#i come back after months of radio silence hand you this and disappear again

[hlebopecc]

ourtle 🐢

[honorarysimp]

Interlude: The Diner

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Out of everywhere in town you’ve been since you arrived two weeks ago, this is the only place you’ve truly felt safe.

The diner was a blast from the past, a relic of a time long gone. The checkered linoleum floor worn and scuffed in places, and vinyl-covered booths gave the place a retro feel, while the crackled and faded wallpaper added a touch of nostalgia.

The smell of stale coffee and fried food hung in the air, adding a distinct atmosphere to the place.

The diner was dimly lit, the fluorescent tubes above the counter casting a harsh, almost clinical light over the small space. In one corner, an old radio played quiet music, the sound barely reaching a few booths in the room.

You are currently sat in a booth towards the back, visibly exhausted beyond measure as you nurse a cup of black coffee.

Coffee is suppose to be the answer to everything, but you’ve had to reconvey your initial claim the last week.

Your phone suddenly rings loudly in the quiet diner, the sharp sound causing you to flinch, jarring and breaking the ambiance like a hammer against glass. You glance down at the screen, expression darkening as you saw the word "Mayor" flash across the display.

With a heavy exhale, you let the call ring through to voicemail. The Mayor was the last person you want to deal with at the moment. You’re frustrated and exhausted, as this investigation seems to be leading nowhere.

Why answer her when you have nothing to report? She knows where to find you if she’s that desperate for results.

You reach into your coat pocket and retrieved your tape recorder. You lay it on the worn tabletop and looked at it for a moment with a slight grimace.

You hesitate before starting the recording, the weight of your lack of progress weighing heavily on you. With a weary sigh, you hit the record button and began speaking, voice low and tired.

"It's been two weeks since I arrived here, and so far, I've got nothing. No leads, no suspects, just a whole lot of dead ends."

You continue, your voice growing more frustrated as you detail your efforts thus far.

"I've tried everything," you admit, hand running through your hair in exasperation. "Witness interviews, forensic analysis, even digging through records going back decades. But every time I think I'm onto something, it just leads nowhere."

You lean back in the booth, shoulders slouched in exhaustion. "It's like this town is intentionally keeping secrets."

You pause for a moment, expression thoughtful.

"The people here," you begin, voice a bit softer. "They're just as much victims as anyone. I've started to get to know some of them, and they're just trying to live their lives. But then there's this..."

You trail off, expression conflicted. You knew you’ve always tried to be logical and professional when it comes to your job, ruled by rationality and evidence. But this case is pushing your boundaries, forcing you to question your own beliefs.

"Maybe... maybe there's no logical explanation," you admit, voice barely a whisper “the only thing that’s consistent is the fact one person goes missing a month, but even that doesn’t make sense because it stops and starts randomly- goddamn it.”

You hit the pause button on the tape recorder, frustrated. You sit back, the silence in the diner somehow making the weight of the case even heavier.

You sat for a moment, eyes unfocused as you mull over everything that has happened in the last two weeks. The disappearances, the dead ends, the strange events... everything about this case was slowly chipping away at your certainty, your usual rational mind struggling to find footing.

You start the tape recorder again, voice weary but determined.

"The attack in the woods," you began. "I've tried to make sense of it, but it just doesn't add up. The masked figure came out of nowhere, silently and unexpectedly. The knife cut me, but there was no blood, no trace of any kind at the scene. And even after searching, there were no footprints or tracks of any kind. Nothing."

You trail off, eyes fixed on the tabletop. "It's like the assault never even happened."

You again continued, tense with disbelief. "And then there's Wes," you say, shaking your head. "He just vanishes after walking into the lake. We've searched the lake more times than I can count, and we haven't found a body. Nothing. It's like he just vanished into thin air."

Your frustration and confusion becomes more and more evident the more you spoke, the mystery of the case growing more complex with each passing moment as you verbally try to debunk it aloud. "It makes no sense," you mutter, raking a hand through your hair once more, knee bouncing in a fidget underneath the table.

You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm your frustration. "The disappearances, the attack, the lack of any solid evidence... everything about this case just feels wrong. Like there's something bigger going on, something just out of my grasp.”

You look down at the tape recorder, brow furrowed. "But how do I solve something when I can't even see all the pieces? How do I find answers when everything I've tried leads to more questions?"

You sat slumped in the booth, gaze unfocused as you wrestle with your thoughts. "I need... I need..." you repeat in a low voice, frustration and desperation mingling in your tone.

I need a fucking cigarette.

You clench your fists, refocusing on trying to piece together the elusive clues in your mind. "I need something decisive, something concrete," you continue, eyes sweeping over the steam rising from your mug as if the answers were etched within the small bubbles resting on the liquid’s surface.

You let out a heavy sigh, the frustration etched on your face. You reach out and hit the pause button, shutting off the tape recorder.

You lean back in the booth once again, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. The weight of the case hung heavily on you, the lack of progress a crushing disappointment. Never has a case had you so in the weeds before, you should have something by now.

"I need to find something," you mutter to yourself, jaw clenched. "I can't keep spinning my fucking wheels like this."

You rest your elbows to the table for a moment, rubbing a hand over your face as if trying to scrub away the fatigue and temporary defeat. Everything about this case was getting under your skin, the lack of progress wearing on your already frayed nerves.

The Diner's bell jangled as someone entered, causing you to look up from your thoughts. Your gaze lands on Tara of all people, who had just walked in.

You register the first responder uniform she is wearing, coming to the conclusion that she must be working the night shift. Or just got off it, depending on what time it is, that of which you aren’t sure. Your eyes lingered on her for a moment, taking in her tired but determined expression.

Her head turns and you’re already meeting her gaze, a pause between you, and then you silently gesturing for her to join you. You see the hesitation on her face, the fatigue and worry that mirrored your own. But after a moment, she relents and walks over to the booth, sliding into the seat opposite you.

“Hey” you start softly, watching her take your coffee mug off the table and take a small whiff before taking a sip.

You don’t question it.

“Nothing yet on our end, you?”

You shake your head, “even if we did, I’m sure Sam would be the first one to let you know.”

Tara nods, and you both fall silent.

The one waitress that seems to be working tonight walks over, she gives you both a kind smile.

“You’re working late tonight, Cici” Tara says politely, which makes the woman laugh good naturely.

“I could say the same to you, coffee?”

“Please.”

She scribbles it down, glancing back up “and the usual?”

Another nod from Tara, which then has Cici’s gaze going to you expectantly.

“I’m still doing okay with just coffee-“

“The Detective will have what I’m having Cici, thank you” Tara cuts you off, making Cici glance between you knowingly as she jots the order down and heads off without another word.

You look to Tara and narrow your eyes, but she beats you to it before you can speak.

“I wish you’d stop making assumptions about me, you know.”

A pause, you reach across the table for your mug but she pulls it from your reach.

There’s a good chance Tara is talking about the last conversation you two had before you found Wes and Chad, but of course you’d hate to assume.

So you wait for her to continue, after a moment her expression softens slightly and she nudges your coffee mug back across the table to you.

“For what it’s worth, I’m rightfully in the same boat. Worrying certain people are only around for information, for wanting to know things rather than-“ she stops, clearing her throat.

That’s when you get it. The hot and cold.

“Look… I’ve never once been dishonest with you, I’ve got no reason to be” you start slowly, giving your still aching shoulder a little roll before reaching across the table to accept your mug back.

“But-“ you pause, as your fingers brush against hers, neither of you acknowledge it as you pull the coffee mug back to your side “unfortunately that’s the one thing I’m under contract not to tell you, which is who hired me. You already know why I’m here, and if there’s one thing I can promise you is that I’m not using you for any reason.”

She is clearly skeptical, you can tell by the way she looks at you. But you can also see that slight softness between her brow, like she wants to believe you.

You sip your coffee, sitting it to the side before placing your palms flat on the table top, “ask me anything you want, no pool games, no deals, no trades, no bullshit. And then I’ll do the same.”

That look returns, the one Tara gave you a week ago when you’d asked her out for drinks.

“You still are trying to pick my brain” Tara says with an amused tone, you offer a smile and shrug.

“I wanna know you, is that so hard to believe?” You say as you nudge your coffee mug back over to her, a silent offer.

Tara eyes you, then the mug, then you again. She’s fighting back a smile, something you’ve noticed she does a lot with you. In a way you consider it a win, because it means she’s starting to like you even when she doesn’t want to.

“Fine” she agrees, pushing the coffee mug back across the table to you before crossing her arms, “but you’re on thin ice hot shot.”

You grin, trying not to feel triumphant for finally managing to somewhat get through to her.

“First things first, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

The disapproving look Tara gives you makes you laugh harder than it should, which in return, makes her smile more than she should.

And for the first time in a while, a sense of normalcy envelops you both. It won’t last, but for now, it’s nice.

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[lqvesoph]

Back to December - LN4

gif by @lewdo

summary: based on the song 'back to december' by taylor swift. You fell in love with Lando and that's what scared you the most, that's what scared you into breaking up with him and disappearing for four months but now you wish for nothing more than to make that dreadful night back in december right again

warnings: this one is a sad one with a little bit of fluff

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"I'm so glad you made time to see me", you dared to speak after a few minutes of awkward silence. "How's life? How's your family? I haven't seen them in a while."

"I've been good", Lando shortly replied. "Busier than ever with all the races and stuff."

"The season started a few weeks ago, right?", you asked, even tho you already knew the answer as you couldn't help but keep up with the Formula 1 schedule.

Lando simply nodded.

"The weather's nice", you spoke again. Lando huffed. "We're in Miami", he dryly replied.

You could tell his guard was up by the way he sat upright in the chair and wasn't comfortably leaned back as you remembered it, by the way his voice sounded forgein and somewhat cold, not the warm, smooth one you remembered.

But you knew exactly why. Because of you, because the last time he saw you was still burned in the back of his mind.

"I'm sorry for that night", you spoke up after a few seconda of silence.

You think a lot of that night in the middle of december, the night you rejected him.

You didn't sleep for days after you left, you couldn't. Every time you closed your eyes, his face would show up, reminding you of what happened, of what could've been.

You would sigh, stand up and walk to the window to stare out on the glowing lighs of Miami as your mind played back all the beautiful memories of Lando and you.

Summer. All the beautiful times. Memories.

During the summer break, Lando asked you to join him on the vacation his friends and him were going on. You were hesitant at first but agreed shortly after.

It was probably the best summer of your life. You had the best time, joking around with Lando, Max, and Ria. It was your first time in Greece as well. Living in America you'd never really been outside of the States, your usual vacation was the beach house with your family of friends, an hour away from your apartment in the middle of Miami, or a trip to the Canadian mountains.

You watched him from the passenger's side of the rent car, you watched how his fingers drummed on the steering wheel in the exact beat of the music coming from the radio, how his blue eyes were focused on the road ahead, how little hums left his lips when a song came on he liked and how he laughed when you started to sing karaoke together.

Maybe your heart already knew back then.

Your brain however only realized you loved that crazy boy who risks his life every two weeks by stepping in a small car and driving up to 300kph, in fall. After Daniel and him had an especially good race in Monza, Italy and secured McLaren a 1-2 podium, the first one in a while.

The whole crew celebrated together later that night and Lando obviously invited you to join them.

You went to a club, not far from the circuit, had a few drinks and danced the night away. You could finally let loose of the stressing days at work. With the pretty curly headed boy right in front of you.

"You having fun?", he called over the loud music, with the biggest smile you'd ever seen. You nodded with a just as big smile on your lips. Lando tangled your fingers together and pulled you closer.

His other hand rested on your lower back. You leaned your head against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin directly under your ear as he was wearing a half buttoned shirt.

"Me too", he said, kissing the side of you head. "It means so much to me that you're here", Lando whispered in your ear and you lifted your head from his chest.

Lord, this boy had a way with words. Maybe that's what made you helplessly fall in love with him without even knowing.

His eyes were fixed on you and his hand left your fingers and went up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek. Lando stroked over your cheek and slowly over your slightly parted lips.

"You're so beautiful", he mumbled. His gaze switched between your eyes and your lips, until he looked in your eyes for a few seconds longer, searching for consent to do what he wanted to.

You nodded slowly and closed your eyes when you felt Lando's soft lips on yours.

The kiss was gentle, the first of many more you would share until the cold came and the dark days of winter.

You started to have doubts but your heart was telling you to ignore them, to enjoy your time with Lando.

He had brought you flowers, red roses, your favorite. It might seem cheesy but you loved them. You didn't think anything of it, looking back at it now, you were so stupid, so oblivious. Why would he randomly bring you your favorite flowers to a date in the park?

"You remembered my favorite flowers? I told you that ages ago", you laughed, breathing in the sweet, fresh scent of the roses. "Of course I do", Lando smiled, sitting down next to you on the wooden bench. You met up in a park close to the race track where Lando would be racing tomorrow.

"You're too sweet", you mumbled. In that moment you felt happier than ever, thinking nothing could ever destroy your mood.

Lando studied your face carefully. Looking back, all the signs were so obvious. "Love?", he asked after a few minutes of just enjoying the silence between you two. You turned your head to look at him, finding his sparkling blue eyes.

Lando swallowed hard and reached for your hand but before he could say anything else you felt light rain drops fall down on your bare arms.

Your eyes widden and you looked up into the sky. It was dark, it was probably after midnight already so you couldn't see the dark clouds above.

"I think we should go somewhere dry", Lando chuckled and pulled you up from the bench. But you didn't move further. Rain was something quite unusual for Abu Dhabi.

"Love, it's raining. Come on", Lando smiled. The rain had started falling quicker by now but you just stood there, head tilted back and eyes closed.

"Dance with me", you whispered.

Lando looked around the park, no one was here but the two of you. "You know I can't dance", he chuckled. You smiled and looked at him, then you pulled him closer to you, the roses still firmly in your grip.

You started to sway the both of you from side to side. "See?", you mumbled, looking up into his eyes. Even in the dark they were bright blue.

"You barely can call that dancing", he chuckled, both arms wrapped around your waist. "It's close enough", you giggled and touched his nose with your own.

Lando looked into your eyes for a second before leaning down and closing the small gap between your lips. You kissed before, this wasn't something new but somehow it felt different.

"I love you", Lando whispered.

And suddenly your whole world stood still. You abruptly stoped moving and your entire body froze.

You left Abu Dhabi that night. The doubts creeping around in your head overshadowing your heart yelling at you to go back to him.

After you pulled back from Lando, apologized and literally ran away. Your cheeks were wet and you were sure it wasn't only the rain running down your skin.

After you arrived at your hotel you hastily threw all your things into your bag and left for the airport, flying straight back to Miami.

Because you had been hurt by your past lovers, you naturally assumed that he was going to hurt you, as well, so in order to keep your heart from getting broken, you left.

Because although you loved him, and you were sure you did, you didn't want another shattered relationship, another shattered broken heart that would take months and months to heal again.

But maybe you just made that happen all by yourself by leaving. Maybe you just broke your own heart by not giving him a chance. The chances you deep down knew he deserved.

You took the flowers home with you and placed them on your kitchen counter, not touching them ever since.

Over the months, they naturally died and secretly you were hoping your love would die with them.

You thought you'd enjoy the freedom of not being tied to him, of not having to fulfill responsibilities, of not clearing every weekend to go see him because even though you loved him, loving him was exhausting at times.

You desperately hoped for all these things to happen but somehow that didn't.

Because every weekend since the season started, you sat in your room, your fingers itching to grab the remote to turn on the TV to watch the Formula 1 race.

You missed it. You missed travelling long routes just to see him for a few hours, you missed seeing his happy face after finishing on the podium, you even missed his bad mood after a race that didn't work out the way he wished to, you missed wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a hug and following into a kiss.

After finding out he got his first podium of the season in Imola last week, memories dwelled up again. Memories of last year's Grand Prix at Imola where he also secured a podium and where you were watching him.

You knew Miami would be the next one, so you took all your courage to grab your phone and send him a short text, asking to meet you in his favorite café here.

And now you were looking up at the boy who's heart you broke only four months ago.

Lando finally looked into your eyes, the first time since december.

"I'm sorry for that night. You were so good to me, fuck, you were better than anything or anyone else. When you held me in your arms that September night, the first time you ever saw me cry, the first time anyone but my family ever saw me cry. I miss you, I miss your smile and it being the first thing I see in the mornings. And maybe it's just wishful thinking, probably mindless dreaming but I feel like if- if we... if you- I swear, I'd love you right, how much you deserve it and even more because you were the best thing that happened to me but I was anxious and scared and stupid for not realizing this earlier. There's nothing more I wish for than to go back in time and change it, but I can't. I know I hurt you, I hurt you trying to prevent you from hurting me but in the end that's exactly what I did so if you don't- if the chain is on your door, I understand, I completely understand but please don't let it be too late, Lando because I miss you and I love you. More than anything!"

--

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@mehrmonga @f1lover55

[tainted-liquor]

'Miss Me?⋆｡°✩

E42!Prowler Morales x ProwlerFan!BlackFem!Reader Ingredients: Sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of salt Tws: Cussing, brief abandonment, n thas it W/C: 2.4k A/N: GWENPOOL CODED READER RAAAAAAAAGHHHH

Something was wrong.

really wrong.

for the past 2 years, you’ve been following in the footsteps of New York's infamous “prowler”. He served as a symbol of fear and terror in the eyes of the public, murdering dozens and destroying whatever he could get his hands on. But to those who paid any actual attention, it was clear that there was a specific pattern to his actions that never really harmed the innocent. He took down massive corporations and spilled the blood of corrupt figures who profited off of New York's state of constant chaos and poverty. You loved to watch him run just above your reach, dodging and weaving between buildings as he chased after something like prey.

So what did you do? You decided to grow your own identity when you were 15, making your robotic pink and white suit within the cold walls of your school's long abandoned attic. You began imitating the Prowler, managing to make quite a bit of noise in terms of your presence as a ‘new villain’ within Brooklyn. Your ultimate goal was to make as much noise and garner as much attention as your beloved ‘hero’ to grab his attention. So when you were fighting off a group of businessmen in the back alley of a dark building, you stopped everything when you saw the familiar suit drop down from above and join your fight.

He said nothing, fighting in absolute silence as he helped you destabilize the last of the people you were currently combating. He gave them a rather lethal-sounding kick to the head, making sure they were all out before looking up at you and turning his head to the side. You struggled to keep your composure as the white slits on his mask narrowed and he walked closer to you, circling you slowly as he examined your shiny suit. “Oh my gosh-! Hi! This is crazy I literally love you!” You exclaimed, your voice sounding like a staticky and distorted radio. He finally looked back at your face after analyzing your suit.

“Are those my claws?” He asked, grabbing your wrist and examining the refined metal claws on your hands that were definitely inspired by him. “Yes! My gear is totally inspired by you!” You cheered, eagerly rocking your arms back and forth to refrain from trying to hug him. He hummed briefly before walking away to wherever it was he was going, disappearing without a trace. You didn’t wanna be annoying, so you waved bye watching as he seemingly jumped up a building and quickly disappeared into the shadows. You thought that would be the last interaction you’d have with him as you sped home with a smile on your face, praying to whatever god was listening that you’d be able to talk to him next time.

And DAMN, were them gods listening.

You began to see him pop up slightly more on your missions, watching as he silently helped you with your tasks, gave your suit a good look, and then left again. This became a routine for about 3 months, watching him come and go like a thief in the night. You always said your brief hello, hey, or hi to always get an upward nod or a small thumbs up. But that never stopped you from fangirling when you got home or complimenting his skills or suit. You were currently brutalizing and abusing some CEO of a big corp, kicking and kneeing him in the stomach for info regarding the exploitation of his employees when you felt a familiar presence behind you.

“Hey! Here to help me again?” You asked, throwing a sharp punch to the man’s skull before dropping him on the floor. You turn around to face the Prowler immediately, tiny hearts popping up on your holographic mask that indicate your joy as he only shakes his head. “I need you on a mission with me” he mutters, attaching a small disk-looking circle to the side of your helmet. “Wait wait really! YES! LETS FUCKING GO! Okay okay, wait.” You exclaimed, turning back to face the man you left on the floor and tying him up with a spare electrical cord you found. “Okay let’s go! I’m so excited!” You exclaim, wrapping your arms tightly around the taller boy's torso automatically.

Of course, Miles wasn’t really big on physical touch. But he let you hang around for about 3 seconds before prying you off with a tiny smile. “Aight that’s enough, c’mon. Your suit got boosters?” He asked as he prepared to dart forward out of a window. “Yours has boosters? Is that how jump so high?” You asked, earning a small sigh of irritation from Miles. He backed out of the window, swung you over his shoulder, and held on to your back tightly to make sure you wouldn't slip and splat on the concrete below. You let out a small yelp of fear as he darted out the window at seemingly impossible speeds, wind whistling in your ears as Miles's voice rang clearly through your helmet.

"The disk I put on your mask will let you hear me when I'm gone. Vice versa. I need you to knock out anyone in the control room n turn off the cameras while I reach the person we're looking for. I'll come get you when I'm done. DON'T leave the room" he instructed as you tried your best not to audibly swoon over his unfiltered voice. His tone was smooth and silky like honey, his accent sticking to his words like glue as he firmly told you exactly what to do when you arrived at your destination. Your stomach pooled with butterflies as you responded with a small "got it. By the way, your voice is really cute." There was a small huff and a low chuckle before Miles gently patted your back with his cold claw, muttering a small "thank you" that went straight through your eardrums and right to your rapidly increasing heartbeat.

And ever since that mission, you grew closer and closer. He cleaned up after all your crimes, picking up and destroying any clues you'd left behind, and keeping some as keepsakes. He'd never tell you that though, finding himself fidgeting with your purple heart-shaped sunglasses he found cleaning up another one of your messy missions. Nine months later and there you were sitting on top of a skyscraper, knees swinging back and forth childishly as you admired the lights that looked like fireflies from up so high. "Hola, Mamita. You shouldn't sit on the ledge like that. Don't know what I'd do if my favorite sidekick fell to her death" He taunted as he sat next to you, gently pulling you closer to him. "Harr-de-harr. I'm not your sidekick. You can be my crime husband though!" you exclaimed, turning your head to look at Miles as you bonked your mask with his.

He giggled at your statement, sounding genuinely joyful and flattered for a change before turning to face you again. "Yeah, aight. Fuck a crime wife, you just my wife," he stated, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and swinging your knee over his. You were thankful that he couldn't see your face, otherwise, he would've seen how your jaw dropped as you leaned your head against his shoulder. He took off one of the heavy-duty purple straps attached to his suit, gently clipping it onto your pretty pink tactile belt. He scooped you up without so much as a word, safely hauling the both of you down from the top of the skyscraper and placing you safely on your feet. "Aight, I gotta go Mamas. Keep that f'me, yeah?" He called as he quickly disappeared into the shadows again.

But that was the last time you saw him.

You carried on with your missions like usual, going 5 in a row without seeing your 'husband' or him saying some random shit in your ear. There was no "keep safe. Cops are on you" or him scolding you for being 'irresponsible' regarding your share of crime. You began to get worried, risking your life by going out fully suited when you had no reason to be, running and jumping around Brooklyn in search of your Prowler while his name slowly faded from the news. You even began to think that he got himself killed fucking around with the wrong target one day. You were scared, and you missed your 'man'.

For two whole years, you went to school every morning wondering when you'd see your beloved Prowler again. The anonymous boy you'd once fangirl over like some sick and twisted Justin Beiber suddenly faded from the face of the earth. You spoke in your mask now and again, attempting to get some type of response as you grieved the sudden disappearance of your first love. You continued as a nameless vigilante, earning a massive amount of fame and even 'replacing' the Prowler as his name withered from headlines. You quickly grew stronger, learning to clean up your mess, and became more violent when it came to dealing with criminals and small-time offenders.

The days melted together as you lost track of time, drowning yourself in your academic career and constant suit updates to take your mind off the pain in your heart. You practically sped down the highway with your newly installed 'Wheels' to your wide, chunky, metal boots. Your Purple strap flailed in the air as you darted off after an all-black tinted car, containing what was supposed to be your final victim with your identity as the infamous 'Pink Prowler'. You blasted forward with your boosters, digging a claw into the back of the black trunk and clawing your way up the car, breaking the glass windshield and pulling out a rather young-looking white guy. The car crashed abruptly, allowing you to leap to the side and get a look at the guy you were about to ask a couple of questions before you robbed him of his life.

There was a sudden static noise filling your helmet, groaning in irritation as you put your foot on the man's chest and fidgeted with the side of your mask. There was a loud thud, and the car burst into flames as a figure stood behind you…but you weren't really afraid as you slowly turned around to face the new stranger. And there he was, only taller and with longer braids as those familiar white eyes stared down at you. You quickly stomped down on the man's chest, hearing a sickening crunch and a blood-curdling scream as you turned to face your 'husband'. Everything rushed back to you like runoff as you took in his form, obsessing over every new muscle and scar as he slowly relaxed as soon as he saw you and your…new suit.

Despite the overwhelming joy and love you felt for the boy in front of you, rage built in your body as you attempted to throw punches at him, with Miles grabbing your metal-clad hands like it was nothing. "Where have you BEEN? I fucking missed you, I thought you died or some shit!" You shouted, attempting to wiggle your wrists out of his hold as he gave you a slight 'sympathetic' nod. He clicked his tongue at you disapprovingly, inching closer towards you as he pulled you into a tight hug. Part of you swore you could feel the regret pooling from his aura, but that was quickly disregarded when you heard him sigh deeply as he rested his chin on your head. "Lo siento, mi muñequita…I never meant to leave you," he muttered, patting the small of your back, allowing you to berate him as much as you wanted for abandoning you.

"I know, I know. Pero ahora esto aqui. Te extrañé, Mamita" He cooed as he gently rocked you back and forth, paying no attention to the man struggling to breathe in the grass. "That's definitely not something I taught you," He murmured, turning his head towards the stranger coughing and wheezing due to his broken ribs. "I saw you on the news every day, Muñequita. 'M sorry for disappearing on you, they was on my ass with a watch party for a couple of years. Wanna know why? Cuz I cleaned up one of YOUR messes" he sniggered, picking you up and resting you over his shoulder as he threw the man in a nearby river. You relaxed in his hold, quickly gasping when you realized that he had murdered your only source of intel. "I was supposed to question that motherfucker, puto!"

"You finally learn Spanish and it's to cuss me out? I thought you loved me…" He joked, giving you a firm squeeze to the small sliver of flesh visible on your suit, located right on your left thigh. You huffed, much to his amusement as he began walking back in the direction of the city. "I'm still mad that you left me like that. How do you abandon your work wife?" You asked, rolling your eyes underneath your mask as you struggled to keep up the 'annoyed' act. You knew you couldn't stay mad at him, and you had a feeling he knew it too. "For the last time, you're not my work-wife. You're just my wife" he stated.

You giggled quietly as you began kicking your feet back and forth slightly. "You don't even mean that for real" you muttered as you mindlessly played with his braids. Miles chuckled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as he adjusted his arm over your back. "Oye, detente antes de que te haga. Solo di que me extrañaste" He sniggered. "In English, please?" You whined as you attempted to grab Miles's hand.

"Missed me?" He asked as he flipped you around so you could see in front of you. "Maybe…" You whispered. Miles gave a low hum, nodding his head when he got the answer he was looking for. There were about five minutes of comfortable silence as you heard his footsteps against the coarse gravel, finally feeling at peace now that you had your husband back from wherever he was. You giggled to yourself, earning a small "Hmm?" from Miles as you thought of a potentially dumb question.

"You should propose to me"

"You want me to propose to you? Aight, I gotchu mamas. Ima get you a real pretty purple ring, okay? But you gon have to fix that suit, I can't tell I inspired it no more. Need these niggas to know you my wife and sidekick"

"boy bye."

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours 06 || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 06 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 6.7k (1k per month i disappeared lol) warnings: profanity, mentions of sex a/n: ... hopefully y'all didn't forget me,, if this chapter is mediocre i am so sorry i'm trying my best here T_T i had to rewrite the chapter a couple times & ended up going with a different route (which may be slightly unexpected) but the series isn't over yet !! this is the calm before the storm ok

There’s nothing worse than being proven wrong.

It’s like when you’re a toddler, your mom tells you to not eat the spicy slice of pork belly, knowing very well that you wouldn’t be able to handle it but you still beg her anyways. Then when you’d finally get a bite, your face contorts into a pained one, desperately wishing that water would be more relieving to the tongue as it is to a house fire. Or like when your high school best friend told you to maybe not get involved with the guy who has quite the reputation, but your constant urge to break the rules practically drowns you, so you go for him anyway. Then, when he left you crying outside on his porch, beseeching him to come back after you clearly saw him cheating on you with that other pretty girl in your Art class with that cool hot pink dyed strip of hair, you’re yet proven wrong again, only to be running to your best friend’s house after you regained your senses.

This is probably another one of those times. And truthfully, maybe you’ve evolved, but there’s this part of you that wishes you’re wrong.

Seungcheol is definitely nothing close to what you’d ever expect to be your type. He’s not the traditional kind of guy—office job, either living alone and saving for a house or lives in a house he owns, has a car, wears business casual clothes on the weekdays, maybe even into different types of beers, occasionally plays a gaming console—instead, he’s a mechanic with a motorcycle and likes to flirt with you whenever he gets the chance. He favors the torn up and stained attire, despite having money (which… you’d only find out not too long ago) but he does love alcohol. Whiskey being on the top of his list; beer is more of an option for social events, he mentions it the one night he stayed late in the garage when you came down with two bottles in hand. “I had leftovers. They were gonna go bad if I left it any longer,” you said as you handed over the Miller Lite. He popped the cap off on the edge of the workstation, swapping it with you after, then opening his own in the same way. “Let’s not put it to waste.”

And here you are, two days after the event, groggily putting laundry into the washer with your head full of—you guessed it!—Choi Seungcheol.

The last encounter was left with you exiting his childhood bedroom with disheveled hair, wet panties, and awkwardly adjusting the fabric of your dress. No phone call to follow up, no text—nothing. Fucking radio silence.

How does someone fucking rail you into the mattress, whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, then claim you as their own and suddenly just go off the grid right after? You didn’t see him for the rest of the night, and when you went back to Rowoon, he didn't interrogate you on your relationship with Seungcheol after he shut him up. The whole thing was eating you up inside to the point that you were fucking wishing that Rowoon would ask, just to have a soundboard for this dilemma.

Was that the finale of it all? Is this the end of You & Seungcheol: The Not-So Love Story? He hasn’t even been back to the garage yet, and it’s got you pondering why he didn’t even bother to send a fucking text. A text! It’s not that hard to send a text.

But maybe this is what that whole “karma” thing people keep talking about—what goes around comes around, right?

You groan. Slamming the door shut, you pull out the dispenser drawer of thr washing machine aggressively. Just like when he pushed you against the wall that night, knee shoving your legs apart as he looked at your lips with furrowed brows. You couldn’t help but grip onto his biceps—he was so thick in that shirt, hugging every curve of his body in waves you didn’t know would leave you breathless from the sight. How is he so hot when he’s angry? He didn’t even have a right to be, you weren’t his (even though he continuously thrusted his hips into yours, heated breath against your neck with the word, “mine,” constantly falling off his tongue effortlessly), but god he was good at convincing you that you were.

You shake your head. Fuck! This is frustrating. Not sexually frustrating, (you’re lying, that’s definitely part of it), but frustrating in the fact that you don’t know where this leaves you. Are you still fighting? Do you make up? What… now? And why the fuck do you keep finding yourself asking the same goddamn fucking question with him?

Nearly overflowing the compartment for the detergent, you quickly grab a wet rag to wipe off the excess that spills as you mutter a couple curses underneath your breath. 

He’s got you in a chokehold; how is it that a guy who wasn’t even on your fucking radar suddenly the only one you can think about? Even when you’re vacuuming your living room, you don’t even recall grabbing it from the closet. All you have infiltrated your mind is Choi Seungcheol. 

Honestly, you’re a dick.

For one, you’re finally coming to your senses that disregarding Seungcheol’s feelings isn’t fair. He’s been nothing but helpful the entire time you’ve known him; last month, he replaced your windshield wipers when he noticed the rubber was tearing off. He ended up pulling out the weeds from the front of your house after the awkward attempt to water them, and not to mention, he came up to your home when he heard a screech (you’re afraid of cockroaches, and you didn’t admit it even after Seungcheol killed it with a flip flop). 

But who really is the dick here? He hasn’t called you, texted you, or anything really. Quite literally have given you the post-nut clarity you needed, only for him to ghost you.

To fucking ghost you! The guy who said he’s head over heels for you, swooning all your friends into believing he’s your boyfriend, and well—also pretending to be your boyfriend, even when he knows what the consequences for it are. 

Then again, who cares… right? He’s just some buff mechanic, a fuckboy, and a tenant.

(You almost used the “tenant” excuse to text him, but you hold yourself back and don’t. Only because when the 25th rolls around, you actually have to ask him for rent.)

As you’re making your bed, throwing the sheets up to float down and align with the mattress, your phone rings.

At first, you think it’s your mom, so you let it ring for a little. She has the tendency to never pick up the phone, and although you never have the audacity to ignore her call, you let it ring a couple times out of pure pettiness.

That is, until you realize it’s actually Seungcheol’s name on the lockscreen.

“Hey,” he greets; it’s a mixture of uncertainty and excitement, probably because he knows what he did wrong in terms of leaving you hanging but he misses hearing your voice. “Um, how are you?”

“Not great.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?”

You roll your eyes, despite him not being able to see the action right now, he could feel the burn through the phone. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know, I—”

“What happened?” You snap, pacing in your bedroom. “You fucking told me that you were anything but a fuckboy, and the moment that I let myself be vulnerable, you just leave me hanging? What the fuck was that? Am I just wasting my time with you, Seungcheol?”

It stings.

Of course, everything with you stings. In both a good and a bad way, the words you say always seem to ache, tighten, and sting his chest, all from a variety of emotions you spew out so transparently. You’re so real and raw in the way that if he fully commits to you, that’s it—he’s done. There’s no going back to the lifestyle he had before, no fucking around and dicking around.

And as scary as that is for him, hearing that it’s with you, he’s okay with it.

But he’s now in the position where he doesn’t know how to make that happen. Not after all the current events.

“I got caught up,” he says, unable to even believe himself despite it being completely true. The night of the event, you found yourself scrambling out of his bedroom after sex and his dad called about some emergency with the company—Seungcheol has been in Malaysia since. “I really wanted to call and text—really, I just… didn’t know what to say.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Anything would’ve sufficed. I don’t know where that leaves us now. I’m trying, Seungcheol, I admit I was a jerk for disregarding your feelings and never taking you seriously. But when you pull a stunt like this, it doesn’t really make me believe that you’re not just setting me up.”

He stays silent for a moment; you could almost hear the ringing in your ears from the quietude, and you wonder what’s going through his mind. 

“Seungcheol?”

“Yeah,” he says breathily. “Yeah, I—I’m still here.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Can you—Can you take off? Just the Friday. Can I get you on a plane on Thursday night, and you come meet me for the weekend? My treat.”

Choi Seungcheol never really lived an average life.

It all really started when his mom met his dad back in college; this innocent, bowl-cut boy with the thickest glasses of the century, eyesight nearing partial blindness had a crush on the prettiest girl in his economics class. His reputation was practically nonexistent other than for the fact that he looked nerdy, and hers was being… almost every positive adjective in the book. He’d gather the courage to ask her out, expecting a rejection, only for her to turn his way, those chocolate irises sparkling underneath the hallway lights while she said the word that was opposite to his predictions. Yes.

She stuck with him through all of college—even though she had a line of suitors waiting for her, she was always in love with the reputable nerdy boy. Despite what people thought of him, Seungcheol’s dad never failed to make sure she felt loved and supported through the entirety of their relationship. Even when he had these big goals to build a company from the ground up, he kept her as his priority and that never changed.

It’s a love story for the ages, one that his mom reiterated as she tucked Seungcheol into bed during his youth, but he didn’t quite resonate with it because how could someone like his dad be the one to make his mother swoon in that way? The man who sat at the end of the dining table, reading glasses at the tip of his nose even after getting lasik to rid himself of those stocky lenses, physically there but not… present.

Even now, as he’s sitting beside his father at his hotel room’s dining table, he still doesn’t feel him.

But to be fair, can anyone find comfort in a room full of stone tiles, high ceilings, and a chandelier that probably costs more than the average car times eighty?

“Tell your brother that he’s coming tomorrow,” he says, eyes never leaving the screen of his iPad. His father has since graduated from a newspaper to a tablet. “He has a presentation Friday, and he needs to rehearse everything he says. Can’t believe he fucked up the last one.”

Seungcheol sucks his cheeks. He clicks send on the message meant for his brother, feeling more and more like an assistant than someone who was next in line for the throne of the company. “Aight. Sent. Why am I here, by the way? You just so happened to drag me here? I thought there was a company emergency.”

He finally puts down his tablet. “There is. I’m dying.”

Seungcheol’s heart drops. “You’re… dying?” 

“Well, not that I’m sick—god forbid, but you never know when I’ll die.”

That pretty much explains the origin of the majority of Seungcheol’s traumatic childhood.

“Dad, I don’t think it works like that,” he retorts with the quirk of his brow. “I thought it was a literal emergency. I left—”

“What? The garage? Come on, don’t act like I don’t know. I keep tabs on all my children—like right now, your brother is at his girlfriend’s house. The one he has yet to introduce to us, and in fact, I don’t think I like her.”

Seungcheol’s face contorts in confusion. He knows his dad like the back of his hand; if he didn’t know about the garage, Seungcheol would’ve been surprised. It’s almost an expectation that he would track both Seungcheol and his brother, and truthfully, it wouldn’t be totally out of character if he was tracking Seungcheol’s mother either. 

“You’re always pressuring us to get married and run the company—isn’t him having a girlfriend just him going the right route? I’un get it. Isn’t that enough?”

Maybe that’s why Seungcheol only had flings; the girls weren’t ever disappointed in sex, and they never stuck around enough to figure out that he carried so much baggage. The wealth in his pockets might’ve been the reason for the hearts in their eyes (and his dick), but if they knew the weight of expectations from his parents that came with it, they’d run in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to bring anyone close enough that they’d meet his family, have to deal with the burdens he did, and it’s mostly why he’s been hesitant about telling you… everything. Even when he wanted to.

“I wanted him to date that girl, the one whose father owns KS Bank.”

Of course, everything loops back into business.

“Well,” Seungcheol begins, getting up from his seat. “He’s happy. Regardless if his girlfriend is a stripper or her dad owns KS Bank. If you want both of us to run the company, we should at least come home to a companion that we love and care for, shouldn’t we?”

His dad returns to his iPad, adjusting his glasses once again. “It’s not beneficial for the family business.”

Deja Vu hits—that same feeling he got when Namjoon swung at him returns, except the courier this time is his own father.

But just as he reacted with Namjoon, he remains cool. 

Seungcheol probably rehearsed it a million times in front of the mirror, all the possible things he could say to refute his father’s beliefs. If his brother wasn’t in love with the girl he’s supposed to marry, sure, her status would definitely benefit the company, but… would he even want to help out anymore? Isn’t his happiness the priority?

Nonetheless, he knows that fighting back isn’t worth it. 

Instead, he figures channeling that energy toward you would be more productive.

Although, with the last encounter the two of you had, it’s a bit doubtful he’d be able to achieve anything from being miles apart. For one, asking you to come see him when he had absolutely no plan whatsoever on what would happen when you arrive is… bold. Not to mention, you rejected his offer, saying something along the lines of, “that’s not how asking for forgiveness works,” and “things don’t get resolved on some ‘vacation high,’ Choi Seungcheol.”

And by all means, you’re 100% right.

This is an entirely new territory for him—he’s never actually had to ask or beg for forgiveness before because quite frankly, he never cared to. Burning bridges wasn’t a new concept for him, it was something he frequents. His mom never seemed disappointed, so he never felt the need to be apologetic, even if he felt the guilt, the words never emitted. Or when his father made that signature displeased ‘tsk’, Seungcheol had always been below the expectation that forgiveness wasn’t even worth chasing after. 

But you—this experience with you, is a whole other thing.

That guilt gnaws on his insides brutally; he could physically see the impact that you have on him from his disheveled hair, bags underneath his eyes, and the sullen look on his face. Do you hate him? Do you want nothing to do with him? Did he ruin all his chances with you?

He’s never really had a serious relationship before—well, rephrase, Seungcheol has only ever had one serious relationship. “The Classic Couple,” was what they were called; they were the pair that the wealthiest parents would arrange for their children. The only thing wrong with them was that they didn’t work—or well, Seungcheol couldn’t make it work.

With a click of his tongue, reality settles in. If he really wants this, truly feels like there could potentially be more with you, then he has to make it work. This isn’t like the woman before you, you’re… you. Whether or not it lasts forever or just a couple months, he likes you—shouldn’t that be enough? Especially when you’re finally opening the door and hearing him out, stepping out of your own comfort zone? 

“I’m gonna head back home then, since it seems like I’m not needed here,” Seungcheol says, grabbing his phones with a soft ‘thanks’ to the staff as they clear the plates. “I’m sure you two can handle things from here. If there really is an emergency—”

“You should’ve stayed with that girl,” Seungcheol’s dad interrupts, infamously cutting him off as usual. “The girl you dated a couple years ago. Margaret.”

“Maeri,” Seungcheol corrects. “Her name’s Maeri.”

And for the first time, his father’s lips curl into a smile. “So, you remember her.”

“Well, we dated for a while.”

“Shouldn’t have lost her,” he says, inhaling deeply. “I think I can reach out to her father and make an agreement. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you again. I ran into her at the banquet and when I brought up your name, her face lit up.”

Seungcheol stares at his father in disbelief. “Again, I feel like we should have more control over who we end up with, not you. I’m more than happy to try assisting you with whatever it is you need but I should be the one who chooses who I want to be with.”

“And? You chose her before, you can choose her again.”

Seungcheol quits this time, reminding himself again that he needs to preserve his energy for you.

There are a mixture of emotions that are flowing inside of you, eagerness and confusion, unsure of which to display. Do you showcase your excitement and elation or do you express the frustration and annoyance? Normally, it doesn’t really matter which you decide to promote; it’s only because this time, your reaction will result in what happens next.

Seungcheol sits on the hood of your car; in a leather clad jacket that hugs his arms so tightly, you’re almost tempted to spill an insult from between your lips on how he should get a size up (even though you most definitely can’t even stop staring), hair slicked back, and baggy black jeans, it’s the signature look of practically every label that Namjoon had given him. Seungcheol doesn’t say a word—instead, he watches you attentively, trying his best to determine what the expression on your face depicts. 

He can’t quite tell what you’re thinking. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, finally shattering the silence. “Get off my car.” You don’t really mean that, you like him here, and the fact that he’s back, still himself with that smirk on his face, only comforts your heart.

“Come on, baby,” he calls out, ignoring your sharp words with his fingers barely grasping onto yours, tugging you in close. The pet name that’s disgusting from a stranger is somehow sweet when it slips off his tongue, luring you in like some hypnosis spell. “You don’t miss me?”

Of fucking course you do—if it’s one thing that you admit, it’s that you were wrong about him. He’s not what those labels people whispered through the grapevine, completely different from an unattached, apathetic guy who doesn’t want anything that lasts longer than a night. 

But you’re not gonna let him know that. At least, not that easily.

“No,” you retort through your gritted teeth, almost as if it’ll filter the insincerity of that response. “What’s there to miss?”

His hand slips into yours, interlocking your fingers before pulling you nearer. “Everything. Was it quiet down here? Were you lonely? Did it feel weird not to see my motorcycle out front? Or the garage open? What about my company? I know you hate the way I chew on gum, but I’m sure you missed hearing it in the background.”

You chew the inside of your cheek.

He’s so cute, and you feel like an idiot for being another girl that ends up on the list of falling for his irresistible charms. 

“I felt like a one-night stand, Seungcheol,” you confess, his full government name slipping off your tongue with bitterness that hits his ears. He couldn’t get a pet name out of you, but his nickname is enough and his smirk is wiped from his face within seconds. “We fucked then you suddenly pick up a phone call then I just—I never hear from you again.”

“I admit that it didn’t help my case,” he sighs, pushing himself off your car. You’ve got your arms crossed against your chest, a shield to protect yourself from him. “And I can fully explain.”

He starts off with his dad—this cold, distant man somehow ended up with a woman that’s the opposite. Underneath that hard facade, he’s a father who wants his two sons to run his business, only that neither of them inherited the drive to push the company the way that he does himself. 

“… That night that I left, I didn’t come back to the party ‘cause my dad made it seem like the company was goin’ under,” he discloses, deciding that now, he isn’t going to hide anything from you anymore. “I thought I had to go into this big board meeting with my brother and sign off to sell shares of our company ‘cause my dad fucked up or something.”

You roll your lips. There’s a bit of regret for making him feel bad, but it doesn’t discount how he made you feel either. “And then?”

“It was some stupid trap,” he groans, shaking his head. “He’s really good at doing that ‘we’re blood,’ guilt scheme. But uh, listen… I don’t expect you to forgive me or for this to fix up overnight.”

“Then what do you expect?”

“Honestly, um,” and for a moment, he pauses before chuckling. “I really contemplated asking you to be my fake girlfriend. My dad has this thing where he’s constantly trying to set me up with other women—”

The fronts of your brows shift together.

“—but,” Seungcheol adds, hoping you pause your thoughts from going in a direction where you’d stray from him. “To me, there’s just you.”

You blink blankly. “And what does that mean for us then? Where do we go from here?”

He slowly eases his arms to wrap around your waist, hesitant in his movements to confirm that you’re okay with his touch, only to then feel the anxiety lift from his shoulders when the weight of your arms replaces it. “We can… fix us. If you can push aside all the prenotions you’ve had of me, view me as someone that could be your boyfriend, then I want this if you do.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks; Seungcheol always manages to make your heart skip in its beats and cause that churning in the pit of your stomach. “Okay… but—” his smile fades the moment the second word appears, “—but we have work to do. You can’t exactly say we started off on the right foot.”

That stupid grin pulls on his lips once again as he settles back down onto the hood of your car, legs parting for you to sit yourself in his thigh, arms never leaving your frame. “I agree, pretty. I’m ready to do this when you are.”

And with a soft kiss planted on your nose, the comfort and warmth it brings makes you feel like this… is right.

Seungcheol admits that within the last month, his life has been pretty mundane in comparison to what he’s used to.

For one, he hasn’t received a call from his parents. Maybe they’re way too occupied to be concerned about him or that there wasn’t enough going on for him to tag along for, but all he knows is that it’s been radio silent on their end. Plus, the garage has been rather busy lately—he credits you for the increase in foot traffic, recalling how you rolled your eyes and snatched his phone from his hands on a Saturday night lounging on your couch, muttering “how are you supposed to get any business if you don’t advertise yourself?” Truthfully, he’s been banking on word-of-mouth from your neighbors that found out he does car maintenance, but this newfound array of customers isn’t so bad.

He likes the simplicity of this—in the mornings, he’d get to the garage early in the morning and park his motorcycle right by your steps. Pushing the overhead door with a rumble, he’d brush his hands off from the dirt residue left on the rubber at the bottom before placing his hands on his waist to take a good look at his shop—yes, his shop. He’d gotten so accustomed with calling it a literal garage that he forgets that it’s really a shop. Brew a pot of coffee, turn on the little TV he got for waiting customers (really, it’s for himself) before he got to business.

Then, around 6PM, you’d be back from work, dragging your legs up the steps into your home and he’s behind shortly after closing up. He enjoys how domestic everything with you is—cooking dinner together, eating dinner together, and then washing the dishes with one person scrubbing and the other rinsing before settling onto the couch to watch something on TV. Last night, you suggested, “King the Land,” which he normally isn’t a fan of watching K-Dramas, but with you, he finds anything entertaining.

Although the old version of himself wouldn’t ever confess this but… he likes being a boyfriend.

Maybe it’s just specifically that he likes being your boyfriend, considering in his last relationship, he didn’t favor that title as much. But now, he finds himself getting a little giddy inside when you introduce him in that way, almost like little kids get when their crush approaches them.

There’s something about the way you’ve given him a spot in your dresser for him to leave his spare clothes in case he unexpectedly stays the night, and how there’s a toothbrush residing in the cup beside yours, or even the fact that you’ve bought another set of slippers that’s just for him… it makes him feel more at home than at his own home. Seungcheol didn’t sleepover during his wave of late night escapades, but with you, he finds that the left side of the bed unspokenly assigned to him is something he didn’t know he craved for.

Seungcheol loves it. He loves all of it. And truthfully, if he didn’t catch himself before spilling it, he would’ve said he loves you, too.

Today is slightly different than usual, deciding that he would leave the estate earlier (and weirdly enough, living under the same roof as his parents didn’t tempt them from bugging him recently, but they did live on the opposite side of the home) so he could stop by the local coffee shop and grab you a cold brew.

You’re so pretty when you look surprised to see him outside your front door thay morning.

“Hey gorgeous,” he greets, that cheesy smile never leaving his face. You grimace at the term of endearment, but your expression juxtaposes how you feel inside. “I thought you’d like a change of pace and enjoy something from the cafe instead.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, grabbing the drink from his hands. “Vanilla?”

“Three pumps. Just how you like it, baby.”

You’re still so awkward when he says things like that—it used to be so easy to roll your eyes and push him away when he’d do it in such a sleazy way. But now, knowing the genuinity behind the words, he leaves you flustered. Even if he’s annoying and it’s the grossest thing he’s ever said.

“I have about six appointments today,” Seungcheol reaches over to open the lid of his black coffee, the steam rising from the paper cup. “You said you had a doctor’s appointment? So you’ll be back earlier?”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, zipping up your backpack. “I’ll grab lunch for us?” And shortly after, he watches you drive away to work before getting back to the garage so he could greet his next client.

If this is what it’s like to be part of the working class, Seungcheol could get used to this.

He acknowledges that ever since the two of you had resolved your issues, he got a bit carried away. Investing in his makeshift shop has become a whole ordeal, only because the constant drilling, clanging, and unnecessary constructing noises from the equipment installers weren’t exactly what he thought was going to come out of it for the first two weeks—but the realization that he could grow his business from the new customers made him excited. For the first time, Seungcheol felt like he was doing something he was proud of.

So yes, driving or walking by this garage in the middle of a city suburb underneath a house with a whole jacking up station for cars looks futile, but the abnormally high ceilings of your garage should be taken advantage of.

He likes this—beneath a car, pushing aside the plastic tray from this 2018 Honda Accord after unscrewing it and unplugging the drain plug before it falls into a bucket he uses as an oil receptacle. This is nice. This is calming. There’s no hollering from board members, no backhanded compliments from his father, and no attempts on pressuring him into doing things he doesn’t want to do like date a girl whose father has a monopoly on owning property the next town over.

Seungcheol just wants to watch a gallon of old oil release from a crankcase and into a bucket.

And honestly, he thinks his thoughts have spoken too soon when he notices a Rolls Royce Boat Tail pull into your driveway.

He hasn’t met everyone in your life, but one thing he knows for sure is that even the wealthiest people you know (Namjoon and Yubin) don’t flaunt their money in front of you. The rest of your friends are middle class, average working people, and the only way someone is driving to your home with a $28 million car is if they’re part of his life.

“Choi Seungcheol,” the person calls out; the door is shut behind him with a thud, Louis Vuitton sunglasses sitting comfortably on his nose with his long brunette hair combed away from his face. He dresses in a flamboyant shirt, the first couple buttons unraveled, and in sandals that cost four times your car. “I heard you do mods over here.”

Seungcheol comes out from the garage, brows furrowing when he realizes who makes an attendance at his shop. Juxtaposing in a stained white tank and the upper half of his overalls tied around his waist, for a moment, he felt like the two of them were part of two different worlds. “Yoon Jeonghan–do you really think you want to mod your car? Do you even know what that means?”

Jeonghan takes off his shades and slides it into his shirt pocket. “Absolutely not, I heard some guy mention it in a movie once,” he grins cheekily. “So, I heard you got a new place.”

“Well, I’m renting a garage.”

Jeonghan blinks blankly. “What’s renting?”

Seungcheol chuckles, walking back to his station as Jeonghan follows in suit. “It’s when you pay someone to use their space,” he grabs a rolling chair from behind a desk and gestures to Jeonghan for him to sit down. “What’s up? What are you doing here? You didn’t come here to get a lesson on renting.”

“I’m more surprised that you don’t own this place,” Jeonghan stares at the chair skeptically before glancing over at Seungcheol who points to it again. “And… not owning any new furniture.”

“It’s an autoshop, Hannie.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t afford clean chairs.”

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol rolls his eyes, grabbing a rag to wipe the opening for any residual oil. “You come here to lecture me about my place or are you here with an actual reason?”

His friend sighs, finally deciding to plop onto the old swivel chair. “I know you briefly told me that you’re ready to move on from your parents…”

Seungcheol scrunches up his face, grabbing a cylindrical tool from off his cart as he eyes Jeonghan carefully. “Something like that, yeah.”

“And rumor has it, your dad hasn’t been happy about your brother and his new girlfriend.”

“I wouldn’t say new, but my dad has been acting new about her.”

“Well, he’s been making moves to target you instead.”

The tool wraps around the oil filter, and with a bit of strength, it loosens as more oil spills from the sides, flowing into the bucket in unison with Jeonghan’s news.

“He’s targeting me? Stop being so ominous and go straight to the point.”

“Maeri’s back,” Jeonghan finally spills, and Seungcheol pauses in his movements. “Your dad met up with hers the other day—I have this bad feeling he’s gonna try to set something up.”

Out of all the people that Seungcheol has met through his parents and from their “community” (aka the rich people cult), Jeonghan is the only person he trusts. Although Jeonghan will never cut ties from his generational wealth, his loyalty as friend and unconditional support for Seungcheol has always been admirable.

“I mean, he hasn’t called me and—”

“Hey! I’m back! I brought—” you stop in the middle of your driveway, staring at the car you could never afford in your lifetime before looking at Jeonghan and Seungcheol. “I—Oh, uh, hey.”

Jeonghan grins mischievously, stealing a glimpse of Seungcheol then back at you. “Hey, I’m Jeonghan. Seungcheol’s friend.”

You mimic his smile, and something in Seungcheol eats him up whole because he’s quick to speak before you do. “Jeonghan meet—” he says your name, then for a brief pause, he calls you by a label so confidently, he even surprises himself. “—my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. He hears Pomp and Circumstance play inside of his head, the image of him receiving his diploma at the podium while in a cap and grown flashes before his eyes. Choi Seungcheol has finally graduated from the school of fuckboys, reaching that point in his life where he looks at the prettiest girl who manages to make his stomach tie into knots and call him his—truly his. 

“Wow,” Jeonghan clicks his tongue. “Your girlfriend? Insane. I thought you said you weren’t gonna settle.”

He shrugs with that smirk on his face. “Wasn’t. But when you meet a girl like her, who are you to say no?”

Your cheeks heat up as you place the bag of food on the coffee table. “It’s uh… nice to meet you. I didn’t know Seungcheol had friends other than the girls he met at the club.”

Seungcheol shoots a glare but Jeonghan snickers. “I like you already,” he compliments, hand sliding into the pockets of his shorts. “I actually came to convince Seungcheol to attend a fundraiser that my mom is hosting this weekend,” the look Jeonghan gives his friend for a brief moment is suspicious, but the next inquiry gives it away. “… You should come too! Be his date.” 

“Oh, um—”

“I’m not sure about that, Hannie,” Seungcheol interrupts, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t think she’d want to see that part of our lives.”

Jeonghan quirks a brow. “And why not? She’s dating you, right? I’m sure she can answer for herself, and I’m sure she wants to see that side of you and your family.”

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan divert their attention to you.

“You know, you didn’t have to say yes to Jeonghan,” Seungcheol’s standing outside of your bedroom door, leaning against the wall while waiting patiently for you to get dressed. “It’s a whole thing if we go—it ain’t like going to a work party.”

“Well, he—he made a, ugh,” you grunt, and he could hear you shifting inside with a struggle. “He made a point, if I’m dating you, I’m dating all of you.”

“Baby, why are you getting ready in private again? You’re acting like I haven't seen all of you.”

“I’m just—gah,” you knock your foot into the bed frame and wince. “I feel awkward.”

Truthfully, ever since the two of you had made it official, things haven’t… escalated, ironically. The nights he sleeps over are all pure and innocent; he’d nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, shower you with kisses, and wrap his arms around you to pull you close, resting your head on his chest. 

But that was it.

Nothing more.

He hasn’t asked for it or initiated it, mostly because he’s slightly afraid you’d take it the wrong way but quite frankly, he’s been holding himself quite a bit. From when you come out the shower, the thin oversized shirt that hangs from your body is no match for your nipples protruding through the thin fabric, how you bend over to grab something and your sleeping shorts barely covering any skin, and there was even a time where you’d reach over his lap to grab something, breasts brushing against his thighs and ass up, he was wrestling with his sweatpants to hide his raging boner.

Trying to be a respectful gentleman, he keeps his distance. Normally, he’d be bold in his attempts to sway you—just as he did several times, including that night in his bedroom back at home, but now that you’re his girlfriend, it… feels inappropriate?

Weirdly enough?

A part of him is afraid you’d leave, especially when he’s got you now, but he admits that those cold showers aren’t doing any favors for him anymore.

“…Hey,” you call out again, this time it halts his train of thoughts with the door swinging open. Clutching onto the fabric of your dress in the front, his eyes immediately focus on your cleavage. Fuck. “The zipper is kind of low. Can you help me?”

He swallows that brick inside of his throat when you turn around.

Pushing your hair aside, you give him a view of your entire back. The zipper latch is right where your ass curves, and with a sharp inhale, he places a hand on your waist before pulling it up. It feels brutally slow, not to mention when he reaches up higher, he realizes where he expects your bra—there isn’t one. The smoothness of your skin is exposed and his dick twitches in his pants.

“Uh, um. I’m done,” he steps back, clearing his throat. “Ready?”

He feels like a vacuum sucked the air out of his lungs.

To him, you’re gorgeous all hours of the day. But something about today, in that tight fitting dress that hugs the outline of your body so well, and the makeup you applied only amplifies your beauty. He can’t help himself when he’s sneaking glances at your chest then back up to your eyes to the point he needed to get the fuck out of the house before he oversteps a boundary.

“Wow, uh, you look great!” Way to act natural. “Let’s uh, let’s head out.”

“Mkay,” you make your way before him to the front door, rummaging through the closet for your heels, and he turns away when your ass sticks out while you slip on your shoes. “Can you start the car?”

It’s going to be a long night.

← last chapter | next chapter →

[hlficlibrary]

Hi, I love your blog, it has helped me find incredible fanfics. I want to read a type of fanfic but I think it's too specific so I'll totally understand if you don't find something. Could you recommend fanfics in which one of them disappears and when he comes back he doesn't remember the life before he disappeared or he just disappears and comes back? I'm always curious about these cases where the person disappears and comes back and I would love to read something in that context.

Hi, anon! I'm so glad the blog's been so helpful! I do know what you mean, so here are a few that fit what you're looking for!

You Turned Up (Like a Friend of Mine) by @lululawrence

Louis padded downstairs, feeling incredibly thirsty. He filled up a glass of water and was about to take a drink when a loud knock sounded at the door accompanied by some yelling and ringing of the doorbell.

“What the hell?” Louis muttered, setting his glass on the counter and rushing towards the door.

As he got closer to the door, though, his mind stopped whirling because the voice was one that was etched forever in his mind, but one that he never thought he would ever hear again.

“Why’s the door locked? Did you seriously go without me? And who’s car is in the driveway? Lou, I knew you’d be late to get me. We’re going to miss-”

Louis whipped the door open, sure that he was just imagining things. There was no way…

Except there was. Standing on the front step was the curly haired, boy-faced Harry Louis had last seen ten years ago today.

Or the one where Harry disappears on graduation day only to show up on Louis' door looking exactly the same ten years later. Through a series of strange events, maybe they can finally figure out that they're destined to be together, no matter what.

Baby, I think we might be too cold to float by @forreveries

They couldn’t come back together after six years apart and tell themselves that this was love that they were making. Not with all that radio silence. Harry tried to keep it all down, lodged under the lump in his throat. He needed something to focus on, something to keep him out of his thoughts, so that he could go along with this because he didn’t want Louis to take his hands off him. He didn’t want that to happen. But. But he needed it to. “Wait,” Harry coughed out, his voice trembling, “Stop.” Louis looked up at him with wide eyes. “I— I need to stop,” Harry confessed, trying desperately to keep his voice straight. “What is it?” Louis asked, full of concern. “I can’t do this. I— I can’t play along. You left me and I need answers, Louis.” His voice caught on the end of his name.

AKA: Harry is a journalist that goes to Lake Tekapo, New Zealand, to look into a girl’s disappearance after a year of no movement from police. What he finds instead is his ex boyfriend Louis, who, six years earlier, ghosted him after five months of dating in university. A story of trauma, secrets, and the power of finally letting people in.

Things I Almost Remember by louissass

“No, I don’t remember, because that was not me. That was your friend Toby and I am Louis.” He says calmly, remembering Liam’s earlier advice. (“Keep calm and be patient. Apparently he was heartbroken when Toby disappeared, it’ll take him a while to get used to it.”)

Or, the one where every one in town thinks Louis looks like a boy that died eleven years ago, and he accidentally falls for the dead boy's best friend.

[soulofapatrick]

Finding You - Tommy Miller x reader

Summary: Joel; Ellie and Y/N find Jackson and you also end up finding Tommy who doesn’t want to waste a minute continuing where your relationship left off

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mostly fluff with a little smut near the end (female receiving oral)

Y/N’s POV

"Don't even think about raising your weapons!" A female voice cuts through the pleasant silence and we look up to see a blonde woman up a lookout on the right of the gate, gun pointed at us, "Tell the girls to drop their weapons." 

"Do as she says," Joel tells us, hands up but one still in reach of his gun if needs be. I glance to the left and my heart stops for a second as I think I see a flash of familiar dirty blond hair. 

"They're safe." 

That voice. It can't be. 

"You know them?" The woman lowers her gun, voice still full of distrust. 

The air gets knocked out of my lungs when the gate opens and the voice I haven’t heard in years is joined by his face, “That’s my damn brother.” He hasn’t seen me yet as I’m mostly hidden by Joel’s broad frame. They hug before the brothers part and he speaks again, “Goddamn you’re getting old!” 

“Tommy, this is Ellie and well you’re very familiar with-“ Joel’s cut off mid sentence when Tommy utters my name in a whisper as Joel steps aside to reveal me and Ellie. He's the same except he's grown a beard now and he seems to have grown into his features more. He's a bit rough around the edges but who isn't in this post apocalyptic hell?

"Hi," I breathe, breaking the quiet. Tommy doesn't speak, just opens his arms and it's all I need. I let my gun and bag fall to the muddy floor, ignoring Joel's grumbles as I'm sprinting to Tommy. I throw myself into his welcoming arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders as I bury my face in his neck. 

"Oh love," He coos, a calloused hand carding through my hair while the other hold me up by my waist, “Where have you been?”

It seems to trigger something in me so much so I’m pulling away enough to look at him. Before I really process it I’m slapping him, “Where have I been?! Where did you go?!” 

Tommy doesn’t reply, sea green eyes brightening as he just grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger guiding my lips to his. It’s as if no time has passed, except the slight graze of his beard is a new feeling but his lips… they taste like home and like a time before this. 

“Ahem!” Joel clears his throat and Tommy sets me back on my feet. He picks up my pack, Joel already having grabbed my gun before it gets water damage. 

“Come on, I bet you’re all hungry.” Tommy grabs my hand in his before guiding us past the gate and into Jackson. It’s breath taking, like stepping into the past. There’s electricity and people are going about their days as if there isn’t a threat of the cordyceps outside of the walls. Not a lot seems to have changed except there’s stables, gardens and farm areas from what I can see. 

“Fucking starving!” Ellie replies, pocketing her gun and ignoring the pointed look Joel sends her way, “So you’re the famous Tommy.” 

“Famous huh?” Tommy grins that boyish grin at her and she laughs a little, “I hope just good stuff.” 

“The idiot younger brother who disappeared one night and would radio in every three months or so and the man I would sacrifice myself for,” Ellie begins listing all the things Joel and I have called Tommy, “The man I set to marry; the younger brother; the wilder brother; the love of my life-“ 

“Okay you can shut up now,” Joel speaks gruffly as if feeling my embarrassment because they’re all things I’ve never actually said to Tommy. We were. Heading to engagement territory before he disappeared from the QZ with a bunch of others. 

Tommy doesn’t speak, just grips my hand tighter as he guides us to a bar called the Tipsy Bison. It’s almost overwhelming stepping inside to the busy bar after it being the just the three of us for months. There’s music playing and people are dancing, lively chatter is heard from the bar and people are watching as Tommy leads us to one of the only empty booths. From the looks of it everyone knows this is his booth. I have to remind myself we’re in his town. 

“Beer?” Maria asks as we sit down, Joel and Ellie opposite me and Tommy. 

“Yes please.” Ellie chirps up. 

“Non alcoholic for us two, she’s fourteen.” I interject and Ellie just pouts causing Tommy to chuckle and a smile to tug at the corner of Maria’s lips. 

“Alright, two beers and two non alcoholics coming right up.” She nods before heading for the crowded bar. Tommy doesn’t waste any time pulling me to his chest, holding me close as socially acceptable. I just interlock our fingers, squeezing his hand and letting my head rest back against his shoulder, my eyes slipping shut as I just take in the sounds of life and joy. 

“Hey sweetheart, no falling asleep yet,” Tommy presses a kiss to my temple and I just let out a grumble, turning my face into the crook of his neck because I’m exhausted. I’d rather sleep than eat right now. 

The familiar smell of pizza fills my senses and I’m salivating, debating to take back whether I’d prefer to sleep because opening my eyes we’re greeting by a giant sharing pizza. Ellie’s eyeing it like a starved gazelle and I realise Ellie’s never had pizza before. 

“What is this?” She reaches for a slice, subsequently burning her fingers.

“This, kiddo, is a pizza. One of the best things to be ever invented.” Joel’s loosened up a bit and he actually looks happy and relaxed, much like before the outbreak. I can imagine Sarah sitting where Ellie is and can almost forget there is an apocalypse happening. Sarah would be proud of how far Joel has come since 2013. 

“Dig in before it gets cold,” Tommy’s nudging me and I reach for a slice, groaning as the flavours burst from the first bite having missed the taste of any food other than beef jerky. Oh god it’s orgasmic and I know my sounds have an effect on Tommy because he’s gripping my thigh under the table as if warning me. 

Ellie and Joel are also eating like starved animals, none of us having had pizza since the outbreak or ever in Ellie’s case. 

“We are having more of this shit, like so much more!” Ellie talks around a mouthful and I’d scold her but she just seems too happy. This, I could so get used to this but I can’t help feeling guilty because Sarah should be here too. Ellie and Sarah would get on so well; they’d drive Joel crazy but the soft look he gives Ellie now is the same one he used to give Sarah.

“‘M tired Tommy,” I whine quietly once I’m full, leaning against Tommy again and ready to fall asleep. Ellie’s also yawning, pretending to not be tired even though her eyes are fluttering shut before she shakes her head to wake her up.

“Okay sweetheart,” He shifts me so I have to sit up so he can squeeze past me, “I’ll go get Maria so she can show Joel and Ellie where they’ll be staying.” 

“O-okay.” I reluctantly let his hand go and watch as he disappears into the crowd, only to reappear a few moments later with Maria following. They’re talking and she’s nodding, obviously his right hand woman and it makes me a little jealous honestly. 

“Joel, Ellie if you follow Maria, we’ll come find you in the morning and give you the grand tour of Jackson.” Tommy tell the pair, helping me out of the booth. The cold air wakes me up a little and it’s pleasantly nice as Tommy begins to guide me in the opposite direction to my two companions. 

“Wait!” Ellie’s sprinting over and wrapping her arms tightly around my waist as if I’m going to disappear so I gently pull her away enough to cup her face in my hands and make her look at me. 

“I’ll be here in the morning, I promise.” I tell her, noticing the panic in her eyes as she grips the sleeves of my jacket, “I need you to keep Joel out of trouble for me, damn cowboy attracts it like a magnet don’t he.” She giggles at that, hugging me tightly once more. 

“I’ll throw a fucking sandwich at you if you’re gone tomorrow.” She threatens, throwing me back to the subways station we were camping in near the beginning of the journey. I just laugh and kiss her hair before she scrambles back to follow Joel and Maria. 

“Throw a sandwich?” Tommy raises an eyebrow at me as he captures my hand in his, leading the way to his house. It’s amazing compared to where I’ve been sleeping the last few months, everything looking so loved and homey as we step inside. It’s so Tommy and my heart swells when I see a few photos of us on the mantle piece, a small chuckle escaping my lips at the one of the four of us. Tommy’s giving me a piggyback ride while Joel is covering Sarah’s eyes and we’re all laughing and happy, unaware of our futures. 

“Did you ever find anyone else?” I ask cautiously as Tommy leads me upstairs to his room. It makes him stop in place, turning to look at me with a mixture of hurt and surprise on his face, “Because there was nothing other than you Tommy.” 

“Sweetheart,” He makes me face him when we’re in his bedroom, “It has always been you. I would never date anyone else.” 

“I- I didn’t mean just date…” I say quietly, looking anywhere but him. 

“Darlin’” That southern twang makes me weak at the knees still, “Unless you count my hand as cheating, no, I haven’t been with or thought of anyone else.” 

“Tommy,” I grab his wrist as he goes to get undressed for bed, making him glance back at me with the same soft look he used to give me when I’d call his name when seeing him, “I love you.” 

I’m suddenly being swept off of my feet and thrown on the bed that feels like heaven compared to the forest floor but I don’t get much time to take it in because Tommy’s hovering over me, “You don’t know how long I have waited to hear that.” He growls, marking my neck with open mouthed kissed, “I love you too.” He punctuates every word with a cheeky bite. I feel like they’re going to leave marks and that Tommy knows that from the way he pulls back enough to meet my gaze with that stupid boyish grin that has me melting into his grip. 

“‘M tired,” I rub my eyes, yawning and Tommy kisses my cheek before climbing off me. I follow suit, kicking my boots off then going to unbutton my jeans when Tommy’s hand bat mine away. He crouches in front of me as he pulls my jeans down my legs, the fabric stinging my cold and aching skin but it’s soon placated by gentle and loving kisses. He pushes me to sit back down on the bed by my hips so he can get the jeans off of me before he nudges my legs apart with his nose. I oblige, swallowing as he kisses up my thighs stopping at the edges of my panties before going to do the same the other side. 

I let out a whine because the man knows exactly what he’s doing to me, he can probably see at this point. Oh yeah he definitely knows how turned on I am when teeth graze over the fabric of my slowly soaking panties. He slides his hands up my thighs, fingers playing with the waistband as if giving me time to protest or stop him. Like that’s going to happen. 

Oh fuck! He wastes no time once my panties hit the floor, licking the length of my folds. It sends a jolt through me and my thighs instinctively clamp around his head which has him chuckling and prying them apart again as he heads for my clit. 

“Fuck, Tommy,” A hand finds his hair as he sucks to distract me from the two fingers that are suddenly filling me up. I can’t stop the sounds or the way my back arches as he curls his fingers just right, hitting that bundle of nerves. I’m so sensitive and strung up I’m not going to last very long and Tommy knows it from the way he smiles. The bastard has the audacity to bite my thigh before returning to eating me out like I’ve never been eaten out before, “T-Tommy, fuck… I’m-“

“I know darlin’. I know,” He soothes, his other hand that isn’t currently inside me gripping my waist hard enough to leave a delicious bruise, fingertips digging in. It doesn’t take much more for me to start fluttering around his fingers which he suddenly replaces with his tongue. That alone has me coming undone, edges of my vision whiting out as he guides me through the high. 

“You’re so perfect,” Tommy sits back on his heels, watching me as I try catching my breath as sleep starts to claw its way back into my state of mind. It’s as if he can read my mind because he’s cleaning me up with a shirt that was on the floor before cleaning his own face, “Lemme find you something clean to wear sweetheart.” 

“But you-“ 

“We have all the time in the world,” He shakes his head, holding out an oversized shirt for me to change into. I do just that, relishing in how it smells just like Tommy: hay; gunpowder and something sweet. The combination of the soft bed and Tommy’s body curling around my back has my eyes slipping shut, not failing to hear his quiet whisper, “Never leave me again.” 

[reiding-writing]

HI AT FIRST I WANT TO SAY CONGRATULATIONS, AND I REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS, LITERALLY ALL OF YOUR WORKS OMGGG

can i get a fic for number 22 and 23 of the general dialogue prompts for the climacteric event? maybe with a little angst at first but end it with a fluff?

THANK YOU SM, ILY ANGEL<3333

REUNION [CLIMACTERIC]

22. “I think I missed you more than you missed me.” 

23. “I thought I’d lost you.”

WARNINGS: minor spoilers for the prison arc, bro is just a little guy who needs a hug fr

spencer x gn!reader | hurt/comfort | 0.8k | climacteric event!!

a/n: THANK YOU <3333 a little less angsty than originally planned but full of wonderfully sad emotions 😭

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ event masterlist!!

After 84 days of damn near radio silence, you were finally standing in front of Spencer Reid again.

He looked thinner than before, dark purple bags collecting under his eyes and cheekbones more prominent under the harsh florescent lighting. His hair was longer, curling over his forehead and at the nape of his neck, and there was no spark in his gaze anymore, his scleras a blank slate of absolutely nothing; Like all human emotion had been washed away in those short three months.

Except it didn’t feel short.

It felt like the longest god damn three months of your life and you weren’t even the one in the prison. You can’t imagine how long it felt for Spencer.

But at least now he was home.

Home and safe. For the most part anyway.

“Hi,” You speak almost breathlessly, wringing your hands together behind your back to suppress the urge to just throw yourself at him in relief that he wasn’t suffering behind bars anymore.

“Hi,” God how you missed his voice, flowing through your ear canals like silk and making you melt at his greeting like he’d recited some niche romantic poetry in your ear.

He looked like he was holding back just as much as you were. His fingers tugged the cuffs of his sleeves against his palm, and he traded gazes between you and the floor as he swayed ever so slightly on his feet in an attempt to relive the nervous tension running through his body.

It was like the two of you were locked in a stalemate, neither wanting reach out under the shared knowledge that you’d both break if you do.

But you’d waited eighty four days to see him again, and god would be damned if you had to wait any longer.

“I missed you…”

You swear you can see Spencer’s self-restraint shatter the second the words leave your mouth, and he takes a step forwards to anchor his hand around your back and pull you against his chest, his head pressed securely against your shoulder as he breathes you in.

You return his efforts fervently, bringing your arms up to rest over his shoulders with one splayed in his curls as you hold him tight to you, like you’re afraid it’s the last time you’ll ever get the chance to do so before he disappears again.

“I think I missed you more than you missed me…” His words are muffled against the cotton of your shirt as he buries himself as deep into your embrace as he can, his hands connecting together behind your back as he squeezes you as securely as possible.

You wouldn’t be able to get out of his hold if you tried, but that was the last thing you were worried about.

“That’s not true,” You shake your head against the side of his, sighing next to his ear as you turn to speak into his hair. “I really thought you weren’t coming back… I thought I’d lost you…”

You swear Spencer sinks further into your arms as you confess your lingering worries even though it isn’t humanly possible with ho tightly you’re holding onto each other already. “I’m here… I’m okay…”

“I’m so glad…” Your voice cracks, and that’s it.

You knew you’d break once you finally got him in your arms again, but this has gotta be a record.

Your shoulders begin to tremble softly as the first tears leave your eyes, and Spencer unlinks his hands to rub them in lines over your back.

And then you’re sobbing into his shoulder. Your tears dapple the beige-grey of his blazer, leaving dark stains in their wake, and the hand wrapped around his back leaves wrinkle in the fabric from how tightly you’re holding onto him.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to mirror your emotional state as he turns his head into your neck, the moisture of his own tears falling down the line of your neck and under the collar of your shirt.

In any other instance you’d probably find it mildly uncomfortable, but you didn’t exactly have the mind to care right now. You finally had Spencer in your arms again, that was worth anything.

[mackenzielovee]

parenthood part sixteen: dissension

a/n: hello ! happy sunday and a super special happy birthday to @imobsessedsblog ! i hope your day is amazing! please leave me some love if you can and enjoy <3

warnings: swearing, heartbreak, tears

ambivalence masterlist , parenthood masterlist

     Two weeks. 

It’s been two weeks since you heard from Topper or Sarah. Not for lack of trying, of course. The day Topper left your house after the beach day, he’d been gone exactly three hours before you got a text from him. Two simple words, but enough to shatter your heart in two. 

It’s over. 

You’d responded immediately — and sent him about a thousand texts since then — but hadn’t heard a thing back. You also texted Sarah, who didn’t respond either. Rafe reached out to both of them as well, but only got radio silence in return. He’d also reached out to Rose and Ward in hopes that they’d know where Sarah is, at least, but they don’t. 

The days turning into weeks of silence from your best friend only make you sad. He’s been your rock for years; getting you through every single challenge and there to offer a hug and a kiss on the cheek at the end of it. Now, when he needs you, he runs off. 

You still text him everyday, and Rafe watches you from across the room as you stare at the screen full of unanswered text messages. Without even being asked, Rafe takes the brunt of the work for the kids while you wallow in your worry. You’re not surprised, but you are thankful, and you tell him so every night before you show him. 

On the morning of the fifteenth day of no Topper, you climb out of your empty bed and stumble out into the kitchen to make coffee. Josie is asleep on the couch, which has become her routine with Rafe for the last few months. She gets up and comes downstairs before he leaves for his run just so she can give him a hug and a kiss before he goes. He claims it’s the best part of his day, knowing it would usually lead to a cute pout on your lips. Instead, you just give him half a smile and then get lost in your head again. 

“Morning, baby.”

Rafe’s voice shocks you out of your head and you spin around, eyes raking over his sweaty body. He gives you a faint smile, as if trying to assess your mood. 

“Morning,” you rasp, listening to the coffee maker come to a halt, “Your girl is asleep on the couch again.”

“No, my girl is standing in our kitchen, worrying to death about something she can’t control,” he corrects, raising a brow as he nears you, “Come here.”

Your lips tip up as you shake your head, “No. You’re all sweaty.”

“You’re afraid of a little sweat?”

“Kinda!” you cry, laughing when he throws himself around you anyway. 

He chuckles and squeezes you tighter, pulling his head back so he can take you in. Once you stop squirming to break free, your eyes meet his and you furrow your brows. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Missed that smile,” he confesses. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I’m just worried about him.”

“I know, sweetheart. He’s probably taking this time to work out what he’s lost. He’s gonna need us soon, I know that.”

You nod, knowing Rafe’s right but not necessarily wanting to admit it. Instead, you cuddle into him and rest your chin on his sternum, puckering your lips for a kiss. He gives you one, and just as he starts to smile, you speak. 

“I’m afraid,” you tell him, “I’m afraid something bad happened. Sarah’s always been a bit of a wild card, so I get this behavior from her. But, Top? He’s never disappeared this long. It has to be something major.”

“He’s okay,” Rafe says again, “He just needs some time.”

You just nod and bury your head into his chest, doing your best to let it go. You breathe Rafe in instead, letting him calm you down. It almost works, almost, when the sound of your sweet girl’s voice comes tearing through the house. 

“Uncle Topper.”

Your eyes close under the two simple words. Rafe tenses against you, but lets his hand travel up and down your back to keep you calm. 

“Josie, baby—” he starts, but her voice stops him. 

“Uncle Topper’s outside!”

You perk up, yanking away from Rafe and meeting his eyes for a split second before you hurry out into the living room. Just as Josie had said, Topper slips into the house, using his key, and smiles when he sees Josie. 

“Hi, my angel,” he greets her, lifting her up for a hug. 

“Hi, Uncle Top,” she smiles, “Missed you.”

He purses his lips and nods, emotions evident at her words. You stand by the stairs and take him in with Rafe pressed to your back, sure he’s doing the same. He’s smaller somehow; his hair is a mess and he definitely hasn’t shaved since the last time you saw him. He looks hungover and sad, even as Josie paws at his stubble and leans in to give his jaw a kiss. 

“I missed you, too,” he whispers. 

For the first time since he entered, Topper looks up at you. It isn’t until you see his eyes that you realize how much he’s been going through in the last two weeks. He looks destroyed. Even worse, he looks as if he’s given up. 

“Hey,” he says roughly, “Can we talk?”

You nod quickly, feeling your throat constrict as you swallow down your thousands of questions. Rafe’s hand meets your hip, and you watch as Topper tips his chin up at your husband. 

“Let’s sit,” you speak, barely able to get the words out as you gesture toward the living room. 

Rafe guides you down onto the couch while Topper settles into the armchair with Josie. She cuddles into his chest as if she can sense that something’s wrong, and you know it is when Topper pulls his wallet out of his pocket. 

“Twelve hundred, right, Cameron?” Topper asks, fumbling with a handful of cash. 

“What?” Rafe asks. 

“Twelve hundred,” he repeats, tossing the pile of cash down on the coffee table in front of the two of you, “That’s how much you lent me for the ring. There it is.”

Your eyes widen as you look for Rafe for an explanation — one where he actually tells you that he lent money to Topper and you don’t have to hear about it after it clearly doesn’t work out. Rafe’s eyes close and he puffs out his cheeks, then slowly exhales. 

“Why are you giving that back?” Rafe asks, still not willing to look at either of you. 

Topper laughs, then leans forward and covers Josie’s ears with his palms, “Didn’t work out.”

Josie squirms and shoves Topper’s hands from her ears, then turns around and glares at him. To apologize, he leans forward and pecks her forehead. 

Rafe’s eyes open then, but instead of facing the music with you, he keeps his eyes on Topper. 

“Where’s my sister?”

Topper swallows, “Fuck, she’s— sorry, baby. Don’t say that word. She’s in Boston.”

Josie furrows her brows and sits up tall in his lap, reaching her hand up and petting his scuff the same way she was earlier. Rafe squirms uncomfortably, desperate to know more about why Sarah is in Boston and not here. 

“Where’d you go?” Josie asks with the pout that makes Topper melt, “You left me.”

Immediately, Topper shakes his head, “I would never do that, Josephine. You’re my girl. My only girl.”

“What about Aunt Sarah?” she asks. 

Topper’s eyes meet yours before he looks back at her, and you can tell he’s biting back the response he wants to give. Instead, he paints a fake smile on his face and pulls her closer. 

“She wasn’t the one for me,” he explains, “But you know who is?”

She grins, “Me.”

“Correct,” he smiles, “And I promise, I will never leave you. Are we okay?”

She nods happily, standing up on his thighs to wrap her arms around his neck. 

“I love you,” she says. 

“I love you, too, angel.”

You shift in your seat, needing desperately to know what happened but not wanting to push him away from Josie. Rafe pats your leg, signaling that he’ll take Josie and leave the room while the two of you talk. You give him a small smile, and just as he stands, Connor comes down the stairs. 

“Uncle Top!” 

You sigh internally, but smile when you see Connor dive over the armchair and into Topper’s lap. Topper smiles and embraces him, immediately asking him how he is and to catch him up on everything. Rafe sits down again and puts his arm around you, kissing your temple gently as you accept waiting your turn. 

     By the time the kids calm down, you’ve had two cups of coffee and your leg continues to jump up and down. Topper looks over at you and sighs, then sits up and repositions Josie. 

“Hey, angel, I’m gonna talk to your mom for a bit. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Josie looks over at you in hesitation, then nods, “Okay.”

You stand up when he looks over at you, then sets her down in the chair and stands from his seat. You stand too, giving Rafe a hesitant look before you squeeze his hand and follow Topper out to the deck. 

Silently, the two of you sit down. You balance your half empty mug on your thigh and squirm, working up the courage to look over at him. He keeps his head down in his lap, hands gripping the arms of the chairs tightly. 

“Did you get my messages?” you ask weakly. 

“I did,” he replies, not looking up, “All thirty-two of them.”

You purse your lips to hide an embarrassed smile, watching him as his own mouth tips up at the ridiculous number. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Don’t be. I was acting like a tool.”

You watch his eyes flicker up to yours, and before either of you can say another word, he gives you a real smile. You visibly relax in your seat at the sight of his smile, convincing yourself that maybe things aren’t as bad as you’ve been thinking up for the past hour. 

“What’s in Boston?”

His jaw shifts as he exhales, “She got a job up there. Claims she wants to put her Communications degree to work in a place that’s not surrounded by water.”

“Oh,” you nod, “But, you’re not going with her?”

“Y/N,” he sighs, shifting in his chair and tucking his head into his hands, “It’s complicated.”

You lean forward, wrapping your hand around his forearm to pull his hands away. He looks over at you, his eyes swimming with tears, and sniffles. 

“I can handle it. What happened, Top?”

He swallows roughly, staring at you for a moment before he speaks. 

“We broke up,” he states bluntly, but you know he’s not through, “She’s pregnant.”

Your jaw drops as your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at him as if to find some silent explanation on how that news could lead to a breakup. When he doesn’t elaborate, you puff out your cheeks and exhale slowly. 

“Why—I mean, what—”

“What does that have to do with us breaking up?” he guesses, shaking his head as he chuckles sarcastically, “Well, she’s pregnant, and she doesn’t want a baby. She says we’re not ready. She, uh, found out she was pregnant three weeks before she told me, then came to me with a pregnancy test and an adoption pamphlet.”

You swallow, “And you said—”

“I said,” he continues, “We’re getting married soon, and I’m scared, too, but we can do this. She said no, things escalated, and then she threw the ring at me.”

“Top,” you whine, “I’m so—”

“She’s keeping it,” he interrupts, “But she doesn’t want to be a mom. She said she’ll respect what I want if I respect what she wants, too. So, I’ve spent the last two weeks deciding between being a single parent or giving my child up to strangers.”

Your eyes well up with tears as you try to even imagine being put in such a place and coming out in a good headspace. You’re sure you’d look even worse than Topper does, and even that is being generous. 

You reach out and grab his hand, covering it with both of your own. His jaw shifts as he holds back tears of his own, looking at you just as you start to cry. 

“I’m so sorry, Topper. That’s a really tough position to be put in. Do you want to talk about it? Figure out your decision?”

He shakes his head, “I’ve made my decision.”

Your throat constricts as you suck in a breath, feeling as though you’ll never be able to get enough air in. 

“Oh,” you squeak.

He squeezes your hand and gives you a small, sad smile, “It’s my baby, Y/N. I’m not just going to give them up. And, yeah, maybe a nice couple would be really good to the kid, but I’m their dad. I can do this. I’m just, um — I’m gonna need a lot of help.”

You grin, sniffling and trying to keep your tears in. He laughs when you nod and pull him in for a hug, squeezing him so tight that he has to know you believe his decision is the right one. He chuckles, and when he pulls back, you wipe the stray tears from his cheeks. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you whisper, “You’re gonna have a baby, Top. That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” he answers. 

“I mean it. You’re going to be great. This baby doesn’t know how lucky they are.”

His eyes flutter closed at the words coming from you, fresh tears falling at the motion. A million questions flow through your head, but you don’t ask any of them. You just sit with him, letting him breathe in his new future. 

“I have to talk to the kids,” he eventually says, nodding his head in the direction of the house, “I have to go to Boston for a while. I need to take care of her while she’s pregnant. I just don’t want them thinking I’ve left them. My heart will always be here with those two, you know? They’re the kids that made me realize I want my own.”

You smile, “They love you so much. So do I. I know this situation isn’t how you thought it would happen, but I think you’re doing everything right. I’m just sorry that it’s not what Sarah wants, too.”

He clenches his jaw, “It was. That’s why I proposed. We talked about living here and having kids and building a life together. And then Boston came along, and she just changed. I don’t even want to think about why.”

“Topper,” you say weakly, “You have been amazing to her. Her change in behavior had nothing to do with you, I’m sure of it. I really thought things would work out between the two of you this time.”

Tears fall from his eyes again, but this time, it’s different. He nods in silent agreement with you, taking in shaky breaths to try to collect himself. 

“I did, too,” he confesses, “But, selfishly, I’m glad my baby will be half Sarah. She’s the first girl I ever loved, you know? Maybe she won’t be the last, but at least I’ll have a piece of her for the rest of my life.”

Before you can help yourself, you set your mug down on the ground and pull Topper up, begging him for a hug. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight, letting himself cry. 

“You’re a good man,” you whisper, “We will be here for whatever you need. I promise.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he replies, voice thick with emotion, “You’re my best friend.”

“You’re mine, too, Top.”

     You hug him for a while, hoping that if you squeeze tight enough, you can push those broken pieces of his heart back together. When he finally pulls back, he lets you wipe the tear streaks from his cheeks and then gives you a smile, his silent way of telling you that this helped him. 

“When do you have to go?” you ask. 

“Tomorrow,” he says, “I want to be there for all the milestones. I don’t wanna miss anything more than I already have.”

You nod, trying and failing not to let your disappointment show. He lets his hands find yours and squeezes before he nods in the direction of the house. 

“Want me to get the kids?” 

He nods, “Yeah. Could you, um, talk to Rafe? It’s his sister and I just— I can’t do it.”

“Of course,” you reply, “I’ll be right back.”

He releases you and watches as you take a few steps to the door. He waits until your hand meets the doorknob to speak again.

“Y/N,” he calls, “I love you.”

You smile and turn around, “I love you, too.”

He returns your smile and lets you escape back into the house, taking the minute alone to collect himself. You walk into the living room to find Rafe and Connor on the couch together as they play a game on Rafe’s phone, while Josie plays on the floor with Connor’s stuffed dinosaurs. 

Rafe looks up at you when you enter, and just as you collide with the blue in his eyes, tears start to well. He tenses and stands, rushing over to you without a second’s worth of hesitation. 

“Sweetheart, what is it?” he asks. 

You shake your head and give him a fake smile as you sniffle, then look over to the kids, who stare at both of you. 

“Guys, Uncle Top wants to talk to both of you outside,” you tell them. 

“Okay,” Connor answers, rising from the couch. 

He reaches out and takes Josie’s hand, leading her toward the back door. You wait for it to click closed behind them before collapsing into Rafe, letting your emotions overwhelm you. 

“Shit, baby, hey,” he whispers, “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s sit.”

He pulls you over to the couch and helps you sit down. You reach up and wipe under your eyes with the tips of your fingers, doing your best to compose yourself for his sake. He’s patient, as you expect, and brushes the hair away from your face as he waits for you to speak. 

“Sarah, um,” you sniffle, your voice cracking slightly as you continue, “She got a job up in Boston. She’s staying up there, and, well, she’s pregnant.”

“She’s pregnant?” he repeats, his eyes wide, “But they’re— he said—”

“I know,” you nod, “She doesn’t want to be a mom. At least, not right now.”

Rafe’s lips part as he takes in the new information, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his brain. His hand falls to your thigh as he collapses back into the couch, running a a hand through his messy hair. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, “So, what’s going to happen with the baby?”

Your eyes close, “Topper’s going to raise them. On his own.”

You can feel Rafe tense, but your eyes remain glued shut. Rafe’s grip on your thigh tightens, a silent beg for you to state your opinion before he explodes with his own. You swallow while he shifts his weight, letting out a shaky and angry breath. 

“What the fuck,” he hisses, “She’s just gonna not be in her child’s life? Forever? She’s giving up an engagement and a baby for a fucking job?”

Rafe stands as he raises his voice, which is the only reason you allow your eyes to open once more. You stand with him and cup his cheeks in your palms, trying to calm him down. 

“It’s her life, Rafe,” you tell him, “It’s her choice. If this is what Sarah wants, we have to respect that.”

“Fuck that, I don’t respect anything about her abandoning a family,” he spits. 

“Rafe,” you sigh, “She’s not abandoning anything—”

“Bullshit, she’s not. I’m gonna go call her right now—”

“Stop it,” you demand, grabbing onto his wrists, “You can’t make this choice for her, and you’ll only drive her away if you yell at her. She’s an adult and she’s made her decision. Topper’s okay. Sarah deserves to have a career.”

“She deserves to—”

“Rafe,” you stop him, “I’m sure this was a difficult decision for Sarah to make. But she made it alone, and we have to respect that. Just because you disagree with your sister doesn’t make her wrong. Please. Let’s just both take some time to cool off before we say anything to anyone.”

His jaw is clenched tight as he stares at you; evidently fighting every desire to dial up his sister and scream into her voicemail. Instead, he takes a deep breath and lets it all out, then pulls you tightly into his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “Didn’t mean to yell.”

“I know,” you reply. 

You clutch him tight, pulling his shirt into your fist as you breathe unevenly against his neck. You two remain like that for a few minutes, not wanting to break the silence with more discussion about Sarah, and break away only when the back door opens. 

Topper carries a crying Josie inside with Connor in front of him, who looks sad but is attempting to hold it together. Josie’s arms lock around his neck and her little sniffles sound from the crook of his neck. Connor immediately walks over to you and holds his arms up, letting you pick him up and hold him tight. 

Topper doesn’t look much better, in fact, he looks gutted. He doesn’t attempt to put Josie down or even make her feel better, he just continues to kiss the top of her head every now and then. 

“I’m sorry,” Topper says to you, and when he finally works himself up to looking over to Rafe, his frown deepens, “Look, Rafe—”

“You have no reason to explain yourself to me, Top,” Rafe says, keeping his hand on your waist, “You’ve got all my respect.”

Topper’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, “Thank you.”

Rafe nods, then steps over to the coffee table and picks up the cash Topper had left there to repay him. Folding the bills in half, Rafe holds them out to him, nodding when Topper shakes his head. 

“You’re my brother,” Rafe says, shifting his jaw to prevent his emotions from showing, “Babies are expensive. Take it. We’ll get more to you whenever you need it.”

Topper shakes his head again, “Rafe—”

“Take the money, Top.”

With a tight grip on Josie, Topper grabs the money and stuffs it into his pocket, as if hurrying will mean he doesn’t have to accept it. With a nod to Rafe, Topper turns and looks down at the girl on his chest, heart visibly breaking at the sight of her. 

“Angel, I’ve gotta—”

“No,” she whines. 

Topper’s eyes close as he lets his lips meet her forehead, urging her up. 

“Come on, Jo. Let me see those eyes,” he presses. Pulling back, she looks up at him with her best puppy dog eyes, earning tears from Topper, “There they are. My favorite girl in the whole world.”

“I can go to Boston with you,” she proposes, “I’ll be extra good, I promise.”

He smiles, but it’s tainted with more tears, “I know you would. But your Mommy and Daddy would miss you too much.”

Connor looks up at Topper from his place on your shoulder, “You’ll come home for my birthday?”

“Of course I will,” Topper promises. 

“Mine, too,” Josie insists. 

“I promise. I’ll call a lot, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

“Come here. I love you so much, my angel,” he whispers to her, pulling her close. 

Josie starts to cry again, and you’re not at all surprised when Topper hands her off to Rafe to avoid breaking. Connor squirms from your arms and runs into Topper’s, clutching him tight. 

“I love you, Uncle Top,” Connor tells him. 

“I love you, too, buddy. Call me whenever you want to, okay?”

Connor nods, “I will.”

The four of you walk Topper outside to his truck, where he receives another round of hugs from each of you. Rafe hands Josie off to you and sticks his hand out for Topper to shake, but is quick to pull him in for a hug. 

“You’re gonna be a good father,” Rafe tells him, “Because you’re a good man.”

You give Topper a hug after Rafe and make him promise to call more than once every two weeks, and just like that, he’s gone. Although you feel like collapsing into nothing right there in the driveway, you regain composure and walk inside, gripping onto Connor’s hand for dear life. 

The remainder of the day is spent holding the kids close and making sure they understand that Topper has to go, and that he’s not leaving them. Both of them seem sad in their own way, but by the time they fall asleep on both you and Rafe, you figure that they’re sad because they see the sadness in you. 

Rafe carries them both up to bed for you, telling you just to rest for a bit and he’ll be down soon. You let your emotions get the best of you once he’s out of the room, and you cry for Topper for a few minutes, Then, you regain control of yourself and cover up with a blanket, letting your mind work as you stare off. 

Part of you, like Rafe, wonders how Sarah could make such a choice. Another part of you wants to stand up for her until the end. You’re sure a million thoughts went into her decision to end it and move. Maybe she’s not happy here. Maybe she’s not happy with Topper. If she’s not ready to be a mom, to make a lifelong commitment that will impact her every day, well, you can understand that. Sarah deserves the option that men get every single time they see a positive pregnancy test — to be involved or not. You refuse to crucify her over something that nobody would bat an eye at if she were a man. 

Rafe finds you like that when he comes back downstairs; wrapped up in your own head and cuddled into the couch. He walks past you initially, and when you hear the familiar clanking of mugs in the kitchen, you smile to yourself. 

He returns a few minutes later with two full mugs of hot chocolate — and about a million marshmallows sticking out of each one — then hands one off to you. As he sits, one of his arms comes around you while the other holds his mug. You collapse into his chest and inhale his familiar scent, letting it wash away all feelings of worry or sadness. 

“She just left,” Rafe sighs, talking about Sarah, “She packed up her shit and left without saying goodbye.”

“I’m sure she’ll come home to visit and stuff,” you mumble. 

“I don’t care about that,” he grunts, “She left our children, Y/N. Without a care in the world.”

You shake your head, “I’m sure it’s not like that—”

“It’s exactly like that. Sarah’s selfish at heart. This whole mess proves that. And she can put on her little show and play us all, but this is always how things turn out with her. I mean, shit, you remember how she was.”

“Of course I do, Rafe,” you sigh, “But you can’t hold that against her for the rest of her life. You’re not your worst mistake, either.”

He grows quiet at that. You sip from your mug of hot chocolate and lean into him, trying to simultaneously calm him and yourself. 

“I just can’t imagine choosing a career over my family,” he whispers. 

You nod to show him that you understand his point, “People are different.”

Rafe nods his head, and silence overcomes the two of you again. Your eyes start to pull closed, exhausted from the extreme emotions you’ve had to feel over the course of the day. 

“We have to help him,” Rafe says, “In every way. He’s gonna need it.”

He reaches over and removes your mug from your hands, which allows you to wrap your arm around his chest and fully cuddle into him. 

“We will,” you reply. 

He chuckles to himself and kisses the top of your head, shifting minimally to place the mugs on the coffee table before cuddling back in with you. He fixes the blanket over both of you, then pulls you in closer. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” he says quietly, “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

You smile, “I love you, too, Cameron.”

He laughs, and before you know it, the sleep pulls you under. You don’t even object when you wake up at four in the morning with Rafe cuddled on top of you, face buried in your neck as he softly snores. You just press a kiss to his forehead and close your eyes once more, thankful that even if you have to deal with temper tantrums and laundry and lost toys, at least you have a partner to do all of it with.

Tags:

@witchwyfe @ghostselena @goldenjo @storytellingwitht @scenesofobx @itsalexwin @onmykneesforrafe @valeriiecameron @lovedetlost @mardema @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @malums-trash-can @emotionalbruv @onenightnorth @rafecameronswhore @wanniiieeee @sarahwasfound @lilgoddesshines @abrunettefangirlnerd @absolute-fcking-chaos @premixed-margarita @anonymousobxfan @samcaniglia @midnightanticss @iammirrorball @r0und3bitch @thesimpletype @notdisneychannel @gillybear17 @solllaris @i-is-for-inspiring @luversgirl @maybankxw @mattyskies @imobsessedsblog @ryswritingrecord @barbietiingz @sierraahhhh @bethoconnor @starkeyobx @pittbull-enthusiast @nourfine @outerbankspov @zdrewrrys @elizabethrosecresswell @lienoec @luhdrew @localhockeygirl

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Run These Streets {4} || Street Racer!Bucky

Summary: You take it upon yourself to get Bucky out of his funk after receiving home detention for his racing. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, illegal racing, changing wound dressings WC: 2.5k

Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five

The local radio station was playing loudly in Bucky’s garage when you arrived. He didn’t even hear that you had pulled up until you turned the volume down and he smelt the food you had bought with you. “You need to rest babe.” 

Bucky winced as he stood up from the empty engine bay he was inspecting. He looked like he was about to argue but wisely closed his mouth when he saw the bandage on his side was turning red. “Fine.”

“Scrub up and come inside, I got your favourite.” You ordered as you teased the mouth watering bag in front of his face while walking past.��

“You are my favourite.” He called out as he watched you disappear into the house, your soft laugh drifting back.

The oil and grime was stubborn and by the time he had scrubbed his hands clean you had set the table and poured you both some homemade ice tea. You could see he was in pain as he gingerly lowered himself into the chair so you opened the cupboard that was littered with pill bottles and half empty first aid kits.

“How do you find anything here?” You mumbled as you looked at the labels and found most of them had expired years ago. “Honestly, I don’t even know how you survived on your own so long.”

“Luck mostly.” He chuckled before groaning. “I may have pushed it this time.”

“You think?” You shook your head as you carried a few rolls of gauze and painkillers. “Take these and lean back. Your bandage is soaked.”

You carefully took off the soiled bandage, trying not to hurt him anymore, and felt your stomach roll at the sight of the sutures that followed the line of his ribs. None of them looked torn but the wound was still bleeding so you wrapped it again with fresh gauze and checked he had swallowed the painkillers.

“You’re lucky you didn’t have to go back to the hospital.” You tutted. “Do you know what a pain in the ass it is having to get hold of your probation officer?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a timid smile, “that’s why you’re so great, because you take care of all that shit for me, and I love you for it.”

“Nice save.” You giggled as he sat up and kissed you before you took your seat. “What’s the damage?”

“I can save a few parts but she needs a new engine and most of the panels replacing but the chassis is straight so she’s not completely written off.” He muttered as he pushed his food around the plate. “It’s gonna cost a fortune that I don’t have.”

“I know how much that car meant to you.” You said softly as you placed your hand over his. “We’ll find a way to get her fixed.”

He wasn’t convinced as he chewed his lip. There weren’t many options left since he was on house arrest for illegal street racing that resulted in the crash. Even if he wanted a mainstream job he couldn’t leave his front yard and he doubted many people would hire him after the addition to his record.

“I’m going to go lay down for a bit.” He mumbled quietly after eating in silence.

You were about to offer to join him, even though it was far too early for you to be able to sleep all night, when your phones buzzed simultaneously.

Unknown Number: 14th and 3rd. Midnight.

Bucky’s phone was tossed away angrily and you sighed heavily as you got up to grab it, finding no new cracks on the screen. He had been in the hospital for the race the week before and you wondered if every Friday night would be this hard for him. The four month sentence suddenly seemed a whole lot harder, especially if he couldn’t have some connection to the racing scene.

Grabbing your laptop, you came up with an idea and worked quietly, tinkering with Bucky’s TV while he slept. When you were all set up you walked into his room you were surprised to find him wide awake, staring blankly at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. 

“Babe, I have a surprise.” You whispered as you broke through his harsh self reflection he had been stuck in. “Two actually - though one you might not like.”

He frowned at that and sat up, his chest still shirtless despite the drop in temperature. “Yeah, doll? Why’s that?”

“Why don’t you come to the living room first.” You said as you offered your hand to help him stand, linking your fingers as you led him down the hallway. “I connected my laptop to the tv so that you can still watch the race tonight but, and this is the part you won’t like but hear me out, it's connected to our headcam.”

“So you’ll have to be there, racing, for me to watch.” He laughed humorlessly as he shook his head. “No way, doll, you’re not going out there without me.”

“It’s a win-win babe, you still get to watch what you love and we kinda need the prize money for those repairs.” You argued as you sat him on the couch and let him pull you to his side.

“Not if it means risking your life. The Camaro isn’t worth that.” 

“You know I can drive, just as good as you.” You said, taking a deep breath. “I’m doing this Bucky, with or without you…but I could really do with you having my back.”

You held out your headset that was already connected to the laptop and waited as he stared at it. You were about to give up when you saw him look away but with a heavy sigh of his own, he took the headset and placed it on his lap.

“No unnecessary risks, you hear me?” Bucky warned. “If you get a hint of any dodgy shit from the other drivers, you pull out. And, I will cut this ankle bracelet and steal a car to come find you if this connection cuts out for more than a second.”

“Deal.” You grinned as you jumped up. “I need to steal your tires real quick and head off.” 

“Take a breath.” Bucky caught you by the hand and kissed your knuckles. “Adrenaline makes for easy mistakes.”

“I know, I know. It’s just been years since I last had a proper race, I forgot how it feels.” You rambled as you tried to calm your mind. “Tell me I’m gonna win.”“I don’t have to.” Bucky chuckled, kissing the corner of your mouth with a smile. “Because you are gonna win.”

You were conscious of his injury so you carefully wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed the light beard that was growing out along his jawline. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He whispered against your lips. “Drive safe.”

Your Hellcat wasn’t meant for racing in the sense like Bucky’s Camaro. It wasn’t fit with a roll cage and the interior hadn’t been gutted out to lighten its tare weight but Bucky made sure the front seats had been fitted with harnessed bucket seats a long time ago. But the soup and nuts of the matter was that your Hellcat was fast and with your skills it was easily a strong contender. 

“Holy shit, it's been awhile since you brought her out.” Steve grinned when he saw you pull up at the 11th hour. “How’s our boy doing?”

You held up your helmet with the camera mounted on the top. “Ask him yourself. You can take Bucky away from the race but you can’t take the race away from Bucky.”

“I wanted to see the race, not his mug.” Bucky joked in your ear and from the indignation of Steve’s scoff could read his best friend's mind. 

“He’s talking about me isn’t he?”

“Maybe.” You winked. “I actually have a favour to ask.”

You hit the mute button on the helmet's microphone so you could talk to Steve and heard Bucky call out after a moment's silence. 

“Sorry, Buck, must have knocked it. I could still hear you.” You assured him as you imagined he began to pace the living room. “Time to get this show on the road.”

Steve walked around the other drivers before making his way back to you, a small nod giving you the go ahead to pull up to the spray painted starting line. 

“Do you still get nervous? I feel like my stomach is going to try to climb out of my throat.” You swallowed as you reached the line and focused on the woman removing her bra to flag the race start.

“Every damn time.” Bucky chuckled, easing some of the worry knotting your insides. “Concentrate, doll, finishing in one piece is what matters.”

“Yeah, about that…” 

You ran out of time as the woman waved her bra three times before letting it loose and you dropped the clutch and floored the gas. The front wheels lifted off the road as you launched forward and for a second all you saw was the reflection of lights glimmering off One World Trade Centre before you fell back down to earth. You gripped the wheel tighter as the suspension bounced and noticed there was a supercar to your left that was inching ahead of you, but the machine was made for drag races not taking corners which was exactly where you were heading.

“90 degree right turn coming up.” Bucky guided seriously. “You’re going into it pretty fast there.”

“Yup.” You confirmed much to his dismay as you pushed further, the last to start breaking heading into it. “I didn’t come here to lose, Barnes.”

You ripped the e-brake back as you turned, kicking the back out and drifting into the corner before anyone else. The others were quick on your heels but you had effectively put the supercar out of the running as it popped out of the corner in last place. 

“It’s been months since we tuned your ride.” Bucky growled as you raced along the straight, jumping red lights as the scream of your engine limited. “Take it down a notch.”

“Can’t do that babe.” You shook your head, his view on the tv screen shaking with the movement. “I didn’t have enough cash for the buy in.”

“Fuck.” Bucky swore as he fisted his hair in his hands. “Right turn then hard left.”

You eased off the accelerator for the back to back turns and your heart skipped a beat as you almost over-corrected coming out of the turns. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky asked as he watched the street fly past in a blurr, feeling like it was him in the driver's seat. “300 yards until you have a long left turn so don’t go in too tight.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed.” You admitted as you flicked your eyes to the GPS and saw the turn he was talking about, one that snaked under the highway. “We need to work on your terminology.”

“I’m not exactly used to being in this position, you’re much better at this job.” 

Headlights flashed in your wing mirrors as the Toyota Supra tried to take you on the straight with his lighter car. 

“Right back at you.” You murmured as you tried to keep your eyes on the road, on your competition and on the ECU diagnostics that had popped up with an alert. 

“Turn!”

Your eyes flashed away from the screen in the centre of the dashboard to see you had reached the left turn. You braked too much in a spike of panic before turning and clenched your fist tighter on the gear stick as you chopped down and tried to chase the Supra that made it past. The next two corners were a dog fight as you edged to close the gap and came neck and neck on the last straight. 

“I’m not losing to a fucking import.” You growled as you turned the nozzle for the NOS and watched the pressure engage. 

“That bottle hasn't been swapped since the roady to Boston.” 

You could practically taste Bucky’s fear, hear the anger at himself for not keeping your car in top shape but his was supposed to be the race car, not yours.

“You worry too much.” You said, stealing one of his favourite phrases. “It’s scary isn’t it, being on that end of the line.”

He grunted in agreement. “Does it get easier?”

“Nope, but I’ll always do it for you.” 

You saw the Supra boost forward and chuckled because your V8 cylinders were about to annihilate his inline 6. You pressed the release for the NOS and felt the increase in horsepower almost immediately, the front wheels threatening to lift off the ground with the surge. 

“You got this, doll.” Bucky all but shouted as he chewed his lip and froze in front of the wide screen tv. “You’ve got this.”

Your long hood inched past the Supra’s and you saw the driver smash his fist against the steering wheel before the finish line appeared not a moment too soon. Your triumphant laugh was echoed by Bucky’s cheers and you spun into a burn out at the end of the street where Steve waited with the other unofficial officiants of the street racing scene. 

“I love you!” You laughed as you tore off the helmet and kissed the camera.

“I love you too, now get your sexy ass home so we can celebrate properly.”

Steve was quick to work his way through the three race cars parked behind you and took the pink slips and keys from the angry losers before any got ideas of making a run for it, which wasn’t unheard of. He was grinning from ear to ear as he brought the winnings over and you knew it would go a long way into paying to repair Bucky’s Camaro as well as some of his legal fees.

“Thanks, Steve. I actually have one last favour to ask.” You said as he engulfed you in a hug.

“Anything for you.”

You were still riding your high as you drove to Bucky’s and parked outside, needing a moment to gather your thoughts and calm down after the rush of endorphins left your hands trembling. The moment only lasted a second before your door was pulled open and Bucky grinned proudly at you. 

“There’s my girl.”

“She’s got a surprise for you too.” You said as you unclipped the harness and stepped out to see three pairs of headlights coming down the street. Their engines purred across the quiet night and Bucky draped his arm over your shoulder as he watched them approach. “I didn’t have cash for the buy in.”

“You said.” He nodded. “So you used your car as collateral.”

“Kind of.” You smirked, seeing the Toyota, a Ferrari and a Camaro as few years older than Bucky’s park at the curb. “It was a race for pink slips.”

His jaw gaped wide as he stared at the cars, his friends climbing out of the drivers seats. “These are all yours?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, baby, they're ours.”

Click here for part five.

[missmonsters2]

To Have A Home

(not my gif)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Months and months of radio silence from Natasha. You think you've broken her heart. But sometimes, people just need time to make their way back. After all, Natasha should know she has a home with you.

Warnings: f u c k i n g s o f t. Could pertain BW movie spoilers. Also unbeta'd.

Note: Well I miss this woman so much I think I cry myself to sleep every night so there's that. Let the soft angst and hurt/comfort fics begin 😌

Prompt: "If you don't know where to go, you can always come here."

Count: ~2.6k

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The Avengers have split up. Anyone who's a fugitive is laying low on their own terms.

You never thought the Accords could do this to a group of people who've risked their lives over and over to save earth from total decimation. On the one hand, you understood where Tony came from, but you had understood Steve as well.

It'd probably be hard to worry about property destruction and country lines if there was no earth at all.

Either way, you had managed to remain neutral in the split—purposely. And you did that so you could help others behind the scene, off-the-radar.

You had properties located throughout America and a few internationally. You had been fortunate to inherit a lot of places from your grandfather. Along with Ross, Tony and his team had tried to raid a couple of your places in America or stake them out to see if they could catch anyone.

But you have a good lawyer, and there wasn't any good enough reason to approve a warrant against your places. You hadn't been impressed with Tony, and the way he avoided your eyes told him that hadn't been what he wanted to do either but had no choice.

In the end, you were semi-retired as a hero, left to your own devices. You're pretty sure Wanda and Vision are living in one of your properties in Europe. You hear from them maybe every two weeks to a month when Wanda travels outside the city to mail you letters.

You hear from Steve often. He has your number memorized every time he gets a new burner phone. He's always on the move, going from hotel-to-hotel, or safehouse to safehouse. There's the odd time he'll get to stay in one of your properties. You no longer really worry when you get the notifications that someone has broken into one of your places. You just turn off the alarm when you do because it's always Steve, Bucky, and Sam.

The only person you haven't heard from is Natasha.

Radio silence from the person you want to hear from the most. If that doesn't make your heart feel like it's in a never-ending fall, you don't know what does.

You wonder if it's your fault because you had refused to run with her when the time came to split. Deep down, you're sure you both knew what you had chosen was better for the team as a whole.

But you often wonder if that choice had made Natasha feel alone. Had Natasha felt you abandoned her?

You swallow thickly as you lie in your bed. You wished Steve had more time to chat with you on the phone, but he only had a couple of minutes because they needed to get on the move again.

Closing your eyes, you took in a deep breath before exhaling. You resolved to get some sleep.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The edge of consciousness tickles your brain, moving to your eyelids. You let out a dry hum, wondering if you can stave off the need for water to fall back asleep.

But when your throat is so dry, you feel like you might choke when you breathe. You let out a soft sigh as you begin to open your eyes.

Your breath hitches immediately. Waves of red tresses come into view.

Natasha Romanoff was in your bed, asleep.

It has been months since you've seen her. Her hair has grown out, and she looks...tired.

A part of you feels like you might be dreaming. Maybe all that pent up yearning has you hallucinating.

You don't move; a part of you is scared that if you did, she'd disappear. You try to just stare at her peacefully, taking in her features slowly. The back of your eyes starts to burn along with your throat.

You're not sure why.

Suddenly, Natasha opens her eyes.

Those viridian eyes have always enraptured you. Natasha is a complex person, as are most people, but she's the master of manipulation. She has the art of deceit down to a perfect point.

Natasha is an open person, but only because she wants you to see what she feels. Steve had tried to explain it once when he was on the run on Natasha. He said that while he knew her and trusted her, he would never fully know her. He would take a bullet for her, but Clint may be the only person who knows Natasha.

But as she lies there staring at you, and you can see every speck of colours in her eyes, you think you might've just seen her soul.

Natasha was lying in your bed after months of radio silence, baring her soul to you.

And the only thing you would ever do is accept it.

You rush forward, pressing your lips against hers. Her lips are still a little cool, an indication she might've slipped in pretty recently.

Natasha lets out a choked whimper at your touch. Kisses...had never happened before. Natasha wasn't sure what had really held her back from wanting you. Maybe because you're too good for her.

Sometimes it scares Natasha to want things so badly. She can't quite explain it. She knows she's allowed to want things, allowed to have good things.

But when it comes to you, everything is always too much. Too much wanting and wanting everything.

Natasha pulls you closer until she can feel the heat of your body against hers—until she can feel the soft skin of your exposed hip.

"'m sorry," Natasha mumbles continuously between kisses because now that she's had them, she wants it all. See? It's always too much with you. "m sorry."

You feel lightheaded every time Natasha's lips press against yours. Each kiss gets more intimate, and you can start to taste the toothpaste on her tongue.

All you can think about is that she's real. Natasha is really here. She's here, and you're kissing her.

She's kissing back.

"Why are you sorry?" You mumble when you pull back to breathe.

It's still dark out, the moonlight illuminating your room. You stroke Natasha's cheek for just a second, watching the redhead's eyes flutter before you sit up and turn over to grab the glass of water on your nightstand.

Natasha sits up with you, suddenly feeling exposed as the blanket falls off her body.

"Why shouldn't I be sorry?" Natasha asks quietly as she watches you take a sip of water, momentarily jealous of your glass. "I...ghosted you. For months."

You put the glass back down, feeling better now that your throat isn't so dry. The water helps you wake up a little too. You turn back to Natasha and let your eyes relax.

Natasha looks so soft with a braid still in her hair.

"We all have our own ways to deal with the fallout," you tell her softly. "It must've been hard for you. Steve has Bucky and Sam, Wanda has Vision, and Clint has his family. You should've had me but I chose to stay here."

Natasha swallows hard because she did understand your choice. She really did. The choice had saved her ass a couple of times when she needed a hideout.

But there was a certain truth to your words. She was alone, and as much as Natasha has tried to say she's better off alone, she wants her family. Natasha wants you.

Which was why went shit hit the fan, the only place—the only place she could think of returning to was you.

"I'm sorry," Natasha is only a little horrified when she feels the familiar burn in the back of her eyes and the tears that welled up. "I haven't reached out to you at all and then I just showed up here."

Natasha could say that she didn't know where else to go, but that would be a lie. She's a resourceful person, so she always has somewhere to go. But she wanted to be where you were.

You lean closer, letting your fingers caress her collarbone before they move up to cup the back of her neck as you pull her in for a chaste kiss.

"Not that this is ever an issue for you, but if you don't know where to go, you can always come here," you mumble against her lips. "Even if you had a million other places to go, you can always come here."

Natasha does say anything, merely pressing forward for another sweet kiss. This was going to make her greedy. Being greedy made it hard to be a hero because the hero should always be ready to make sacrifices.

Natasha bargains that maybe she'll let herself live and die for one person.

"How'd you get in here, anyway?" You ask. "My home has security features that rival Stark’s."

Giving you an endearing smile, Natasha presses another kiss to your lips. "Oh, honey..."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The next morning, you stretch in bed, noting that you were alone again.

A part of you had felt a jolt that maybe Natasha was gone again. You had been prepared for that possibility.

But when you hear some clanking in your kitchen, you smile. You put on a shirt and some shorts before you walk out.

Natasha is fumbling around, cooking eggs and pancakes, it seems. She's diligently watching the food, and you think the entire thing is so...strange. And endearing.

There was a fugitive in your kitchen. A fugitive who was a highly trained assassin, and she was cooking breakfast for you.

"Wait until all the bubbles have popped and there are holes..." Natasha mumbles to herself, and you press your hand to your mouth, trying to not laugh.

"I see the time alone has made you a better cook," you comment, and Natasha turns without surprise.

She's pouting at you before she turns back to her task. "Don't distract me."

You lightly chuckle as you walk over to join her, grabbing an extra spatula. "Since you're doing such an amazing job on the pancakes, I'll watch the eggs. Where's the bacon?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Too hard."

You bite your lip to stop any laughter from coming out as you go to the fridge to get out the bacon.

The morning passes by peacefully, a rarity to have as you sit with Natasha on your couch, mindlessly playing something in the background.

"I have to leave again soon," Natasha tells you quietly.

You feel a sting hit the back of your throat.

Natasha reaches under your couch into the safe spot you have built under there. She pulls out a bundle of vials with some sort of red liquid or powder in them.

"I was attacked last night," Natasha confesses, and you feel your breath hitch with worry.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" You frowned.

Natasha gives you a wry smile. "I preferred kissing and touching you."

You try to not let your body surrender to the heat of the memories. You clear your throat as you point to the vials.

"So, what is that?" You ask instead.

Natasha shrugs. "I don't know. It was sent to me."

"By who?"

Natasha doesn't answer at first. She pulls a folded paper out from the middle before unfolding it.

You get a glance at it and realize it's photos from a photobooth. Two little girls, one blonde, one with red hair and blue dye.

Your gaze wanders back to Natasha, who is staring at the photo somewhat listlessly.

Too many emotions to try to decipher.

"My little sister," Natasha finally says quietly as if she could still take the words back if she wanted to.

Of all the things you do know about Natasha, it's that she doesn't have any biological family, or at least doesn't know them.

You stare at the photo and know instantly the one with blue dye must be Natasha. The red underneath was her natural hair colour. The blonde must be the one Natasha is referring to.

"I don't know why she would send me this..." Natasha shook her head with a puff of breath. "Almost got my ass kicked keeping it safe and I don't even know what it is."

You carefully wrap your arm around Natasha, happy that she leans into your touch. "We'll figure it out, Nat."

"We?" Natasha tries to tease, but you could see the hope in her eyes. Hope along with an effort to smother it down.

You wonder how no one knows Natasha.

All you had to do was really look into her eyes. All you had to do was love her, and she would open her eyes to you. But you suppose no one is more obsessed with looking into her eyes more than you.

"You think you can just break into my home, kiss and debauch me before leaving? Take responsibility, Romanoff. You've never shirked away from accountability before," you quirk your eyebrows at her, and Natasha can't help the smile that blooms on her face as she laughs with a shake of her head.

"What about being neutral? About remaining here for the others?" She asks after.

You shrug. "Everyone who was Team Cap is welcomed to enter my properties as long as they're discreet. I can write to Wanda and let her know I'll be off for a while. I think Steve would be happier if I came with you. Being neutral as long as I have has already paid off and served its purpose."

You move your fingers around her to play with the ends of her hair.

"We both did what we had to do, Nat. But don't leave me behind now. I'm alone too."

The words make Natasha burn.

She lets the bundle of vials fall carefully on the couch between them as Natasha lets her lips fall upon yours. She's probably never going to get sick of your lips. She must've kissed it at least a thousand times since last night.

"I know I'm not supposed to but I think I've made a home in you," Natasha admits, and you smile as you nudge her nose with yours.

"That's perfect," you tell her. "No matter if you know or don't know where to go, I can always be with you."

Natasha sucks in her bottom lip, biting it slowly as she smiles.

They should really pack up and go. They might get attacked again here if they don't leave soon.

"Can you tell me her name? Before we meet her?" You ask.

Natasha peers down at the old photo, feeling something she can't explain in her chest as she gazes at it.

"Yelena."

"Yelena," you mutter back as if testing the name. "Pretty name like you. Hopefully she's a better cook, though."

Natasha scoffs and gives you a mock glare.

"The pancakes were delicious," she tries to not pout again.

You nod, kissing Natasha's nose before you get up to grab your ready-to-run bag. "Yes, they were," you agreed. "I was impressed by your initiative to throw in the blueberries."

Natasha doesn't say anything, merely sticking her tongue out at you as you prepare everything for them. Natasha's only job is to find a way to get to Budapest without anyone knowing.

She sneaks a glance at you.

Natasha isn't excited to confront parts of her past, and she doesn't know what meeting up with Yelena will be like. But she has you, and as long as she has you, Natasha knows she has a home no matter what choices she makes and no matter what she's done.

It's more than enough, probably more than she deserves. But she'll hang onto you for as long as you'll let her—until she's forced to let go.

[buckybarnesdiaries]

white wolf: “the story of a first date”

first part — second part — third part — fourth part (soon)

© @capsgrantrogers

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Sam helps Bucky to ask you out for a date and it's a disaster, but he gets it.

word count: 3.147 words. (not sorry, it worth it, i promise!!!)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being the cutest gentleman in the whole wide world, and sam keeping an eye on him.

author notes: as it happened with the first part, i'm not really happy with the result but i had so much fun writing it and i think that that made this writing perfect, so i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed it. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

The car stopped because of a red light, a moment where Sam took the advantage to turn at his copilot, glancing at Bucky from top to bottom in complete silence. Analyzing him. The soldier tilted his head raising an eyebrow, showing his curiosity about what the hell he was doing.

“What are you gonna wear, uh?” Sam asked then, maintaining a serious gesture on his face.

“Clothes”. Unworriedly, he put back his eyes to the front window.

“You probably look good naked, but that’s not what I’m talking ‘bout”.

“Just… some jeans, a shirt, and a jacket”.

“And shoes, I guess”.

Bucky turned on his seat towards his friend, squinting confused for the interrogatory. “Who cares?”

“About the shoe—”

“About the clothes”.

“Man, it’s a date! Do you wan’her to remember this night as the night Bucky Barnes shown up as a Russian bum?”

“I’m from Brookl—”.

“Yeah, but you look like mother Russia just spat you to the world”.

Sam rolled his eyes as a sigh escaped his mouth. Shaking his head, he took the next corner to the fifth avenue changing the planes they had in mind. A good outfit meant a good date. A good date meant happy soldier. Happy soldier meant no trouble. See the point? So the Falcon would take care of the Winter Soldier today. If only Steve could see them. He’d feel proud, that was for sure. They visited a couple of shops, finally letting Sam take control over the situation and pick the clothes he would wear for you. He had good taste, everybody knew that, and Bucky couldn’t complain about his choices.

Even less when the distinctive black suit dressed his anatomy to perfection. Spinning around in front of the mirror, he felt different. He looked different. He looked good, but not as he’d like. Holding the bucket of flowers once he was ready, Bucky left his apartment straight to the garage under the building. He was nervous, he couldn’t lie. But he had that sensation inside him that made him believe everything would be okay for the first time since he woke up.

The road didn’t take him more than ten minutes, not really worried about the time given that he had planned to arrive a little sooner than accorded. Life seemed like it was smiling at him, finding a parking lot in the same entrance. Landing his blue eyes on the rearview mirror, Bucky took a last view at his reflection, brushing back his hair as he used to do in the forties. He grabbed then the flowers he bought for you and stepped out of the car, trying to remember the advice Sam gave him. Resting his back against the copilot's door, he waited impatiently for you.

“Hey, you”.

His heart stopped for a second, raising his orbs to the man coming closer. Before he could react, the man in question tucked a hand beneath Bucky's jacket. Patting him down.

“What the hell are you doing, Sam?” He questioned irritatedly, slapping his hands and causing him to laugh.

“Just checking you didn't bring the notecards again”.

“Yeah, very funny…”

“Man, look at you! Should be illegal to look this good, uh?” Sam helped him to put on the jacket again, receiving another slap from his friend.

“Don't touch me”. Scowling, he fixed the flowers in his left hand, wanting them to be perfect. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Watch you till (Y/N) comes. Lemme take a picture, I feel like a proud father on his son's prom day”.

“You're not m— Get the hell outta here, Sam”.

“Fighting again, kids? Should I call your mama?”

As Bucky heard you scoff, his soul abandoned. His pupils dilated. His legs trembled. And he could swear that everything disappeared around him when he watched you going downstairs, swinging your hips unconsciously sensual, with a black dress fitting you like a glove. If this morning Bucky wanted to marry you, now he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. Your makeup was on point, just like your hair, not being too formal but enough to run him out of words.

“Steve is off-duty, so, what 'you gonna do, soldier?” Sam mocked, an instant before noticing how pale Bucky was. He couldn't help but slap the back of his neck to bring him back to reality.

“I, uh… flowers… I bought you…”

“You're not Yoda”. Sam whispered as the other offered you the present.

“C'mon, stop messing with him”. You clicked your tongue, right before you drew an adorable smile on your lips, leaning to kiss Bucky's cheek. “Thank you”.

“You're welcome”. He just answered, responding to your same gesture while opening the door for you.

“Such a gentleman…” His playful murmur made Bucky frown and nudge him, trying to stop him from saying anything else and ruin the occasion.

“I'll bring him back at ten”. You joked palming his chest.

“The point is to not bring him back to me”. Sam cackled, shaking his head and taking a step back.

Once in the car turning on the engine, James joined the road after checking you were good. Never in his life he had driven with so much care as if he was carrying a bomb by his side. He set on the radio, not really knowing how to start a conversation, watching you through the corners of his eyes caressing the flowers over your lap. No one had bought you them before, thinking it was a thing that only happened in movies. But then, you met Bucky. An old-fashioned man, making yourself wonder how he was the same the news used to say he was a cold-blood assassin.

“What have you thought?”

“Uh?”

“About the date”.

“Sam told me about a rest—”.

“Okay, okay, Bucky. Pull over”. You couldn't help but burst into laughter, as his face was pale again thinking you were about to step out and end the date.

“Sorry, did I…?”

You swiveled at him on your seat, kissing your teeth and squinting inevitably. Studying his face you knew how afraid he was, and it was the most adorable reaction ever. You could have kissed at that precise instant, but it'd have been a little awkward.

“Where do you wanna go?”

The question didn't take him by surprise, actually. He was still getting used to doing the things he desired and not what other people asked him to do. The restaurant was a fancy place with a distinguished menu according to what his friend explained to him, but it wasn't the kind of site that he'd normally go, or that represented him.

“When I, uh… came back, I discovered that my favorite burger joint in Brooklyn was still standing”. Bucky told you, facing you after finishing the sentence. “They prepare the best burgers of the whole New York and you can decide what ingredients add, and the bread, and the kind of meat. And it still having the original decoration”.

You reclined on your seat, just staring at him talking with that kind of burning passion about something he loved. Puckering your lips, you nodded your chin. The fact that not only he wanted to take you to a different place, but a place that he used to go to when he was young made butterflies flutter within your belly. Bucky wanted to make you part of his future, but also his past. That made the difference.

“Sounds good to me”.

“Really?” He inquired funnily confused, wrinkling his nose and forehead.

“Really”.

The shine that appeared within his eyes made you place a hand on his cheek to urge him to turn his head and drive again. An innocent gesture that provoked him a lively giggle. If that man knew all the things he caused you, he'd have taken the step months ago.

As the night went on and Bucky was losing his shyness, he talked to you about the good old times. Before HYDRA, before the winter, before the war. When he was a kid with no worries more than keeping Steven safe from the bullies. It was nice to disconnect from the present, from the gazes around the two of you, from the back talks, only enjoying your dinner and your conversation. You talked to Bucky about how was to be raised on a farm, surrounded by open fields and animals, to join the army years later. Without going into details that could make him remember the old bad times, you told him about what you used to do, your missions, and how you were wounded in combat after being shot and fell from a helicopter.

Bucky felt confident enough to compare it with how everything started. Falling from a wagon to the snow. But as soon as his voice became lower, you couldn't help but hold his gloved left hand and intertwine your fingers with his. And you could swear you felt him shaking for a brief moment because of your touch.

“So, what, uh? It was a forties trend to jump into the void?” You tried to joke, wanting to feel relaxed.

“Yeah, seems like”. He mumbled curling up his lips. “Listen… I really want to… open up, and I know it’s easier with you because… y’know, you work doing this”.

“Hold on, Bucky”. You laughed waving your free hand, shaking your chin as you closed your eyes for a second. “That has sounded really bad”.

“Wait, wh— Oh, shit, no, no, no”.

For the first time since you walked into the small restaurant, his laughter was lively, unworriedly, honest.

“Take it easy, just kidding”. You grinned, nailing your elbow on the table to rest your cheek on your palm. “But… this isn’t work. We’re not doing therapy, we’re… knowing each other. And I don’t want to pressure you to talk about something you don’t feel prepared to, okay?”

“I know”.

Bucky couldn’t believe how much you seemed to empathize with him, not judging his acts nor his past, not deciding that the date wasn't a good idea nor running away. He couldn’t believe the less importance you were giving to his arm made of vibranium; usually, people used to freak out, to feel frightened somehow about the things it could do. But you were there, fingers playing with the others as if it was the most common and natural act in the world. And, for you, it was. That was you in all your best. Considerate, smart, patient, lovingly. The rainbow after a stormy life. Everything that Bucky needed in his life to start from scratch and be his better version. A shoulder to lean on and a reason to come back home.

“Was afraid of asking you out”. He confessed after some seconds admiring each other. Any person closer would say you had been dating for a long, long time by the way you had to keep silent and not feel uncomfortable.

“Why?”

“You came from war and made your world a place to live. I’m still stuck there”.

“I have my own red flags”. Clicking your tongue, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, really? Please, surprise me”. Bucky teased you sitting up on his chair, not loosening the gentle grip around your left hand.

“I put the milk before cereals”.

“Oh… Oh, God”. He let out, pretending to be horrified and running a hand on his face. “Goddammit… you’re a monster, ma’am. I don’ think this is going to work”.

“Excuse me?” You chuckled, parting your lips in a breath while leaning over the table to palm his right shoulder. “It wasn’t me who added lettuce to the burger”.

“What? What’s the matter with that, uh?”

“Lettuce kills the savor!”

“Y’know what kills the savor? Ketchup. Today, people use ketchup literally with everything… And that’s disgusting”.

“Okay! Next time, no lettuce, and… no ketchup”.

“That’s a big challenge”. Bucky scoffed tenderly squeezing your hand between his cold fingers.

“I’ll live, Sergeant Barnes”. You narrowed your eyes and crinkled your nose at the same time.

“I was talking about a second date, not about your issue with ketchup”.

“So was I”.

A goofy smirk appeared on Bucky’s face, biting his inner cheek as he assented with his head. Seeing you again, knowing that you wanted it —that you wanted him—, made him trust Dr. Raynor’s words. He was having a second chance to do the right thing. To live and to be.

You wanted to add something else when the clock in his wrist started to beep. Curious, you raised an eyebrow. “We have to leave”.

“Why?”

“Sam told me you work tomorrow at eight, which means you’ll get up at six and a half… maybe seven. While I pay, take you home, all that stuff… I don’ want you to be tired in the morning”.

Bucky would never stop to amaze you, looking up to him in silence to contemplate how he called the bartender and beckoned his free hand to ask for the bill.

“What…? What are you doing?” He chuckled embarrassed, taking his beer to sip.

You cleared your throat when you realized how stupid you should look right now, shaking your head as you freed his cold hand from yours to find unlock your phone as soon as the guy brought the dataphone.

“Hey, no, no. I asked you out, I pay”. Bucky began to fight with you, provoking some laughs on the table as you tried to put your screen above the tpv.

“Well, welcome to the twenty-first century”. You hummed as the operation was confirmed.

“I’ll pay next time”. He declared licking his incisors, prior to his lips.

You wished the ride back home to last forever, not wanting to end the date. But the car reached your neighborhood in a blink of eyes. You couldn't help but sigh barely appreciably for your companion, gazing through the window until double parking in front of your apartment. You turned towards him, hearing the engine shut off. Bucky seemed disappointed like you, not being able to remember when was the last time he had a break, he had fun. The date was nicer than he expected but the idea of not knowing exactly when he was going to see you again was killing him from the inside.

“I'll accompany you”. He declared undoing his seat belt as you did to step out.

You reacted with a delicate smile, holding the bucket of flowers against your abdomen while walking to the front door of the building. That moment was a little uncomfortable, not being sure about how to say goodbye, just looking like two teens in love.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky”. You uttered without thinking about it. “It's been the best night I've ever had”.

“Next will be better, I promise”.

“That's a big challenge”. You chuckled repeating his words a while ago in the restaurant.

“I'll live”. He nodded convinced, glancing at you bowing down your interest to the red roses between your hands.

How could you tell him that you were dying to be together again? That you wouldn't mind waking up sooner and having breakfast? You bit your inner upper lip, trying to find the correct words to say, without sounding like you were feeling something else to a physical attraction. Bucky was hot as hell, that wasn't up to debate, but he was the kindest and charmingest man you had known. He was sensible and strong at the same time. You both complemented the other like the pieces of a puzzle and you never thought something like that could happen to you. To find your other half and having it so clear you didn't want anyone else.

“I am, uh… free tomorrow”.

His words pushed you out of your thoughts, putting up your attention to a Bucky almost flushing, stroking the back of his head, and having the impression that he could scare you.

“Got a break for lunch, if you want”. You proposed without hesitation.

His eyes sparkled with happiness, holding your left hand with his to bring it to his mouth, placing a fond kiss on the back. Such a gentleman, like Sam said, inducing your cheeks to burn. And then, you saw him doubting about taking another step. You wanted it too to happen, tho, leaning forward to press your lips together. Your eyes snapped closed at that precise instant, not having any rush, tasting each other's and shortening the distance between both of you by his free arm getting wrapped around your waist. The kiss was innocent but passionate. It was warm, intimate, trying to transmit all the chemistry you woke up within the other with only one look, with only one smile. Breaking it —much to your regret— when you needed air to breathe. And even so, Bucky rested his forehead against yours freeing your hand to place it on the right side of his neck.

Neither of the two of you opened your eyes, extending the moment as much as you could. You felt he craved to spend the night with you, and you desired it too, but you also felt that he needed some time to get used to this new world he was living in. It wasn't easy. You thought back to the months after the war, the recovery, the loneliness you forced yourself to be in. You were in Afghanistan for three months. He had been fighting since nineteen forty. And he didn't want to ruin what you were building together.

“I should leave”. Bucky murmured against his wishes.

“See you tomorrow”.

At the moment you opened your eyes to meet the pale blue ones, your whole body felt weak. You saw the brightness in them after letting him know that the second date was going to happen and that it wasn't just a formality before disappearing, wiping out any minimal doubt by kissing him again. The last kiss. A good night, I'll dream with you kiss.

“I'm gonna play this on your wedding day, definitely”.

You screamed because of the unexpected metallic voice coming closer, clinging to Bucky's neck as his heart raced too. Redwing was suspended in the air some steps away from you, being controlled by Sam. Who else is not him, uh?

“I'm starting to think you have separation anxiety”. The soldier growled trying to hit the flying device with his flesh hand, hearing you laughing against his chest.

“Good night, kids”. You chuckled separating from Bucky.

“No kiss for me, soldier?”

“I'm not gonna kiss that thing, Samuel”.

“What about a howl, White wolf? Would be very appro—”.

“White wo—”.

“Please, don't. Don't ask”. Bucky begged you, licking his bottom lip while rubbing the back of his head, clearly ashamed.

“Hope you show me one day what it means…”

“Oh, he will… Just wait till the full moon”.

“Sam!” Bucky and you yelled in unison, you playfully, he annoyed.

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[gravessyard]

Garden

Notes from the crypt: So this started out as self indulgence before I realized that I could totally make it into a fic to share, so I hope you all enjoy. I'll say here that I used the codename Garden because my name is Eden and y'know... Garden of Eden lmao again, this started as something I'd read back to myself for my personal pleasure but as I kept going I figured I'd share it anyway! I got a lil tipsy today so forgive me if the end is a little messy;;

Tags: GN! Reader, military au, depictions of violence, blood, mentions of death, angst with a happy ending

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple escort mission, until shit went sideways

“Ugh, an escort mission? That’s boring, I can’t kill anything on an escort mission”, Tartaglia huffs from his chair, slouching back with his arms crossed over his chest like a child who got scolded. Pierro glances at him, annoyance evident in his gaze after being rudely interrupted during their meeting. Scaramouche glares at him before kicking his shin from under the table, causing the ginger to jolt in pain and glare back at his teammate.

“Children, please, you two will get your chance at each other’s throats when we have secured The Garden. Now pay attention”, Pierro growls before going back over their mission, which was simple in theory: months ago you had managed to infiltrate an enemy base under the guise of wanting to join their cyber operations unit. You were successful, working alongside the enemy to “help” their missions while copying important data to bring back to the Tsaritsa. You had gone silent a week ago, your last message to Pierro relaying how you thought someone was beginning to grow suspicious of your presence before you just disappeared entirely, and then he saw that your silent alarm was tripped. Something felt off about it, but he prioritized your safety first, so he wasted no time in rounding up his squad that consisted of Tartaglia, Scaramouche and two other nameless soldiers to give them your location and the mission to get you out.

“Try not to gain attention to yourselves, Garden doesn’t have any weapons other than their computer so if they get caught, we’re all fucked. Plane leaves in 10 minutes, dismissed.”, Pierro watches the men stand and give a salute before they’re jogging out of the room and outside, boarding the awaiting plane that took off not too long after. Tartaglia yawns loudly while checking over his equipment, making sure his weapons were loaded and knives were where they needed to be while also complaining internally that you could have at least waited until noon to bug them and not at 3 in the morning.

“Shut up, you yawn any louder and they’ll hear us coming before they see us”, Scaramouche scoffs from beside him, and a moment later he’s pushing something into Tartaglia’s hand. He looks down curiously to see a 5 hour energy that Scaramouche pulled from his vest, a snort escaping him while he glances over to see the other shoot his own energy vial back. “Jesus dude, how many of these do you have?”, he snickers, unscrewing the cap to shoot the liquid back, face contorting at the questionable flavor.

“I have enough”, the rest of the flight to their first location was made in silence, tension beginning to grow among the four once the plane landed and they get off to see a car awaiting them. ‘The car will take you to where Garden is, around this time there will be guards posted, if you can sneak past them then do so. If not, well, leave the rest to Childe. Garden will be waiting at the south entrance, so get in and get out quickly.’ The car ride to the building was equally silent, not even the radio was on. Childe is no stranger to silent car rides, but there was something about this one that made his hackles rise. He snuck a glance at Scaramouche, who looked equally uncomfortable before the man is looking at the driver, a face he doesn’t recognize. Just as the car was beginning to approach the building, their coms devices spark to life, your voice breaking through static.

“STOP! Stop!! It’s a trap!”, your scream through the coms made Childe’s blood run cold, he was barely able to look at the driver before his hearing went out all together and the car was flipped upside down. A small crater was left on the ground where the tire went over the land mine that was awaiting them, Childe’s vision seemed to move in slow motion, a constant ringing in his ears as he takes in his surroundings. Scaramouche was kicking at the driver, his mouth screaming curses that Childe can’t hear as the smaller man kicks the gun out of the driver’s hand, the two shots that came from his own gun seemed to bring him back, the sound returning.

“Tartaglia! We have to go!!”, he hears Scaramouche scream and gets to work on opening the door so he could crawl out and help his teammates out of the overturned car. A flurry of bullets has them crouching behind it, weapons at the ready. “What do we do?!”, one of the nameless soldiers cries beside them, gun in their trembling grip. Childe looks over the side of the car to see where the shots were coming from before sending his own bullets back, taking down two of the enemy soldiers. Scaramouche joins him, peeking over the other side to spray bullets before barking orders at the other two. Seconds of firing go by before their coms are sparking back to life again, your trembling voice whispering in their ears.

“Tartaglia – this is Garden, how do you copy?”, you sounded like you were hiding somewhere, and Childe could only hope it was someplace safe.

“Garden! We’re under fire outside of the building, what the fuck is going on?!”, Tartaglia shouts back, pulling back so he could reload his weapon. One of the nameless soldiers take his place. “It’s a trap, I sent Pierro word that someone was onto me some days back and well, they found out I worked for the Tsaritsa. They wanted to use me as bait to get you guys here and kill you, I’m so sorry –“

“Quit whining, we don’t have a lot of time here! Where are you?”, Scaramouche growls in his coms, switching places with the other nameless soldier so he could also reload.

“I’m hiding in a supply closet on the second floor, I think I lost – “, a scream is ripped from you, Childe and Scaramouche could hear the door be thrown open and more screaming from your end before the coms went dead again, and dread filled their veins.

“Find a way into the building! We’ll cover you!”, Scaramouche snarls at the nameless soldiers before he and Childe begin raining bullets on the remaining soldiers that were trying to approach the vehicle. Following their teammates to the entrance, they wait while one of them fumbles with picking the lock, their trembling hands proving to be a hassle since they kept dropping the pins and cursing to themself.

“Move!”, Childe yells, pulling the soldier to the side so he could kick at the lock, he was growing way too impatient to wait for this fool to open the door when you could potentially be in danger this very second. Three solid kicks later the door gives, swinging open and his reflexes are quick to shoot down the single guard that was prepared for their break in. Childe calls your codename through the coms, hoping you’ll respond but the grip on his gun only tightens when he’s met with static. The inside of the building is eerily silent, there’s barely a body in sight outside of the guard he shot down. Like the trained soldiers they were, the four of them began sweeping the floor, checking every room in hopes that you had gone back to hiding. “clear”, Scaramouche grumbles quietly beside the ginger, who only frowns in response before he leads the team upstairs, he can feel a bead of sweat roll down his cheek as his eyes scan the empty floor, he notes the open door of the supply closet you were pulled out of, and guessing from the papers thrown around the floor, you managed to put up a bit of a fight. He’d smile if your life weren’t currently in danger, silently motioning his team to sweep the floor. He checks a room, finger nearly pressing the trigger when he spots the body of a dead soldier, knife plunged in their neck. His brows furrow as he looks around the room, other than the body he can see droplets of blood on the floor leading outside of the room and towards the stairs.

“Scara”, Childe calls and immediately the soldier is by his side, looking down towards where blue eyes were to see the blood leading up the stairs. “Sir… The wall”, one of the nameless soldiers whisper, and both men look up to see the bloody handprint that was clear on the wall, it had a streak going up, meaning whoever was injured was dragged upstairs. Swallowing hard, Childe takes a step onto the stairs when he jumps at the sound of a single shot followed by your scream, and then they were all rushing upstairs. Childe and Scaramouche couldn’t believe the sight that welcomed them, the bodies of two soldiers laying motionless in different places of the floor, one with a knife plunged in their chest and the other laying in a pool of their own blood. Four guns were pointed at a stumbling body that was exiting a room, hand pressed tightly against their neck before they’re falling face first on the floor, the sounds of gurgling dying down moments later. Approaching the room, Childe leads with his gun, stepping slowly inside with your name on the tip of his tongue before he sees a flash of silver, and suddenly he’s grabbing the wrist of the assailant and slamming them against the wall, arm twisted painfully behind them. Your screams and whimpers fill his ears and his heart drops, hands immediately letting your arm go and barely catching your slumping form as you cry in pain.

“Shit, y/n – “, his breath catches when he sees the state you’re in, your shoulder was bleeding from a bullet wound, you had a split lip and a black eye, he didn’t even want to imagine what other wounds you could be hiding under your clothes. “Fuck, Scaramouche! Radio in, we need immediate evac and a medic, Garden’s hurt”, Childe picks you up bridal style, whispering apologies to you when you whine in pain.

“I-I already… I already did that”, you pant in his arms, exhaustion beginning to take over. “Evac’s… 5 minutes out”, your head dips, and Childe has to shake you gently to keep you awake.

“Hey, don’t close your eyes, we’re getting you out”, he doesn’t know if he’s saying that more for your sake or for his, half of your shirt is already drenched in your own blood, and judging from how pale you appear, he fears you may have lost a lot. Scaramouche takes the lead in escorting the team out, leading with his gun while the two nameless soldiers cover the back, the sounds of a helicopter is reassuring to the ginger as he watches it land, the door opening so they could rush inside. He reluctantly gives you to the two medics who begin working on you, cutting your shirt open and Scaramouche can see how pale Childe gets when your wounds are exposed to the air. Along with the bullet in your shoulder, there was a stab wound on your side actively bleeding, your blood coating the forming bruises that littered your body.

“Garden, can you hear me?”, one of the medics calls out to you while the other pushes an iv in your arm to begin administering fluids, but both pause when you don’t respond, your eyes long closed and chest devoid of movement. Tense silence fills the air as the medic calls out for you once more, fingers moving to press against your neck to search for a pulse.

“H-Hey, whats going on?”, Childe questions, leaning forward to try and be by your side but was held back by Scaramouche, who had to use all of his strength to fully keep the man back. “Hey! y/n, wake up! No, no no, please!”, Childe screams as he watches the medic begin chest compressions, the other speaking into a radio. He couldn’t watch you die here, not when you two had gone through so much. You were always Childe’s favorite, you were reliable and witty and had a sense of humor that rivaled his own, you were always there for him and his team, your lovely voice guiding them through almost all of their missions before you decided to take this one for yourself.

‘You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life’, Childe begins as he holds your pinkie tightly against his own, your giggling making him break out into a grin. ‘You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again’, he brings your pinkie up to his lips to press a kiss against it, your laugh ringing heavenly in his ears. ‘Well that wasn’t morbid at all’, you snicker as you mirror the motion, bringing his gloved pinkie up so you can press a kiss against it. ‘Just promise me you’ll come back safe and alive’, he huffs, letting go of your pinkie in favor of bringing you into his arms for a warm hug. ‘I promise, Ajax’.

“you promised…”, Childe whispers to himself as a tear rolls down his cheek, the helicopter landing and the door opening before you’re being pulled out and laid on a stretcher, the medic doing your chest compressions straddling you so they can continue while you’re being wheeled away. “They’re in good hands, now come on… We have to go back to base”, Scaramouche keeps a firm grip on his shoulder as he coaxes the grieving soldier out of the helicopter and onto the plane that brought them there. He was noticeably distant the entire way, not making any snarky remarks whenever Scaramouche prodded at him or even when Pierro was commending them for keeping a level head during the mission, even if it went sideways, all he was focused on was praying that you pulled through and was okay. He tried asking around about your status but was met with several confusing answers, some would claim that you died while others say you were brought back, it brought him to near insanity just trying to figure out who was telling the truth. He was growing impatient, waiting days before he was summoned for a meeting, silently sitting next to Scaramouche and crossing his arms, blue eyes staring at the table while he waits for Pierro to enter the room.

“Damn, who died? Thankfully not me”, his head perks up at the sound of your voice, looking up to see you walking into the room next to Pierro, your injured arm in a sling and he can feel tears fill his waterline. He shoots up to his feet, rushing to you so he could throw his arms around your form. You yelp, free hand smacking at him while telling him he’s hurting you, and he apologizes softly while loosening his grip, arms moving to wrap around your waist while he presses his face against your neck, hot tears rolling down his cheeks and getting the collar of your shirt wet. “Aw, did you miss me that much?”, you snicker, running your hands through his hair while listening to the way he sniffles and sobs quietly into your skin.

“You kept your promise”, he murmurs against you, his form beginning to tremble as he lifts his head to get a better look at you; while you still had a black eye and some scratches, he still found you to be beautiful in his eyes. Your eyes were wide at his statement before softening, holding your pinkie out for him to wrap his around while pressing your forehead against his to the best of your ability.

“Of course, I’d hate for my tongue to fall off from the cold after all”, you chuckle, hand moving to wrap around his neck while he brings you closer to press his lips against yours, completely ignoring the gagging sounds coming from Scaramouche.

“I’m never letting you go again, y/n.”

[leafs-lover]

20 with Auston

FWB!Auston x Reader taken from this prompt list

By clicking read more you are 18+ and okay to read smutty themes. If you are not BOTH of these things, keep on scrolling.

It's been a lot of the same.

Romantic dinners, cute text messages and cuddle sessions. Late nights spent laughing in bed, kisses with wandering hands.

When you and Auston are together everything is great, you are the only person in the world, but then he would drop off the face of the earth.

Days of radio silence where texts are few and far between. You chalked it up to him being busy, the hockey season is in full swing, games, practices and media appearances, it’s enough to keep anyone busy. That's why the on and off, hot and cold, it didn't bother you. Or that's why you told yourself.

Weeks turned to months and it was more of the same. A fear you harboured deep in your gut kept igniting, burning hotter and hotter. 'Is he seeing someone else? Am I more invested than him? And does he feel the same way? thoughts swirled in your head. Every time they threatened to break the surface he'd show up at your door. The soft grin and copper eyes glistening under the lights mixed with Felix excitedly circling your feet, warm licks on your cheeks, it all helped you to forget. Add in his lips methodically moving on yours, hot on your skin and all your fears washed away. That is until he disappeared yet again.

This time it was different. Your friend sent you a text having seen him getting cozy to another girl at a bar, and it became obvious you had to have this conversation. No matter the outcome, you couldn't keep doing this. The longer this were to get dragged out the more likely it is for you to get hurt.

You told yourself you'd talk to him, and you fully intended on it, but when you opened your door and saw his beaming smile and heard Felix's excited bark, everything slowly faded from your mind. Sitting on the couch catching up, laughing over a glass of wine you had barely touched with a slight alcohol induced heat on your cheeks, his witty lines and devilish grin had you practically eating out of the palm of his hand. Add in his index finger faintly trailing up the inside of your thigh, and his lips sucking and nipping your neck, desire and fire quickly overtook you. It wasn't long until his head was buried between your legs, lapping up the trace of your first orgasm. And even less time until his tip spread your folds and slid inside your dripping heat.

"Fuck," he grunted, feeling his length fill your cunt, barely able to take it all.

After a few slow and languid thrusts his pace increased. One leg was thrown over his broad shoulder, his large hand caressing your thigh, watching as his length disappeared inside your slit. Dragging his thick cock along your g-spot, your walls fluttered with every thrust, your second orgasm rapidly approaching.

"I wish you could see yourself," he groaned. "You look so good full of my cock."

Whimpers interspersed with expletives, breathing getting heavier, more sporadic, it won't be long. The dark grin pressed to his face indicating he was well aware of this.

"You gonna cum baby? Gonna cum on my cock?"

A part of you wants to focus on how good it feels for him to call you baby, how you want him to call you that today and every day, but you can't. All you can think about is the fluttering of your walls, the heat burning in your core, the metaphoric cliff your body is sent over.

Fisting the sheets, with a sharp gasp, the coil snaps and your release spills around his girth. After a few shallow thrusts and a deep grunt Auston follows suit, spilling into the condom before releasing your leg to collapse on you.

Sweat dripped off his back as you softly ran your nails through his hair. Heavy and staggered panting slowly began to steady and the realization of what's to come hits you. The realization of the potential pain, heartbreak you could be putting yourself through, hits you like a brick wall.

"YN, you okay?" Auston asked. Having pulled out and cleaned himself and put on a new pair of boxers you remained frozen, glued to your bed. Not flinching when he wiped the mess between your legs, he instantly picked up on the tension you have been carrying for months.

"I...yeah...uh yeah I'm good."

"That was the least convincing anybody has ever been." Laughing he climbed back under the duvet and pulled you against his chest, your safe spot, where all your worries fade away. For a moment you forgot about what you wanted to say, and just curled against him, moaning when he gently pressed a kiss to your hairline. "What's going on in that pretty little head?" His voice is soft as he tilted your chin, locking you under his piercing gaze.

"Just..." You let out a sigh, a deep heavy sigh full of months of insecurities, lies you told yourself to hide the pain building every time the door closed behind you. "What are we doing?"

"What do you -" shock crossed his face.

"It's been months of this and I just don't think I can keep doing this, if this is all it will be."

"I thought you said we didn't need labels."

"I know I did, but that was when I had only known you for a month, now it's been five. I just want to know I don't have to worry when my friends see you talking to someone. Or when I don't hear from you for a few days, it just means you’re busy and not spending time with other girls."

"YN, you have nothing to worry about." His reassurance falls flat, leaving emptiness weighing on your chest, crushing your ribs with every passing second.

“I worry that one day you’ll be gone, for good, and I won’t hear from you again.”

Unable to use the full weight of your voice, those words are the first time you have said them aloud. In an attempt to distract yourself from the tension, hide the anxiety radiating off you, you aimlessly play with the metal chain hanging around his neck. "You’re my girl YN,” he once again pressed his lips to your hairline, sensing your doubt he flashed a soft grin before continuing, “it’s okay, I promise you, I will be here when you wake up."

Those soft eyes and endearing smile put you at ease. With a brief kiss, your head tucks against his chest and he slowly draws the pad of his thumb over your back. Felix curls onto your legs and everything is perfect as you slowly drift off, wrapped tightly with both of your boys.

Waking up the next morning your body extends to feel the cold fabric under your naked body. Blinking a few times in an attempt to adjust to the blinding sun flooding your bedroom, faintly you call out for Auston, only to be met with silence.

Finding a t-shirt, his t-shirt you borrowed many weeks ago, you pull it over your head. Next are some leggings and fuzzy socks, and you make your way into the kitchen. You should have noticed his shoes were no longer sitting at your door, his black wool jacket doesn't hang from a rack. There is no excited Bernadoodle eagerly circling your feet, no smell of coffee filling the air while he softly hums from the kitchen, burning breakfast yet again.

It's not until the cold and empty air of the kitchen smacks you in the face, the realization that he is gone and isn't coming back engulfs you. Fighting the tears that build behind your eyes, you pour yourself a glass of water. With shaky hands you unlock your phone, clicking on his name and pressing the delete button, you remove him from your life.

[casuallyimagining]

I'll be Home for Christmas

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You spend Christmas with Yoongi's parents. Genre: fluff Word Count: 5,216 Warnings: alcohol consumption

Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

The drive from Seoul to Daegu was supposed to take just over three hours, but with the way Yoongi was driving, you were almost positive you would get to his parents’ apartment at least a half hour early. He was excited. He hadn’t said as much–outwardly, he was unaffected and even a bit bored by the prospect of travel and spending time with his family–but you could tell. He’d been giddy all week, and he’d barely been able to contain himself in the drive through line when you stopped to get milkshakes and fries on your way out of the city.

“You’re sure your parents don’t mind me coming with you?” you questioned, feeding Yoongi a fry as he drove.

“Please.” You could almost see his exaggerated eye roll from behind his sunglasses. “Mom’s more excited for you to be there than she is that I’m coming home.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Yoongi hummed, reaching down for his milkshake. A moment passed in near silence, the heavy beat of the Biggie song that was playing over the radio permeating your thoughts. His hand found your thigh and gave a light squeeze.

“She’s so excited. She apparently talked dad’s ear off after she met you.”

“To be fair, she was probably going more than a bit nuts.” You laughed nervously, nudging his hand so that it was captured in your own. “You were in surgery.”

Again, you could almost see him roll his eyes, despite the fact that he was looking straight forward at the road. But he let it go, instead opening his mouth and making a noise in the back of his throat. You fed him another handful of fries, purposefully missing his mouth at first and almost shoving at least one of them up his nose. He pouted slightly as he chewed, and you squeezed his hand.

Your attention fell back out the window, fascinated by how quickly the climate changed as you drove south. It wasn’t like it had really snowed in Seoul, but there was the lightest of dustings, and it had been positively frigid when you left. But gradually, the snow had cleared, and while you wouldn’t say it was warm outside, you had definitely turned down the heater in the car at least twice.

Beside you, Yoongi’s focus was on the road, the hand on the steering wheel tapping along to the beat of the music. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, hard in silent thought. His free hand gripped your own tightly. He’d been doing this more lately–subtle touches when you weren’t really expecting them, a tight grip on your hand when he held it. It was like he was afraid you’d disappear. It had only been a month since your near-breakup, so you supposed he had sufficient enough proof that his fears were justified.

“What?” Yoongi glanced over at you briefly, and you could see his eyebrows raised in question. “Why are you staring at me?”

Had you been staring? You hadn’t noticed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you joked.

He laughed, shaking his head slightly. “No seriously. Do I have something on my face? You know I can’t drive and eat, I don’t know why I let you convince me that-”

“There’s nothing on your face.” You reached over and pinched his cheek. His abandoned hand fell loosely back to your thigh.

“Then what?”

“Do I need to have a reason to look at my incredibly attractive partner? Are you policing my staring at you now?”

You could see the pink blossoming up his neck and across the bridge of his nose. Smiling to yourself, you turned your attention back to the passing scenery, your hand finding its way to Yoongi’s hair, playing absently with the long, black strands at the nape of his neck.

A little over an hour later, you pulled into a small parking lot in front of an apartment complex in Northwest Daegu. The city–or what you’d seen of it so far–was pretty in that urban sort of way that made you want to explore it to find the cool and unique things it was hiding. Suddenly, you were struck with the thought that, despite living in Korea for years, you’d never actually gone that far outside Seoul. Someday, you’d have to change that.

A strained “yah!” drew your attention, and you hurried to the back of the car. Yoongi had managed to pull both of your bags out of the trunk, but he seemed to have caused a small avalanche of presents and now he was stuck, his arms full of wrapped boxes in an attempt to keep them from falling onto the ruddy pavement. You managed to save him without letting any of the packages spill out. Gingerly, he removed the presents and shut the trunk. The car beeped twice as Yoongi locked it, and together, you trudged toward the door.

Inside, he barely even knocked and the door flung open, revealing a short woman who smiled widely. She was beautiful, her dark hair framing her face, wrinkles barely there but giving her an air of grace and wisdom. Her bright, catlike eyes and button nose reflected back at her from Yoongi’s face. Immediately, she pulled him into a hug, not caring about his armful of boxes.

He adjusted his grip so he could wrap an arm around her. “Eomma…” he whispered, and you could see him hold her tighter.

When they pulled apart, Yoongi’s hand landed on your shoulder. “Eomma, you remember-”

“Of course!” Her hands cradled your face lovingly as she inspected you, turning your head this way and that. Then, she pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. “You’ve been taking good care of him?” she questioned softly as she pulled away, a conspiratorial look in her eyes.

Over a year ago, she had come to Seoul to be there for Yoongi’s shoulder surgery. She had been a mess, and she almost didn’t leave to come home. But she’d made you promise to take care of Yoongi, to make sure he healed properly and to make sure he was okay. Though she hadn’t been specific, you had a feeling she’d meant physically and mentally.

“I’ve been doing my best,” you told her honestly, bowing slightly.

And you really did think you were. Yoongi was healthy. His shoulder had healed well. He’d been working out just enough that the internet was freaking out over ‘Buffgi.’ And he was happy, your brief, horrible mistake not included.

Yoongi’s mother smiled warmly at you, holding your hands tightly. “Dinner will be ready in a few hours. Please come in and relax.”

Yoongi’s childhood bedroom wasn’t very large, and it felt smaller because of all the furniture he had stuffed into it. A small, twin-sized bed sat shoved into one corner. It had looked pristine when you’d first stepped foot into the room, the creases in the duvet military-precise. A small desk and a dresser sat against an adjacent wall. Beside the closet, sat an old, worn upright piano.

“Is that her?” you had asked as soon as you saw the deep brown wood of the piano’s cover. He had feigned confusion, so you prodded him further. “You know, your first girlfriend. You wrote a whole song about her. Sheesh if you don’t remember her, I’m not too hopeful for where we’ll be in twenty years.”

He’d rolled his eyes and pushed you gently.

You lay on the bed, practically attached to Yoongi’s body as you both attempted not to fall off the mattress. It wasn’t particularly late by either of your standards, but his mother had spent the whole day preparing for your arrival, and she’d seemed exhausted. But she refused to go to sleep while you and Yoongi were still awake, so you’d both pretended to be sleepy to convince her to go to bed.

Silently, you traced shapes into the fabric covering Yoongi’s chest. Your finger followed the planes of his pecs, small hearts and little treble clefs appearing in your mind’s eye. His arm rested comfortably around you, his thumb tucked up under the hem of your shirt. His skin was rough against yours as he rubbed small circles into your hip. It was quiet.

“She even got the tree out.” Yoongi’s deep voice cut through the silence. “She must really have been excited.”

“Well, you haven’t been home for a holiday in eight years.”

He nuzzled into your hair, lips pressing purposefully against the top of your head before he continued. “Thank you for coming. I know this isn’t the best way to spend Christmas, but-”

“Today was fun,” you interrupted, your hand flattening against his chest. “It’s nice to be around a family for Christmas for once. I know it’s not a super big family thing here, but back home…” You trailed off.

You’d spent more Christmases than you could count dreading the inevitable fight your parents would get into. Someone wouldn’t buy the right gift, or someone’s parents would piss off the other, or the lights on the tree would burn out. You’d loved the holiday as a child, and then you got older and your parents stopped hiding their dysfunction as much. After that, you spent every Christmas chasing the magic and joy that you’d experienced when you were younger.

Last year, your first Christmas with Yoongi, had come pretty damn close. And though it was only Christmas Eve, this year was pretty high up there.

Gently, he nudged your head with his own, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes met yours briefly, his brows furrowing as he searched for something in your eyes. His nose brushed against your own before his lips moulded against your mouth. There was no heat behind the kiss, just a simple reminder that he was there, whenever your mind returned from where it had drifted. It lasted the briefest of moments before he pulled away. His chin rested against the top of your head, and you smiled softly to yourself, snuggling back into him.

Silence fell over the room again, and your eyes wandered around the half of the room you could see. An Epik High poster hung right above the old piano. A small television sat on the dresser. The desk had a lamp and a cup for pencils and pens, but otherwise sat empty. If you squinted, you could see a younger Yoongi inhabiting this room, hiding himself away from the disapproval of his parents, working on his music on his own, using the melodies to mask the pain he was feeling.

“Hey, Yoongi?” you questioned softly. He hummed in response, and you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning out across the top of your head.

You weren’t even really sure what you wanted to say. Just that suddenly, your heart was heavy and that you needed to say… something. The soft, steady beat of his heart under your ear and the gentle press of his thumb in circles on your side kept you grounded. Silently, you focused on the warm puffs of his breath. It was all you could focus on right now. Otherwise, you had a feeling you would start crying.

Yoongi waited patiently for you to continue.

“Thank you. For earlier.”

He didn’t ask for clarification. You had a feeling he didn’t need to. He simply pulled you closer, his other arm coming up to embrace you fully, and buried his face in your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me, jagi,” he mumbled, inhaling heavily.

Yoongi was helping his mother with the dishes. His father,Yongjae, had left the table already and was somewhere else in the house. You could hear him tinkering with something in some room and remembered that Yoongi’s mother had asked him to fix the screen in the bathroom window. It was obvious where Yoongi got his handiness from.

You collected the remaining dishes from the table to bring to the kitchen. But just as you were about to step into the kitchen doorway, Yoongi’s voice caught your ear.

“Eomma!” he half-whispered. “I-we’re not…” And then he sighed heavily, and you could hear something splash as he put it into the dishwater. “Please don’t bring this up in front of her.”

“Why? I feel like I should have a right to know.” Yoongi’s mother kept her voice down, but you could almost hear the smarminess in her voice. “A son doesn’t bring just anyone home to meet his parents, Yoongi. Least of all you.”

“I know, but just…” Again, he sighed, heavier this time. “It’s a touchy subject.”

“Is she being stubborn?”

“No, Eomma!” Yoongi’s voice was firm, but immediately, he calmed. “Sorry. No, I just…” He paused. You knew him well enough to know he was weighing his options–you could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he thought things through. “We don’t want kids.”

“Well sure, you’re still young-”

“Ever, eomma. We don’t want kids ever.”

“I see.” For a moment, she was silent. You bit your lip, worried. You had worried about her reaction, though you’d never expected to be faced with it so soon. But then she spoke. “Ah. Well. We’ll just have to rely on Geumjae, then, won’t we?” There was a laugh in her voice as she said it. “He always liked children more than you, anyway.”

“You said it like it was your decision, too,” you whispered, your fingers closing to grip Yoongi’s t-shirt. “You said it like you had a choice.”

“I did.” He pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “I do. I told you before, I don’t care about kids. I chose you.”

And though he held you tightly, there was still a tenderness to it. Like you could slip away at any moment, disappear and never come back. You fell asleep pressed close to Yoongi’s side, a tangle of limbs on a too-small bed.

“Thank you, eommanim. It’s beautiful.” The sweater she’d given you was made of soft cotton, and it had tiny embroidered cactuses all over it.

“I called Yoongi to make sure you’d like it,” she said with a laugh. “I’m old, I don’t know what you kids wear these days.”

Yoongi’s father leaned forward, refilling the glass in his wife’s hands with the wine Yoongi had brought for them. His mother was a pleasant drinker–she laughed loudly and often–and it only seemed to bring out her inner chaos.

Like mother, like son, you supposed.

His father, on the other hand, was silent, stoic. His dark eyes followed your every move. Since you’d arrived, he hadn’t said much to you, but you didn’t get the impression he didn’t like you. More that he wasn’t sure what to say. Yoongi had said that he was old-fashioned, and everything about you seemed to be different from what he was used to. But he hadn’t been rude to you, and he wasn’t particularly cold, so you took that as a good sign.

You were gathered around their dinner table, gift boxes spread out in front of Yoongi's parents. They’d gotten you each something, too–you, the sweater, and Yoongi a bottle of bourbon.

“Open yours, eomma,” Yoongi instructed softly, pushing the wrapped green box across the table. You’d enlisted Taehyung’s help wrapping the presents again this year, and he had truly outdone himself with the big, gold bow on top.

She took another sip of wine, politely demurring while toying with the corner of the paper. Finally, after a moment, she agreed, and you could see the hint of a smile playing at the corner of Yoongi’s father’s lips.

Yoongi’s thumb grazed your shoulder blade as you watched his mom open her gift. His arm was slung casually across the back of your chair, and while he was seated too far away to fully pull you to his side, his large palm was splayed across your back, his fingers pressing into your skin every once in a while to remind you he was there.

As if you could forget.

“Oh my goodness, Yoongi!” His mother pulled the cookware out of the box. You didn’t quite understand what was so special about the pot and pan, but Yoongi insisted his mother had wanted them since he was a kid. She laughed warmly, reaching across the table and squeezing both your and Yoongi’s hands. “This is great. Thank you both.”

“You next, appanim.” You handed him his present.

Silently, he ripped open the paper, revealing two hardcover books.

“They’re two of my favorites,” you told him softly. “I was telling Yoongi about them one day and he said they sounded like something you would like. It’s a series, but only the first two books are out so far.”

He nodded. “Thank you. That’s very kind. I’ll read them and let you know what I think.”

And that, it seemed, was that.

It only took one more glass of wine for Yoongi’s mom to break out Monopoly. You expected Yoongi’s dad to leave–he rolled his eyes when she pulled out the box–but he sat and played, chuckling softly when someone would land on one of his wife’s properties and she would trash talk the victim.

You didn’t even get to finish the game before Yoongi’s father made the executive decision that it was time for them to go to bed. He bid you a quiet “Good night, you two. Merry Christmas.” before helping Yoongi’s mother back the hall to their bedroom. You heard the door click shut, and the apartment went silent.

“Your parents are fun,” you said softly, your hand finding Yoongi’s.

He gave a light squeeze. “They’ve chilled out a lot over the years.” He offered you a small smile. “It helps that we’re successful.”

Your eyes widened in feigned shock. “Oh, you’re successful?” You busied yourself with your phone, searching for a Christmas song to play. You weren’t tired, and you knew Yoongi wasn’t, either.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

You clicked play on the song you found, and the opening piano notes of Coldplay’s “Christmas Lights” drifted out of your phone’s speaker. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over Chris Martin.” You flashed him a cheeky smile.

Suddenly, Yoongi was on his feet, his hand still in yours. He tugged you up, quietly pushing in both of your chairs before his arm wrapped around your waist.

“What are you doing?” Your arm instinctively curled around his back so that your hand was on his shoulder.

“Sorry. I can’t hear you over Chris Martin.” Yoongi smiled widely, teeth on full display, and he began to sway.

You managed to look mildly offended before melting into his arms. Your nose brushed against his as you rested your forehead against him. Slowly, you made your way around the room, and when you passed the lightswitch, Yoongi flicked it off. And just like that, you were slow dancing in the moonlight in his parents’ dining room.

When had your life become a cheesy Christmas movie?

The song changed, a more traditional song starting in its place, the strings swelling as Michael Bublé crooned “I’ll be Home for Christmas.” Yoongi hummed along, the deep rumbling in his chest reverberating in your own. You gripped his shoulder tighter in an attempt to hold him closer. He was warm in your arms, and the light scent of his cologne filled your nose, and you were struck, not for the first time, by how much he felt like home.

“I did get you a present, by the way,” he said softly, hot breath fanning across your face.

You figured he had. Yoongi might not be entirely gifts-focused, but in almost two years of dating and three years of knowing him, he never forgot a holiday. You weren’t surprised that he hadn’t wanted to give you anything in front of his parents. So you’d hidden his present in your luggage when you saw him only grabbing the gifts for his parents, knowing that you would have your moment with him later.

But instead of saying all that, your fingers threaded in the long strands of hair at the base of his neck and whispered a soft “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He hummed and shot you a look that said ‘I absolutely did’, but he said nothing. He continued to lead you around the dining room, swaying gently in the darkness, until the song ended.

“I’m going to make some tea,” he said softly, pecking your lips briefly before he pulled away. “Wanna go grab our coats and meet me on the balcony?”

You nodded, but didn’t move, your fingers still threaded in his hair. Yoongi offered you a small smile, a light blush creeping across his cheeks. After a moment, he untangled himself from you and began to walk toward the kitchen. You moved with him, hand-in-hand, unwilling to part from him just yet. But eventually, you had to, hanging on to him by your fingertips before your hands finally separated and you made your way into the bedroom to grab your coats.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. You’d put more effort into Yoongi’s present than you’d ever put into anything before. Not your students, not your degree, certainly not any of your past relationships. You briefly prayed to whomever was listening as you dug the wrapped present out of your suitcase that he would like it.

The kettle whistled lightly just as you were re-entering the living room, and you left Yoongi to sort out the tea as you fought with the balcony door while attempting not to drop his gift or his coat.

Outside, it was cold, but it wasn’t quite freezing. The city lights were beautiful in the late evening, and you could just barely see the nearby park and its little display of Christmas lights. Carefully, you leaned Yoongi’s present against the small planter his mom had on the balcony and pulled your coat tight around you, buttoning it closer to your neck.

Hopefully, Yoongi hurried with the tea.

As if on cue, the balcony door slid open and he appeared, two travel mugs in his hands. Quickly, he traded you, shoving both warm mugs into your grasp before shrugging on his coat–a big, warm, fluffy thing that seemed to swallow him whole. You handed him one of the mugs and he took a sip, looking at you curiously.

“You should go first this year,” he said softly.

You hummed, your heart suddenly hammering in your chest. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d given him something meaningful, so you couldn’t understand why it felt so new. Though, you supposed, the fact that this present had been a work-in-progress since early July didn’t help.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up his present. “I… this might need some explanation,” you said cryptically, handing it to him.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow but took the package, sitting his tea down on the small balcony table. He picked at the corner of the sapphire paper, trying to peek under it. You nodded slightly and he tore into it, balling up the shreds and shoving them into his pocket.

“What is this?” he asked softly, finally revealing the frame underneath the paper.

He held it at arm’s length, inspecting it. You had been staring at the gift for months–you could almost see it in your mind’s eye. The frame was almost two feet wide and made of thin, maybe an inch wide, black stained wood. Behind the glass sat a piece of thick, cotton paper, a deep navy background contrasting with the thin, silver accents in the top right and bottom left corners. In the center of the paper, a spiked silver line ran horizontally.

“It’s a waveform,” you told him. Which, he knew. You knew he knew. Yoongi stared at waveforms more than almost anyone you knew.

He tilted his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “What song is it?”

You took a deep breath. “Well, that’s the thing. It’s uh…” Leaning closer, you pointed to the small QR code in the corner of the paper, hidden among the silver designs.

Yoongi gingerly handed you the frame, giving you time to set your mug beside his, and pulled out his phone. A few taps later, the opening piano notes drifted out into the December air. Your stomach gave a nervous flop, and you turned your attention to the frame in your hands, unable to bring yourself to focus on Yoongi’s reaction.

The song started slowly, tentatively, a light melody over soft chords. Without even looking at him, you could tell Yoongi was listening intently. In your mind, you could picture his furrowed brow as he focused on the notes. Steadily, the top notes grew more confident, more bold, and when the melody sampled the title line from “Drunk In Love,” the iconic notes hidden in a building upper refrain, Yoongi jumped slightly.

“What is…” He trailed off, listening as the top notes soared.

It was hopeful, and inspiring, and conveyed–or, at least attempted to–how Yoongi made you feel. You would know. You wrote it.

As the final notes faded, Yoongi took a step forward, carefully taking the frame out of your hands and sitting it off to the side.

“You wrote that?” His voice was soft, cautious almost. And when he said your name, there was a bit of reverence in his tone.

You looked up at him, then, something in his voice pulling you in, the sun to your comet, an unseen and inescapable force. Your eyes raked slowly up his face. Soft smile, pink cheeks–though from the cold or emotion, you weren’t quite sure. And then his eyes. That gooey look you loved so much was there, sparkling at you in the light of the nearby streetlamp. There was extra shine, though, and by the time you realized it, a small tear escaped from the corner of his eye.

“What a honey boy,” you cooed softly, reaching forward and wiping his cheek with your thumb.

Yoongi laughed, wiping at his eye with the back of his hand. “No one’s ever written me a song before.”

“So you like it, then?”

“Oh my god, I love it.” He laughed, tear-filled but joyous, and pulled you closer. “I don’t know whether to hang it up in my office at home or in the studio.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours once before pressing more firmly, his bottom lip slotted between your own. There was the briefest bit of heat and urgency behind the kiss, but mostly, it was tender–a soft and gentle declaration of love and gratitude.

Sooner than you would have hoped, he pulled away, but he didn’t go very far. He touched his forehead to yours, and one arm stayed wrapped around the small of your back, pressing your body to his. Gently, you reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb ghosting along his jawline. God, he was beautiful. Even standing as you were, in the light of the moon and streetlights, he was gorgeous. He turned into your hand, pressing his lips briefly to your palm.

“So listen,” he breathed. His skin was cold, but then again so was yours, and you didn’t mind. “I didn’t wrap your present. I got lazy and I thought wrapping it would make it a whole thing and I just…” He sighed, fishing around in the pocket of his coat. Had he had the present there the whole time?

“You know I don’t care that it isn’t wrapped.”

“I know, I just…” He shrugged, pulling his fist out of his pocket. Clearly, he had something clutched in his hand, but you couldn’t tell what it was. Something small. “Wanted to warn you, I guess.” Yoongi took a deep breath and let it out before slowly opening his hand.

A small, square box sat in the middle of his palm.

“Yoongi…” Your voice was soft. You knew what it was. Maybe there was something else inside, but that was a ring box.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said. “Or, I guess… maybe it is.” Carefully, his arm moved from around you and he opened the box.

Inside, nestled between two velvet pillows, was a ring. It looked delicate and timeless, neither too big nor too small.

“This isn’t an engagement ring,” he prefaced, a nervous smile on his lips. “Not yet, anyway. With things getting back to normal with work and enlistment, I just figured…” He carefully pulled the ring from the box. “I wanted to get you something to remind you of how much you mean to me.”

“I wouldn’t forget,” you told him softly, allowing him to slip the ring on your middle finger. Definitely not an engagement ring. But close.

Yoongi hummed deeply. “Just in case.”

Now that it was on your finger, Yoongi held up your hand to inspect the ring. As you thought, it was fairly small and unobtrusive. The band was white gold, and the stone looked almost like a diamond glinting in the low light of the night. Surrounding the center stone were two small blue gems on either side.

You grasped the front of his coat and tugged him to you, holding him close as your lips met. He responded immediately, slipped the ring box back into his pocket before wrapping his arms around you. His lips, though cold, were soft against yours, and he tasted like that damn organic cherry lip balm that he insisted on using. The kiss was delicate, loving, but not particularly heated, and you hoped it conveyed everything you were feeling–how much you loved him, how loved you felt, but most of all, how grateful you were to have him in your life.

When you separated, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back to you in a tight embrace. You felt him inhale deeply, big hands splayed across your back.

“You like it, then?” His voice was soft, but you could hear the nerves in his tone.

“Of course I like it,” you mumbled into his shoulder, the fabric of his coat muffling your voice slightly. “I love it. You didn’t have to get me a ring, though.”

Yoongi shrugged, your arms moving with his shoulders. “I wanted to. You deserve something more than just me promising you that someday it would happen.” His hand carded through your hair gently.

You allowed yourself to melt into his warm embrace, tucking your chin over his shoulder. This time last year, he would have just gotten out of his sling–you would have still been changing his bandages. You hummed happily, holding up your hand so you could inspect the ring again. It was beautiful, but it could have been a ring pop and you would have loved it. Because you loved him. And he loved you. In spite of everything, he loved you. And that was better than almost any present.

Read more of the series here.

[nightingaelic]

How about New Vegas companions react to the courier returning from Dead Money?

I've had a few people request the courier's return from the Sierra Madre, usually with some flavor of trauma attached. This one didn't have any specific sad details, so it's a little more lighthearted. Stay tuned for the heartbreaking rendition that's deeper in my inbox.

While the courier was undeniably an important figure in the Mojave that had taken shape over the past few years, it wasn't so fragile that it fell to bits if they up and disappeared for a bit. Once the courier figured this out, they took full advantage of the opportunity to high-tail it into the brush, especially when someone came complaining about a faction they had dealings with or when President Kimball sent an emissary to the Strip's caretaker. As such, only the courier's companion was anxious when their latest vanishing trick stretched out into a month-long absence, and they practically bowled them over when they once again walked in the doors of the Lucky 38.

Arcade Gannon: "Six!" Arcade yelped, grabbing at their coat, their pack, every piece of them that might give him an inkling as to why they were delayed for so long. "You're alive!"

"I am!" the courier agreed, somewhat surprised by the researcher's frantic response to their arrival. "Were you expecting something different?"

"You're alive!" Arcade repeated, before giving them a mild bonk on the head. "No word of where you were going, who you were supposed to meet, the route you took... no wonder nobody knows who you were before Benny tried to take you out, you're the absolute worst about sharing information!"

"Uncalled-for, but okay," the courier muttered, rubbing the spot where he'd thumped them. "I was in the Sierra Madre. I thought I told you I was headed out there."

"Told me?!?" Arcade put a hand to his forehead. "You wandered out one night after we talked about weird radio broadcasts we'd picked up over the years! One weapon, barely any supplies, not even a note-"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" The courier put their hands on his shoulders. "Look, I'm fine, see? No limbs missing, no new diseases or appendages, just a few more nightmares and enough gold to buy the NCR off if they come asking questions about Enclave remnants again."

"You know, not every disease you pick up is gonna announce itself, Six," Arcade said, still somewhat bitter. "But it doesn't mean you're not infecting every wastelander you come across while you're gallivanting around... wait, did you say gold?"

Craig Boone: "I thought we were a team," Boone said as he blocked the casino's entrance with his broad shoulders. "You can't keep running off on your spotter, Six."

"Boone." To the sniper's surprise, the courier dropped their travel pack and threw their arms around him. "I missed you, too."

Boone shifted uncomfortably at first, but he finally sank into the moment and gathered them in, letting go of his pent-up frustration and anxiety a little bit at a time. The silence of the casino floor settled in around them, and their relieved breathing was loud in his ear. It sounded better than anything Mr. New Vegas had played on the radio in the last month.

When the courier finally drew back, they were smiling. "I'm sorry," they said. "I know you worry. If I'd been able to come back sooner, I would've."

Boone nodded. "Something kept you?"

"More like someone." The courier made a face. "He's dead now. All is right with the world. Long story."

"Good." Boone swallowed the last of his distress and gestured at the elevator. "Tell it over a drink?"

"God, yes."

Lily Bowen: "Pumpkin!" Lily grabbed the courier before they could maneuver around her and picked them up in a loving embrace. Their belongings fell to the ground around them, but Lily didn't put the courier down until she was satisfied they were in one piece. "You worried your Grandma so," she said in a disappointed tone when she finally did.

"I'm sorry, Lily." The courier looked up at her apologetically. "I got stuck for a while. I tried to come back to you as quickly as I could."

"Oh, it's okay, dearie." Lily couldn't stay mad at her surrogate grandchild, and she smiled gently and stooped down to help them pick up their scattered supplies. "The important thing is you made it home okay. Don't you worry, Grandma has big plans for dinner, and she's kept your bed made with extra pillows, just how you like it."

"You're too good to me." The courier accepted their fallen pack from her and slung it over their shoulder again. "And you were right. I shouldn't have followed that lady on the radio."

Lily frowned. "Did she hurt you?"

"No." The courier took her hand and squeezed it. "She wasn't real. Well, she was, but she hasn't been around for a long time. Some greedy man took her place, and I had to deal with him before I could get out and shut off the broadcast."

"It sounds like quite the story, pumpkin." Lily squeezed their hand. "How about you tell Grandma the whole thing tonight over some brahmin steaks and sweet tato stew?"

"I'd love that, Lily."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Oye, Six," Raul said warmly, gathering them into his arms. "Cómo te va? I was about ready to write your obituary or something."

"Maybe you should've," the courier joked, wearily accepting the hug. "I could fake my own death like you're always threatening to and get the hell out of this town."

Raul clapped a hand to his forehead. "Me hieres. You'd run out on me, boss?"

"Nah." The courier smiled at him and took a step back to shake the dust off their coat. "I'm too fond of you and your stories about post-war shenanigans. I hope you don't mind, I shared a few of the best ones with some friends I made over the past few weeks. Moral support purposes, you know."

"Moral support?" Raul's eyes narrowed. "And what sorts of problemas were you stirring up this time?"

The courier grinned. "For once, I wasn't doing the stirring. I made out pretty well in the end, though. Here."

They slipped a gold bar out of their pack and tossed it to the old ghoul. Raul caught it in surprise, turned it over a few times, and finally put it to his mouth to give it a soft bite. Sure enough, it came away with the indent from his tooth on the surface. "Oro," he said, "Oro sólido? But how... No one has this much gold anymore, Six. Who did you rob?"

"That's the best part." The courier proudly held up another shining bar. "Nadie."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Whatever words Cass might have been bottling up to thrash the courier with, they dissolved as soon as she swept them into a crushing hug. "Goddammit, Six, I'm pleased as punch to see you alive," she said, laughing.

"Same to you," the courier replied, their cheeks flushing a bit. "Miss me?"

Cass pulled back again and punched them playfully on the arm. "Not on your life. I liked the quiet."

"You did not."

"I did!"

The two burst into giggles again and re-embraced. "Well, let's have it," Cass said once hers subsided a bit. "Did you get kidnapped by robots again, or was it that courier who's got your number?"

"Neither." The courier brushed themselves off and unshouldered the pack that had been weighing them down for days. "Well, I was kidnapped, but it was a former Brotherhood Elder with delusions of grandeur, this time."

Their pack fell to the floor with a mysterious thunk, which made Cass eye it suspiciously. "One of Veronica's kind? Anyone I'd know?"

"She'd know him, you wouldn't." The courier followed Cass' eye and squatted down to open their bag. "It can wait a bit. I brought you a souvenir."

The look on Cass' face when they withdrew a bar of solid gold was worth all the trouble it took to carry the bars home, the courier thought later.

Veronica Santangelo: "Where have you been?!?" Veronica demanded. Her inquiry was somewhat dampened by the courier's shoulder being squashed against her face. "I thought maybe you were dead, I thought maybe you were stuck in a vault somewhere, I thought the Legion had finally gotten its hands on you and I was going to have to form up a last-ditch rescue squad with the rest of your sorry band-"

"Maybe you should've," the courier replied, wincing a bit under her affections. "Could've used some support from someone who wasn't wearing an exploding prisoner collar."

"Exploding prisoner collar?" Veronica pulled back and held them at arm's length. "Have you been messing around with the Think Tank again? I told you those jar-brains are bad news, they'll rip out your spine without so much as a 'thank you,' who knows what they're-"

"Veronica." The courier put a finger to her mouth. "You know I don't do this often, but I need you to save your questions for the end. Can you promise me that?"

Veronica nodded, eyes wide. The courier ran a hand over their head and looked up at the Lucky 38's ceiling. "Ah, hell. I don't even know where to start. I met... you see, I was sort of... so that radio message I picked up a while ago, it led me to..."

"Spit it out," Veronica said eagerly. "The Sierra Madre? A raider trap? Some kook in the middle of nowhere with a grudge?"

"Kind of all three, actually," the courier grumbled. "Maybe I'm not the right person to tell you this. I left someone at the Atomic Wrangler that wanted to talk to you, let's just head over there. She's a little shy right now, given... recent history, but I don't know what explanation I'd be able to give you that she wouldn't do better."

ED-E: Amidst ED-E's deluge of excited and disappointed blats and whistles, the courier reached up to stop the little robot's movement and pulled it close. "I missed you too, ED-E," they said fondly, hugging the eyebot to their chest.

ED-E gave in and tutted a little more softly, waiting for the courier to release it. They smiled down at the bot when they pushed it skyward again, and ED-E did a little loop-de-loop in the air to display its own satisfaction with the reunion.

The courier giggled. "You were right, you know. I should've brought you along, it would've been a big help."

They sighed when ED-E gave them its usual questioning tone. "It's such a long story. The broadcast was a trap, I wound up imprisoned for a while with some... questionable characters, and I had to orchestrate an entire heist as well as walk all of them through their personal traumas before I could so much as think about escaping. Honestly, I just need to lie down for a while. For like, three days. And while I do that..."

They reached in their pocket and withdrew a worn letter, which they tucked inside ED-E's storage space. "I promised I'd deliver that to Veronica, but I'm just too tired. Mind giving it to her for me?"

Rex: The courier laughed and batted at the cyberdog's attentions, but Rex couldn't get enough of the new scents they were covered with. Desert, yes, but new desert, sand of a different composition. An acrid, acidic stench clung inside this strange desert's smell, as if laced into the very soil, and it made Rex's lip curl momentarily. There were new individuals on their clothing, too, and images sprang to the cyberdog's mind as he sniffed their coat. A tired, fear-laden woman. A man in pre-war cologne, not enough to mask his rotten skin. The addled adrenaline and dopamine of a nightkin. A man steeped in both of those scents as well, but not yet turned. Rex sniffed carefully. Not yet, or not ever, if the courier's weapons told the truth. And something else, a distinct hole in Rex's perception, but something that had made the courier sweat as they trudged home.

"Here, boy." The courier reached into their pack and withdrew a bar of solid gold. They held it out for the cyberdog to sniff, tilting it in the light of the casino's lobby. "It was real, the treasure of the Sierra Madre. I found it."