#he needs someone to shake him out of his anxiety spiral at all times

[fiannalover]

This scene is extremely good at recontextualizing Kieran's entire deal because like. Yes, the two DLCs were a result of his lifelong resentment of being othered and losing the one thing he banked his entire mental wellbeing at bubbling over and exploding.

But he's also Just Like That. With absolutely no evidence his first thought is that he will be the next one. The moment you shake him out of it he Figures It Out immediately, but The First Thought is that. King of pessimistically overthinking and jumping to conclusions.

[accioscarheadthings]

ULTRAMINE ~ CHAPTER 1

kenji sato x reader

summary: you are professor sato's student and mina contacts you when kenji finds himself with an injured kaiju baby

pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader

author's note: turning this into a series (?) may not follow the movie's timeline completely. future smut, so minors DNI.

masterlist !

you stood beside professor sato in the tube lift as it descended to kenji's basement.

you fiddled with the ends of your shirt, anxiety beginning to spiral within you by the second.

being at kenji’ house was something you never imagined would happen, especially after your not-so-smart first date. 

like kenji, you also had a legacy to bear, with your father as an expert mechanic, he built a titanium-alloyed suit with sato to fight by his side. and with him gone, you had to take on the mantle and the responsibility of protecting the city.

kenji knew you as his father’s student, slightly bitter that his father was spending time with someone who was not him.

but he couldn’t deny, you were a sight for sore eyes.

he would throw his words at you now and then, relishing in your sarcasm and remarks, falling more and more for your fiery demeanour and silver tongue.

and with you both fighting kaiju attacks together, it only pulled you closer to each other.

the baseball player won a bet against you, asking for just one date with you. 

you were skeptical about it, not wanting to get tangled in his spider web of messy celebrity life. but you couldn’t back off from the bet. a deal was a deal.

the date went surprisingly well, with you and kenji bickering back and forth about the most mundane things, just to get a rise out of the other. but as time went by, the sexual tension was increasing between you two.

you couldn’t deny it, no matter how much he annoyed you with his bratty charm. he was hot. 

the date was supposed to end with him dropping you in your place, but instead, you found yourself in his arms in the back of his car- naked, needy, and moaning his name like a prayer.

after that, he took you into your apartment and fucked you good, mumbling praises and promises as he drilled into you. the next morning, he left before you woke up, leaving a note saying that last night was fun. 

no calls or messages after that. he merely acknowledged your presence after that.and you were thankful for it. a bit.

part of you wished he would reach out and check in on you after that night. but you knew he wouldn’t.

it made you feel used and unwanted. took you quite a while to get over it, but you eventually did. 

you only took care of the fights he didn’t pay mind to. like the kaiju attack he ditched when the kdf intervened.

and now with the doom of meeting him again, your nerves were on end.

“fret not, dear,” professor sato glanced at your tensed state, “it will be alright.”

"professor, um, you still haven't told me why we’re at your son’s place. or what we're gonna do. or why you needed me out of all people-”

"i just need you to trust me on this, dear. you're the only one i do at this moment. can you do that for me?"

"you know i'm big on trust, professor, " i commented, shaking my head.

the lift stopped, and professor smiled, "that i do," 

when the lift doors opened, ultramn’s face was right on, big glowing eyes.

you took a step back with a yelp, “what the-"

"oh my-" ultraman gasped, “y/n… hi,” he seemed to be dazed, breathless.

you nodded nervously, glaring at his metal head and glowing eyes, glad that you didn't have to look at his handsome face, “hi,”

“dad! what is she doing here?” kenji hollered, as if you were invisible.

you glared at him even harder, tilting your head to the side at his tone.

"i apologize for my son," professor told you, "kenji, this is my assistant and she knows best about kaiju infants,"

i added, "because i've studied about them.my entire life. what they eat, their life cycle, the metamorph-"

"okay, okay, got it yeah," he waved you off in a hurry, his voice laced with impatience and worry.

you were about to snap when a pained squeal rang out and you leaned past him to sneak a peak, but ultraman obscured your view.

“dad, i’m not asking for pain, complaints, guilt, or criticism. not right now. i just-” he paused, struggling, “i need your help. both of you,” his head turned to you.

when he moved out of the way, you saw it, a gasp escaping your lips .

a baby kaiju lying on its back in the middle of the room, its head resting on ultraman’s knees while he held it down, rubbing its head. a red beam blinked under its skin, signaling its distress.

"wow," you gaped at the kaiju baby, following after professor sato.

“she was hurt, dad. we were attacked, i don’t know what to do. she got loose. i-i should’ve been there,” kenji rambled, guilt evident as he beat him up for what happened.

professor sato examined her, running a hand over a scales, “incredible,”

i held out my fist, metal plates slipping over your fingers and crawling up your arm till your elbow. you held out a hand, shooting a scanning bean from your fist to examine.

“you brought your warsuit?” ultraman asked in wonder. he knew about your identity and was hoping he’d run into you in one of the fights.

“just in case,” you shrugged, eyes on the anatomy chart you had pulled up in front of you as the holograph blinked on the arm of the kaiju, indicating the site of injury.

meanwhile, professor sato ran a chem analysis of the tranquilizer that had hit her.

"oh, hello mina," you greeted the ai when it floated towards you, “it’s been a long time,”

"indeed," mina responded, "you look well,"

"thanks,"

the kaiju baby whined in pain, squirming. you rested your metal palm on its tummy, easing your way up and down on its body, "shh, hey, hey- it's okay, we're gonna help you, baby, mkay?” you cooed.

the kaiju baby seemed to somewhat calm down at your words, its body still trembling.

“is it a he or she?” you asked, tapping and prodding her arm juncture.

“a she,” mina responded.

"she's beautiful," you looked up at her in awe, “professor, i suppose she has fracture. there’s fluid build-up in her elbow. mina, can u confirm?,”

“yes, she had a mid-humeral fracture with associated hematoma,” mina added.

the kaiju baby cried out again.

“it’s okay, you’re okay,” professor sato uttered softly caressing her arm.

mina was filling in the professor about the analysis of the tranquilizer while you got a closer look at the baby, running your metal hand over her palm.

her fist closed around your hand, the kaiju baby cooing slightly. your heart melted at the action.

“poor thing. does it hurt too much?” you reached to touch her arm where she got hurt, only for her to squeal in alarm.

“it’s okay,” kenji soothed, “she’s-” he stammered, looking at you now fully and taking in your appearance and feeling somewhat flustered, “she’s not gonna hurt you,”

you spared a glance at him, turning away, your face turning red at the mere sound of his voice. pathetic, you scolded yourself.

“can you synthesize a 100 ccs?” professor sato asked mina. 

“yes, professor,”

“good we’ll need more,”

 “more?!” kenji snapped, “for what?”

“kenji,” “you may not agree with me on anything else, but right now, i’m the best chance she has. and with y/n, it will be easier. so please, please just let me help,”

kenji glanced at you, agreeing, “okay,”

professor sato held up a ragged bunny in the air. the kaiju baby beamed at it.

“dad,” kenjis sighed in nostalgia, “bunny?”

“it always worked on you,” he placed it on the baby’s arm. he notched his walking stick between her shouler and arm, making sure it was right. i nodded in approval.

i placed my hand on the kaju baby’s palm, “hold her tight, kenji,”

two mechanical arms appeared from the ground, grabbing onto the baby’s arms.

taking a deep breath, you mumbled along with the lullaby mina played in the back and pushed her dislocated bone into place. kenji turned his head away to the side, unable to watch while the kaiju baby screeched in pain.

you sat by the stairs of the containment unit as the kaiju baby slept in it, snuggling a half-crushed car.

you were watching the footage of the kaiju baby loose in the streets, observing its movement, behaviour—

“hey,”

you slapped your watch shut and looked up at kenji, blinking, “hi,”

your eyes locked for a moment longer adn you both looked away, feeling bashful and flustered. 

you felt him sit on the stair beside you and rest his elbows on his knees, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“so, uh, how are ya?” kenji turned to face you, his hair falling all over his forehead.

you bit back the urge to brush them back, “fine. so how’s life being a single mom with two jobs?” you teased, hoping to ease the tension.

kenji gave a small smile, his chest rumbling with a groan, “exhausting,”

“i can tell,” you noticed the fading dark circles under his eyes, the fatigue in the paleness of his skin.

“watching me that closely, sweetheart?” he tipped his head to the side, leaning forward a bit, his flirty tone showing up.

“you wish,” you rolled your eyes at him.

“it’s good to see you,” kenji spoke genuinely, “after the last time we met turned into-”

“oh dear god-” you sputtered, “don’t just don’t,”

“was it that bad?” he seemed offended that you were shutting out that incident so quickly, “was i that bad?”

“no, no, ken,” i laughed carelessly, missing the way a shy smile crept up kenji’s face at your sound, “its just that,” you tried to find the right words, “it was amazing, but the days after that, not so much. we-”

“-drifted apart,” kenji completed, understanding now.

"yeah,"

“i’ll just,” kenji jabbed his thumb to the couch area and walked towards it, muttering and scolding himself for being so clumsy and flustered around you.

you smiled at his back, watching him sit down. you turned back towards the containment unit, watching the kaiju baby snore away.

you crossed your legs, getting comfortable, "mina?"

"yes?" the ai floated towards you.

"give me everything you have on the kaiju baby. and you might wanna get filled in on the kaiju anatomy and life cycle info i have in my database," you held up your watch for her.

“sure thing,” a mechanical arm took it from you.

"and also, could i get a cup of coffee, with three-,"

a cup was thrust beside your face to hold. 

you looked up and saw kenji holding one for you, having one for himself, “three shots of espresso. just how you like it,”

surprised but touched, you accepted it with a kind nod, watching him walk back to his father.

he relaxed back, leaning into the couch and spreading his legs apart shamelessly, one arm resting on the head of the couch.

you lips parted at the sight.

kenji did a double take and caught you staring, a grin quirking his lips as he did so. it only widened as he saw how you fumbled and turned away from him, finding your reaction adorable.

he couldn't believe how captivating you were, and he knew he was in danger of losing himself to your charm. 

 the way your hair draped over your shoulder, only if he could wrap his fist around them and pull you flush against his back-

“pure thoughts, ken. pure thoughts,” he chided himself, his mind struggling to process the mental image it created.

he silently chastised himself for letting you slip through his fingers last time, but he knew that he couldn't ignore you any longer. 

as he looked at you, he felt his heart skip a beat and he couldn't help but sigh, "sweetheart..." knowing that you were too tempting for him to resist this time.

[creepswrites]

i've been dealing w/ a lot lately and wanted to write something nice so. enjoy.

SLASHERS w/ A GN! S/O WHO IS DEALING WITH DEPRESSION & ANXIETY

MICHAEL MYERS

"I just don't feel like doing anything..."

Michael gives you space if you ask for it but will still stand and watch you from the corner of the room

He's not the most outwardly affectionate person but you can tell he's worried when he comes over to squeeze your wrist once or twice

And you can tell he's worried sick when he points at the television as an invitation to watch a movie with him

He'll let you cuddle against him and he plays with your hands or hair and actually does hold you back

(It's not that he's NOT affectionate, just not usually like this)

The two of you can spend all day watching silly tv shows and movies to make you laugh

Every day may not be good, but there is something good in every day.

LESLIE VERNON

"Oh my god, Leslie, I think I'm having a panic attack."

Your hands are shaking so bad, you're sweating cold, and your vision is starting to get spotty as he hurries over to catch you

He rocks you through it, sits you down on the floor, and keeps you close to his chest while running his fingers down your arm or through you hair

Leslie's voice is soft and grounding as he tries to talk you back down

When you're finally able to breath again, you break down into such guttural sobs that he just holds you and rocks you gently

He lets you stay over at his house, you two get your favorite for dinner, and he reminds you that if you ever need to talk, he's there

After watching a movie, you talk to him about it. About how everything feels so overwhelming, how you feel helpless and out of control, and how you feel alone. He listens, really listens. And right now, that's all you really need: to just talk it out with someone

Even the darkest hour only has 60 minutes.

STU MACHER & BILLY LOOMIS

"I feel like everything is going wrong."

Stu happily listens to you vent about your problems and tries to drag you out on walks or to see movies or something

Definitely the type of guy to take you to amusement parks to give you constant dopamine hits

Billy, in contrast, will give you solutions to your problems and gives you space

He's not the most emotional guy so he tries to give you space to sort out your thoughts

So you've got a good balance!

Whenever they catch you starting to spiral again, Stu will go grab you a drink or a blanket while Billy tries to talk you down, reminding you that your problems are temporary and you will be okay

You've survived everything up till this point. You will continue to survive.

VINCENT SINCLAIR

"Do you hate me?"

Honestly, Vincent is surprised you could even think that!

But he understands how your mind works at this point so he takes you aside and opens the floor for you to talk

Everything just spills out. Small things he may have done on accident that just began to pile up, larger things that have just added to weighing you down, everything

Anyone else would think you were blaming him for your problems but he didn't see it that way. He saw you finally cracking and asking for his help to fix things

He can't magically solve everything for you but he supports you, showers you in hugs and kisses, and starts talking to Bo about maybe driving you out of Ambrose every so often to see someone about your mental health

You're grateful for his help. Everything feels so much less overwhelming when you have someone to hold hands with while you try to get help

Small, baby steps each day add up to huge, giant leaps over time. Don't give up.

LESTER SINCLAIR

"I think everyone hates me."

Lester's head snaps around and catches you staring down at your phone with wet, sorrowful eyes

You break down when he hugs you, spilling everything about a fight with your friends that left you scared. Not sad - scared

That's what sets off alarm bells in his head. He puts your phone aside and listens to you talk, vent, cry, anything you need

You're afraid. Afraid of what your friends said, worried about what they might tell others, and a petrifying anxiety that you'll end up alone

But Lester reminds you if they do that, then they were never really your friends to begin with

He peppers your face in kisses and reminds you that, no matter what, he will always love and care for you. Even if the whole world was against you, you'd always have him Jonesy comes and sits in your lap, licking your face and hands as she tries to smother you in her love as well!

Don’t dwell on those who hold you down. Instead, cherish those who helped you up.

[vanteguccir]

can you make a blurb of chris with his gf that's been feeling very down and has an anxiety attack? (if ur comfy w that)

── ୨୧ !　 a blurb where you wake up feeling bad and on the verge of an anxiety attack, but chris is there for you - as he always is

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

The morning light filtered softly through the gap under the door, casting a gentle glow across the floor room. Y/N lay in bed, her eyes wide open as she stared at the ceiling. The soft hum of someone - provably Matt - moving gently upstairs did nothing to calm the unease that had settled deep in her chest.

There was no reason for it, no particular trigger she could pinpoint, yet the anxiety was there, creeping into her thoughts and wrapping around her heart like a vice. Her breathing was shallow, her heart racing with a sense of dread she couldn’t quite shake. Her eyes were tired and slightly red from the little to nothing hours of sleep.

Today was supposed to be a good day. She and Chris had planned it out earlier in the week; breakfast at their favorite little café, a stroll through the city streets, maybe a bit of shopping. It was a day they both looked forward to, a chance to unwind and enjoy each other’s company. But as she lay there, tangled in the cotton sheets, the excitement that usually accompanied such plans was overshadowed by a heavy, unexplainable weight.

Chris stirred beside her, his arm draped over her waist, pulling her closer. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, anything to ground herself. But it wasn’t enough. The anxiety continued to gnaw at her, relentless and unforgiving.

"I should get up." She whispered to herself, carefully slipping out from under Chris’s arm. She moved quietly, not wanting to wake him just yet. He deserved to sleep in a little longer; he had been working so hard lately, filming a lot of different videos with his brothers and creating the new collection of Fresh Love. Maybe if she just kept moving, kept herself busy, she could push the anxiety away.

In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would wake her up, snap her out of this spiral. But as she looked at herself in the mirror, all she saw was the fear and tension reflected back at her. Her hands trembled as she reached for the towel to dry her face, her breath coming in short, rapid gasps. It seemed like her lungs never got full enough.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, to calm the storm brewing inside her, but it was no use. The more she tried to suppress it, the more overwhelming it became. Still, she had a day planned with Chris. She couldn’t let this ruin it. She just needed to keep it together, at least until they were out and about, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the city. Maybe then, the anxiety would fade into the background.

She took her time in the shower, letting the warm water cascade over her in the hopes that it would soothe her. But when she stepped out, wrapping a towel around her body, her nerves were just as frayed as before.

She could hear Chris moving around in the bedroom now, probably getting dressed, and she knew she had to put on a brave face.

Y/N took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. As she stepped into the room, the cool air hit her wet skin, causing a shiver to run down her spine. Her hair dripped onto the white towel, and she kept her gaze low, not trusting herself to look at Chris just yet. She could feel the frown etched on her face, the way her chest kept moving too fast, and she prayed that he wouldn’t notice.

But Chris knew her too well. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of socks when he looked up and saw her, ready to say his first good morning in that day, but suddenly stopping. His brow furrowed immediately, concern flashing in his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched her as she moved slowly to the closet, her movements stiff and uncoordinated.

"Baby?" He called softly, but she didn’t respond, too focused on trying to steady her breathing, to keep the tears that were threatening to spill at bay.

Y/N felt the weight of Chris’s gaze as he gently turned her to face him, his hands firm yet comforting on her shoulders. Her breath hitched, and she tried to muster a reassuring smile, but Chris wasn’t having any of it.

"What’s going on, babe?" His voice was soft, filled with worry. "Hey, you’re shaking."

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. The trembling in her hands worsened as if her body was betraying her attempt to appear calm. Her breath began to quicken, each inhale growing more shallow than the last. She clenched the towel tighter around her, feeling the edges of panic creeping in.

"It’s nothing, Chris. I’m fine, really. Let’s just get ready and go." She forced out, her voice strained, refusing to look into his eyes.

But Chris’s eyes searched hers, seeing the truth behind her words. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped without her realizing.

"You’re not fine." He said gently, concern deepening in his gaze. "Talk to me."

Y/N tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it only grew larger.

"I woke up feeling so anxious." She finally admitted, her voice trembling. "I don’t know why, but it’s like… it’s like there’s this weight on my chest, and I can’t breathe properly. My heart’s racing, and I can’t… I can’t make it stop."

As she spoke, the feelings she had been trying to suppress began to overwhelm her. Her chest tightened painfully, each breath now coming in rapid, uneven gasps. The room started to spin, her vision narrowing as her hands shook uncontrollably. Her legs felt like they might give out any second, the numbness creeping up from her feet, making her feel disconnected from her own body.

Chris’s eyes widened in alarm as he watched the familiar signs of an impending anxiety attack take hold of her. Without hesitation, he stepped closer, his hands moving to cradle her face, anchoring her in the present.

"Y/N, look at me." He said firmly, his voice steady but soothing. "Focus on my voice, yeah? Just focus on me."

Her eyes darted around, panic rising as the room seemed to close in on her.

"I-I can’t… I can’t breathe." She gasped, her chest burning with the effort, her hands closing into tight fists against her chest, the towel fabric brushing against her skin making her feel suffocating. It was all too much.

"Yes, you can." Chris insisted, his voice calm and reassuring. "You’re safe. I’m right here with you. Just try to match your breathing with mine, okay? In… and out. You know how to do it, yeah?"

He exaggerated his own breaths, taking slow, deep inhales and long exhales, hoping she would follow his lead. Y/N tried to mimic his breathing, but her body resisted, her lungs refusing to cooperate as her mind spiraled further into panic, shaking her head as if telling him that it wasn't working.

"It’s okay, petal." Chris continued, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks. "I’ve got you. You’re not alone. Just keep trying, focus on the sound of my voice. You're my smart girl, I know you can do it."

His words were a lifeline in the chaos, something tangible to cling to as her world seemed to tilt on its axis. She fixed her eyes on his ocean blue ones, trying desperately to ground herself in his presence. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she began to force her breaths to deepen, following the rhythm he set.

In... out.

In... out.

"That’s it." Chris murmured, his hands never leaving her face. "You’re doing great. Just keep going."

The numbness in her legs started to recede as her breathing began to slow, the tightness in her chest easing slightly. She focused on the warmth of Chris’s hands, the steadiness of his gaze, and the calm that radiated from him like a soothing balm.

After what felt like an eternity, her breathing finally evened out, the sharp edges of panic dulling into a manageable hum. The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, but this time, they were tears of relief, not fear.

Chris pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him as if to shield her from any lingering remnants of the attack.

"You’re okay." He whispered into her hair, his hand rubbing slow, comforting circles on her back. "You’re safe, Y/N. I’m here."

She clung to him, her face buried in his chest, drawing strength from his presence. The remnants of the anxiety attack left her feeling drained and shaky, but Chris’s embrace was a refuge, a place where she could let go of the fear and simply be.

"I’m sorry." She mumbled into his shirt, her voice thick with exhaustion and emotion.

Chris shook his head, pulling back just enough to look at her, his expression tender.

"Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for." He said softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from her damp forehead. "I’m just glad you’re okay."

Y/N nodded, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You don’t have to worry about that." Chris replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."

They stood there in silence for a few moments longer, the intensity of the situation gradually fading into the background as the warmth of their connection took its place. Chris kept his arms around her, his presence a solid and comforting weight that grounded her in the here and now.

When she finally felt steady enough to stand on her own, Chris gave her a reassuring smile.

"Why don’t we take it easy today?" He suggested. "We don’t have to go out if you’re not feeling up to it. We can stay in, watch movies, whatever you want."

Y/N considered his offer, the thought of staying in and cocooning herself in the safety of their home tempting. But she knew that sometimes it helped to get out, to distract herself with the world outside.

"No, I think I still want to go." She said, her voice stronger now, though still soft. "I think… I think it might help."

Chris nodded, his expression understanding.

"Okay. But if at any point you need to come back, just say the word. We’ll take it slow."

"I will." She promised, feeling a bit more like herself as she managed a small smile, grateful for his understanding. He always knew exactly what she needed, even when she didn’t know it herself. "Thank you." She whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"Always." He replied, giving her a soft kiss on her forehead before stepping back to give her space. "I’ll be right here if you need me."

As Y/N watched him move back to the bed, resuming his task of getting dressed, she felt a sense of calm beginning to replace the anxiety. It wasn’t gone completely, but with Chris there, she knew she could handle it. She took another deep breath, this one more steady, and turned back to the closet to finish getting ready.

I know, I write too much and too long, sorry yall 🙏🏻🤞🏻

I would post as a usual fic, but I feel like yall like it more when it's blurbs 😭

[geotjwrs]

Hey is it possible if you could do Jenna x male reader based off the song Dark Red by Steve Lacy? Thank you

only you babe

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The faint sound of music hummed in the background, barely loud enough to be heard over the quiet tension in the room. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, his phone clutched in his hand, his eyes staring blankly at the screen. It had been an hour since Jenna had texted, and her silence felt louder than anything else in his life right now.

"I think you know that I miss you…"

The lyrics echoed in his mind, but all he could focus on was the gnawing feeling in his gut—the one that told him something was wrong. He hadn’t heard from her since their last conversation, and now every passing second felt like a countdown to something he didn’t want to face.

He stood up, pacing the small apartment. He’d always had this fear, deep down, that Jenna might slip away. That one day, she would realize she didn’t need him. And lately, that fear had started to feel more real. The way she’d been distant, the way her messages came less frequently, it all pointed to something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

"Something bad is ’bout to happen to me…"

The words from the song buzzed in his head, like a warning he couldn’t ignore.

Y/N ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of everything bearing down on him. He knew he should call her, talk to her, ask her what was really going on. But every time he thought about it, that voice in the back of his mind whispered, What if she’s done? What if you push her away?

Just as he was about to give in to the anxiety, his phone buzzed. A message.

Jenna: “Can we talk?”

Y/N’s heart dropped. He stared at the screen, his hands shaking slightly. Those words—“Can we talk?”—were never a good sign. He could feel the blood draining from his face, and the room suddenly felt too small, too hot.

He sat down again, his mind racing with every possible worst-case scenario. She was leaving, wasn’t she? She had found someone else, or maybe she had finally gotten tired of him. Y/N’s thoughts spiraled out of control, and before he could stop himself, he typed out a response.

Y/N: “Is everything okay?”

The seconds stretched into minutes, and still no response. Y/N stood up again, pacing even faster now, his palms sweaty as he waited for her reply. He couldn’t breathe. His mind was clouded with every possible thing that could go wrong.

"I think I’m losin’ it…"

He looked around the apartment, his gaze falling on the little things that reminded him of her. The jacket she’d left hanging on the back of his chair. The coffee mug she always used. The picture of the two of them sitting on the shelf, smiling like nothing in the world could ever come between them.

But now, Y/N wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t been sure for a while, and it scared him more than anything.

Finally, his phone buzzed again. He snatched it up, his heart pounding in his chest as he read her message.

Jenna: “Yeah, but… I just feel like things have been off between us lately.”

Y/N closed his eyes, feeling a lump form in his throat. He had known this was coming. He had felt it in every silence, in every missed call, in every time she had looked at him like she was seeing someone else. But hearing her say it, seeing it in black and white on his screen, made it real.

Y/N: “I know… I’ve felt it too.”

He didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to tell her how scared he was, how much he loved her, how the thought of losing her made him feel like he was drowning. But he didn’t. Instead, he just waited, feeling like the walls were closing in around him.

An hour later, Jenna showed up at his door. She stood there, her arms crossed, looking at him with those dark eyes that had always been able to read him like a book. There was something different in them tonight, though—something he couldn’t quite place.

Y/N stepped aside, letting her in. They hadn’t talked in person for a couple of days, and the air between them felt heavy, loaded with everything left unsaid.

“Hey,” she said quietly, her voice almost fragile as she walked past him.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, his throat tight. He closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a second before following her into the living room.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, the space between them feeling much bigger than it had ever felt before. Y/N fidgeted with his hands, trying to come up with something to say, but his mind was blank.

Jenna looked at him, her expression soft but serious. “Y/N… I don’t know what’s been going on with us lately. But I can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong.”

Y/N swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to tell her everything—about how terrified he was of losing her, how he’d been feeling this weight of uncertainty pressing down on him for weeks. But instead, he just nodded, afraid that if he said the wrong thing, he’d make everything worse.

“Me too,” he finally managed to say. “I’ve felt it too.”

Jenna sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t want us to fall apart, Y/N. But lately, it feels like we’re not even on the same page anymore. Like we’re both just waiting for something bad to happen.”

Y/N’s heart sank. That was exactly how he had been feeling. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to say she was done with him. He hadn’t realized she was feeling the same way.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N said, his voice cracking slightly. He hated how vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. This was Jenna, the girl he had loved for longer than he could remember, and the thought of her walking out of his life was unbearable.

Jenna’s eyes softened at his words. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. “I don’t want to lose you either. But we need to figure this out, Y/N. We can’t keep going on like this, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Y/N nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. “I know. I just… I’ve been so scared, Jenna. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize you didn’t want this anymore. That you didn’t want me.”

Jenna’s expression softened even more, and she moved closer to him, her hand still gripping his. “Y/N… that’s not it. I love you. I always have. But we can’t keep letting fear control us. We need to talk to each other, not shut down every time things get hard.”

Y/N closed his eyes, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. She wasn’t leaving. She didn’t want to leave. But the fear, the doubt, had been eating him alive for weeks, and now that it was out in the open, he realized just how much it had been affecting them.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own head that I didn’t realize I was pushing you away.”

Jenna shook her head, her thumb gently brushing over the back of his hand. “We’ve both been doing it. But it doesn’t have to be like this. We can fix this, Y/N. We just need to be honest with each other.”

Y/N nodded, finally meeting her gaze. “I want that. I want us to be okay.”

Jenna smiled softly, leaning in to press her forehead against his. “We will be. But we have to stop letting fear get in the way.”

They sat there like that for a while, their foreheads touching, the weight of their unspoken fears slowly lifting. The tension between them wasn’t gone, but it felt lighter now, more manageable.

As the night wore on, Y/N realized that the dark cloud that had been hanging over them for so long was starting to fade. There were still things they needed to work through, still conversations they needed to have, but for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt like maybe they could make it through this.

And as he held Jenna close, he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going to let fear take her away from him. Not again.

[the-badger-mole]

Kindness of Strangers

Please pick up

I'm busy

I know, but this is an emergency

With shaking hands, Zuko found Mai's number and pressed the call button. It rang twice before her voicemail picked up. Zuko groaned and almost started crying.

Mai, pick up Seriously, it's an emergency I don't got out that often zuko. You can't let me have ONE night? Mai I think i need to go to the hospital My stomach. I think it's food poisoning or something Your stomach ache? Seriously? You're a big boy. You can handle an upset tummy Drink some tea

Zuko groaned again. It felt like something solid and hot was burning through his intestine. He tried calling Mai again. This time it only rang once before he was sent to voicemail.

Leave me alone! If you call again, I'm blocking you

Zuko dialed Mai once more. Sure enough, it went right to voicemail this time. She'd done it. Zuko felt bile rising in his throat along with panic. His uncle was out of town. Haru, his only other friend didn't have a car. An ambulance was out of the question. His father had removed him from the family insurance policy, and though his uncle was working on the details to add Zuko to his own insurance, that wouldn't kick in until the following month at least. All Zuko had in the meantime was the student insurance the university provided, and it didn't cover ambulance rides. That left just one option.

The unsteadiness of his legs was a bad sign. As was the way his stomach roiled in protest at the movement. The hospital wasn't far, though, Zuko reasoned. He made it to his door, then he stumbled out into the hall, not even bothering with his shoes. He heard a gasp, and realized his neighbor across the hall was there.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Zuko shook his head. Then, he doubled over and puked onto the tile floor. The neighbor-Zuko recalled he'd heard someone call her Katara.

"My stomach," Zuko groaned, clutching his side. Katara rushed over and tried to help him stand, but the pain wouldn't let him stand upright. He felt a cool hand against his forehead. Then is jerked away with a gasp.

"You need to go to the hospital!" Katara said. She pulled out her phone, but Zuko groaned and tried to stop her.

"No ambulance," he insisted miserably. "Can't afford it." Katara hesitated, and Zuko knew she was debating calling anyway. Finally she sighed and slipped his arm around her shoulders, and helped him into the elevator and into the parking lot.

"Don't you dare throw up in my car," she muttered, strapping him into the passenger seat of a small, blue sedan. She slid into the driver's seat and reached into the back. Zuko was vaguely aware of some rustling, but he didn't know what it meant until Katara passed him an empty plastic bag. She peeled out of the parking lot and raced the two miles to the hospital. The large, white building was in sight when Zuko made good use of the plastic bag. He was still clutching it minutes later when Katara helped him out of the car and into the emergency room.

The next bit was a blur. He was brought back to triage almost immediately where it was discovered he had a ruptured appendix. The words emergency surgery were the last words he heard clearly before he was being stripped, shaved and prepped for the OR. This, he would later decide, was a blessing. He hated hospitals, and this visit would've sent him into an anxiety spiral. As it was, he still had a moment of panic when he woke up attached to an IV and several upsetting sounding monitors, but the panic fizzled into confusion when he realized he wasn't alone in the room. Across from him, in the chair, his neighbor sat curled up under a thin blanket.

She must have felt him staring because she stirred, and then looked up at him. She blinked in confusion, trying to understand where she was and why, Zuko guessed. Then she smiled at him sleepily.

"The doctor said you'd be out a while," she told him. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I...yeah," Zuko said. He was fine, at the moment, though, he could feel the dull ache emanating from his side from where they'd taken his appendix out. "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't know who to call," Katara explained. "I thought you would probably prefer not to wake up in a hospital room alone. They said it was fine if I stayed."

"Oh..." Zuko eyes fell to his hand, to the needle and tube stuck into his skin. Whatever the IV was delivering seemed to be working. He was already feeling the haze of sleepiness creeping back in. "Thank you."

"No problem." Katara smiled warmly. "Is there someone you want me to call? I have your phone."

"Did..." Zuko swallowed hard. "Did anyone call me?" Katara glanced down at his phone and shook her head.

"No," she said. "You've only been here about three or so hours, though." Zuko sighed and let his head fall back. Mai hadn't called. He was irritated, but also a bit...relieved? That surprised him.

"Can you call my uncle?" he asked. He told Katara his passcode. As he drifted to sleep, he heard her telling his uncle that he was fine, and had already come out of surgery.

The next time he woke, the sun was up, and he was once again not alone. Iroh sat in the chair across from him, worry lines etched deep in his face. His entire body unclenched with relief when he saw Zuko open his eyes. He was, Zuko surmised, thinking of the last time he'd sat in a hospital room with his nephew.

"How are you feeling, Zuko?" he asked. He came up to Zuko's side and placed a hand on his wrist, careful not to disturb the medicine drip.

"Like lukewarm garbage," Zuko sighed. The events of the night before caught up to him and he jolted up, looking around. "Where's...?"

"That lovely young woman who brought you in?" Iroh chuckled. "She offered to stay, but she looked like she could use some rest. Very kind of her to sit with you."

"Yeah," Zuko agreed. Iroh cast him a sly look, one that Zuko was too heavily medicated to take heed of.

"She's very pretty, too," he commented offhandedly. "Even after spending the night sleeping in a hospital chair."

"She's too young for you," Zuko snorted.

"Indeed!" Iroh agreed emphatically. "But...she is just the right age for a handsome young man who happens to be studying at the same school and lives in the same building as her. One who now owes her a nice thank you dinner. One into whose phone I took the liberty of programing her number, and who should definitely call and let her know how he's doing."

"Uncle," Zuko groaned.

"I did tell her you would let her know you're okay," Iroh said. "I'm just saying."

"I'm dating Mai." That brought back the earlier portion of the night. Zuko looked around and grabbed his phone. Surely Mai had called him at some point. There was nothing from her. He tried calling her, but it still went straight to voicemail.

"Something wrong?" Iroh asked. Zuko sighed and shook his head.

"No, uncle. Nothing at all."

Zuko didn't hear from Mai until the following day. He hadn't tried to reach out to her again, so he didn't know when she had unblocked him. Suddenly, his phone started ringing and her name and picture showed up.

"Hello?" Zuko said groggily. He had been taken off the pain medication, but the effects hadn't worn off yet.

"Why is your door unlocked?" Mai asked. "Where are you?" Anger boiled up in Zuko's body, unhindered by the lingering drugs.

"The hospital," he told her dryly. "My appendix ruptured." He had at least the satisfaction of hearing her gasp.

"What hospital are you at?" she asked. "How long have you been there?"

"I've been here since I called you to tell you I needed to go to the hospital," Zuko snapped. Mai let out an irritated huff.

"Well, I would've come if you'd told me it was that serious," she said. "It just sounded like you were overreacting about a stomach flu! Where are you? When are you getting checked out?"

"They're discharging me tomorrow," Zuko told her.

"Do you need a ride home?" Mai asked.

"It's taken care of," he said, shortly. "Uncle's coming to get me, so you don't have to bother about it."

"Why are you being so bratty about this?" Mai demanded. "I said I was sorry!" She hadn't, but Zuko chose not to point that out.

"Where were you?" he asked instead.

"Out with friends." That answered absolutely nothing, but the tone of her voice told Zuko that was all the answer he would get.

"Whatever," he huffed. Mai was silent on the other end for a long moment.

"You want me to bring some food?" she asked. She sounded unusually subdued. "I can bring you something at the hospital, or I can make something for when you get back, tomorrow."

"It's fine," Zuko sighed. "I'm staying with Uncle for a few days."

"Are you going to be all mopey about this?" Mai demanded.

"What are you talking about?" Zuko turned his head to scowl at his phone.

"You're doing that woe-is-me, kicked puppy voice you do," Mai said. "I'm sorry I didn't rush over when you called, but I had been drinking, so it's not like I would've been able to take you anyway."

"So instead of saying that, you blocked me?" Zuko's grip on the phone tightened, and he resisted the urge to hurl it across the room. Surely it shouldn't be this hard being in a relationship. Surely it shouldn't be a battle to get his girlfriend to be sympathetic to him after he almost died and needed emergency surgery. The machine monitoring his heartrate started making an alarmed beeping noise, and Zuko forced himself to take a deep breath.

"You know what?" Mai said quietly. "I'm going to let you go. Clearly you need some rest."

"Mai-"

"See you later, Zuko."

The call dropped. Mai had hung up on him again. Zuko's heartrate dropped to it's normal pace.

Mai didn't call again after that, and Zuko didn't call either. She sent him a few texts during the time that he was at his uncle's house recovering. He sent her very short responses. He was fine. He would be home after his stiches were removed.

A day or two into his stay, another message came through.

Hey Just wanted to see how you were doing This is Katara, by the way. Your neighbor Your uncle gave me your number Hope that's ok

Zuko was fine with it, it turned out. More fine than a man with a girlfriend should be, maybe.

When he finally returned to his apartment, his first call was to let Mai know hie was home. She didn't live far, and she wasn't busy. Fifteen minutes later, she was at his door, looking sullen and bored.

"Glad to see you're okay," she said.

"Yeah." Zuko led her into the apartment and sat at the table. Uncle had left him with cookies, among other assorted reheatable dishes. He offered one to Mai. She declined. Then there was nothing else to stall with.

"Why did you block me?" he asked Mai. There was no heat in his voice, no anger. He genuinely wanted to know. Mai scowled at him.

"Seriously? You're not over that yet?"

"I just want to know why," Zuko pressed.

"You were bugging me," Mai shrugged carelessly. "I was out with friends, and I thought you were just trying to get me to leave early."

"When have I ever done that to you?" Indignation flashed through Zuko, hot and bright. Mai just shrugged again. She sat back in her seat and folded her arms.

"I'm sorry, alright?" she huffed. "Can you just drop it now?" Zuko leaned back and studied Mai. He had been with her for five years. She was his first ever high school girlfriend. Had she always been so dismissive?

"I needed you," he said. That made Mai roll her eyes skyward.

"I promise it won't happen again," she said. Zuko shut his eyes and shook his head.

He had other questions. Lots of them. For one thing it occurred to him that she might be cheating, and the reason she refused to answer or come to him when he called was because she was busy with some other guy. It wouldn't have been the first time. He could ask and give her a chance to lie about it. He could even pretend to believe her. Or she might be telling the truth and he was wrong about her cheating. It didn't matter, he realized suddenly. Her answer didn't matter, so he wouldn't ask.

"It won't happen again," he agreed at last. "Mai... I think we should break up."

Zuko's next call was to Katara. The day after his messy break up with Mai, having cleaned up the remains of his cookies and the plate they were on, Zuko dialed Katara's number.

"Hello?" she said, sounding uncertain.

"Hey...um...Zuko here." Zuko's face flushed hotly when he heard her giggle on the other end.

"I know," she said. "I have your number, remember? How are you doing? Are you back?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm back. I'm feeling a lot better. A little sore, but I can get around."

"I'm glad to hear it." And she sounded genuinely glad. "You didn't have to do all that to meet me, though. You could've just knocked on my door and said hi."

"And waste an opener like puking my guts and almost dying in your car?" Zuko was rewarded with another giggle. She had a nice laugh, he thought. It was so easy to talk to her.

"It was a memorable opener, I'll give you that," she said, laughing again.

"Yeah." Zuko swallowed hard against his suddenly dry mouth. "I was actually calling to thank you. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't been here."

"Don't worry about it," Katara said. "I'm just glad I was able to help."

"Yes, well..." Zuko chided himself for being such a coward, and he forced his next words out. "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me. To thank you! To say thanks for saving my life."

"Zuko, you don't owe me anything," Katara said gently. Zuko's heart fell into his stomach.

"Oh...I just thought I'd offer." He tried to keep his tone even and friendly as he hit his forehead with his other hand. Stupid. This was a stupid, stupid idea. "If you're not interested, I understand."

"I didn't say I wasn't interested," Katara said quietly. "Just that you don't owe me. I-I wouldn't mind having dinner with you. Just...you know, not as an obligation you think you owe me."

"Oh..."

Oh!

"What if it's not an obligation?" Zuko asked. "What if-I'm asking because I think you're kind and pretty and I'd like to get to know you better?"

Katara went silent for what felt like a nerve-wrackingly long time, but was likely just a few short seconds. Then she said the three sweetest words Zuko thought he'd ever heard.

"It's a date."

[arthurhillmastermind]

George Clarke replied to your story - Part 3

2,388 words. Green circle. Red Circle. what’s the difference?

—————————————

You stared at his message for a moment longer, your heart thudding in your chest. Burr & Co, Camden. Tomorrow. 11 a.m.

Keeping it simple, you typed out your reply:

“Okay :) I’ll see you there.”

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, then placed your phone face down on the bed like it might explode.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

“see you then”

You opened and liked his message unsure of what you could reply to that.

Okay,” you muttered to yourself, exhaling deeply. “This is happening. You’re meeting George Clarke tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until a moment later that the weight of it fully hit you. You weren’t just running into him at an event or commenting on a video; you were actually meeting him—on purpose. And, judging by the way this conversation had gone, not in a “fan meets creator” way.

Flipping your phone back over, you sent another voice note to the group chat, the panic creeping into your voice.

“Girls, I replied with a simple ‘Okay, see you there,’ but what the actual hell? Like, I’m really meeting George Clarke tomorrow. What if it’s weird? What do I even say?!”

The chat immediately lit up:

“Step one: breathe. You’re gonna be fine.”

“He clearly wants to meet you, so just let it flow!”

“We’re manifesting good vibes for you. Casual slay, remember?”

One of your friends chimed in with a voice note: “Honestly, just treat it like any other meetup. He’s a person, just like you. Worst-case scenario, it’s a funny story. Best case? Who knows!”

You sighed, shaking your head. They were right—there was no point overthinking it. You’d figure it out tomorrow. For now, all you needed to do was find something to wear, get a decent night’s sleep, and try not to spiral. Easier said than done right?

After sending your reply to George, you decided it was time to pull yourself together. The nerves bubbling in your stomach weren’t going to go away by pacing around your room. You grabbed a towel and headed toward the bathroom.

The warm water of the shower helped clear your head, washing away some of the anxiety as you let yourself think through tomorrow. It wasn’t a big deal—you were just meeting someone for coffee. Someone famous. Someone who… okay, focus.

Once you were out of the shower, you stood in front of your wardrobe, towel wrapped around you, trying to decide on an outfit. You wanted something simple, casual, but still put-together. After flipping through a few options, you settled on a classic look: a well-fitted white t-shirt, black high-waisted jeans, and your white trainers. It was easy, comfortable, and left room for you to dress it up with makeup and curls tomorrow.

Satisfied, you laid everything out neatly, feeling a little more prepared.

To relax, you grabbed a book off your nightstand, curled up on your bed, and let yourself sink into the story. It was a welcome distraction, the kind of quiet moment you needed to calm your thoughts before the big day.

The next morning, you woke up early, surprisingly refreshed. After making yourself a quick breakfast of toast, you hopped back in the shower to wake up fully and try to relax. This time, the nerves were back, but you kept reminding yourself to stay calm. Once out of the shower, you decided to curl your hair gently, adding just enough bounce to frame your face. Next came makeup—simple and natural, with a little extra mascara and a touch of blush to brighten your look. Finally, you slipped into your outfit: the white t-shirt and black jeans fit perfectly, striking that balance between effortlessness and style.

You checked your reflection in the mirror one last time, smoothing the hem of your shirt and running your fingers through your curls. Then you grabbed your phone to check the time: 10:30 a.m.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself. “Let’s do this.”

You slipped your phone into your bag, double-checked you had everything you needed, and headed out the door. The familiar hum of the city greeted you as you made your way to the tube. The journey to Camden felt surreal, the nerves growing stronger with each passing station.

But as the train pulled closer to your stop, you took a deep breath and reminded yourself—this wasn’t a big deal. As you stepped off the tube and made your way toward Burr & Co, your nerves started to creep back in. The streets of Camden were busy as always, and you let yourself get lost in the rhythm of the city for a moment, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

Before reaching the café, you opened the group chat and typed a quick message:

“Heading in now. Do not call me—I’m muting you guys.”

The replies started flooding in almost instantly:

“GOOD LUCK BESTIE.”

“You’ve got this!”

“Don’t forget to update us after!”

You rolled your eyes fondly before silencing the chat and slipping your phone back into your bag.

Not even a minute later, your phone buzzed with a new notification. You pulled it out to see a message from George:

“Hey, I’m about to order. What you having?”

Your heart skipped a beat. He was already there. Of course, he was—it was George Clarke, and you’d half-expected him to be casually late or something.

Quickly, you typed back:

“A flat white, please. Thanks :)”

You picked up your pace, your sneakers scuffing lightly on the pavement as you turned the corner. The café came into view, cozy and bustling with life. Through the window, you spotted George almost immediately. He was sitting at a table near the window, his phone in one hand as he leaned back in his chair. His signature hair was curled a little more than you realised, and he looked… well, exactly like himself, which was somehow more intimidating than you’d expected.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. You walked over to George’s table, your heart thudding in your chest as you pulled out the chair across from him.

“Hello, George,” you said with a small smile, settling into your seat.

He looked up from his phone, meeting your gaze with a sheepish grin. “Hi,” he said, and then, almost immediately, added, “I really can’t lie—I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

His tone was unexpectedly deflated, and you tilted your head, confused. “What? Why not?” you asked, giggling slightly to break the tension.

George scratched the back of his neck, looking a little awkward. “I mean… I didn’t think you’d even reply to my message, never mind agree to, uh… a date.”

A date? What?

Your mind reeled, but you kept your face as neutral as possible. Was this a date? When had this turned into a date?

“Uh,” you started, stumbling over your words, “I mean, yeah, I was kind of surprised myself…”

You trailed off, unsure of what else to say. George seemed to notice your hesitation because he leaned forward slightly, a glimmer of nervousness in his eyes.

“But,” you continued, your voice steadying, “you’re… exactly my type.”

Where that came from, you weren’t sure, but it seemed to hit the right note. George’s expression shifted into something between surprise and a small, bashful smile.

“Really?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his grin growing. “I mean, I’m flattered. I kind of thought that you would think i was just, you know, messing with you.”

“Well, you’re here now,” you said, shrugging lightly. “And I guess I am too, so…”

“Guess we’ll see where this goes,” he finished, his voice lighter now, the awkwardness melting away.

The barista called out your drinks, giving you the perfect excuse to pull back and catch your breath. This was already more intense than you’d planned—but a part of you couldn’t help but enjoy the way the morning was shaping up.

You returned to the table, carefully placing George’s latte in front of him before taking your seat again.

“Thank you for this,” you said with a smile, gesturing to your flat white.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his own grin easy and genuine. “So, how long have you lived here?”

“I moved to London after uni,” you began, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. “Finished my degree, got a job, and now I work in a corporate office. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how to describe my job half the time.” You laughed, the sound breaking the slight tension.

George chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “Sounds mysterious. Do you enjoy it, though?”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” you said, nodding slightly. “It pays pretty well compared to my friends who work in similar positions, so I can’t complain, really.”

“Ah, the golden trade-off: money versus passion,” he teased, taking a sip of his latte. “Would you trade it for something you love, or are you one of those secretly passionate-about-spreadsheets people?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Definitely not passionate about spreadsheets. But, honestly? I think I’m okay with where I am right now. It’s stable, you know? Gives me the chance to focus on other things outside work.”

George leaned back, studying you for a moment with a small smile. “Fair enough. Stability’s underrated, I think.”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink. The conversation felt natural, easy, and you started to relax a little. Whatever this was turning into, it wasn’t as nerve-wracking as you’d feared.

“I’m saving up to pay two years’ worth of rent for the place I’m currently in,” you told him, setting your cup down. “That way, I’ll have some breathing room to look into other options. And I’ve started writing a little bit more, too.”

George’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “You’re a writer?”

You nodded. “Kind of. I tried it at uni and really enjoyed it, but my degree was more business-based, so I never really got the chance to explore it properly.”

“That’s cool,” he said, leaning back slightly and running a hand through his hair. “What do you write?”

“Mostly just little personal things for now. Nothing serious. It’s more of a creative outlet than anything,” you admitted with a small laugh.

“That’s still really cool,” he replied, his expression warm. “It’s good to have something like that outside of work.”

You smiled, but quickly redirected the conversation, feeling like you’d been talking about yourself too much. “Sorry, I’m rambling about me again. What about you? Got anything exciting happening at the minute?”

George shrugged, his lips curving into a half-smile. “Not much, really. Same old stuff—filming, editing, trying to stay on top of things. I’m working on a couple of new video ideas, though, which I’m pretty excited about.”

“Any spoilers?” you teased, tilting your head.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try. But no, you’ll just have to wait and see like everyone else.”

“Fair enough,” you replied, sipping your coffee. “Guess I’ll have to keep an eye on your channel then.”

“Guess you will,” he said, his grin widening. There was something playful in his tone, but the way he looked at you felt a little more sincere.

The conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from favorite video games to football teams and even dream trips abroad. You found yourself laughing more than you expected, surprised by how much you had in common with George. Despite the initial nerves, it felt like talking to an old friend.

George leaned back in his chair, finishing the last sip of his latte. “You know,” he said, glancing out the café window, “it’s such a nice day. Want to take a walk instead of sitting here?”

You blinked, caught slightly off guard by the suggestion but not opposed to it. “Yeah, sure,” you said with a smile. “Why not?”

“Perfect,” he replied, standing up and grabbing his beanie off the table. He held the door open for you as you both stepped out onto the busy streets of Camden, the city buzzing with life around you.

The crisp air was refreshing, and as you walked alongside him, the conversation picked back up effortlessly. The café had been a nice starting point, but walking together felt more relaxed, like you were slipping into a rhythm that just worked. Walking side by side through the lively streets of Camden, the conversation ebbed and flowed naturally. There was an ease to it that felt almost surreal, but one question kept circling in your mind.

You couldn’t help but wonder: Why had he even viewed your story in the first place?

Feeling a rare surge of boldness, you decided to ask.

“George, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he replied, his lips curling into a smile as he glanced at you. “What’s up?”

You hesitated for a second, then just went for it. “How come you viewed my story?”

He let out a small laugh, looking slightly caught off guard. “Erm, well…” He ran a hand through his hair, the faintest hint of pink coloring his cheeks. “I’d seen your profile a few times, and then I noticed I was on your close friends list. I was with Chris and Arthur at the time, so I asked if they were on your close friends too.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And were they?”

He grinned. “Nope. Just me.”

“Interesting,” you said, trying to suppress a smile.

“And then,” he continued, his tone a bit lighter now, “I watched your story… and, well, I had to reply.”

You laughed softly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “You really couldn’t resist, huh?”

“Not when it said, ‘this one’s for you.’” He smirked, glancing at you sideways. “I mean, what was I supposed to think?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide your amusement. “I didn’t even realise you were still on my close friends. It wasn’t actually for you, you know.”

“Sure, sure,” he teased, his grin widening. “But it worked out, didn’t it?”

You shook your head, laughing as you walked on. Despite his cheeky tone, you couldn’t deny he was right. It had worked out.

——————————————————————————

a/n - i’m loving writing this i can’t lie! i could end it here but…. there is a part 4.

tagged: @authortelevision @pretendyoucantseeme

@lovelynikol7

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ one victory after a loss ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by @lokotrona11 ˚₊ ⊹

ft. peter pevensie x gn! reader — prince caspian, the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ you return to aslan’s how after peter assumed that you died during the telmarine castle night raid┊1.7k words (prt one)

setting: the telmarine age (prince caspian) contains: hurt/comfort!! established relationship, mentions of death & battle, grieving, peter cries, mentions of anxiety from being king, cuddling

➤ author's note: peter pevensie uee eu ee ueue uuehh ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ he currently controls my heartbeat eueh uueee uueuuue (థ ﹏ థ)

prehaps it’s a good thing that animals don’t talk anymore since convincing a telmarine horse to switch alliances and help you escape would have taken longer than the actual escape process. the thundering galloping sounds alerted some guards, but you quickly lost them in the thick woods by trusting your steed to guide you around the thicket as it was pitch black and all you could do was steer it in the direction of the camp. even if you were only locked up for six hours and put all of your focus on breaking out, the fresh air was invigorating compared to the musty dungeons and you couldn’t help but close your eyes to enjoy the ride as you arrived at your destination.

peter had long retreated into your shared tent away from the others with dull, weary, and bloodshot eyes from silently shedding tears for most of the night. he felt completely numb aside from the slow streams of saltwater dripping down his face and a stinging sensation every time he tried to blink them away, not even an ice-cold shower was enough to shake him from his thoughts. his siblings have tried to console him that you would come back to them and that he just needed to give you time, but the sun was starting to rise on the horizon and he could only fear for the worst. it would take a miracle for anyone to make it out alive when getting swarmed by enemies, even a skilled swordsman like yourself wouldn’t be able to survive when miraz said that nobody would be spared— not even his own men who unintentionally got in the way.

he couldn’t help but dream of some sort of way to rewrite the sequence of events that unfolded over the past twelve hours, knowing that there was no such magic that could turn back time so simply and that he had to deal with the fact that his plan didn’t play out half as well as he thought it would have. his mind was playing different scenarios of something he could have done to save you, anything that could have been done that would end with you being with him right now and to prevent the suffering of the narnians who also lost someone dear to them.

it was beginning to settle in that the last moment he spent with you was a kiss on the cheek and a comment to be careful, never considering that it would have been possible for one of you to die when invading the castle. he wished that he could at least have told you that he loved you, but instead, you were left to die alone at the hands of the telmarines without anyone to save you. once again, he found himself losing all hope and spiraling back to the mindset that it was all his fault, that he could no longer rule like he used to after abandoning his kingdom a thousand years ago (even if it was an accident). he wasn’t fit to be your lover, much less fit to lead the remaining few—

“they’re back! they’re back! they’re alive, peter!” his head snapped up at the cheerful voice of lucy that interrupted the haze of his grieving, shocked at the unbelievable sight of his youngest sister dragging his lover whom he previously assumed to be dead into his tent. she was always a light sleeper, bolting out of her slumber as soon as she heard the guards allowing you into the camp after confirming that you weren’t an enemy with your unfamiliar stallion. “i’ll give you guys some time alone,” she declared, allowing you to thank her and exiting as you approached your king.

he was such a wreck, a broken man who looked up at you from the edge of the bed as if he wasn’t sure if you were really there or just a hallucination his grief-stricken mind conjured up. you somewhat hoped for him to have more faith in you, but you knew that just the notion of you being gone would have him sick with worry. edmund already told you all about how they spent a year in a world you didn’t know of and how peter’s biggest regret was confessing his affection too late. it must have been such a roller coaster of emotions for him: beginning to court you, unintentionally leaving you behind, coming back excited to see you, believing that you had died thousands of years ago, finding you frozen in time like he never left, thinking you died in battle, and now finding out that you were alive… most of it happened within the span of a week, and he probably wasn’t sure how much of it he could take.

you approached him slowly like he was a wounded animal, reaching out to gently hold his face in your hands and wiping away the new tears resembling crystals forming with the pad of your thumbs. “oh, my dearest king… dry your eyes, you know there’s nothing i hate more than seeing you cry…”

hearing your voice made him crack, wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you onto his lap to bury his face in your shoulder even though you were still clothed in metal. “thank aslan, you’re safe… i’m not sure what i would have done if you weren’t…” he didn’t care for the discomfort when your mere presence was a luxury for him, and neither did you when he was actively trembling in your arms. he always had a bad habit of repressing his feelings into a bottle until the cork popped off, refusing to show any weakness to his people and just breaking down in private while only showing this side to your or rarely his siblings. these spells have been steadily getting worse as of late, causing him to collapse under the pressure. seeing him like this almost made you selfishly wish that he never returned even if the remnants of narnia became ravaged by the telmarines and you never awoken from your eternal slumber, only if it meant for him to live out his youth carefree without the weight of the crown on his brow.

you parted with him momentarily to remove your armor once he seemed to calm down from the high of emotions, joking that he shouldn’t stare at you so intently while you were changing to ease the mood (even though he didn’t look away from you for even a second, you didn’t mind in the least since it’s not like it was anything he hadn’t seen already. it was almost as if he wanted to keep an eye on you in fear that you would disappear from his sight). it’s been a long night for both of you after all that’s transpired and it was high time you both got some sleep, even if it was for only an hour or two before his presence might be expected by the others. “come on now, you need to get some rest, and i desperately need a shower— i can’t believe you hugged me like that when i reek so badly.”

he finally managed to let a meek smile grace his handsome features, alleviating any remaining anxieties you might have had about him and left to take a quick bath in a nearby stream. there was barely anyone out there aside from a few stragglers getting water for morning routines, greeting you out of courtesy before leaving to give you some privacy. the stream poured over your body soothed your sore muscles and healed the minor cuts littering your skin, relaxing all tension and allowing you to think more clearly even though you were so exhausted you could pass out on the spot. truly, this was a magical land with magical properties flowing throughout every breeze of wind and drop of water.

lucy had told you earlier that while peter was stressing out over your disappearance, everyone else had full confidence that you would be perfectly alright with your set of skills. it’s not that he had no faith in you, he trusts in most who fight along his side and recognize all of their talents whether physical or intellectual, but he can’t help but feel apprehensive regarding you or his siblings. there might not be anything that could ever mitigate his uneasy attitude when it’s been melded into him from an early age, but it’s almost comforting to know that your partner is a good man who cares for his loved ones so much.

once you quickly dried off, changed, and then went back to the tent, you found the blonde still awake waiting for you, “i thought I told you to get some sleep.”

“i was waiting for you.” there was a little playfulness in his voice, like a child who was caught doing something they shouldn’t have knowing that there would be no punishment.

all you could do was sigh affectionately at peter pevensie being peter pevensie again and climb into the bed with him, pushing him down on his back and laying on your side to pull him closer to your chest, ruffling through his blonde locks and kissing his puffy eyes. “close your eyes and sleep, i’ll still be here when you open them again.”

it wasn’t often that he let himself be coddled by you, but he permitted it this time. enveloped in your warmth with the steady thumping of your heart brought him peace, knowing that you were alive, well, and reunited by side. the drowsiness hit him all at once, slipping away to a dreamless sleep in your arms after whispering a quick word of his love for you— a word of love that he was grateful to tell you once more and hoped for millions more to come.

(at some point, edmund came to check up on his brother and found the two of you sleeping soundly, not having the heart to wake either of you up and just letting you guys stay like that well into the morning. his sisters were very pleased to hear that and had a little giggle about the high king’s soft spot for you when you alone could comfort him when no one else could. the other narnians also had their spirits lifted upon seeing their leaders smile again. it was a new day under aslan’s watchful eyes.)

[youremyonepiece]

anxious mornings

sanji x gn!reader (no pronouns used), sanji's pov

anxiety has a tendency to spread, as sanji discovers unexpectedly early one morning.

warnings: mentions and descriptions of anxiety and related symptoms; unhealthy eating habits; small implied mention of disordered eating; slight angst, comfort, light fluff (please lmk if there are any i should add!)

word count: 3k

sanji runs a hand through his damp hair as he steps out of the washroom, unsuccessful in warding off a large yawn. though the early waking hour is by no means unusual for him, he is but human, he thinks to himself with a slight chuckle; some mornings are just going to be easier than others.

shaking his head slightly as though attempting to scatter his thoughts around him like the water droplets that fly from his hair, sanji starts to make his way towards the kitchen. he needs to start prepping for the many meals of the day if he hopes to stand a chance at keeping up with luffy's incessant hunger. his fingers itch for a cigarette, anything to help stave off the remaining sleepiness in his system, but he resists the urge. while he knows he has little to no hopes of quitting, nor does he really want to, smoking this early in the morning feels like crossing a line-- not before breakfast.

it's as he's walking across the planks of the deck in the 4 AM darkness that he hears a sound he would recognize anywhere: the sound of a stomach growling.

sanji's eyebrows furrow as his thoughts about the day's menu are entirely forgotten. his head snaps towards the cluster of barrels from where the sound came-- a stowaway? he wonders briefly, but they've been out at sea for days now. there's no way someone could have gone unnoticed for that long. the growl is followed by a vaguely familiar soft sigh, causing sanji’s brows to furrow further.

he's at the barrels in a few long strides and can't stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards when he peers over their tops to find-- you. you're sitting on the deck with your back leaning against the barrel in front of him, eyes unfocused as they gaze across the distant horizon.

your name escapes his lips in confusion before he has completely processed your presence. you jolt slightly in surprise, clearly not expecting to have any company, before tilting your head upwards to peer at him.

"sanji?" you ask in your voice that he never fails to swoon at. a pause, and then, "is it that time already?"

sanji can't help but smile at your question. you truly are so sweet, so adorable-- he relishes the sight of your wide eyes, your slightly parted plush lips, your mussed hair. you're still in your pajamas, which isn't unusual in and of itself (you tended to get ready for the day after eating breakfast with the rest of the crew) but something about seeing you like this, alone in the early hour, feels more intimate than the two of you had been before. which, granted, was not at all, but that's only all the more reason he feels grateful to be here with you now.

he makes his way around the barrels languidly before leaning against the merry's railing, facing you with a warm expression. "indeed it is, sweetness. good morning."

he watches as a small smile forms on your lips. “good morning," you say, and sanji struggles to keep his thoughts from spiraling into bliss.

“you’re up early,” he comments casually with a friendly smirk, though a concerned quirk of his eyebrow gives him away. “to what do i owe the fine pleasure of your enchanting presence, my dear?”

the corners of your mouth turn upwards at his question, but he notices the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "just couldn't sleep, i guess," you respond with a shrug, breaking eye contact to stare back out at the dim horizon.

it’s clear you aren't being completely honest, but sanji doesn’t want to push you to share if you don't want to. after all, it isn't like you guys are particularly close or anything. actually, he isn't sure if you could be considered "close" to anyone in the crew, with the exception of maybe luffy.

it isn’t that you didn’t trust them, not exactly-- despite the brevity of your time with the straw hats thus far, you’ve been through enough harrowing experiences together to know that you’ve got each other’s backs. but trusting someone with your life is one thing, especially when it’s already been proven in battle, and trusting them with your feelings is entirely another. it just hasn't been long enough yet; you’re still getting to know them.

at least, that's what he hopes it is, anyway. with the way his eyes seem to cling to you like flies to fruit, he isn't sure what he'll do if the truth is actually that you disliked him.

"anything i can help with?" he offers, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. he wants to help, but he also doesn't want to impose if you don't want him around.

to his relief, you meet his eyes again and smile. "that's kind of you, but no." you don’t say anything for a moment, holding his gaze with unreadable eyes and suddenly sanji feels as though he is gazing upon anubis instead, his heart being weighed on your scale to determine his worth. after a couple of seconds that span eternity, you say, “honestly, i’m just feeling a bit... not great.”

“not great?”

you break eye contact with him to look down at your stomach, silent for a moment again. “just anxious,” you finally sigh, your hands moving to rest at a spot right below your rib cage. “i feel it right here. it feels like... like pressure is building up, but if i press down on it then it's like i can get it to release," you demonstrate, causing a growl to emanate from your torso as though you had simply pushed air out of a bag. you exhale with slight relief again, hands still firm against yourself, before looking back up at him with an abashed smile. "i think my anxiety gave me gas," you half-joke.

sanji forces himself to ignore his ecstasy-- you’re opening up to him! he had just been thinking about it, too! you trust him!-- and to focus on your words instead. it gets easier as you continue, his frown deepening at the sound of your stomach growling again as he remembers what drew him to you a few minutes earlier.

he pulls out a cigarette with the slightest tremble in his hands-- breakfast be damned. you had just unwittingly reminded him of the fact that he’s only human for the second time this day already; some things are harder to deal with than others.

he takes a long inhale of his cigarette, letting the smoke permeate through his system and dull his nerves before slowly exhaling it in a thin wisp. "sweetness," he starts when he finally feels grounded again, eyes full of concern as they meet yours, "i don't think that's anxiety."

you seemingly can't stop yourself from releasing a short, incredulous laugh, lips curved in a smile but eyebrows furrowed and eyes guarded. "what?"

"at least, i don't think that it’s only anxiety." he holds your gaze steadily despite your spike of wariness. when he speaks again, his voice is sincere. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to say you didn't know what you were feeling. it's just--" he pulls away from the railing to crouch in front of you, faces now at the same level. the cigarette between his fingers creates a soft haze in the air between you. "when was the last time you ate?"

sanji feels the guilt spread through him again and attempts to fight it off by taking another long drag of his cigarette. he turns away from you to puff out the smoke, lost in thought.

now that he's thinking about it, you didn't show up to dinner yesterday. or lunch. your absence hadn't been odd; in the not-quite-two weeks you had been aboard, you had eaten with the rest of the crew a whopping total of four times. instead, sanji had noticed you opted to grab your dish and eat in the open air of the deck, taking shelter under nami’s tangerine trees if the weather wasn't accommodating. but he can't even remember you stopping by to make a plate for yourself yesterday. and thanks to luffy, he hadn't noticed any discrepancies in leftover food (that is to say, there was none as usual).

you had been there at breakfast, but he can't recall you grabbing anything except a mug of coffee. how could he have failed to notice? when was the last time he had seen you eat in front of him? it's been maybe two days since, he thinks, hating that he isn't certain. this had happened under his watch. and that too, with you. the person he’s trying to get closer to, to befriend and become a trusted confidant of at the very least, and at the very best... well, he finds you very attractive. but he would never cross that line unless he was wholly certain you wanted to, too.

you're silent as well, seemingly thinking back to find the answer to his question. he watches color creep up your cheeks as something dawns on you, realization and embarrassment fighting for dominance over your features. "i ate last night. at like, ten," you finally respond in a meek voice, looking everywhere but his face.

he can’t stop himself from glancing towards the kitchen. “what'd you eat?” he wonders.

you remain quiet for a moment before sighing again. "you're right. i'm hungry. i... i hadn't realized."

he narrows his eyes at you without malice, seeing through your attempts to escape answering him. “what did you eat?" he asks again, his voice’s volume softening to match yours.

you wring your hands, still refusing to look his way. "a couple of almonds," you say eventually, sounding chastised.

"and?" he prompts.

you don't respond.

"okay," sanji says, feeling his hands tremble again as he takes in your words. "okay," he repeats, "what about before that?"

"um, i think right after you cleaned up for lunch? i stole a slice of cheese, the one with the peppers in it." he can see you’re struggling to keep your expression neutral, but he isn't sure which emotions you’re fighting off.

he does know which ones he’s struggling with, though. sanji feels his stomach turn with guilt and trauma at your words. "and before that?" he asks, his voice low.

"coffee, at breakfast." your hands still but they and your eyes remain on your lap.

he exhales your name softly.

"it had milk and sugar in it," you say defensively at his meager response, voice somehow even softer.

sanji lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle before taking your hands in his. he doesn't say anything, waiting, until finally you look up to meet his eyes. "why?" he asks when you do.

you look confused. "what do you mean?"

he raises one of his hands to tentatively cup your cheek, eyes full of tenderness and concern. "are you... unhappy with the way you look?" he asks carefully, trying not to word it in a way that could be misconstrued. when your eyebrows furrow deeper, he hurries to add, "because you’re-"

"no," you cut him off before he can undoubtedly shower you in praise, "no, it's not that." and then you add, cheeks flushing, "um. thank you, though."

sanji offers you a brief smile, his hand falling from your cheek and rejoining the other with yours, before frowning again. "is it my cooking, then? sweetness, if there's ever anything you don't like-"

"no, not at all," you cut him off again, this time with more certainty as you shake your head. "i love your cooking."

“then?" he prompts lightly when you don't say anything else.

one of your feet begins to flicker back and forth like a light switch against the deck, giving away your restlessness. you’re back to looking everywhere but at sanji, at his eyes. "i'm just... not hungry."

as if on cue, your stomach lets out another low growl, causing your blush to deepen in embarrassment. sanji wants to smirk at you, poke fun at how cute you look flustered like this, but the noise reignites his guilt. reminds him how you’d gotten to this state without him even noticing.

"your stomach says differently," he simply states. sanji pulls his hands away from yours before standing up and offering one back to you. you don't hesitate to take it, and he effortlessly helps you rise to your feet. "c'mon. let's get some food in you."

your wince at his words doesn't go unnoticed by him. he gives your hand, still in his as you both make your way towards the kitchen, a short squeeze before murmuring softly, "wanna tell me about it? you don't have to if you don't want to."

to be honest, he's surprised you've been so receptive to him thus far. he doesn't want to push his luck, your grace, because if he did-- if he made you feel uncomfortable, if you began to avoid him because of it-- well, it would feel crushing, that’s for sure.

the nervousness in sanji’s chest continues to blossom as you say nothing for a few steps. however, it’s swiftly replaced with concern when you do respond, your voice heavy with exhaustion. "like i mentioned before, it's because of my anxiety." you sigh once again, weighed down by your words. "sometimes it just gets... bad. i don't know why. i'm not even really sure if there is a reason, to be honest. it just happens every now and then."

the two of you have reached the kitchen by now. he silently holds the door open for you before leading you to a barstool at the kitchen island and walking around it to the sink to wash his hands. he holds his cigarette between his lips as he begins to gather ingredients from various shelves and cabinets and places them on the island between you.

“the anxiety makes me feel... full, i guess?” you continue. “i don't feel hungry, and i definitely don't feel like eating. and i feel so nauseated because of it, too. thinking about eating makes it worse. so does seeing or smelling food." you sigh. "i know i have to eat. i guess... i just didn't notice that i hadn't really eaten recently.”

sanji turns away from you, taking a final drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out and tossing it away. “you didn’t notice?”

“...i guess i didn't want to notice." you sigh for what seems to be the millionth time and sanji feels his heart twist. “noticing means admitting something’s not... okay.”

sanji hums once you trail off, signaling to you that he heard you and understood.

you start up again after a few moments of silence, restlessness shining through once more. “it’s not really that big of a deal, though. you don’t have to worry-- don’t worry about it. it’ll pass. it always does, eventually.”

sanji doesn’t respond, instead staring at the amalgamation of ingredients he had gathered specifically for you. his eyebrows draw together as he mentally rifles through countless recipes, determined to find the right one for you at this moment. something light, since you hadn't eaten properly in a little bit. no strong scents, either, except maybe ginger since that’s good with nausea. a variety of flavors and textures, to keep it fun. it’s early, so breakfast foods-- that means the bananas, yogurt--

"are you mad at me?” you ask timidly.

he freezes, mouth slightly parting in surprise before standing straight, his attention now entirely on you. "of course not, sweetness.”

"you seem upset.”

sanji takes a beat to process your words. he thought he'd been hiding his reaction well, but apparently not. "i suppose... i’m upset at myself,” he finally admits to you.

you frown. “why?”

he offers you a consoling smile, “you haven't been eating well and i hadn't noticed." he realizes you’ve reminded him for the third time that day that he’s only human-- as much as he wants to keep it to himself, to not burden you with his thoughts, he knows he stands no chance at resisting you. who could?

“but i didn't even notice," you insist.

he feels his adoration of you helplessly grow at your rebuttal. “true, but it isn’t your job to make sure all of our crewmates are well fed and healthy. it is mine."

“fine, but we're pirates,” you shoot back almost immediately. “we should all be taking care of ourselves-- i should be taking care of myself."

he chuckles at your fervency, the warm sound filling the room. “i get the feeling you’re not going to let me win this one."

"i didn't realize there was anything to win,” you grumble, making sanji laugh harder. when he glances over at you, he sees you're smiling, causing his own to widen.

sanji works in a comfortable silence for a few moments, his smile remaining on his face as he feels your eyes on him. he takes a step back when he’s done, admiring his handiwork before proudly presenting you with a small bowl and steaming mug. “made especially for you: peanut butter yogurt topped with diced bananas and granola, served with a cup of ginger herbal tea.”

simple, but he knows that’s always best when feeling nauseous. the cold yogurt should help settle your stomach, and the peanut butter provides extra protein which he had heard could help with nausea, similar to the ginger and bananas. and the granola ties it all together with its crunch.

you give him a genuine smile as your eyes glaze over the meal he had prepared before looking back up at him. “thanks, sanji.” you pause for a moment before adding, “are you okay?”

“what?” he asks, taken aback, then chuckles slightly. “aren’t i supposed to be asking you that?”

only you, he thinks to himself affectionately. only you would share something you’d been struggling with and then ask him if he was feeling okay. ever thoughtful, ever sweet.

his question seems to embarrass you and sanji can’t help the warmth that spreads in his chest as your ears turn red. “maybe not... one hundred percent, but better.” you meet his eyes again, your smile returning. “definitely better.”

his own smile grows uncontrollably wide as he leans over the island to place his hand on yours. “then, sweetness, i’m okay, too.”

[skzdarlings]

part iii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (word count; 4800)

warning for this chapter: more explicit violence, physical abuse directed at felix.

-

When his dark roots start to show, Felix attempts to bleach his own hair.  You ask why the aesthetic choice is so important. 

“I just don’t like the dark,” he says with a toothy, too-casual smile. 

You watch from the open bathroom door as he accidentally turns himself into a red-head.   He fingers a vibrant red-orange strand, cocks his head, shrugs, and smiles. 

His hair is a shifting mess of yellow-orange-red over the next two years.  The nightmares start halfway through.

The first one frightens you awake as Felix shoots upright in a sweaty panic.  A startled shriek claws up your throat and comes out raspy, your sleepy eyes darting around in the dark for an intruder only to realize the room is empty. 

Felix slumps against the headboard, wiping his forehead.  The fiery strands of his bangs are sticking to his face and his hands are shaking so uncharacteristically.  Felix only occasionally loses his cool and even then, his retorts are curt and sarcastic rather than emotional.   It is the first time you have ever see him like this, so small and so very human, and all you can do is stare until he gets his breathing under control. 

“Are you okay?” you ask each other at the same time. 

“Me?” you croak.  “You were the one who just—” 

“It was just a dream,” he says, in that clipped tone when his patience runs out.  His breathing is still a little shaky.  He goes to the bathroom then makes his rounds to check the security system, even though it is close to four in the morning.  Your own adrenaline is still dwindling so you are awake when he gets back in bed. 

You don’t know how to comfort someone.  No one has ever comforted you in a substantial way.  Even if they tried, you would probably rebuff it in confusion.   You are certain Felix will do the same thing.  He does not like focussing on himself. 

But he is radiating so much stress and tension that you can feel it burning off him like a heat wave.  He lays stiffly on his back and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep.   You know if you say anything about it, he will ignore you. 

You look at him thoughtfully, then you say in the smallest voice you can, “Felix, I’m scared.” 

His eyes pop open, his brow immediately furrowed in concern.  He looks at you and offers a hand. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, like nothing was amiss with him.   

“Bad dreams too,” you say.  Your nightmares have never caused you to wake so violently, but you do occasionally have them.  You are in the habit of burrowing deep in your blankets and staring at Felix until you fall asleep, calmed by his presence. 

Somehow, some way, you have found comfort in that silent company. 

“Can you hold me, please?” you say. 

You say it because his hand is clammy and cold in yours, despite all the heat of his anxiety.  You say it because his forehead is still damp and his breathing is a little laboured.   You say it because if you offer a hug, he will say he doesn’t need it, but he does. 

Maybe he falls for it, knowing you have a good reason to have nightmares too.  Maybe he sees through your ruse and doesn’t care right now.  But he nods and tugs you closer. 

A year of sharing a bed, not to mention every minute of the day, has made you a little thoughtless in regards to easy proximity, but this embrace is much more deliberate.  You feel very aware of the way he fits around you. His arm loops around your shoulders and you hug his waist, your head fitting perfectly in the crook under his chin. 

You realize you have never hugged anyone like this.  You initiated contact for his sake, but the cradle of his arms and the warmth of his body relaxes your own tension.  It feels like a great exhale, both of you releasing a breath you had been holding for a long time. 

A part of you wants to shove him away.  You think it would be very easy to find his embrace addicting and that is a weakness you cannot afford to have.   You know this, he must know this, but you’re tired, so you fall asleep wrapped around him. 

The next time he wakes with a nightmare, you don’t have to say anything.   He pulls you close and you fall asleep with your head on his chest.  By now you are used to him – behind you in class, beside you in the car, across the kitchen counter, standing at the bathroom sink, laying on the other side of your shared bed – so you let yourself drift, caught in the undertow of his comfortable presence, and you fall asleep like that.   

Again and again. 

His nightmares get worse before they get better.  For a few months, Felix wakes every other night with a startled burst.  He never talks about it.  Sometimes he grounds himself and plasters on a bad smile, but it never fools you.  

He always checks the security system after.  One night he doesn’t return and you imagine the worst, plagued by fears that will seem nonsensical in daylight but pose a very real threat in the darkness.  You turn on every light as you stumble down the corridor, a blanket around your shoulders, too frightened to shout his name as you shuffle along.   

You find him in the gym.  Felix is as strict with his daily regimen as every other protocol, from diet to exercise and back, so the sight of him sweating buckets in the house gym is not unusual.   But it being three in the morning, coupled with the nightmares and your anxiety, makes you erupt with feelings you cannot articulate.

You are relieved he is here.  You hate that you are relieved.  You hate that you were afraid at all.  You hate that you wanted him beside you when you should be relieved in his absence.  When did it all get so backwards?  He still reports to your father.  You should still hate his presence.  You shouldn’t be here, shaking, furious that he abandoned you. 

You throw the blanket on the floor and the motion catches his eye.  He turns, pushing his sweaty red hair off his forehead.  His face contorts in funny ways before he forces himself to smile. 

“Come back to bed,” you say before he can voice a stupid platitude.  “Now.” 

His smile disappears.  He stands there for a moment, breathing hard, just looking at you.  Then he nods. 

He showers and gets back in bed.  You are wide awake, but you stubbornly lay with your back to him.  You say and do nothing when he slides up behind you, crossing the vast space of that big bed to curl himself around you. 

“You’re safe in the house,” he says.  “You don’t have to worry.” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” you say before you can stop yourself. 

He is silent for a long moment.  He shifts behind you then exhales, his warm breath fluttering over your neck. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he says.  That’s not your job, is the unspoken addition your brain supplies.  Because Felix shouldn’t care about you either.  This is just a job.  You have no real obligation to each other.   

His arm is around your waist.  He breathes out again. 

“The nightmares,” he finally says.  “It’s not… I think it’s just… Before this, everyday, there was a lot going in my life, yeah?  And not… not good things.  But now things are… calm… compared to that so I think it’s just… catching up to me.  Um.  I was going too fast before but now I’m… I’m just here.” 

You know he won’t tell you what those nightmares entail.  If you ask me, I’ll tell you, I will never lie to you, he once said. 

You are too afraid to ask.  It is scary enough, laying in his arms, at once adrift and secure.  Scarier still to turn around and hide your face in his neck.   You do anyway. 

He strokes your back, a feather-soft touch, up and down.   It becomes a familiar pattern, absent-minded.  One night he touches you with that lazy caress while talking about nothing particular.  Neither of you can sleep, but his low voice and gentle touch lulls you into a hazy in-between world.     

You grab his hand and put it up the back of your shirt, not really thinking.  You do not mean to be suggestive and realize too late it could be misconstrued.  You are too embarrassed to apologize, laying there with a warm face pressed against his chest, his hand on your back.  He stops talking and his hand freezes, fingers splayed on your bare spine. 

You have never spoken aloud about how this kind of hugging is too intimate, even if it is innocent, considering what you are supposed to be to each other. 

After a moment, he continues, his touch still gentle.  You almost forget he is not a gentle boy, that he wouldn’t be here if he was.  You fall asleep soon after.   

-

You see your father less these days, no longer in trouble with the same frequency.  It makes you understand Felix, the way he spoke about nightmares catching up to him.   Over the years, your wounds have seldom had time to heal before they re-opened, both literally and emotionally.  Now you have time to scab.  

Those poorly stitched wounds start to fester. 

One night, you and Felix have an argument.  It is a petty, inconsequential quarrel in the greater scheme of things, and it ends with him rolling his eyes. 

Irritation is an itch under your skin, worsened by your ongoing state of aggravation.  When he goes to the gym for his work-out, trusting you to keep your own routine, you simply walk out the front door.  You know he will track you down but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Your act of petty retribution spirals out of control when your father gets home at the same time you are trying to leave.  One of his men literally snatches you in the driveway.  Your adrenaline was already running high from the argument, so you are a thrashing bundle of limbs as they carry you into the house. 

Your father is frighteningly quiet on the walk to his home office.  All at once you recognize this countenance.  It has nothing to do with you, but his business.  Something went wrong today, however menial or substantial, and his rage is an icy current.  You slipped and tumbled headfirst into the flood. 

You stop fighting.  You try to muster the same icy resolve as he seats himself on the couch in the office. 

In a way, you are almost relieved.  It has been so long since you last stood here, but you knew it would eventually happen.  Now it isn’t hanging over you.  Now your wounds aren’t festering.  Now you can rip the messy scab right off and finally just bleed. 

Your father pats the seat beside him on the couch.  You have only just sat when he says to his own guard, “Find me Felix.” 

Felix is waiting right outside the door like the dutiful little soldier he is.  He is in his work-out clothes, baggy basketball shorts and a t-shirt, running shoes, his hair messy from exertion.  There is a flush to his complexion and it makes him look his age, sixteen and bright-eyed.  He is a stark contrast to your father’s guard, a grown man with a hardened face as stern and full as a pit-bull. 

Felix looks at you, a momentary flicker of eye contact before he half-bows for your father.   Then he straightens, robotic.  He clasps his hands behind his back in the same pose as the adult guard. 

The dramatic pageantry makes you huff.   You know your father will mete out punishment regardless of what Felix has to say.  You do not know what Felix includes his daily reports, only that he has kept you out of trouble, but his cleverness will not save you now.  It never could, you remind yourself.  The hugs, the intimacy, the careful threads of friendship unspooling strand by strand, day by day – it was never going to save you. 

“My daughter is headstrong to a fault, isn’t she?” your father says.

Felix glances at you then averts his gaze entirely.   He nods sharply, just once.   “Sir,” he says, an acknowledgement.

“Mm.”  Your father sits back in his seat, his casual posture denoting apathy.  He is staring into space, rubbing his chin.  You realize he has not spoken to you directly when he says, “You know what happens now, don’t you?”  It seems like it should finally be directed at you, but his gaze is still on Felix.   

Felix says nothing, though his brow is furrowed with some consternation.  You stay quiet.  Felix has seen your father punish you more than once now, and you cannot find it in yourself to feel embarrassed about it.  Maybe Felix needs a reminder too.  Or maybe he has known all along there was no real substance to your connection, that you would always end up here and he would always betray you with his professional stoicism.   

“Sir,” Felix says again, as expected. 

You roll your eyes and look away from them all.  You hear the tell-tale clink of a belt.  A frisson is already scratching down your spine, a phantom laceration of its own.  

You have this script memorized, having played out this scene time and again.  Your father’s guard will hand him a belt, the room will be emptied so you are alone with your father, and he will remove the disobedience and weakness from your body – and the frustration and weakness from his – one stroke at a time.  You will leave, contrite and penitent in the freshness of pain and humiliation.  It will fade with your scars.  You will be back here again. 

Your father grabs your face and jerks it back to him.  As if reading your thoughts, he says, “It never sticks with you, does it?  Not one single lesson.”  He lets go with a sharp snap, your chin smarting.  You refrain from touching it.  “Felix brought this to my attention on his report.  You know, you could learn a lesson on reflection from him.” 

You roll your eyes and cross your arms.  You feel sick in an unusual way, more affected than you want to be.  Your father does not know or care if you have ever sought Felix for comfort, so he does not know or care if it hurts for Felix to betray you.  Felix is doing his job and playing his part.  Your father is playing his.  He will make sure you learn to play yours. 

And then your father says, “I agreed with his assertion.  Punishing you like a child does nothing to teach you true consequences.   Being my daughter puts you in a certain position in this world.   Thanks to the work I have done, your place will always be above subordinate persons.  When you make a mistake, when you step out of line, there will be consequences, and those consequences will not only affect you, but all those other people too.”   He waves a hand and the motion draws your eye.   “Felix,” he says. 

The other guard approaches at your father’s gesture.  The belt is folded over in his hand.  Felix glances at it, his expression inscrutable, as if a shadow has fallen over his brow.   He does not look at you again, even when your attention focusses on him. 

Your stomach turns over then seems to drop right out of you, a sharp plummet in your gut when Felix removes his shirt with a swift tug.  His motions are choppy and automatic, his face set.  He faces the large desk and puts his hands on it, his back to the guard.   

“What is this?” you say, looking at your father and his impassive countenance.  “What are you doing?  What is—”

You flinch at the crack of the belt, a full body shudder as if you were struck.  But the hit was not for you.  You whip around to look at Felix, his mouth pressed tightly shut and his gaze on the wall ahead.  When he is struck again, his instinctive recoil is smaller than yours, merely an eye twitch and hard exhale through his nose. 

You start to stand but your father yanks you down again. 

“Consequences,” your father says. 

The blood freezes in your veins.  Sardonic, you think about how moments ago you were wishing for that icy reserve.   Now it locks you in places like a cold shackle.  You watch with a bemused sort of detachment, like this can’t really be happening, and only when Felix’s arm shakes and his elbow caves, doubling him over the desk, do you snap out of it.  The ice melts and water runs, your eyes filling with tears as your voice claws its way up your throat, fighting, fighting, fighting until you rasp, “Enough.  Stop it.  Stop it!” 

You have yelled at your father many times, but this scream is so loud that it reverberates in the large room.  A painting shakes.  The guard actually stops. 

Felix lifts his head and looks at you.  His expression is pinched with fury, a barrier guarding the escape of any other emotion. 

You know your own face is open with all that emotion.  Felix has told you before that he can read you like a book, but right now anyone could.  Your masks crack and you look at him then your father with terror. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  “Lesson learned, I—”  

Your father waves a hand.  A frantic, “No!” has scarcely your left mouth before the guard hits Felix with a ferocity never once directed at you.  You throw a hand over your mouth, horrified as Felix loses composure, face screwed up with pain as he collapses on the desk.  A bit of skin is torn right off his back and you look away, sick, before everything goes quiet. 

The guard steps back.  Felix is breathing loudly.  Your hand is shaking when your father pries it off your mouth. 

“Thank you, Felix,” your father says.  “I’ll send someone to administer first aid.”  Like this is a casual workplace injury.  Like he didn’t just—because of you—and—

You can’t look at Felix.  You stare at the ground, still shaking, your breathing as ragged as his.

“That’s all right,” Felix says in a remarkably steady voice.  He clears his throat.  “I can take care of myself.” 

Whatever happens next is a blur.   The room empties and your father administers a lecture, looking very self-satisfied.  When other things transpire out of his control, it is clearly reassuring to exert power where he can.  He just as clearly believes he has finally got the permanent best of you.   He might not be wrong. 

You walk in a hazy shuffle, out the door, up the stairs.  Near the top step, your pace quickens.   You find yourself crashing through the bedroom doorway, only snapping out of your stunned trance when you see Felix.  He is laying facedown on the bed, his bare and bleeding back a red canvas of pain. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles into the pillow, “I’ll get up.  Just… give me a sec—”

You shove the door closed and approach the bed, your hands hovering with no where to go.  You stare at his bare backside, the angry red lines and the long stripe where he is bleeding.  You reach, your fingers shaking, then you withdraw.   

“I know, I know, I’m crazy,” he says dryly.  “In my defense, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“That,” you say.  “What was—”

Your voice cracks and disappears.  You cannot find it again.  Felix finally turns his head, somehow looking more composed than you despite the pain he must be in.  Surprise is his most prominent emotion, deepening to confusion as he stares at you in your state.  Then he exhales and closes his eyes, finally scrunching his face in pain. 

“I didn’t think…” he says.  He takes another deep breath.  “I told your father I would… volunteer… for this…  But that’s because I… I thought you didn’t…”

Your eyes meet.  You stare at each other with equal intensity, your stare still rife with terror and his wet with grief. 

“They would have stopped sooner,” Felix says, his voice low, barely above a whisper.  “If they thought you didn’t care, it would have stopped sooner.  I thought it would—I thought you didn’t—”

“Be quiet,” you finally say.  You wipe the tears when they fall, then shake your head like you are scolding yourself.   Your voice is shaky when you say, “Just don’t speak.” 

I thought you didn’t care about me, was undoubtedly what he meant to say.   He thought he could volunteer to take a beating for you and that you would be so stone-faced and indifferent, maybe even happy to see him suffering, that your father would not waste time with a prolonged punishment. 

But you did care.  Your father saw and your father acted accordingly. 

I’m sorry, does not suffice as a reply.  Sorry for running just to win an argument?  Sorry for sitting there and watching them hit you? 

Sorry I care about you. I wish I just hated you.

“I can take care of it,” Felix says when you fetch a first aid kit and sit on the bed.  He says that, but he hisses when he tries to move.  His arms shake with uncharacteristic weakness when he pushes himself up. 

“Lay down, stupid,” you say, laying a clean cloth over the wound to soak up the blood.    

He laughs.  It is a little breathless, but it is that familiar deep rumble of mostly happy sound.  Your face feels hot and your stomach rolls over with a topsy-turvy mess of feelings. 

You quietly clean and apply medicinal ointment to his back.  He lays with his chin on the back of his hands, staring for a while at the headboard, then looking at you.  You can feel him looking, his gaze like a touch as it wanders your face, but you do not look away from your task. 

When you are done, the injury still looks vicious.  You know it will get worse before it gets better, the marked skin already darkening, but it will heal.  You tenderly brush your fingertips over a line, gathering excess salve.  

“I don’t remember what we were fighting about,” he says, “but I think won now, yeah?” 

You suck in a breath to stop yourself from laughing.  He laughs, still deep but more boisterous.  It ends with a hiss of pain as he moves too much.  You shake your head, biting your lip. 

“Serves you right,” you say.  “None of this is funny.”

“Uh-huuuh.”  The weirdo is still chuckling. 

“Well, don’t worry about the future.”  You busy yourself with packing up the first aid kit so you don’t have to meet his eye when you say, “It won’t happen again.  I’ll hate you and I’ll make sure he knows it.” 

“Mm.”  He watches you fold the cloth, over and over, his freckled cheek squished into the pillow.  “I’d say you should offer to do it yourself, but I’ve seen you on a rampage, kicking a vending machine for not giving you your change, sooo… I think I’ll take my chances with them.” 

“Keep up the jokes and I really will hit you,” you say with no animosity. 

“Right,” Felix says, smirking into the bedsheets, “because you hate me.” 

“Yes,” you say, still not meeting his eye.  It convinces no one when you say, “Because I hate you.” 

That night Felix is restless, forced to lay on his front.  He shifts and twitches and groans, tugging a pillow of his head to whine into the sheets.   He can’t get comfortable. 

You open your arms to him.  You think he might reject you.  Though Felix is trusted with his work and they never intrude, there are other people in the house tonight, so it is a little reckless. 

Usually, he would be careful, but you think he might feel a certain resignation.  A dam has been broken, a wall torn down.   The worst has happened and you’re still here. 

He looks at you thoughtfully then slides across the bed.  You realize too late his shirtlessness adds another level of intimacy.  Your face and neck and chest all feel hot, plus there is a sensation like butterfly wings fluttering in your belly, but you swallow it down and stare at the ceiling as Felix carefully lays against you.   He also seems to realize the awkwardness, the tips of his ears red hot with embarrassment when he puts his head on your chest.  

You both lay there, stiff as boards, awkward and young and ridiculous. 

Eventually, your nervousness bubbles out of you in the form of a strangled laugh.  Your emotions are swinging on a rapid-moving pendulum and all that terror and sadness turns to a random euphoric burst of laughter.  Felix lifts his head and looks at you, laughing just because you are.  It goes on for a while, Felix the first to recover. 

“Shh,” he finally says, stifling himself.  He props himself up on an elbow, leaning over you, and puts a hand over your lips to keep you quiet.  

Your heart stutters, stops, starts, and you stare at him through the blue dark of your room.   His mouth opens but he doesn’t say anything.  He slowly slides his hand off your mouth.  Neither of you move, the newfound silence covering you like a fuzzy blanket.  

He flicks his head to toss his shaggy bangs out of his eyes.  The red is vibrant even in the dark.  You are touching his hair before you can think about why you shouldn’t touch him at all. 

He looks his age again, wide-eyed and nervous.  Apparently bracing himself for a beating is not a daunting task, but you touching his hair is petrifying. 

You twist a dyed lock around your finger.  After some consideration, you ask, “Do you like the red?”

“Uhh… I preferred the, uh, the blonde, but, uh, yeah, I guess…”  His voice sounds a little lower.  He clears his throat.  “I just can’t figure it out.  Ha.” 

“Hmm,” you say, letting him go.  “Maybe we can figure it out together.”  That sounds like a heavy promise, implicitly about more than just a hair colour.  It registers with him, his brow furrowing.  You quickly deflect by adding, “Because we’re gonna be seniors soon.  You can’t spend your last year of high school with bad hair.” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, smiling. 

“Not like I’m a real student,” he says, “but suuure.  Sounds good.  Thanks.”  

You look down the length of his back.  You think about how he described his life now as calm, compared to whatever came before.   This is the lesser of two evils, this shoving and hitting and dehumanizing.   The pendulum swings back and your throat clogs with a sob.  You manage to swallow it down but you have to look away from him.  Your hand blindly settles in his hair, absently feathering strands between your fingers. 

“You don’t need to say it like that,” you say.  “You’re still a real person.” 

You look at him only because he does not answer.  He is staring at you, lips drawn into a line and brows knit together. 

“Some people might disagree,” he says in a very low, soft voice, almost conspiratorially. 

Your heart skips a beat.  You roll your eyes.  “Like my father?” you ask. “Well.  I never agree with him on anything.  You know that.” 

“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips again.  “Uh, yeah, I definitely know that.”  A joking tone returns and he pulls a sarcastic face, like that much should be obvious. 

“Be quiet,” you say, lightly teasing.  “Just go to sleep.” 

Your hand is still in his hair so you yank him down.  You stifle a laugh when he hits your chest with a squeak.  He clears his throat, forcing a stern expression as he turns his face so he is not completely planted in your cleavage. 

“Good night, Felix,” you say. 

“All right,” he says.  “Good night.” 

You fall asleep first.  He is sensible enough to slide back to his side of the bed before properly sleeping.  The motion stirs you and you instinctively reach for him.  Your hand falls open between you.  He takes it and holds it, palm to palm, and you fall asleep once more. 

[iluvies]

I’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU UNCONDITIONALLY ft. suguru geto

summary: it wasn’t only hard on him, it was hard on you too. the distance between you and the longing touches. wanting nothing but peace on his mind, you try to shoo away all of the thoughts drowning him with unease and hopelessness.

warnings — angst, fluff?, suggestive content, mentions of sex

“suguru?” you had repeated for the umpteenth time, your hand faintly grazing his shoulder. his eyes flutter a little, slowly drifting towards yours. “yes, baby?” suguru finally answered absentmindedly, brushing some hair away from your face. these past few weeks were lonely, even as he sat beside you now. his insecurities and weariness was evident in the way he’d gaze at nothing in particular, not only letting it consume his thoughts, but it had been taking up a lot of his time with you too. you hated the dull expression on his face, even as he’d try and smile reassuringly whilst telling you he’s okay.

you tilted your head slightly to the side, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “what are you thinking about?” the tremble in your voice always made him feel guilty, as did every other time. suguru wanted to spill his heart out to you, kiss your lips to shake off your worries, and hold you in his arms until someone had to pry him off. . . but he couldn’t. his throat would tighten, the feeling of an unforgiving presence squeezing his neck with rough hands, shortening his breath.

“nothing, just lost in your eyes.” he said, caressing your cheek with his thumb. ‘how many more excuses would he give you until he ran out?’ you’d think to yourself, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch with a shaky sigh.

oh how pretty you looked, how nice your warm skin felt against his. . . but you deserved better, so much better than someone like him. it was thoughts like this that caused him to spiral. the nasty thoughts that caused him to swallow back any words he wanted to tell you—to reassure you. suguru didn’t want you to worry about him more than you needed to, in fact, he didn’t want you to worry about him at all. he wanted to be the person you could feel at ease with, the person you could lean your head against, the boyfriend you could smile at without a care in the world. he trusts you, so why can’t he tell you what’s racing through his mind?

“i miss you, suguru.” you whispered softly. of course you did. he was always there with you; hands grasping your hips as he grinds his against yours in the comfort of your bed, his thigh pressed against the place you desperately needed him to touch when you two were tangled together on the floor, his lips ghosting over your collarbone while the both of you wait for your food in a restaurant, teeth nibbling on the back of your neck after you two finished chasing your orgasms.

it felt like he was getting further away from you with each stuttered breath of his, “i miss you so much.”

silence engulfed you, bringing forth a certain anxiety to well inside your stomach. your hand finds the front of his shirt, gripping it weakly as you hold your breath. tears wanted to fight their way out of your eyes, to show suguru how much it hurts to be left in the open without anything to think of him and his empty words, but the feeling of his hand pushing you forward and into his chest makes you pause. his face moves towards the crook of your neck, and that’s when you feel it. the sorrow filled droplets of water hitting your skin while quiet sobs fell from his lips.

“i’m sorry.” suguru’s voice breaking as he spoke, his eyelashes fluttering against your neck whilst he tries blinking his tears away. you felt selfish for feeling the way you did. “don’t apologize for something you can’t help. it’s okay, baby. you’re okay.” you consoled, peppering a few delicate kisses to the side of his head.

he shook his head, bringing his hand up to the back of your head and tangling his fingers in your hair. “you deserve someone better than me,” he whispered, “you deserve someone who’ll be there for you.” you wrapped your arms around him, dragging your nails against his back daintily. if you could, you would do anything to make sure he never felt sad again. obviously reality dragged you back down to your feet where you could only do so much to help him.

“i want you, suguru. i only want you.”

his head turned so that his eyes could meet your hopeful ones, the ones he found himself staring into whenever he could. “why?” he’d asked you. you could think of a million answers to that question—it came easy to you—yet to suguru, his mind was blank. why would you want him of all people when there were so many who would devote their entire being to you? “it feels right to want your touch and yours alone. i love the feeling of your skin against mine, the sound of your heartbeat in my ears, and the taste of you on my tongue.” you replied, pressing your forehead to his.

suguru encased your lips into a needy kiss, letting you hold his face between both of your hands as his find the plushiest part of your thighs. “i love you so much, y’know that?” you murmured in between quiet gasps of breaths, his own reciprocation of your words falling off his tongue in a sweet murmur too.

“i need you.” suguru said, reluctantly pulling away from the kiss for a few moments, looking into your eyes with lustful fervor, although the vulnerability you wanted to see wasn’t there. he was still hesitant. hesitant to show you how he truly felt, in fear you found him too much to handle. but you could never let go of him, not when he unknowingly had you wrapped around his finger. “i don’t want to lose you.” he muttered, sucking light marks onto your neck as he watched your expressions attentively.

“you won’t, suguru. i’ll always love you unconditionally.”

(o´ω`o)ﾉ note from luvie: happy birthday, suguru! even though this post wasn’t about opening presents or sharing birthday wishes, i finished this draft i started a month or two ago. it wasn’t supposed to be too angsty, but i needed something to move my heart a little.

© ILUVIES do not copy, modify, or repost!

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do Derek Morgan x adopted son reader where he has extreme anxiety and has a panic attack and Derek helps him through the tough time and stays with him holding him until he feels better? Thanks!

Request: Hi!! I was wondering if you could do Derek Morgan x adopted son reader where he has extreme anxiety and has a panic attack and Derek helps him through the tough time and stays with him holding him until he feels better? Thanks!

I struggle with anxiety so much as well, it impacts my life daily life it sucks bad so of course I'll write this.

Third person pov...

Y/N Morgan was an anxious boy. He'd always been anxious as a child and now as a teenage his anxiety had only grown more extreme

His Dad had tried everything to help the boy and his anxiety though it never did anything.

Currently the teen was in school, it was his last class of the day which was English, Y/N liked English he always created the best stories for when they did creative writing, only this time his teacher had something different panned for their last few weeks.

Y/N sat at the back of the classroom, his teacher was finishing off their lesson for the day, clapping his hands Y/Ns teachers gained almost everyone's attention.

"Okay class, for your last couple of weeks, I have decided to assign a task for you all to complete" this gained some curious murmurs from the students.

The whispers turned into quiet conversations then the teachers got everyone attention again and the room was silent though the H/C teen could still hear people whispering.

"Now your task will be to write and present a speech about what you have learnt this year and how you can use it in your daily life" as he finished the classroom erupted into chaos.

Students began shouting across the classroom, others ready coming up with ideas for what to talk about. Y/n on the other hand was currently freaking out.

He was frozen in his seat, his heart pumping loudly in his ears like an echo, his hands felt sweaty as his anxiously began to rub them on his jeans, his hands shaking with nerves.

Public speaking. His nightmares had officially come true, the teen hated speaking infront of people anyway nonetheless to a classroom of 30 students.

As the bell goes the loud ringing is enough to kick start the students into rising from their tables all pileling into the overcrowded and loud hallways.

Y/N was sat in his chair still, the shell shocked teen could feel his brain spiraling put of control, he had only one thought in his mind. 'I need Dad'

As if on auto pilot the boy moved like a robot, packing up his things and standing from his desk he leaves the quiet empty classroom and begins making his way to the FBI headquarters in a trance.

When he came out of it he realised where he was, he was standing in the middle of the bullpen. Suddenly he felt like he was punched in the stomach and couldn't breathe.

His breathes began coming in wheezes as he panicked, E/C eyes desperately looking around the room for his Dad but to his horror he couldn't find him, so he looked for someone familiar.

As he was deep in this panicked state he didn't hear someone walking up to him, a hand on his shoulder bought him more panic than comfort.

He took a breathe but didn't feel it go down it was as if it was stuck in his throat, so instead of a cry he let out a high pitched squeak.

His hands immediately going to this throat, he couldn't breathe. "Can't breath" he wheezes out as if he'd swallowed a load of dust.

One hand move to his chest when his clothes started to feel to much his eyes wide with fear. Someone kneels infront of him the face blurry as unshed tears fill his vision, the person is talking to him though their words are muffled.

Suddenly he heard a familiar voice. "Hey, kiddo, what's going on?" The H/C teen lifted his head, seeing his dad, Derek, his face etched with worry.

He felt tears in his eyed as he saw the familiar face of his dad infront of him. "I... I can't breathe" the panicked teen choked out, his voice raw and trembling.

Dereks eyes widend but he kept his cool for his son he needed a clear head,his voice a calming presence to the boy. "Just focus on me Y/N. Breathe with me, slow and deep" he instructs the boy.

They've been though this multiple times before this time wasn't any different than the other ones.

Derek then guides his sons hand to his chest, making him feel the steady rise and fall of his own chest. The rhythm was reassuring, a beacon in the storm of Y/Ns anxiety.

Derek sat down beside him, pulling him into a hug, the two sat on thr floor in the middle of the bullpen, the other agents ignored them and let Derek help his son.

From the position the H/C boy felt his dad's warmth, the familiar scent of leather and cologne, grounding him. He clung to Derek, feeling his dad's strong arms holding him. The world outside the embrace seemed to fade away, the voices, the smells, the pressure – all dissolving into the comforting presence of his father.

"Its's okay, son. You're safe" Derek whispered, his voice a soothing balm as he cradled his sons head in his hand as the boy pushed his head into his dads chest to feel his heart.

"Just breathe. Let it all out." He continues to whsiper calming and soothing words to his son.

Slowly, the panic began to recede. The knot in his stomach loosened. His breathing calmed, the ragged gasps replaced by deeper, more even breaths.

He felt the familiar ache in his chest begin to subside, replaced by a sense of peace.

Derek stayed with him, holding him for what felt like an eternity, just waiting until the storm subsided. Y/N felt a wave of gratitude for his dad, for his unwavering support, for his love. He finally felt safe, surrounded by the silent strength of his father's embrace.

The H/C teen leaned into the hug, his anxiety fading, replaced by a wave of love and relief. He knew that no matter what, his dad would be there, a constant in the chaos, a safe harbour in the storm. He was not alone.

The two sat for what felt like hours had only been 30 minutes, even then Derek didn't move until he was sure his son was okay, the team all watch on impressed at how Derek the eternal ladies man comforted his son.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot, Panic attacks suck and being only during then suck even worse, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Requests are open!

Word count: 1150

[captain039]

PART 2 The 2029

Old man Logan x reader

Warnings: AOB dynamics, age gap, angst, swearing, mutants, intimacy, eventual smut, claiming, heats, ruts, needles, drug usage, dystopian world, plus size reader, sexual assault,

Notes: Sorry I’m struggling to find my mojo to write xD

Mutation: Telekinesis, energy manipulation, telepathy

Previous part <-

It’d been a week since the old alpha was here. You know he wouldn’t be back for a while not till his next rut. A routine call happened, lining you up with the other omegas as more near rut alphas entered. You hated how they all smelt, how they didn’t have the cigar and whiskey scent.

You head back to your room, knowing the obvious outcome but when the automated PA voice rings over that you’ve been chosen your body freezes. You’re forced to calm yourself down as an alpha walks into the room. He smells wrong, too overwhelming, he’s not a mutant either. You feel his body heat as his chest meets your back his nose going to your neck and breathing deeply. Your body responds without your willingness, you tilt your head to the side to allow the alpha access, his hands squeezing your hips bruisingly

“I like them bigger” he growls voice gravely and not in a sexy way in a way that says he’s smoked too much. You feel your mind going haywire, the spiral of thoughts and suddenly you need him, your alpha, you need Logan.

Logan jolts in his sleep your voice calling his name pleadingly. He sits up a frown on his face as your voice echos into his mind.

“Logan, Help me!” He’s up quickly, grabbing his jacket and keys his limp slowing him down. He’s growling and snarling ignoring the look Caliban gives him as he wakes up. The alphas in the car and flooring it to the omega centre he can feel your anxiety, feel the disgust.

You’re panicking, the alphas hands sliding along your body under your shirt and groping your breasts. You try to calm down you know they will send someone in with an Easer.

“Shaking already?” The alpha smirks his tongue running along your neck hand at your waist band. There’s an alarm suddenly making you jolt, the room locking itself.

“The hell” the alpha mutters finally letting you go as you go to your bed and cower on it. The alarms are loud you hear chaos outside but then your door is being slashed through, three claw marks. You know who it is instantly, even if you didn’t know his mutation you know it’s him. He’s pissed you can smell the rage feel it almost as he kicks the door down. You stare at him, the old alpha, three knife like claws out of his knuckles as he look to the other alpha in your room. A shot rings out but the bullet doesn’t slow down the old alpha. It feels like it spurs him on as he’s charging at the other alpha stabbing his claws into his chest growing loudly before throwing him against the wall. Blood splatters everywhere and you stare in shock and fear. Logan goes to your bed, picks you up easily and walks into the hall, they won’t shoot omegas. You’re scared but not of him as he walks through the hall a trail of bodies all the way to a front door you’ve never seen. You hold onto Logan tightly trying to make yourself smaller as he sits you down in the passenger seat of a fancy limo before he gets into the other side. The alarms still going, lights flashing, cars approaching. You put your seat belt on as Logan speeds out of the centres park heading onto the road. You don’t know where you are, you’ve seen maps many times of where you lived but nothing like this, you’ve never left the building besides going outside in their outside area.

You keep your head down trembling, finding the city turning to desert. You look out at the vastness of it, though some buildings are still littered around they’re abandoned, broken down. You look at the dash of the car instead gulping trying to calm your racing heart. You suddenly feel all of what that alpha did his hands his tongue- you wipe at your neck suddenly feeling disgusting, you open the glove box compartment finding no wipes or anything.

“Omega- hey- calm down” there’s a hand gripping your wrist and you whimper keeping your neck shown.

“Jesus” the old alpha mutters letting go of your hand. You rub the spot on your neck again till it’s red and irritated.

“What are you doing you’ll hurt yourself” the old alpha grumbles but doesn’t touch you this time. You want to cry, you want to scream, hell maybe open this door and roll out. You go for curling against the door instead the bumpy road not kind to your head but you don’t want to move. The car turns a few times, your eyes a closed until the car slows and you open them. What you see isn’t what you were expecting, a large run down shed with silos and large water tanks nearby. The old alpha gets out the limo and walks around to your side. You get off the door as he opens it, you get out on your own as he makes no move to help you. There’s another man coming out of the shed another mutant by his scent, a beta, strange.

“Logan, what the hell?” He says to the old alpha who grunts and leads you inside. You keep your head down trying not to wince at everything, it all looks home made or makeshift, cans of food on shelves, bottles of waters.

“Who is this?” The other mutant asks tone more pressing and you finally look to him. He’s pale, very pale almost white you swear, his eyes are a little funny too.

“I’m-“ you gulp a bit glancing to the alpha who is gone from the room. You frown anxiety spiking before he comes back out clothes in hand.

“Put these on” he orders and you look to the clothes, they’re not going to fit you.

“Alpha” you mutter softly his back turned to you his shoulders tensing.

“These won’t fit” you add quietly. He sighs snatching the clothes back making you flinch.

“Logan!” The beta snaps again but the alpha is ignoring everyone.

“Pack now” the old alpha orders the beta who stares in shock but doesn’t question disappearing into one of the rooms. You stand lost and confused glancing around, unsure of where you’re supposed to go.

Logan packs as does the beta, a few suitcases before the beta packs food and water and other items. Logan moves around you and you’re struggling to find your words feeling overwhelmed.

“Will you please talk to poor girl!” The beta snaps and Logan growls now standing in front of you. You take the alpha in he isn’t anything like the one you know in the facility, apparently the real world was worse.

“We’re leaving state” he says like that explains everything.

“They won’t let you cross with an unmated omega!” The beta growls in irritation.

“She’ll be my mine” Logan growls back and you freeze again.

“Not smelling like you she won’t or having a bite mark she won’t” the beta chides back and you can smell the increasing annoyance on the alpha in front of you.

“Can we ask what I want?” You suddenly yell both of the men looking to you.

“You called me” Logan growls softly eyes staring into yours.

“How?” You ask.

“I don’t know” he grumbles.

“My powers are weakened practically turned off-“ you explain rubbing the spot on your neck again where the unknown alpha licked.

“Another alpha touched you?” The beta asks and you nod.

“You went into a panic, called out to him subconsciously” the beta explains.

“Why?” I ask and the beta looks embarrassed.

“You’ve attached yourself to him on a mental level, your body, your biology sees him as your alpha, your protector” he explains and you keep your eyes on him trying to ignore the way the older man tenses.

“We’re leaving” the older alpha growls grabbing all the suitcases and leaving the shed.

“Look it’s best to just follow him till he calms down and figures something out ok?” The beta offers a smile and you just nod.

Next part ->

[chiefdirector]

Breaking and Entering | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven

Tim blinked himself awake. Heavy with sleep he looked over to his alarm clock, mentally swearing at himself for waking up at 3:37 in the morning. He knew why though, the knowledge that they could die at any moment had been plaguing his thoughts, and now his dreams.

He knew that sleep would not come naturally for him for at least another hour. I had always been a bad habit of his. It started when he was still in the military and the constant noise and activity in the base camp kept waking him; usually he would go for a run or do some housework to burn some energy but as he shifted back onto his side, he couldn't find it in himself to leave the bed.

Soft moonlight shone through the crack between the curtains and gently illuminated the (Y/N). She had changed so much in the years they spent apart, it was as if she had lost a part of her soul. When she smiled, her smile didn’t fully reach her eyes, her laugh seemed somewhat hollow, and her demeanour was very guarded. She had begun to pull herself away from Tim’s touches as if she was guarding herself from being hurt. That had briefly disappeared though.

Sleep had restored the peacefulness that Tim had fallen in love with and for a moment, he could pretend that nothing bad had happened.

Slowly, Tim reached across to run his fingers down her cheek and for the first time since he had found her again, (Y/N) didn’t flinch at his touch.

----------

Around 6:30, Tim woke for the second time. This time he was greeted by an empty bed. For a moment, he had thought he dreamed the last days and that he was alone again. His fears faded as he heard (Y/N)’s panicked calls for him echoing throughout the house. Quickly, he grabbed his gun from his bedside drawer and made his way throughout their home.

As he made his way through the house, he looked around for any signs of what could be wrong. He didn’t look long before he saw (Y/N) looking at their backdoor. “Hey, are you okay? What's wrong?”

“The lock,” (Y/N) stood back from the door, allowing Tim to get closer. She watched as he placed his firearm down as he moved to inspect the lock. “It’s been broken. I found the door open. Someone was here last night.”

Tim reached for his gun again. “Crap. Did you check the rest of the house or did you come straight here?”

“I came straight down here, I thought you may want a coffee.”

“Right okay, I'll call 911, and you call Grey. We need to stay here until this thing is reported and added to the caseload. I highly doubt this was a coincidence.”

-----

It didn’t take long for their home to be flooded with cops. Grey had turned up first, he was still in his jogging bottoms and shirt he had been sleeping in. He had rushed out of bed to get to their house, barely taking the time to grab his gun and badge.

It had taken all the reservation he had to not burst through the front door to go find Tim and (Y/N). Instead he tried the spare key (Y/N) had given him when they had moved in and tried it in the lock. He found (Y/N) sat on the sofa, her leg shaking up and down in anxiety with Tim beside her trying to ground her.

“Thank God you guys are okay’” he said, walking into the room, “What happened? I didn’t get a lot of details over the phone.”

“(Y/N) found the lock on the back door broken. Someone had broken in. Nothing valuable has been taken, not that we could think of anyway. However our cabinets have been gone through. I think they were looking for something. And if they didn’t get it, they’ll be back.” Tim said, moving away from his wife and towards Grey. As he got closer, he lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. “She’s been like this since she called you. I think she blames herself.”

Grey hummed in agreement. There had been many times where he had talked (Y/N) out of a spiral of self-loathing and distress. He also knew from these times that it was sometimes better to let herself start to calm down alone. “I saw you had a camera doorbell. Did it happen to catch anything?”

“No,” Tim sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa. “I checked. It was disconnected. I don’t think it’s unrelated.”

“You’re right to not write it off. I’ll mention it to the detectives.” As of one cue, the sound of car doors slamming echoed from the street and into the house. “Both of you, take the day off today. You’ve got a lot to deal-“

“No.” (Y/N)’s head snapped up. “I need to go in. This is my mess. I’m the reason this happened. I need to be there to stop it.”

Grey sighed, “You know we have a whole team working on this. You need to take care of yourself. We’ll have a unit placed outside so you needn’t worry. You’ve had an eventful start to the day, take the time you need to rest.”

(Y/N)’s eyes hardened in a way neither man had seen before. She almost looked like she had been possessed by the personification of rage and determination. “I’ll rest when we catch this sorry son of a bitch.”

——-

“I’m worried about her,” Tim said to Grey after the detectives had taken his statement of events. “She’s changed.”

“It’s been a long time since she’s been home, Tim. Of course change will have happened.”

“You saw what she was like earlier. It was like a switch flipped in her mind. Who knows what she went through all that time, what she did to survive. She doesn’t talk about it; I asked once, I got no response. It was as if she left reality.”

Grey looked over to (Y/N) and then back to Tim. “Do you not think that she should be working this case.”

“No, it’s giving her something to focus on… and the closure may help her.”

“And what if it doesn’t.”

“Well that’s what I’m here for. I’ll always make sure she finds her way home.”

Part Eleven | Part Thirteen

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh  @kmc1989  @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e

Tags are open :)

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Including Sunlight

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, fluff, Frank having unhealthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I'm so sorry that this update is late, everyone! I've had a wacky month and it has completely thrown me off. Huge shout out to @xxdrixx for reminding me (again XD) to post what I'd written, and to my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for helping me plot the upcoming angst arc!!!

w/c: 5.9k

You hadn’t known Frank for very long, but that didn’t stop him from becoming a necessary fixture in your life. Needing Frank was similar to needing light, or fresh air. Sure, you could go without it for a bit, but it would drastically reduce the quality of your life. 

Two days into his “business trip” (which you assumed was a cover for some illegal shenanigans because what sort of freelance construction worker has business trips), you were missing Frank something awful, and it seemed like Max was too. Though you’d tried your best to stick to the existing routine Frank had explained to you, the dog would get mopey in the evenings, laying his head on your lap with a dramatic sigh as he stared longingly towards the door. 

Frank hadn’t so much as sent an emoji since his departure, a fact that highlighted his already glaring absence. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you refused to go down that path knowing you’d never make it out of that endless anxiety spiral. Hoping not to bother him while he was away, you’d refrained from reaching out. Until Max’s heavy sighs were too much for you to bear. 

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy.” You promised, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of his pouting face. 

Sending Max’s sulking portrait off to your stoic neighbor, you included a message. 

You: I think he misses you. Hope you made it safely. ❤️

You were about to set your phone down, not expecting him to respond, but your phone buzzed immediately. 

Frank: Sorry, bud. He behaving for you?

You: He’s being a perfect gentleman. Please come back to us in one piece. 

Frank: Cross my heart. 

Smiling at the fluttery sensation in your chest, you set your phone down and resumed petting the pitbull taking up residence on your lap. 

Come back to us. A poor imitation of your melodic voice played throughout his brain on a loop as he got settled in the motel and began recon. It had been hours since you’d texted him and Frank couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that he could ever stop thinking of you; the only thing that had kept him going through the bland, cross-state drive was the knowledge that he had you to return to.

And didn’t that terrify him. The knowledge that he had forged a connection valuable enough to anchor him on bad days should have triggered his factory reset. Cut all ties, change home and job, never look back. But you made him weak–sapping the resolve out of him with your doe eyes and intoxicating personality. He’d never be able to leave you like that, even if his proximity to you would get you killed.

Gritting his teeth, he began disassembling his rifle for the umpteenth time, hoping the familiar rhythm would provide an opportunity for his mind to claw its way out of the paranoid spiral it was currently parachuting down. Because it would do him no good to imagine the ways this could all fall apart. The high that your genuine care ignited in him was a hard one to shake, and he craved your affection more than any drug. 

Frank was no stranger to being forgotten, hell, most days he wished for it. Disappearing into the shadows made his work easier and it had helped him prevent situations like this, like you, in the past. Yet here he was, three states away, feeling desired and significant because of four little sentences of fucking text. You were a goddamn miracle. 

Placing the final piece of his weapon back into its place, he drew his hands towards himself, examining them. Given the nature of his work, both legal and less than, the skin was rough and littered with impressive callouses. Streaks of gun oil, dirt, and general grime lingered on the pads of his fingers and under his nails, a testament to the indelicacy of his job. How could he allow himself to touch you with these hands?

How could the universe allow him to indulge in something so pure, after what he’d done? 

He’d given you his name, his real one, but there was no way you knew the extent of his crimes against the people in your city–if you did, you’d surely never speak to him again. Before meeting you, he’d never questioned his choices. Wiping the murderous, sex-trafficking and drug-dealing scum from the face of the Earth was his purpose, and he lived it with pride. Pulling the trigger, releasing bullet after bullet into the chest of some criminal douchebag, it was the only reason he had the energy to keep going after the loss of his family. 

But the violence, that he’d made peace with, it separated him from the rest of society, kept him from forming attachments with people as delicate as you. Not to mention, you valued an honesty he couldn’t provide, and a stable relationship would require it…not that he was intending on pursuing that with you. Right?

Sighing wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pummeling his ribcage. You deserved to know the truth about who he was and what he’d done, but Frank wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to break that news to you, to risk losing you forever. 

Shifting uneasily on the fraying wicker chair, Frank studied a chip in the faux wood of the table he was seated at. Rubbing a thumb over the exposed plastic, he pondered his next move. His short recon session had verified Madani’s hunch that the arms dealers operated after dark, like most criminals, but sitting around the dingy motel room until then was a one-way ticket to insanity. 

As if his body was pitying his moment of unprecedented indecision, his stomach growled ferociously. Fuck, he could use a decent meal and a hot cup of coffee. Plucking his keys and handgun from the nightstand, he shoved his arms into a black canvas jacket before braving the outside world. 

Digging your glove-covered fingers into the laminated dough, you folded it over itself a few times before placing it back in its designated proofing bin to rise. Taking another lump of the yeasted mixture into your grasp, you savored the pleasant cushiony feeling beneath your hands as you worked, the slightly fermented smell of raw bread swirling around the kitchen as you flipped the mass. 

Your heart thumped serenely as you kneaded the dough at a steady pace, creating a beautiful rhythm you were more than familiar with. It was music, of a sort; the pulse in your ears acting as the bass while the cacophony of rattling spice jars and cracking eggshells composed unique melodies unlike anything else. 

Life was complicated, but food was simple. Customizing pastries and generating new recipes was an outlet for any emotion you could dream of. Tugging at the strands of dough helped soothe the tension in your shoulders, a symptom of the intense restlessness you’d been feeling since Frank left. Though his text had confirmed that he was alive, you couldn’t help but wallow in a feeling of gut-wrenching regret as you lived without him. If something happened to him out there, you’d never be able to tell him–

Shaking your head fiercely to clear the anxious thoughts from your mind, you raced to the walk-in, once again pouring your jittery energy into a recipe rather than letting your composure erode into nothing. Stabilizing the precarious tower of ingredients you’d stacked with your chin, you tread cautiously over to a clean station, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the steel bench before popping your head out to the front. 

“Stace, you want somethin’ to eat?” You called to the girl, who was currently standing by the register on her phone. 

“What are you making?” She barely lifted her head with the question and her ambivalence made you snort. 

“Oh, you know, same old.”

With a small shrug, Stacy nodded. “Sure, why not.” 

Grinning, you ducked back into the kitchen and popped the lid off of the industrial blender, quickly whipping up two vibrantly colored and impeccably garnished bowls for the pair of you. Passing a spoon to Stacy, you smiled as she dug in eagerly.

“What, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?” You giggled, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she ate. 

“Had a feeling you’d be cooking up a storm today.” Stacy replied, tilting her head at you knowingly. “You tend to do that when you’re mopey, and I’m never opposed to a free meal.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed in defiance. “I’m not ‘mopey’.” 

“No?” Your dark-haired friend smirked. “That’s why you’re staring at that stupid bowl like it killed your family?” 

Ignoring her pointed look, you angled the bowl slightly differently before pulling out your phone. 

“It’s a pretty meal. I wanted to take a picture.” You reasoned, snapping a few photos of the deep violet mixture. 

“To send to lover boy?” Stacy snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“No! I mean, maybe, I guess. I mean—“ You spluttered and Stacy laughed boisterously. “Shut up!!” Pouting, you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your apron and stuck a spoon into your breakfast. 

“C’mon, princess, don’t let my teasing interrupt your pitiful flirting attempts. I’m sure he wants to hear from you.” Stacy’s expression was nonchalant, as always, but her gaze softened when your shoulders slumped. “I’m serious. He’s like, embarrassingly into you.” 

“I think you might be confused about which of us is ‘embarrassingly into’ the other.” You whined, burying your face in your hands. 

“Oh you’re pathetically head over heels for him too, that’s why you have no game.” 

Scoffing, you shoved at her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t need to be insulted like this. Get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s true!” She chuckled, eating the remaining few bites of her food as you struggled to force her out the double doors. 

“Out, out, out!” You panted, finally getting her across the threshold. 

The whoosh of air from the batwing doors blew stray hairs from your face, giving you pause. Did it matter why you reached out to him? He seemed to appreciate it…

“Fuck it.” 

Frank turned the cheap off-white mug in his hands, letting the quickly fading warmth seep through the material and into his palms as he looked out the streaky window. A gray hue had settled over the rural town he was camped out in, courtesy of the building storm on the horizon. The clouds mimicked his mental state, growing darker by the minute as the world remained stagnant. 

A low buzz caught his attention, his hand shooting out to stop his phone from vibrating off of the table. Flicking the screen open, his heart swelled with affection, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the barrier in the sky. 

You: *image* It’s official, I’m becoming a hipster. I was more concerned about this photo than eating my breakfast.

Not attempting to hide his smile, Frank shoved his empty cup aside to free his thumbs. 

Frank: Well, it looks so good, I might have to forgive you. What is it?

You: A smoothie bowl, very easy to make and quite tasty.

Frank: Never had one of those before. Looks good though, sunshine.

You: Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make you one sometime.

Frank inhaled deeply, imagining that you were nearby and he could smell your soft vanilla soap. The thought of you cooking for him upon his return warmed his heart while simultaneously cracking it in two. He missed you dearly. Drawing his forearms into his chest, he took a picture of his own food, frowning at the grainy quality of the picture as it sent.

Frank: It ain’t as pretty as yours, but I’m eating breakfast myself.

The remnants of a stack of bland pancakes and some tough bacon paled in comparison to the gorgeous, speckled smoothie thing you’d sent him. Why it was in a bowl and not a cup, he wasn’t sure, but clearly you knew what you were doing so who was he to judge? A few seconds passed and Frank briefly wondered if he’d said something wrong. Before he could preemptively apologize, another bubble appeared on the screen.

You: Glad you are able to feed yourself without my help. I was starting to wonder…

Frank: Oh shut up, you goof. I do miss your cooking though.

You: Just my cooking?

His fingers hovered over the glass display, his brain scrambling for a response that didn’t reveal just how gone he was for you. In the end, he couldn’t find one.

Frank: Not just your cooking, honey. I have some work to do, but take care of yourself and Max for me, will you? 

You: Of course, Frankie. Have a good day :)

Frank: You too, sunshine.

Clicking the power button on his phone, Frank flipped it over, settling his head against his rough hands and massaging his forehead. Coward.

The shrill ringing of his alarm shattered the remnants of his uneasy slumber. Whipping his arm out from under the sheets, he stopped the piercing noise with a frustrated growl. Sitting up was a process, thanks to the new bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip—a true testament to how sideways yesterday night had gone. Madani’s brief had implied that this would be a cut and dry operation. Get in, confirm the sale, contact her team, leave. He’d been given strict orders to not shoot unless absolutely necessary. 

Which was a great plan, in theory. Frank was more than on board with it, even if the whole “no shooting” thing lengthened the process. If it kept him on Madani’s good side, and still managed to get him home before Lisa’s birthday, he could live with it. 

Apparently, the rookie member of Madani’s team was not so thrilled with Frank “stealing” so much of the glory. After Frank’s recon session and subsequent confirmation of the sale, the former Marine was about to call for backup when a scrawny 20-something kid darted into the dark warehouse after the arms dealers, holding nothing but a goddamn glock. Anticipating bloodshed, Frank was grumbling and sprinting after him before the gunshots started. 

Pulling the kid out by the straps of his ill-fitting bullet-proof vest was a task Frank managed by the skin of his teeth, procuring two moderate injuries in the process. Of course, the knowledge that the FBI was on their tail sent the arms dealers into a frenzy. Frank was sure they’d crossed state lines before Madani was even done screaming. Honestly, he half expected the poor woman to have steam coming out of her ears–she’d cussed at the kid with words even Frank considered impolite. 

Not that he could blame her, he was fuming all the same, especially when Madani had explained that he wasn’t off the hook for the mission and should head back to the motel to await further instructions. As if he was reliving it, the conversation that followed played in his head on a loop, their screaming match echoing off the walls of his brain. 

“For fuck’s SAKE, Madani, I did what you wanted–why should I be punished for the stupidity of this asshole?”

“Oh, he’ll be dealt with, believe me. But the agreement was to get Roshev and Miller into my custody. Not give my team a half-assed warning and head back to New York scot free.”

“Half-assed–you’re fucking joking. I had to ditch the objective to rescue YOUR DAMN AGENT.”

“Go back to your room, Frank. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re not–”

“That’s an ORDER, Castle.”

So here he was: waking up on a shitty mattress, his skin and hair still streaked with dirt and blood (because the crappy water pressure and freezing temperature had infuriated him to the point that he’d cut his shower short after cleaning his wounds), in pain and in desperate need of a better cup of coffee than anyone around here was capable of brewing. 

On top of that, it was his dead daughter’s 18th birthday–a fact that hung over him like a cloud of poisonous gas, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he was powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to grieve for her, to do something, anything–but instead he was fucking stuck here, beneath Madani’s thumb until she tired of him. 

It was naive to think that he’d be home today, maybe drinking coffee that you had made specifically for him, bringing flowers to the cemetery, taking Max for a walk, trying to have a quiet day in Lisa’s memory instead of waiting around to deal with two scumbags who got paid to arm other criminals. He should have just shot them.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a rough hand, he stalked to the bathroom to clean up–given that a man covered in blood would probably scare the poor waitress at the diner down the street shitless. As he was rubbing a towel through his hair, his phone buzzed–presumably with a curt message from Madani about something else he’d done wrong. Groaning internally, he braced himself for another argument, but it never came. 

Instead, his phone had an unopened message from you. Flicking open the home screen, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he pulled up the photo you’d attached. 

It was a beautiful picture of you holding a basket of vibrantly colored cherries in the midst of some sort of farmer’s market. Your delicate features were highlighted by an array of pinks and oranges, courtesy of the sunrise in the background. Your smile was bright, your eyes sparkling as you beamed at the camera. 

Your first message was a simple explanation of your morning activities. 

You: It’s market day! I bought these gorgeous cherries to make some tarts. I’ll save you one ;)

As he was rereading the message, allowing his general irritation to fade as thoughts of you flooded his brain, his phone vibrated again. 

You: Thinking of you today. I’m just a text away if you need anything ❤️

Sinking down onto the motel bed, his throat constricted as he processed the sentiment. He was surprised that you remembered today was hard for him, even more so that you offered to be a line of support. But that was exactly who you were, wasn’t it? Someone who cared so deeply for the people around her, and for some fucking reason that included Frank. 

Typing and retyping a response to you, Frank blew out a breath. He felt almost…jittery. 

Frank: Thanks, sunshine. That means a lot. I’m looking forward to that cherry tart when I get back. 

You: I’ll make you as many as you want, Frankie. 

Lips twitching, he imagined you whirling around your kitchen in one of your signature patterned dresses making him a special batch of pastries. His heart squeezed painfully; your absence was taking a toll on him that he had not expected. Before he could consider his next message to you, Madani’s number flashed on the screen, indicating an incoming call. Lips curling into a silent snarl, he answered. 

“What, Madani?” He rumbled out.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” Her response wasn’t meant to dig under his skin, she simply meant it as a superficial jab, but the inclusion of the pet name he associated with you ignited a white hot anger in his gut, feral and hungry. 

“The fuck do you want,” He bit out. 

“Watch your tone, Castle. Remember who owes whom a favor here.”

Rolling his eyes, he brought out a more polite tone. “Yes, ma’am.”  

She huffed across the line, “Fuck you too. We found them. I’ll send the coordinates now.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” He ended the call.

Stretching your legs as best you could beneath the hefty pitbull, you sighed. 

It had been hours since Frank’s last text and you were not handling it well–the image of the little typing bubble on his side of the text chain haunting your every moment. Logically, the presence of those three flashing dots just meant he had started to type something and then forgot or had something else to attend to, but that knowledge didn’t quell the anxiety growing in your chest. 

He was out there, doing god knows what, on his daughter’s 18th birthday, presumably alone and hurting–and there was nothing you could do but wait. And cook him a lasagna of course. Which you had, giving your apartment the pleasant aroma of onions, tomatoes, and ricotta cheese as the dish baked. 

Your consciousness vibrated with the tenacity of an anxious chihuahua, listless with boredom and concern about your sweetheart of a neighbor. Squirming out from under Max’s head, you chuckled as the sleepy pitbull huffed in annoyance. “Sorry, bubba. I need to move around.”

In the final 30 minutes that you lasagna baked, you managed to throw together some simple pastry dough and pull out the small basket of cherries from your fridge. Popping one of the scarlet fruits into your mouth, you began to pluck the remaining stems off before removing their pits. Once they’d been sufficiently prepped, and your hands were adequately smattered with droplets of maroon fruit juice, you dumped them unceremoniously into a pot to create a compote. It didn’t necessarily pair well with lasagna, but you’d promised Frank a cherry pastry. 

Originally, you’d considered making him a cherry basil frangipane, identical to the ones you’d stacked in the bakery’s display case that morning. But, after the day he’d probably had, you figured he’d want something…less intricate. The compliment you’d given him during his first visit to the cafe still held true–Frank was simple and honest. He wasn’t difficult to please, but fancy words and expensive ingredients alone wouldn’t cut it. The food had to be good. So, you pulled out all the stops, making a recipe that you hadn’t made since you lived with Leo: cherry turnovers. 

Unlike your wonderful neighbor, the majority of patrons in the city needed a reason besides quality to continue giving you business. Elaborately decorated pastries and unique flavor profiles were what kept the cafe in business, so you hadn’t tried selling a modest dessert like these since your first few weeks at the Rainy Day Bakery. It was familiar, comforting even. You hoped it would bring Frank similar satisfaction. 

Trading the bubbling lasagna for a tray of triangle-shaped pastries, you brushed your hands on your hips. Re-covering the pasta dish, you hurriedly cleaned your kitchen, wiping away the traces of flour and sugar that inevitably dusted your countertops after you baked. As you rinsed out the mixing bowl, a high-pitched whimper popped the bubble of silence surrounding your apartment. Sitting rigidly by the door to your apartment, Max’s dark eyes pleaded with you. 

“Gosh, you’re right, bud! It is dinner time. I’m sorry, I got carried away. Let’s go get you set up, huh?” 

Snatching Frank’s spare key from your counter, you attached Max’s thick leash to his collar and jogged him back to his apartment, adding an extra handful of kibble as an apology for making him wait. Stroking his short fur a few times, you slipped the key into your pocket, scurrying back over to your apartment to grab the turnovers before they caught fire and reduced the building to ashes. 

Carefully balancing the pastries and lasagna in your hands, you marched back over to Frank’s apartment. Pretty soon, and with only one close call, the food was lined up on Frank’s countertop to cool. Brushing your hands together, you admired your handiwork. 

“Please tell me ya haven’t been sittin’ here with the door open all night.” 

The gruff voice behind you made you jump in shock. Whirling around, your fear morphed into pure joy as you took in the ruggedly handsome man before you.

“Shit, Frankie! You snuck up on me.” You practically squealed, rushing to hug him in greeting. He grunted as you slammed against him, hissing as you squeezed your arms around his hips. Eyes widening in realization, you started to pull back. “Oh fuck, you’re hurt, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I–” 

Before you could unwrap your arms from his body, his broad hands splayed across your back, muscular arms tugging you back against his firm chest. 

“‘M fine, honey.” Came Frank’s soothing rumble. You felt him press a kiss to your crown before he buried his face in your hair. “Missed you like crazy, sunshine.” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear the darling confession. 

“God, I missed you too, Frankie.” You chuckled, your eyes prickling with tears, your body in awe of your own honesty. With his stubbled chin atop your head and his thick arms around your waist, you felt entirely sheltered by his body. He’d created a bubble of safety and serenity for you, as he always did. 

Remaining in his arms, you shifted out from under his head to examine him. Though you’d felt it across your scalp, his beard was noticeably overgrown and in need of a trim. His hair greasy and mussed, streaked with grime, just like his face. The skin of his face was tinged red, with blush or sunburn you weren’t quite sure, and the bags under his eyes were deep. In spite of yourself, your bottom lip stuck out, brow pinching in concern. Bringing a hand up to cradle his face, you stroked a thumb gently over his cheek, careful to avoid the sizeable bruise across it. 

“Oh sweetheart. What did they do to you?” You asked quietly, feeling choked up as the hulking man nuzzled into your touch, his eyes falling shut with a weary sigh. 

“It’s nothin’.” He murmured, his words worn out—as if he’d spoken them so many times they’d lost all meaning. 

“Then it shouldn’t take long to get you cleaned up.” You smiled, the gesture not making it to your eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his prickly cheek before unwinding his arms from your waist. He started to retract his arms, to tuck them against his sides, but you caught his fingers with yours, grasping his hands tenderly. “Come sit, sweetheart. You must be exhausted.” 

The poor man didn’t argue. Instead, he let you tug him to the couch and sit him down, his lips twitching with fond amusement when you tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “This ain’t mine.” 

You shrugged, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I redecorated.” 

“I was barely gone three days.” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at you. 

Poorly stifling a smile as you pretended to be annoyed, you spoke as though it was obvious why you’d done it. “Your apartment is freezing, Frank. Did you want me and Max to get hypothermia while you were gone?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Still bossy.” Letting his head tip back to meet the spine of the couch, his eyes fluttered shut. Your cool touch manifested on his cheek once again. 

“Do you have a first aid kit, Frankie?” 

“Under the bathroom sink.” He answered, his words slurred ever so slightly with fatigue. He received a slight squeeze of his arm in response, your warm fingers leaving a lasting imprint on his skin. 

A year ago, he would never have let himself have this—a moment of peace. Time to let his guard down, to trust someone else to ease his pain. But the combination of his aching body, his heavy eyelids, and your fussing nature had him letting go of a tension he’d held for years, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Soft footsteps alerted him to your presence. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear you shuffle into a crouch, your chest positioned at his knees. 

Stifling a groan, he straightened his posture, wincing slightly as the motion tugged on his day old stitches. His eyes immediately focused on your adorable form in front of him, your own gaze roaming over the various bruises covering his visible skin. Dipping a washcloth into a small bowl of water, you gently lifted his wrist, washing away the dried blood on his knuckles. As you worked, a small river of dirty water–tinged pink from his scarlet blood–dripped down his fingers and onto your dress. 

He watched the trio of droplets fall, time slowing as if to highlight the moment that reignited his anxiety. Splashing across the multicolored fabric, the liquid seeped into your skirt, staining it as you held his hand. Your kindness was endless, and his presence was tarnishing it, ruining it, ruining you. 

Jerking his hand backwards, he cradled it close to his chest. “Lemme do this. I’m gettin’ blood on your pretty dress, sunshine.” He started to stand but you shook your head, gently pushing him back into the cushion and taking his hand in your grasp once again. 

Looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that you always seemed to carry, your lips curved into a small smile. “Frank, it’s just a dress, sweetheart. I promise it’s ok. Let me help you?” With your free hand, you stroked a wayward strand of his hair off of his clammy forehead.

Despite the fact that your gaze conveyed your desire to continue patching him up regardless of his answer, your tone was stilted–giving him the option to deny your help. 

“You’re too sweet for your own damn good, you know.” He sighed, letting his arm go limp in your grip to let you finish what you’d started. 

“Well, you’re too stoic for yours. Makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it?” Your eyes glimmered roguishly, your smirk encouraging him to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” He snorted, knowing full well that you were right. 

You made quick work of tidying up the split skin across his knuckles, moving on to the bruised skin of his cheeks. 

“Didn’t know you were growing this out, Frankie.” You quipped, tugging gently on the untamed curls of his beard. 

His lips twitched, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as he smiled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Whaddya think?” 

Making a great show of shuffling back to study his face, you tapped your chin. “I like it.” 

“You do? Last time it was this long, everyone thought I was some sort of hipster.” 

Shrugging, you focused your eyes back on the cloth in your hand. “I always like how you look, Frankie.” 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat, unable to quite make it to his lungs. Thankfully, he could blame his lack of response on the fact that you were rinsing the injuries on his face, rather than his own lack of emotional intelligence. 

Eventually, you heaved out a breath, looking at him with a raised brow. “Did you want me to look at whatever’s bothering you here?” You asked, gesturing to his hip. 

“If I told ya I have no idea what you mean, would ya call me on it?” He grumbles, not quite sure how he’d feel revealing that much of himself to you. 

You thought for a minute. Nodding once, you answered. “I’d roll my eyes, but respect your desire for privacy.” 

Swallowing thickly, he huffed a nervous laugh. “Fair enough.” With two fingers, he tugged his loose shirt up and over his head, not bothering to disguise his grimace as he rotated his injured shoulder. Pulling the waistband of his pants down an inch, he suddenly felt a surge of fear, not sure how you’d react to seeing his array of scars. 

Inhaling sharply, you traced around his stitches with a finger. “Oh, Frank.” 

“It’s—“

“It’s not nothing.” Taking his hands again, your intensity returned. “You mean something to me. Seeing you hurt…it’s never nothing, ok? Not to me.”

A lump formed in his throat, he nodded as he tried to swallow it down. “Sorry.” 

“No apology necessary,” You squeezed his hands, placing a tender kiss on the raw knuckles of his right hand before grabbing a roll of bandages from your pile of supplies. “I’m not upset that you’re hurt. I just don’t want you to be afraid to lean on someone else for a change.” 

You dressed his larger wounds in contemplative silence, your soft skin a welcome change to the rough contact he was used to. 

“How’d ya learn to patch people up, sunshine? Playin’ nurse for other neighborhood menaces behind my back?” 

You giggled. “You’re my only patient currently. Cross my heart. I’ve just gotten used to first aid after injuring myself my whole life.” 

Bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, Frank’s brow furrowed. “Injurin’ yourself? What do you mean?” 

Eyes widening in realization, you shook your head. “Not intentionally! I’ve just been a klutz for as long as I can remember.” Chuckling sheepishly, you added, “Takes a toll every once in a while.” 

Laughing with relief, he traced a finger along your jaw as he withdrew his hand from your face. “Ah, gotcha. Christ, had me scared there, pretty girl.” 

Your face flushed with heat at the new pet name. You tied off the fresh bandages and stood up. “You should be good to go, unless you’ve got any other areas that need to be looked at?” 

Blushing as his mind traveled to less innocent places, he shook his head. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You winked at him, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the dirty water and trash. As you rinsed the last of the grime from the bowl you’d used, Frank moaned behind you. 

“Holy shit.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, the other half of a cherry turnover in his hand. Swallowing with another horrifically attractive noise, he lifted the dessert in a gesture. “Did you make these?” 

“Yes, but they were for after dinner!” You scolded, your smile completely betraying your feigned annoyance. “Cherry turnovers. Do you like them?”

“No, they’re awful.” Frank deadpanned, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth ungracefully. You giggled, uncovering the lasagna before he could reach for another turnover. 

“Would you like some actual food, you heathen?” You asked through stray laughs. 

“You made me a lasagna?” 

“Thought you might want some comfort food today. So I made two of my favorites.” 

“Thank you,” Frank spoke your name gravely, as if it was a prayer. “God, sunshine, I dunno what to say.” Your heart ached as his voice cracked around the words.

“You don’t need to say anything, handsome. Just eat, so you can rest soon, yah?” 

Frank couldn’t help but let the tension he’d been carrying for days roll off his back like droplets of water, his eyes crinkling with fondness as you puttered around his kitchen as if you had it memorized. You plated two hearty servings of lasagna and took a seat next to him, handing him a fork. 

“I’m glad you made it back safely.” You smiled, your gaze more timid than he’d ever seen it. 

“Me too, sunshine.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, he speared the fork into the food on his plate, taking a massive bite. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Frank groaned, beaming at you. 

Laughing brightly, you took a bite of your own, overjoyed to have Frank to eat with again. 

Thanks for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrix@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight@danzer8705

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Twelve

Jake x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: 18+ Smut !!! (Oral / Very suggestive language) mild anxiety, fluff, alcohol/drinking (it’s a bar, we know this) VERY brief themes with grief, silly banter, flirting, and Come On Eileen mentions.

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Charlotte thinks herself into a little spiral, landing her at the bar. Josh must have made her drink strong tonight, because she definitely made a choice!

Author's Note: Oh babies, I have been vibrating with excitement to post this chapter. We’ve made it through the dry-spell!! 🫡🫦 have fun!!

Talk (Unreleased) - Harry Styles "Don't ask me to talk about, I don't wanna talk at all."

“Maybe she was right. Maybe they were both right. I should just live a little,” I mutter to myself as I pace the house. You deserve to be happy; just let it happen. 

Daydreaming about the precious long-haired boy who has my stomach in knots. The way I still can’t believe we kissed more than once. It was hard to deny how sweet he was. Always made sure I didn’t walk to my car alone at night. Asking me to text him when I make it home. Checking that it’s okay that he kissed me, even though I went for him first. 

I’ve never met someone who had me so smitten so quickly. It would be a lie to say I’m not a little nervous, but I’m trying to do right by Cassie. She told me to stop thinking myself out of happiness and so .. I’m trying not to think too hard. 

I wish I needed to be there today. 

Mindlessly tidying up to try and keep myself distracted, I look through the handful of books sitting on the coffee table. For transparency’s sake, they are all romances. Maybe it’s because I just don’t have anything non-fiction on my to-be-read list or the fact that I feel like I’ve seemingly met a man written by a woman; the world will never know. 

Flipping one of them over to read the summary on the back, in italics, reads ‘friends with benefits.’ It stops me in my tracks, metaphorically. ..That’s a bad idea.. Right? I shake my head, trying to rid the idea entirely. Tossing it back on the coffee table and staring at it like it just insulted me personally. 

I pick up my phone, seeing the time, 4:03 pm, with an unread message from him.

Jacob: someone keeps queuing up the same song on the jukebox and I cant stop laughing

Jacob: idk how many times you can listen to Come On Eileen before you lose your mind but I have to be close to it 

I laugh at the idea of him losing it while behind the bar, especially with how calm his demeanor is. I can’t picture him being distraught. What if I just went and got a drink? That wouldn’t be weird, right?  

Me: Too many ‘too loo rye ay’s for you huh?

I mean, we are basically friends at this point and we’ve made out twice.. I don’t think me going to the bar for a drink would be .. wrong?  Staring at my leggings and fuzzy socks, I get up and quickly walk into my bedroom. I stare at myself in the full-length mirror; my hair is still fairly curled from last night. 

I pull out my olive cigarette pants, toss them onto my bed, and start digging through my closet. Finding an off-white sweater hiding in the back, I think I can make this cute. Changing into those and standing in front of the mirror, I tuck the bottom of the sweater up into the band on my bra, cropping it slightly. 

“That feels better, I think,” I mumbled to myself. I slide my belt through the loops, pulling things together even more. Adjusting my necklace to sit on top of the sweater, moving the clasp back to it’s rightful place. 

I grab my phone from the bed, take a picture in the mirror, pulling up the group chat; 

The Laid-Ease 🤩

Me: [sends photo] is this cute? 

Quinn: YES YES YES

Willa: very!!

Mel: Oooooo! Yes 😍

I smile at their responses, feeling a little more confident in my impulse decision. I sit in front of my mirror with all my makeup next to me. I take my time, making sure everything looks how I want it. I typically stick with natural-looking makeup because I’ve always liked my freckles and don’t want to hide them. The least I can do is feel cute if I’m going to go sit at the bar, you know, just in case.  

Sufficiently killing enough time so that I didn’t get to the bar too early. Finding a parking spot proved to be a little more difficult tonight. But being further away, I was able to sit here for a minute before walking over. 

Is this a dumb idea? No Char- you need to just go inside and get a drink. Josh is probably bartending anyway, so he’ll probably just talk to you. 

Forcing myself out of the car, I slowly walk over to the bar, taking deeper breaths as I do, trying not to let anxiety win. I'm doing this for you, Cass.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Luckily for me, I found a seat at the bar, and Josh is an angel. Bringing me a drink quickly and chatting with me for a few minutes before checking in on other customers. 

I slide my book from my bag, making myself comfortable as I sip on my drink for a while. My thoughts get louder as the alcohol slowly hits me. Rereading the same page a few times before actually processing it. 

You know he’s here–just go say hi. Shaking my head as I swallow the last sip of my drink. It’s very unlike me to let anything like this even remotely happen. 

You’ve never caved in a work situation, it’s honestly shocking. Unprofessional if you ask me. Okay but to be fair– none of the people I've had to work with look like him. You really can’t blame me for having eyes. 

Flipping the page of my book, I try to refocus. I wonder what he’s wearing today. Does he have his button up that he hardly buttons on? Jesus, what did Josh put in this drink? 

Forcing myself to read a few more pages before moving my bookmark into its new home. 

“Is Jacob in his office?” I ask Josh as he’s lingering close to where I’m sitting.

He nods quickly, “Where else would he be?” His eyebrows raise as he looks over at me, “I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

I slide out of my barstool, adjusting my pants quickly. His office isn’t far down the hall; as I round the corner into the door frame, I take him in for a second. He’s so pretty. 

I gently knock to get his attention, watching his eyes light up as he sees me makes my stomach turn. Just go for it.

His sweet voice lingers in the room as he says, “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

I swallow my nerves and whisper, “I know.” Stepping further into the small space, pushing the door shut behind me. Everything feels like slow motion again.

Turning to him, I’m barely taller than him while he’s sitting; I grab the sides of his face as I lean in. The feeling of his lips against mine makes my heart beat harder. I have kissed my fair share of men in my life, but none compare to him. The way his lips are so soft and how he goes for my bottom lip makes me wonder if he would ever sink his teeth into it. 

“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” he whispers through a small giggle, which makes me laugh with him. His hands gently rest on my waist. The way he looks at me, this man is going to be the death of me. 

I lean back in; this time, I can’t stop how desperate I feel. My hands find the back of his neck; my fingertips pressed into him like I’m afraid he’s going to run away. His grip on me tightens, pulling me closer. My legs bump into his knees; well, there’s only one way to solve this. 

Before I have time to think, I’m straddling his lap, his arms wrapped around me, my hands sliding up into his hair. Oh my god. My breath hitches as he lightly dances his tongue against my lip, and who would I be to deny him that? Goosebumps flood my body as he deepens the kiss, his grip on my shirt getting tighter, pulling me against him harder. I let my teeth grab his bottom lip, barely enough pressure to gently pull it back, when the sweetest little moan escapes him. 

The sound alone was enough to get a girl wet, but then he smiled. And dear god– isn’t his smile gorgeous? A little pink staining his cheeks, we quietly laughed together as I tucked my face into his neck. I breathed him in for a moment, feeling his hands slide up and down my sides. I felt him shift a bit before he pressed a kiss into the base of my neck, sending chills through my body.

He continues to litter slow kisses up my neck and under my jaw as I sit back up. He takes his time, barely lifting up when he moves so I can feel his breath as he inches his way up. Nobody had ever taken the time he had with me; it felt like he was savoring every kiss. 

My hands timidly moved from his neck down to his chest. If we weren’t here, I would be pulling this shirt off of him. Thankfully, his button-up shirts didn’t leave much to the imagination; I gently tugged on one side, revealing his collarbone that I let my fingertips graze. 

He hums against my skin before moving to press a kiss just under my ear. 

“Mmm,” he rasps quietly, “I could stay here all night.” His low voice sends shivers down my spine and makes my heart throb. I need him.

I stand up, grabbing his hands from my waist. 

“Stand up for me?” I ask quietly, and he doesn’t hesitate to follow through. He leans against his desk as I lean into him. It’s my turn to have some fun. 

I kiss down his jawline as my hands find his hips. Tracing along the top of his belt, I move my lips to his neck; his skin is so warm. Deciding to take my chance, I slide his belt over, starting to undo it. 

“Charlotte,” he whispers, “what are you doing?” 

I look up at him, stilling my hands, to ask, “Is this okay?” 

His eyes meet mine, looking back and forth for a moment like he’s trying to make sense of what I’m doing. But honestly, I’m also trying to make sense of it. 

“Of course, it’s okay. I just—“ he stumbles over his words before I cut him off with a kiss. 

I mumble against his lips, “Let’s not talk about it right now.” 

Quickly undoing his belt and popping the button on his jeans, my mouth is already watering. I drop down to my knees as I’m unzipping him, seeing his cock twitch as I do. He leans over me, flipping the lock on the office door. 

I can’t help but press kisses into his stomach just above his boxers, watching the goosebumps flood his skin. Gently tugging the waistband down, letting him free. Holy shit. My hand immediately ran down his length as I glanced up at him.

“All for me, baby?” Slips out, and he just moans quietly in response. What is he doing to me? His face reddening at the pet name, and my heart is pounding at the soft sounds coming from him. Letting my tongue run up to the tip before sliding him into my mouth. I can barely see him gripping his desk, the veins in his hands popping out harder, which only sends another shock through my body. 

Slowly taking more and more, I want to savor the moment. I’ve never wanted to be in this position more in my life. His little whimpers as I move closer to the base, making me throb. I pull my head back, stroking him for a second as I tease him more. 

“Don’t be shy, I wanna hear you,” I tell him. A strained moan falls from his lips. Before going back in for more, I tuck some loose hair behind my ears. Feeling his hands carefully gather all my hair as he wraps it around his fist, he watches me as I move my head quicker. The moans falling from his lips get louder as I pick up speed. 

Knowing he must be getting close, I say the one thing I know will get him going. 

“Come on, Captain.” 

His head drops back as his hand tightens its grip on my hair, he lets out a breathy, “Please.” 

“Let me have it,” I whisper, plunging my head down his length, feeling his little trail of hair barely touch my nose. I bob my head a few times before using my hand to help get him there, feeling his muscles tense before he finally spits out any sort of warning.

“Charlotte- fuck,” is all he can get out before his orgasm hits him. Hearing him moan my name makes my heart flutter. He accidentally tugs harder on my hair, not that I mind. But lettting go to brush the little hairs away from my face as I pull back and tuck him back into his boxers. 

I sat back on my feet, just admiring him in this state. His face was a little flushed, eyes still closed as a little smile crept onto his face. Finally looking down at me, he reached his hands out for me to take. Pulling me close to him as he kisses me, but I move my face back out of shock. 

“But I just-“ I start; most men I have been with would never kiss me after I did that for them.

“Who cares?” He giggles, pecking my lips a few more times. “Don’t even mind the taste since it’s on your lips.” 

“Oh,” is all I can muster. I was so severely unprepared for how secure he actually was in himself. Why is that so sexy? Have I really wasted that many times on guys who are just insecure? I truly didn’t think that something so simple would make him even more attractive, but here we are. 

“Should I sneak back out there?” I ask as he fixes his belt. 

“If you do, I’ll come out and keep you company,” he says, looking back up at me. He looks like he’s fighting a smile, which I can’t decide what option is cuter. I lean myself into him, pressing a few small kisses against his lips. 

“Okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” I whisper, wiping my thumb across his lip gently. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Sitting back in my seat at the bar, I watch as Josh makes my drink for me. I can’t believe I did that. My mind races with what just happened, the sounds he made, the way even just the thought makes me shift in my seat. 

“Thank you,” I pipe up as Josh slides my drink over to me. He flashes me a toothy grin before hustling over to take someone’s order. I’m not even halfway through my sip when Jacob’s voice floods my ears. 

“You doin’ alright?” his English accent slips out. He sneaks behind the bar but not too far from me. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” I smirk, taking a sip of my drink. The corners of his mouth quirked. He grabbed the towel next to him before walking over to where I sat. 

“Is that so?” He asks, cocking his eyebrow up. The way he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the room makes my body warm. I’ve never had someone make me feel like this before. The way he’s standing in front of me, propping himself up against the bar. How his toned arms are lightly flexed, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look past how nice* his hands are. 

“Maybe,” I squeak out, leaning into my hands to try and get a little closer to him. The grin plastered on my face was undeniable. Looking at him in front of me after what just happened makes my head feel dizzy, and I’ve only had one drink. 

“Well, I’m very sorry, honey,” he says, just loud enough for me to hear. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’ll be damned; he’s good at it. “Rude of me to leave such a pretty girl like you waiting.” He thinks I’m pretty.  

My mouth moves faster than my brain can when I respond with, “I’ll let it slide this time.” Letting my eyes wander all over him as if nobody could see me. Noticing the way he’s biting the inside of his lip, the little twitch in his hand as my eyes drop to them. The movement of his necklace when he leans forward only fills my head with horrible thoughts. The thought of them bouncing off his chest as he– 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, subtly biting his lip. “Promise.” The look he’s giving me makes my thighs clench together. 

“Oh, I’ll be looking forward to that,” I try to hide how nervous that makes me. I haven’t done anything with someone for a while, let alone having someone … do something for me. Usually on my own for that. 

He stares at me for another second before letting his head drop back a little. He stares at the ceiling before shaking it as he looks down. A soft little smile is on his lips. What is he thinking about that has him grinning like that? 

I cave, “What’s that face for?” 

He lets out a laugh, letting his smile grow, showing off his teeth now. His eyes rake over me again, his arms folded over his chest; he really is so cute. 

“It’s nothing,” he finally spits out. 

My eyebrows pull in, “I don’t buy that one bit.” Squinting at him as tries to do the same face back but not being able to hold it.

“I can’t say it right now,” he says, moving closer to the bar. He leans down, propping himself up with his elbows.

“Why not?” I don’t know what is in the air tonight, but I can’t stop myself from poking at him more and more. 

“It’s not the right place,” he laughs, “people could hear me.” 

“Just whisper it to me,” I excitedly spit out, “we can pretend it’s a secret.” I watch as he looks around the room, moves back, and mouths ‘hold on’ to me. 

  He pours two fresh beers from the tap, walks them over to a table, and grabs their empty glasses. He then wanders around the booths for a moment, making sure everybody is happy. I steal glances at him a few times, doing my best to not stare at him, but it’s hard. He’s a deceivingly intoxicating man; you’d never expect it because he’s so quiet at first. 

How he’s gone this long without a girlfriend is beyond me. I guess it’s also something we’ve never really talked about, so maybe he just didn’t care? I can’t imagine girls not liking him. He’s so precious; how could you not develop a crush on him? Oh– I hadn’t thought that hard about that part of whatever this situation is. Do I have a crush on him? But I don’t live here, so that could make him not want to pursue anything– I don’t live that far, maybe he wouldn’t care. My thoughts race with questions of whether I’m making a mistake or not. 

I don’t want to jump into a relationship this fast. I don’t want to waste more time, but I have to do something because I just know Cassie would punch me if I didn’t do this. Suddenly remembering the book that offended me earlier today, ‘Friends with benefits’ plays in my head. Maybe he would be okay with that..? That way I can make sure this is what I want to do. That sounds reasonable, right? I’d say we’re friends and who would say no to the benefits? He already promised me something, and I need to know what that is now.  

I’m pulled from my thoughts when I feel someone gently place their hand on my back. I look over to see him setting a few glasses on the bar. He’s so close I can feel the warmth coming off of him and smell his cologne. 

“Oh, sorry, excuse me,” he giggles quietly. Turning to leave, he stops, sliding his hand up to the base of my neck and lightly giving it a squeeze. He drops his head to whisper, “Was just thinking about how I can’t wait to hear your pretty voice moaning my name.” 

My jaw falls open as he says it; looking up at him, his face is flushed like he’s embarrassed to admit it. He gives me a slow wink before sauntering off to talk to customers, leaving me to think about that. I definitely need to know what he plans on doing to make it up to me now. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Our nightly routine begins once more as we walk in comfortable silence to my car. 

I quietly break the silence, letting out, “The sky looks so pretty tonight.”

His head tilts up quickly to take it in while I watch him. His eyes scanned all the stars and the light from the moon, illuminating him with no cloud in sight. 

“She really is amazing, isn’t she?” he spoke so softly, looking over at me. 

“Who..?” 

“The moon,” he chokes back a little laugh. “She’s incredible.” He looks so happy as he looks back up at the sky. The chill of November made it so I could see his breath as we walked, but it also kept me closer to him in hopes of stealing some of his warmth. 

Our hands timidly brush against each other a few times until he glances down, sliding his hand into mine. I just know Cassie is somewhere screaming over how  I am with him. I just look at our hands intertwined, the way his thumb just runs over mine, and smile when he squeezes a little to make me look at him. 

“Your chariot, madame,” he says, gesturing his free hand to my car. 

“Oh, thank you, sir.” I try to play along, letting a small laugh slip partway through. We just stood there in comfortable silence for a second, still hand in hand. 

“So,” he mumbles, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I nod, fighting the urge to just stare at his mouth. 

“Drive home safe. Text me when you make it. You know the drill at this point,” his sweet giggle lacing the latter half. 

“Of course, mhm,” I tell him, moving a little closer to him, “I hope you have a good rest of your night, Jacob.” His eyes practically twinkling in the moonlight as I gaze at him. He leans in, his plump lips pressed into mine but backs up quickly with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Back to my full name already?” his smug little tone made me laugh. My hands grab the sides of his face, pulling him back in for another kiss. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to call you Captain in public after that,” I say against his lips; he lets out a small groan at the name. 

“I’ll let it slide this time,” he mocks me, stepping back and grabbing my hands. He pulls them up, placing little kisses across my knuckles. How is he real? He reaches past me to open my car door. 

“Now, get home before it’s too late.” 

I toss my bag into the passenger seat before sitting down and starting it. Turning to him one more time, looking up at him, I can’t stop myself from smiling. I grab his shirt and tug him towards me. His hand holding onto the doorframe, leans down, hovering over my mouth until I finally cave.

 “One more,” I mumble before closing the gap between us. He laughs into me, knowing I full well just stole his line. 

“I’ll be waiting for your text,” he says, pointing at me with his eyebrows raised as he moves back to shut my door. 

I sit there for a minute, just watching as he walks back towards the bar until he’s finally out of sight. I click on the address in my maps and set my phone in the cup holder. Looking back up at the moon, seeing how bright it is tonight. She is beautiful. 

I can’t take my eyes away from it, feeling the tears settling in, and into the quiet of my car I whisper, “I hope you’re proud of me, and god, I wish I could call you right now.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Thirteen

FDOG Master Post | Masterlist | Playlist

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