirt again. You shrugged a little. It wasn’t really your business. 

The door closed again and Djarin shook his head as he came back into the room. He paused for a moment, the helmet fixed in the direction of you and the kid, and then he went over to his workbench. 

“If you insist on picking up, don’t touch this area,” he told you, voice low. “I need these where they are.”

You nodded. “I wouldn’t touch those things if you paid me,” you told him with a faux-haughty sniff. “Who knows what all you have there.”

He snorted, sounding a little startled, and you could only imagine he was amused. “Good.” He walked away again, back up the stairs. You didn’t mind, instead going back to playing with the child. He really was too cute for his own good. 

You didn’t have long to play with the kid, though, as something came thumping down the stairs. You and the kid both turned to watch as Djarin dragged something down the stairs. A couple muffled swears reached your ears, and your eyebrows shot up. He wrangled the object into a cubby in the back of the room, setting it out flat before vanishing up the stairs again. 

Curious, you and the kid approached. It was a cot. You blinked. The kid cooed. 

“This is more comfortable than the chair,” Djarin said from behind you. You jumped and turned to look at him as he set blankets and a pillow down at the end of the cot.

“Thank you.” You blinked at him, caught off-guard by the kindness. 

He simply nodded and retreated again. He was a man of few words, as you were learning. But you were starting to get a feel for the kind of man he was, and you were honestly hopeful that maybe this curse would get lifted sometime before you died of old age. 

“Want to help me make my bed?” you asked the kid. The kid grinned up at you, bright and happy, and you melted a little. Yeah, even if you were currently 90, this wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t ideal, but you could live with this arrangement.

[juniorgman187]

Daddy Issues (Spencer Reid Imagine)

*NOT MY GIF IF ANYONE KNOWS THE OWNER PLZ LET ME KNOW SO I CAN GIVE CREDIT*

Summary: While tending to Reid’s wound he obtained in a bar brawl, Reader finds out about his true feelings but not without the hurtful mentioning of Reader’s daddy issues. 

Category: Angst Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Mentions of a violent bar fight, allusions to abandonment, self-destructive/sabotaging tendencies  Word Count: 2.6K

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“Naughty boy.” 

You put your thumb on the dimple of his chin and your index finger under his chin to turn his head to the side gently. Reid let his head turn without resistance so you’d have a better view of the large laceration on his cheek. It was bloody beyond belief. “God, what’d you do?”

“What do you mean ‘What’d I do?’ He was the maniac that punched me.” Because of Reid’s little bar fight, you were all kicked out of the club and forced to come back to Spencer’s apartment to clean him up. While the rest of the team was in the living room, you were in the bathroom, kindly helping him. But he rejected your help when he wrapped his large hand around your wrist to pull it off his face so he could hop off the sink and push past you and out the door. 

“Reid, get back here! You of all people know how much worse that cut will be if I don’t clean it soon.”

Apparently, reminding him that he might develop an infection was enough to convince him to drop the tough guy act and come back. He walked with his tail between his legs when he had to pass you in the doorway to sit back on the sink. You brought out the emergency kit, while Spencer looked over his shoulder to check out his wound in the mirror. 

“Yes, you look cool. Now stop looking at yourself in the mirror and look at me so I can disinfect it.” Reid almost looked embarrassed when you said this, but you both knew it was true. He did look pretty badass. 

After you pulled out all your supplies, Reid shyly spoke up. 

“Do . . . do you really think I look cool?” 

This coming from a man that had been shot twice, survived an anthrax attack, been in a handful of hostage situations, and got out of prison. He was so strong, but he didn’t even know it. How was he so oblivious to his own strength? You had to laugh.

“Why are you laughing at me? What’s so funny?” Reid sounded genuinely hurt. If his previous question didn’t radiate ‘sad puppy dog energy,’ that question sure did. It was as if he had reverted to his shy 24 year old self that still asked for validation. 

“You do not need to get punched to prove how tough you are, okay? You’re plenty strong as it is.” To him, he thought you were just saying that, but you didn’t mean it. “Hey - look at me,” You demanded, making him meet your eyes. “You are so fucking cool. You hear me? I mean it, Reid. It takes one to know one after all.” He tried to fight a smile at your playful joke, but he failed. You always knew what to say to cheer him up, and tonight was no different. 

Reid’s shoulders finally deflated as he settled down. You stood between his legs while you tended to the cut. While you were between Reid’s legs, you felt his finger playing with the belt loop of your jeans. It was such a small gesture you didn’t notice it at first, maybe even because he’d probably done small gestures like this a million times before. He wasn’t even doing it on purpose, but he was fulfilling some subconscious need to be touching you, even if it was simply playing with your belt loop. 

“You know, if you don’t tell me what happened, Morgan will. Do you really want that?” You threatened. Knowing Morgan - he'd be more than happy to recount the incident to you.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Alright. If you say so,” You stared directly into Spencer’s eyes. “MORGAN!” You yelled loud enough for him to hear you. 

Spencer immediately clapped his hand over your mouth. “SHH! Fine, fine I’ll tell you.”

See? Worked like a charm. 

When it came to Reid, you played dirty, and without fail, he’d give you what you wanted. Even if it took a while - he’d always give in. 

Always. 

“Remember that guy you were -” Reid gulped back the lump in his throat. “dancing with?”

After pausing to recall the night, a faint memory resurfaced. “You mean Owen? What about him?” 

“After you danced, you went to the bathroom with Garcia, remember?” You nodded again. “He watched you the entire time. Emily tried to tell me it was nothing - but then I saw some guy come up to him and give him a handshake, with a twenty in his palm. So I gave Owen a piece of my mind.”

You tried to contain your laughter at his choice of words. “Guys make stupid bets like that all the time, Reid.” He only huffed as a response. “Hey,” You softly said, turning his head to look at you. “Thank you.” You finally said after a moment of staring at Reid. “Thank you for defending me when I wasn’t around.” 

Reid pouted a little and shook his head. “Why do you go after guys like him?” His voice was so quiet that a whisper would’ve been loud in comparison.

“What?” You didn’t ask because you didn’t hear him, but because you didn’t understand him. 

“Seriously, Y/N, it’s like you have this obsession with douchebags. Are they the guys you think you deserve?”

“What are you saying?” Your voice had a hint of anger behind it.

“I’ve tried to understand why you do what you do, but it just makes me more confused. I know you like guys that give you attention your father never did -”

“Whoa, back up. You did not just say that.” You were actually in disbelief. 

“Am I wrong? Your father left in your formative years, so your love map -”

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Hearing him say that as if you were some damaged unsub that he was trying to empathize with made your blood boil.

“Face it, Y/N. You’re always telling the girls that you want a nice guy, but then you dance on some asshole because you’d rather screw up a relationship with a jerk than mess up a relationship with someone you actually deserve. But if you opened your eyes for once, then you’d realize that if they actually were deserving of you - they wouldn’t abandon you like your father did.” 

As soon as the words left his lips, Spencer received a second bruise that night. The sound of your palm hitting his other cheek echoed through the bathroom. It was enough to call the team’s attention to you two. 

“Fuck you!” You shrieked, leaving the bathroom and pushing past the team that was doing they’re best to stop you.

You stormed out of Spencer’s flat and felt seven pairs of eyes following you as you ran down the stairwell. 

. . . 

“She couldn’t have gotten very far.” Hotch reasoned as he looked into the distance. 

All of us were looking for Y/N, who wasn’t returning any of our calls. Everyone was worried about her, including me. Especially me. It was my fault after all, which the team had no problem reminding me.

“What were you thinking, man? Bringing up her dad like that? That was messed up and you know it.” Morgan added right after Y/N walked out.

“You could’ve been more gentle, Spence.” JJ sighed while ringing Y/N for the fifth time. 

“Just give her some time.” Prentiss advised. “Yeah, I’m sure you two will be back to cracking Star Trek jokes in no time.” Garcia added. 

I hadn’t even realized what I was saying when I was saying, nor had I thought through the repercussions of my words. 

It was a known rule that we should never profile one another, but I couldn’t help it. It was all too easy to distinguish the source of Y/N’s poor taste in men. Although, I had to admit, who was I to judge her based on her father’s absence? What with my own father leaving me and my mom. 

“Hey, Boy Genius,” Rossi called out to me. “You know her better than the rest of us. Where would she go?” Everyone’s eyes looked at me. 

It was true. If anyone knew where she was - it would be me, but I was too flustered from the argument to think clearly. 

“I don’t know! She goes home when she’s tired. Goes to the cafe when she’s working. Goes to work when she needs a distraction. Goes to my apartment when she’s sad . . .” My voice faded when I realized I probably screwed that up, too. I loved her late night visits. They were a reminder that she needed me. That I was valuable. 

That’s when a memory from years ago resurfaced. 

“I know where she is.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“You’re back already? I thought Hotch told you to take some time off.” 

She wordlessly nodded. “Yeah, he did, but I’m fine. Plus, I’m already behind in paperwork.” Whenever she tried avoiding her problems, she’d bury herself in her work to distract her from her underlying pain. It killed me to see Y/N like this.

“Where’d you go last night?” I felt compelled to ask since as soon as the jet landed, Y/N practically disappeared. She didn’t even call me, which was weird. 

“Nowhere, why?” She hadn’t met my eyes when she answered my question, instead keeping her gaze locked on the surroundings below her while she took her seat at her desk. 

“I just . . . I could tell you were upset about the case.” 

Cases weren’t easy to begin with, but Y/N was especially sensitive to yesterday’s. A young woman named Hanna was killing older white, affluent men as surrogates until she got to the real source of her rage - her father. He’d abandoned her in her early years which imprinted on her. She’d grow up to find out that her father left her and her mom for his wealthy mistress. They went on to raise two daughters. It was a shock that Hanna never tried to hurt her half sisters or their mother, but that only meant she was going to inflict that much more pain onto her dad. 

When we finally found Hanna, she’d already killed her father, but it wasn’t too late to save Hanna. 

Y/N was the one talking. 

“Hanna, think about your mom. She loves you so much. Your father leaving devastated her, but you being there made all the difference. You gave her purpose. Don’t let your mom lose you, too. She needs you. Just put down the poison for your mom.” Y/N pleaded while lowering her gun into her holster. 

But as Y/N came closer to her, Hanna reacted quickly by downing the poisonous concoction. Y/N ran right up to her and stuck her fingers down her throat to force her to throw up what she’d just drank, but it was no use. Soon Hanna fell to the floor with Y/N clutching her body as it violently convulsed. 

“Y/N! Y/N!” Hotch yelled, trying to pull her off of Hanna, but she refused to give up. 

I’d never seen her as disturbed as she was on the plane ride back. Her eyes never left the window. I wanted so badly to ask her how she was or offer my help, but I knew she’d rather be left alone. I didn’t blame her. Losing someone you’re trying to save is devastating, but it’s worse when you relate to the unsub. When you very well could have been them. Y/N saw herself as a reflection of Hanna because of how similar their childhoods were - how closely they paralleled. Not to mention, the likeness in age and appearance only served to haunt Y/N as she imagined herself being in Hanna’s shoes. Y/N would’ve wanted someone to save her, so she tried to save Hanna, but she couldn’t. 

It took Y/N a moment after she told me that she went ‘nowhere’ to say something again. “I’m sorry, Reid. I don’t want to lie to you.” 

“Then don’t. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.” It hurt me to see her like this and I was willing to do whatever it took to be there for her. 

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” She began. I promised her I wouldn’t. “I went to the park. Like with a playground. And . . . I just sat on the swings. For like a really long time.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“I see her!” Garcia shouted, waving around her pointer finger. The entire team was about to jump out of the car when I stopped them. 

“Could you guys just wait here? I think I should go alone.” 

Amicably, they all agreed to wait inside the car, while I trudged to the swing set. 

“We were worried about you.” I softly said, creeping up behind her. 

She didn’t even flinch at my voice or turn around when I spoke. “I knew you’d find me anyway.” She replied. I recognized her voice. She’d been crying. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for what I said back there,” No response. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

Another short period passed before she actually said something back. “I’m sorry I slapped you.”

“I’m just glad you did it on the other cheek.” I joked, trying to say something that would make her smile.

Come on, Y/N. Smile for me, please. 

I slowly took a seat in the swing next to her, wrapping my hands around the chains. A familiar squeak noise rang out when I adjusted my full weight. That’s when I looked down at her feet and noticed they weren’t even touching the wood chips. How cute.

“Why do you care?” Her voice surprised me. “Why do you care if I go after the wrong guys?” 

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. I don’t want to see you get hurt by someone that didn’t deserve you to begin with.” This was only half true.

“No, no it’s more than that. Like, why did you punch Owen? Morgan was there, too. But he didn’t start a fight with him and let’s be honest - between the two of you, he’s more likely to use his fists, but he didn’t - you did. Why?” I was rendered speechless. I just couldn’t come up with the right words to say what I wanted to say. “Say it, Spencer . . . please.” 

It took me a moment. I couldn’t even meet her eyes at first, but slowly, I lifted my head to look at her through teary eyes. “Y/N, how can you say you want a nice guy when, after all these years, you’ve never looked twice at me?” Her eyes broke away from mine. “Why won’t you let me love you?”

“You know why. You said it yourself.” 

‘You’d rather screw up a relationship with a jerk than mess up a relationship with someone you actually deserve.’

We didn’t say anything more for a painfully long time. 

“I can’t be with you, Reid.” She finally spoke.

And even though a large part of me wanted to protest, object, and disagree, I stayed quiet. That was an answer I had to accept. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get over you.” I admitted, halfway laughing at myself for sounding so childish. If I looked up a millisecond later than I did, I probably wouldn’t have caught the small smile that formed on her face after hearing me profess this. 

“You know, I’m not even sure I know what love is, honestly,” She lightheartedly confessed. “But if it’s anything like how I feel for you, then you should know that I love you. I love you so much. I love you more than I love myself, and I truly want you to be happy. I want to see you smile harder than you’ve ever smiled before. I want you to laugh harder than you’ve ever laughed before. I want you to love harder than you’ve ever loved before . . . but not with me.”

And though, she didn’t say it out loud - her eyes told me. 

‘This is the most I can love you in this life. Let that be enough.’ 

And with my eyes, I told her:

‘It’s enough.’

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

A/N: So this might ruin the vibes of the story, but I felt like I just had to explain the ending. 

Reader does want to be with Spencer! She wants nothing more than to be the reason he smiles, laughs, and loves, but as Spencer pointed out, she self-sabotages and has destructive behavior, and she knew that long before Spencer told her that, and for that very reason - she can’t be with Spencer. 

She loves him more than she loves herself, so as much as she wants to make herself happy by being with him - she wants his happiness more. And he wouldn’t be happy with her long term because of how Reader is in relationships. 

The line: This is the most I can love you in this life. Let that be enough. means ‘I’m loving you as much as I possibly can without hurting you. I know it’s not the kind of love we think we want, but please let it be enough.’

I hope that clears things up. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Angel Wings.”

Setting up for some other stuff really quick, don’t worry I am going to finish the krill arc, I just needed to jump away from it really quick. Hope you enjoy today’s story :)

“I am not willing to take unnecessary risks.”

“We don’t have enough men to cover all that area.”

“We will do what has to be done.”

“With all due respect, Admiral, do you understand how big space is?” There was a silence in the room, twenty or so men and women stood around a large dark table. All around them on the walls light up star maps and ship configurations glowed blue in the dim holographic light. On the table before them a star map had been laid out casting shadows upon the faces of men and women.

Admiral Vir was sitting partially facing admiral Massie who was half standing, his heavy frame leaning palms flat against the table.

The two stared very intensely  at each other, the older man trying to dominate the younger with the sheer intensity of his presence. It was rather unfortunate for him that after two years of almost continual active service in space, Admiral vir was used to being stared down by Adaptids, Starborn, Drev warriors, and --on occasion-- space dragons, so this rather portly man in a funny hat was unlikely to get a rise out of him.

“You better watch your tone, boy.” The man hissed quietly

Admiral Vir looked back at him unblinking, “This is the 41st century Admiral, and that superiority bullshit isn’t going to stack up to experience, so I will watch my tone when you sit down and realize that what you are suggesting, not only puts our entire fleet, and all of the fleets of the GA at risk, but it's also based on outdated military naval strategy from a thousand years ago that does not take into consideration that space is, in fact, three dimensional.”

The men and women about the table shifted awkwardly in their seats, unsure how to proceed.

To some degree superiority DID fly, especially within the Office of Galactic Intelligence, where Admiral Massie was head officer, but out there, among the stars, where Admiral Vir had spent nearly 90% of his career, the ability to question your superiors could be a matter of life and death.

In the end it was Admiral Kelly, a strong political supporter of Admiral Vir, and his long time ally who leaned forward in her seat, “I think Admiral Vir does have a point. He is, after all our resident expert in galactic warfare.” She looked around the table, “I don’t see anyone else here who has been involved in a pitched space battled?”

There was murmuring and the shuffling of feet.

She Adjusted her cup of coffee lightly where it sat on the desk, “In fact the only person here who has ever flown a ship, being me, would have no idea how to go about galactic combat, so Admiral Vir, please proceed.”

Admiral Vir stood and nodded to Kelly before taking his stand at the head of the table.

“As I was saying earlier, putting warp gates too far out near the border of the system is inadvisable and extremely risky. Even if those warp gates were to be accessed through a security code on the ship itself, I wouldn’t trust that someone wouldn’t be able to hack them. Which is why I suggest keeping the warp gates towards the center of the GA system, but not near planets themselves. There are only a few ships galaxy wide that can approach a planet unknown and unseen, those being the major command vessels used with most GA species. All other ships would require access to a warp gate, or be forced to do multiple warps before reaching the system giving viewers enough time to ready for an attack. My suggestion is, instead of trying to protect the entire GA system, we make hub nexuses around the most important sites, planets, colonies, stations, and warp gates. Then we station smaller military vessels around those areas to keep enemies out. If we were trying to cover the entire area, the only people who might be able to show up in time to defend against an entire arriving fleet are myself and a select few others. If that were to happen we might be completely taken out in one fell swoop. No, better to reinforce likely areas of attack, defend and use the warp gates for what really matters, and allow ships like mine to free float and provide support when needed.”

There was silence about the room as the other men and women nodded.

Admiral Massie glowered at him from the other side of the table.

Admiral Vir ignored him.

He played politics, but only so far as not playing was playing. He wasn’t looking to move up in the ranks, and he wasn’t looking to make enemies. Everyone in UNSC command knew and understood that he had only one goal, and that was to keep his people alive and well. While his unsheathed interactions with some of the other Admirals made him unpopular, particularly within the ranks of some of the older generations, it was hard to deny that he did his job well.

Then again he and Admiral Massie had been at each other’s throats since the start of Vir’s command.

Massie was a planetary isolationist and had opposed joining the GA since the beginning, while Admiral Vir was a staunch supporter of intergalactic cooperation and alliance. Admiral Massie was under the impression that Admiral Vir had romanticised the idea of extraterrestrial life to the detriment of earth itself, and Admiral Vir thought Admiral Massie was a pompous jack-off with more interest in his political career than he was in the lives of his men.

Both of them may have been right to a certain degree.

Either way the other admirals, while being somewhere middling on the spectrum, tended to lean towards agreeing with Admiral Vir when it came to discussions about planetary defence. He was, after all, the only one with personal experience in the area, and they didn’t really have time for Massie and his superiority complex.

It was for many of these reasons, that their meeting eventually steered itself towards a discussion on isolationism versus GA involvement.

“It isn’t our job to deal with THEIR problems. We lose trillions of dollars every year to the defence of alien species, and for what? What can they do for us that we cannot do for yourself as a much lower cost.”

“If it weren’t for our intervention, Admiral, the entire GA system would be overrun with Burg, and we would be next.” Admiral Vir cut in gently pounding his fist against the table for emphasis.

“Not if we fortify our own strongholds.” The man continued to argue.

Admiral Vir felt his skin going hot under the collar, but took a deep breath to calm himself, “You forget about the over ten human colonies that exist within GA airspace. This may have been an argument two years ago, but with those colonies in existence as of now, we cannot abandon them for an isolationist principle. Furthermore, we need the cooperation of the GA in order to buy and sell the materials needed to keep the economies of those colonies running. Without them we don’t have the resources, the time or the labor to be isolationists.” He relaxed back into his seat and allowed the other Admirals to jump in with their two cents.

He would have liked to stay quiet and just listen, buthe found he was actually a poor hand at keeping his mouth shut when someone was saying things that could be potentially harmful to the good of humanity.

He was only partially paying attention when a soft voice came in over his shoulder, “Admiral.”

He turned to look, finding a smartly dressed young lieutenant waiting at his side.

“The UN President is almost done with her address, and you’re up next.”

He nodded and took to his feet quietly excusing himself from the table as he followed her down the hallway. The automated catwalk whirred to life, and the two of them stood next to each other as they were carried off down the long hallway. On either side of them rain slashed against the windows in great sheets. The sky overhead was dark and overcast,and the green of the lawn was soaked in great frothing puddles.

He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out his note cars glancing them over once more before putting them back in his pocket.

At the end of the catwalk two marines were waiting for him.

Ramirez grinned at him and Maverick raised an eyebrow as he stepped off the catwalk, “That’s a lovely expression.:” Maverick commented, “Are the Admirals not playing nice.”

He snorted slightly, “Most of them, but there are a few who just don’t seem to understand how space works, but I guess thant can be expected when you spend your entire career behind a desk.”

The two Marines nodded and fell into step beside him as he made his way towards the outer lawn where the press conferences were being held. A massive black tent had been erected just outside on the lawn, and the sky overhead was soon to grow dark. In the distance he could see the glowing neon of advertising signs hovering over the highway. Those same bright neon lights lit up the tent itself, and projected inflated pictures of the UN President onto the walls as she spoke.

Secret Service agents milled about on the lawn in the rain their jackets soaked and spitting water in a glistening halo of white. Even from here he could see the little strips of clear white tubing that marked their earpieces.

“A shit day to give an address.” He muttered as he was led towards the back entrance, taking a seat by the door as they waited for the president to finish. Rain continued to drum loudly on the tent and the windows at his side. The door was slightly cracked open, so he could just hear the sound of her voice over the pouring rain.

Off on the other side of the room Maverick was watching the address on her implant through her eyes were glazed with boredom.

Ramirez didn’t even pretend to pay attention and was, instead playing holographic paddle ball on his device.

Admiral Vir smiled a little and shook his head at the antics of some of his favorite marines before pulling out his notecards again and giving them a once over. This was becoming more common as his position became more and more political. When he was younger he would have balked at the idea of getting involved in politics, but somehow he had found himself to be the lynchpin holding intergalactic relations together, which turned out to be a very political position to have.

As it seemed his enthusiasm for joining the GA was not shared by everyone, and if if wasn’t for his popularity, and ability to hold their enemies at bay, talks and interaction with the GA might not have gone nearly as far as they had. The thought that he might be the only thing holding intergalactic relations together was nauseating. He was sure that wasn’t entirely the case, by now people understood that in order to have colonies, they had to have cooperation, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t an important part of all this.

It was his fault after all, and he would probably be blamed if things went south.

Outside cheering rose up, and he lifted his head and stood as the UN president was ushered back inside on a wave of applause.

Most of the secret service agents went with her, but security still stayed behind as he stepped past her and up to the lectern. WHen he had said tent earlier, he had not fully grasped the size of the place. It might as well have been an indoor auditorium with places to sit at the back and large projection screens.

A dim blue light fell over him from the side, and he tried not to look at how own awkward figure as he appeared on screen. Cameras flashed below him as reporters vied for the front seat. He set his notecards on the lectern  and began to speak.

His heart hammered and his leg wobbled nervously, but that was common for him these days.

He was a decent public speaker, or was becoming proficient, but that still didn’t stop his nerves.

“The GA has asked me to take the time and announce that they have begun peace talks with the Lumin and the alien species known as the Mikes, who contacted us through long distance laser transmission just last week. The conferences will be held on the GA hub, and life updates will be broadcast to the GA website for the duration of those talks. As someone who has been active on the intergalactic stage since the beginning, I urge you all to-” His eyes drifted over the crowd as he continued with his speech, discussing the importance of voting for their representatives as a new election period was coming up. He stressed also the importance of a couple of economic bills which might strengthen their political report with the Tesraki. He had practiced this speech hundreds of times, and so the words flowed from his mouth with no real issue as he stared down into the crowd. He scanned his eyes over their faces, some of them smiling, some of them concentrated, and others downright annoyed with the words coming from his mouth.

He would have estimated that the ratio of pleased to displeased was three to one, though that percentage was still pretty high 33.3% wasn’t nothing.

He continued to scan the crowd eyes trailing up and towards the center of the crowd where a strange sort of commotion had started. The people parted, and as they did it was like watching a dog run through a field of grass where the stocks began to bend sideways under their weight.

His eyes tracked down to the source of the disruption even as he was speaking.

And found a figure dressed in a heavy black raincoat, face covered.

His voice was just beginning to trail off as the man or woman lifted their head and raised their arm.

Water dripped from the ceramic barrel, and the screaming began just as a loud CRACK erupted in the room.

And then he was plowed into the ground by what felt to be a speeding freight train. THe wind was knocked out of him as he landed on his back. His ears erupted into squealing static which drowned out the sound of secret service men running into the crowd and people screaming. The muzzle flash had left spots in his vision.

Was he hit?

He gasped for air unable to breath for two horrible seconds as the breath came flooding back to him. When his hearing came back the chaos was almost deafening enough to leave his ears ringing again.

A figure knelt in front of him.

Someone else Dived to his side as security flooded onto the stage with them.

Maverick grabbed his shoulder, “Are you hit.”

He looked down at himself, and his pristine grey uniform looking for a spot of red.

He ran his hands over his body, “I…. I don’t think so.” But if the bullet hadn’t thrown him to the ground than what….

He looked up to see Ramirez still kneeling in front of him. He must have seen it coming and tackled Adam to the ground before the shot was fired.

But something…. Something was wrong.

Adam crawled into a kneeling position and grabbed Ramirez by the shoulders. The other man hadn’t moved.’

Frantically he began to look Ramirez over, “Ramirez! Are you hit?”

The other man raised his head and his eyes were glassy, “I….I don’t know.”

The crowd had tightened around them, and he waved security off as he looked his friend over. As he scooted forward, grabbing Ramirez by the back of his uniform, he felt something wet and sticky against his hand.

He drew back…. Only to find his hand drenched in blood.

“SHIT! SOMEONE GET A DOCTOR!”

Ramirez swayed, and Adam caught him around the shoulders gently lowering him to the ground, “Woah, just, relax alright, you’re going to be ok. HE’S BEEN SHOT!”

Ramirez grunted still staring glassily into space.

“Help me roll him.: his voice was tight and strangled, as Maverick grabbed Ramirez by the shoulder and rolled him into his side. Adam could see the blood now, a large stain on his lower mid back.

He pulled up the shirt just to see the bullet hole oozing dark red, already smearing over the other man’s tanned skin, “Shit, shit, shit, Ramirez….. ANGEL!”

Angel grunted, “If you wanted my shirt off, you could have just asked nicely.”

“Is he going into shock?”

“I dont know I’m not a fucking doctor. Just keep him awake. Keep him talking!”

Adam ripped off his uniform jacket, wadding it into a tight ball which he pressed against the oozing wound. Maverick had pulled off her jacket and rolled it under Ramirez’s head. He groaned in pain as Adam applied pressure.

“It's alright, buddy, you're going to be alright, just hang in there.”

“That looks like it went through his kidney.” Maverick muttered.

“Shut up and keep him talking!”

Maverick nodded and patted Angel on the cheek, growing annoyed he wasn’t responding and then lightly slapping him. His eyes fluttered open, “Ow.”

“Stay awake damn it.”

“Bossy.” Angel muttered.

Just then a crack medical team burst through the line shooing everyone out of their way as they did. Adam backed up hands out speared with blood and as he let the professionals take over.

He listened to them talk, heard words coming out of their mouths but didn’t understand what they were saying. He was grabbed by the shoulder and urged to go inside where it was safe, but he shook them off vision fixed on his friend lolling helplessly on the ground, covered in blood.

The men and women removed  his bloodied uniform jacket and pulled a blue cylinder from somewhere. It was shoved into the wound and a button was depressed. There was a sharp hissing noise and Angel groaned in pain, though when they withdrew the cylinder he was no longer bleeding.

Adam was dragged back as men rushed forward with a stretcher transferring his injured friend onto it and hurriedly dragging him away. Adam was waylaid by the security detail that dragged him into a safe room as everyone tried to figure out what had happened.

Angel’s blood began to dry on his hands.

The shooter hadn’t gotten far, and when detained it had been pretty clear that that bullet wasn’t just meant for the marine.

It had been meant for Adam himself.

Even though he knew that was likely the truth, that revelation still came to him as a shock, and his skin grew clammy and cold with the realization.

Angel had saved his life, and taken the bullet that was meant for him.

***

This realization still haunted him hours later as he sat in the waiting room at Mercy Core Hospital heavily guarded by a crack SWAT team and a small military garrison. He stared down at his hands, at the blood that had turned brown and was now flaking off in his hands and onto the waiting room floor. Blood stained the white shirt he wore underneath, and his tie hung loose and undone around his shoulders.

The commotion of footsteps out the door and he lifted his head towards the voices. He tried to understand what they were saying but, somehow, couldn’t. He chalked it up to his brain just not functioning correctly until the door burst inward and a short dark-haired woman burst into the room followed by a grey haired older woman, and a young girl.

They looked too much like Angel to be anyone but his family, and as they walked in Adam stood sharply nearly knocking his chair over in his haste. He realized now why he couldn't’ understand them before, they were speaking Spanish.

The middling woman’s eyes fell on him instantly and she rushed forward grabbing him by the wrists, “What, what happened, what do you know, is my son ok.”

He hadn’t truly grasped what had happened until just now, and fought hard to bite back the tears as he gave her the details, “He was shot, the doctors had to bring him into surgery about an hour ago…” Her eyes went wide with horror and shock, his throat squeezed tight causing his voice to rise in pitch though he tried to fight it down.

“He...he has the best medical care you could ask for…. Our ship doctor arrived…. Arrived on scene thirty minutes ago…. He… hes the best surgeon in the-galaxy.” He could barely speak now, his throat thick as if it was stuffed with cotton.

She put her hands over her mouth and turned in a distressed circle.

His eyes fell on the older grey haired woman and her eyes pierced into him like she could read his sole like a book.

He had heard enough stories about this woman to know who she was immediately.

Angel’s Abuela, the family matriarch.

Adam shrunk under the intensity of her gaze

Mother and, what must have been Angel’s younger sister were sitting together hugging each other for comfort. Adam stood awkwardly hands at his sides not wanting to intrude on grief that was…. Not his own, grief that was, in fact, caused by him.

It was his fault.

Angel had taken that bullet for him.

He should have been in that operating room. He bit the inside of his cheek took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, willing the tears to absorb back into his eye.

The older woman was still watching him, and as he watched she walked over, and touched his arm gently, “What happened.” He opened his mouth to say he already told her but the expression she gave him made it pretty clear he had not given enough details, “I was giving an address to the crowd just outside UNSC headquarters. I was about halfway through when there was a disturbance in the crowd. I saw someone pull a gun, and then Angel tackled me to the floor just as it fired. We didn’t know who had been hit at first but, he…. It looked like it got him in the lower mid back….. I I tried to stop the bleeding but I… and then the paramedics came…. And I…. I…. I’m so sorry.” his voice hitched but he bit it back with gargantuan effort, “It should be me in there not him.”

He turned to look down at his feet 

But then the hand came and touched his arm again, “It wasn’t your fault, boy. That’s just our Angel.”

And with those words he couldn’t fight it back, and warm hot tears began spilling down his face and onto his shirt. His vision blurred and he could barely see, but he felt arms wrap around him patting him on the back as the old woman’s voice came softly, “There there, he’s going to be alright, our Angel is strong. He’s going to be ok.”

He didn’t try to pull away from the old woman.

Her arms were warm and comforting, and he desperately wanted to believe her.

.