#i listened to the home guard again recently and i was reminded of how often they actually do this

[felicitykings]

#if there's one thing ben and polly are going to do #it's fight through brainwashing to protect each other

DOCTOR WHO ↳ The War Machines (1966) | The Macra Terror (1967)

[batsvnte]

𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞 • 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

Pairing(s): Wally Darling

Sypnosis: you seem to not get enough of these phone calls you’ve been getting from Wally. Not like how he’s acting recently

Warning(s): Obsessive behavior, cursing, reader is 0.01% away from breaking something, also hints reader is progressively getting sick, ooc maybe, not proofread

Song used: Telephone by Lady Gaga

Word Count: 2K

Notes: black gender neutral!reader (they/them pronouns) with lovesick! Wally. Here’s my go at the lovesick au heunehueeb— the color for the lyrics are killing me but it’s fine. Also decided to go for the second person to see how this works. Au belongs to @halohelene on tik tok, characters belong to @/partycoffin

Not that I don’t like you, I’m just at a party

You wished that you realized sooner.

The little signs that was being given off ever since that rainy day that occurred few weeks prior to what was happening now. You recalled how drenched everyone became since they were out in the rain. One of your neighbors, Wally Darling, specifically. Two days later is when it started showing physically since he was coming out to less and less. The everyone concluded that he was down with an sickness that Wally came down with.

Lounging around in your home without anything planned for the day as usual. Though part of you was reluctant to hear knocking on your door, or the phone's ringing. Waiting for someone to talk to you and drag you to bring them into their fun shenanigans they have planned for the day. You often shake away the thought, wanting the day to be by yourself as some way to recharge yourself due to your social battery being inherently low for the past couple of days.

You were broken out of your thoughts the moment the phone rang. You nearly shoot up right out of your seat before relaxing, realizing it might be one of the neighbors calling you. You suspect it would be Sally since she's been recently calling you a lot. For advice on the plays she has written and notes that she rambles to you about scenes. All the usual stuff that you and Sally would talk about for hours.

"Hello? (L/N) speaking." It was like an automated line that is always said whenever the phone was picked up by you.

No answer. You thought that it was some mistaken call that was directed to you. You were about to speak again before your voice was caught up in your throat.

"Hello neighbor.."

Wally's voice filled your ear. You haven't talked to him in a long while which surprised you in the slightest. Part of you was relieved that he was calling you.

"Hey Wally!" A smile spread across your face. "I haven't heard from you in a while. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling great, neighbor." Through his monotonous voice there was some bit of comfort for him through those words. "I'm so glad you picked up. I've missed your voice."

Here was the start of what you thought was to be a short conversation. Chatting about what you were doing the past couple of days and rambling about your interests to him. He didn't have much to say but he made it known that was listening to every single thing you said. Wally would often times thrown in compliments which caught you off guard. Maybe this was the first sign you needed to know.

"Look, Wally I need to go." It was your third reminder to him since you realized how long you've been in the phone for.

"What about the story? Can you tell me more about it, please?"

"I'll tell you soon."

"But–"

You didn't hear the rest of what he had to say due to bringing the phone away from your ear while uttering a quick bye before hanging up. You let out a soft sigh, not realizing how late it's gotten. The sun was already at its prime of setting, revealing only streetlights as its main source to see the outside world clearly. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you wondered what time it was. And how long you've been on the phone for.

And I am sick and tired of my phone ringing

Getting prepared for your night time routine you realized you weren't as tired as you thought to be. You just been staring up at the ceiling for the past consecutive hours of the night. You decided against your thoughts of attempted sleeping, getting up from your warm covers and into the chill air of your room.

You chose to do you hair, wanting a new hairstyle for yourself. Turning on some music just loud enough for you to hear only you started with plaiting your hair. You were somewhat aware of how long it would take, but it didn't matter. Just as long as you didn't sit around doing nothing without any ounce of exhaustion is something you didn't want to do.

Through the music you mindlessly part and plait your hair into tiny strands to make braids. You didn't realize how many you've done before you heard a noise. Slowly down your pace you glance to the radio that was carelessly tossed onto you bed. You've heard this song more than enough times to count the beats to the song.

Something about it was throwing you off.

Listening closely to the noise you've made a slow realization of the phone ringing. It was faint since the phone was in a completely different room but it felt like it was directly next to you. Questions starting to flood your mind as you finally finish the hair strands in your hand, directing your eyes over to the closed door of your bedroom.

'How long has the phone been ringing?'

It could've been minutes since the phone has been ringing. Getting a random call in the middle of the night scared you somewhat even though the phone line was directly connected to your friendly neighbors. You turn your head back to the mirror that you were seated in front of. It was better not to answer the phone right now since it was probably a random call accidentally made to you. But was it? You didn't know at all. You just needed to finish what you started.

After the final braid was done, you cleaned yourself up and flopped down on your bed. Barely missing the radio that tilted to the side due to your weight on the bed. Exhaustion finally caught up with you and you fell asleep.

Sometimes I feel like I live in Grandcentral Station

For the next couple of days was a never ending cycle for you. It weirded you out at first without any question. But the more you repeated the same action, it would just happen not even minutes later once you were away from it. Waking up to a mundane routine is something you wished for.

Wake up, get yourself breakfast, phone rings for several minutes, do you daily activities friends, get dinner, and go to sleep.

Wake up, phone rings for several minutes, get yourself some breakfast, the phone rings for an hour, do your daily activities, get dinner and go to sleep.

The phone rings for several minutes, wake up, phone rings for two hours, get yourself breakfast, the phone goes off, stay indoors, the phone rings, dinner, the phone rings, and go to sleep.

The phone rings again. The ringing was driving you insane. It was going on any time you were inside your own home. Whenever you went to another's house, their phone was silent as ever. Something that you had wished for. But it wasn't the only thing that kept you up late at night. You've been having conversations with Wally prior to the endless phone calls. Part feeling bad that he was still stuck in his home instead of being outside and spending time with the neighbors. You hadn't realize that his condition was getting progressively worse the more you kept talking to him.

Wally wanted to hear your voice more. He needed to hear you talk about whatever came to mind or was brought up. The sound of your voice was a melodious tune to him. Wally couldn't help it at all.

You wished you connected it sooner than expected.

And yet here you were. You were sitting down at the dinner table that was in your own home, your food gone untouched. You could only stare blankly at the plate in front of you knowing well that it's gone cold. Your eyes slowly drifted over to the phone that was resting on the counter. You had moved it during one of your calls with Wally so you can multitask: talk to him while making yourself something to eat. Easier and more convient for you, wasn't it?

It's been ringing once again. Your mind automatically thought it was Wally calling you again. It couldn't be anyone else to call you this late at night.

How else would he know that you tend to stay up into the late hours of the night. Or how you would wake up without a thought, doing whatever gets you back into exhaustion so you have more energy for tomorrow. How else could he know these details about you that you never mentioned.

You pushed the chair back without cringing at the screeching floorboard you caused it to make. You storm into the kitchen, opening various of drawers and digging through the various amount of supplies that you had stashed away. You were doing it aggressively to the point were you could've accidentally taken out an entire drawer. Pulling and slamming over and over again before you found what you were looking for. You scooped up a pair of scissors into your hands with the satisfaction of finally finding your desired item.

Pushing yourself away from the messy drawers and cabinets, you rush back over to the phone. You nearly knock over the phone which would've been desirable but it wasn't what you were aiming for. Going to the other side, you trace the long thin cable that connected your phone to the house, which gave access to anyone calling you. Finding no care for the length, you swiftly snip the cord in half.

An unfamiliar silence filled the room. Lowering your hands, you let one end of the cord slip through you hands and onto the floor. Relief washes over your body was you stand up properly. Sliding the scissors gently onto the counter. Turning away from the phone with no care what you're going to do with it. As long as it was silent, you were happy.

The phone rings.

You nearly snap your neck to look at the phone once again. Tou were thinking you might be imagining it all over again. The phone vibrates as the ringing starts up again. You were sure that you cut the phone line. What other cord could be connected to the phone.

'What the fuck is going on? Why is it ringing? How is it still ringing!? Just fucking stop!'

One thing led to another and you found yourself on the floor sitting against the wall. Viewing the phone that was at a distance due to it being knocked over by you throwing it at a nearby wall. It didn't break fully which made you more frustrated, but you didn't have anymore energy to deal with it. You were tired. You wanted it to stop.

"Now neighbor.. is that a way to answer a friend?" Wally's faint voice was heard through the phone, but you made no effort to get closer to hear him better.

"You destroyed your phone," Wally continues to speak with a loving tone in his voice. He sounds genuine, but you knew that there was another emotion present. "How can I be able to hear your voice if I can't call you.. Don't you think it would be better to visit me?”

You remained silent. Something about the suggestion was almost to good to pass up. It has been days since you’ve seen him, and you didn’t want anything more than to make up the lost time with the shorter puppet. But then again, Wally was sick and you weren't going to risk getting others down if you ended up getting sick as well.

You could only stare at the phone but you could feel Wally’s eyes focused on you. Eager for an answer.

Tonight I’m not taking no calls, cause I’ll be dancing

This is so messy omFG

I was working on another one au thing I saw on tik tok but somehow this au dragged me back here. I’ve been so stressed because of my grades and exams but writing this made me feel better at least. But like- you finna go see him or nah 👀

[yahoodarling]

XiaoXMerPerson Reader(GN)

Warnings: Drowning, death, mentions of injury and struggle, betrayal, mating system of romance (declaring your loved on as a mate), (reader is not a good person at first*)

So glad to join the #farewell-love event from @versadies Prompts 8, 25 “you're a monster”, “i thought i could trust you”

I really enjoyed the character dynamics here. 3.5k words

Relief. A sweet calming sense flooded Xiao as much as the melody entranced his mind. For once in a long time peace washed over him as his Karmic Debt didn't seem to burden him, for a temporary moment he stood with no pain only a gentle voice in his ear singing away the strain. How long had it been since he stood on the ground not held by the burden of his duties, of his sins in the past? It was rather scary actually, when one is exposed to nothing but pain that reminds one that one is alive, one could be mistaken if one lives or not by having that moment of relief from the painful reminder.

 Xiao walked towards the sound, tempted by the very thing that brought him rest, grass turned to rock which turned to sand as he stood on the cliffs of Guyun Stone Forest, his task of eliminating a toxic threat forgotten. As he walked over the shores he found himself in view of the full ocean, salt licked his skin and his eyes stung but the pain was easily forgotten by the figure that caught his attention. Along the rocks sat a being, not human by any means, a mortal could never reach the beauty he saw. The figure's eyes were closed and mouth open to release the heavenly sound, a gentle hum of no words yet touched the soul. He walked closer, on edge for not knowing the figure but curious because of how they affected him. Xiao had to take a moment to regain his thoughts as his eyes laid upon your tail, scales climbing up the long fins and phasing into your skin with a stunning colour to match, hair though messy from the pull of the sea stuck to your face in clumps but were dry, no doubt you had been sitting in the sun for a while now. In that moment you seemed unreal, a figment of an imagination, a glimpse into the perfect world, an artist's masterpiece. You were not aware of Xiao's presence and simply kept swaying to your own melody.

Xiao decided to sit down, not to approach you any further but simply enjoy your song and let ease wash over him. In time his body finally relaxed fully, back melting and releasing tense stress, shoulders loose and his spear sat by his side. For a moment he let his eyes close, in that moment it was only your voice that was on his mind.

"Oh dear, hello there" 

The singing stopped and the figure spoke, Xiao immediately back on guard. He stood up, held his spear and gazed at you watching your every move. His pulse heightened, hyper aware after being caught vulnerable. You must have eventually looked over to him and finally spoke out.

"No need to be on guard, you seemed relaxed with my singing. I'm glad. Please, if it comforts you you may continue, i only wanted to introduce myself"

Xiao nodded, still a little too on guard to speak.

"My name is (first) (last). I come from the seas of Inazuma. I know our worlds are usually apart but recently I felt I needed to explore out to find my mate. I never found someone amongst my own kind and thought I could find someone on the land though I was advised not to. In simple terms, I'm just enjoying some time away from home." You smiled brightly at him

Xiao blushed slightly at the word of you looking for a mate, no doubt would your mate be lucky to be blessed by your voice often.

"I am Adeptus Xiao of Liyue. I apologise for imposing on you I was just- you have a nice voice" it was a bit out of his character to compliment but he felt he needed to let you know he liked it, more then liked it since it was your voice that gave him comfort he started to crave it. 

"Ah how lovely. It's no problem if you wish to listen for as long as you please." 

And with that you began your melody once again. Xiao recoiled back and sat on a rock, letting himself relax again but this time echoing out your name in his mind, going over your words once again and watching you sing so gracefully on the rocks just a few steps away into the sea. 

In time Xiao continued to return every few days, he'd at first sit and simply listen to you for a while before you began conversation with him. Even though your singing is what caught his eye at first he slowly seemed to fall for the person you were as well, hearing the stories of your land, your feelings and questions you had for him and in turn he revealed part of himself to you. Months flew by and Xiao visited nearly everyday, to spend his evenings with you, a graceful start to ease away the pain of the night to come. He had never revealed himself like this to someone in a long time and he felt you were the same. You chose not to leave Guyun Stone Forest to continue exploring and Xiao felt relieved you hadn't left him. You were someone he came to find very special.

He was willing to give you himself, his thoughts were consumed with you and he wanted you to feel the same way, the same pang that hit his chest when he thought of you or the first sight of you each day. He wanted you to find him just as special so the day he teleported to the coast to find a human on the shore, sitting on the sand and watching you with the same look of wonder on their face made fear overtake him, perhaps it was jealousy. He watched as you allowed your voice to grace someone other than him. The human stood up and did what he never could, no matter how much he tried to encourage himself he could never walk in the water towards you like this human was. The female human was calf deep, eyes set on you in amazement. When she was waist deep she reached for you, to touch such a magical being. Her eyes shone with wonder, that feeling of absolute content. It was peaceful,until it wasn't, until you quickly latched onto her, dragged her into the water with you and crashed under the surface with an almighty splash. There was a great fuss, water splashing all the way, huge waves created in the chaos and soft hues of pink soon surfacing where you and the human disappeared. Xiao couldn't move, true heartache and fear ate him. Would that have been him? If he had ever entered the water to be with you would you have dragged him into the doom like you had that human? All this time, all that your relationship with him was was just an attempt to lure him in, like a fish to a hook. He cried, he allowed tears to escape his eyes and fall on his cheeks. This was all he was to you, a chase. He was in such despair he couldn't even act to save the human like he was by duty meant to. Pure sorrow drowned him just as you drowned the human. “you're a monster”, he said to himself, needing to convince himself of the true colours you were showing.

After however long, Xiao couldn't tell if it had been a few minutes or hours, you broke the surface again, hair more rugged and slightly out of breath but the ocean waves swept away your sin and diluted the blood away, you sat on your rock like nothing happened and closed your eyes beginning your song again.

The contrast of his body's ease hearing the song to Xiaos mind tearing himself apart ached him. He had to know from you.

"(Name)" he said, his voice weak and low, hardly a whisper. If you did not have hearing above humans you would not have heard him.

"Xiao my darling! How's your day been?" You smile in delight at him until your face falls to a frown.

"Why are you crying? Your eyes are so puffy and red. Are you hurt?" You ask in worry, leaning on the rock as forward as possible, like you were trying to reach out to him.

Xiao had to stop himself from falling to his knees in tears. "Would that have been me?" He asks voice harsh yet fragile

"If i had entered the water to be with you would i be like that human too?"

You looked confused, brow furrowed.

"Whatever do you mean? Why-?"

"Was this all I was? A fish to hook? A prey to drown? Did I mean anything else?" He exploded in tears as he walked on the shoreline, water lapped at his feet and soak him as much as his salty tears did.

He continued to walk forward, ignoring the fact it would be dangerous. This was you! This was the only comfort he allowed himself. It blinded him from potential danger. 

"Xiao no! How could you think that?" 

"Don't lie! I saw it, I saw everything, I thought I could trust you!"

His calves were deep in the salt water and then stopped, his sense of awareness kicking in and not allowing himself any closer.

"I refuse to hear your lies. How could you? I thought… i thought-'' he choked and let his head fall, his cries diluting into the ocean water.

All of a sudden he heard a crash, loud and alarming. With no time to react you lunged onto him, pulling him into the water and overpowering him. Xiao was a moment away from thrusting his spear into your chest when he suddenly noticed the position you two were in. Unlike with the human he was above water and still able to breath, back in the shallow water and unlike what he saw you were not attacking him, you grasped his waist and held your head in his chest, hugging in close and nuzzling into it as your tail splashed behind him.

"No! No! You aren't a filthy human! I'd never do that to you. You aren't like them. I could never even imagine it."

You weren't attacking him, in fact you beached yourself to be with him. He could tell, the water was too shallow for you to easily slink back into the depths, no doubt your tail was sunk in the sea sand. "Xiao please. I've never seen you like that. I want you to be my mate! I want to continue hearing your stories and to sing for you. I want my voice to belong to you."

Xiao calmed down, he knew he was at an advantage right then, he could easily overpower you in this shallow water so there was no reason for him to not believe your words, why else would you let yourself be so vulnerable for him?

"You promise?" A weak question asked as new tears ran down his face, not in anger or sorrow but relief.

"I do, I swear. I'll do anything to prove it." You take your head away from his chest and look up to see him in the eyes. 

"Don't leave me please" you cry.

Xiao hugged you deep, embracing you above him and just allowing himself to accept the love. Finally he could hold you, to touch you, it may have not been the best circumstance but he could still enjoy it. 

It took a while, just to lay in the calf deep water holding each other, the waves sweeping against your combined forms.

Xiao broke the silence. 

"Why did you do it then?" You raise your head to look at him for a moment before resting it back onto his chest.

"It feels natural. Humans feel dirty and deserving of death. It feels like the waters cry for them to join its depths and as the waters people we carry out its demands."

"Do you have to?"

You stayed silent for a bit until answering

"No but humans aren't much to worry about anyway. If I can satisfy the call, it's not like much to sacrifice." 

Xiao felt a little unnerved by what you were saying, his whole existence was to protect the humans so to hear you speak of them like this scared him. He needed to try to change your ways, if he couldn't… he would have to uphold his duty and get rid of any threat against the mortals, even if that meant getting rid of you though it would destroy him.

"Stop. Don't do it anymore. My duty as an Adeptus requires me to protect them. I can't have you killing them."

Silence echoed until you finally sighed, shifting your weight and leaned on your arms off of Xiao above him to look him dead in the eye. 

"I promise. I will no longer hunt humans if it makes you happy. If it will keep you by my side then so be it. All I ask is that you become my mate. Be mine and i will give you my all in return and in doing so ill follow your word." Your eyes shimmered with emotions and your face blushed slightly but there was a calm sorrow on your face, you didn't want to make Xiao feel hurt.

He closed his eyes for a second, considered your words over and over in his mind. This is all he had wanted, to be with you like this, to be your mate, he can continue being with you. It made him so happy he felt he didn't deserve it. 

He opened his eyes, raised his hands out the water and held your cheeks, brushing against scales. 

"Then we can be mates. Please allow me such honour to be yours"

You smiled and dove back into him creating a splash and laughed. The air filled with laughter, of yours and his small ones. He laughed… you got him to laugh.

The future days were eventful, you began to dig into the beach bank and lay large rocks you found around, creating a small dock where you and Xiao could be together comfortably. Xiao helped where he could but he felt such euphoria to see you work so hard for something that meant you two could be together, the fact you'd do so much for him warmed his soul. Within a week a place was created where you would not be beached in sand and he would not be drowned, a place you two could lay together and simply enjoy each other's company. A happy world was created, a happy space for just you two.

Xiao was scared. He searched in Liyue Harbours shadows with pure fear in his mind. He heard you call his name, distressed and in pain but it was here in Liyue Harbour, not where you always were at the Stone Forest in your cove. Xiao looked to the docks from the shadows to see many fishermen huddled and in joy and a familiar ginger he had seen around Zhongli, all together smiling and laughing. His heart shattered as he saw you, in a metal linked net, arms severely wounded and bound behind you and blood seeping your hair and tail, your eyes unfocused.

Xiao held every part of him together to not rush in and rescue you, he couldn't harm the humans but his eyes caught the sight of Zhongli standing to the side also watching the event. He quickly teleported beside him.

"Xiao, this doesn't seem like your scene, why appear here?" Zhongli asked without flinching or looking where Xiao appeared.

"Why are they in that net? Why are humans so happy?"

Zhongli turned to look down on Xiao in curiosity.

"What interests you about it?"

Xiao kept quiet

Zhongli sighed and looked back at the humans that cheered and spoke of what they would do with you. Some said to keep you alive as a decoration while others wished to have you stuffed as a trophy, at the end of the day it was Tartaglia's call, he was the one who caught you after all.

Xiao was sick, he wanted to save you but Zhonglis looming presence overwhelmed him, he couldn't possibly act against him.

"Such putrid stench. That is a merperson, they are known to drown humans. For a long while fishermen going to Guyun Stone Forest in search for deep water fish have not returned, it's been a while since the last case but the unknown deaths of the others still lay heavily on the fisher folk who wanted answers. Tartaglia said he would investigate, hoping for a monster or great fish to fight or catch and he got both. I joined him and the moment I saw the merperson I knew where all the missing people went, it was only right to let Tartaglia have his battle with them."

Xiao knew, he knew it was you who had killed in the past but he only wished it never caught up with you.

You lay on the ground unmoving.

"(Name)" Xiao whispered gently at the sight.

With that your head moved hesitantly to his direction, the moment your eyes met his you lurched forward and cried for him. "Xiao! Xiao! Please, help me!" You reached, webbed fingers getting caught in the nets strings. 

He wanted to vomit, he couldn't help you but the look of pure desperation on your face pleading for him scarred him. Tears fell and he began to shake but made no move towards you.

Zhongli took notice no doubt of your calls to the Adeptus and turned in question.

"Do you know them?"

Xiao was quiet, his voice came out like what he said were words meant to be unspoken and yet filled to the brim with emotions of love and sorrow.

"They are my mate." He simply said.

Zhongli immediately took a look of shock, physically turning his body to Xiao to look away from the harbour and let the Adeptus take his full attention.

"Your mate? What do you mean by this?"

"(Name) is my mate. For these many months, I've given myself to them and they have to me. They give me peace not only in voice but their mere presence. I- I can't-" he broke down and cried at the words.

Zhongli knew this must mean a lot for Xiao to react as such, so he closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows.

"They may be your mate but they have become a threat to the people of Liyue-"

"They've stopped!" Xiao interrupted before retreating in shock at his own outburst.

Zhongli too had to recover, never imagining that Xiao would ever oppose him.

"Even so they have still committed a crime and must be punished as such, I cannot let the injustice the people who lost their lives had to pay because of your mate. I apologise." Zhongli turned and walked away.

Xiao sank to his knees and cried. He cared not that the public eye could see him, he wished to wallow in pity and sink in the pain, his body and mind broken and never recover. Such pain which made him refuse to look at your scared form, to see your tears and the face of betrayal you would have for him as he made no move to save you.

“I thought I could trust you” the soft whisper came from you, those same words he said to you those many months ago but unlike then there was no resolution for this, he cannot beach himself and display just how far his love for you goes, he cannot save you. It made him finally snap, to know your last thoughts of him will not be of fond love but of his treachery.

How could he be such a cruel monster, unable to do a single thing to save the one that gave him their loyalty and love? He should be punished but his role as an adeptus, a duty to uphold, a god to obey will forever hold him back. He only wished he could do something to comfort you in that moment, your moments of struggle but he was in no position to do as such. He allowed himself to look up once more, to see you for one last time before he retreated to darkness and let yet another part of him die off until he became nothing but a soulless doll. Perhaps mother mercy will be kind to him and in death be allowed to join you again.

[libraryofloveletters]

so cute fic request. You are Maddie's OBGYN and at every appointment she insists to set you up with Buck, you deny her and finally one say yes just to be quiet and you meet what a great guy Buck is

The Set Up

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and doctors offices, reader wears makeup, alcohol and the consumption of

Category: Straight Up Fluff 

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: here's a lil late v-day present for y’all :) 

Part 2: Dispatch: Labour in Progress 

----

“How does the baby look ?” Maddie was laid back, her eyes on the monitor. “Perfect, a perfect little baby” you smile at her as you hand her a towel to wipe up the gel. 

“How many copies would you like ?” you turn towards the ultrasound machine. 

“As many as you'd give me” she laughed, pulling her shirt back down. 

“Dad’s working ?” you asked, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, he’s been trying to get off a day to come with me” she sits up, pulling out her phone. 

Maddie was one of your favourite patients, she was a sweetheart and always happy, regardless of what was happening, you didn't know how she did it. She began showing you a few pictures of the nursery and two guys who were in the picture. The first guy was Chimney, who was the baby’s father and Maddie’s boyfriend, the two of you had met at a previous appointment and the other guy, who you hadn't meant yet but felt like you had, was her brother Evan or Buck, which is what he went by. 

“You know, if you want to just come in one day when he's off work, we can just do a regular check-up just so he can see. It doesn’t have to be anything special for you to come in” 

“You’d do that ?” 

“Of course I would, between me and you, you’re my favourite patient” 

Maddie smiled at you, “so,” she gave you a look, “since I am your favourite patient, would you also go on a date with Buck ?” she asked, you nearly choked on your coffee. Maddie had a habit of trying to set you up with her brother. She did it often but it still caught you off guard each time. You coughed, “Maddie, no.” you laughed, “that would be unprofessional” 

“Oh come on, take a risk y/n. Life goes on and one date won't kill you” 

“Who said I’m looking ?” 

“Please, you are. You can't lie to me” she smiled, you shook your head. “Still a no Maddie” you handed her the copies of the ultrasound. “If you do want to do the ultrasound when he’s home, just give me a call” you smiled at her and she got up. “I will, thank you”

-- 

A few weeks later and Maddie was back in your office. “Good afternoon momma,” you were looking at the files as you walked in, pushing the door shut with your foot. Taking a seat on your little spinny chair, you look up when Maddie says good morning back to you. 

“Oh Chimney, it’s nice to see you” you smile as you shake the gel bottle. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “it’s good to be here” 

You hand him the gel bottle, he looked at you with brows furrowed. “You’re a paramedic, aren't you ? Go ahead” you chuckle as you turn the ultrasound machine on. “How are you feeling ?” you ask, “good actually, thanks for asking” Chim answers you. 

“I’m glad to hear that but I was asking Maddie” Chim’s mouth forms an O and he nods, Maddie smiles at him. “I’m good, baby’s good too. Kicking a lot recently. Especially when I drink orange juice” she chuckled. 

“And still just the one cup of coffee ?”

“Yeah, he won’t let me have anymore” she groans 

“Good, as he should be. You’re lucky I agreed to the one cup Maddie, you know I rather if you didn’t” 

“Ugh,” she groaned and rolled her eyes, “not you too” 

“I’m your doctor, it's my job to remind you unfortunately” 

Maddie sighs and rolls her eyes once again. You get what she meant, you couldn’t be pregnant and not have coffee, pregnancy is exhausting as it is, imagine it without coffee. “you know how to use an ultrasound machine right ?” you look over at Chimney, who was looking rather confused. 

”I do, why ?” 

“Would you like to do it ?” 

“Really ?” 

“Yeah, I let the dads have a chance to do it sometime. Makes them feel a little more involved” 

“I'd love too” 

You hand him the wand and step back, you watch as he rolls it across her belly. It was always sweet when the fathers came to the appointment, even more so when they're involved. 

“Y/n?” 

“Yes Maddie?” 

“Will you go on a date with Buck ?” She smiled sweetly at you, Chim looked at her, half shocked and half confused. 

“If I say yes to one date, will you quit bugging me about it ?” 

“Of course, just one date is all I’m asking for” 

“Does he know you’re setting him up ?” 

“Yeah- well no ? but he won't mind. It's part of my job as his sister” 

“Maddie, I have siblings as well, you don't see me setting them up” 

“Yeah yeah, that’s fine” 

Chim turned to you. “everything looks good doc” 

“Then we’re all done. Just hit print on the machine and you’ll get the pictures” 

Maddie wiped the gel off her stomach. She took a pen from the desk and scribbled a number down before handing the paper to you. “That’s his number, just message him” 

“You’re setting me up and I have to message him too ?” 

“Oh come on, you’ll be fine. Thank you for this and I'll be expecting details at my next appointment!” She gave you a smile before walking out. Chim looked at you, “I’m sorry I didn't know she was going to do that.” You laughed, “it's okay, she’s not the first person to do that. You should catch up with her though, she walks really fast for a pregnant lady” you chuckle, Chim smiled and walked out to find Maddie. You had some time to kill before your next appointment, you looked down at the paper in your hand. 

Do you text or not ? Wouldn't that be creepy ? Like oh hey, I'm your sister’s doctor let's go on a date.

You know what ? 

Screw it, what’s the worst that could happen. 

To Buck: Hey, I'm y/n. Your sister gave me your number, hope this isn't weird. She's been trying to set me up with you for months, thought we’d hit it off haha

God that was so stupid. Why the hell did you put haha ?

From Buck: Hey, it’s cool. She’s weird like that. What’s up ?

Oh shit, he answered. 

To Buck: Just at work, how about you ?

From Buck: Same thing 

Wait what do I say now ? Do you ask him out ? 

From Buck: Hope this isn't too forward of me or anything like that, but maybe you’d wanna grab a drink tonight ? Only if you’re free

Guess you don't have to ask him now 

To Buck: Yeah, that sounds good. Pick a place and let me know ? I’m off at 4 so anytime after that is fine. 

From Buck: I’m off at 6, how about 7 at the bar on Main Street ? 

To Buck: sounds good, see you then 

It was now 3:30 and Maddie was your last patient of the day. There was no harm in leaving now. After putting away your files and replying to a few emails from patients, you headed out. Only one issue you had when you got home was what to wear. 

Well so you thought. 

Taking a shower was the easy part, trying to do your hair and makeup with only 2 hours left, was a bit of a hassle. First disaster of the night was too much mousse in your hair, making it sticky and tacky. Washing it out, you managed to set it the way you like. The powder compact had fallen onto the floor, you hoped it wasn’t broken, turns out hope isn't enough. The other powder you had was far too light for your complexion right now and you decide against makeup for the night. 

Let him meet the bare you, you can wow him next time, if there is a next time. 

Deciding on a simple outfit, a white shirt that fit you nicely and a pair of black pants that went along with it. In your head, it seemed boring but in the mirror, it looked much better. Walking into the kitchen, there was a half drunk glass of wine from the night before.

Stale wine or nervous wreak ? Stale wine it is. 

You down the wine, spilling some onto your shirt. “Are you kidding-” groaning and turning back to the room, you end up changing your entire outfit. A pair of blue jeans and a black top that fit you in all the right places. One more look in the mirror and a hand through your hair, you headed out the door. 

It didn't take you long to arrive at the bar, as you only lived a few minutes off Main Street. You had seen Buck from the countless pictures Maddie had shown you so it didn’t take long to spot in at a table in the corner either. 

“Hey” you walked over, a smile on your face. He stood up, “Hi! you must be y/n” he leaned in for a hug, you mirrored his actions. “I am, it’s nice to meet you” 

The two of you sat across from each other and there was a bottle of beer in front of you. Buck spoke up when he noticed you noticing the bottle, “I ordered for you, I hope that's alright- you can order something else” 

“It’s fine, thank you” you take a sip, not your usual choice in drink but you didn't need to complain either. There was some silence for a while, not uncomfortable but not comfortable either. Anyone that passed by could tell it was a first date, if you could even call it that. 

“How do you know Maddie ?” he asks, you smile at him and take a sip of the beer before answering him. 

“I’m her OB” 

“Her ?” Buck had a confused expression on his face. 

“Her doctor, her obstetrician actually” 

“Oh for baby Buckley” he nodded. 

“Yeah, she's been bugging me about you since we’ve met actually. She’s sweet but she’s persistent” you chuckle and Buck gives you a smile, “that’s my sister” 

The night went by rather quickly, the two of you sharing work stories. Buck told you about the time he worked a full moon and they responded to a call at a yoga class only to have 3 women go into labour simultaneously. 

“It was the full moon I swear! I tried to tell Bobby but he didn't listen to me!” he said, laughing. 

You nodded and laughed too, “no, it’s true. I've had so many full moon babies. I never book off full moons because I know someone is going to go into labour”

“Thank you! Someone gets what I mean!”

You then told him about the time you filled in for your colleague, he told you it was supposed to be a regular birth but turns out it was quadruplets. It was nice to find someone who understood your weird work schedule. The two of you shared stories until the waitress came over to tell you that they’d be closing in a few minutes. It was a little past midnight when she came over, the two of you decided to call it a night and head out together. 

“How are you getting home ?” he asked you, you walked with him over to his Jeep that was parked down the street. “I’ll just walk, I don’t live too far from here” 

“No” he stated while shaking his head 

“No ?” you questioned him, your brows furrowed as you looked at the man in front of you.

“I invited you out, at least let me take you home. It’s late too, it won't be right to let you walk home by yourself” 

“Are you sure ? I don't want you to go out of your way” 

“Oh no it’s cool, c’mon” 

He opened the door for you like the gentlemen he is and then got in after. “Which way my darling ?” he gave you a cheesy smile which made you chuckle. “A left at the next light and the brown building is me” you leaned back in the seat. It was quiet as he drove down the street, you looked over at him and admired him. From the way his hand rested on his wheel to the little smile on his face, even to the birthmark above his eye. 

“It's rude to stare” 

“Can't help myself, you're pretty” 

Oh shit, did you just-

Buck looked over at you, a wicked little smile on his face. “You think I’m pretty ?” 

You could feel the blush on your face, “uh- well- um I guess ?” 

“I think you more than guess that but whatever you say” he smiled 

Buck pulled into the building parking lot, he stopped and his head hit the seat as he leant back. Looking over at you, “let me walk you up ?” 

“You’ve already done enough, it's fine” 

“It’s fine. Come on” he got out, you mirrored his actions. Buck followed behind you as the two of you made your way up to your apartment. Unlocking the door, you stepped in and he stood by the door. 

“Do you want to come in ?” setting your keys on the counter, you look back at the man who was leaning against the doorframe. 

“I’d love too but I've got the first shift. Maybe another time ?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine” walking back over to him, you stood in front of him. Even with him leaning, he still towered over you. 

“I had a nice time tonight” you say, he nods. “I did too. Maybe we can do this again sometime ?” 

“I'd like that” 

“Okay.” he smiles, “well, good night then y/n” 

“Good night Buck” standing on your toes, you go to kiss his cheek but it seems he had the same idea, both of you turning your heads at the same time and your lips were on his. Buck’s hand cupped your face for the few moments your lips were on his. When you pulled away, Buck had a slight red tint on his face, a blush or simply could have been the heat coming from your apartment, either way you were sure you looked the same way. 

“How does Saturday sound ? Noon for lunch if you’re free ?” he breaks the silence.

"Saturday sounds perfect” 

Buck smiled at you once more, he turned and began walking back to the elevator. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning back once again and walked towards your door.  He leaned down and gave you one more kiss. Laughing at the sweetheart that was now smiling at you from the other end of the hallway, you watched as he stepped on the elevator and then shut your door. 

Outside of your building was a happy Buck who skipped his way over to his car, his keys twirling on his finger with a big grin on his face. As he got into his car, he sent his sister a text message. 

To Maddie: You seem to know me better than I think, thank you. 

Upstairs, there was a similar scene, a happy you skipping their way to bed with a smile on their face. As you laid in bed, you too sent a text message to Maddie. 

To Maddie: Your match making efforts have worked, thank you. 

----

taglist: @mrs-dr-reid @ssa-volturi @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover @venusrosepetal @mikaelson-emma @beth-winchester21

[starlessea]

Here Comes the Sun: XXI. When You Were Young (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 5907

Chapter Warnings: Language, Insecurities.

You snapped the book shut and looked up at your class, who stared back at you in complete awe. You laughed, taking in their expressions. The first time you had read this novel, your face looked something similar to how theirs did now. You couldn't help but let out a little laugh, uncrossing your legs and standing up from your seat. Immediately, they started to chatter amongst themselves about the ending, and the volume rose as their voices ricocheted off the walls of the small classroom. 

In the last couple of months that had passed since the takeover of Woodberry, the prison had been completely transformed. It was barely recognisable from how you'd first found it. The cells each had a bed, and now resembled actual rooms. The field had been tilled and converted into farmland courtesy of the Greenes, and you even kept livestock in wooden pens. Best of all, Rick and the others had set up a classroom for you to teach the children. You could remember it like it was yesterday. It had certainly been a well-kept secret, and almost everybody had known about it but you. 

Daryl and his team had scavenged some desks and school supplies, as well as an old blackboard that reminded you of the one you had first written your name on. They'd even brought back a wooden bookshelf - which they had to tie to the roof of one of the vehicles just to get it home. Over the course of the next few weeks, it began to collect books, filling up more and more each day.

Your first assignment had been for your students to create a poster on any book of their choice - and as a result, they also filled the white space of the walls. Before long, the former guards’ office resembled an actual classroom, brimming with colour and, surprisingly, children eager to learn.

"Okay, everyone!" You called out, clapping your hands to get their attention. "Now that we've finished this book, I want you all to write your own short story in response to it."

The group started to murmer amongst themselves again, and you yelled out over the chatter.

"It can be a sequel, or even something different inspired by it." You explained, your voice getting lost in the crowd. "Be as creative as you can." 

It was a real learning curve getting used to teaching younger students. Though, it was a lot more rewarding than you thought it would be. You remembered teaching Carl briefly at the Greene farm, which felt like a lifetime ago now. You never expected for your class to grow to the size that it was.

"I'm looking forward to reading them all tonight before bed." You added, once they had settled down enough to do so.

It was a tradition for you to do all of your marking in the evening. It filled up your time and kept you occupied until Daryl returned. He'd been going on a lot more runs recently, and it made you worry less when you had something to take your mind off it.

"Any questions?" You asked, and saw a flurry of hands go up in response.

"Teacher!" A young girl called, waving her arm to get your attention.

You smiled almost unknowingly. If adults had even half the enthusiasm of children, then maybe a lot more would get done around here.

"Yes?" You answered, and nodded in her direction.

The legs of her chair lifted a few inches off the ground as she swung back a little, and you fought every teacher-urge inside of you that said to pull her up on it.

"Is Mr. Dixon going to read them with you?" She giggled, and suddenly you forgot about the chair.

You couldn't contain the snort that left your mouth from the name 'Mr. Dixon.' You'd have to tell him about it later.

"I meant questions about the work." You chided gently, but the smile on your face told another story. "Though, he might. So make them interesting." 

Once again, you were unable to control the class as they got rowdy, and you just shook your head.

"You don't want him to fall asleep when I read them to him, do you?" You added, as you started to hand out the paper.

The children spent the next hour or so furiously scribbling out their stories in messy handwriting that you'd be tasked with deciphering later. Daryl had been gone for a few days on a run, but he was due back at some point today. Though, you wouldn't put it past him to conveniently arrive home late, to get out of marking duty with you.

When the time came to dismiss your class, you were given a lot of hugs and waves from everybody as they left. Perhaps it wasn't the most professional, but nothing really was these days. You were lucky to even still have a profession given the circumstances. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a figure looming in the entranceway, holding the door open for the children as they left the classroom. It was Carol, and she gave you a warm smile when she caught your eye. You beckoned her in after everyone else was gone, and she made her way shyly towards you with her arms behind her back.

The two of you had grown even closer over the last few months - all of you had. Though, you and Carol got along like a house on fire. She had the most brilliant sense of humor tucked away, and you were often lucky enough to get a glimpse of it when she felt mischievous. Daryl had given the pair of you the nickname 'dynamic duo' - and you thought that nothing could suit you both better.

"What are you doing here, Peletier?" You asked in a mock stern tone. "I don't remember giving you detention."

The woman smiled sheepishly at your teasing, before more confidently sitting down on your desk and stretching out her legs. From behind her back she brought out one hand, and placed a fresh, red apple over your paperwork. You laughed immediately, and so did she.

"I've always been a good student." She told you, with a grin. 

You hummed to yourself, unconvinced. You started to collect the loose sheets of paper from your students' tables, and the woman hopped off your own desk to help you. 

"I caught the end of your lesson. I hope you didn't mind me listening in." She admitted, and you shook your head in response. 

Normally, you got nervous if you were being observed. One time, Daryl dropped by to give you some supplies you'd asked for - and you'd gotten so red that the children made fun of you for the rest of the day. Yet, Carol's presence made you calm; she always was the one to have your back.

"They seem to really love you." The woman added, nonchalantly.

The compliment really did warm your heart. Even before the world ended, all you'd wanted was to gain the approval of your students. Except, that was the one thing that adults struggled to give.

"I just want to make it fun for them." You explained, picking up another hand-written story.

You could tell whose it was just by the handwriting. At this point, you'd gotten to know all of the children so well that they felt like part of your extended family; everyone in the prison did.

"I know they should be learning practical skills, too." You went on. "But I can't let them forget how to read and write."

You were mumbling to yourself, and barely noticed as Carol handed you the other half of the papers. You filed them all into a neat stack, and placed them onto your desk. Except, you now noticed a book sitting on it that hadn't been there before.

"I came to give you something." Carol said, pointing. "Well, to return something."

Your eyes widened as you read over the title. It was in pristine condition, with a shiny cover and an unbroken spine. 

"It's not the same copy." The woman explained. 

You could tell; it was much too neat to be the one you'd brought with you to Atlanta. That one had crinkled pages and a ripped cover even before you had leant it to Carol.

"I asked Daryl to keep an eye out for one on his travels." She admitted, and you perked up at the name. "Thought maybe you could read it to the kids one day."

You held the copy of The Little Prince in your hands, your eyes glancing over the delicate illustration of a young boy lost amongst the stars.

"Carol, you didn't have to do this-" you said quietly.

The woman cut you off before you could go on, nudging you gently with her shoulder.

"I did. I wanted to." She corrected, and you finally looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry for what I did before." 

She said the words quietly, as though ashamed, and this time you were the one to elbow her back and shake your head. She gave a small smile.

"I liked the part with the fox." She told you. "Where he says that important things can only be seen with the heart, not the eyes."

You looked at Carol with a dumbfounded expression.

"I did read it, you know." She laughed.

So, the two of you did finally get to discuss the book together, just like you'd hoped to do all that time ago - back in the warm summer shade of the Greene farm.

When you spotted that mop of hair from across the courtyard, you knew instantly who it was. Well, the crossbow and that familiar leather jacket also gave him away. You started to run in his direction, before you spotted a group of your students and slowed down to an embarrassed jog. The man eyed you, and you could make out his taunting smirk even in the distance. 

It hadn't been that long since you'd last seen him, but your heart still ached to feel his arms around you. You never knew how lonely the nights could seem once you got used to sleeping besides someone you loved. 

You approached Daryl casually, feeling eyes on you. There were people working the fields, and others on the fences dispatching walkers. Even if they seemed busy, you weren't oblivious to their side-eye glances every now and then.

"Hey there, Stranger." You finally greeted the man. "Was starting to forget what your face looked like."

With the influx of survivors, Daryl had taken on even more responsibility than before. He was out for longer and home even less, but you knew it couldn't be any other way. You knew that - but it didn't stop you from resenting the fact.

"Too many damn mouths to feed." Daryl grumbled, pointing to the string of squirrels hanging from his belt. "These people are eatin' like kings." 

You laughed at that, thinking back to the last harsh winter where you'd all had to survive on some questionable meals, to say the least.

"Ah yes, the luxury of fresh squirrel." You teased, eyeing the dead animals strung up by their tails.

You made a face, and Daryl made one back.

"I'll give yers away if ya gonna keep bein' picky 'bout it." He warned, but it was much too light-hearted.

Still, you held your hands up in defence.

"Okay, okay." You replied, sending him a mischievous smirk. "I'm sorry."

The tension was thick between you, despite the banter. Even as dirty as he was, you wanted nothing more than to fall into the man and press a number of kisses to that face of his. Yet, you refrained. Maybe you could get him into the shower first, away from all these people as well.

"Just take a look at your hair, Dixon." You remarked, once you finally noticed it. "Are you growing it out for me? Because I said I had a thing for guys with long hair?"

It hung over his face, and he pushed the loose strands away from his eyes with the back of his hand. It suited him, but he was definitely in need of a good shampoo.

"Yer really pushin' yer luck today, aren't ya?" Daryl muttered, taking a step closer to you.

You couldn't hide the smile that had spread over your face. Even an exchange as simple as this left you beaming. There really was no one else who could make you laugh quite like Daryl Dixon.

"You've been gone for two days." You reasoned lightly, trying to hide the way it actually made you feel. "Am I not allowed to have missed you?"

He tended to tease you about it, so you tried not to make a big deal whenever he returned home. Yet, you failed every time. 

"What d'ya say?" Daryl asked, rubbing his ear.

He'd probably gotten mud stuck in there. It wouldn't surprise you - given how filthy he looked.

"I missed you." You repeated, begrudgingly.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, like he couldn't comprehend what you were saying in the slightest.

"Hmm?" He prompted, waiting for you to explain again.

You huffed and shook your head. You would be dragging him into the showers as soon as he got to the cell block.

"I miss-" you started, before the realisation kicked in.

You immediately slapped the man's chest with the back of your hand, and a smirk spread over his face.

"You're messing with me!" You yelled, and he shrugged his shoulders innocently - like he was completely oblivious.

You attempted to shove him again, but this time he caught your wrist and pulled you in close. Your chest hit his, and you felt the warmth you had been craving. You didn't care anymore about the curious stares, and it seemed that he didn't either. Daryl wrapped his arms around your waist, and you snaked your own over his neck to pull him down to you. 

Your noses touched, and you smiled against him. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, just taking in the sight of each other - and the feel. You could tell that you'd unintentionally gathered a bit of an audience. The new members of the community rarely got to see Daryl like this, so you often got quite a few looks whenever you were together - and a lot of follow-up questions when you were alone. You ran your fingers through the ends of his hair, that went all the way down to the base of his neck now.

"Well, if you're not going to let me cut it, the least you can do is let me braid it." You whispered, your face still close to his. 

You'd threatened it once before, but you were more adamant this time.

"Ya can fuck off." Daryl grumbled back, but somehow he managed to make it sound affectionate.

You laughed lightly, and finally gave him the shortest of kisses that only left him wanting more.

"I think the words you're looking for are 'I missed you, too'."

Daryl Dixon was a stubborn man. You'd realised it from the moment you met him. He was the type to stick to his guns, even if they weren't loaded. You'd seen him argue his way out of something even when he was wrong, and convince you of his viewpoint even when you were right. Daryl Dixon was stubborn - but he always cracked eventually when it came to you.

"Don' say nothin'." He snapped, and you bit your lip to hold back the laugh.

"I didn't say anything." You quipped, as naturally as you were able.

You plucked another daisy from out of the grass, and handed it to the child. She took it in her small fist, and threaded it through the man's hair - messily between the braids you'd given him.

"Yer face says it all." He grumbled, his own looking like thunder.

Daryl was sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by a few of your younger students. They'd begged him to let them put flowers in his hair after eavesdropping on your earlier conversation, and you'd said yes before he could even reply. He was a stubborn man, but he was also a people pleaser.

"Mr. Dixon, what's your favourite flower?" Another girl asked politely, twiddling a bluebell stem between her fingers. "We'll see if we can find it."

You laughed, but quickly disguised it as a cough.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon." You chimed in. "What is it?"

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over. Except, the man didn't look all that intimidating with stray daisies interwoven in his hair, and loose plaits that were in the midst of being braided by clumsy hands.

"Stop bein' a lil' shit." Daryl bit back.

Though, he immediately got punished for it.

"Teacher, he said a bad word!" One of the children exclaimed, pointing to Daryl like he was a shamed dog on the naughty step.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure, and watched as the man did the same.

"Daryl Dixon, if you swear like that again we'll have to wash your mouth out with soap." You scolded, in your most teacher-like voice.

The children laughed their high-pitched laughs, and you could see a small fire burning behind the man's eyes.

"'M gonna murder ya in yer sleep." He mumbled below his breath.

You yanked on the strand of hair you were braiding, before half-heartedly apologising and claiming it to be an accident. Daryl flinched, and whipped his head around to glare at you.

"What the f-" he started, but you narrowed your eyes at him. "Frog." He finished, and you lost it.

You let out what was perhaps the most unattractive snort of your life, which was much too bold to be disguised as any sort of cough. You knew you'd pay hell for this later, but for now you just wanted to relish in the power. You had Daryl in the palm of your hand, his hair quite literally wrapped around your little finger. He turned to glance at you, but you tugged again - but more gently this time.

"Jus' watch what yer doin'." He reminded you, before muttering some more underneath his breath. "Are ya tryin' to scalp me?"

Somewhere in the midst of the exchange, Deputy Grimes has sauntered over with an expression equally as smug as the one you wore. He had Judith in his arms, resting over his hip, and looked down at Daryl with a grin as he approached. He was wordless, but when the two of you made eye contact it was hard to remain that way.

"Jus' don't." Daryl sighed, sounding completely defeated.

"I didn't say anything." The officer replied, and at this point you couldn't deny that there were tears in your eyes.

Daryl looked up at Rick and squinted from the sun. He shook his head.

"Yeah, yeah. Tha's what they all say."

Rick watched the exchange in amusement. It had been refreshing to see him so relaxed during the last few months. You thought that he really deserved a break - and it seemed that he was making the most of it by spending time with his children.

"What did you do this time?" The man asked Daryl.

He shrugged in response, before one of your students reminded him to keep still.

"Nothin'." He grunted, seeming to be at the end of his rope. "Dunno why 'm bein' tortured for feedin' the lot of ya."

The string of squirrels had been passed along to the cook before the children had all but seized Daryl and demanded that he played with them. You may have had some involvement in his kidnapping, but you were only a bystander, really.

"Quit complaining, you big baby." You reminded him, before tucking a flower behind his ear.

Daryl had a vacant stare, but it soon became a warm one when he noticed Judith making some gurgles and smiling in his direction. She had her arm outstretched towards him, and Rick lowered her down so that she could be closer to what she was reaching for. The baby smiled a gummy smile, and ever so gently patted Daryl's head - eyes wide at the array of colourful flowers there. The man stayed completely still and allowed her to do it, and you just watched. You wished you had Glenn's camera during moments like these.

Not long after, the officer said his goodbyes, and left with his daughter. She peeked over his shoulder at the two of you as they walked away, and it made your heart melt as you looked at her.

"She's so adorable." You said, to no one in particular. "I want one."

Daryl choked, and you smirked at him deviously.

"Just kidding." You admitted, as though you hadn't almost caused the man to have a heart attack.

Daryl spluttered again before standing up. Most of your students had left the two of you alone, having gotten bored during your chat with Rick. You watched as the man shook out his hair, letting the flower petals float to the ground like leaves from a tree. 

"Jesus Christ, woman." He muttered, looking in your direction. "Calm down, would ya?"

You smiled as you helped him untangle the braids.

"There's only so much a man can take in one day." He went on.

Before long, Daryl’s hair went back to looking just as messy as it had done before, and you once again prompted him that he needed a shower. So, the two of you headed back to the cell block, and you slipped your hand into his to also remind him of how much you'd missed him.

"You never did say which flower was your favourite." You said, once the thought came into your mind. 

You glanced over at the man as you walked, but he just gave a small shrug in response.

"Dunno." He said quietly. "Guess I like the yellow ones."

Despite wanting to spend the night alone with Daryl, cuddled up under blankets in your cell as you read him some imaginative hand-written stories, the two of you had been convinced otherwise. Usually, alcohol wasn't permitted inside the prison - something about productivity and sharing that you hadn't really paid much attention to. But, since a lot of people had just returned from a long run, an exception had been made so that you could celebrate. 

It was hardly anything, really. There was barely enough to go around to get you tipsy, let alone drunk, and there were only a dozen of you sitting around the campfire - taking swigs from your plastic cups. The spirits had been diluted to stretch it out a bit more, and you were reminded of being a teenager again, swapping out vodka for tap water so that your parents wouldn't notice. 

Even so, your body hadn't had alcohol in a while - not since the Jack Daniels you'd all polished off back at Hershel's farm. Already, your head felt fuzzy, and your laughs sounded giddier than you'd intended. You were all sitting on the ground, out in the field. It almost felt like that first night you'd cleared the prison - except so much had changed since then. Rather than tentatively holding Daryl's hand in the dark, when everyone else was asleep, you were now sat in between his legs as his arms held your waist. His chest was warm against your back, and you could feel it rise and fall regularly.

You could also smell the alcohol on his breath, but you didn't really mind. It was rare that Daryl did drink - even when it was available to him. You liked the fact that he could relax for once, since he always seemed to bear the burden of looking after everyone else.

"You two!" Tyreese shouted, catching your attention.

Across from you, the man sat beside his sister, Sasha. Vanessa was also next to them. Out of everyone here, you knew the three of them best. Admittedly, you hadn't got around to learning everyone else's names yet. 

You looked up, startled, and Daryl chuckled softly at the way you flinched in his arms. 

"How'd you meet?" The man asked, and offered a smile in your direction.

If there ever were such a packed question, it would have been that one. It was the type of question that required a whole book to answer - like one of the stories you'd set for your students to write. You glanced back at Daryl, only to find that he was already looking at you. He remained silent, so you raised an eyebrow at him before realising that you'd be the one answering.

"It was really romantic, actually." You spoke after a few seconds.

Everyone else's chatter had died down, and you suddenly felt very exposed as you became the centre of attention. Except, liquid courage always did work wonders where you were concerned. 

"The first time I met Daryl, he told me to fuck off and called me a mule." You announced, like you'd been waiting for the perfect moment to do so.

Your audience erupted with laughter, and you took in the looks of disbelief around the campfire - feeling satisfied with your choice of words. Except, it didn't last long. Daryl jabbed you in the ribs with his elbow, and you shot a glare back at him.

"Tha's not what happened." He argued, and everyone fell quiet once again to listen to what the man had to say.

It was rare that they got to see Daryl like this - letting loose and talking without being prompted to do so.

"Jus' fought off two walkers only to have some chick yelling at me, sayin gimme yer hand like the ghost of Christmas past or some shit." He explained, his voice more animated than you'd ever heard it. "Thought my time had come."

A few more chuckles could be heard in response, but Tyreese eventually spoke up.

"Can someone translate for them?" He asked, and it was then that you realised just how much detail you'd need to tell this story of yours.

So much had happened between you and Daryl that you'd need countless sheets of paper to recount it, unlimited words and a number of chapters. You leant back further into the man, deciding how to officially introduce it.

"Well, it all started with this yellow tent." You said, and the others listened.

You went on for a bit, taking sips of alcohol between your words. Everyone seemed enraptured by you, and it even seemed like Daryl was hearing the story for the first time, too. It felt strange to recount it in such a way, and it made you realise just how much had happened since the world had ended. 

You smiled as you finished, deciding to give one last summary to your captivated audience.

"So basically I pulled Daryl up from a cliff-face, then hauled his ass halfway across Georgia, before finally taking a bullet for him."

The alcohol had long since ran out, but everyone had stayed to hear the ending. Maybe you were oversharing, but spirits gave you loose lips - and you always did have a bad habit of running your mouth.

Tyreese started clapping slowly, before pointing at Daryl where he sat.

"You, brother, are one lucky man." He remarked with a smile.

You heard Daryl grumble something next to your ear, before addressing him back.

"She leaves out the part where she stuck 'er finger into my wound and sang outta tune next to me for three hours straight."

You bit your lip before finishing off what little was left of your drink.

"Minor details." You mumbled.

Some of the men you didn't know were murmuring amongst themselves beside you, but your head was too foggy to make out what they were saying. Perhaps Daryl could, since he had a scowl over his face. You didn't have time to question it, though, because Vanessa soon interjected with a laugh.

"So you're telling me that you now share a bed with the same guy who had walker ears around his neck when you first met him?" She teased, and you beamed back at her.

"Yeah-" you muttered, before sighing dramatically. "Sometimes I question my own judgement, too."

The walk back to your cell was more of a stumble, but no one had to know that. You and Daryl both made it there in one piece, so no further questions needed to be asked as to why you were missing a shoe, or who you'd tripped over along the way. It had seemed all fun and giggles, until you realised that it had been one-sided fun and entirely your own giggles.

Once you entered the room, you finally noticed how quiet Daryl had been. He toed his boots off wordlessly and threw his leather jacket into the corner. He knew how much that frustrated you, but he seemed too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care. 

You walked up to the man and snaked your arms around him from behind, so that your chest was pressed to his back. All day, you'd been craving for the two of you to just be alone - but now that you were, he seemed too agitated for his own good. You thought that you must have missed something, because Daryl definitely didn't seem like himself. 

You rubbed your palms along his chest slowly, but he stopped you with his own hand, and pulled away. He turned to face you, and you cocked your head to the side as you took in his expression. His eyes were narrowed, and he was chewing at his lip like he always did when he was confused. Eventually, he shook his head.

"Yer too good for me." He stated, like it was a fact. "'M a lucky man." He went on. "Why'd ya want someone who wore walker-"

"Whoa, slow down there." You cut him off. 

He was reciting all of the things that had been said over the campfire, you realised - except they'd all been playful jokes, and he knew that. The man sounded like a broken record, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what had made him break.

"Someone's had too much to drink." You reasoned, but raised an eyebrow as you did so.

You weren't convinced yourself, but you had no other explanation as to why he was blurting out the things that he was. Daryl was a big man, and the amount of alcohol he'd drank was nowhere near enough to get him drunk.

"'M fine." He confirmed, but you knew there was more going on. "Jus' the truth, s'all."

The man looked down at his feet as he spoke the words, and you sighed.

"We are not doing this again, Daryl." You warned, and took a step closer to him.

Ever since more people had been coming to the prison, Daryl had seemed to convince himself that there were plenty of better options available to you - all without consulting you about it, of course. It had gotten to the point where you'd snapped at him, almost a month back, and it had escalated into a fight. You understood where he'd been coming from - a few people had gotten a little too friendly with you on more than one occasion. But, you'd convinced him that you were right where you wanted to be, next to his side. 

You'd thought that had been the end of it, but something must have happened to bring it back to the surface.

"I see the way they all look at ya. Like they want ya." Daryl snarled, like he was seeing things that you couldn't. "They were talkin' 'bout it right in front of me."

And suddenly, it all made sense. The men you had noticed staring and mumbling had set Daryl off. You realised that he must have heard what they were saying - and that it must not have been good. Yet, part of you still felt frustrated that he had even listened to it. You'd spent the whole night recounting how you met the man, and how much he meant to you, only for your words to be completely unravelled by words of others that were insignificant.

"So?" You finally responded, more forcefully than you intended.

Daryl's head snapped up to look at you, and you met his eyes in return.

"I go through the same thing with you."

The man was silent for a few seconds, like he couldn't fully comprehend what you'd said.

"What?" He asked, and you shook your head.

"Just because you're blind to it, Dixon, doesn't mean that I am." You told him.

You placed your hands over his chest again, but this time he didn't shrug you off.

"They look up to you. You're a hero to a lot of these people." You explained, like you'd truly accepted the fact. 

You could feel the heat radiating off the man from underneath the tips of your fingers, and you took another step closer to him so that he could feel you, too.

"You don't think there's days that I hear women giggling about you? Talking about you like you're some knight in shining armour who rescued them from this world?" You said, chuckling a little as you did so.

At first, it had killed you to see. Every time you noticed someone staring at the man, or whispering about him when they thought you couldn't hear, it made your blood boil. But, after a while you became numb to it - mostly because Daryl never even spared them a second glance.

"It makes me feel pretty shitty, too." You admitted, as you let your fingers rest over the first button of his sleeveless shirt.

You looked upwards at him, and he gave you a small nod - so you started to unbutton it.

"But then I come back to our cell, and I'll see that you've left me flowers on our pillow." You went on, smiling in the direction of your mattress, where you had missed the man’s presence over the last few days. "Or I'll notice a new cassette tape in my walkman without you even saying anything."

You reached the last button, and shrugged the material over Daryl’s shoulders so that you could see his bare chest.

"And then I forget about all those other people." You confessed, and pressed your palm over his heart. "Because I'm reminded everyday that you're mine."

Daryl immediately placed his hand over the back of yours, and squeezed it gently. 

"I'm yours." He agreed, and this time leant down to give you a kiss of his own without being prompted.

It was soft, but you'd missed the feel of him - and it made you impatient. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, and so you broke away before you became too intoxicated by it.

You hooked your fingers around his belt loops and pulled his body closer to yours - so close that his bare chest was warm against you, and you could feel his heart pounding.

"Then show me." You said, and he did.

A/N: So every time I write a chapter of HCtS, I delete the notes for it from my masterplan - and I’m getting so emotional seeing it get smaller and smaller each week. We’re coming to the end and I can’t deal-

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

Tag List:

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[childe-the-harbinger]

Genshin Characters having a s/o who can play an instrument

a/n this is my first time writing and I have NO IDEA how to do this LMAO sorry (also I had trouble with the font for Venti’s SO IGNORE THAT THX<33)

warnings: jealousy (for Kaeya), Spoilers for Xiao storyquest

characters: Venti, Albedo, Kaeya, Xiao, Zhongli.

gender: gn

Writing under cut

Venti💚

•You to literally have performances in windrise and at the fountain at mondstadt

•He demands you two share tips and tricks on how to play your instrument

•He gets lowkey jealous if people want you to play more than him or if they applaud just the slightest bit louder (but he’s proud of you)

“Hey, Y/N!“ Venti yelled obnoxiously from across the Mondstadt plaza

”What if we held an event here? Like, a concert? We could bring apples and wine!”

You were just the slightest bit hesitant because you knew you had to pay for the bard’s ideas for concessions

But when you saw his “begging face” You just HAD to oblige.

Faster than you know it, your in Mondstadt’s plaza yet again, this time with complementary wine and apples, which venti takes advantage of.

You two play a concert for a large crowd of civilians, all interested in the wine, But they enjoyed the music as well.

Your instrument with Venti’s lyre was like a match made in heaven, they sounded perfect together, so you can bet Venti is extremely satisfied.

You go home thinking about that day and how Venti looked so happy.

You fell asleep smiling about the dork.

Albedo💛

•He finds it extremely fascinating how one could produce such a calming sound from their own instrument.

•If you just randomly start playing your instrument while he was doing an experiment for his alchemy, it‘ll immediately grab his attention, and he’ll turn back to look where the song is coming from

•He enjoys when you use the instrument to lull him to sleep (even if he’s upset he can’t finish that one experiment before being forced to sleep)

Mx. y/n? Could you play Klee another song before bed?

You tend to play songs to help Klee go to bed, since when Albedo tries to read stories, he ends up reading everything on the shelf.

”Oh all right, but promise you’ll go to bed after this one, okay“ You reply to Klee’s request.

“Klee promises! She’ll be a good girl!”

You start playing your instrument in a calm and soft way that would relax somebody. Not too loud but not too quiet either.

You play a famous musical piece that grabs Albedo’s attention from outside of Klee’s room.

He sneaks to Klee’s doorway to peek through at you playing music for Klee on the edge of her bed.

He admires how you are such a good older sibling for her.

You finish up the song, and as soon as you do, you see Albedo in the doorway, just as he makes eye contact with you

You give a warm smile as soon as you realize Klee fell sound asleep to the music you played.

Afterwards, you talk to Albedo quietly outside Klee’s room.

”You truly are gifted, thank you.”

He shows a small smile and walks back away to his experiment, which was paused mid-way.

He can’t stop thinking about the smile you showed after you finished playing your gadget.

He smiles at the very thought of you playing the same tool to help him fall asleep.

Kaeya💙

•He tends to request you playing music at the tavern for him to enjoy while he drinks his alcohol of choice

•He praises you afterwards about how “good looking you were while you were playing it” and if it’s just you two then maybe a couple sexual remarks give or take

•Kaeya observes the way your body just leans into the instrument like a real professional.

You were playing music at the tavern for Kaeya and you ended up getting quite the crowd of drunkards enjoying the tune.

Particularly one drunkard started getting a bit too close and cheering a bit too loudly and Kaeya quickly took notice of this action.

You were walking further and further away from the drunkard man when you blindly bumped into Kaeya whilst walking backwards.

“Oh-ho! Who do we have here, my love?”

When the intoxicated man heard that, he backed off, and you could go back to playing your instrument on the mini stage that your boyfriend provided.

You liked how Kaeya helped back that man off of you and thought about it while you were packing up your instrument to leave.

Xiao💚

•He wouldn’t dare admit it, but he loves listening to you play your songs and music, it helps distract him from his karma that has added up these past centuries

•He zones out when he hears the music played by his lover. It reminds him of a green clad figure playing a tune that saved his life.

•Verr Goldet encourages you play music outside Wangshu Inn for the visitors, but you replied saying you exclusively play for Xiao.

Xiao had been contemplating about his contract he signed with Rex Lapis, Thinking about the endless slaughter he took on after the god helped him.

You strumming your instrument interrupted his thoughts and let him relax his shoulders, as his mind wandered somewhere else, somewhere more positive.

All the work Xiao does on a daily basis really stresses him out, but he has to keep his guard up to make sure nobody finds out, as he fears the burden will worry them.

Your music helps this stress dissolve, like putting cotton candy in water.

He thinks of the meaning of what every note is for your music, what it means to himself and what it means to you.

You helping Xiao by playing music really makes your day. It brings out Xiao’s inner music nerdy-ness.

Zhongli💛

•He’s similar to Xiao in the sense that he wonders the meaning behind each and every note and the emotion behind it.

•He studies up on the whole backstory of the instrument and genre you play just so he can get a better understanding.

•He enjoys telling everybody in Liyue about your talent, which gets fancy restaurant owners interested.

“Well why don’t I have y/n play some music for you? Will that settle the bill?”

The poor old man had no cash on him, as his financial aid has been lacking recently.

”Well of course!” The clerk says with utmost enthusiasm.

Zhongli talks about your music so often that people just assume you’re a musical prodigy who knows every song.

You scoff, then play a quick song for the clerk on your instrument you carry around for situations like this.

”Why, thank you very much!” The clerk starts bowing down, as others around him notice the scene and start talking about the performance you put on.

Zhongli gets his item he wanted with a very high discount, which brought a smile to his face.

”Thank you very much y/n, I wouldn’t have been able to purchase this jade without your assistance”

”It better be worth it” you reply jokingly, hoping eventually he can finally get his hands on some Mora.

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (iii)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential percy jackson & the olympians spoilers, alcohol consumption, motion sickness and vomiting

series masterpost: here

a/n: this took me a hot sec to finish but here it is! there's a dumb little latin joke in here but that's just because i'm a nerd lmao

Ryan is certainly giving Bette a run for her money in the best friend department.

Magdalene has no intentions of usurping her best friend, but Ryan is quickly becoming the person she talks to most frequently. It started on social media but quickly moved to regular texting, both of them being twenty-five and capable of communicating through more normal channels. The text thread between them isn’t indicative of their newfound friendship – it looks like they’ve been friends since high school. At any given moment at least three conversations are going on, and Magdalene regularly sends him random updates throughout the day. Ryan likes hearing about any interesting artefacts she encounters at work so she keeps mental notes to tell him during their frequent phone calls.

Despite talking to him almost constantly, Magdalene hasn’t seen Ryan since they grabbed lunch at Barn Owl nearly two weeks ago. The lake house trip is a couple days out, and she’s been busy trying to get all her ducks in a row. At work, the current project is coming to an end and Magdalene will be sad to see it go – it’s the first thing she’s been on from start to finish. She’s got a neighbour coming to spend time with Caligula while she’s away so he doesn’t get too upset. Though the days are passing by in a haze as she tries to get ready, Magdalene is excited to get away for a little bit. It’s been a few years since she’s left Denver for more than a night, electing to skip on Bette’s previous vacation invites, and it will be nice to slow down. Life is moving at a comfortable pace, but having some time to pause and breathe will keep Magdalene from feeling too overwhelmed.

Halfway through her last day of work, Magdalene gets a text from Ryan that makes her nearly double over in laughter.

Julius Caesar walks into a bar and says to the bartender “I’ll have a Martinus please!” The bartender replies “Don’t you mean a Martini?” Caesar shakes his head and says “If I wanted double I would have said so.”

It takes her a minute to catch her breath, which piques June’s curiosity. Magdalene recites the joke and her boss rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but does let out a chuckle.

June didn’t think it was funny, but I did. Thank you for making today infinitely better. You riding with us tomorrow?

Magdalene tucks her phone back into her purse, determined to remain focused for the last few hours, and misses the reply telling her that Ryan won’t be riding with Bette, Tyson, and herself, but rather with Cale and his girlfriend to leave enough space for all the gear getting brought. She doesn’t see it until she’s walking across the parking lot to her car and it fills her with a sadness that doesn’t make much sense. He’ll be there for the entire week, so does it matter that he’ll be in a different car for the four hour drive? Magdalene has a sinking suspicion about why she’s upset, but she pushes it down. There’s no space in your life for a relationship right now, she reminds herself as she unlocks the door to her apartment. Caligula is waiting patiently at the door and distracts her thoughts from the handsome man with the kind smile that’s been all she can think about recently.

The cat is incredibly perceptive and knows the regular routine is going to change, making him particularly clingy. He follows Magdalene as she finishes packing, meowing and begging for pets, and she considers bailing on her friends. Caligula has mild separation anxiety and Magdalene doesn’t go away often partly because of it – though another reason is her homebody nature. Only the thought of seeing Ryan keeps her from hanging all her clothes back up.

“Don’t worry little boots,” she coos, “I won’t be gone long. Maria is going to check on you while I’m away, and I’ll be home before you know it.”

It seems ridiculous to speak to her pet as though it’s a child, but Magdalene knows Caligula comprehends what she’s saying. He’s always been smart, and the two of them share a bond that’s hard to explain. She picks him up, puts him in the pocket of her hoodie, and they spend the rest of the night packing and dancing along to the radio.

☼☼☼☼

Bette forgot to mention that the road to the lake house is winding, and Magdalene spends the entire ride with her head between her knees. Motion sickness is something that unfortunately plagues her during journeys longer than a couple of hours and she wishes she would have thought to take anti-nausea medication before leaving the house. Tyson tries to crack a joke about her being a bad passenger, but his girlfriend swats his arm and passes her friend a water bottle with a concerned smile. The two of them speak in hushed tones, almost certainly for Magdalene's benefit, and she does her best not to throw up on the floor of Tyson’s car. After what feels like two decades the vehicle rolls to a stop at the end of a gravel path.

“Mags, we’re here,” Bette says softly, praying that her friend will begin to feel better after stretching her legs and feeling firm ground underneath her.

There’s an unintelligible groan from Magdalene, but she rises out of the car and stumbles into the house. Tyson and Bette insist that she rest and they’ll handle the unloading of the car, so she crawls into one of the empty beds and falls asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow. It’s a dreamless slumber, one fuelled by the pure exhaustion of battling illness while travelling, and when she awakes hours later Magdalene feels oddly refreshed. Her energy level is still relatively low, but she knows that intaking food won’t be an issue.

Padding down the stairs as quiet as possible in an effort to not break the peaceful atmosphere, Magdalene is met with a quiet house. She’s utterly confused – she didn’t sleep long enough to miss dinner and judging by the way the sun is low in the final car full of people should be arriving any minute. For a moment she thinks the group left her in the mountains alone, but then the sound of a trunk closing breaks the silence.

“I fucking told you bro, you should have let me drive!”

Ryan’s voice echoes in Magdalene's ears and her heart skips a beat. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him or how excited she is to see him. Despite everything inside of her saying she should run into his arms Magdalene stays put in the kitchen, running the tap to get a glass of water. She focuses on the mountain on the other end of the lake, framing the setting sun and creating a postcard ready photo. The camera app on her phone is open and angles for the best shot are found. Ryan tumbles through the door a second later, arms filled to the brim with luggage and bags of food.

He drops them the second he sees her, running up behind her and lifting her off the ground. “Mags! Cale almost hit a deer!”

The shock of Ryan’s onslaught of affection catches her off guard, and Magdalene shakes her hand, forcing the picture to turn out as nothing but a blur.

“No hello?” She laughs as Ryan lets her feet touch down on the wooden floor. “It’s the least you could give me after destroying my chance of getting a National Geographic worthy picture.”

He smiles but doesn’t let his hands drop from their perch on her waist. “There’s six more days for you to nail it. I’ll even help if you ask.”

Other bodies enter the house then, causing Magdalene to slink away from Ryan’s touch even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. They’re simply friends, and she doesn’t want Bette to get any ideas. The last thing Magdalene needs on her plate right now is her best friend forcing her to paint a custom denim jacket with Ryan’s number across the back. “I can’t believe you almost hit a deer,” Tyson sighs in disbelief.

“It wasn’t even close,” Cale grumbles, picking up his bags and stomping off to find a place to claim as his own the next couple of days. A petite redhead follows after him, giving a small wave to those in the kitchen before scurrying away. When she asks, Ryan tells Magdalene the girl’s name is Livy, and that she’s Cale’s girlfriend from back home.

Everyone shrugs at his moodiness and disperses. Bette and Tyson stay in the kitchen to make dinner, Ryan goes to claim the final room, and Magdalene slips outside to sit on the patio furniture. The sun has dropped drastically in the past five minutes, causing the air to chill. She wraps her arms tighter around her legs and watches a pair of birds fly over the lake below. It’s so peaceful, a complete one-eighty from the insanity of her life in Denver, and Magdalene thinks about never leaving. She knows it’s impossible, but as she closes her eyes and listens to the quiet laughter of her friends inside the idea seems like a pretty good one.

The sliding door creaks open and Ryan goes through as quietly as possible. He tosses a sweater in Magdalene’s direction as he walks over, plopping down beside her on the small couch.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, slipping the fabric over her head. “I didn’t realize how cold it had actually gotten.”

He smiles in response and shuffles his body a little closer to create extra warmth. Magdalene leans into him, trying to appear casual even though her heart is beating rapidly, and pulls on the strings of the sweater Ryan gave her.

“So, are you excited for this week?”

It’s more awkward than she thought it would be – seeing him in person again, especially since they’ve been texting almost constantly, and the words kind of stick in her throat.

“Honestly? Now that I’m here I am, but I was a little leery about taking time off,” Ryan explains, detailing how he’s trying to improve some aspects of his two-way play and is worried his progress will plateau. Magdalene understands and shares her own worries about taking time off work even if her boss encouraged it.

After catching up quickly and running out of things to say, the pair of them sit in silence watching the sun set until they’re called inside for dinner. It’s nice to just exist, especially with Ryan beside her, and Magdalene feels her heart sink as they separate and he goes to make sure Cale isn’t actually mad at him.

☼☼☼☼

It storms the first two days at the lake house, forcing everyone to stay inside. Tyson complains about how he has less time to drive the boat that came with the property but the others take it in stride. Magdalene spends most of the time reading for pleasure, something she hasn’t been able to do much of the past few years, and Ryan joins her for large chunks of the time. It turns out that he too is an avid reader, and the two of them discuss their favourite novels and series while the other four play board games.

“So you’re telling me you wish Annabeth would have joined the Hunters of Artemis?” Magdalene shrieks in shock, almost knocking the wine out of her glass as her arms flail in disbelief.

“I think it made sense for her to,” Ryan defends.

“But she’s perfect for Percy!”

He sticks to his guns. “I’m not saying she isn’t. I just think that at the time the offer was presented it was the most logical choice. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about what would have happened if she did.”

She ducks her head in defeat because she had imagined it, on many occasions in fact. When reading the series for the first time in middle school Magdalene had desperately hoped Annabeth would choose the Hunters over Camp Half-Blood, gaining the family she herself never was privy to. They return to reading quietly beside each other, occasionally knocking elbows when trying to turn a page.

Tuesday brings sunshine and clear skies, which means Tyson is trying to corral everyone into the boat as soon as they’re up. Magdalene tries her hardest to get out of it but her pleas fall on deaf ears.

“You’ll be fine, stop being such a wimp,” Cale jests. She knows that he’s just anxious to soak up some sun, but the words hurt more than Magdalene would have liked them to.

Livy swats her boyfriend across the chest. “Enough! If she doesn’t want to come she doesn’t have to.” The smaller girl sends her a kind smile before speaking low enough that only Magdalene can hear her. “I know your book is just getting good and you look like the kind of person who needs alone time to function properly. Enjoy yourself.”

Seemingly excused from the day’s festivities, Magdalene gives a sheepish wave before climbing the small hill to the house. Ryan meets her halfway and is appalled when he hears of her plans.

“Nope, I don’t think so. You’re not leaving me alone to be the ultimate third wheel!”

He has her off the ground and over his shoulder in a millisecond, jogging lightly to catch up with the rest of the group. Magdalene’s laugh bounces off the tree lined shore, and she’s too busy having fun shrieking at Ryan to complain about being forced to spend all day on a boat away from her book. Tyson peels away from the dock before she can regret tagging along, and Bette tugs Magdalene to the bow.

The two girls chat quietly, giggling and sipping on the mimosas they made earlier. Magdalene isn’t a huge day drinker, but Bette makes sure there’s more orange juice than champagne to make her feel less guilty. Livy joins them a while later after becoming sick of the boys and their shenanigans. It’s nice to hang out with a group of girls that aren’t competing for the top spot in a class, Magdalene decides, and she revels in the stories they tell of going to hockey games and babysitting the children of players so they can catch a break. Twinges of jealousy creep up at the wonderful family dynamic the Avalanche seem to have, but she stomachs them. She reminds herself that other people deserve to have support systems and excuses herself from the conversation.

Magdalene slides into the free space beside Ryan, and without thinking he wraps an arm around her shoulder. It feels so natural that she wonders if it’s how he greets all his friends, but the looks of shock and Tyson and Cale’s faces say otherwise. After a bit more cruising they find a small bay to anchor in for a while. The sun had climbed to the middle of the sky and is unbearably warm, leaving everyone no choice but to jump into the water to cool off. Magdalene does her best to float peacefully a short distance away from the group but is somehow brought into a splashing war because the teams aren’t equal.

Eventually the constant barrage of water chills her to the bone, and Magdalene swims back to the boat. She watches from the sidelines and cheers for her old teammates with a towel wrapped snugly around her. Ryan breaks from the group too, insisting it isn’t fair to have teams on unequal strength. Once dry, he picks up the baseball cap he brought and places it delicately on Magdalene’s head.

“Your cheeks are starting to go pink and I don’t want you to burn,” he explains, passing her a bottle of sunscreen as well.

“Thanks Ry.”

They muse about the idyllic beauty of the scene in front of them until everyone rejoins them. For reasons unbeknownst to Magdalene Tyson is in a rush to get back to the house, which leads to him driving very fast and a little erratically. The contents of her stomach threaten to come up but she holds them down, tightening her grip on the leather seat. A wave crests and Tyson hits it head on, causing the boat to lurch and rock. Magdalene knows it’s going to happen before it does and leans over the side to save a mess from being created. All the alcohol and food she’d consumed throughout the day is no longer in her body, and heat creeps up the back of her neck. She’s embarrassed – what twenty-five year old gets sea sick?

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

She tries to smile but it comes out more like a grimace. “I just, uh, get motion sick really easily.” Bette passes her a water bottle and she drinks it quickly, eager to get the taste out of her mouth.

Ryan lets Magdalene curl into his side the rest of the way home, and rubs comforting circles on her back to ease her discomfort, doing his best to ignore the stares from his friends.

☼☼☼☼

The trip comes to an end much more quickly than Magdalene would have liked. Tomorrow morning they’ll pack up and drive back to Denver, returning to their normal hectic schedules. Cale and Livy are heading back to Alberta for the rest of the summer, and Bette and Tyson will be going for a visit as well. She’s heard Ryan mention going home in passing, which most likely means he doesn’t have plans to stay. Magdalene will be all alone in Colorado, but she’s used to it. The only issue being friends with professional athletes is that they leave. She’s been dealing with the loss since Bette and Tyson got together years ago – having them around as her support system most of the year and then them disappearing for a couple of months.

Not wanting to think about how soon she’ll be alone, Magdalene heads outside and starts a campfire. It’s a skill she picked up as a kid and it has come in handy over the years. The newspaper crinkles under the flame from the lighter, and soon the kindling is burning well. Everyone else is still inside, cleaning up from dinner and preparing for one last night in paradise. She places a few blocks of wood in the fire pit once there’s a good enough flame and curls up in a chair, lost in thought about what comes next. There’s rustling from somewhere behind her but she pays it no mind, assuming it’s a small animal wandering through the forest.

“Can I offer you some company?” a voice says softly, waiting for a response. The movement wasn’t a raccoon but in fact Ryan, and Magdalene gestures at the chair beside her with a smile.

He passes her a glass of white wine, which she takes with an appreciative hum. They sit in silence for a moment, admiring the beauty of the setting sun. “I’m going to miss it,” Ryan sighs, leaning back in his chair and extending his legs.

She nods. “Me too. It’s so quiet up here. Denver gets too loud sometimes.”

“Tell me about it. I’m not just going to miss the lake though, it’s also lounging around and not having to worry about hockey. And you.”

The ending comes out rushed, and Magdalene isn’t sure she heard him correctly. “Me?”

Ryan looks at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re funny, smart, and catch all of my West Wing references. There’s no one who gets me quite like you, even back home.”

It takes her by surprise. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and only really started associating after the party at Bette and Tyson’s. There has to be somebody who knows him better than she does. When she voices her opinion Ryan just scoffs, saying that people treat him as one-dimensional because he plays hockey. Somehow the conversation shifts to Magdalene, and when she lets it slip she gets lonely in Denver without her friends, Ryan asks the question she’s been dreading.

“So why don’t you get a boyfriend?”

“I can’t just get a boyfriend because my friends are gone,” she laughs, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s unsure of where this will go and how to question the follow ups.

He rolls his eyes. “I know that, but like, I don’t know, wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone all the time?”

It would be, Magdalene thinks, but she just shrugs. “I guess I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I just finished school and for the first time in a long time I can focus on myself.” She leaves out the part where Ryan gives her butterflies and that if he asked she’d probably jump headfirst into a relationship with him.

The topic is dropped then because Tyson comes out of the house screaming about the night is going to be wild because it’s their last together for a while. Magdalene and Ryan share a look of mild panic, but both of them are itching to have fun with friends so they raise their glasses in salute before finishing them in one gulp.

Magdalene drinks more than she should and wakes in the morning with a killer hangover. It seems that no one else is better off though, all stumbling around looking for Advil and coffee like it’s going to be their last meal. Packing up takes a bit longer than expected, but they’re still out before the official checkout time. There’s a bit of discourse on who Magdalene will travel home with. Bette wants her in Tyson’s car, no doubt to talk about how close her and Ryan seem to be, but Cale offers to bring her with them. His reasoning is that Ryan is driving him and Livy directly to the airport, and having the front seat could be good for her motion sickness. It’s ultimately Magdalene’s choice and the idea of having more time with Ryan before he leaves is too enticing to pass up. She bids her other friends goodbye, promising to come over for dinner before they fly out, and climbs into the cab of Cale’s truck.

Once again she’s a less than ideal passenger, but this time it’s because she sleeps the entire way back to Denver. The drinking took it out of her and coupled with the queasiness in her stomach from the winding roads sleep is the only thing that makes sense. So much for extra time with Ryan she thinks as she wakes up in the airport parking lot.

“Sleeping beauty has risen!” Ryan chuckles, “Why don’t you get out and stretch your legs for a sec? We have the parking spot for another fifteen minutes.”

Magdalene does as suggested because truthfully her joints are a little stiff, and finds Cale and Livy grabbing their bags from the back. She hugs them goodbye and wishes them safe travels, which Cale returns with a warning not to get into too much trouble before heading for the entrance. Once both of them are safely inside the confines of the airport, Ryan and Magdalene get back in the vehicle and finish the last leg of the trip.

She directs Ryan to her apartment complex, and he mentions that he’s never been in this area of the city. “That’s because you have no need to be around a bunch of university kids,” she laughs. Once they pull into the parking lot, he offers to help her take up her bag. It’s only a small suitcase Magdalene could definitely handle herself, but she wants him to come up, to prolong her time with him.

Magdalene’s keys jingle in the lock as the door opens. Ryan follows her in and shuts the door carefully, not wanting to disrupt the aura of peace that permeates the space. From what he can tell, the average size apartment is the perfect reflection of Magdalene – packed full of books and plants and feels very put together despite the owner being only twenty-five. After their shoes find a home on the boot rack and the coats they brought for the drive home are hung in the closet she leads Ryan into the living room. There’s a soft purring by his feet, and Ryan looks down to see an animal. He never pegged Magdalene as someone to keep pets.

“Who’s this?” he asks, bending down to pet the small white cat.

“That’s Caligula.”

A puzzled look graces Ryan’s features. “Who?”

“Caligula,” Madalene giggles. “You can call him little boots if you’d like. He’ll respond.” She picks up the animal when it comes to her and scratches gently behind its ear.

“Why would you name your cat something dumb like Caligula, and why does it respond to little boots?”

It’s then the woman realizes that not everyone understands the reference. “Caligula was the third emperor of Rome,” she explains, “But his real name was Gaius. He gained the nickname Caligula as a child and it just stuck. It translates to little boots in Latin.”

Ryan is in awe of Magdalene for what feels like the millionth time. Of course someone as smart as her would have a crazy name for a pet and have the knowledge to back it up. He feels his chest tighten with affection but he wills it away. She isn’t looking for anything right now, he reminds himself. Magdalene’s self-professed inability to reciprocate his feelings is frustrating, but Ryan knows he’d wait forever for her.

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: catch some extra content here!

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @ricohenrique @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlbluesbrat21 (add yourself to the taglist!)

[lorichu]

The Night Shift 1

Streetlights were just flickering on as John Elmers strolled down the familiar roads of his hometown. He'd never considered moving back to Tansy so soon, but the circumstances were out of his control. It wasn't that he didn't want to come back, he truly loved the town, but it just hadn't been his plan. Then again, he'd been recently made painfully aware of how easily plans could be disrupted.

 Pushing the darker thoughts to the back of his mind, John focused his sights on the iconic building at the end of the block. The Tansy Local History Museum, his hometown's pride and joy. It was weird for such a small town to have an elaborate testament to its past, and during all his travels John had never seen anything else like it. Even the larger cities he'd lived in were nowhere near as passionate about their home as this community.

 John shared polite smiles and nods with the small stream of off the clock employees who were leaving for the night. He knew all of them by face, if not name, and none of them were surprised to see him back in town. As he made his way up to the director's office, he ran into a true blast from his past.

"Mr. Southernwood," he called out with a wide smile. "I didn't know you still worked here. Especially after I heard you retired from the high school a few years back."

 With a shake of his head, the older man smiled in return. "How many times must I remind you that as coworkers you can call me Martin," he teased. "Or, would I rather I address you as Mr. Elmers?"

 Blushing lightly, John rubbed the back of his neck. "Right Mr... Martin. Still though, its good to see you." He extended his hand out to his old teacher, who happily accepted it.

 "I wish it was under better tidings," Martin replied with a frown. "I'm truly sorry to hear about your dad."

 The tide was welling up again. Clenching his free hand into a fist, John fought to stay grounded. "Thanks," he muttered. "The cancer flared up so fast, I was lucky to get one last chance to see him."

 Wearing an apologetic smile, Martin brought the grief stricken man in for a hug. "If you ever need someone to talk to, or to just listen, I'm always here."

 After mumbling his thanks, John let his former teacher go as he made his way into the museum director's office. Seated behind a large wooden desk was a man that John hadn't seen in years, Amos Keeper. An old family friend. He smiled widely as John entered the room.

 "John Elmers," Amos said warmly as he motioned towards the empty chair before him. "It's been far too long. I don't think I've seen you since your high school graduation. You're looking well." A politely muttered greeting was given as John took a seat, and Amos's smile faltered. "My deepest condolences about your father. I've made a point to check in on Pam every so often, and I know she's very grateful to have you back home."

 Shifting uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair, John nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Keeper, for watching out for her, and for this job. So much is going on, and I could use something to take my mind off things, even for a little bit."

 Amos chuckled. "If anything, you're doing us a favor. One of our night guards recently quit, and you covering the open shifts is a god send. I know it's only for a few weeks, but I'm happy we could work this out."

 "Trust me, it's enough," John sighed. "Once my mom and I get all the affairs in order, we'll reopen the coffee shop. That should keep us plenty busy."

 Another flash of pain passed through Amos's expression. "I look forward to it. Your parents have the best coffee in town." He paused for a moment to clear his throat, and looked back at John with a gentle smile. "Now, I know you're already pretty familiar with the job, and not much has really changed around here. Do a few rounds, watch the monitors, and just keep an eye on things." A strange shadow darkened his eyes. "The only difference is that you won't actually be alone."

 Tilting his head to the side, John's brow furrowed. The museum was a small building, and there had never been a large staff to begin with. "You've got two guards on duty now? Why, did something happen?"

 Amos smiled quickly, but it wasn't enough to fully hide the guilt in his expression. "Oh no, nothing like that. It's just the night shift, nothing to worry about. They'll do their job while you do yours. If you let them go about their business, there shouldn't be any problems."

 Those mysterious words echoed in John's head long after he was dismissed and seated at the security desk. They added to the foreboding atmosphere created by the dimly lit halls of the museum. Every subtle creak had him flinching in his seat, and his eyes darted to the monitors constantly to try and catch a glimpse of this other person.

 He was so wound up that the simple chime of the time clock made him jump halfway out of his chair. "Hello?" John asked nervously into the emptiness. "Is someone there?"

 A soft, almost inaudible sigh cut through the tension, and John did a double take when he saw two minuscule hands latch onto the edge of his desk. His breath caught in his throat when an equally tiny woman, no more than three or four inches tall, pulled herself up to sit on the ledge. Long, wavy dark blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, and she raised a hand to brush some of the strands out of her striking gray eyes. The hunter green shirt and black pants she wore looked almost identical to the uniform he was wearing, just on a much smaller scale.

 "Right, they said there'd be a new guard soon," she said in a flat, apathetic tone. "I'm the night shift."

 John's mouth hung open for a few seconds as he stared at the impossible sight. "You... You're huh?" he squeaked. "Who, who're you?"

 She sighed again and rolled her eyes. "I just told you, the night shift."

 "No I, I heard that," he muttered, "but what's your name?"

 Her face darkened and she turned her back to him. "It doesn't matter." Putting an end to the conversation, she slid off the ledge.

 John shot to his feet and peered over the edge of his desk, catching sight of her walking past the time clock. "Wait, where are you going?"

 Glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye, she shrugged. "Where else? I've got work to do, same as you." She resumed her journey by sliding down the side of the desk to the far off floor.

 The curtness of her tone had caught John off guard, but seeing her from his full height shocked him back to the present. "Well, for what it's worth, my name's John by the way. John Elmers."

 She stopped dead in her tracks and turned around to face him, seemingly unperturbed at having to crane her neck so far back to catch his eye. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Elmers. Have a good night." Turning on her heel, she strolled into the darkness.

 John was still frozen as he watched her walk off, and before he realized what was going on, he had left the desk behind. It only took him a handful of strides to catch up with her, but once he did, his mind was completely blank. She didn't acknowledge his presence until he came to a stop, at which point she did the same. An arched eyebrow greeted him when she looked up again.

 "Is there something you need?" she asked robotically.

 Swallowing dryly, John fought to maintain eye contact. "Oh um, no, not exactly. I just, I was wondering what you do around here?"

 Her brashness lacked any edge, but she remained straight and to the point. "Cleaning and repairs mostly. As you can imagine, I can get into smaller places a lot easier than most. That helps me do some of the more delicate tasks."

 "Ok sure, but why?"

 It was hard to see in the dim lighting, but John could've sworn she'd frowned. "Because it's my job. Now, if you'll excuse me." She turned back around and continued forward with purpose.

 Still driven by a strangely compelling force, John took another step after her. "Do you um, need any help?"

 A humorless laugh rang out. "You don't have to worry about me, Mr. Elmers. I've been around here for a while. I can take care of myself."

 John's face lit up with a light blush as he watched her leave. "I uh, I see. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me." She laughed again and raised a hand over her head. A second later she slipped between two exhibits and disappeared into the darkness.

 Hours dragged on as John struggled to keep his mind occupied. His eyes were religiously trained on the security footage, desperate for another glance at the mysterious tiny woman. Once or twice he caught a glimpse of her on the edge of the screen, but it was never for more than a split second. Later on while he was doing his rounds he ran into her again, crawling out from inside one of the museum's ancient typewriters. Dust and ink speckled her arms, but she didn't seem to care.

 "Everything going alright?" John asked quietly as he stopped beside the table she was on.

 She pivoted around gracefully, and he noticed a reserved smile on her face. "You're a talkative guy, aren't you?" she teased. There was no emotion in her voice, or her eyes. "But to answer your question, yes, everything's fine. Just another night."

 As nervous as he was, John knew he had to say something. "Have I offended you in someway? I didn't mean to be rude, but if I have, I'd like to apologize for it."

 She regarded him with a single raised eyebrow. "Not at all." Assuming that was the end of the conversation, the woman made her way to the floor.

 Once again John's body reaction on its own, moving his foot forward to block her path. Instantly he regretted the action, even though she seemed completely unfazed. "E-Either way, I'm sorry if I caused you any discomfort."

 Her smile was back, and this time it sort of looked like she meant it. "Believe me, Mr. Elmers, you've done no such thing."

 Finally coming to his senses, John pulled his foot back. The woman's eyes were on him for a while longer as she stepped around him, only leaving when she vanished from sight. He lingered awkwardly for a few minutes, unable to shake the image of her completely dwarfed by his shoe. Allowing a shiver to fully pass through his body, John recovered enough to trudge back to the security desk.

 As expected, the rest of John's shift was calm and uneventful. He did a few more rounds, kept an eye on the monitors, and flipped through his phone. Every now and then he'd see the tiny woman, but he didn't try interacting with her again. Even if she claimed that he did nothing wrong, her natural aversion and complete disinterest felt off. There was something deeper going on, but he didn't have the slightest clue what it was.

 It wasn't until the hints of sunrise began peeking through the large windows that he heard the faint chime of the time clock again. Leaning forward excitedly, John made eye contact with the diminutive woman. Another rosy blush dusted his cheeks, but he ignored it.

 "Cutting it a little close to be called the "night" shift," he joked lamely.

 Something akin to the ghost of a smirk played on her lips. "I had a long list tonight," she retorted with a shrug. "Sometimes they like to really make me work for my keep."

 Unable to fully hide his shock, John leaned forward even more. "You live here too? Is that why you have to do all this?"

 "Can't get something for nothing, right?" she said gruffly. "If I'm not mistaken, isn't that what having a job means, Mr. Elmers? Instead of getting paid, I have food and a roof over my head. Hardly seems like a bad deal to me."

 Shifting hesitantly, John lowered himself back into his chair. "Even so, seems like an awful lot to demand of someone." His voice trailed off, and he glanced away for a moment before looking her in the eyes again. "On another note, do you think you could stop calling me Mr. Elmers? It's a little... unnerving."

 For the first time that night, she showed a glimmer of unease. "I'm sorry, but I've been specifically instructed to maintain a certain level of professionalism with the other employees."

 John sighed and ran a hand along his jaw. "I see, don't worry about it I guess," he muttered. The swell of emotions was rising again, and he couldn't cap it in time. "Obviously people have called me that before, but now all it does is make me think of my dad..."

 He didn't need to finish the thought, the pain on his face was all too readable. "I... I'm sorry for your loss," the woman mumbled. "I know the feeling, losing a parent. Mine both died when I was young, so I hardly remember them." She paused to glance off to the side, as if she expected someone else to appear. "If it helps, I can call you John."

 Her sorrow struck a particular cord within him, and John couldn't stop himself from smiling softly. "Thanks, I'd appreciate it. And what should I call you?"

 She stiffened and actually dropped her gaze. "I told you, it doesn't matter. I'm just the night shift."

 Frowning at her continued rebuffs, John huffed a sigh. Moving slower than ever before, he brought his hand up to the ledge and attempted a pleasant smile. "Well then, Miss Night, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The blankness of her stare weighed on them both just as heavily as the silence. Unable to bear it any longer, John broke it with a nervous laugh. "It's a handshake?"

 Jumping at the suddenness of his voice, the woman's eyes shot up to meet his. "Oh, uh... right," she stumbled forward and reluctantly placed her hand on his fingertip. "It's nice to meet you too... John."

 Taking the interaction a step further, John carefully set his thumb on top of her hand. He could just barely feel the feather light beating of her frantic pulse between his fingers. While he'd meant to shake her hand, the motion ended up moving her entire arm.

 Again she took it in stride, her face set into an unreadable mask as he eventually released her hand. Letting her arm fall limply to her side, the woman lifted her gaze once again. She opened her mouth to say something, but then immediately closed it when a far off door slammed shut. Tiny gray eyes clouded with fear as she bolted for the edge of the desk. One last look over her shoulder gave her the brunt of John's confused stare, which she smiled weakly at.

 "Like you said, cutting it a little close," she quipped. "Have a good day, John." She slid down to the floor, and just like that she was gone.

 "You... you too," he mumbled, unsure if she'd even heard him. It took some doing, but John shook himself out of his stupor by the time his replacement showed up. As expected they knew each other, and a cordial exchange of hellos and condolences followed.

 After finally clocking out, John left through the same doors he'd entered last night, and took a deep lungful of the crisp morning air. The part of his brain that was still thinking about his fantastical encounter was wide awake and ready for continued analysis. The rest of him was exhausted and completely drained, praying for a bed to collapse into. Covering up a yawn, John began the short walk back home.

 "I should start driving here," he laughed to himself. "Five minutes didn't sound so long last night."

 Smiling privately as the sun rose higher, John knew he was already looking forward to his next shift. If he thought five minutes seemed long, seven days might as well have been a century. The following Wednesday couldn't get here fast enough.

----

A story about two people broken in two wildly different ways coming together. They’re staring down even more trouble than they’ve already experienced, but that’s not going to stop them from doing a little growing, and some healing along the way. If you’re interested in the rest of this story, you can check it out right here: https://www.deviantart.com/littlelorraine/gallery/72316478/the-night-shift

And thanks for reading!

[justasparkwritings]

Green Light

Previous: 

Pairing: Harry Styles X Ex Reader, Harry Styles X New Girlfriend

Genre: Angst

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol use, Mentions of Drug use, Past Infidelity 

Listen: Green Light by Lorde

For the #playlistficchallenge by @harrystylescherry 

           The lights flicker against her skin, dancing pinks and purples and blues giving way to green as the bass thumps through the speakers. The light up floor is causing an illusion against her body as she hastily searches for her peers. Eyes darting across the club, trying to find the couple of the hour, but getting lost in the sea of drunk people dancing to a b-rate Whitney Houston cover, she’s becoming frustrated. Why play Whitney if you’re not going to play the original? She wonders, moving through the perimeter towards what she assumes is the VIP area. Being correct, she waits patiently for one of the guests to notice her, waving her into the exclusive space.

           He notices her first, beaten converse and magenta tulle, she dressed to kill. Standing, he moves towards the bodyguard, pointing to her as the guard gave her a once-over. Nodding, pulling the rope back, she smiles at the stranger before deftly moving into the space.

           “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Harry says, hand on the small of her back, flush against the exposed skin, lips low to her ear, guiding her towards their friends.

           “You’re such a liar,” She replies, rolling her eyes. The neon eyeliner, drifting over her eyelids and near her brows is striking against the dim lights. The single rhinestones applied carefully to the inner corners of her eyes bounce the light off, shrouding her in a conflicting color story.

           “You made it!” Daisy yells, arms reaching to pull her into a hug. It’s tight and sweaty, a sign she’s either been dancing or snorting.

           “I told you I’d be here,” Her smile widens at her friend, “Congrats again on your engagement.”

           “Thank you!!! Now please, drink. We have bottle service until midnight,” Daisy hands her a champagne flute, which she happily tosses back before reaching for the vodka. “If you’re good, you can have a little of what I’m having.”

           “I better behave,” She responds, eyes clocking Harry talking to Daisy’s fiancé, Jack.

           “I thought he wasn’t coming,” Daisy’s gaze follows hers, eying the man. His wide trousers and cropped jacket give way to the tattoos covering his chest, swallows in constant conversation. Hair recently cut, he’s scruffy and wanting, his eyes not hesitating to check her out for the second time in two minutes.

           “Lies,” She scoffs, eyes rolling again at the sentiment.

           “I swear! Jack said he was out of town,” Daisy counters.

           “Clearly he’s not,” She looks at their other friends, nodding and smiling to the familiar faces. Their friends from uni, from work, a few from their neighborhood in Holmes Chapel have all gathered to raise a glass at Daisy and Jack’s inevitable engagement. It feels like the kind of New Year’s party Harry would’ve dragged her to, on the pretense that it would be fun to catch up. Knowing he would be right, she would’ve gone and enjoyed the company of the people who knew her before she was on his arm, the people who knew him when he worked all hours at the bakery. Tonight, their friendly smiles weren’t hitting the same, welcoming her into their embrace, no, they were darting between her and Harry, unsure where their allegiance should lie.

           “Rumor has it, he’s got a new girlfriend,” Daisy says.

           “Super,” She purses her lips, eyes moving to search for whoever his latest trophy was.

           “Don’t be like that,” Daisy shakes her head, disappointment oozing from every syllable.

           “Like what?” She snaps.

           “You’re so mad he’s with someone else, when -

           “I thought we were done talking about what happened between us?” She interrupts, frustration and anger coursing through her veins.

           “If you were over it, you’d stop looking at him like that,” Daisy holds her own, tone unwavering.

           “Fuck off.”

           Handing her a drink, Daisy levels with her, “Drink.”

           Tossing back whatever was in the glass, she waits impatiently for the liquor to take over, coursing through her veins and reducing her heat to a dull simmer.

           In the months after the breakup, she hadn’t seen or interacted with Harry. No cursory texts, no awkward pleasantries exchanged at a birthday party, or running into him at the grocery. She didn’t speak to him, and yet he was everywhere. His voice, his favorite sayings, his touch, his music, all of it spread across the city, taunting her. She had let him go, literally, but figuratively, metaphorically, he was everywhere. Seeping into her thoughts, burrowing into her mind, never able to escape him even in sleep. Tonight, he looked at her like he didn’t know her at all, like she was the villain in his story, not the other way around. Like he didn’t let his work get the best of them, ruining what they had in its wake.

           Somewhere between drinks four and five, Harry’s latest lover arrives. Scarily tall and equally skinny, silky brown locks and pouty lips, it’s clear she’s a model. Whether she was with anyone or not, the bouncer lets her into the VIP section without a second thought. She floats towards Harry, sinking gently onto his lap before whispering in his ear. He smiles at her as she places a hand on his scruff covered cheek and lowers her lips to his.

           From the dance floor, she stares, unable to stop watching him move on from her. How could it be so easy?

           Pulling her attention back to the floor, Daisy spins her, moving them out of sight from Harry. The lights beneath their feet give way to a soft glow about her, the colors bending against Daisy’s white jumpsuit. She’s grateful for her friend, her best friend, grateful for the distraction of alcohol and blow, grateful to be dancing and screaming the lyrics instead of sitting in the tub at home, crying into her room temperature bath water. But grateful and grieving often go together, and as her level of intoxication ebbs, the hurt of seeing Harry with someone knew, she retreats to the VIP section to gather herself.

           “You must be Y/N,” The model says, moving from her post next to Harry to her.

           “Um, yes?” She responds, eyes traveling up the woman’s legs, slowly making their way to her face.

           “I’m Arden, Harry’s girlfriend,” Arden smiles, blinding, and sits down. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

           “Can’t believe everything you hear,” She scoffs, grateful for the bottle of water Jack hands her before going to find Daisy amongst the neon.

           “Harry speaks quite highly of you, so does Jack,” Arden continues to smile, blissfully ignoring the contempt she’s displaying.  

           “You’ve met Jack before?” She asks.

           “Just Jack, never Daisy, she’s stunning, right?” Arden asks, laughing.

           “Yeah, completely,” She nods, eyes traveling to find Daisy, her beacon in the club. She’s been best friends with Daisy since diapers, their mother’s best friends, hoping and praying they’d each have daughters to carry on the legacy of their familial bond.

           “Harry tells me you’re in publishing,” Arden tries again to make conversation.

           “Correct,” She nods again.

           “That’s amazing, I love reading,” Arden offers.

           “Same.”

           “I have a lot of downtime at work, I’m a model. I just did the new Rodarte campaign, and Gucci,” Arden is trying her damnest to make this work, but her motives remain a mystery.

           “Congrats,” She snorts, unimpressed by the model’s recent credentials.

           “Thanks, I just want to say, I know you and Harry are at this weird point in your friendship, but I do hope you’ll work it out.” Arden is serious, glossy blue eyes resolute.

           “Did Harry tell you why we broke up?” She asks, eyeing Arden suspiciously.

           “A little, but I didn’t ask. It was before me so really, who cares?” Arden forces a giggle, baby blues trying to break through the tension.

           “Right,” She nods, a slight eyeroll giving way to her true feelings.

           “I just thought maybe you two could, mend your –

           “Hey,” Harry says, making his way towards the two of you.

           “Hi babe,” Arden seamlessly slips her arm around his waist, pulling him close to her.

           “What uh, what are you two talking about?” Harry asks, eyes accusatory as he again takes in your stunning appearance.

           “I was just saying that we’re going to Tahiti after I finish my campaign with Gucci. Relax, sit on the beach, drink Mai Tai’s, surf, or really, for me, learn,” Arden rambles on, her hair bouncing in animation, matching her words. Her deft swerve to the topic of vacation surprising, unsure why she needed to lie to Harry.

           “The beach?” she asks, looking at Harry. He nods, cursory.

           “Yeah,” He sips on his drink.

           “Huh,” She responds, eyes narrow. “Will you excuse me? It was nice meeting you Arden.”

           Slipping out of the VIP section and into the night air, she feels his presence behind her, chasing after her as she moves through the crowd and into the brisk summer air.

Not bothering to turn around, she asks, “Why are you following me?”

           “Why did you just disappear?” Harry demands, coming to stand next to her. His warmth radiating onto her skin.

           “You’re here with someone else,” She reminds him.

           “You haven’t responded to any of my –

           “Harry, you are here with someone else, the very someone else who if I’m not mistaken, is the reason for our demise,” She turns to stare at him, eyes boring into his.

           “I, she’s not,” Harry shakes his head.

           “Oh right, because I am the sole proprietor of our heartache and failed relationship,” Another eyeroll. Her mother used to tell her that if you roll your eyes too many times, they’ll get stuck up there. A fear she was clearly ignoring.

           “You’re not,” Harry scoffs, they’d had this fight before.

           “Why are you looking at me like I am?” She’s unwilling to back down, a trait Harry once loved about her.

           “I’m, I’m sorry alright?” Harry’s flustered speech gives way to a run of his hand through his curls. Resting his hands on his hips, he stares at her.

           “Sorry for what?” She asks again, words clipped.

           “Everything,” He shrugs.

           “That’s the least specific apology I have ever heard,” She deadpans. He wants to respond with some witty banter, some lighthearted sarcasm, some joke a year ago, five years ago, she would’ve laughed at. But they’re not the same people they were six months ago.

           “What do you want me to say?” Harry’s exasperated.

           “I want you to tell me how you really feel, because we broke up six months ago, and I still don’t understand why you ran to her, whoever she was, instead of fighting for me. Then tell me why our friends think I’m the viper, I’m the one who broke your heart. Why are you spreading rumors hoping they’ll bite me, when they just show how pathetic you’re behaving?” Her volume increases exponentially as she speaks, until she’s nearly yelling at him.

           “That’s not fair,” Harry states, eyes closing as he shakes his head.

           “I’m trying to let go, Harry. But you fucking have your tentacles in everything I do! You’re everywhere.”

           “It’s so easy for me? You are everywhere. Every new song I write, every role I consider taking, every project. I still fucking talk to you like you’ll hear me, everywhere I go is tainted by some memory of us.” Harry spits back.

           “Tell me why, Harry. Why are you going to Tahiti?” She questions, voice cutting through the cold air and going straight to Harry’s heart.

           “I like the beach,” He shrugs.

           “You are such a fucking liar! No, you don’t!” She yells, arms reaching towards the summer sky as she shakes her head at him.

           “Maybe I’m trying out new things,” Harry stares at her, “Maybe I’m trying to be –

           “What, different? Better? You cheat on me, after saying that you will always be in love with me, which surprise, you’re not!”

           “Not a cheater?” Harry’s momentarily confused, a slight diversion from the rant she’s begun.

           “Not in love anymore,” Her eyes are wide, confused by his lapse in memory, “You’re not in love with me anymore. You cheated on me, lied to our friends and now you’re here with little miss long legs.”

           “Don’t call her that,” Harry says.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Arden,”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Harry runs a hand through his locks again, sighing in frustration.

           “No, you’re not. If you were, she wouldn’t be here with you. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be fighting with me outside the club. If you were sorry, you’d –

           “I need your forgiveness! Alright, that’s why I’m out here.” Harry’s voice raises several decibels. He’s been holding onto this for months, long before she found out, long before he willingly broke her heart.

           She lets out a shaky breath, “What?”

           “I need you to forgive me, to accept my apology, to, give me the green light that it’s okay to be, not yours anymore,” Harry explains.

           “You cheated on me!” She yells, finger pointing directly above Harry’s heart. “I have honored you by not telling our friends for what? You don’t get to have or ask for my forgiveness, I’ve already given you too much. Forgiveness went out the window when you fucked someone else Harry! How dare you ask me to forgive you, absolve you, for a sin you willingly committed. You were in complete control of yourself and you still cheated on me. You want a green light? That was fucking it.”

          She pushes past him, stomping back into the club and onto the dance floor, into the arms of someone else, someone who isn’t scared to kiss her above the dazzling lights, someone whose bedroom she’ll wake up in, unsure where she is, not caring to leave a note before slipping out into the city. And hopefully, after a few more escapades, the embrace of the rising sun on her walk home won’t echo his voice anymore. The birds chirping won’t sing his songs, and the sting of telling Daisy the truth won’t ring out over overcooked eggs and overpriced mimosas.

          Harry had wanted her to give him the green light, but in refusing to do so, she watched the light change for herself.

Next: Talia

[melanielocke]

The infirmary

I wrote a scene about Alastair visiting Charles in the infirmary (the second time), which was part of a fanfic of several chapters, but the whole thing was a bit messy and everything is in the wrong order on AO3 so chronologically this is the first, and can be ready seperately from the rest. (Chronological order of the chapters would be 4-2-1-3, but it doesn’t really matter in which order it’s read). Alastair and Charles do not yet know about Grace’s power here. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31458650/chapters/79662967#workskin

‘I wasn’t sure you’d come back,’ Charles said.

In truth, Alastair hadn’t been sure either. It was the second time he’d gone to the infirmary to visit his former lover, this time less hesitant. He was still a bit upset about the way Matthew had guilt tripped him into seeing Charles. But he guessed he also owed him this. At least talking to Charles now would give him some closure. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel so nauseous every time he even saw him.

‘I wasn’t either,’ Alastair said. ‘But I think we should talk.’

‘Surely you got some of my letters during the past months,’ Charles said, sitting up on the infirmary bed.

Alastair had rarely seen him so vulnerable. Even when they had been in bed together, Charles had always been in control, his composure intact. Now he looked terrible, his face a grayish pale color and his hair in disarray.

‘I burnt them,’ Alastair said evenly.

‘All of them?’ Charles asked. ‘Well, you always had a flair for the dramatic.’

Alastair didn’t respond to that. ‘I heard your fiancée left you.’

Charles sighed and he showed emotion as he rarely did. Like Alastair he was a guarded person. But where Alastair had opened up when they were together, had given his lover everything, Charles had remained guarded even as they were together, showing just enough to assure him he loved Alastair, to convince him to stay. If Cordelia had not confronted him with how cruel Charles was to him, he might have stayed too.

‘Terrible business,’ Charles said. ‘Leaving Ariadne for her did not exactly make me popular.’

‘I can’t imagine why leaving your unconscious fiancée for another was an unpopular decision,’ Alastair said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

‘The odd thing is, I don’t even remember why I did it,’ Charles said. ‘Politically, Ariadne had much more to offer me. Her father is the Inquisitor after all. Grace’ mother is a prisoner.’

‘A prisoner who recently escaped the Adamant Citadel,’ Alastair added. ‘As for miss Blackthorn, according to the letter my sister sent me, she left you for James Herondale.’

Alastair had considered murdering James Herondale for betraying his sister like that. He’d seen James loved Grace Blackthorn, of course, had assumed James would never love his sister like she loved him. But when they’d gotten married, Alastair had thought he’d changed his mind. He’d believed James did love his sister and they could be happy together. How long had he been deceiving her?

‘I’m sorry for your sister, Alastair,’ Charles said. ‘Last I heard, she ran off to Paris with my brother.’

Alastair sighed. ‘I wish she would have come home after finding out about miss Blackthorn instead of going to Matthew. I have been arranging for my father’s funeral all by myself.’

Alastair needed her. How could she have left, now of all times, with their father dead and their mother about to give birth? He had no one to talk to with his mother sick and no friends at all. He was speaking with Charles, of course, but he was not the person to talk about his feelings with. He had, in the past, which usually resulted in Charles telling him he shouldn’t be so sensitive. It wasn’t exactly masculine to cry, after all, and image was everything to Charles. Anger was far more acceptable, and although Alastair had his mother’s temper, anger was exhausting and lately Alastair was often just too tired to feel the anger he’d once felt.

‘If you want, I could write to the head of the Paris institute to look for them, keep them out of trouble or even send them home.’

‘Last I heard, the head of the Paris institute is out for your blood,’ Alastair said drily. ‘You really messed up in Paris, I’d surprised if they’d even let you into the city.’

‘I’ve heard people say you were cruel, but you were never cruel to me before,’ Charles said softly, showing a bit of vulnerability.

Alastair knew it was purposeful, an attempt to inspire pity in him. But it wasn’t cruel to confront Charles with his mistakes, was it? Arrogant and ambitious as he was, Alastair genuinely did not think Charles would make a good consul anymore.

‘Cruel?’ Alastair asked, raising his voice a little. ‘This is not cruelty, Charles. Becoming engaged while you were still with me and I was clearly uncomfortable with it, that was cruel. Leaving Ariadne while she was unconscious was cruel. You have been nothing but cruel to me while we were together.’

‘I never wanted to hurt you,’ Charles said.

‘Perhaps not, but you didn’t care either,’ Alastair. ‘You didn’t listen to me when I said you were hurting me. You assumed I’d change my mind and realize you were right eventually. That’s your problem, Charles, you only ever care about what you want, and you convince yourself that others around you want the same thing. And you do not listen to a single thing that tells you otherwise.’

Charles looked stunned, and Alastair felt a bit better, getting this off his chest. He’d spent much time thinking of Charles, and what had gone wrong. He’d blamed himself at times, as he always did. He should never have started a relationship with Charles, should never have let a much older man convince him that being hidden away like that was love. But Charles was at fault too, for taking advantage of him, for demanding Alastair’s time, his love and affection, and giving nothing back. He still felt nauseous whenever he thought of Charles touching him, couldn’t imagine why he’d ever allowed that.

‘I am not engaged anymore,’ Charles said. ‘So that is no longer a problem.’

Alastair hesitated. Did Charles mean what he said? He wasn’t engaged, that was true, but why would he assume Charles would do anything but find a new fiancée as soon as possible? He couldn’t have the world thinking he was unable to find and keep a wife, after all. He had to keep up appearances.

‘I still care for you Alastair.’ Charles paused for the slightest moment. ‘I missed you.’

He seemed so vulnerable in that moment, and it almost made Alastair want to give in, to go back to what he knew. The love he’d once felt for Charles resurfaced. But it had turned bitter too.

‘Is that why you wouldn’t leave me alone?’ Alastair asked. ‘If you’d really cared for me, you would have left me alone when I asked you. Instead you insulted me when I asked you to leave me alone, and you insulted my sister when she stood up for me. What did you think would happen?’

Alastair had never been fond of parties, he only had Cordelia and his mother to speak to and they both had their own group of friends they wanted to spend time with. Most of the time, he only attended because he had no choice but to at least show his face. But lately, going to parties not only meant being awkward and alone, but also trying his best to avoid Charles who just wouldn’t leave him alone.

‘I wasn’t thinking,’ Charles said. ‘I was lonely and I had just realized I’d made a terrible mistake in Paris and I needed you. Can’t you give me another chance? I won’t get engaged again, I promise.’

Alastair sighed. Charles had made many such promises when they’d been in Paris together. He’d broken all of them. He had no reason to believe Charles was genuine this time.

‘I nearly died,’ Charles added. ‘And all I could think about was you. How I wanted you to come back. Apparently I called out for you, although at the time I wasn’t exactly conscious and had no clue what I was doing.’

‘Yes, thanks for that,’ Alastair said. ‘Despite all your efforts to conceal who you really are, you might just have outed us both. So far, I don’t think anyone has figured it out, your brother is remarkably dense, but people still might.’

Alastair knew it wasn’t fair to blame Charles for that, he knew Charles had been nearly dead, but the idea of a half conscious Charles calling out for him was still uncomfortable. Some time ago, he might have thought it romantic, proof that Charles did love him. But they weren’t together anymore and now it was just a reminder that Charles had not moved on.

Charles seemed genuinely concerned by that statement. ‘You think they know?’

‘I honestly have no idea,’ Alastair said. ‘But you’re the one who called out for me, you’re the one who gets to figure out how to explain it.’

Alastair wasn’t exactly ready for people to know he liked men, but he didn’t know how to explain the situation either. He figured it was probably best to pretend none of it had happened, or that he had no clue why Charles had called his name.’

‘I will,’ Charles said. ‘Don’t worry about it, they won’t find out.’

Alastair couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed that Charles cared so much more about people not knowing than about his comfort and happiness, even if he was also relieved people wouldn’t know, not yet.

‘But I mean it, about wanting you back,’ Charles said. ‘I won’t become engaged again. I would do that for you. I never realized how unhappy it made you.’

Alastair sighed. ‘You never realized because you didn’t care. I told you many times it made me unhappy, I tried to reason with you, tried to tell you it was unfair to both me and your fiancée. If not this, then there will be something else we do not agree on, and you never listen to what anyone else wants. I will not go back to being dismissed like that.’  

‘You do realize you want things that are impossible, don’t you?’ Charles asked with the arrogance he was so familiar with.

‘What I want is impossible? Charles, you want to be consul. You want the support of a wife, a perfect public image and you want me whenever is convenient for you. All I wanted was to have someone who loves me and makes time for me. Someone who cares about how I feel.’

Neither of them said anything for a while. ‘It wasn’t much I asked for,’ Alastair said, refusing to look Charles in the eye.

Charles put his hand on Alastair’s, but Alastair withdrew as if the touch burnt. In a way, it did. It made him feel sick like the sight of Charles often had the past months.

‘Do not touch me,’ Alastair hissed between his teeth.

Charles looked at him for a moment. ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’

Alastair wasn’t sure what had given it away, or why Charles would bring his suspicions up right now. His aversion to Charles’ touch wasn’t about Thomas.

‘And what if there were someone else? Does it matter?’ Alastair asked. ‘Because whatever it is we had, that’s done. You cannot expect me to give you another chance after breaking my trust so many times.’

‘Who is it?’ Charles asked, ignoring everything Alastair had said as he always did.

‘It’s none of your business,’ Alastair said.

He wasn’t about to explain that no matter how much he liked Thomas Lightwood, it was impossible because of his past mistakes. If thinking he had someone else would convince Charles to back off, that would be worth it.

‘You can’t really think he will be different,’ Charles said. ‘It’s always going to be a secret no matter who you are with, and if you can’t accept that, you are going to end up alone.’

Alastair’s dark eyes flashed dangerously. ‘I’d rather be alone than be with someone with whom I’m unhappy. Goodbye, Charles. I won’t be visiting again.’

Alastair left, refusing to look back at Charles who called after him. Asked him once again to stay. He should never have let Matthew pressure him into seeing Charles and her certainly shouldn’t have come back.

He hated how he’d been tempted, if only for a moment. He knew now that whatever it was Charles offered, it wasn’t love. He knew there was more to being in a relationship than just fulfilling Charles’ sexual needs. He remembered his last days in Paris, seeing the city with Thomas, going to a museum together, talking about their interests, art, travels… If only it were possible. If only he hadn’t ruined everything with those rumors, with everything he’d done at school.

But perhaps someday there would be another Thomas Lightwood, someone who wanted to take him to museums and mundane films, who was interested in what he had to say and not just in what he could offer in the bedroom. Charles would move on eventually, and Alastair felt relieved after telling Charles the truth. If anything, it brought some closure.

[marvelyningreen]

Aftershocks - Night 3

Night 1 | Night 2 | Night 3 | (deleted scene)

[Summary: Peter Maximoff is an unflappable sorta guy. He’d never let anything get to him before, and this recent misadventure will be no different. ...Right?

Warnings: mild language, references to injury and mind control, general trauma-related angst

Notes: Peter Maximoff x reader, of the established relationship variety. A ‘what if Fietro really was Peter?’ scenario. Same continuity/reader character from Linger and Late-bloomer.

Tag list: @cowboyenorgy ]

On the third night after your return from Westview, you finally go back to the groundskeeper’s cottage. You figure that it’s time to try getting back to normal, and Peter agrees. If you need anything, neither of you will be far from the other X-Men, or from each other, right? And to be honest, you’re looking forward to sleeping in your own bed again.

That, and Peter’s been running hot and cold on you again today.

In the morning, he’d been all sweet and attentive still. You’d felt a little guilty about sleeping in his bed while he’d slept on the couch, but he brushed off your attempts to apologize. He was fine, he’d insisted, and you were the one who was injured.

He’d asked you to stay put and then disappeared, returning a few minutes later to bring you breakfast in bed. And, apparently in the spirit of going full Jane Austen on you, he’d asked Hank to make a house-call.

After re-examining your injured knee, Hank determined that you hadn’t made it any worse, but you hadn’t done it any favors, either. Exasperated, he asked if you’d please just use the crutches for a few days, and between his insistence and Peter’s puppy-dog eyes, you’d agreed to.

Peter had to dash off again after breakfast to help the professor with the twins. Only, this time, you didn’t see him again for the rest of the day.

You ended up wandering aimlessly around the mansion for a while, wondering what on earth to do with yourself. There’s not much groundskeeping to do in the winter to begin with, so you’d started doubling as a substitute teacher when other faculty members were away on missions.

Unfortunately for you, all the full-time teachers were present. You wouldn’t have anything to do even if Professor Xavier hadn’t given you mandatory time off. As you were pondering this, you turned the corner to see Wanda standing alone in the hall, gazing out the window.

She didn’t seem notice you. For a moment, you considered turning and walking the other way. Maybe she didn’t want to be bothered right now. Maybe she wanted to be alone. But then again…

“Hi,” you said, before you could chicken out.

Wanda stared at you for a second before seeming to remember.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “You’re Peter’s…?”

“Right.” And you reintroduced yourself, just to be on the safe side. You smiled, and Wanda smiled thinly back, and there were a few seconds of silence. Oh boy. Awkwardness settled in. “So… how are you holding up?”

You asked it as though you were talking to a friend, and it only seemed to highlight the fact that Wanda hardly knew who you were. You’d actually spoken to Vision more than you had to her when you were in Westview, but… Well, that was neither here nor there.

“Alright, I think,” Wanda said. “Everyone here has been very kind.”

You nodded. “They’re a welcoming bunch.”

“But out there…” Wanda turned her gaze back to the window. “They tell me people hate your kind, fear you.”

“Some do,” you admitted. “But many don’t. It’s been getting better for mutants for quite a while now, and it’s going to keep getting better.”

“And you believe that?”

There was something harsh and cold in Wanda’s tone. You’re reminded of how much she’d lost, and how alone she’d been – how alone she still was.

“I do,” you said quietly.

Silence again. It was hard for you to get a read on Wanda. If she was giving some sort of clear signal that she wanted you to leave her alone – but she wasn’t. Before things could get awkward again, you blurted out:

“How do you feel about krofne?”

Wanda laughed, as though the question caught her off-guard, and tilted her head. “It’s been a long time since I had krofne. I like them, though.”

That was a relief. You don’t know a whole lot of recipes from the Balkans, so you would’ve been out of ideas if that didn’t exist in Wanda’s reality.

“I’ll have to make some later this week. You see that little groundskeeper’s cottage over there?” You pointed it out to her. “That’s where I live. It’d be great if you and your kids could stop by sometime.”

For a second, Wanda’s smile faltered, and you wondered if you’d overstepped yourself.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you added hurriedly, “Or if you’d rather wait a while until you’re settled in. It’s just… I mean, I know the circumstances are completely different, but I was pretty alone when I first came here, too. I’d like to try and be your friend. Or if that’s too much, I could settle for being a tolerable acquaintance or something.”

“No, it’s alright. You just… reminded me of someone for a moment,” Wanda’s smile was still a little sad, but it seemed to come easier that time. “I’d love to bring the boys over to visit. Thank you. You’re very sweet.”

Some furtive whispering caught your attention, and you and Wanda both looked towards the source of the sound.

Ororo with a group of younger students following her like ducklings was a pretty familiar sight. She easily stepped in to the role of cool big sister for the students. She smiled at you, nudging the three girls in your direction.

“Go ahead and ask,” she said.

One of the little girls stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” she said, “The older kids said you would help us with our homework.”

She glanced back at Ororo, who gave her an approving nod.

You grinned apologetically at Wanda. “Duty calls. I’ll see you around.”

She’d smoothed the sadness out of her expression as she bid you farewell and went back to gazing out the window.

“Alright,” you said, turning your attention to the girls, “Let’s find someplace to sit down, okay? Then you can tell me what you’re working on.”

Kurt ends up walking you back to the cottage late in the afternoon. The sun sets so early in the winter, and you want to get home before it’s completely dark out. That, and you’ve given up on seeing Peter again today.

Once he’s certain that you’ll be alright on your own, Kurt takes his leave. You notice that, instead of heading straight back to the mansion, he takes the garden path. You guess that he’s heading for the little Mary garden to say a prayer or two for Vision. Kurt’s a kind soul. Even only knowing Wanda for two days, he already sees her as family.

You go about the cottage, turning on lights and looking into every room. You’re not sure why. It’s not like anything would’ve changed in the few days you’d been gone. Maybe it’s just reassuring to see it all again: the bright little kitchen, the living room with its tiny hearth and comfy loveseat (not enough room for a full sofa), your own room with all the shelves piled high with books…

And the plants on your windowsills aren’t dried out, like you’d expected. You wonder who’d been kind enough to water them for you, and resolve to ask around tomorrow.

Without giving your mind a chance to wander, you give yourself something to do. Strawberry-rhubarb pie. That’s what Peter had mentioned.

It just so happens that you do have a few jars of pie-filling left from that summer’s canning. All you’ll have to do is make up a crust and bake it. Simple enough. You put on some music and get to work.

But it’s not enough to keep your thoughts in check. When cutting a vent into the top crust, you shape it like the outline of a hummingbird. Maybe it’ll make Peter smile. You hope it will, at least.

He seems alright more often than not, but you still don’t know what’s wrong or how to help him, and the professor’s counting on you to do just that. And so, apparently, is Mr. Lehnsherr.

You’re surprised he’d stayed for the party last night. Then again, he usually ends up staying at the mansion a few days longer than he’d planned to. You can’t say for certain, but you figure Peter’s got something to do with it.

And it was Peter that Mr. Lehnsherr wanted to talk about when he approached you at the party.

He thanked you for going after him when he was taken, saying that it was a brave thing to do. You’re certain that Mr. Lehnsherr would’ve done the same, if he’d been there at the time, and you said as much. He laughed, saying that was beside the point. His gaze had drifted back to Peter.

“That boy needs someone to look after him sometimes. I suppose I’m glad that he’s found someone who will. And as for you…” His words trailed off, like he’d changed his mind on what he wanted to say. He smiled faintly and patted your shoulder. “Take care, alright?”

And with that, he’d drifted back to his conversation with Wanda, leaving you a little mystified.

Look after Peter. That’s pretty much exactly what the professor had said to you, too. But how? By making him pie? Let’s be honest – if a problem can’t be fixed with baked goods, then you’re at a loss.

You try to reassure yourself with the idea that the professor had left the situation up to you, personally. If it was anything truly dire, you knew that he’d step in to take care of it.

But then again, the professor is the sort that focuses on the bigger picture. Sometimes he loses sight of the immediate circumstances. Which is why it’d been delegated to you, which brings you right back where you started.

While you’ve been thinking yourself in circles, the pie has finished baking. You take it out of the oven to cool. The hummingbird shape has survived the baking process, so that’s good. The pie failed as a distraction, though.

All you’ve been able to think about is Peter. You love him, and something’s wrong, and you don’t know what it is, so you don’t know how to help. It’s going to drive you crazy at this rate.

Even the music you’re listening to is one of the mixtapes Peter made for you. You start getting bummed out halfway through “Rainbow in the Dark,” and you only make it through the first chorus of “Kiss Me Deadly” before turning it off entirely.

You retreat to the living room, sitting down and gazing through the window, across the grounds to the lights of the mansion. It’d started snowing that evening. You’d always liked snow. It makes everything seem cozy. It makes the silence of the night feel soft and homey, rather than empty.

Oh, what the hell. You give up on trying not to think about Peter.

When you first came to work at the school, you mostly kept to yourself. That was back when you thought that lackluster telekinesis was the extent of your abilities, before you learned you were a reality warper. You’d felt shy and inadequate in the presence of all these incredibly powerful mutants.

You’d later learned that almost everyone at the school thought you weren’t a mutant at all. They assumed that Professor Xavier had hired a regular human as some sort of PR stunt. And since you barely spoke to anyone, they weren’t disabused of the notion for a long time.

And then Peter showed up.

It wasn’t like the other faculty stopping by to introduce themselves – kind and friendly, but mostly there out of obligation. Peter showed up unannounced, and he was…

Well, he was a flirt. And you were certain he was only there for the pie. Still, you would’ve found it difficult not to be charmed by him.

He was cheerful and blunt, somehow both self-assured and self-deprecating. His sense of humor was as quick as his tongue. There was no such thing as an awkward silence when talking to Peter Maximoff. Not to mention the fact that he was exceptionally cute.

He asked if you’d be okay with him coming by again, and of course you said yes. He was at the cottage often after that – trying out your cooking and offering suggestions of music you should check out. You quickly realized that you weren’t nervous about his visits. You actually looked forward to them.

That was when the little groundskeeper’s cottage at Xavier’s school finally started to feel like home. And even if correlation doesn’t equal causation, you always felt that Peter was the reason for it.

You oughta do something nice for him. More than just the pie, that is. He could devour that thing in seconds if he wanted to. You should take him out on a date. Peter always loves a concert. You’ll have to ask around, see what local bands are playing in the coming week.

But that isn’t exactly something you can do at the moment. It’s the middle of the night. Right now, you really oughta get some sleep. After stowing the pie in the refrigerator and making a half-hearted attempt to clean up the kitchen, you turn off the lights and head off to bed.

You’d forgotten how nice it feels to sleep in your own bed after being away from it for days. You close your eyes, listening to the breeze winding around the cottage. This is alright. You’re alright. The mansion isn’t far. You’re not alone.

You’re… not alone.

Was that the door? That sound wasn’t the wind.

You’d long since given Peter permission to show up in the cottage unannounced. You’d even given him his own key.

So really, you shouldn’t be surprised, but you still jump when you roll over and see Peter standing in the doorway. You nearly knock the lamp off the table as you fumble to turn it on.

There’s something off about Peter, beyond the fact that he’s suddenly appeared in your room in the middle of the night – and, admittedly, that’s a first.

His smile is as hesitant as it’s been since he got back from Westview, but no more so. There’s unmelted snow on his shoulders, and –

Wait. Snow? Why would there be snow on his jacket? He’s too fast for that, unless…

You scramble out of bed, hurrying to him. “Peter? What’s going on? How long were you outside?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m not really sure, actually,” he says. “I figured you were sleeping, and I wasn’t sure if I should wake you up, so…”

As he speaks, you reach out to touch his face, his hands. They’re like ice.

“My God, you’re half frozen,” you say.

Ignoring his half-hearted assertions that he’s fine, really, you pull Peter into the living room. Telekinetically, you maneuver a couple logs onto the still-glowing embers in the fireplace, and while that’s happening, you tend to Peter.

He lets you take his jacket, and you sit him down on the loveseat, bundling him up in your warmest, fluffiest fleece blanket. Maybe you’re overdoing it just a little. But Peter’s almost never cold, and he certainly never stands still long enough to get covered in snow. You don’t want him getting sick on top of everything he’s already been through.

Satisfied that the fire’s been sufficiently stoked, you sit down next to Peter, taking his hands in yours to rub some warmth into them.

That sort of dazed expression has left his face, and now he just looks amused. Maybe he’s feeling better now that he had a chance to warm up. Or maybe seeing you go from zero to caretaker-mode in two seconds is funny to him. And if that’s it… well, fair enough.

Peter gives your hands a squeeze. “Listen, if you’re gonna make me into a burrito, the least you could do is join me in here. Shared body heat, and all that. I’ll warm up faster.”

He grins and bobs his eyebrows at you, lifting one edge of the blanket invitingly.

“Well, when you’re right, you’re right,” you say wryly.

You skootch under the blanket, leaning up to kiss Peter’s cheek before snuggling up next to him. He’s still radiating cold. You take his hands again.

“Care to explain yourself?” you say.

“I mean…” He shrugs. “I wanted to check on you. Your leg’s still hurt, y’know? And you’re all alone out here, and…”

Peter trails off. That surface-level explanation isn’t fooling you anymore, and he knows it. He sighs, breaking eye contact.

“I didn’t wanna be alone,” he says, softly. “Westview, it… it messed me up, and I’m not over it yet. I feel like I should be okay by now, but I’m not. I’m sorry, but I just-”

“Peter, don’t apologize,” you say. “It’s okay. Nobody expects you to completely bounce back from something like that in two days.”

“I expect me to.”

There’s that wry, self-deprecating grin again. It claws at your heart just a little. Peter genuinely is a pretty unflappable guy, all things considered. But sometimes you get the feeling that it’s because he feels like he has to be. Not that he’s putting it on, exactly, more that he’s hiding behind it.

“People here have gone through so much worse,” Peter shakes his head. “My dad, Jean, Wanda…”

“That doesn’t negate what happened to you,” you say, “And I care about what you went through. I care about you.”

Peter purses his lips and blinks rapidly as he nods, and says nothing.

Over the past few years, you’ve gotten close to Peter – closer than you’ve ever been with anyone else. You realize just now that you don’t think you’ve ever seen him cry.

“Listen, you don’t have to,” you say, “But do you want to talk about it?”

Peter takes a deep breath, like he’s steadying himself. But instead of saying anything, he leans over to bury his face in your shoulder. You immediately wrap your arms tight around him.

“I remember all of it,” he says at length, his voice quiet and shaky. “I just… It was horrible. I was scared. I was so scared.”

This doesn’t surprise you, but it stuns you. Peter gives the impression of being an open book, but he isn’t – not really. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so vulnerable. You keep silent and gently rub his back, giving him space to speak when he’s ready.

“The whole time, I was still in there, watching everything she made me do, hearing everything she made me say. I tr-” Peter breaks off, and swallows hard before going on. “I tried to get her out of my head, but I couldn’t.”

Now that he’s started speaking, Peter can’t seem to stop. Still clinging to you, still hiding his face against your shoulder, the words keep pouring out of him.

“God, you… you don’t know what it was like, having somebody take over and use you like a puppet. I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t run. I was trapped. I-I was completely helpless. She made me lie to Wanda, pretend to be her dead brother, say these awful things. She could’ve made me hurt the kids, or Monica, or you – and I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”

“Peter…” you say, not quite knowing what you can say in this moment.

But Peter shakes his head, leaning more heavily against you.

“You don’t understand. You don’t understand – she was going to. When you came back for me at the end, when you tried to stop me, I… Now every time I look at you, I keep thinking about how close I was to hurting you. If Monica hadn’t broken that necklace, I would’ve-”

He stops abruptly, and his body is suddenly wracked with silent sobs. You hold him all the more tightly as his hands grip onto your shirt like he’s holding on for dear life.

“I’ve got you. I’m here,” you say. “I’m here.”

So this is what he’d been hiding – what he’d been pretending to have forgotten.

For a second, a spark of rage flares up in your chest, and you think that Wanda let the witch off too easy for what she’d done. But the feeling quickly smothers itself. Revenge won’t undo what’s already been done, and it certainly won’t help Peter now.

You can’t fix what’s hurting him like you could a cut or a bruise. All you can do is stay and love the hell out of him while he heals.

Slowly, his shuddering breaths grow steadier. You hold him until him he moves to sit back. He lets his hands fall in your lap. He doesn’t look up.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbles.

You shake your head, taking his hands.

“You’re allowed to cut yourself some slack, you know,” you say. “I know - that’s absolutely not your M.O. And your way can help; if you act like everything’s okay, sometimes you feel more like everything’s okay. But it can also help to be blunt about things. What you went through was traumatic, Peter. You’re allowed to say that. You’re allowed to feel it.”

He says nothing. His gaze is still fixed downwards.

“Peter, look at me,” you say gently. “Please?”

He lifts his head, and the sight of his tear-streaked face almost breaks your heart. You pull your sleeve down over your hand and use it to blot away the tears. Peter’s mouth trembles for a moment and his eyes close, but he doesn’t break down again. He just leans into your touch.

“I’ll be right back,” you say softly, kissing him on the cheek.

You hurry into the kitchen and return with a glass of water and a cool washcloth. Sitting back down, you first hand Peter the glass.

“Here,” you say, “You’ll feel better if you drink some water, trust me.”

He follows your advice, and after he’s taken a few sips and sets the glass aside, you hand him the washcloth. He scrubs his face, and then the back of his neck, and then looks a little confused as to where he’s supposed to put the washcloth. With a flick of your hand, it floats off to the kitchen sink.

You study Peter’s face for a moment. He seems to have worked the distress out of his system, or at least the first wave of it. Now he just looks exhausted. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

“Okay, that was… That was a lot,” he says.

Understatement of the century. It’s incredibly jarring to see the cheerful, unshakeable Peter Maximoff break down completely like that. But more than that, it worries you that he was trying to keep this buried.

“Now I get why the professor was so adamant about you taking some time off,” you say.

Peter shoots you a half-hearted grin. “Yeah… I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda trying to prove him wrong. But he was right, as usual.”

“It’s okay to give yourself time to work through this,” you say. “I mean, obviously you don’t have to go around telling everyone what you’re feeling, but… you can always tell me.”

Peter slouches down in his seat a little, leaning close to nestle his head against your shoulder.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says at length.

“Hate to break it to you, but that ship has sailed,” you say, fondly. “If you’re not okay, you can tell me. And if there’s something you’re not ready to talk about, you can tell me that, too. I’ll be here for you when you are.”

“Can you do me a favor?” he asks, sounding a bit hesitant. “Could you, like… check in with me now and then? Because if it’s up to me to start that kinda conversation, I get the feeling that I just… won’t. At least not right away. It’s a bad habit I gotta unlearn.”

“You can count on me,” you say.

“Well, I knew that already. But, y’know, thanks.”

You sit in silence for a moment, and you’re starting to wonder if Peter’s fallen asleep when he speaks up again.

“I don’t think I ever actually thanked you,” he says, “For coming to my rescue, I mean. Everything that you went through trying to bring me home-”

You squeeze his hand, interrupting him before he can start spiraling.

“Peter, don’t start beating yourself up over this. I love you, alright? I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if I had to. I mean, hopefully I won’t ever have to, but still,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, but still. In this case, a thank-you isn’t the kinda thing you wanna leave unsaid.” Peter sighs, then laughs a little. “My dad’s right about you, y’know.”

“Wait, what did he say about me?” You shouldn’t be surprised by it, but you’re slightly alarmed by the idea of Mr. Lehnsherr discussing you with Peter.

“He said, ‘Peter, when you find someone who cares about you that much, don’t ever take it for granted,’” he says, in a fair imitation of Mr. Lehnsherr. “‘Very little is certain in this world. See that you take care of that one.’”

“He didn’t say that,” you say, falling back on denial in the face of such a compliment.

“He did,” says Peter. “And he also said that you make the best apple strudel he’s ever tasted, so there’s that.”

You laugh, shaking your head. Still… it’s kinda nice to think that Mr. Lehnsherr approves of you. He is Peter’s dad, after all.

At hearing you laugh, Peter smiles a little, and then moves to sit up straight again, running his hands through his hair.

“I should… I should head out,” he begins.

“Why?” you interrupt. “It’s late already. Why don’t you just stay here?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t think I’m gonna fit on this thing,” he says, gesturing at the loveseat, “And there’s no way I’m taking your bed.”

“Do you kick in your sleep?”

Peter tilts his head, not quite following. “No…?”

“Then the solution is simple,” you say. “We can share my bed.”

There’ll be enough room. It’s actually kinda funny that most rooms in the mansion only have twin-sized beds, but they managed to squeeze a queen-sized mattress into the cottage’s tiny bedroom.

“Are you sure?” says Peter. “I mean, I can get back to my room in seconds, y’know, and with your knee still hurt, I don’t wanna put you out…”

You smiling faintly at him. Still trying not to worry you, is he?

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you say, “But I recall you saying that you don’t want to be alone right now.”

Peter laughs and looks at the floor. “I don’t. Is it… is it really okay for me to stay?”

“I want you to stay,” you reassure him. “Come on.”

You push aside the blanket, and Peter helps you to your feet. You keep hold of his hand and start to lead him back to your room. But after a few steps, Peter stops abruptly, tugging at your hand.

“Wait a minute,” he says.

“What’s wrong?”

Peter goes to where you’d hung up his jacket and starts rummaging through the pockets.

“Would you believe this thing was in my pocket the whole time I was in Westview?” he asks absently. “I’d been carrying it around for a week already, and… Well, you know me. Timing was never one of my strengths.”

Peter turns back, flashing you that self-deprecating grin of his – and gets down on one knee.

“Peter…?”

It feels like all the air has been forced out of your lungs. For a second, you have the strangest certainty that you must be misinterpreting the situation, until you see the ring box in his hand.

He shakes his head, looking up at you earnestly.

“Listen, I know I’m a mess right now,” he says, “And if you want me to ask again at a better time, someplace a little more romantic, then I will – but I want to say this now. I have to, because… because nothing in life is certain, except for the fact that I love you.”

Peter takes your hand, pressing it to his lips, murmuring your name. You’re dimly aware that everything that isn’t nailed down has started to float into the air, but none of that matters. As far as you’re concerned, the only thing that exists in this moment is Peter – his hand holding yours, his smile, his big dark eyes gazing up at you.

“In the darkest, loneliest, bleakest moments of my life, you were the hope inside me that wouldn’t quit. And you can’t shrug it off or say I’m biased, because it isn’t just me,” he says. “You have brightened this place for so many people. For the students, for Kurt, for Hank, even for the professor, even for my dad, and you’re already trying to do the same for Wanda, too.”

If not for the roof above you and the anchoring warmth of Peter’s hand holding yours, you feel that you could float off over the moon. You could turn the winter to spring if he asked you to.

“You asked me to stay. I’ll stay forever, if you’ll have me,” he says. “Will you marry me?”

You want to say something eloquent. You want to tell him so many things – how much his unshakeable faith in you means to you, how you’d cross a hundred realities and face twice as many witches to make sure that he’s home and safe and happy, how much you love him – but you can’t find the words.

There’ll be time for all that later. Peter’s gazing up at you, and though there’s urgency in his expression, there’s not even the tiniest shred of doubt.

There are so many things you want to say, but all you can manage is, “Yes.”

Peter’s eyes widen, and an ecstatic smile tugs at his mouth.

“Yes…?” he repeats.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Yes.”

If Peter beams any harder, he’ll literally start glowing. He slips the ring onto your finger, and it fits perfectly. Knowing him, he probably used his speed to find out your ring size without you ever knowing, the sneak.

He looks back up at you. Though it’s still obvious that he’d been crying not long before, his smile perfectly, genuinely happy. It’s the smile you first fell in love with, the one you haven’t seen since before he was taken, and –

And suddenly your lips tremble. Tears start welling up in your eyes. You press your hand to your mouth, blinking hard.

Peter stands hurriedly.

“Don’t cry!” he says, “Please? Because if you start crying, I’m not gonna be able to hold it together over here.”

“I’m trying!” you blurt out, laughing in spite of yourself. “I’m just really happy, okay?”

Peter pulls you close and kisses you. You wish that you’d never have to let go. And when the kiss ends, Peter keeps his arms around you.

You take a moment to look more closely at the ring. It’s a simple gold band with a single stone – an opal. Flecks of pale, fiery colors flicker within it as you shift it in the light.

“I know it’s not a diamond,” Peter says. “I kinda thought this suited you better. Diamonds seems so… ordinary, I guess, but you’re our Wild Card. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you something else. I just-”

“Peter,” you interrupt. You lace your fingers through his, smiling up at him. “It’s perfect.”

He smiles, and then a curious expression takes over. He tilts his head slightly, sniffing at the air. “Did you make a pie?”

You laugh. “Strawberry rhubarb, as requested. Do you want a piece?”

“Y’know, for once in my life?” Peter raises his eyebrows, incredulous with himself. “I don’t think I could eat a thing. I know I’m repeating myself here, but tonight’s been… a lot.”

“It’ll make a good breakfast, then,” you say. “Come on. We could both use a good night’s sleep.”

Nevermind that it was already past one in the morning. Telekinetically turning off the lights as you go, you lead Peter back to the bedroom.

It feels so… natural. It feels ordinary in the best way possible. After the chaos, the worry, the breakdown – something so domestic feels strangely cathartic. Just you and your fiancé, getting ready for bed, thinking about what you’re gonna have for breakfast the next morning.

There are plenty of uphill battles to face tomorrow, and in the days to come. But for now, a few moments of peace are more than welcome. And Peter is still Peter. He’s making himself right at home. In a blink, he’s down to his t-shirt and boxers, and settling himself in on the far side of the bed.

“Oh… Oh man, this is nice,” he says. He lays his head back on the pillow and somehow seems to sink further into the mattress, then immediately raises his head again. “You’re still sure you’re okay with me staying?”

You snort. “I just agreed to marry you. Yes, you can stay.”

“Well, it never hurts to be sure.”

And with that, he snuggles back under the comforter. Ridiculous and sweet as ever – and you wouldn’t want him any other way. You’re still worried about him, but it’s not the same sort of worry. You’ll always be worried about his safety and health and wellbeing, but you can trust that he won’t shut you out again, and that’s reassuring.

Turning off the last light, you climb into bed as well. For a moment, you both stay on your separate sides. Then Peter skootches closer, and then a little closer, and then closer again until he’s nestled against your side.

There’s a few seconds of silence before you both break down into giggles.

“Listen, I never shared a bed with somebody before,” Peter says.

“Me neither,” you admit.

“It’s nice, though.”

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

Peter wraps one arm comfortably around your waist.

“Can we maybe keep talking for a while?” he says. “Not, like, about anything specific. I just don’t wanna start overthinking again.”

He lets out a self-conscious laugh, and you lace your fingers through his. Hmm… Well, there is something you’ve been wondering about.

“I gotta ask,” you say, “Did anybody know that you were going to propose? Besides the professor, I mean.”

“In my defense,” says Peter, “I didn’t actually tell him. He just did that thing, you know? You’ve got something on your mind, and then you look up and you make eye contact with the professor, and then it’s straight panic because you know that he knows. But, uh, aside from him it was just my mom and my dad.”

Suddenly, that strange little exchange you’d had with Mr. Lehnsherr last night makes a lot more sense.

“He’s gonna be your father-in-law, y’know,” Peter says. You swear you can hear the teasing grin in his voice. “You can’t keep calling him ‘Mr. Lehnsherr’ now.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll start calling him-” And you find yourself unable to spit out the name ‘Erik.’ You pull the comforter up around your chin, muttering, “I’ll work my way up to it.”

Peter laughs. Then, apropos of nothing:

“Hey, when’s the last time you went on vacation?” he asks.

Confused, you turn your head to look at him. They’ve adjusted to the dim light enough for you to see Peter’s expression is earnest.

“Oh man, I don’t know,” you say, casting your mind back. “I know I took a couple long weekends, but I… I actually don’t think I’ve taken a real vacation since I started working here.”

“I thought so,” says Peter. “We should go somewhere together.”

“What?”

“Oh, I’m not saying we should elope or anything,” he clarifies. “I’m getting kinda traditional in my old age.”

“You aren’t even thirty-five,” you counter drily.

“Be that as it may, I’m only saying that I kinda like the idea of having a real, actual wedding,” he says, smiling when you nod in agreement, “And also that we should go someplace tropical for a couple weeks. Like, not right away. After your knee heals up some more, and after Wanda and the twins get settled in. What do you think?”

The thought of relaxing on some warm sunny beach, or watching the stars over the ocean, just the two of you – it’s incredibly tempting.

“The professor did give us time off,” you say hesitantly, “But…”

“They can find somebody else to shovel snow and substitute teach for a little while. Didn’t you ever rebel as a teenager?” he asks, mock-accusingly. “Like, even once?”

“Uh…” You struggle to think back. Did you ever?

“Wow.” Peter grins, leaning in to kiss you cajolingly. “Come on – run away with me!”

“You’re a bad influence,” you tease.

Peter tilts his head. “Is that a yes…?”

“Hmm… a couple weeks in a tropical paradise with you,” you say. When it comes down to it, this is hardly a difficult decision. “That sounds perfect.”

“Good,” he says. “We’ll make plans over breakfast.”

In the dim light, you smile at him, murmuring an I-love-you. He kisses you again, and rests his head on the pillow beside yours. He breathes in deep and, with a contented sigh, closes his eyes. The little groundskeeper’s cottage has never felt more like home than it does in this moment.

Very little in life is certain; you know that. The shadow of Westview hasn’t left Peter entirely, and it may be a long time until he’s no longer troubled by it. But you’re certain that you love him, and that he loves you. Your hand folds around his.

“Hey, Peter?” you say quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Just checking in, like I promised. How are you doing?”

Peter smiles as he presses his lips against your forehead. “Y’know what? I think I’m gonna be okay.”

“Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight.”

[hotchscotchh]

Reimagined; Chapter 1 - Chester Hardwick

The comparison between this and the first time I wrote this chapter is honestly kind of crazy. I’m so excited for this rewrite! I will only be redoing chapters 1-7 :)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Warnings: mentions of sexual activity, canon typical violence

Word count: 1.8k

Reid helps Hotch sort out some issues

Read on AO3

Chapter 2

Based on 3x14, Damaged

Chester Hardwick. A serial killer that managed to take the lives of twenty-three women before he was caught. Hardwick had decided he was ready to talk, and Spencer Reid couldn’t be more excited to get into this man’s mind. Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was just plain angry, and for good reason. Haley was being completely unfair with this divorce. He figured that if he had something else to focus on, the pain and anger would leave the forefront of his mind, at least momentarily.

None of that interview had gone as planned, though. Hotch had tried to fight Hardwick after he revealed his plans of killing two FBI agents as a way out of the death penalty. He thought maybe he’d put some of his anger to good use. Thank god for Reid, though, who had been able to talk the psychopath down, probably saving both of their lives in the process. He’d managed to talk for a full thirteen minutes until the guards returned. Hotch shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was, he’d heard Reid go on for hours about nothing before. Even if no one was listening.

He might’ve been surprised, but he was also impressed. Extremely impressed. He’d never seen someone district an unsub for that amount of time, let alone completely throw off his plans of killing. But, play on narcissism was always a strong one.

Reid was… well, Reid was turned on, to say the least. This sort of adrenaline got him going for some godforsaken reason that he would probably never completely understand. That combined with seeing his (extremely attractive) boss puffed up, ready to kill a man in their honor? Well, that memory was one he would reserve for a later date.

“So, Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested to nobody wastes money on lawyers,” Hotch started when they were in the FBI issued SUV on the way back to D.C.

“You don’t want to?” Reid questioned.

Hotch sighed. “What I want I’m not going to get.”

Confused, Reid answered, “What is it you want, Hotch?” He didn’t get an answer.

----

Back in Quantico, the rest of the team had just wrapped up a case of their own. Reid was currently witnessing an encounter that he didn’t understand one word of. Technical Analyst Kevin Lynch confronted David Rossi, claiming they needed to talk “man to man,” whatever that meant. Then JJ sang some song about Garcia and Kevin and a tree. He had no idea what was going on. Rather that continuing to sit there confused (no one would explain it to him, apparently what was happening was obvious), Reid decided to go check on Hotch. His superior had obviously not taken the request from his soon-to-be-ex-wife well, and he was sure to get some flack from Strauss about the outcome of the interview.

“Hotch,” Reid said quietly, rapping his knuckles on the door frame to Hotch’s office and poking his head in.

“Come in, Reid, close the door,” Hotch answered, not looking up from his paperwork.

Reid sat in the chair across from his superior and handed him a file. “My reports form the interview, sir.”

Hotch looked up then, meeting Reid’s eyes with a smile that didn’t quite reach his own. “Thank you. I appreciate you getting this done so quickly. I wanted to apologize for the situation I put you in today, it really was not appropriate. I shouldn’t have provoked him the way I did.”

“Hotch,” Reid started again, pausing to make sure the words that were about to come out of him mouth were going to come out correctly. “Let me take you out for dinner tonight. I think you need someone to talk to, and honestly, I probably do too.” Reid didn’t really need to talk, he had been doing much better in the aftermath of Tobias Hankel recently, but he did know that Hotch would be much more likely to say yes if he thought it wouldn’t only be benefitting him.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork again, giving Reid a look he couldn’t quite decipher, and thought for a few moments. “Well,” he finally answered, “that actually sounds great. Let me just finish this last file and I’ll come get you. I’m assuming you took the metro?” Reid nodded. “Okay. I’ll drive us and bring you home after. Think about where you want to go.”

Reid left his superiors office with a smile on his face. Sitting down at his desk, he thought back to the way Hotch looked preparing to defend himself and Spencer from the psychopath that had threatened their lives just hours before. He felt himself getting hard. He shook his head as if he could shake the thoughts from his head as he stood back up and made his way to the bathroom. There, he splashed some cold water across is face. He wasn’t supposed to think about coworkers like that, especially not his boss.

Reid reminded himself that his boss was married. Sure, it was a failing marriage, but a marriage, nonetheless. That single thought sobered him up. He made his way back to the bullpen to find Morgan giving him a weird look.

“What, do I have something on my face?” he asked.

“No,” Morgan replied. “You just were in Hotch’s office, come back all pale, and ran off to the bathroom. Are you feeling okay?”

Spencer huffed defensively. “Fine, just got a little nauseous. I’m okay now. Thanks for asking though, I appreciate it.”

An hour later, Hotch descended the steps from his office, finding Reid lost in a book at his desk.

“Reid,” he called out softly, placing a light had on his shoulder in an attempt to not startle him too much.

Reid jumped anyway, and looked up at him. “Hotch! You scared me,” he exclaimed before looking around and realizing that his coworkers had left without his noticing.

“Sorry,” Hotch chuckled. “I’m also sorry I took so long; I got a call from the Wichita police department.” Reid looked back over at him; disappointment evident in his eyes. “No case,” Hotch amended quickly, “they were just letting me know how that case from a few weeks ago turned out. Our unsub was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, landing him a life sentence, no parole. Have you decided where you want to go for dinner?”

Reid took the change of subject and went with it, nodding, standing, collecting his belongings, and making his way towards the doors of the BAU.

Spencer didn’t begin to feel nervous until his was sitting in the front of Hotch’s SUV. When they were settled, Hotch turned to look at him and asked, “so, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Reid answered with a blush. “I’ll be your personal GPS. Turn right out of the parking lot.”

----

Twenty minutes later found them in from of a small Greek diner. “Did you know that Greek is my favorite?” Hotch asked, a small smile playing across his lips.

His very kissable lips, Reid thought. He blushed again, not breaking their eye contact, before answering, “Yeah, thought you might want some comfort food. I’m not well versed in the realm of divorce, but I know what you’re going through can’t be easy.”

Hotch’s smile grew imperceptibly. “Thank you, Reid.” They got out of the car and made their way into the restaurant, finding a secluded booth towards the back.

“I’ll bet you that I can order for you and it’ll be exactly what you were thinking about ordering,” Hotch said out of nowhere.

“What’s on the line?” Reid asked.

“Loser pays for dinner.”

“You’re on, I’ll make the same bet,” Spencer answered, silently deciding that he would wait on the difficult conversation until they received their food.

The waitress approached their table, and Hotch informed her that they would be ordering for each other. She gave a small smile, looking between the two of them. “Of course,” answered, leaning down to look over Hotch’s shoulder to see what he was pointing at on the menu before turning to Reid and doing the same.

The next fifteen minutes were filled mostly with Spencer finally getting an explanation as to what had occurred between Garcia, Kevin, and Rossi. Spencer laughed, not believing he hadn’t picked up on it. Some profiler he was. Their food arrived, putting a stop to their conversation. The two men looked down at the food set in front of them. Reid had ordered a Greek soup for Hotch, and Hotch had order Reid a pork gyro.

They looked back up at each other and both said, “you win,” before laughing.

“How about this,” Reid proposed. “I’ll pay this time, and you get the next one.”

“The next one?” Hotch asked.

“We’ll I was hoping there would be another. I don’t know about you, Hotch, but I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight.”

Aaron looked back up, smiling in a way Reid had never seen before. “I have too, Reid.”

“So,” Reid started cautiously. “Let’s talk. You never answered my question in the car before. What is it you want?”

Hotch heaved a sigh, looking down at his lap before resignedly looking back up to meet his subordinate’s gaze. “You can’t tell anyone about this. I want to keep it quiet.” Reid nodded earnestly, excited that the man was going to open up to him. “Haley wants full custody. Which, in reality, makes sense because of how often we’re away, but it means I’m not going to be able to see Jack anywhere near as much as I want to.”

Reid thought it over for a few moments. “Why don’t you ask for a Skype or phone call at least every other night? I know he’s little, but hearing your voice will be good for him. And for when you’re home, ask to have him at least two nights a week. Weeks we have off and holidays can be negotiated by the two of you privately. You know, her lawyers probably just making an unfair offer to get you to contest it so they can make more money. She’s a reasonable person. I’m sure she’ll be willing to compromise.”

Hotch took a moment to process that. Letting out another sigh, he looked back up at Reid and replied, “that’s actually fairly realistic. I’ll talk to her about it. If she’s not wiling to change, this is just going to have to get messy.”

Relaxing back into his seat, Hotch gave a small smile. “I should come to you for advice more often, Spencer.”

Thant night, when Spencer got home, he got himself off to the thought of Hotch. The strong man he saw earlier, and also the soft one he had seen that night at dinner. He only felt guilty about it for an hour. Maybe two.

[spacebunnywrites]

My Religion is You

Here is my piece for the Citrus Dome server collab. The server ran by the LOVELY @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten​ Let me tell ya, this piece was a wild ride. Will it have a part two? Who knows. Pairing: Kaminari Denki x Male Reader Rating: E for Explicit. (Sorry, no C for Crackhead this time. Maybe some D for Dumbass though) Kinks: Mild Courting, Religious, Oral, Frottage, Clothed Sex, Chastity Cages, Virgin Reader, super low-key attempt at confinement, forced Virginity, crying while cumming, oral Word Count: 2700ish

Worship has always been a part of your daily routine. Each season you place the different fruits of the temple's labour at the altar at the top floor of the shrine. Every day you pray, lighting incense and muttering soft songs. It’s human nature, seeking answers from the Gods.

But you never expected one to answer. Especially not for you. The weather was brutal, you figured the messenger god wouldn't be able to appreciate the offerings left for him. That he would let these offerings expire and go to the wolves that surrounded the forest temple. But, when you turned around to leave the altar where offerings were housed a large crack of lightning startled you. Lightning that hit a nearby tree, knocking down a large branch. The limb falling from the top and crashing its way down. Taking other branches with it on the path downward. A cloud of ravens taking flight in the heavy rain, seeking shelter in a new tree. But that wasn't the part that caught your eye. It was the bright light coming from within the shrine.

In a flash of yellow light stood a slim man. Clad only in a long, nearly see through loincloth. It brushed the ground between his legs, and the two scraps of material were held by a thin golden chain. Small interlocking circles, woven tight enough to look closer to a rope. You could tell that his outfit wasn't complete, his chest and a single shoulder were a lighter colour than his thighs and arms. His shirt was missing. Exposing the light tone of his abs to you, eyes raking over the slender frame for a moment while your brain spun in circles.

"Where is your shirt!?" Not caring for why he had appeared. Or even how he had appeared. You assumed he was a follower that you just hadn't met yet. To be fair, you were new to the temple. A transfer from the temple in the mountains. The God of Endeavours had grown angry towards the shrines of lesser Gods. Demanding all the attention be on him as a clearly superior God. But you preferred the God of Gossip. Well… technically he was the God of Messengers. But in recent years he only carried gossip, and as such his title had changed. Most offerings were tea related, people prayed to him for their secrets to remain safe. Your old temple had prayed to the God of Gossip asking for great fortune to come their way, in the form of news from the God of Foresight. Though, the only fortune that came was bad, in the form of a rock slide that destroyed the structure. Since only young lithe men were permitted to run the temples, there was no one to rebuild the temple. Leaving all the priests without home, which is how you had ended up here. The Forest temple welcomed you with open arms. The God of Fortunes had foretold them of a misplaced virginal Shrine Maid-Man that would bring the God of Gossip to their shrine one day. 

The man before you chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. Bouncing on the balls of his feet before shrugging softly. "Don't ask me such hard questions… I have no idea what happened to it." His free hand reaching out to grab an apple from the offering table. You slapped his hand away, scowling harshly.

"Don't touch those. They are for our God! You should know better. I ought to bring you to the High Priest for exile!" Your voice in a hushed whisper. You didn't want either of you getting caught after all. Only a few members of the temple had free access to the offering rooms. Each member hand selected. As of this moment, it was only you allowed to be in the offering rooms. Your previous partner in the duty had been moved to offering tours of the lower floors. Only you were allowed in the highest tower. Well… you, and now this near naked man apparently.

Somehow the man looked more sweet when he was ashamed. A soft flush covering his cheeks, spreading downward to tint his chest and neck as well. Blond hair in a messy style, parts of it standing on end as if he had arrived with the lighting itself. "Right. Offerings. So… everything in this room is an offering to the god?" Slowly closing the distance between you. If he wasn't so adorable, the look his face took on would seem almost predatory. Yet, you didn't have it in you to be afraid of him. Something seemed to scream that he was safe. 

"Y/N!" A voice called from the bottom of the stairs. It was the High Priest. You had taken too long leaving the offerings for the god. You turned around to announce you would be leaving in a moment, an excuse about the oil in the lanterns needing to be filled falling from your lips easily. Only slightly cut off by a loud rumble of thunder and another flash of lightning. And when you returned your attention to the man that had been with you, he was gone. The only trace that he had been there at all was a golden bracelet replacing the apple that had been left out for your god. Along with a note telling you to wear the bracelet. It was a simple cuff, shaped like a lightning bolt.

☆☆☆☆☆

Weeks passed since you last saw the strange blond. No one had any idea who you were talking about when asked. It was like he came and went with the lightning! But that was impossible. Only the Messenger God himself could travel through lightning. And there was no fucking way you communed with the god you prayed to. Sure, an offering had been exchanged for a token. But you figured that one of your fellow Followers had played a cruel trick on you. Which is why you had yet to put the bracelet on, despite how badly you wanted to wear it. The golden bracelet called to you, without meaning to you often found yourself playing with where it sat in your tunic. 

"Y/N! Why do you keep playing with your pockets, boy!? Get up to the offering rooms. Lately the offers are ignored, how did you anger the God? You won't leave the room until he shows and accepts the offerings." The tone cold as he grasped your wrist and pulled you towards the stairs leading up to the offering rooms. “There will be a guard stationed here day and night. You will go no further than the bottom of the stairs, and only to retrieve the day's offerings. Hope he shows soon, or you will starve waiting for him.” You didn’t understand how he could be so angry with you. Nothing had changed in the way you did the offerings. Yet every offering was rejected. The roosters refused to eat, all of the tortoise shells perished. It seemed everything that showed your God still cared for the temple was fading. No other temple reported these findings, it was only yours. The High Council concluding the problem was you, since you were the only Shrine Maid-Man that was allowed in the offering rooms. No one listened about the blond you met in the room those weeks ago. Everyone assumed you had defiled the offering altar and lowered yourself to one of the Sacred Prostitutes. That you had allowed such sacrilege happenings to occur in the room designed just for offerings to the God. No one listened to you insisting that you were still pure. Only the Sacred Prostitutes were permitted to have any form of intercourse, the rest of the Shrine was to remain chaste. A practice you didn’t understand. It wasn’t like the Messenger God was known for his virginity. Quite the opposite, really. It seemed that every week new stories of his conquests filled the shrine. Not to mention the Shrine Prostitutes seemed to only exist for this one shrine. You knew your old shrine certainly didn’t have them. Not with how often an orgy was often walked in on. Maybe this Shrine wasn’t all it was chalked up to be. Maybe the God of Messengers no longer wanted the Forest Temple. Had they strayed too far from him that he ignored them? You fiddled again with the bracelet in your pocket, frowning at how it called to you. You shouldn’t be attracted to the piece of metal that likely caused this discourse. You swallowed back your anger towards the High Priest and settled into your routine. Filling the oil lamps that had gotten too low, lighting any incense that had extinguished itself, opening the curtains to the windows, and polishing the wood that the altar was made of. The light of high noon filtering in and warming your flesh. Taking your mind off the way the bracelet in your pocket screamed for attention. The simple, habitual tasks easy for you to get lost in. It was comforting in a way to have only a few things to focus on. Until your stomach growled. The only food belonged on the offering table, and your devotion was strong enough to not even think about taking the offerings. ☆☆☆☆☆ You found yourself thinking of the bracelet more and more. Especially when the pangs of your hunger began to actually settle down on you. Reminding you more frequently of the last time you ate. It took every ounce of your being to not slip on the golden cuff. The cuff was what put you in the trouble that you were in. You had let some random man take one of the offerings left out, and now your God had abandoned the temple. Abandoned you. All you had left was the soft voice in your dead telling you to put the bracelet on. That everything will be okay once you wear the bracelet. But you knew that to be the voice of demons. They were trying to tempt you away from your God. Yet less than a full day of being locked into the room, you sighed and slipped the bracelet on. Succumbing to the voice calling to you. Slightly freaked out by the way static seemed to run through your body as it did. Yet nothing else changed. The sky was still a bright blue, the light breeze still fluttered the curtains, and you were still stuck in the room. Why had you expected anything different? “You finally put it on. I was wondering how long being ignored would take to work.” The soft voice whispered into your ear. Jumping at the suddenness only had you knocking your shoulder into his jaw. Watching as he pouted and stuck his tongue out to make you inspect it. “Di’I ite eye ung?” Clearly a failed attempt at did I bite my tongue. How could a demon be so adorable? How had a demon even gotten on to holy ground? It was only then that you noticed the lightning bolt in his hair. This was no demon. You had summoned Chargebolt, the Messenger God by putting on the bracelet. “Holy fuck.” Whispered as you fell back onto your ass. The simple tunic you wore parting to expose yourself, the golden chastity cage you wore glistening in the lowering sunlight. You didn’t even realize that it had happened, more focused on putting distance between you and the actual fucking God that stood before you. This time he wasn’t half dressed. His sheer loincloths connected to the upper half of his robes. Everything was so see through he might not have been wearing anything at all. Your eyes tried not to linger on his sex, but it was basically at eye level. Every scoot you took back, he took two steps forward. “Well, you did say everything in this room was an offering. So I suppose a holy fuck as you put it could be provided.” Shrugging as he began to remove his clothing. The sheer material falling around his feet with ease as he shrugged his shoulder out of the strap holding his top up and unhooked one of the thin golden chains on his hips. He didn’t seem to notice your eyes going wide as he approached. He was entirely naked before you, and seemed to actually want you. He wanted a lowly Shrine Maid-Man such as yourself. “We have to remain virgins! I…. I can’t. I’m sorry Chargebolt, God of Messengers, Teller of Gossip, Traveller of Lightning, Spiller of Tea… Um…” You couldn’t remember the rest of his monkiers at this moment. But he had stopped advancing. Brow furrowed and his head tilted as if he were a puppy and not a whole ass god. As if he had never heard of this rule before. Which was likely true. You knew your old Temple certainly didn’t have the rule. That or your Temple only had Shrine Prostitutes. Which also could be the case. At this point you didn’t know anything anymore. “Virgins? That has never been a requirement in my temples… And you wear a strange device on your loins. Is the device to keep you pure?” His hand reaching out to grab at the caged cock between your legs. Sinking down to his knees while he inspected it. The metal eventually falling off into his hands. You felt scared and excited to have a divine being between your legs. He seemed so intent on inspecting you- Oh!

A wet heat swallowed your length down. Chargebolt was using his mouth on you! Your god was defiling you in the room designed for his offerings. Had he mistaken you for an offering? You didn't mind it… no. You loved being used by your God. Chargebolt taking your virginity certainly couldn't be a strike against you. The Messenger God had a mouth clearly designed for this kind of debauchery. His tongue pressed firmly on the thick vein that ran along your underside, it swirled around the tip when he came up for air. When he sank down to bury his nose against your stomach his throat pulsed around you. Everything he did had you falling apart in an embarrassing amount of time. But you found yourself too lost in the mindless delight of the act to even warn him.

Instead you spilled down his throat with a quiet sob. Whimpering slightly as you curled around your head. It had been so long since you last got off, and now Chargebolt was getting you off. Using only his mouth as well. The God smiled and wiped at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Pulling the digit into his mouth and sucking off the last remnants of your essence. 

"There's my pretty Angel. You look so good like that. I was right to select you as my favoured." Cooed softly into your ear before he crawled over you. Pressing quick kisses against your clothed chest. Licking the sweat away from your neck. Humming softly while he was doing so. Despite just finishing down his skilled throat, you wanted to go again. He had opened the door to your repressed sexual appetite, and now he needed to fix it. Your hips rolled up to grind your erections together. You swore you heard needy whimpers, but Chargebolt didn't seem to be making any noise. Oh- it was coming from you.

You were making those soft whimpers. Just from a little bit of friction on your newly freed cock. "Oh, Angel. You sound so sweet for me." His words whispered straight into your ear. Followed by a wet tongue licking the shell of your ear. Holy fucking hell. Was any of this supposed to feel that good? Faintly you heard yourself whispering soft pleas. Begging him for more. 

"Nothing more than this, Angel. Not on our second meeting. Allow me to relieve you once more, and then I need to leave. Keep the bracelet on. Take it off, and I can't come see you again until Incinerate, the God of Pride has a mood and it causes a storm. I felt so bad ignoring your offerings. But how else was I supposed to get you to put on my bracelet?" Soft kisses pressed against your neck as he continued to roll his hips against yours. Providing you the friction you needed to ruin your robes. By the time you opened your eyes again, he was gone. The only trace he had been there, your broken chastity cage and the cum drying on your clothing.

[isabclas]

( aurora ruffino, cis woman, she/her, 26) ** ♔ announcing ISABELA LEON, the PRINCESS OF SPAIN ! in a recent portrait they seem to resemble AURORA RUFFINO. it is a miracle that SHE survived the last five years, considering they are IMPETUOUS, SANGUINE, and PERSISTENT. i hope the plague has not changed them. they are FOR working together with the other kingdoms (kara she/her, 23, est)

hello, hello! my name is kara & i’m beyond excited to be apart of this group! i’ll be in the discord as soon as i can get into it & we can plot there, or if you want to plot asap you can message me on tumblr!

𝐵𝐸𝐹𝑂𝑅𝐸 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑃𝐿𝐴𝐺𝑈𝐸

princess isabela was born on a sunny september morning, the fourth child to her parents and the youngest daughter they would have.

she was a happy child; her parents did not prioritize her betrothal prospects or strict education, as it was unlikely for her to ever take the throne. this being said, she was able to focus more on playing in the garden and teasing her siblings (she was quite annoying as a little sister). 

with her responsibilities being less abundant than her older siblings, isabela could often times be blissfully ignorant to the dangers of the world; she did not always protect own safety and tended to accidentally place herself in harm’s way more times than her parents had wished.

growing up, she never understood why she was allowed to have all of the things she had but others had to work day and night just to feed their families; again, it was that blissful ignorance to how things really worked, and she found herself becoming relentlessly philanthropic to the people.

an example that describes her best is when she was twelve years old, and once noticed a rabbit lying on the ground, clearly hurt from a leg injury, as she was riding in a carriage with her family. isabela jumped from the moving carriage without warning, hurting herself in the process, and scooped up the injured animal to take with her. her parents were so angry with her, for not only hurting herself but for her lack of etiquette that a princess was supposed to possess.

but that was exactly who isabela was; she had a passion for helping others but not always the smartest or safest methods of doing so.

her behavior created difficulty for her parents as she came of age; her reputation amongst stuffy royals was that she was irresponsible and naive, and that she couldn’t be a good match for a prestigious marriage.

as she grew older, isabela was able to mellow out, becoming more mindful of her safety while still wanting to help others in any way she could. but her impulsivity is something she had a hard time suppressing.

𝐴𝐹𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑃𝐿𝐴𝐺𝑈𝐸

the plague drained isabela; she had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that it was unsafe for her to house sick people. every days she listened in on the updates her family would receive, dread washing over her as outside informants described the terrors of what was going on outside of their locked-up castle. a few times she had contemplated escaping and bringing food to the towns, but she eventually reminded herself that she valued her life, and that she surely could either die from plague or be killed out there if she went.

after the death of her sister-in-law, isabela was heartbroken for her elder brother, but mostly for her baby niece. she adored the infant and had a hard time with the idea that she would not grow up knowing her sweet mother; but it was some consolation that isabela and her two sisters could be there to pick up the pieces.

her family changed since then. her brother was no longer the same man he once was, and her sister became somewhat of a de facto ruler for him. it seemed that their innocent and happy lives became quite serious and draining.

on a brighter note, isabela adores france; she finds it to be beautiful, and she’s always loved to travel. however, the circumstances are grim and she misses home dearly. 

she may not have much of a role in the decision-making in france, but one thing she does know is that she wants to restore optimism in the people; and that has become her purpose.

𝑊𝐴𝑁𝑇𝐸𝐷 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝑁𝐸𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝑆

childhood friend. this would be somebody that has known isabela since they were children, and saw all of her antics and behaviors growing up -- and probably even participated in them. they could have either remained close friends or drifted, we can brainstorm that though.

former betrothal prospect. when isabela was young, her status as a princess afforded her many prospects in the way of marriage, but none of them really stuck. this could be someone that almost did stick, but something happened and it just didn’t work out.

former puppy love. i could see isabela having some kind of youthful romance with somebody as a teenager, whether it had been through love letters to somebody who lived far away or sneaking out of the castle to meet someone in spain.

guard. considering isabela’s impulsivity, she has always had someone appointed to look out for her and protect her. this could be a newly appointed guard or someone she’s had for years.

best friend / confidant. everybody needs a best friend; i’m thinking this could be somebody that isabela has known for a long time and trusts dearly.

[silverarmedassassin]

Home for the Holidays (2/2)

Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 5,661 | Warnings: None

A/N: Here is part two! Thank you to those who humored me and read this little mini story! Part 1 can be found on my masterlist, which is conveniently pinned to my blog 😬

This is part 2 to my holiday submission for @wonderlandmind4​‘s fall/winter writing challenge. My prompt was: Character B is very enthusiastic to introduce character A to all their traditions, but tries to be sensitive when A seems like they’re struggling to fit in/enjoy themselves.

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics​

“You’re going to love it here,” you announce as you take the exit to your small hometown. The drive out of the city had been relatively quiet, the playlist you’d crafted specifically for the trip was only briefly interrupted a handful of times by you pointing out a landmark or attraction tied to childhood memories. Normally, silence on a road trip would make you uncomfortable, but not with Bucky. In the few months you’ve known him, you’d come to understand he was a man of very few words most of the time, so you rarely felt the need to fill the empty space with senseless words.

You’d gotten to know him a lot better in the few weeks leading up to Christmas. He had been making an effort to spend time outside of his apartment more, which often meant he would come down to yours to share a meal or watch a movie. It was nice, getting to spend so much uninterrupted time with Bucky and, if the offhand comments that Sam had offered the handful of times you’d seen him coming and going, Bucky was enjoying the time too. If anything, it was helping him open up again. And, if that’s all you could offer your neighbor, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, instead he continues to look at his window at the passing landscape. Driving home has always been one of your favorite things to do, as the concrete jungle of the city slowly tapered off into nothing but dense forest, hills, and nature preserves. As much as you loved where you were in life now, there were always moments in time where you questioned why you’d ever decided to re-root yourself in New York City.

Once off the interstate, it doesn’t take you long to reach town limits, and it’s only a few short minutes of driving to reach your parent’s home. As you pull your car into the drive, you see Bucky tense out of your peripheral. You’d had a feeling the reason he was being so quiet today was because he was nervous, but this subtle action reaffirmed that.

“My dad’s not home yet,” you state nonchalantly in an attempt to ease his anxieties a little. “It’s just my mom home. I told her to be on her best behaviour, so you don’t have to worry about a million questions.”

Bucky glances over at you and the look in his eyes tells you that statement has eased him just a little. The fact he was so nervous to meet you family made you feel bad for even inviting him in the first place. But you knew he didn’t have anyone, as Rebecca’s family was going on a cruise, and Bucky had shared Sam was spending the holiday with his mother out of state. Despite your wanting to help him feel less alone during this awkward time of transition and settling, you felt guilty for bringing him all the way here.

Before you can let that guilt settle uncomfortably in your chest, you pop the trunk and jump out of the car. You’re only going to be home for four days, as Bucky didn’t want to stay away for too long and you wanted to use the extra time off of work to finally finish making your apartment feel like your home. Due to that, you both only had a small duffle of clothing, so unloading your things was quick.

As you lead Bucky up to the front door, you’re suddenly reminded to alert him of one tiny detail that might make him uncomfortable. As you turn to tell him, the front door of flings open and your mom comes barreling out, arms wide open. “I forgot to tell you,” you say, voice slightly muffled by your mother’s arms, “Mom’s a hugger.”

“Oh hush,” your mom says as she pulls away from you, her sights already set on Bucky. “Everyone needs a good hug.”

That night, Bucky had an easier time falling asleep than he ever imagined. New places, mixed with the fear of having one of his nightmares typically kept him up, if not all night, into the wee hours of the morning. The non-prescription sleeping pills Sam had suggested, mixed with the calming effect you seemed to have on him, were likely to thank for the early night. He isn’t surprised, however, when he startles awake around three in the morning. As he sits up in bed, sweat-drenched hair sticking to the sides of his face, he tries to remember what exactly the dream was about. It was another little something Sam and the others had suggested he do, something about acknowledging the things that hurt us most or something.

After a few minutes of sorting through his brain and trying to pin-point exactly what was the cause of his sudden consciousness, he gives up. Bucky decides that, instead of attempting to fall back to sleep right away, he would refill his glass of water and attempt to clear his mind of any lingering shadows.

Your home is quiet, a kind of peace settles over the entire building that no place in the city could ever harness. He thinks that maybe one day he’ll retire, move someplace quiet like this, maybe have a family of his own. Bucky pauses slightly in his descent of the staircase, caught off-guard by his own thoughts. He’d never been one to think about the future, not since he woke up in it. Just living to see the sunrise over Manhattan another day was enough for him. But his mind hasn’t quite been the same since you came along.

As he rounds the corner into the kitchen, he expects to find it devoid of others, but instead finds your mother sitting at the small kitchen table you’d all been sitting around just hours before, laughing and sharing a lifetime of memories with an outsider.

“Trouble sleeping,” she asks without looking over to where he’s standing. Instead, she raises a steaming mug to her lips and takes a tentative sip.

“Ye-yeah,” Bucky says, voice still thick with sleep and disuse.

Your mom hums as she looks over to him, profile lit effortlessly by the early winter moonlight streaming in from the back door. “That’s nothing a good cup of tea can’t help fix. There’s still water in the kettle if you’d like.”

Bucky watches her a moment longer before accepting her offer. She directs him on where everything he needs is located and, before he knows it, he’s sitting down across from her, his own warm mug full of a lavender and something concoction. If anything, at least it smells good.

“I’m really glad Y/N brought you along, Bucky,” your mom says as she takes another sip of her own tea. There’s a glint in the corner of her eye that Bucky can’t quite place, and it admittedly makes him a little nervous. “I do have to admit that her father and I were a bit shocked when she said she was bringing someone home. And then finding out that someone was a...well, you. I guess you never expect your own kid to get mixed up in the affairs of a superhero,” she chuckles to herself.

Bucky takes a large drink of his tea, instantly regretting it as it burns his throat the entire way down. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. When it had sunk in that he was going to be visiting you home for Christmas, meeting your parents and seeing your hometown, it made him anxious. He remembered that, back when he was still the punk who ran the streets of old-time Brooklyn like he owned the place, when a girl invited you to meet her parents it meant you were going steady, or at least headed in that direction. He knew things had changed a lot in terms of dating and relationships in general between men and women in the eighty-odd years he had been under, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this - spending one-on-one time with his beautiful downstairs neightbor’s mom - still held the same implications as it did in the forties.

“I, uh,” Bucky isn’t sure what to say. He doesn’t want to make it sound like he is disinterested in you, he knew that you talked about him in some capacity with your mother, afterall. But at the same time he didn’t want to sound too overzealous on the off-chance that this entire trip meant nothing other than a friendly visit for the holiday. “I’m really thankful you opened your home for me.”

Your mom takes Bucky off guard when she snorts out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to...Listen, I don’t know exactly what is going on between you and my daughter, but whatever it is, it’s really good for her. Y/N is, as you’ve likely picked up, a giver and a caretaker. She never asks for help when she needs it, and rarely accepts it when it’s offered.

“She took the whole Snap thing pretty hard, harder than she let on I think. That’s when she really threw herself at taking care of others, so much so that she forgot to take care of herself sometimes.” She pauses and looks intently down at her mug. “Y/N needs to be taken care of sometimes, too. And, whether you know it or not, I think you do that. I haven’t seen my daughter this happy in a long time. So of course we would open our home for you. Now and whenever you may need it.”

Bucky’s unsure of how to respond to such a tender sentiment, but the way your mom is looking at him tells him no response is needed. It’s a look, he assumes, only a mother can give. One of knowing and mystery and tender loving. One that she so openly offered to him, a stranger, an intruder in her home and holiday season. He realizes then that, everything he’s gone through, everything he’s ever done both voluntarily and not, doesn’t carry as much as he’s been thinking. That, despite it all, maybe he is more than what HYDRA made him and that he is deserving of the good things that have come to him in recent weeks.

“Well, Bucky,” your mom says as she takes one final sip of her tea. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. Christmas Eve is kind of a big deal around here. You’ll need the energy, especially if you want to keep up with Y/N.”

Bucky quickly learned that when your mom said that Christmas Eve was a big deal, she meant it. You had come knocking at his door a little past seven this morning, telling him that, if he did not get up, you would not hesitate to grab a handful of snow. Despite the too few hours of sleep he ended up getting and the desire to hide away just a little longer before facing your entire family again, Bucky pulled himself out of bed and plastered a smile on his face.

The morning passes in a flurry of Christmas activity. Cookie dough is beat and patted and molded into festive shapes while various Christmas melodies flowed through the home. It was tradition, you had said as you deposited a fresh batch of snickerdoodles into the oven, that Christmas Eve morning was reserved for baking and eggnog making and singing out-of-tune to Christmas songs. So, you taught him how to use a rolling pin properly, showed him the perfect amount of pressure to put on the cookie cutters, and even scolded him when he took a spoonful of dough all for himself. The uncooked sugary goodness was just as good as he remembered.

As the last of the cookies are placed on a rack to cool, and the eggnog is nestled neatly into the fridge to chill, Bucky feels his back pocket start to vibrate. His heart drops momentarily when he pulls his phone out and sees Sam’s name scrolling across the screen. Sam only called for two reasons: Avengers business or to coax him out of the hole Bucky sometimes digs himself into, and only one was pertinent to the situation at hand.

Bucky excuses himself and steps out onto the back porch where he can talk in private. “Is everything okay,” Bucky asks in place of a proper greeting.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too, bud,” comes Sam’s witty response. Bucky has never wished to reach through a phone and slap the grin he just knows Sam is wearing right off his face. “I was just calling to see how things were going.”

“They’re fine, Sam,” Bucky huffs out, crossing his metal arm across his chest. “I made cookies for the first time, I think.”

Bucky can’t help but crack a smile when Sam starts to laugh on the other end. “That must have been a scene. I would tell everyone not to eat ‘em, though.”

The easygoing banter continues for a few minutes before the topic shifts to how Bucky is really doing. He shares his past day - because really he’s only been away from the city for a little over twenty-four hours - and Sam updates him on the goings-on at his own family gathering. Bucky listens intently while watching a pair of cardinals take turns pecking at the bird feeder hanging just beyond the porch and the sunset looming just beyond the yard.

“You sound really good, Buck. I’m real happy this neighbor can look past your shitty moods and spend time with you,” Sam says before saying his goodbyes. Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to hear from him. It was one of those little things that reminded him there were people out there that cared.

Instead of going back inside right away, Bucky decides to stay out on the back porch a little longer to enjoy the view of the setting sun and the tranquility that comes with being out of the city. It was rare that he found himself in a place as quiet as this, with a view unobstructed by skyscrapers. He wanted to savor the moment a little longer, appreciate the things he hadn’t realized he’d been missing for all these years.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” While lost in reverie, Bucky hadn’t heard you join him on the porch. He looks over to find you standing just to his left, already focused on the view. He admires the way the last rays of daylight streak across your face, takes in the way it makes you look like you’re lit from within by some ethereal, otherworldly energy. And maybe you were. After all, you’d somehow found a way to look past his flaws and broken pieces and settle yourself deep within his bones, whether you knew it or not.

“Yea, it is,” Bucky replies without taking his eyes off of your face. He’s not sure if he means the sun or you.

You look at him, then, the softest smile he’s ever seen planted on your face. He notices that under your left eye is a streak of flour that had found a home there at some point throughout the day. Without much thought, Bucky makes to wipe it away. “You have a little...” when he swipes his finger across the soft skin of your cheek, he swears he hears your breath hitch in your throat, but he tries not to think too much into it. He had unintentionally used his left hand, after all.

You both stand there like that for a moment, his thumb still lingering just under your lower lashes and you looking at him like he was the one responsible for this sunrise and sunset every day. The spell is broken, however, when a winter breeze blows through, causing your to shiver and curl in on yourself for warmth.

“Hey, so, if you’re up to it, we still have one more Y/L/N tradition that we have yet to complete.” You wait for a reaction, and Bucky’s not sure what you were looking for, but when he doesn’t say anything, you continue. “The city goes all out with the lights each year, and we usually go downtown to look at them. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. It’s usually kinda busy, and I know it’s cold and-”

“I’d love to,” Bucky smiles, and when he sees the unparalleled joy that spreads across your face, he knows then that he would say or do anything to be the reason for that look over and over again.

It’s just beginning to flurry when you make it to the main drag of your little hometown. Your parents lived just far enough away to feel like a quiet neighborhood, but close enough that you could easily walk downtown without immediately regretting your decision.

It comes as no surprise when you find the wider-than-normal sidewalks in front of the neat row of old storefronts crowded with other residents bundled up in their winter’s best. Despite the shoulder-to-shoulder situation in some sections of the street, you didn’t mind the crowd one bit. The unique and beautifully decorated window displays and intricately lit buildings and trees made the awkward shuffling and getting elbowed by strangers worth it.

At some point, you get separated from your parents and, when you turn to see Bucky’s reaction to the spectacle, you find he’s a good two couples away from you. You decide then that the only way you’re going to avoid being separated from anyone else is by looping your arm through his. He doesn’t fight it, and there’s only a slight moment of stiff awkwardness before he relaxes his arm and allows you to guide him through the crowd. Your cheeks hurt from the genuine smile on your face, and your throat is already feeling the effects of the amount of talking you’re doing. You have to point everything out to Bucky, though, from the horrifying, oversized light-up tooth the town’s dentist has put on display since you could remember to the ever-changing elegant light show that danced across the courthouse. You’re so enthralled in making sure you share every last detail of this special tradition that you fail to notice the way Bucky has closed in on himself.

Despite the glistening lights and the way the moonlight was catching on the large snowflakes as they fell, the light that usually shown in Bucky’s eyes had dimmed to barely the flicker of a candle. The smile that graced his lips was for your benefit and only appeared when you looked back at him to ensure he was still listening to you. As much as he loved watching your enthusiasm seep out of every pore, and enjoyed hearing the way the pitch of your voice got just a bit higher when you spotted something you especially enjoyed, Bucky wasn’t having a good time. The crowd, despite living in New York City, was making him nauseous. Every time he let you pull him down a side street, each seemingly smaller than the next, you felt the knot that had settled in the bottom of his belly tighten just a little bit more. At least when he was in the city, he felt comfortable, knew his way around most of modern-day Brooklyn, and had identified the perfect escape routes just in case a situation went south. Luckily, he’s never had to utilize such routes. But here? The place you were so excited to show him, share with him was foreign to him. The idea of not knowing what waited beyond each turn of the corner, who stood watching through the windows above the quaint storefronts took him back to his time on the run, back to when his days were filled with strict, careful routine, and he felt he was living on borrowed time.

“Earth to Bucky,” you laughed as you waved a hand in front of his face. He blinked a few times, pulling himself back to the surface before he could drown in his thoughts. You were looking at him, obviously waiting for an answer to a question he didn’t hear. “Where’d you go?” you laughed, blissfully unaware of the demons that were creeping in the shadows of Bucky’s still fucked mind.

“I, uh, got caught up in the lights, I guess,” he replied lamely, flinching when he realized just how stupid the answer sounds. He watches as an array of emotions flick across your eyes; amusement, questioning, concern. He had to look away before you could settle on a look of pity. Bucky couldn’t handle that.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your probe, pulling him off to the side of the walkway into the entryway of one of the many buildings. “You don’t look so good.”

Bucky felt like kicking himself, wanted to scream at and scold his fragile mind for taking the joy and excitement you had been exuding just moments ago and turning it into worry, pity, anything but what you deserved to be feeling right now. “Bucky, please tell me if something’s wrong.”

He takes a breath before looking down at his snow-covered boots. “The crowds, being in an unfamiliar place...I still have problems with that, I guess.”

Your face falls even more at that. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have gone back home ages ago. Or not come at all. Or, or…”

“Y/N, it’s fine. Really. This is a tradition; I didn’t want to ruin it.”

You cross your arms and pout at that. He’s waiting for you to stomp your foot, much like Becca used to as a child when something didn’t go her way. The thought of his sister stings a little. She would have loved something like this, Bucky thinks, and that makes his uncomfortableness even more of a nuisance. He’s alive and able to see crazy Christmas displays and enjoy the things children growing up when he did couldn’t experience, yet here he is, broken and wishing he was anywhere else.

You pull him from his revere again when you start to tug on his metal arm. “Come on,” you huff, not out of annoyance or anger, but something else he can’t quite put his finger on.

“We’re not going back to your house,” he says, digging his heels into the concrete. This causes you to stumble a little and let go of his arm. “Please, don’t let me ruin this for you. I’ll be fine.”

“The only way you’ll ruin this is if you continue to be miserable while walking around. This is the same display as last year anyway,” you shrug. “I think I can skip one year.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, just looking at each other before Bucky sighs and relents. You loop your arm through his again, this time holding it a bit firmer and closer to your body, and begin to worm your way through the crowd. The further you get from the downtown streets, the quieter and emptier the sidewalks became. It wasn’t long before it was just the two of you walking along in silence. Despite the crowd-less walk, you don’t drop his arm.

“I’m really glad you came with,” you whisper after a few minutes. You’d lead him down the long route to your home, both for the fact it was sparsely traveled by foot and because you weren’t quite ready to lose the closeness of holding Bucky’s arm. “Even if I made you uncomfortable.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you think he’s retreated back into wherever he goes when he’s feeling stressed, but then he replies. “No, thank you. This is obviously a special holiday for you and your family. And here I am, intruding.”

You snort and bring your free hand up to wrap around his metal forearm. “You could never intrude, Bucky. I enjoy spending time with you.”

Despite the chill in the air, Bucky has never felt as warm as he does when those six words leave your mouth.

When you return home, boots are quickly shed and coats are hung neatly in the closet. Bucky stands quietly by the door, waiting for your lead. Despite your efforts of making him feel comfortable in your home, his movements were still shy and timid as he glided over the hardwood floors.

“I’m going to finish putting the dishes away,” you say after a moment and nod towards the T.V.. “You’re more than welcome to turn something on, I’ll only be a second.”

Bucky nods his head and watches you disappear into the dark kitchen. He waits until the clatter of pans and ceramic bowls reaches his ears to head up to the guest room. He didn’t feel much like socializing anymore. The day, despite its laid back approach and festive touch, had been both mentally and emotionally draining for him.

Bucky gracelessly flops down onto his back on the borrowed bed. He’s contemplating sending a message to Sam, maybe do that video chatting Wanda enjoyed so much but he loathed. He needed the comfort of home, the familiar to drag him from the hole he could feel himself sinking into. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t even enjoy himself on Christmas fucking Eve. He sighs as he flips onto his side and listens as the faint sounds of you puttering around the kitchen, his enhanced hearing allowing him to hear your humming of a Christmas song he can’t quite place, travel up the stairs and wrap him in a warm embrace.

He’s not sure when he drifted off, or for how long, but you pull him back to the surface of consciousness with three soft knocks on the cracked bedroom door. “Bucky?” you say softly, not daring to enter his space without an invitation. “Is everything alright?”

“Tired, I guess,” Bucky says as he pushes himself to sit up. As he swings his feet over the side, you push the door open a little more so that you can see him.

“There’s a...We have one more tradition that I’d like to share with you, but I wanted to do it separately.” You timidly step further into the room, arms held behind your back. “We usually share one present on Christmas Eve. Typically pajamas, sometimes just a gag gift. And I, uh, I wanted to make sure you were included this year.”

Bucky watches you carefully as you make your way to sit next to him on the bed. As you settle in on the mattress, you rest a neatly wrapped package on your lap. He watches as you run your hands along the paper in a nervous attempt to smooth out the nonexistent impurities. When he finally looks up to your face, he finds that you are already intently watching him, your gaze unwavering as his meets it.

“But I don’t have anything for you,” he nervously blurts out. He can feel the heat of embarrassment as it creeps up the back of his neck when you offer him a soft laugh.

“That’s not the point, Bucky. Just...here.”

You shove the gift into his hands and, as he examines it, he can feel you practically vibrating with the excited but nervous energy you’re not giving off. This was always the worst part of receiving gifts - having to open them in front of the giver. It always made Bucky a little anxious, worried that he wouldn’t deliver the expected or desired reaction. He smooths his hands over the silver paper a moment longer before he digs a finger into a seam in the wrapping. He’s slow to unwrap your gift, a part of him wishing that you hadn’t gifted him anything at all. Bucky didn’t have anything for you, and, the more he thinks about the fact he showed up to a holiday without even a small gift for the one who invited him, it makes him want to leave and never show his face around you or your family again.

When the wrapping is finally discarded, a brown leather book sits firmly in his lap. His name, his full name, is expertly embossed across the front, and the corners decorated with a simply but intricate design. When he flips it open to the first page, a set of familiar faces are smiling back up at him. His ma, dad, and himself with Becca tucked neatly in what he remembers to be a soft yellow blanket - the photo of when they brought her home, the first photo he saw when he visited her just two short months ago.

“I wanted to give you something special, meaningful,” you say when Bucky looks up at you. “Your family helped too. They gave me copies of your old pictures, provided some of their own.”

Bucky looks back to the book as he continues to flip. He watches himself grow older with each turn of the page. Pictures his ma had taken, some from school, even some from his time as a Howling Commando. Articles, magazine clippings, and copies of book pages filled the middle of the book, all about him, praising him for what he did and what they thought he lost his life doing. He can feel tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes as he looks over previously unread words of kindness, admiration, and sadness, all for him.

He doesn’t think he could feel any fuller until he flips to a hand-drawn picture of himself and Bridget, signed sloppily but in the most loving way. He can’t help but let out a watery laugh, and he can hear you add your own chuckle. “She was very excited when I asked her to contribute. That little girl loves you so much already, you know?”

Yes, Bucky knows. He knows his worth in this world now, thinks he’s finally found his misplaced spot in this place in time, and it’s all thanks to you. His chest grows tighter the further he flips in the scrapbook. Pictures of his sister when on her wedding day, when his first niece was born. Graduation photos, birthdays, and family get-togethers just because all were documented for him to see, for him to live through these pictures because he wasn’t around to bear witness in person.

When he gets to the very last pages, he pauses. A face he hadn’t expected to see smiling back at him was tucked neatly in this book, and it filled him with a warmth he thought his poor, frozen bones would never feel again. A picture of you and him on the day of Becca’s funeral, all smiles despite the somber day. It looks like you’re mid-laugh and had only just looked at the camera in time for the photo to capture your face. He’d almost forgotten that a family member - name and relation lost to him at the moment - had insisted on getting pictures of all those in attendance, had mentioned something about never seeing each other outside of things like these so he had to take advantage. He was glad that cousin or nephew or third-something-twice-removed had pestered them into taking it, because, despite not wanting to look at his broken, mismatched self, you were there shining brighter than he thinks he’s ever seen any star.

“Bucky,” you whisper, clearly unsure of what to make of his silence.

“I...I don’t know what to say, Y/N,” Bucky swallows the lump in his throat in an attempt to keep the tears that have begun to swell in his eyes from coming out in his voice. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever given me - done for me, actually.”

When he looks up at you, he tries to blink back the tears but it causes them to spill down onto his cheeks instead. “Oh, Bucky,” you gently laugh and raise a hand to wipe away his tears. When your hand makes contact with his cheek, however, you realize what you’re doing and make to pull it back. Bucky, however, is quicker and places his flesh hand on top of yours to hold it firmly to his fuzz-covered cheek.

“I lied,” he whispers and you give him a concerned and questioning look. “Earlier. I said I didn’t have a gift for you, but I do.” As he’s speaking, he slowly begins to lean in closer until your face-to-face, only a breath away from one another. “Only if you want it, though.”

You nod and bring your other hand up to fully cup his face as he closes the space between you, gently connecting your lips. It’s a slow, chaste kiss that has him craving more. More of the feel of your soft lips against his, more of your breath catching in your throat, more feeling your eyelashes butterfly across his own as you pull away just enough to rest your forehead against his. He opens his eyes slightly to get a peak of you. You’re already looking at him, a smile spread across your lips.

In that moment, he wishes he had the ability to read minds so that he could know exactly what you were thinking. Before he has the chance to say anything, you’re leaning back, this time pressing your lips more firmly against his own. If it weren’t for the fact he was so enraptured in the essence of you, he would be embarrassed by the low groan that rumbles deep in his chest. He feels your lips perk up into a wider smile before planting another quick peck to his lips before pulling away so that you could look him square in the eyes.

You brush a lock of his hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear before whispering, “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

[fireflyhwufanficwriter]

My thoughts on Dr. Stone’s S02E03 (“Call from the Dead”)

My thoughts after watching Season Two, Episode Three:

01. Taiju and Yuzuriha have different types of shoes – that’s a nice detail 😊

02. Leave it to Yuzuriha the arts and crafts club member to notice a detail like the dirt around the grave being different!

03. Day after day… I wasn’t expecting them to visit the grave THAT often. I like that they used the same phrase (“mainichi mainichi”) as last time – in Season One, Senku used it to describe Kohaku’s dedication to her sister, and now in Season Two, Nikki used it to describe Taiju and Yuzuriha’s dedication to their friend 😊

04. I liked Kohaku and Ginro’s excitement at hearing Taiju’s voice. This is the first time they’ve heard an outsider who they knew right away wasn’t an enemy! (Well, second time for Kohaku, since Senku saved her the day they met.)

05. The next time I’m on the phone with somebody, I’m going to imagine the same huge arc of electricity that Kaseki did 😁

06. Senku was so emotional – eyes shining with tears, smiling as he listened to Taiju – and then it all went away because he had to remind his friend that HE was Senku 😆

07. Just like how Gen is the stand in for the audience (modern timers, but generally clueless compared to Senku), Kokuyou and Ruri are the stand-ins for how incredible the phone must seem to Ishigami Village 😁 Come to think of it, Kokuyou’s had that role since last season – he’s far away enough from the main cast that he doesn’t know all of their adventures (and that distance makes him like the “normal” villagers), but close enough that he gets to share his thoughts and theories. It was through his eyes that we saw the big impacts that bottling and furnaces had on Ishigami Village 😊

08. I know it was short, but I like how Senku greeted Yuzuriha separately. They haven’t had that much screentime together since the anime began, but I like how Senku and Yuzuriha have their own friendship, instead of Taiju being their go-between or something like that.

09. “He’s been screaming all day.” All day? Have they been there longer than just the few minutes we’ve seen?

10. Kohaku noticed the defensive reason for why they had to speed things up! 😊 And I liked her observation about Senku and Taiju 😊

11. It’s could be easy to just write Taiju off as a loud blockhead, but it’s scenes like his allowing Tsukasa to hit him in Season One and his question about bloodshed in Season Two that really show you the kind of admirable, pacifistic guy he is 😊

12. “Gen will be back tomorrow or so.” Okay, so we have an estimate of how far the two kingdoms/empires are from each other. I’m glad they mentioned this!

13. Magma and Chrome’s loud conversation really shows how much anime can improve upon manga. When you’re just reading, you do know characters are talking and being loud, but when you’re watching anime, it drives home the fact that they’re being SO LOUD and that they need to SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! Poor Gen… 😆

14. Thank you for finally saying Ukyo’s name, Gen 😆 Anime only folks get important information, and manga readers can sigh in relief that another character’s name has been revealed 😁

15. I’m with Magma. Chrome’s so selfish, worrying about his own life like that! 😡 Not like Magma, who’s strong and noble and self-sacrificing and only thinks of others and their safety 😁

16. You have to feel sorry for Gen… he’s trying to get the two of them to just SHUT UP 😆

17. I doubt Magma was seriously thinking that Chrome would go along with that plan, so he must have been joking… and the fact that we have Magma JOKING around with main characters after being the main antagonist in the middle part of Season One… they’re really pals now, aren’t they? 😲😊

18. Chrome’s battery has 15V… how much is that compared to an AAA battery for a remote control? I'll look it up later 😁

19. I’m a modern era person and it would have never occurred to me to use a wire to connect two ends of a battery and throw it into the grass to start a fire. Either Senku told him that battery stuff fairly recently and it was stuck Chrome’s mind because he was in charge of the heating team, or he’s just that much of a genius that nobody explained that to him but he intuited it anyway… or I’m just that stupid 😆

20. It’s expected that Chrome would sacrifice himself, but Magma… very impressive character development 😁 (I mean, I’m a manga reader, so I knew this was going to happen, but still 😁)

21. Gen’s eyes are blue? I never noticed until this episode.

22. Poor Gen… first, in Season One, he had to run like the wind from the shed of science to the Cave of Miracles while he was SEVERELY injured, and he had to do it as fast as possible to help Senku stay safe, and he was the only one who could do it… and now, he has to run like the wind while dealing with the knowledge and guilt that two of his comrades sacrificed himself for him, and he has to do it as fast as possible to be able to start his extremely important deception mission, and he’s the only one who can do it.

23. Gen really needs to get Kaseki to build him some kind of cable car system or a limousine so that he can travel in style between the two kingdoms/empires instead of exhausting himself all the time running back and forth 😲 Or at least a bicycle!

24. Since it’ll take Gen at least one day, possibly longer, to reach the shed of science, that means that Taiju and Yuzuriha must have talked to Nikki one or more days after they spoke with Senku. Anime helps with some things (like sound), but it can sure confuse people about the passage of time…

25. Copper swirly! 😊 I like Kaseki’s name for it better than Senku’s name for it 😆

26. Kohaku’s eyes! She’s SO fascinated by how the copper swirly is being used 😁

27. Nikki’s SO hostile 😲 I get that she’s a guard and everything, but she doesn’t really have a reason to be this hostile to Taiju and Yuzuriha, does she? It’s weird O.o Unless maybe she wanted to do something else (hunting/training/etc.) but she was forced to be their guard specifically because she’s a woman and can stick to Taiju AND Yuzuriha like glue? (Like Brienne from Game of Thrones.)

28. Why are her eyebrows a darker shade than her hair? This is sort of like Kokuyou’s weird hair colors, but to a lesser extent.

29. The punches are… she’s really hostile. Maybe it’s just to emphasize how much she changes later on and the episode, but it’s still so weird.

30. Didn’t Senku “die” on a cliff, out in the open? Kohaku was able to see him from (presumably) far away, and all that stuff with the gunpowder and the huge rock… am I remembering it wrong? Was it NOT a cliff after all? Because the rocks around this grave make it look like some kind of natural, concealed fortress!

31. Senku’s Sebastian voice sounds so silly 😆

32. I wish they had done Lilian’s voice differently. Gen’s fake Lilian doesn’t sound like a native English speaker while speaking English. Maybe they’re counting on the people they’re talking to not knowing the difference between foreign language accents… but still, this could have been done better. Maybe the studio just didn’t want to hire a new person to speak just a few lines. Or maybe they did this on purpose so that Nikki could notice something was off with her voice?

33. Yuzuriha being quick on the uptake again! 😁

34. This has to be the most stressful, rushed, and mathematical estimating of CD sales and body measurements ever 😆

35. The video game music was used in such a fun, light way last season (choosing the third mining team member) that hearing it in this scene for this situation sounds so weird 😲

36. That crouching backwards, pointing straight ahead Lilian pose seemed really out of place when the music is this really soft, gentle song 😲

37. I wonder if the stadium they showed us is based on a real stadium in Japan?

38. “Lilian doesn’t exist in this world anymore. Am I right?” Oh, Nikki… 😭

39. Senku’s eyes were shining when he replied to Nikki… I wonder if talking about Lilian reminded him of Byakuya… somebody who was in space with Lilian and also doesn’t exist in this world anymore… 😭

40. I love how Senku doesn’t lose anything or inconvenience himself at ALL by making that promise, since he’s going to protect the glass recording anyway because of Byakuya 😆

41. Okay, after Nikki committed to the plan (welcome, Nikki!), they zoomed out and the grave is seriously surrounded by all those vertical rocks. There is NO WAY this grave is in the same place Senku and Tsukasa last talked. No WAY.

42. I was SO surprised when the episode ended there 😲 That was NOT what I was expecting. This episode felt so short!

43. I still love this ending theme! 😁

44. About the ending theme (“Koe” / “Voice” by Hatena), songs mean a lot more to me when I understand what the lyrics mean, so I went to YouTube hoping to find an English cover or English subtitles or something. I found this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scv09Dtby-8) by a YouTube channel called AniComet Music, and from 0:12 to 0:34, the lyrics are, “I keep struggling and suffering, but still / I’ll gain strength from the feelings I’ve had for you / It’s a story that will never change / Even though I knew I’d never be a match for him.”

45. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel the song is from Senku’s point-of-view, and both the second and fourth lines could be about Byakuya (especially the fourth line) – in a father/son context, of course – of how he gets strength and inspiration from Byakuya and how he feels his father will always be beyond him and more than him 😭

46. With that said, even though my interpretation is really meaningful to me, it doesn’t really make sense, since “you” and “him” are obviously different people, and when you read more of the lyrics, “you” can’t really be referring to Byakuya. Maybe my interpretation will change when I listen to the song more and read more translations, but this is the first English translation of the ending song that I’ve read, and it really speaks to me 😊

https://firefly-hwufanficwriterrrrr.tumblr.com/MyDrStoneEpisodeMangaThoughts