#i swear if i end up having to go to the hospital again and it's the same fricken infection

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Undyne and Alphys are away for a week and so they leave their child to the skeletons. The kid took everything after Undyne/US Alphys and can't stop putting themselves in danger. How goes the week?

Undertale Sans - That's fine. No that's not. He wanted the kid to spend their energy outside the house after they broke the literal table in the living room, so he took them to the park. Except now they're gone. He stopped watching them for ten seconds to answer a text and now they're not here anymore. Sans is freaking out, teleporting from place to place at a crazy speed to find them, but they're just gone. As he's mentally trying to convince himself to call Undyne and tell her the news, he spots the child in a tree, clearly very amused by how fast he gave up. He swears they're going to give him a soul attack.

Undertale Papyrus - "YES UNDYNE JUNIOR I CAN SEE YOU EATING ROCKS. ONE IS ENOUGH THOUGH. NO! NO, DON'T DO IT! NO!" And that's how Papyrus ended up at the hospital at 3 a.m. after his niece filled their stomach with rocks. Papyrus can't wait for their mothers to come home. He likes children, but that is no child. That's a walking health hazard.

Underswap Sans - He thought he could tire them by jogging in the park. But that's three hours now and the kid is still not tired. Actually, they're as good as new. Him on the other hand is pretty sure he's about to pass out from exhaustion any second. You know it's bad when even Blue can't keep up with you.

Underswap Papyrus - The worst mistake of his life was to ask the kid to cook with him. He doesn't know what happened, but now his kitchen looks like a crime scene. There's chocolate everywhere, even on the ceiling, and now his oven is making weird scary noises like it's about to explode. The worst part is that he has no energy left to clean that mess. Please someone save him.

Underfell Sans - He's losing it. He hates Undyne to begin with and he doesn't know why he said yes, but added to that, her kid is horrible with him. He swears Undyne told them to disrespect him because there's no way they're not a bully to him on purpose. His life is hell, the kid is not listening to him at all and at this point, he doesn't care if something bad happens to them. Except he does because Undyne is going to kill him otherwise. That's the longest week of his life, he's never doing that again.

Underfell Papyrus - Edge is not safe. He feels unsafe in his own home. The kid won't stop attacking him randomly. So far he has three serious bites on his arms and ankles and got stabbed three times in the back. He complains to Undyne every evening, but Undyne just laughs at his face saying he can't possibly lose against a six-year-old kid. But she doesn't understand. That's not a kid. That's a shark. He's scared he might lose a finger feeding them. They know he's scared of them. Please. He wants this to end.

Horrortale Sans - A kid showed up randomly one day saying they're Undyne's child they left Underground and they want their revenge. Oak slammed the door in their face and went back to sleep lol. Yep, he's not dealing with that.

Horrortale Papyrus - That's not Undyne's kid. He's pretty sure of it. First, where did Undyne get a kid Underground? And second... They're not blue? And Undyne is dead? Is he homing a random monster child only out of guilt? Who's that kid anyway? Wait, but wouldn't Undyne lay eggs? Uh. Maybe they're really her child and just hatched when they left? But who's the other parent? Can Undyne use parthenogenesis??? He's pretty sure Alphys died in the first two years of the famine? Willow is having an existential crisis. Surely Toriel is old enough to know if fish monsters lay eggs. That's going to be an interesting conversation.

Swapfell Sans - He's having a mental breakdown. First, he found out the kid is nocturnal. Except he works really hard during the day, and would love to sleep during the night you know. But apparently, they don't know that. Next, they thought it would be fun to transform his couch into a hedgehog by planting hundreds of spears in it. And now they have replaced his coffee with paint and his precious baby coffee machine is not working anymore, which means he turned into a grumpy old man all day. Nox will never recover from this he thinks.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus is desperate. Ok, Rus wanted them to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor because he kinda forgot they needed to sleep. But that's not a reason to completely block him the entrance to his own room. Rus tried everything to get them out: promising to go to Disneyland, eat fast food for the rest of the week, and even for him to sleep in the sleeping bag, but the kid won't come out of his room, which is now locked. Rus doesn't know what to do anymore. He has been defeated.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He never wanted to take care of that demonic child in the first place so it's not his fault. By that I mean he kinda threw the kid in a dog house outside out of rage and let them spend the night there. The kid thought it would be fun to go into his closet and cut all his handmade clothes with scissors. Wine did all he could to not kill them and decided to put them outside for their own safety. He feels so mad every time he looks at them now. The worst part is that they clearly don't regret anything, even taunting him from the window. Wine is holding his murderous instincts so bad he's shaking. He holds them back for when Alphys will come back. He's going to kill Alphys he thinks. He needs to evacuate the pressure somehow.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - So the kid found out Coffee spends a lot of time in the closet in his room... And so they put a padlock on it, locking him inside. Coffee is having a panic attack, banging on the doors and screaming for help, completely forgetting he can just teleport out of here. Once free, Coffee refuses to tell the kid a word and lets Wine take care of them. He doesn't like them he decided.

[autoneurotic]

ik i take anti anxiety/sedater at night to sleep better and not get anxious about nightmares etc, but i still catch myself feeling dread throughout the day as if i will be going to a real, physical place instead of To Bed

[xviruserrorx]

Random fevers my belothed

[rottingmind-soulwoworship]

i drank wayyy to much red bull on an empy stomach

[cxffecoupx]

cheol as a girl dad

girl dad! seungcheol fluff, a little smut (i tried) warnings: reader has a womb (obviously), mentions of pregnancy, body insecurity, sex (only a little) word count: 747 author's note: a little late but I had to do it for daddy cheol😔✊ very self-indulgent, not proof-read, made very hastily cause again, daddy cheol😔✊ hope you enjoy!! do lemme know what you think of it :) check out 'cheol as a boy dad' here.

girl dad! cheol who absolutely melts in the hospital room when he sees his baby girl. who combusts into a puddle when he gets to hold his beloved baby in his arms. who pats your head and kisses you in your tired, exhausted, post-delivery state, murmuring how proud he is of you and how thankful he is that you gave him his most precious baby.

girl dad! cheol who whenever she cries at night, calmly tells you to go back to sleep and rushes over. you think he's allowing you your rest, and while that's true, it's mostly cause he gets to spend more time with his baby.

girl dad! cheol who spends so much time with his baby, it's concerning. you end up wondering if you even exist, but the simple truth is he just can't get enough of his babygirl.

girl dad! cheol who you find making out with you at the most random of times. when you're in the kitchen, cooking dinner. when you're working from home. when you're folding your baby's clothes. you both end up all over yourselves, he's kissing every inch of your body. the same body you cried over during and after your pregnancy. the same body you'd end up being so insecure about, about the belly, the extra fat, the breasts and hips, the stretch marks and the mood swings.

he kisses you to make up for all the time you couldn't because you both were taking care of your beloved baby. he kisses you to let you know how much he still loves you. he kisses you to tell you how he still finds you attractive, even with the stretch marks and extra fat and the lot. he kisses you, and you feel every emotion and every message of his that's being communicated silently yet surely.

girl dad! cheol who loves and hates it when his little babygirl starts to grow. watching his daughter start crawling, then standing and later walking, it suddenly dawns on him that she's growing up fast and isn't his baby anymore. that doesn't stop him from smothering all his love though.

girl dad! cheol who loves loves LOVES to tie your child's hair in ribbons and dress her up in cute dresses and make her wear sparkly shoes. who accidentally ends up taking away from you the joy of dressing up your child, but you don't mind as long as you get to watch them giggling and joking during those times.

girl dad! cheol who comes up to you at the most randomest of days and continues to thank you for bringing into this world someone who he cherishes so much. and although he apologises for not spending as much time with you, he promises to make sure you realise that there's no one else he'd rather do all this with.

girl dad! cheol who cries when your daughter has to go to school for the first time. probably more than the girl herself. you end up having to kiss his pout away. whether things escalate from there is upto how he feels at the moment.

girl dad! cheol who fucks you dumb some nights, a desparate need to put another baby in you. he moans stupidly about how proud he is of your first pregnancy and how he'd love to see another one too. you definitely don't mind cause the sex is obviously too good.

girl dad! cheol who swears he heard his heart shatter when his babygirl tells him about her crush. sure he understands, but to realise that she now has another man in his life??? he's speechless (and dramatic).

but he's also the one who loves to hear the little tidbits and gossips about her school, and who gets giddy along with her when she tells him how her crush finally noticed her. he's also the one who buys a tub of icecream in the middle of the night, when she's heartbroken. her best friend and her protector, all in one.

girl dad! cheol who's happy whenever he thinks about his two favourite girls. who's thankful for all that him and you went through, and for his little bundle of joy, who made him a thousand times happier, if that was even possible. who's forever proud of you for your struggles and of your daughter for basically everything. who realises with every father's day wish by his daughter and his partner that he wouldn't have this any other way.

[gas-station-trackphone]

ftm trans Eddie Munson gets turned into a chew toy for hell bats and rescued in the 11th hour by his friends who don't know he's trans, who have to run some triage first aid and can hardly make sense of the blood and gore that used to be his body as they cut off his shirt and pants to get access to the worst of the wounds, who definitely aren't in their right minds well enough anyway to think of anything other than stopping the bleeding and getting him to a hospital, which they do, and miraculously Eddie finds himself blinking awake in a bright, fluorescent room feeling exactly like he imagines a chew toy for hell bats would feel in the aftermath which is to say: like shit. Even more miraculously, he finds hometown hero Steve Harrington posted up at his bedside with greasy hair (!!! Eddie never thought he'd see the day) and bags under his eyes.

The overwhelming relief on Steve's face when he sees Eddie is awake is touching, the misty eyes and cracking voice when he says god, i thought you were toast, man are downright flattering and, let's face it, giving Eddie all the wrong ideas that he figures he has an I-almost-died pass for at the moment so he rocks with it, let's himself indulge in the fantasy for a moment. Then, gradually, Steve's relief becomes more and more obviously some brand of deeply felt pity (or sympathy, but Eddie's never been good at distinguishing the two), which bursts his bubble enough to call him out.

"I know I look like what comes out the business end of a meat grinder, but I swear I'm good, dude. They definitely have me on the good shit, I hardly feel it. I'll be good as new in no time." Big fat fucking lie, by the way, but he'll say whatever if it gets that wounded puppy look out of Harrington's eyes.

"I...yeah, Eddie, I'm glad." And whatever it is he doesn't want to say, whatever is putting that you poor motherfucker look on his face, he's absolutely the opposite of subtle about it.

Eddie can hear the manifestation of his panic on the heart monitor.

"What? What is it? Is everyone- is Dustin-?" He can't say it, can't even think it, would rather be slowly torn to shreds all over again than know he failed at his one fucking task to keep the kid safe.

"No! I mean, yes, he's fine, they're all fine. Henderson's got a broken ankle and both of Max's arms are broken but the docs say they'll be fine in a few months with physical therapy."

The release of tension in Eddie's body hurts almost as much as the relief soothes him. "Okay then, what the fuck are you not telling me? It's fine, I'm a big boy, Harrington, I can take it."

He sighs, looking sick with it. "Eds...I don't know how to tell you this."

Oh god, what the fuck. Eddie's right back to freaking out because Steve looks inexplicably guilty, pained in the face like he's about to deliver the worst news he could imagine but if everyone's fine then-

"It's your dick, man. It's- it's gone. The bats-"

And Eddie laughs so hard he tears about a dozen stitches, immediately stops laughing, and throws up over the side of the bed and thankfully not all over his freshly reopened wounds as Steve shouts for help.

Eventually, when he's all stitched up again and barely hanging on to his hard earned lesson to not literally bust his gut laughing about the look on Steve's face (he has to force himself not to tell Wayne the specifics of how he ended up back in the OR, because he's absolutely gonna crack up and Eddie will definitely be unable to help himself from laughing with him), he realizes he's going to come out to all his friends in the very near future because holy shit, he has to tell everyone about Steve's utterly devastated expression at the news of Eddie's Ken doll-ification by way of demobat.

[ynscrazylife]

seekers get stitches (poly!marauders x slytherin!seeker!reader)

In your opinion, the Marauders are arseholes. They were tolerable as first years, even as second years, but was they grew up, they only got more annoying as their pranks got bigger and bigger. It doesn’t help that they seem to hate all Slytherins, which is the house you belong to. You understand that yes, many of the students have given the house a bad name, but it’s not all of you! Yet somehow, you frequently ended up on the unfortunate end of many of their pranks.

Now, you’ve had the chance to stand up to them, being the Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch Team this season. James is the Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, giving the Marauders even more of a reason to dislike you. James and Sirius even go as far as to hang around during your team’s practice time, booing you or making jokes at your expense from the stands.

Well, it’s the semi-finals. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Whoever wins this will go up against Ravenclaw for this year’s Quidditch Cup. Everyone is talking about this game — Remus even put his book down to pay attention. Both teams’ chasers have been scouring points, but the crowd’s eyes are locked onto you and James. You can feel hundreds of stares lasered on your back as you race around the pitch. When you finally spot the golden blur of the snitch, you don’t think twice before racing towards it. James follows you and soon, you’re quite literally neck and neck.

“Just give up now, Y/LN! You’re not gonna catch it,” James yells over the wind.

His words vaguely register in your mind, but you don’t pay attention. Everything is riding on this. You’ll either return to the common room as your house’s hero to pat on the back or their villain to torment.

“What, no comeback?” James prods.

You grunt, stretching your hands out. The snitch’s wings flutter against your fingertips. You lean forward as far as possible, one shaky hand remaining on the broom, you’re so close.

But so is James. His hand joins yours. Curse his tall stature, you think. It’s just not fair!

You swear you’re about to have it in your hand when—a bludger beams your shoulder, knocking you sideways and directly into James. The snitch flies away as the both of you fall, tumbling straight towards the ground. Lights out.

//

When you open your eyes, you find the faces of a couple friends staring back down at you. They tell you that you’re in the hospital wing after a Quidditch accident, with a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and a broken ankle. Madame Pomfrey used a spell to set your shoulder, but you still need to stay in bed and take potions for your injuries, requiring a longer stay here.

“Who caught the snitch?” You ask, the memories hazy.

“I did.”

You turn your head, only to see James Potter lying in the bed next to you. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are sitting by him and they wave. James’ nose, arm, and leg are all bandaged up.

“Caught it right before you knocked into me,” James elaborates.

Your stomach churns, realizing why only your friends are here and not your team. You lost the game for them, they must be disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, unsure of what you’re supposed to say to that.

“Don’t be, it’s the bludger’s fault. James is just being difficult,” Remus says, waving his hand. Out of the three of them, he’s definitely the nicest.

//

As the days go on, Sirius and Remus are there every day. Your friends aren’t. They visit a couple more times, then they stop. They’re busy, they have classes, you understand. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Oftentimes, you end up accidentally listening to the Marauders’ conversations. James gives Sirius and Remus his plans for pranks, the other two update them on what’s going on around the castle.

They visit a lot.

One afternoon, you wake up from a nap to find them visiting again, though, and talking about you.

“Isn’t it weird that her friends barely visit her?”

“Haven’t seen her team around either. Thought Slytherins cared about their own.”

“Must suck for her.”

“Yeah.”

Your nap wasn’t particularly good, with the uncomfortable mattress and scratchy sheets. You open your eyes, frowning at the trio, in a bad mood. “You know, I don’t need your pity,” you say.

Three heads snap towards you, all looking like deer in headlights (you have no clue that for James, it’s truer than you think).

“It’s not - we’re not pitying you. It’s, uh, empathy,” Sirius rushes to cover them.

You roll your eyes. “Uh-huh,” you say, not believing him. You shake your head, tired of lying in this bed and being in pain and having the three of them sit next to you day after day after day. You decide you’re done here, your arm’s in a sling, your ankle’s almost 100% healed, it’s fine.

You throw the blanket aside, standing up, only to stumble. It’s not your ankle, it’s your head. Damn concussion.

“Woah, woah,” Remus says, both him and Sirius getting up to approach you. “You should sit back down.”

“I’m fine,” you say stubbornly, taking a couple more unbalanced steps only for Sirius to grasp at your arm.

“Come on, don’t make us tell Pomfrey on you, it’d really hurt my reputation,” Sirius says, smiling.

You snatch your arm away, anger flaring up. “Like I give a bloody hell about your reputation!” You exclaim.

“Hey, what’s the problem?” Sirius asks, putting his hands up.

“My problem? You guys are the ones who have a problem with me! You’re always asses to me, then you talk about me behind my back . . . I don’t even see why you care where I go or what I do. I’m a Slytherin, remember?” You say.

That quiets the Marauders. They’re not sure how to respond because, well, you’re right. Slytherins are easy to hate, so they hate them.

“Y/L/N, back in bed.”

Crap. It’s Pomfrey. You sigh and do what he says. The Marauders don’t say anything else.

//

After a couple more days, James is out of the hospital wing, managing to talk Pomfrey into releasing him. You’re still stuck there, as the concussion’s giving you trouble.

It’s lonely without their chatter. As much as they annoy you, you miss it. You miss them. Just a little bit. When they’re not hating on Slytherins, they’re . . . Nice. Fun.

It’s just your luck that they come around again, to visit you.

“Hey,” James says, Remus and Sirius behind you.

You huff. “Hi,” you say, making a tight line with your lips. What are they doing here? They don’t care.

“We wanted to see how you were doing and, uh, talk, if we can?” Remus says, politely smiling at you.

“If it’s more bullshit on pitying me—” you start.

“It’s not. We don’t like Slytherins, okay?” Sirius says, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to you. James and Remus follow.

You take a breath and stare, waiting for the explanation.

“A lot of them believe in all the Death Eater shit,” James says.

“But not all,” you point out.

James nods. “Not all. But we’re pranksters. We prank Slytherins because it’s easy. We also prank other houses but you’re right, we like to target Slytherins. There’s no reason for that other than that we can. It’s-it’s easy to not like them. To convince ourselves that they deserve it. For you, it was easy to . . . To not like you, either. Quidditch rivalry, right? But you have a point. We shouldn’t . . . We shouldn’t be so, ah, mean to all of them. The ones who aren’t into the Death Eater shit,” he explains.

You’re a bit surprised, a bit suspicious. Is this really the truth?

“Not so easy to convince yourself anymore, is it?” You ask.

“No, it’s not,” Sirius affirms.

“We brought cards,” Remus offers, taking a deck out of his pockets. “Figured you were pretty bored in here.”

“Prove it to me that you’re being honest, then I’ll think about playing cards with you,” you say, putting on a brave face. You have no clue that if they’ll actually do it or not.

But they agree to your terms. They start being real, not targeting random Slytherins. They stop being mean.

Eventually, you do agree to play cards with them. You’re almost out of the hospital wing, too. In fact, it’s your last night there, you’ve just beat them all in the game, when you decide to ask them why. What compelled them to come seek you out after James got out of the hospital wing, if not just feeling bad?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sirius asks, grinning. “We’ve all fallen for you, love.”

That sparks the start of something new for the four of you.

[requiemforthepoets]

i want to be with you everywhere 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you, big crowded places, and bad sense of directions are always a never good mix.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: another draft i found lol this was inspired by real events lmfao hope you enjoy this blurb! :)

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect to the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 830

WARNINGS: typos and inaccuracies

You and Oscar were the quintessential couple in the paddock. Oscar’s calm demeanor perfectly complemented your vibrant nature. However, there’s one thing about you that makes your life more interesting—your notoriously bad sense of direction. You don’t know how or why you’re bad at directions, at this point, it can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the situation. Your bad sense of direction can also be a good laugh for your friends and had also become a running inside joke in your family.

“Oscar, babe, I swear I thought the media center was this way!” You exclaimed, looking at your phone map, which seemed to be leading you in circles around the paddock.

Oscar chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re adorable, you know that? But we’ve passed that same coffee stand three times now.” He pointed at the stand, causing you to pout, with cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I just…I’m really bad at this.”

“I know, and it’s one of the many things I love about you,” Oscar said, pressing a kiss on your temple. “Which is why I’ve come up with a little solution that can help us.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a little device. Which you had recognized instantly from the logo that is printed on it—it was an apple airtag, and handing to you with a grin. Grabbing it, you looked up at him, a bit puzzled.

“What’s this for?”

“Every time we go to a race or anywhere unfamiliar, I’m going to clip this onto your bag or slip it into your pocket,” he explained, smiling. “That way, if you get lost, I can always find you easily.” You laughed, eyes twinkling with amusement. A bit touched as well with his little gesture.

“You’re really going to track me like a wayward puppy?”

“Exactly,” Oscar said, his eyes full of affection. “Consider it a modern-day love token.”

The next race was held in Monza, and true to his word, Oscar has managed to discreetly attached the airtag on your bag before you left the hotel. As you both navigated through the bustling crowd, you felt more at ease knowing Oscar had your back, literally.

You began having the itch to venture out, the need for a coffee fix and grab a coffee as well for Oscar. Walking out confidently, you had managed to convince yourself that you perfectly knew the way like the back of hand, but you had spoke to soon. You had found yourself in a maze of unfamiliar trailers and motorhomes, panic was slowly creeping up on you. But you were able to remember the airtag.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you quickly open the Find My app, seeing Oscar’s dot not far from you, and sending him a quick message:

osco 🫶🏻 [2:45 PM] : lost again. can you please come find me?

Not a minute later, Oscar appeared around the corner, a wide grin sporting on his face.

“You found a way to use the airtag already, huh?” You sighed in relief, running up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I did. Thank you for this. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Oscar hugged you back, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “At this rate, you’d probably end up in the Red Bull garage trying to convince them you’re a McLaren fan.” You giggled, swatting his chest playfully. “Hey! I’m not that bad.” You pouted, causing him to coo at your cuteness and pecking your lips softly.

“Oh, really? Remember last week when you ended up in the Ferrari hospitality trying to ‘borrow’ their wifi?” Oscar laughed and your eyes widened. “In my defense, their coffee was fantastic.”

He shook his head, still laughing. “Well, this time, you got lost trying to get coffee from the McLaren team’s designated stand. You were so far off, you almost ended up in the pit lane.” Your eyes immediately sparkled with mischievousness. “It’s not my fault their coffee stations look like they’re in a maze.”

“Well, here’s a pro tip,” Oscar said, guiding you back towards the seats. “Next time you’re lost, just look for the airtag beacon or, you know, follow the scent of freshly brewed coffee works perfectly too.”

As you both made your way back towards the McLaren motorhome, you playfully pretended to get lost again, dramatically scanning the area and calling out, “Oscar! Where are you?” This silly action had made him laugh and grabbed your hand. “I’m right here, love. Even if you did get lost every time, I’d be happy to find you. Besides, it has become my favorite side quest.”

“And I’ll gladly always let you find me.” You smiled, heart swelling with love.

The airtag had pretty much became a staple in your relationship. No matter where the races took you, you knew that you have your personal navigator, and Oscar knew he had someone worth finding every single time

[vivwritesfics]

please can I request a tough Carlos sainz who like threatens to punish his girlfriend if she keeps teasing him - Bratty behaviour I guess love your stuff

Warnings: smut, p in v, marking, sliiiiiight breeding kink but not rly, things didn't quite follow the request sorry

Carlos watched her, his eyebrow raised. "What are you doing?" He asked as he watched her.

She was up to something, that much was sure. She walked up to him, legs between his own as she reached for his special, Spanish Grand Prix hat. "Amorcito," he said in warning, hands settling on her hips to steady her. "What are you doing?"

She pulled his hat from his head and placed it on her own. "There," she said, arms around his neck as she grinned at him. "That looks so much better."

His fingers dug into her hips as he squeezed her. "That's my special hat," he said, pulling her to sit on him. "Think you can give it back?"

She thought about it. Except, she didn't really. No, she just let her tongue poke between her teeth before she stood up and disappeared, racing out of the Ferrari hospitality suit.

"Cariño!" He called before chasing after her. The moment he caught her, she was so dead.

Here was the thing, she wanted to get caught. She wanted to feel his hands on her as he pulled her into his chest, growling something sexy into her ear.

That was why she let him chase her into his drivers room. The minute she was inside he grabbed her. "Check mate," he whispered as he pulled her back into his chest.

But then he pushed her forward until her knees hit the sofa. "What am I gonna do with you, Cariño," he muttered as he stalked towards her. Predator and prey, stares locked together.

She laid back, fingers gripping the bottom of her skirt. "Come on, then, Carlos," she said, legs open. "Come and get it."

The moment he stepped between her legs, she wrapped them around him, holding him in place.

His lips were against her neck, trying to distract her long enough to steal the hat. But it wasn't working. She kept a hold of the hat and pulled him closer.

Her moans spurred him on and he kissed, nibbled and sucked at the skin of her neck. "Fuck, baby," she whispered, eyes shutting as she threw her head back. Even then, she kept a hold of his hand.

His hips moved against hers, but the friction it created wasn't enough for the two of them. "Fuck," she kissed, pulling up her skirt with her free hand.

Carlos hooked his fingers around her underwear. He pulled away long enough to pull them down her legs and free himself.

But, before he returned to her, he checked the time on his watch. Not enough time to make sweet goddamn love to her. Not enough time to do anything but have a quick fuck. "I swear, after the race I'm gonna fuck you until the sun comes up," he whispered, forehead against her own.

Her noises were pathetic and desperate as he pushed in. But he wasted no time, hips snapping against her own. His fingers touched her, travelled beneath her shirt for just a second before returning to her clit.

The press of his thumb had her legs spasming around him. He moved it in slow, teasing circles, his cock doing just the opposite, pistoning in and out of her.

It had her every nerve ending on fire. Her breathing was ragged, but so was his. "Carlos," she all but babbled out, nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, I'm-"

And there it was. She tumbled over the edge, back arching away from the sofa. "Shit," Carlos gasped, hand falling away from her clit. His forehead was against hers, almost knocking the hat from her head as he drilled his cock into her. "Gonna... fill you up," he said through gasps.

When she cried out a yes! Carlos came. He did just as he said, filling her up. He gave a few more thrusts, stuffing himself inside of her over and over again. "Shit," he said again, kissing her cheeks. "I need to go."

She whined out as he pulled out of her, distracting her long enough for him to take his head back. "I'll give it to you properly after the race, I promise Cariño," he promised before disappearing out of the drivers room, leaving her breathless and spent on the sofa.

Fuck.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

F.I.N.E || MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x teacher!reader Summary: When your student gets injured and you can’t get hold of her parents you try call an old contact number hoping he can help. Warnings: slight angst, fluff WC: 3.4K

Max frowned at the unfamiliar number calling him. If it wasn’t for the fact it was a local number he would have ignored it but since few people had his personal number he decided to answer it. Immediately he was hit with the sound of high pitch cries and a soothing voice softly singing a lullaby that eased the knot of anxiety that had formed in an instant. 

“Hello, is this Max?” you asked when you realised the dual tone had stopped and the call had been answered. You shifted the child carefully on your lap and grabbed the old enrolment form to see the name again. “Max Verstappen?”

“Maxy?” the girl in your arms echoed with confusion.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m one of Penelope’s teachers. There’s been an incident and I found your number under her emergency contact list.”

“Oh no, sorry, there must be a mistake. You should call her mother or father. I’m not, we’re not, um, I shouldn’t be on that list anymore.”

You cringed as another piercing cry deafened your ear and you rubbed the little girl's back. “It hurts,” she whimpered.

“I know, sweetheart, someone will be here to get you shortly,” you replied softly and you hoped it was the truth. “Look, Max, I’ve tried every other contact number and no one is answering. Is there any way you could come down here? At least until I can get in touch with someone else.”

Max pinched the bridge of his nose but when he heard P’s shuddering cry he knew he had to go. “Okay, I’ll be there shortly.”

Max didn’t care if he got a parking ticket, he took the loading space right outside the preschool building. He likely would have gotten a speeding ticket too in his rush to cross the city but thankfully there weren’t any police in his path. 

“Maxy!” 

Penelope wriggled in your arms as she spotted the stranger walking into the classroom. His eyes immediately found her and he crossed the space to where you sat holding her.

“Hey, P,” he greeted with a smile and knelt down at your height. “What’s happened, bug?”

Her little eyes welled up again as she lifted her bandaged wrist. “I fell off the playground.”

“I don’t think anything is broken but I would suggest having her doctor check to be sure.”

“I don’t know who her doctor is. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

“You’re contact details were-”

“Those must have been from when she started. Her mother and I haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry to put this on you. I swear I tried every other phone number we have.”

Max nodded and his sigh sounded exhausted as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I just need to make a call. I’ll be back in a minute, bug.”

Max walked along the room, looking over the children’s artwork as he pressed his phone to his ear and waited. Eventually the call went to voicemail and his spine straightened tensely. “Kel, I’ve picked up P from daycare and I’m taking her to the hospital. Call me when you get this.”

You could see the man was stressed when he returned and his short hair pointed in all directions from the hand he kept nervously running through it. It was cute.

“Daniil is in Italy this week for work,” Max said as he returned to your side and picked up Penelope’s Prada backpack before opening his arms. “I’ll keep trying to get a hold of Kelly. Come on, bug.”

Lunchtime was coming to an end and children were starting to file back into the room, a few of the older ones stopping at staring wide eyed at Max. He was tall but not that tall or formidable to draw such a reaction but your question was answered when one of the boys ran to his picture on the wall. Timothée unpinned the drawing of a race car and ran up to Max, holding it out with a pencil.

“Sir, can you please sign this?”

Max looked used to the attention and took the pen with a polite, “Sure.” He stared at the picture for the moment after signing it and chuckled. “Is the RB20?”

Timothée nodded eagerly. “It’s my favourite.”

“Mine too,” he said as handed the picture back and smiled as it was crushed happily to the boy's chest. Max then carefully picked up Penelope, slowly so she wasn’t jostled, and his arms brushed yours. 

“If you need anything you have my number,” you reminded as the weight was lifted from your lap. “Children can be a little overwhelming if you’re not used to it.”

Max smiled fondly at Penelope and shook his head. “This isn’t new. I still have her room set up.”

“You do?” Penelope asked hopefully and Max turned his head as he cursed to himself. “Are we going to live with you again?”

“No, no, sorry, P,” he said softly. “I just haven’t had time to redecorate.”

“Oh.” You both winced at the defeated tone and you knew the fresh tears had nothing to do with her arm this time but you were saved by the bell as it spurred Max to toss the bag over his shoulder and look to the door.

“I hope you feel better soon, Penelope.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you,” Max echoed with a nod before departing.

All afternoon you were distracted with thoughts of the two of them until the final bell rang and you grabbed your phone. You had sporadically tried to contact Daniil and Kelly again but the calls went straight to voicemail every time and you found no returned calls.

Y/N: How is Penelope? Max: She is happy watching The Little Mermaid. She has a sprained wrist and the nurse complemented the bandaging so you should be proud. Y/N: And how are you? Max: I’m fine.

Max swore as the pot of water boiled over and he hissed as he grabbed the handle to find it was just as hot. He dropped his phone reaching for the teatowel and then P started calling out from the living room complaining that the movie was boring - the same movie she watched a thousand times and she had specifically asked for.

Y/N: My mentor used to tell me that stood for: freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Are you sure you are fine?

After turning the stove down to a simmer and wiping up the mess of water that had splashed across his floor he went and changed the movie to what would hopefully last longer than ten minutes before she changed her mind. Taking another attempt at making dinner, he grabbed a bag of pasta from his pantry and poured its entirety into the pot.

Max: I’m thinking I am definitely neurotic and possibly starting to freak out. Y/N: I couldn’t have that on my conscience. My offer still stands if you need some help. Max: You don’t have anyone you need to get home to? Y/N: My cat prefers his own company unless he’s hungry and he’s already been fed today so no. Max: I don’t want you to go out of your way. Y/N: I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing to follow through. Let me help. Please?

Max smiled at his phone before sending his address and looking around to see how tidy the place was. His jacket was tossed on the table instead of being hung up and Penelope’s bag was spilled across the entryway floor, not the first impression he wanted to make.

You entered the port address into your phone and locked the classroom behind you, feeling a little unsteady at the thought of seeing Max again. Penelope was a sweet child and she seemed comfortable with Max but you hadn’t really ever heard her talk about him before. You told yourself the only reason you were going there was to check on your student's wellbeing, but a small part of you wanted to see Max again.

You wondered if maybe he hadn’t heard your knock on the door or that you had the wrong apartment and you rapped your knuckles on it again before he called out. There was a crash and then a groan close to the door before it swung open and Max balanced on one leg.

“Uh, is everything okay?” you asked as he clutched his foot.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he rushed before he caught the teasing curl of your brow and he froze before a smile grew on his lips. “Right, freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional.”

“You’re a quick learner.” You stepped inside at his invitation and he closed the door behind you while you rushed towards the burning smell in the kitchen. “Oh, wow.”

“Fucksake,” Max grumbled as he grabbed a wet tea towel before reaching for the tray of garlic bread in the oven. “Ouch, shit!”

“You said a naughty word,” Penelope called out from the next room like it was something that she regularly commented on. “That's another 20.”

Max sighed heavily as he looked at a jar on the bench that was already filled with cash. “Shit.”

“I heard that.”

“Shouldn’t you be watching your movie?”

You giggled at the amusing conversation before turning the tap to cold and taking Max’s hand. “Wet towels and hot trays make steam.”

He watched you guide his hand under the water and flinched as it hit the burn mark on his palm. “I don’t usually cook, if you couldn’t tell.”

“The life of a bachelor. Keep your hand there.” You moved with ease around his kitchen trying to save what was left of dinner but paused at a huge pot of pasta that had swelled up and pushed the lid half off. “Are you expecting a dozen other people?”

Max shrugged innocently. “I didn’t know how much to put in.”

“Well the good news is the top half is edible,” you stated after finding a colander and draining the pasta until only a thick layer remained stuck to the bottom of the pot. “Do you have any sauce?”

“Sauce?”

“What were you going to have with it?”

“Garlic bread.” You both looked at the charred sticks still smoking on the baking tray.

“Do you mind?” you asked as you pointed to his fridge and the cupboards around the kitchen.

“No, please. Go ahead.”

You checked the fridge first and you were pleasantly surprised to find it well stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables. “Do you live off salads or does all this go to waste?”

“Neither, my nutritionist comes by twice a week and he prepares the meals.”

For a moment you had forgotten his profession. You had googled his name after Timothée couldn’t stop talking about meeting the ‘Max Verstappen’. “That must be intense, and restricting. Does your social life suffer?”

“It’s not so bad. I still get to go out for dinner and have a few drinks when I want.” He started to pull his hand out from under the water but you tutted and caught his wrist, holding it back beneath the cold stream.

“Keep still,” you warned with a voice you saved for children who weren’t listening. “It needs 20 minutes under there.”

“You want me to stand here for twenty minutes?”

“No, science wants you to stay there for twenty minutes.”

“Are you a teacher or a nurse?” he asked with a playful roll of his eyes.

“Depends if it's halloween.”

His loud laugh made you smile and you eased your grip on his hand one finger at a time to see if he would stay where he was. He did. “I’ll behave, Miss Y/L/N.”

“You can call me Y//N.”

“I kind of like calling you Miss Y/L/N.”

You checked to see if he was serious but thankfully there was a teasing smile on his face before you returned to the fridge to gather some ingredients.

By some small miracle dinner can’t have been too bad since everyone cleaned their plates of the pasta, though you thought they were likely being polite since you could still taste the hint of smoke from the bottom of the pan. Penelope had spent most of the meal asking Max if he remembered what they used to do when she lived there, how they used to go travelling and shopping. You got to see first hand how much patience the man had as he answered each question despite how it made him uncomfortable.

“You miss her,” you commented after she had gone back to the tv. Max started to collect the dishes with you and sighed as he placed them in the sink. 

“It was a big change when they moved out,” he spoke quietly and you stepped closer so you could hear better. “She kept asking if she did something wrong.”

“That must have been hard for you.” His eyes widened and you wondered what shocked him, but you had a feeling it was the fact someone showed concern for him. Even though you didn’t know the details of the break up, it was clear he had and still did care for Penelope and you felt sorry for him. “Can I hug you? I’m a hugger and I feel like you could really do with one.”

“You want to hug me?”

You tried to shrug it off casually. “If you want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everyone needs a hug sometime.”

“I do,” he said quickly, very quickly, before he cleared his throat. “I mean, I-I wouldn’t mind a hug.”

You smiled at his tentativeness and stepped into his personal space, slipping your hands into the narrow openings between his limp arms and his body to curl around his waist. It took a moment for him to respond before his own arms embraced the comfort and curled around your back too.

“You smell really good, Max,” you complimented as you rested your head on his chest and caught the scent of his cologne.

“Thank you,” he chuckled, the amusement relaxing him even more until his entire body curved into yours. “I think you have playdough in your hair.”

You hummed in agreement. “Highly likely. You wouldn’t believe the places I find that stuff at the end of the day, glitter too.”

His bold laugh made you smile and you didn’t care it was at your own expense, you were just happy to know it was because of you. Unfortunately you didn’t have the chance to hear it again as his phone rang from the countertop and you saw Kelly’s name light up the screen.

“I should let you get that,” you said as you stepped back, instantly missing the warmth and his scent. “I’ll go keep Penelope company.”

Max waited for you to leave the kitchen before he accepted the call, his calm state evaporating in an instant. “What the hell, Kelly? Where have you been?”

“My phone was on flight mode, I was on a plane. Is P okay?”

“Her wrist is sprained but she’s alright now.” Max pinched the bridge of his nose and reminded himself to breathe. “Why would you leave her alone?”

“She wasn’t alone. Maria was meant to pick her up after school and I should have been home in time for dinner but my flight was delayed.”

“Who is Maria?”

“Her nanny.”

Max had to suppress the groan at the news. He knew Daniil hated the idea of a nanny and he had offered to have more custody so that P would be raised by her parents and not a stranger, but Kelly had vetoed that idea.

“Do you want to go out for dinner? I owe you.”

“No, we’ve already eaten.”

“Some other time then.”

Max made a non-committal sound, his eyes darting to the living room where he watched Penelope explain the movie to you. You were so attentive and patient, asking questions that had Penelope thinking deeper and using such a simple interaction as a learning opportunity. He could see why you suited being a teacher.

“Maybe,” he lied, “just let me know when you’re almost here and I’ll bring P out to you, I don’t want to confuse her any more.”

“Right, of course,” Kelly sighed. “I’ll see you soon, Max.”

Max made the most of the time he had left with P, abandoning the dishes so he could sit on the other side of her and watch the movie about a chef rat. She had cozied into his side with a yawn and nudged his arm until he eventually draped it over her shoulder. It was completely innocent but you couldn’t help noticing the heat of his hand touching your arm, the warmth spreading like wildfire.

The fire was doused when his phone vibrated and the moment to leave had come.

While he grabbed Penelope’s backpack, you grabbed your handbag and prepared your own goodbyes. It was silly to feel sad the evening had come to an end but you knew that you would likely never see Max again. You weren’t famous and he didn’t have children, your paths weren’t meant to cross.

“Have a good weekend, Penelope,” you said as you knelt down and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.”

“Bye, Miss Y/L/N.”

You rose to your feet wondering where you stood with Max until he opened his arms. “Anytime you need a hug, you have my number,” you offered as you stepped into his embrace, no matter how unlikely that prospect was.

“Or if I’m feeling fine?”

You giggled and nodded against his chest. “Especially if you’re feeling fine.”

The walk to the elevator was slow, as if no one wanted the strange evening to end, but there was no stopping time as it began making its way down from the penthouse to the ground floor. The doors opened and you instantly spotted Kelly in the reception area, her elegant and effortless beauty reminding you that you still had playdough in your hair.

With one last look at the man beside you, you gave him a small smile and stepped away. “Goodbye, Max.”

He didn’t respond as you headed to the valet area but he pulled his phone out of his pocket and yours vibrated a moment later.

Max: Are you okay?

Y/N: I’m fine.

Max: Me too. Emotional, you?

Y/N: Insecure.

Max: Want a hug?

You stopped and turned to see Max hand Penelope’s bag over before struggling to separate the girl from where she clung to his leg. She didn’t know, couldn’t see how it was hurting Max, but you could. So you waited, and when the mother and daughter had departed you stepped into the elevator with the subdued man, slipping your hand into his.

The elevator rose quickly and you watched Max’s throat bounce with the deep swallow he made before he choked out a broken, “Fuck.”

“I feel like I should remind you about the swear jar,” you teased as you bumped your shoulder gently against his arm. “But I’ll let you off this once because I have a soft spot for you.”

He looked down at you from the corner of his eye and you saw some of the sadness fading from them. “Does that make me the teacher's pet?”

You gasped dramatically and clutched your chest with your free hand. “I could never bestow such high praise after just one day.”

“What are your plans tomorrow then?” he asked with a smirk as the doors opened and he pulled his house key out of his pocket.

“I don’t have any.”

“Lovely, now are you going to answer my question?” He stepped inside the apartment and opened his arms. “Did you want a hug?”

Your smile chased away more of the shadows in his eyes and the last of it was erased when you stepped into his arms with an eager nod. “I will never say no to a hug.”

His chest bounced with a laugh and you felt him rest his cheek on your head with a contented sigh. “That is very good to know.”

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking Point (1/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Ghost x GN!Reader

Soap's version.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Ghost is... Ghost; taciturn, blunt, aloof, but Not An Asshole, protective, trustworthy, He's Trying ☆.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing. Ghost's part is significantly darker than Soap's (in terms of suicide ideation, not as in he's a yandere).

WORDS COUNT: 3.6k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃 Ghost role-plays (NOT SEXUAL) as the world's worst psychiatrist. Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

The sight of the dark, bulky silhouette standing in the frame does nothing to appease your worries - quite the opposite. Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be fucking Ghost. The most intimidating - not to say terrifying - man on the whole base, but also the most cryptic. 

Towering over 190cm and built like few were, even on a military base, you had recoiled despite yourself the first time you met. Every single detail regarding him was redacted - you knew because you had checked his file, consumed by curiosity -, including his own face - unvaryingly covered by a black mask adorned with a white skull. That semblance of halloween mask and an alias was all that he shared with the world. 

He dispensed his words in dribs and drabs to a handful of privileged people, which seemed limited to your supervisor, Captain Price, who was also his direct superior, and his teammates of the Task Force 141. He couldn’t have offered you more than ten syllables in the six months you’ve been there. Yet, everyone knew who he was, what he was capable of, and crowds systematically parted with his passage like the Red Sea. 

You had wisely taken the resolution to not heed the rumors about him, which ranged from hardly believable to frankly ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach every time he was nearby. It wasn’t only his imposing stature that put you on edge, but mainly the fact that he was always impassive. His mask effectively hid his emotions, sure, but his voice didn’t let anything show through either. Most of the time you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, leaving you puzzled at how to interact with him. Not that there were that many interactions to begin with, but the few that happened left you with a lasting impression.

However you were pleased with yourself after you quit agonizing over his opinion of you, focusing instead on doing your best to treat him like the other soldiers. He may not be friendly, but he never had been disrespectful either.

You stare at him in horror, a deer in the headlights, unable to emit a sound. You didn’t even have the time to fabricate a bunch of excuses to get you out of this situation.

Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

“Ya good?” 

His tone is gruff, as it always is, but not hostile. The question feels like a way out of this awkward situation, a lifebelt. You cling onto it like you're lost at sea.

Maybe you can still turn this around - pretend everything is OK. He will follow the implicit rules of politeness and leave you to it.

You hasten to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine.”

As you finish drying your face, he steps into the room, stopping in front of your desk.

“Did you need something?”

Your voice automatically switches to “customer service” mode, and you plaster a fake smile on your face. The mental image of a puppet, strings forcing the corner of its lips to lift, comes to your mind.

Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are searching your face like it's an encrypted message that could provide a target's position.

Your smile vacillates under his scrutiny. The examination is cold, clinical; there's no warmth nor sympathy in those brown eyes.

“Doesn't look fine to me.”

He announces the statement like a fact, voice dull, neutral. He doesn't provide sympathy, but he doesn't cast judgment either. It’s not less irritating though.

Your first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business, ask why he even cares. You resist it. Picking quarrels will only make matters worse. You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Ghost turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced. He still recalls vividly the moment he stopped considering you like another faceless office worker amongst others and made an effort to remember your name.

He was mindlessly killing time in the break room with Gaz and Soap until you showed up at the door, a forced smile on your face, attempting to look casual but your body language betraying your nervousness. He spotted you first, the other two engaged in a lively conversation. Relief spread on your face when you saw he had noticed you, sparing you the trouble of having to call out for him, and you approached.

“Ghost, can I have a word? … in private?”

He straightened up from the wall he was leaning on and followed you wordlessly, feeling the prying stares of his teammates lingering on him. You stopped in the hallway to face him.

“You forgot to fill out the medical part in your last report.”

Fingers linked together, you were anxiously twiddling your thumbs. His eyes followed the movement unconsciously.

“I haven't.”

You frowned in uncomprehension. 

“Your medical file said-”

“I know what the medical file said,” he retorted firmly, hoping that you would understand his intention without him having to spell it out loud.

The furrow in your brows didn’t go away, quite the contrary.

“You want me to lie.”

The statement wasn’t an accusation, but a request for confirmation.

“You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm and patronization unintentionally slipped into his voice. You were just a newbie trying to do your job well, after all. However the others before you never took the trouble to confront him about this, either out of fright or negligence, and this felt like a waste of his time.

He watched you search his face for something, an explanation, a way out? You bit your lips, conflicted, before replying:

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow that you couldn’t see, crossing his arms. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He wasn’t used to being turned down anymore, except for so few individuals, like Price or Laswell, that they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. That the first person to oppose him in so long wasn’t an uptight high ranking or a gutsy enemy, but you, an average civilian, was definitely a surprise. 

“I'm not taking that risk”, you added with a determination he didn’t expect.

“Ya wouldn’t be takin’ any. Nobody will be none the wiser.”

“That's not what I- urgh. I am not letting you go back injured on the field! I don't care if you're the ghost or whatever, you’re not invulnerable. So either you fill that damn file or I'm telling Price.”

“Oh? You'd snitch on me?”

“I'd do it to save your life, yeah.”

And with that, you shoved the papers in his chest, turned around and walked away. You had barely disappeared around the corner that he was already mentally calling himself a bloody idiot. Why had it been so tempting to provoke you? Because out of nowhere your usually bashful self showed audacity? Because you were absurdly hellbent on defending his expandable life? No matter the reason, he started to look at you differently from that day on.

Clearly you and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

He deposits the stack of files he had been holding on your bureau, but as you reach to seize them, he covers your hand with his own and leans in.

You would have stared in disbelief at his gloved hand over yours if the proximity of his face wasn’t a much more pressing matter. You can feel your face warm up and you loathe it.

“Those'll still be there tomorrow, love.”

You blink in surprise at the pet name. It's like you're a spooked horse and he's trying to soothe you with sweet nothings.

“But the paperwork-”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Easy for him to say.

“But Price-”

“I'll deal with Price.”

“My mom's in the hospital”, you brutally admit, having run out of pretext.

You look each other in the eye for what seems forever. 

“Ye take yer coffee with three sugars, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

You reply hesitantly, stunned by the ask that, a priori, has nothing to do with your wholehearted confession. How did he even know that? The words have barely left your lips that he already disappeared into the corridor. You stare in disbelief at the door, mouth agape. You poured your fucking heart out and that socially inept bastard in his goofy ass halloween costume just ditched you after wringing the truth out of you like you were an interrogated enemy soldier.

Sipping the content of your mug with the Ghost's unblinking stare fixated on you is an unsettling experience, to say the least. Seated on the chair facing your desk, legs wide open, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and gray pants, one hand holding his mug of tea, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. 

Does he seriously not realize how unnerving his starring is?

He exudes an aura of tranquil power; the unchallenged authority of someone who is used to being obeyed without question, combined with the nonchalance that comes with being unmatched. Even casually sprawled like this, he remains formidable.

A few minutes ago, he set down a steaming mug in front of you and a box of tissues - a delicate attention that sent a pang in your chest -, before taking a seat. The fingers of his free hand are softly taping his knee.

“Guess I won’t need to kill anyone tonight,” he declares in a detached manner.

You blink in incomprehension at that.

“But you don’t have a mission tonight…”

“Won’t have to kill anyone for makin’ ya cry,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

What else can you possibly reply to that? The murder machine lounging in front of you has enough confirmed kills to make a sniper of legend green with envy.

“So…”, you initiate, not without uncertainty, “is this the moment where I get everything off my chest?”

“Do whatever ya want.” he placidly counters, shrugging.

It really, considerably, sounds like he doesn't care at all; but if he did, he wouldn’t be here.

You take a deep breath, staring at your desk.

“She's in the ICU. Paralyzed, intubated, put in a coma.”

Tears flood your eyes again. This time you don't try to fight them.

“I'm terrified for her. But, what's worse is…”

You swallow your saliva; blink in rapid succession - the tears sting.

“I can’t help but think the worst. About what'll become of me without her.”

Water overflows your eyes. The dam ruptures abruptly. Raw honesty spills from your lips.

“She’s all I have. Without her, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. You wonder what the hell you’re doing. There’s something about the man in front of you that, paradoxically, makes you want to confide in him. Despite his lack of warmth, he feels steady, reliable. A rock to lean on when your whole world is crumbling. Solid ground when it feels like everything is caving in around you. Like you could lay all your burdens on him and he wouldn’t even flinch under what feels like the weight of the world.

You feel awfully selfish to entertain that thought, but you doubt he'd ever give you the opportunity to return the favor. 

“Bollocks.”

His tone is surlier than before. You look up at him to be sure you heard correctly.

“What about yer job? Ye enjoy it, right?”

You scoff bitterly at that.

“It's just a temporary gig. I'll be kicked out in two months.”

“We can make it permanent.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“You're just saying that.”

“‘M not. Wouldn't lie just to make ye feel better. Not my style.”

A cynical chuckle escapes you before a mischievous smirk stretches your lips.

“I’m sorry big guy, when did you get nominated as the commander of the base? Cause as far as I know this is outside your jurisdiction.” 

A similar smile spreads behind his mask. He’d take your sass over your tears any day.

“I have my ways,” he replies tranquilly.

From anyone else, you’d call it bragging or bluffing. Coming from the Ghost, it doesn’t sound as anything but the truth. He stares at you intensely, as if daring you to doubt him again, or intent on proving you his integrity through gaze alone. 

You look away, your cheeks heating up.

Ghost never minded that you can’t maintain eye contact. Just like he’s not into small talk, or physical contact. He knows most people tend to take it the wrong way, interpret it as contempt, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

“Thank you, but I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’d feel like I’m manipulating you.” 

He chuckles darkly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine, one you do not know if it was born of fear entirely or attraction. 

“Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t even if you tried.” 

Another tingle. Definitely pleasant this time. You desperately busy yourself with the content of your mug, the effects of that sentence on you too intense for the solemnity of the situation. 

Your strategy proves itself fruitful until a movement at the periphery of your vision attracts your gaze. You peek without thinking, and freeze at the sight of Ghost lifting his mask above his nose to drink from his cup. One scar crosses his mouth, another departs from the corner of his lips, both ancient but deep. They don’t faze you though - truth be told, the omnipresent mask made you expect him to look like a world war one veteran, so heavily disfigured that you wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed, but you lower your eyes in shame all the same.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“If I didn’t wantcha to look, I wouldn’t have taken it off.”

As you need a moment to take in the implications of that sentence, he talks again.

“What's your poison?”

“Pardon?” you reply, genuinely lost.

He snorts at your exaggerated politeness.

“Coffee isn’t gonna cut it. Whataya usually take when you feel like this? Alcohol? Cigs?”

A pause.

“Sex?”

You choke and set down your mug out of fear of dropping it.

“No, no… and no.”

“Nothing?”

He sounds doubtful.

“I… cry myself to sleep?”

It makes no sense to formulate it like a question, but everything about this is surreal.

He hums, contemplative.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What?”

“Helpin’ ya.”

You scoff, suddenly irritated.

“You could lend me one of your guns and let me blow my brains off with it. That would help.”

 “Not gonna happen,” he counters with emphatic authority that leaves no place for rebuttal. 

“Worth a shot,” you say, trying to get the last word. “Ha, shot. Get it?”

“Very funny.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, like he’s a tired parent indulging you, a tireless child.

“You just don’t have any humor.”

The words left your lips before you could consider their impact. Yes, you never heard the Ghost laugh, but maybe he has a very good reason for that. Maybe several. Maybe you’re just a fucking asshole.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” 

Your head pivots towards him so fast you fear your neck is going to snap.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You stare at him in bewildered silence, not quite believing what just happened, before starting to laugh, first softly, then, carried away, louder and louder, bordering on hysterical. You don’t even giggle because of the joke, but because the contrast between the silliness of it and how deadpan Ghost was when enunciating it is simply too good. That, and the nerves are probably getting the better of you.

“Never had anyone laugh that much at this one before.”

You attempt to get your breath back, alternating between pants and laughs, wiping a solitary tear at the corner of your eye.

“It’s just… you… I didn’t see it coming, jeez.”

Sighing wistfully, you take in the quietude of this fleeting moment.

“This is nice.”

“I'm always nice,” grunts the lieutenant. 

You let out a good-natured scoff, then reality catches up to you.

“SHIT! What time is it!?” you shout in panic as you violently get up. “Maybe I can still catch a bus-”

You log out of your work session, turn off your PC and shove all your belongings inside your bag in record time. Ghost barely bats an eye, still like a languid cat; a very big, very dangerous cat.

“You can spend the night.”

“No I can’t!”

You push your chair under your desk and pick up your coat.

“We can make some sorry bloke sleep outside.”

“Noooo- That's horrible!”

You have no idea if he’s messing with you or not.

“Not worse than what's waiting for ‘em on the field.”

“Well, I still can’t do that.”

“Good for you that I can, then.”

You finally look at him, an half-amused smile on your lips, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Lemme guess. This is you ‘having your ways’ again, isn’t it?”

His offer is tempting. You really don’t want to be left to your own devices tonight.

He stands up and takes a step towards you while pulling his mask down and, oh, with him sitting this all time, you would have almost forgotten how much he towers over you.

“S’that a yes or a no?”

You could almost detect a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“It’s a yes, sir,” you retort while pronouncing the “sir” with as much impertinence as you can muster.

“Better keep up, then.”

And just like that, he vacates the premises, and you do have to focus to keep up because those long legs of his ain’t just for show.

As you two travel across corridors unknown to you, you wonder once again what the hell you’re doing, hanging out with this mountain of a man who’s more myth than human, and breaking the rules of a military base on a whim. Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the voices edging closer, and you’re completely taken aback when Ghost grabs you by the back of your shirt and drags you in a dark alcove with him. You’re so astounded, you don’t even make a sound. He takes hold of the back of your head and presses you against him to occupy as little space as possible, effectively hiding you from the men walking by. Only then you recognize Captain Price among other officers.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” whispers the man you’re squeezed against, barely audible, imperturbable as ever, like this is an everyday situation for him.

You don’t answer - you can’t, anyway, essentially muffled by his pecs. You should be more irked by those circumstances, but the sudden proximity set your face ablaze, therefore you’re very happy with its current concealment. 

“Price will have my head if he thinks I made you cry.”

You’re about to protest, but then you remember that one time when Soap tagged along when you were carrying a huge box back from the archives, and when Price saw you two, Soap unconcerned with empty hands, and your face almost disappearing behind the imposing cardboard, he called the sergeant a bloody useless muppet and then proceeded to call into question his ability to transport his rucksack for days. Nevermind that you were the one who insisted on carrying the crate on your own as it provided a nice workout, and that you had to bare your teeth at Soap to prevent him from taking it from you.

When the peril has walked by and Ghost releases you, you silently thank the shadows around you hiding how affected you are by this ersatz of a hug. Later, he drops you off at an unoccupied bedroom, small but including a bathroom and furnished with everything you could ever want. You say your goodbyes and your thanks at the door, and he. pats. your head. You don’t even have time to be outraged that he states he will see you tomorrow, something that sounds like a promise as much as a threat, probably in reference to the morbid fantasies you shared, and he vanishes into the shadows like a… ghost.

A/N : The real reason Ghost ran out:

He be googling “how to comfort female civilian age between 20 and **”

In the TF Group Chat (Price not included):

“We have an emergency.”

“Send as many kitten pics as possible to [Reader] … stat.”

[kimarii-00]

Regrets and Punishments (2)

❥Summary: Armando knows he made a mistake. He knew when he decided that his mother was more important than his girlfriend. But he planned to return to her, he really did. He never could’ve anticipated being gone for as long as he was. Seeing her face again was like getting shot: You get that adrenaline rush, yet the pain ends up biting you in the ass later on. Especially when he discovers what, or dare I say, who he also left behind all that time ago.

❥Warnings: Slow burn, kidnapping, language, guns/shooting, blood, violence, suggestive scenes (?), eventual happy ending

❥Word Count: 4.8k (2k words more than the last one ;))

❥Part 2/2

PART 1

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AN: I did not expect all the support for the first part, thank you guys!! I hope this last part was worth all the hype! Enjoy!!

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“(Name),” Kelly begins, “I’m so sorry I–”

“What the hell do they even want with her? She’s a fucking child. Four! Four fucking years old,” As angry as you were right now, you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, “I can’t… What if they hurt my baby?”

“They’re probably going to use her as some sort of backup in case their plan with Mike’s wife goes south…”

In all honesty, you think you had a hunch on why they took Demi. Because he’s her father… They must’ve done their research…

You’re surprised Armando hasn’t pressed you more by now about Demi. He must’ve had questions because last time he checked, you didn’t have a kid, so from his perspective, in the years he was gone you either must’ve hooked up with some guy and had his kid, or the passionate night you two shared before he left must’ve really paid off…

“(Name) I swear, we’re not going to let anything happen to Demi,” Kelly said in an attempt to sooth your motherly insticts. You felt nausious but you appreciated that you weren’t in this alone. Kelly had always been there for you, especially when the father of your child left and you found out you were pregnant with his kid a week later. She was there for you when nobody was. She had helped you through depressive episodes so you wouldn’t stress yourself and end up hurting the baby, she was there for you when you went into labor and had to be rushed to the hospital. She was there when the loud cries filled the room when the doctors popped Demi out of you.

Thinking of this only made you angrier, because it was wrong that you had to rely so much on your best friend instead of the man that was supposed to be Demi’s father, and now, because of his involvements with these people, your daughter has been taken. She has nothing to do with this.

You wipe your face, trying to get the tears to stop falling but they just wouldn’t. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Armando looking at you with an expression that you can’t read but when he notices that you’ve seen his antics, he averts his attention elsewhere. You can’t help but think that he wants to say something to you, but you can’t bring yourself to care in this moment.

As much as you’d like to deny it, deep down you still have feelings for that man. But there are many reasons as to why you can’t just happily jump back into his arms and ask him to take you back.

Right now, you have more than yourself to worry about. You have Demi, and if you were going to get with a man, she deserves to have someone that will care and love her and right now, you aren’t sure that man could be Armando.

You aren’t paying much attention to the group as they talk about a plan to get the hostages back, you aren’t in your right mind and it seems everybody notices that. All you can think about is your little girl.

Mike looks at his son, and even though they don’t have the deepest relationship, he can tell that the boy is worried for you. He still isn’t entirely sure what you and him are to each other, but he can definitely tell that seeing you as broken as you are now is breaking something in Armando himself. He makes his way to Armando’s side and slightly nudges his side to get his attention.

“Go talk to her,” he says, gesturing to the grieving woman, “You two clearly have things to discuss, you better get it out of the way before we start making moves.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me,” Armando grumbles, his eyes wandering to your person for what felt like the hundreth time in the last ten minutes.

“You never know until you try–”

“I did try, she told me to get the hell away from her.”

“Listen man, I don’t know what your relationship is with her, but what I do know is that if you don’t talk to her now, you might not get another chance to.”

Armando takes in his fathers words, contemplating his options and realizing that he really only has two: Not talk to you and then potentially die before he gets the chance to, or two, talk to you know and list the weight thats been on his chest ever since he saw you walk through that front door.

He decides that he would probably come to regret picking the latter, but his feet are gliding him toward where you sat with Kelly before he could find some excuse as to why he should wait until later to have this inevitable conversation.

You don’t seem to notice him until he’s standing before you, yet you don’t lift your head. Kelly does, however, and gives him a certain look that read, “If you hurt her more than she’s already hurting, I swear I’ll kill you”. He nodded to her, and she hesitantly nodded back. She rubbed your back in a comforting way one last time before standing up and walking toward the rest of the group. Armando took her place next to you.

He doesn’t say a word. Neither do you. It’s a mix of awkward and comfortable silence between you two before you break it by suddenly speaking up.

“She’s yours,” You say without warning. You decided that you’d rip the band-aid off and quell any thoughts about you hooking up with some other guy that he might’ve had, “Her name is Demi. She’s four… She’s yours.”

“...I had a feeling,” He starts, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything and wait for him to expand. You wait for his to say anything to help you understand why he left you. Why he abandoned you and your unborn child. But he says nothing.

You sigh, “Why’d you do it?” You sounded tired. You didn’t want to argue. You just wanted him to help you understand his decision all those years ago.

“I got caught up in some shit. Fucked with the wrong people.”

“Yeah no shit,” You spit out.

Silence overtakes you both once again.

“You didn’t even leave a text,” You say quietly, “Y’know I waited for you. I waited, and waited, and waited, and then waited some more, yet you never came home. Never.”

Up until this point your head had been in your hands, trying to soothe your pounding headache, but now your gaze laid on his face, making direct eye contact. You let him see your stinging red eyes from all the crying you’ve been doing.

“I didn’t want to involve you in my shit. I didn’t want you to end up hurt because of me–” He begins, but you don’t take any of that bullshit.

“Yeah? Well I’m involved now, and guess who’s paying the fucking price? My– our child.”

This shuts him up. He doesn’t have anything to say to that, other than, “I’m sorry.”

You scoff. Is that all he can offer you? After all he’s put you through?

“Was it even real?” You ask on a whim.

“What?” He questions.

“Us. Was it real? Since you found it so easy to just up and leave some random day?”

“You think that shit was easy?” He snaps, “I loved you– I love you so much, so how the hell could you say that me leaving you was fuckin’ easy?”

You flinched at the correction from loved to love, “You sure as hell made it seem that way.”

He startled you by grabbing your shoulders tightly. He turned you so you looked at him fully, eye contact as intense as ever.

“I had to damn near fight myself to not turn back and run into your arms again after I left you. I thought about you every fuckin’ day that I wasn’t around you. If I could go back, I swear I would’ve told my mother to fuck off if it meant that I could stay with you… with our child. But at the time I was a fucking idiot and I thought–” He had to stop his rambling for a moment to take a breath. You stared at him with wide eyes, he was never one to go on tangents like this, and you made no effort to stop him. “I thought that leaving was the best decision for you, for us, at the time and I planned on coming back. I really did. But everytime I even thought it was okay to return more shit kept happening and I just– I didn’t want you involved.”

You let him trail on with his words as you found comfort in his somewhat desperate hold in your shoulders.

“I never meant to hurt you the way I did.” Armando concluded.

You avert your eyes down slightly, breaking the eye contact but he puts his finger under your chin to lift it back up. He doesn’t want you avoiding this conversation.

He isn’t sure what possessed him to lean down, shortening the distance between the two of you until there was nothing but a pocket of air seperating his lips from yours, but as he’s about to take the final step, you pull away slowly.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” You begin, unsure of what excuse your about to pull, “I can’t.” You say, deciding not to beat around the bush.

He nods in understanding, yet you immediately recognize the hurt in his eyes.

You pull away from his hands on your shoulders and he makes no move to stop you. You take a deep breath in, like you want to say something else before you part ways, but ultimately decide against it.

You say nothing as you walk back to the group, leaving him standing motionless behind you.

“As far as they know, Lockwood is on his way with a plane to move the hostages to Cuba,” Mike spoke, going over the plan once more. Today was the day you took action to rescue the people that were kidnapped. Mike’s wife, the girl that was with her at the time– Callie, and…Demi. God… I swear if they did something to her… “The second they get close to the plane with the hostages, it’s quick kills. Neutralize all threats. These motherfuckers killed a lot of good cops. They have my wife, they have Callie, and they have (Name)’s daughter.” You lowered your eyes at the aknowledgement.

“They attacked our families. We not losing today.” He concludes, and everyone nods their head.

You were partnered with the tech team in the van, watching the situation from drone footage. You wanted to be on the front lines to get rid of every fucker who thought taking your daughter was a good idea, but you were stuck inside of the van until extra help was needed.

You hear the helicopter pilot through your comms device in your ear, “I got one looking out the front door, right side, I got one sniper on the roof of building two.”

“T those up,” Rita says, who ended up joining the cause after realizing the man she was dating was with the enemy. You quickly code in a few commands for the drone to follow and before long you have eyes on the two mentioned. “Everybody keep moving. What are those?”

She points to the objects presented in the live map of the area, and you answer, “Gaters.”

“I thought it was an abandoned theater park?”

“Abandoned by humans,” Kelly jumps in while loading her gun.

You manage to find the parks webpage from when it was open and discover that the main attraction was an albano aligator named “Duke”. It was sixteen feet long, and there are stories about him still being there to this day.

“Well fuck that…” You mutter.

You watch from the drone as the main team lands in the water as planned, getting into position.

“Armando’s at his QTH,” Dorn confirms, letting everyone know that he’s in position. You swallow the lump in your throat.

Lockwood steps out of the helicopter and walks on the dock, waiting for them to bring out the hostages. You hold your breath and watch closely.

“Hostages are coming out now,” Dorn says. Your eyes dart across the screen, looking for your daughter in particular before spotting her in the arms of a muscular man. They walked behind the other two that were kidnapped and you can barely contain yourself when you take in the terrified look on your four year olds’ face.

“Fuck…” You choke out under your breath. Kelly hears this and rubs circles into your back for comfort. You put your hands over your mouth in a prayer like position and keep watching through the drones.

“Everybody stay calm,” Rita says.

The plan was for Mike to take out their leader as soon as he had the chance to, which was why he was on the front lines, yet when you notice no movement from his end, you begin to become worried that something has gone wrong.

“Mike?” Rita blurts, “Mike do you have the shot?”

“Negative, I do not have a shot, I do not have a shot,” he says into the comms device. Your eyebrows furrow as you look from a perspective of a drone that flew near where the helicopter had landed, and you conclude that from where Mike was posted, he should’ve had a clear shot.

A moment goes by and the kidnappers walk with the hostages, but just a little ways before they reach Lockwood, they stop on the bridge.

“They stopped, why’d they stop?” Dorn hurridly says. The drone is able to catch the sight of something slowly moving through the water and you conclude that it’s what they are looking at as well, you watch as their leader follows whatever is moving and your heart sinks when you realize what the thing in the water is moving towards.

“Armando–” You start, but he seems to have noticed it as well.

“Shit.” He says.

One man signals for the soldiers around him to start a search, suddenly becoming suspicious of where the thing in the water was going, and who it may be targeting. “Armando they’re closing in on you.” Dorn states.

“Do they see him?” Rita asks.

“I don’t know.”

Rita takes the time that they are distracted to pressure Mike, surely he has a shot now, right? “Mike, now! Your chance is now, they can see him, they know we’re here!”

“I don’t have it, negative, negative.”

“You’ve got to take the fucking shot,” Armando mumbles out, keeping his eye on the thing slowly advancing toward him in the water, and the person that was getting dangerously close to his hiding spot above.

You watch as all hell breaks loose when Armando shoots the man who semed to have spotted him, and he falls into the water only to be finished off by the thing in the water, now identified to be the ledgendary sixteen foot long gator. You don’t think you’ve ever been as scared as you had been the moment you realize they know they’ve been set up, and they start taking the hostages back into the building. Your daughter begins to cry and it breaks your heart.

“Engage!” Rita shouts through the comms, “Kelly, get us there.”

You leave your chair and move to the front of the van along with Kelly as she steps on the gas. You take the time to reload your own gun, and slip a knife in your boot for emergencies.

By the time the four of you have arrived, the fight has moved inside. Rita orders you three to go inside and she states that she’ll go after Lockwood and you don’t have to be told twice before you’re rushing in there. You hear Kelly shouting your name behind you, trying to get you to slow down as you leave them in the dust, but all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, desperate to find your daughter. You arrive just in time to see the man who was holding onto your daughter walk up a flight of stairs and you waste no time following after, shooting whoever was in your way.

The path splits into three once you reach the top and you pick a random path, slowly walking into the room.

You make sure the room is clear, making sure there is no one in it before you turn around, only to be smacked in the face with the butt of a gun. You stumble and fall, and make eye contact with the man who took you by surprise. You see him aiming at you, but with no intention to die before you find your daughter, you regain your balance and sweep his leg and quickly make your way on top of him. You snatch the knife out of your boot and put it to his neck, “Where is the child?” You hiss out, “I swear I’ll fucking kill you, where is she?” You barked when he took too long to answer for your liking.

“I don’t know what your talking about–” You decide you don’t have time for this bullshit, and jab him in the stomach with the knife. He lets out a cry of pain and he finds the cool metal of the knife back on the skin of his neck with a noticable change of pressure this time around. He was sure it would cut into the skin at any moment, “Okay, okay! Last I heard she was on the top floor.”

“Fuck,” You say, realizing that there were more floors than you realized. You don’t say another word before puncturing the side of his neck, quickly ending him. You get up, ready to leave the room but you’re grabbed from behind and choked. You grip the arm that wraps around your neck and stab your already bloodied knife into it, releasing yourself from the headlock. Even though the man who’d attacked you had been stabbed he was relentless. He ran at you again, landing a punch into your stomach and you got a few hits in yourself. You smash his head against a wall which either kills or knocks him out, and you can’t bring yourself to care as you see more men rush into the room.

You dance around them, getting in hits and taking some as well and you whip out your gun. You wanted to preserve bullets but you were getting overwhelemed by the amount of people that were flowing into the room. You shoot a few with amazing accuracy.

You hear a grunt behind you and before you can turn around, you are hit in the head with the butt of another gun again. You groan, the pain of your injuries starting to show through the adrenaline and the man behind you grabs you by your hair and pulls you up before wraping his own arm around your neck. You close one eye in pain and watch as one man walks to you, aiming his gun.

Before he can shoot, there is another shot that interrupts their plan and it ends up hitting the man behind you. Now free from his hold, you make use of the distraction and kick the man in front of you in the gut, causing him to double over. You knee him in the face and snatch his gun, shooting him in the face.

You look at your savior, and your eyes widen as you realize who it was. Armando…

“You good?” He asks. You nod, and he joins you at your side to finish off the remaining of the enemy, but before any of you can make a move, a helicopter comes smashing through the window, instantly killing two of the guys. You’re right in the path of the helicopter, and you see out of the corner of your eye Armando running towards you. He grabs onto you and you both fly out of the way. He manuvers both of your bodies until he’s the one to take most of the impact once you land.

Once all the chaos settles, you both stand up. You look at him, his hands still embracing you protectively, “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer him and continue to stare into his eyes. Those eyes you’ve known for so long. You don’t know what could’ve possessed you to do this, but you feel as if it’s the only thing you could do in the moment. With haste, you push your lips against his.

You can feel his surprise in your sudden action. You bring your hands up and grip his vest for stability and you feel the moment where he begins to reciprocate. Your mouths move together in a practiced motion and you wonder how he’s still such a good kisser after all these years.

The kiss quickly becomes heated, hurried. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you let him, moving the muscles together, competing for dominance. You groan into his mouth.

He then begins to walk forward, and you walk backwards slowly until your back makes contact with the wall behind you and he cages you in, his lips never leaving yours. Tongue never unlocking with your own. One hand is connected to the wall and the other to your hip as he brings you impossibly closer. You bask in the moment.

You break the kiss first, needing air, and his lips search for yours again instantly when you do. Your mind begins to cloud, but you remember why you’re here in the first place. You need to find your daughter. Even knowing this, you find it hard to pull away from the sensation that is his lips against your own, but somehow you find it in you to put your hands on his chest and gently push him away. He looks down at you in question.

“Can…can we continue… after I find my daughter?” You breathe heavily, still breathless from the passionate moment you shared.

“Yeah… okay. I’m coming with you.” Your eyes shot up at him at the statement. You nod at him and he hesitantly releases you from his hold. Desperate to rid yourself of the tension left in your lower area due to the kiss, you walk away, recalling what the man said about another floor.

Armando follows closely behind you.

You eventually find the staircase that would lead you to the top floor, and of course, awaiting you were more of the enemy. With Armando by your side, you make quick work of them and once all that were left were bodies, you begin to search the room. It was the only room on the top floor, so unless that guy was lying to you, Demi must be here.

So where the hell is she?

There is no sign of her being here. You check behind boxes, inside cabinets, everywhere. Your breathing quickly grows rapid as you realize that your daughter is nowhere in sight. If she’s not here, then where the hell could she be? The rest of your team was in the lower areas on the building, and if one of them found her, surely they would’ve announced it over the comms, right? So where the hell is your daughter?

You feel a hand on your back, “Hey, hey, you’re fine. We’ll find her, okay?” Armando says.

You realize you can’t waste time, so you nod and recollect yourself. But that doesn’t change the fact that you have no clue where she could be if not here.

“Look,” Armando states once your breathing had slowed, he points to the left where there seemed to be a door to a balcony of sorts.

You take a deep breath and follow him, as he already started making his way toward it.

He kicks open the door, gun aimed at the figure that stood at the edge of the balcony and your heart dropped. In front of you stood your little girl, and a man that took his place on the ledge of what had to be a long ass drop. You feared the worst and your gun shoot in your hands.

“Put the guns down!” The man demanded, “Right now or I promise you I’ll jump, and take her ass with me!” He says. He emphasizes his words by gripping your daughter tighter and holding his gun to her head, then back at the two of you.

Your daughter is bawling her eyes out. You aren’t even sure if he noticed that you were there for her. She was scared out of your mind. “Demi–”

“Shut up, and put your fucking guns down!” The man demanded. You listen this time, which prompted Armando to do the same. You cursed to yourself, realizing what little power you have in this situation. “I want you two to slowly walk back out that door.”

“We can’t do that,” Armando states, his hands rising in the air after he dropped his gun to show he’s not a threat.

“Fucking do it!” The man boasted. You aren’t sure what your options are, if there were any. You look to Armando, and he seems to sense your eyes on the back of his head.

He then looks at you a certain way, and mouths to you, “Trust me.”

Your eyes widen and you let out a yelp in surprise when Armando takes off running toward the man and your daughter. This takes the man by surprise too, before he makes no effort to pull the trigger and only seems to panick at the incoming threat. He doesn’t get a chance to retaliate before Armando uses his shoulder and back to swiftly steal your daughter from the mans grip, all the while using force to push him off of the balcony.

You watch as Armando sinks to his knees with your daughter, gently combing her hair with his fingers and whispering in her ear words of comfort. She grips onto him tightly and cries into his police vest. It takes you a moment to realize that she is safe. Something about Armando holding your daughter in his arms and caring for her makes you realize and think about some things that you haven’t thought to think about before, but you put that all of the back burner in favor of finally holding Demi in your arms again.

“Baby…” You whisper, almost in disbelief that she really is safe and sound. Demi registers your voice in her little head and whips it around to face you.

“Mama!!” She cries, she leaves Armando’s hold and you drop to your knees to give her the biggest, tightest hug you can. You sniffle and pull her head into your neck.

“Are you okay Mimi? Let me look at you…” You say, pulling away from her to check her from any kind of injury. She shakes her head, you take in the sight of her red eyes from all the crying she’s been doing.

“Mama is hurt…” She mumbles. You move your hand to the various areas that Demi points at and notice that you are indeed hurt in many areas, but you don’t care. Not right now.

“I am… But it’s okay, mama’s strong, just like you baby. God, I love you so much,” You say, planting a long, wet kiss on her forehead and hug her again tightly.

“I love you too, mama,” Demi says into your neck. You look at Armando as you hug Demi, and you mouth a quick “Thank you.” He nods to you, watching the interaction.

The moment is interrupted by Mike on the comms, “Armando, come in Armando.”

“What’s up?” Armando replies.

“You need to get out of here, Judy’s here and is looking for you. Take the boat and get the hell out of here.”

Armando hesitates, looking at you and your daughter… his daughter. Whatever he’s contemplating seems like he’s making a hard decision in his mind, but luckily for him, you’ve already made up yours.

“We’ll come with you.” You state.

“What? No–”

“It wasn’t a question.”

Silence overtakes you, but you don’t let it linger for too long, “Don’t push us away again.”

This looks to have convinced him, as he takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”

You don’t know how the future will go for you three. You dread the predestined talk with your daughter that you’re going to have to have with her to tell her that this man is really her father, but all you know is that as your walking through that building, your daughter being carried by him and her hooked onto her neck for safety and comfort, you feel as if you have good things coming.

And so you let yourself crack a genuine smile, one that you felt hasn’t shown itself since the night that he left you.

And he reciprocates the same one. One you haven’t seen in years, and one you’re sure to see in many more to come.

TAGLIST: (if you didn’t get tagged, it’s probably due to settings!)

@dasaniswrlddd @thedarkworldofhananerea @taylormcguire282 @timebomb1101 @5arlan7 @desiiiisworld @babygurl030 @lovelyme22 @Leavemealing @lewispool @yeahnohoneybye @velocitynyoom @maybepersuasivetom @deadpool15

[st4rrth0ughts]

Hey!! I really lhcde all of your posts especially bodyguard reader x sub aven series, it made me go feral and scream like a monkey. Makes me think to stuffed him full until he carry our child

May I request a hc of pregnant aventurine if you don't mind, he will be the type of people that 24/7 needy

Let’s get into this FUCKKK

tw,cw: mpreg!!, afab! Aven, amab! gn! bodyguard! reader, self indulgent, FLUFFY domestic and married life, reader is described as muscular, NOT PROOFREAD, Aven's real name mentions! may not be accurate lol, lmk if i missed anything!

He's shocked. Staring at the test, he doesn't know how to feel, should he be upset? Happy? Oh Aeons, what's he going to say to you?

Of course, he loved you, he really, really did, but you were his bodyguard, surely you didn't want the burden of raising a child... right?

haha, wrong, he's stunned as he watches you as you practically, squealed, squealed, in pure joy as you dash over, picking him up and spinning him like a princess

Watching someone that was so muscular, cuddling him so tenderly and rubbing his belly, kissing his nape and soft skin, he was on the verge of tears.

For the next months, he didn't think he could, but damn it, he fell in love with you all over again. You did everything around the house for him, and treated him so gently.

Every morning, when he had his morning nausea, it was horrible, but you were always by his side, rubbing his back with your warm hands, and then cuddling and kissing him all over the place.

Whenever he had weird cravings, somehow, you'd be able to make it at home, and playfully feed it to him because he was too tired and drained. Not that he couldn't, of course, but still.

You did all the household chores, cleaning the dishes, cooking for both of you, making sure the house was in its best state, hell, you even dedicated the spare guest bedroom and converted it into a beautiful nursery.

You dealt with him even when he had horrid mood swings, from sobbing, to getting irritated with the smallest of things, you were there, taking his insults and comforting him when he was crying in your arms.

He finds himself much more needy and wanting your attention, more so than the first few years of your relationship, constantly burying his head in your back, chest, neck, anytime of the day, when your cooking, doing chores or filling in boring paperwork.

Every night, you would always hug him, kiss him, and take care of him, and rub his belly, whispering how you two would be such wonderful parents he thinks he won't be, and how your new child would be such a beautiful addition to your lives.

In the last few months during his pregnancy, you took extra care of him, getting a few more part time jobs so that you two would have enough savings to take care of the new life you would be taking care of in about a few month's time. (he insists that his money can handle everything and more, but you simply shushed him)

You always accompanied him everywhere, (not that you didn't before he got pregnant lol) to his doctor's appointments, when he had to attend urgent IPC meetings, and he swears that you were probably more emotional than him, you would get in a full blown fight with anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

Outside, you would hold his hand constantly, intertwining your ringed fingers, proudly showing everyone that he was your darling husband, and you always made it a point to kiss him when he least expected it, always getting a laugh when he squeaked and blushed.

His water broke suddenly, which sent both of you into a massive panic, luckily, the two of you were nearby a hospital, so you ended by driving him there yourself.

The delivery was difficult and painful, as it ended up with him having to give birth to twins, you were holding his hand as he squeezed it so hard it was almost painful, and he was sobbing throughout the process.

But seeing the two newborn babies, one girl and one boy, in his arms, Aeons, he couldn't help but cry as well. You were crying, and even the doctors were tearing up from how absolutely overjoyed you two were to have two children.

Now that he thought about it, he's pretty sure you cried more than him even though he's the one that gave birth

Anyways

You kissed them, held them, and gently cooed at the twins adorable expression, and held their tiny fingers with such love that he swears he'll fall in love with you again for the third time.

The girl had his dirty blond hair, but had your eye's beautiful shade, and the boy was vice versa. They looked like adorable angels.

Speaking of which, his heart melted while his next few hours were spent in the hospital, recovering in the soft pillows of the hospital bed.

You'd been fussing hard over him, being the one to feed him, take care of him, and being the one to rock your babies to sleep, while he himself fell asleep as well.

He wasn't expecting it, but he was shocked and touched that Ratio, Topaz and even the Trailblazer decided to visit, all of them congratulating you and him, and it was certainly one of the best times Kakavasha ever had in his life.

Topaz absolutely adored the twins, she was giggling and playing peekaboo with them, while ratio spent his session reading a children's book to their sleeping forms, and you had to refuse Trailblazer's thoughtful but rather unsanitary gift of trashcan salvaged items.

For the next months, it was bliss. Of course, it was tiring, having to take care of two new children, but honestly? Having a happy family with you and his beloved children, always by his side, he was sure the world seemed brighter than before.

A/n: Not my usual stuff as i rarely want to post actual writing of headcannons, but lmk how i did :))

[millervrse]

A SECOND CHANCE ! joel miller x reader

summary: Joel was sent by Marlene to come find you and bring you to Saint Mary’s. You are the only human aside from Ellie Williams who has been bitten and not turned: You are the only way that a cure can be created where no blood is shed. But to do that, you’ll have to warm up to the hardass that is Joel goddamn Miller.

pairing: joel miller x afab!reader

warnings, notes: EVENTUAL 18+ smut, so minors dni, occurs after the plot of the first tlou, but before joel gets ellie out of saint mary’s, some canon facts are changed for the sake of this story, ENEMIES TO LOVERS! reader has a heavily established backstory that is to be explored throughout the series, game references (tess, the fireflies, sarah, the general plot of the game, etc). implied age gap. reader’s just as tough as joel, if not worse! warnings will change and be updated as the series progresses.

word count: 2.8k+

LYN SPEAKING! alright, hey! i’m lyn, and i’ve had this idea in the back of my mind for close to a year now (yes, a year) and baby FINALLY finished the first installment of this series i plan to work on based on it. i sincerely hope this is well received! if you want to know when i update this series, please let me know, and i will kindly tag you. also, if you have any ideas as to where this story can go, my inbox is wide open! alright now, buckle up and enjoy!

PART I: IMMUNE

“If there’s no way for you to do this where Ellie lives,” Joel said, a dark gruffness to his voice as the words leave his lips. “Then it ain’t happenin’. I swear it.”

Joel Miller and Ellie Williams had been through hell and back to deliver her to the Fireflies. People had died along the way, close to the pair or not, and sacrifices had been made for the greater good. But now, as they stood at the end of the line, Joel realized that there was no greater good, and that they hadn’t been to hell.

Because this was it.

Joel stood defensively before Marlene, the woman who was the reason this was happening in the first place. The Fireflies wanted to make a cure for the virus that had taken their world by surprise twenty years ago. One that would cure the infected of their curse, to bring them back to the human beings that they once were. But to do that, Joel would have to make the biggest sacrifice of them all.

Losing Ellie.

He couldn’t bear to lose a second daughter, not when he had already given his all to have her. To keep her. Not when he had already lost Sarah in his arms all those years ago. No, no, no. Sarah had been unfairly shot, unfairly killed, and Joel was powerless to help her.

That wouldn’t be the case with Ellie.

He stood in front of an unconscious Ellie now, laid out over a bed in the hospital he had delivered her to. He had managed his way in here by narrowly avoiding Firefly personnel. But just as he was about to flee, Marlene and several soldiers behind her had him cornered every which way.

“Joel—“ Marlene did her best. But Joel didn’t want to hear it.

“No,” he barked, gun trained on the brunette. It didn’t matter if this ended in flames. It didn’t matter if he died. If he was doing it for Ellie, then he’d do it again and again, in this life and the next. “If there is no scenario where this little girl survives, it is not, happening.”

There’s a pause, a look of delay in Marlene’s eyes as she looks at Joel. She debated. Should she tell him? Should she reveal a secret she had been holding back since he had taken this assignment nearly a year ago?

This was no time to hang back.

“There’s one.”

That, was the moment in time when Joel Miller learned about you.

A girl, who had also been bitten, and not turned. A girl, whose history Marlene refused to delve too deeply into. A girl, who could be the cure to the cure, where nobody died. 

Where Ellie lived.

“Where do I find her?”

———————————————————————

That’s how he had gotten here.

A noise sounds from behind you as you're readying to go and hunt for food in your house in Vermont, alongside a brief patrol to make sure that no infected were lurking by. You’re quick to tense when the sound fills your ears, grabbing the crossbow that was on the counter near you, the one that you’d thankfully just loaded, and whipping around.

A man who looked much older than you stood in the doorframe. He was tall with tousled hair, a green, wrinkled shirt mirroring his gruff demeanor. Your gaze darkened at the sight. You hadn’t seen a human being in a millennia. Let alone one that you hated to admit, was handsome.

You didn’t let that deter you, however, raising your crossbow higher and aiming it at him.

"You've got five seconds to tell me what you're doing here,” your voice firmly rang out as you drew the bow. Thank God you’d always been a natural at aiming. “Or I'll put one between your eyes.”

The man put his hands up, though his face remained neutral as he stood in place, as if to show he wasn’t afraid of you. “Easy does it,” he rasped, his voice as gruff as he looked. “I’m not here to hurt’cha.”

“Then, leave,” you returned. “This doesn’t have to end in blood. And if you get any fucking closer, I promise you, it will.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” the man said in jest, causing you to draw your arrow back more, a warning for him to watch his tone. A sigh escaped his lips as his shoulders tensed at the gesture, closing his eyes and opening them to meet yours. “Look. I was sent here to find you. Alright? I just need to talk.”

This wasn’t going to be easy for Joel, was it?

Your aim never wavered as you responded. Your first thought was what the fuck was he talking about, but the curse doesn’t make the cut as you answer. “Sent by who?”

A pause.

“Marlene.”

You tense.

“She said you’d know her.”

Oh, you fucking know her, alright. Who the fuck was this man and how the fuck did he know about you and Marlene? It’s impossible, you think. That was years ago. This man was lying.

Right?

“Marlene?” you scoffed, your voice shaking. “That’s bullshit. I haven’t spoken to Marlene in years, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be sending anyone to find me,” you return, the furrow already present in your eyebrows deepening, eyes drowning in suspicion. “Who are you, really?”

The man doesn’t move, instead keeping his arms raised like he’s some sort of peace offering. “The name’s Joel, Joel Miller, and I swear on my life that what I’m tellin’ you is true,” he said. When he took note of the apprehension in your expression, he lowered his voice, letting it relax into one that was meant to make you feel calm. “I’m not here to hurt you. Alright? Just let me explain.”

It didn’t help.

You wanted to shoot this man already, with every fiber of your being. Your trust issues were rattling like fireworks in your brain, telling you that he was a liar, that he was trying to get you vulnerable, catch you off guard. But against your better judgment, you nodded, hanging fire for him to go on.

"There's a, uh, little girl. Her name's Ellie. About a year ago, Marlene asked me and a friend o’mine to smuggle her out of Boston, where we were, in exchange for some guns. We agreed. But Marlene didn’t tell us why,” Joel began, sighing before going on. “Come to find out, little girl was infected, but the bite was three weeks old.”

A pause.

“She was immune.”

You tense again, like you had been over and over again since Joel had walked into your house. That word, that fucking word. That word that made your blood run cold. Made your head spin. Made horrid memories rush to the front of your brain. 

Immune.

You raised your eyebrows at Joel in disbelief of the three words that had just fled his lips. “That’s impossible,” you said. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he returned a little too quickly. “I was thinkin’ the same way you are. Ready to kill her right there and then when I found out. Thought Marlene set us up, knew it was only a matter of time before she’d turn and catch us by surprise. But the little girl, Ellie, wasn’t lyin.”

You grimace. A fucking little girl. You didn’t even want to ask how old she was. 

Because if this was going where you thought it was, then your heart was going to ache a whole lot more.

“Our journey had its ups and downs. We had to reroute over and over again. Fireflies can be pretty damn hard to find these days. But we ended up finding out that most of the ones who were remaining, were in Utah, holed up in some medical center. Ready to make a cure.”

Joel was about to go on, keep explaining. But he didn’t have to.

You cut him off.

“I’ve heard this one before,” you laughed, but it wasn’t one of amusement, let alone humorous at all. It was one of disbelief, because how in the fuck had the universe spared you that day, just to bring it back to your feet? A scoff escapes your lips, and you sigh, pushing your tongue into your cheek before answering. “Saint Mary’s, isn’t it?”

Joel furrowed his eyebrows. “How’d-” he said in confusion, wondering if he had accidentally let it slip a few minutes ago in his hasty battle to keep an arrow out of his brain. “How’d you know?”

It’s your turn to be confused. If Marlene had really sent this man all this way to come find you, you figured she wouldn’t have spared him the details on the true nature of your connection, or lack thereof, to Marlene. “Are you kidding me? I’ve lived this,” you say, a bit of  malice behind your words as you raise your bow. “And if you think I’m going to go through that again, you better think fucking twice,” you warned.

Joel scoffed, undeterred by your threatened show of violence. He had seen scarier in his over twenty years in the apocalypse, and he was sure that if you wanted to shoot him, which you were more than capable of doing, you would have done it by now. "Little lady, I am not asking you too, alright? There's more to it."

Your expression doesn’t get any more welcoming, much to Joel’s annoyance. “Then you better get to talking, because I’m dying for an excuse to shoot you. Pun intended.”

Killing a bloater is easier than suppressing an eye roll at your words.

"Look, that girl and her bite, Marlene thinks that the head surgeon over at the Fireflies could fix up a cure. A cure for mankind. But she can’t undergo the surgery alone, not unless, unless—”

You finish for him.

“Not unless she dies.”

Joel nods, his feelings too grim to ask how you know that. He was sure that there’d be lots to uncover about you, that is, if you agreed to come back to Utah alongside him. “Right. And Marlene said, that if I found you, there’s a chance you could undergo the surgery with Ellie. And she’d survive.”

You take his words in, mulling them over in your head. The survivor in you was screaming to not let your feelings take hold. That no matter how desperate this man was for you to come with him, you would have to decline. But your conscious, the moral part of you that somehow persevered no matter how cruel this world had been to you, was bellowing. It wasn’t fair, what was happening to that little girl. It wasn’t fair that she would have to die to fix a world that was arguable beyond fixing.

But then again, what had happened to you was unfair too. And so was this unexpected arrival.

“You’re asking me to leave the comfort of my own home, travel across the damn country, go off with a man I don’t fucking know, all for a goddamn chance?” you asked. There was no violence behind your words this time. Just disbelief, incredulousness. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

Joel never lowered his hands as he spoke. “Look, I know you’re uncertain, and I would be too. But this girl, Ellie, she—” he paused, doing his best to maintain his composure. “I just can’t lose her, okay? I can’t.”

Now your face relaxes, if only a little bit. You can see the raw and vulnerable look in Joel’s eyes, the gloss to his brown eyes that shines in the dim light of your house. 

“You’ve grown attached to this girl, haven’t you?”

Joel Miller was a tough man. Feelings weren’t in the cards for him. Not since Tess, not since Sarah. And for the love of God, if he could turn them off and never feel again, it’s likely that he would. So for now, he doesn’t tell you how much Ellie really means to him, returning to the cold approach he took on the world before he met her. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I have, not that that matters,” he dismisses. “Point is, lady, if I have to drag you out of here kickin' and screamin', I will. But I ain't leavin' without’cha."

You scoffed. "You don't even know my name."

Well, for some reason, you figured he didn’t. But just then, he said it, proving you wrong in seconds.

 “Ain’t it?”

Don’tfeeldon’tfeeldon’tfeel.

You and this man were more alike than you knew.

Rolling your eyes, you speak up once again, pushing your feelings down into the gutter where they belong. “Let me tell you this, Miller. I gave up the hope a long time ago that there was anyone else out there like me, and so did Marlene. Why in the hell should I believe you?" you ask.

Joel parts his lips to speak, but words don’t come out. You were right. He had given you no reason to believe him, to trust him, and especially not, like you’d said, to leave the comfort of your own home and join him on his quest to save mankind, to save Ellie, if she was actually fucking real.

There’s a brief pause before he answers. "I don't know how else I can convince you. I can't, to be honest. But Ellie, she needs you. I can't let her die."

You paused for a second, allowing his words to sink in. God, you were apprehensive, but he, he was adamant. And the look in his eyes was tearing your survivalist ideologies to the ground.

"Saint Mary’s ain't close,” you say.

Joel’s eyes light up. It’s not a yes, but it’s hope. "I know,” he says. “I've got a car."

"A car?" you asked in shock. What more did this man have up his sleeve? You hadn't seen a working car in years. They weren’t easy to come by, and even if they were, gas was a major aspect of why nobody had cars anymore. Marlene and the Fireflies used to always have them, but because it’d been so long since you’d last seen her or a Firefly in general, you couldn't actually remember the last time you'd driven one.

"Yeah, it's a means of gettin’ around, kind of like-" Joel began. Annoyedly, you cut him off.

Did you really look that young?

"I know what a car is,” you said in annoyance. “Haven't seen one in years. You really have one?"

Joel decided to ignore your offended response, though it was hard to suppress a smirk at just how offended you’d gotten. "Yeah, I do. I told you, I'm not lyin'. Not about the car, not about Marlene, and not about Ellie. I promise.”

Promise.

You had it engraved in your brain that the word promise was a synonym for lie. It was just a kinder, less harsh way of putting it. But regardless, they were bullshit. Promises weren’t real. This wasn’t real. Joel wasn’t real.

You want to pinch your arm to make sure. Then you realize you’ve never had dreams this vivid.

You hated your face for the way it relaxed. You hated the fact that you could hear the genuineness in his tone, the converse of lies in his gruff demeanor. You hated the way your crossbow unconsciously lowered.

And you were going to hate Joel Miller for sure.

“You try anything, Miller—” you bark.

Joel’s eyes light up once again, and he can’t help the small smile that takes the corners of his lips. "You’ll put one between my eyes, I know. And I won’t, I promise.” 

“So are you comin’ or what?”

"Not so fast," you said quickly, shaking your head. "Give me some time to pack, mull it over a little more. You owe me that."

Joel wanted to protest, just a little bit. But he refrained, nodded, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your eyes remained watchful, fixed on Joel as you walked backwards to the top floor.

There, in your bedroom, you think over what just happened. Were you really going to do this? Were you really going to risk the life you had created, all for a chance? Who the fuck were you right now, and what had you done with the tough woman you had always been?

You were about to let your morals cloud your judgment, traveling far and wide to save a little girl you didn’t know, alongside a man you were sure you were going to hate. You were about to throw away all you’d become, all you’d ever wanted to be since what went down with the Fireflies all those years ago. With Marlene.

God fucking damnit.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

if you made it to the end of this, i really hope you liked it! please consider leaving a reblog, as they help my work immensely <3 kisses!

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

[zvdvdlvr]

Why’d You Have to Wait?

🔥 - synopsis. You get kidnapped on a case. Aaron’s coping mechanism? Self isolation. But when you’re recovering, Aaron wonders if staying away from you is the right thing to do. Jack convinces him anyway. Are things too far gone for Aaron to fix?

🔥 - warnings. Non descriptive torture. Scars. Burns. Very vaguely described mental issues. Slow burn. Friends ro enemies to lovers? Sad hotch. Angst. No happy ending.

🔥 - author’s note. Doing a part two. Hopefully this doesnt flop :)

Aaron had dreams about it now. They were so vivid- lifelike and real. Every time he had them he woke up in a cold sweat, heaving in the bathroom as tears dripped slowly down his face.

He hadn’t gone to the hospital to see you. In fact, Aaron hadn’t seen you since the day you almost died. He rode in the ambulance, but tore himself away from the hospital as he watched the doctors wheel you into the operating room. Your blood had stained his hands, face, and arms for days. Every time the white spots danced in his vision after emptying the contents of his stomach, he swears he can still see the glossy red liquid drip off his fingers.

You were well like. Not only by the team but by Strauss. She had given the team the time off to help y/n recover: sit in her room after another surgery, cheer for her during physical therapy.

Jack loved having time to see his dad after school, but he knew something was wrong after consistently hearing him pad to the kitchen during the middle of the night.

Tonight was no different.

Jack sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He blinked owlishly around the room and stood up. The little Hotchner slowly followed the light to the kitchen and saw his daddy lean over the sink. “Daddy?”

Aaron turned his head and tried to smile at Jack. Aaron knew he probably looked a mess. “Hey buddy. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Before Aaron could set down set down his water cup, Jack crawled up the seat and watched his dad over the counter. “What’s wrong, daddy?”

“I just can’t sleep,” Aaron shrugged, facing Jack with his arms crossed. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

Jack looked at Aaron as if he had grown two heads. “You get up in the night a lot, daddy. And your eyes are red. You cough a lot too.“

Hotch wanted to laugh. Of course Jack knew something was wrong- he always knew. “Yeah. You’re right, kiddo.”

“You yell when you sleep sometimes too. What happened to y/n, daddy? She doesn’t come see me anymore.”

Aaron shuddered as he inhaled. Smart boy. “She got really hurt, buddy. It’s bad. I guess I just… get scared thinking about her getting hurt,” Aaron admits, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest.

Jack nodded. “Can we go see her?”

“I- I don’t think we should. She’s still getting better.”

Jack furrowd his eyebrows and tilted his head. “But I miss her.”

“I do t- I bet she misses you, too, Jack, but I don’t know how she’s doing. She might still-“

Jack sighed. “But daddy, she’d be so happy to see me!”

Aaron sighed. As much as he selfishly wanted to see you, he couldn’t. He’d do something he wasn’t proud of- embarrass himself, ruin his reputation of being a mentally and emotionally tough boss, ruin your friendship… No. Aaron couldn’t go by himself, but Jack could go with him. Why hadn’t Aaron thought of it before?

“Okay,” Aaron relented. A smile tugged at his lips when Jack’s face lit up. He scrambled off his chair and collided into Aaron’s legs and squeezed.

“Can I sleep with you tonight, daddy? Aunt Jess always stays with me when I have a nightmare.”

Aaron bent down and picked Jack up and nodded. “Yeah, buddy. Let me brush my teeth again.”

Jack wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and squeezed, as big of a hug his little body could give.

— 🔥

The days were all a blur for you. Now that you were all fucked up, nothing felt right anymore. Second defree burns crawled up the calf of your left leg. Small cuts littered your entire body, scarring and twisting your skin. The worst part was the long, twisting scar that started on your cheek about two inches away from your ear and pulled down to your collarbone.

The unsub, Barney MacMillian, was a sadist. A stupid fucking sadist. He thought he was punishing you for hunting him when he kidnapped and tortured you.

You know the team tried- they really really did try- to cheer you up, to get you back. But the fact that you now considered yourself a monster and how you started to believe the things MacMillian had whispered in your ear as he tore you apart, layer by layer.

Derek genuinely thought your scar was badass, but learned not to bring it up. Penelope just kept rehashing everything- something you had eventually told her to atop doing. Prentiss was cautious, testing the waters. But she eventually got back into a rhythm with you as your best friend. JJ didn’t do anything wrong, she was just really nice- too nice? Spencer was… himself. And you couldn’t thank him enough for just staying him, recitinf facts about burns and scars, knives and blood loss. It was morbid, sure, but you were always close with him and the way his brain worked.

Rossi was the one that kept you together through it all, though. He had conversations with you, long past visiting hours. He talked with you about anything and everything and somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear or talk about. But he kept making excuses for Aaron.

Aaron. The romantic feelings you kept trying to flush away turned into hurt every time Rossi’s eyes flickered away from yours when you asked about him. But you knew now. He didn’t care. He never would. That’s why he didn’t show. It’s the only plausible explanation of why he wouldn’t show up, shoot you a text, something.

So you turned your hurt into anger and stopped asking, ignoring the way your heart would drop to your stomach and how the acid in your stomach churned eveey time you heard his name.

You already had your resignation documenta stored neatly in a magazine in the second table in the nightstand to your right. You were done with it all.

— 🔥

That’s why you felt tears prick in your eyes when you saw Jack Hotchner leap into the room. His little eyes scoured your face, eyes dragging down the healing skin on your face. You heard Aaron’s footfalls stop short at the door. Your jaw clenched and you stared at Jack, waiting for him to start crying and ask to leave.

But he didn’t. He just smiled and leapt into your arms, completely unaware of the physical pain in your leg and body. He just wrapped his arms and legs around you.

You sat still, eyes looking at Rossi, who smiled at you. You hadn’t yet looked at Aaron and didn’t even want to. Carefully you wrapped your arms around Jack’s back, ignoring how fast the tears left your eyes.

Jack pulled back and looked at you with a smile that faded the second he saw your tears. In all of your time (almost 10 years) at the BAU, Jack had only seen you cry once. And that was during a movie. 

“I thought coming to see you what make you happy,” he sad, voice sad. “Why are you crying?”

You smiled at him, sniffling pitifully. “I’m not sad, little J. I am really happy to see you,” you said. You hoped Aaron would hear the sharp undertone in your voice. Judging by Rossi’s huff of a laugh, he did.

“Oh! Well, I brought you stuff. I know you like the Black Widow because she’s really cool, so I brought you a coloring book,” Jack explained as he brandished his backpack full of stuff. You listensed intently, only looking up when Rossi got your attention and nodded to the door to signal him leaving.

Jack kept talking and you were overjoyed to listen. He was a pleasent little man, making your time more enjoyable. He opened up the coloring book he bought and started coloring after giving you a Beanie Baby he had that you mentioned you liked. He also got you a necklace- that Aaron no doubt spent a pretty penny for- that had your birthstone set in it. Jack watched you carefully as you opened it, and he put it on with his chubby fingers. You didn’t tell him that you would have to take it off soon after he left so it didn’t kill you when you slept. Hospital policy or something.

Soon after you finished your own coloring page featuring the Black Widow and Tony Stark making a hero landing, Jack turned on the T.V. and fell asleep.

“Hey,” Aaron said finally.

You nodded. “Hi boss.”

Aaron bit his lip. You stared forward, hand threading through Jack’s hair. Aaron felt his heart clenching in his chest. He didn’t know how you were gonna react when he came by, but he didn’t expect this- this silent treatment. He didn’t really blame you though. He wanted more than anything to make it up to you, to get you smiling again, but he knew the distance was probably better. For him at least.

“Y/n-“ Aaron started.”

You cut him off with. “Jack’s asleep, sir. It would be best not to wake him.”

Sir. You only called him sir if you were mad. Aaron swallowed. He knew he fucked up. Would he ever be able to fix his mistake, bring the old you back? He pondered the questions as he leaned back in his chair and watched the television show Jack chose before he fell asleep.

— 🔥

“Y/n is getting sent home today,” David’s voice crackled through the phone. “We wanted to take her out to dinner, something nice. Are you coming?”

Aaron sat at the kitchen table, checking over Jack’s homework. Jack himself was sitting a couple feet away on the couch. “Probably not. I have Jack.” 

Rossi scoffed on the other line. “She loves Jack and he loves her. Bring him with you.”

“I don’t know,” Aaron sighed. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “Dave, she hates me.”

Silence. Rossi exhaled and shook his head. “She doesn’t hate you, but you’re giving her a lot of reasons to. Clean yourself up and meet us all at the address Garcia’ll send you. 6:00. Be there, Aaron. If not for her…” he trailed off, considering his next words carefully. “Then for Jack.”

— 🔥

David convinced you all to wait until ordering.

But when 6:45 rolled around and Aaron didn’t show, you just clenched your jaw and ordered a neat whiskey.