#i've known this is what i was going for since the moment the prompt dropped in my inbox

[decaflondonfog]

day 16/30 of 30 microfics in 30 days

i am a big fan of the ‘kent is the one to find jack’ hc but sometimes not knowing and not being able to do anything is actually worse and thinking of the draft makes me cry like 9 times out of 10

JACK/KENT • SHATTERED CRYSTAL for @mkaugust

[battymommastuff]

Eden

Batmom x Batman

Warnings: SMUT, HEAVY NSFW, MINORS AND AGELESS ACCOUNTS DNI

Prompt: My, my, those eyes like fire...I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Masterlist

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked as you shut the door to a random room in your lavish mansion. As soon as Bruce made himself known to you, you dragged him to the nearest place for privacy. The last thing you needed is your husband seeing you conversate with Gotham's resident playboy billionaire.

"I'm here for you, Y/n. I made a mistake, and I can't live with myself knowing you're with...him." Bruce said as he gestured to the self portrait of your husband on the wall. Even then, he still wore that damned mask. You just closed your eyes and let out a deep breath. You've imagined this day would happen. The day Bruce instantly made you regret your marriage. All you wanted in this moment was to jump in his arms and have him walk you right out of this mansion. You wanted that from the moment you accepted the proposal. Marrying you husband was the biggest mistake of your life.

"I believe I am attending a ball as a resident of Gotham's elite." Bruce answered as he took a sip of his champagne. God it felt so good to see you this close again. He's only ever seen you through binoculars or pictures. He missed being this close to you even though he hadn't touched you. Since you departure, he felt himself go slightly feral. Bruce never realized how much he wanted you until he saw you with another man. Now he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he gets you.

You just rolled your eyes. Out of all the events your husband has thrown, Bruce arrives now? When the place is crawling with Court members, "Why are you really here, Bruce?" You asked as you removed your mask. He felt his heart race when he finally saw you face. You were absolutely beautiful. Simply stunning. He couldn't put into words what he felt for you at this moment.

"Bruce, I can't..." You whispered as you shook your head. He didn't like that answer in the slightest. He closed the already short distance between the two of you, and grabbed your face. His forehead resting against yours.

"Y/n, please. All I've wanted...I've dreamed about is having you back. I was afraid of what would happen if I let myself be happy. I couldn't let myself love you, only to lose you." He confessed and shook his head as you started spouting more rejections. Eventually his lips just pressed against yours to get you to shut up. The kiss was instantly reciprocated as you tangled your fingers into his hair. He backed you up against he wall, and started kissing down your-...

"Ugh, I'm going to throw up..." You were knocked out from your story by all of your children looking at you as if they were going to be sick. You didn't go into heavy detail like you did in your mind, but they got the picture. So you just shook your head and continued on with the story after that moment. Bruce, who had been eavesdropping...kept the memory going in his mind.

Bruce had bent you over the desk that sat across the room His hands sliding up your dress to yank your underwear down. There wasn't time for foreplay. He needed to get this out, and he needed it out now. His lips moved along the skin of your neck and shoulders. He wanted to leave marks all over your skin, but he couldn't. It would make your life hell. Your hands gripped onto the edge of the desk as Bruce dropped his pants down along with his boxers.

The feeling of him slowly pushing into you...felt amazing. Your eyes widened as a gasp came from your lips. Bruce's forehead rested on your shoulder as he pushed into you, "At least I know I don't have any competition with the Grand Master." He teased after feeling how tight you were. He was having a bit of trouble fitting.

Minutes later, heavy panting along with the sounds of the desk scooting on the wooden floor was all that could be heard in the room. One hand had reached back to hold onto his wrist while the other had wrapped around the back of his head. His hands were holding your hips tightly, and his hips moved as quickly as he could muster. Both of you lost in ecstasy. You turned your head to kiss him, but it was barely a kiss. Mostly just heavy pants while your tongues brushed together. He had forced your wedding ring from your finger and thrown it across the room. In this room, you weren't the wife of the Grand Master...you were his. As if should be.

"B-Bruce..." You whimpered, your walls clenching around his length. He just groaned in response before pushing your head down onto the table. His thrusts became more sporadic. No ounce of rhythm. Your eyes rolled back once you came. His hand quickly covering your mouth to hide the moan that came out. Bruce's hips slammed against yours roughly as he fucked his cum into you. A 'Fuck You' to the Grand Master for stealing you away.

You both panted heavily as Bruce pulled away from you to grab some tissues and started cleaning you up, "I cheated on my husband..." You panted as you felt him clean you up. Bruce just chuckled in response.

Once you were cleaned up, you went for your panties. That wasn't very easy to do since Bruce took them before you could get them. He dropped them into his jacket pocket, "Those are mine now, beautiful." He purred then pulled you to him once again. Your lips connected in a passionate kissed, "Let me take you away from here..." He whispered and kissed your forehead.

You shook your head, "No let me stay. The Grand Master has something planned. He won't tell me what it is, but I'm close to finding out." You said, your hands running up and down his arms, "Let me be your spy. I'll give you information, and then we can take him down...together. We can get rid of the Court...for good." You said, and with reluctance...Bruce accepted.

Rejoining the party was a bit awkward. Considering the fact that your husband had been searching for you. He took note of your slightly disheveled appearance, but didn't want to question it. His arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close, "Where is your wedding ring?"

TAGLIST

No Taglist for this one because I don't want to tag someone who isn't comfortable with reading smut.

~ Batty

[chiefdirector]

Predicting - Tim Bradford | The Rookie

"I don't want to talk about it," (Y/N) said, trying to move away from her husband. She was, however, unsuccessful in her attempt as he grabbed her arm. "Let me go, Tim."

He dropped his grip, "Don't you see the correlation? It's blatant. Dyer has made her move."

"I'm aware of that. Doesn't mean I want to talk about it though."

"Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?" She said as her gaze hardened. "Like I don't care, it's because I can't. Not right now. She wants me to care, to play her game; I refuse, Tim. I'm not going to be a pawn anymore."

"So you're going to do nothing?" he asked incredulously, almost in disbelief that he had to ask the question to begin with.

"Exactly." She said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Tim tried to hide his dumbfounded expression but (Y/N) caught on quickly. "Think about it, babe. Why would she go through all this effort? To taunt me, first.." (Y/N) paused, finally letting her wall of apathy crumble. "First my brother, now she tries to provoke me with this mess."

"So you're not reacting, at all? What makes it worse?"

"That's what I'm counting on." She said before making her way back to her desk, leaving Tim no room to argue.

—

"You were right."

Tim's voice broke the silence surrounding (Y/N). They had not exchanged words since earlier in the day. Chen helped Tim stew on (Y/N)’s plan, and after he had calmed down, even he could admit that it was a good plan. All they would do otherwise was entertain the criminal.

(Y/N) looked up at his words, briefly moving her attention away from the laptop screen in front of her. She knew that she didn't need to verbally acknowledge his statement, instead opting to pat the space on the couch beside her, beckoning him over.

It only took a moment for Tim to settle in her side before she turned the screen so he could see what she was looking at.

"I've been looking into Dyer's history, known contacts, her usual M.O. Something about her actions now didn't seem to align with the intel we already had on her. So I did some digging, and I was right, it isn't the same."

"Right..." he trailed off.

"Rosalind Dyer plays to win, and this battle could be infinite. She's already on death row, so there isn't anything that she could lose, or gain from this."

Tim hummed, prompting her to continue. "There is no conceivable outcome where she lands victorious. She doesn't want anything; this is a means to an end."

Before she could continue her train of thought any further, Tim's phone rang. Gesturing for (Y/N) to wait, he grabbed his cell and answered it. (Y/N) had thought nothing of it, beginning to pick at her nails when Tim's concerned voice brought her attention back to him.

Questioningly, she raised her eyebrow at him as he continued to talk. Although she wasn't left to wonder for long before he hung up, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"What happened? Is something wrong?" She asked, moved forward to place her hand on his.

"We're testing your theory out now, the Department of Corrections are preparing to transport Dyer to the station. She's agreed to show the location of more of her victims."

"When?"

"She's spending the night in one of our cells, ready to start early tomorrow."

She took a moment to digest the new information. "I'm not going with her. I don't think any contact is a good idea.'

"I agree, but Grey doesn't."

"What?"

"That was him on the phone," Tim sighed, "He wants you to escort her."

"Great," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she began to make a game plan for tomorrow. Although try as she might, (Y/N) could not seem to rid herself of the pit that had begun to grow in the bottom of her stomach.

She knew that nothing could happen, not yet anyways, and especially not tomorrow. Rosalind would be in lock and chains, surrounded by the best police officers Los Angeles had to offer, but he ailment did seem to quell at that thought.

It would be far too simple, far too easy for Rosalind to make her next move when she was out of prison. It would be like taking candy from a baby, which worried (Y/N). She was missing something.

The thought had started to make her head spin, but soon that spinning became an ache and it didn't take long for it to turn into a sharp pressure pushing against her skull. She moved to get up and take herself to bed when she felt her blood rush from her head, dizziness causing her to pause.

"(Y/N)," Tim siad, quickly moving to support her, "Are you okay?"

(Y/N) nodded, trying to stabilise herself, "Just moved too fast I think. I'm fine."

She moved to get up again, this time managing to stand. Collecting herself, she tried to excuse herself to bed, but as she approached the door, her body came crumbling down once again, this time she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4 @starstruckchopshoptyphoon @alessiamargaux @rexit-mo @ladespedidas @omg-its-vixen @agentcable @rookietrek @fluentmoviequoter @ladespedidas @wonderland2425 @niktwazny303 @the-dino-geek

Readinggeeklmao

P.s if you saw a grammatical error, no the fuck you didnt

[pastafossa]

"From A Squirt Gun, With Love" (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader, Fic)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 5's prompt: water gun fight. It's also been a while since I've written for my favorite super soldier, so today's prompt is for Bucky Barnes! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! Side note, once I've got more these will all be edited a bit more and placed on my AO3, so if you lose one, just keep an eye out over there!

Ship: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: some suggestive dialogue and innuendo

You couldn’t afford another mistake. 

He’d been hunting you for at least an hour now, stalking you determinedly through the corridors of the compound and the manicured gardens outside. He’d already nailed you half a dozen times. And much to your disbelief, one of those times was because he’d somehow managed to find his way up into the air vents where he could track you unseen. You’d done your best to at least make it a challenge for him, relying on a variety of traps you’d managed to set up ahead of time, but it hadn’t done you as much good as you’d hoped, your hit count a measly two against his six. And now? Now you were running low on ammunition, and just as low on workable options. What was worse, he’d cornered you in the garage. You’d been able to tuck yourself beneath an SUV before he could see you, but there was only one exit—one currently being monitored by your annoyingly precise marksman of a boyfriend. 

You held your breath at the quiet scrape of heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete floor. If you had to guess, he was wandering around about two rows over and off to your left. He could have bent over and just scanned beneath the cars immediately, but he was enjoying this far too much to let it end that easily. He was toying with you, dragging things out now that he had you boxed in. 

“I know you’re in here, doll,” came his low chuckle. “Come on out, and I’ll go easy on you. Besides, you gotta be soaked by now, and not in the fun way. But I can change that for you if you want. All you gotta do is pop that pretty head up for me.”

Not a chance. 

You weren’t going down without a fight. 

You clutched your water gun tighter, checking the glowing tactical display—you hadn’t even known high-tech water guns existed until Bucky had dropped one into your hands with a grin. “If my girl wants a water gun fight, we’re gettin’ a water gun fight.” 

And what you saw wasn’t good. 

Shit. 

You were down to eighteen percent tank capacity. Anywhere else in the compound, you might have had a chance to reload with one of the buckets you’d both scattered around, but you’d forgotten to put one in the garage. If you didn’t get him with your next shot, you were done. 

“The fact that you’re not out here shootin’ at me like before tells me you’re low.” His voice sounded different now: higher up, and a bit more distant. Had he… climbed on top of the cars? “You need more practice. I’ll admit, I was proud of you when you got that ass shot in, but that ain’t happenin’ again. My turn to get your ass now, darlin’. You gonna give me what’s mine?”

You sucked your lower lip for a moment before carefully edging your way forward, water gun held in front of you just in case he decided to pull a horror movie move and drop into view. It wasn’t easy. The goddamn water gun was shaped more like a shotgun than a super soaker, clunky and a bitch to drag around. The upside was it had an automatic reload so you didn’t have to worry about making any noise while pumping the gun. Its range was good for a water gun, around twenty feet, but not good enough that you could shoot Bucky at distance. You’d need to get close.

One of the cars down the row creaked, tires groaning, presumably as your massive super soldier of a boyfriend strolled along the top of the cars like they were paving stones. That he wasn’t bothering to be silent was… unusual.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he purred, his voice growing fainter as he wandered down towards the other end of the garage. “Where’s my pretty girl gone?”

On the one hand, you enjoyed hearing that tone from him, playful and relaxed, warm and content. He’d grown pretty comfortable with you, open and affectionate, over the time you’d known him. That comfort, that openness with you had only blossomed further as your relationship had morphed into something romantic. But even so, it was still unusual for him to let go like this just so he could have fun. It was progress, and that knowledge filled your heart with a sparkling warmth. 

But you also couldn’t help but be the least bit suspicious, because it would be absolutely like him to use his voice and playful tone to distract you from something. 

You froze again when a pair of boots suddenly appeared on the concrete in front of you, landing without a sound—you’d been right; all the sound a minute ago had been to try to lure you out, make you think he was farther away than he really was. You didn’t dare move, not when the slightest sound might give you away. Slowly, the boots shifted on the concrete as he turned one way, and then the other. Waiting for you to make a run for it. 

But he’d taught you better than that. 

There was the softest, quietest little huff of amusement, or maybe pride, instead. But instead of heading off, he began to kneel. 

Shit, shit, shit—

He was going to duck down and look under the car. He knew you were here, he had to. He had to. Could you shift the angle of your water gun before he leaned down and saw you—

Fortunately for you, it became clear a second later that he was only lowering himself into a crouch. You stilled again in the shadows beneath the SUV, your gun still aimed cautiously at his legs.

Speaking of which, you had a really good view of his thighs at this angle. With him crouched the way he was, his thighs looked even thicker than usual, deliciously hard muscle covered in old denim. The round curve of his ass looked just as good where he filled out his jeans, though the dark splotch on the tight fabric made you grin. It was a testament to one of the only two shots you’d managed to hit him with. Sure, he’d shot you twice in the ass in retaliation, but it had been absolutely worth it. 

He settled onto the balls of his feet, rocking a little back and forth. You heard a soft whir, before his metal hand appeared in your view. Your heart skipped a beat, a droplet of maybe-water-maybe-sweat rolling down your temple. Only… his hand didn’t appear to be going for you like you’d expected. Instead, it slipped down to the concrete. One metal fingertip gleaming in the fluorescent lighting, it brushed lightly at the droplets of water drying on the concrete. 

Fresh droplets. 

From you. 

Crap. 

His head appeared beneath the SUV as he leaned over to meet your eye. Then he flashed you a feral grin. “Hi doll,” he said smugly. “Hi Bucky. I love you,” you said fondly, and shot him in the face. 

His head reared back as he spat out a curse, frantically swiping the water away from his face. It gave you just enough time for you to squirm out from under the SUV and take off down row between the cars, your sneakers slapping against the concrete, the wind blowing your hair back. If you could get to the door before he did, you could turn around and lock him in. It wouldn’t keep him here forever, but it might buy you a few minutes to reload. 

Based on the rapidly pounding footsteps behind you, though, you weren’t even going to get close. Not when it sounded like he was charging after you with every last bit of super-soldier-powered speed he had. You needed another plan, or else—

Something slammed hard against one of the cars behind you, startling you enough to make you stumble. In that brief moment of distraction, Bucky had vaulted himself up off the car and over your head. 

His broad form landed smoothly in front of you in one easy motion, dropping into a crouch. He rose slowly, powerful muscle gradually uncoiling inch by inch, until finally he loomed up over you, water gun held ominously in one hand. His pale eyes had gone dark with heat, pupils blown wide as he fixated on you: his prey. He took one prowling step forward, a flash of pink from his tongue as he lazily licked the droplets of water away from his mouth.

“You shot me,” he rumbled hungrily. “I should be mad. But damn, doll. That was hot.” “Hot enough to stop you from shooting me back?” you asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” he said with a smirk, before firing a blast of cold water directly at your abdomen. You let out another shriek, turning to sprint away from him, a trail of damp footprints left behind. And if your shriek was half laughter, well, his playful growl was just as full of joy as he took off after you. 

[on-a-lucky-tide]

If you're looking for prompts, I've got a little idea, ,,,, I wanna see Nik fight someone for John. Maybe some asshole doesn't like what he sees when they're outside together, or an enemy, or whatever suits your fancy, but Nik unleashing the beast and maybe going too far but no one touches his love while he's around. Nik losing control of himself for a moment and then waking up, feeling very bad about it all. Angst with comfort, you know :3c (if you haven't written anything similar already, of course !! )

Nik believes Price is dead. He tears the world to pieces in his grief.

cw: extreme violence, torture, child endangerment, no MCD. Nikolai goes off the deepend. (Also for Anon who asked for the same.)

Laswell had delivered bad news many times in her career. It usually started the same way. 'Please sit down...' and then you moved onto the facts of the matter - the ones you could actually tell them - 'they died in the line of duty, they were killed by... they served with distinction' - and finally, you finished with 'I'm sorry for your loss, the United States government is at your disposal if...'

She knew what the relative, or relatives, looked like at each stage. The disbelief, the cracks of emotion spidering through their eyes as they tried to keep themselves together, and then the inevitable disintegration. Some people wailed, others sobbed softly into their hands, one person had roared in anguish and dropped to the floor. Grief looked slightly different on everyone, but she had seen every permutation.

There was usually another family member to pick them up, to offer comfort. It was hard. People got through. They healed, or they didn't. But that, as brutal as it was, was none of her concern. She had no loyalty to them and no history.

Nothing in her career had prepared her for telling Nikolai that Captain John Price had been killed in the line of duty.

John's task force stood with her as Nik walked into the room. She had placed damn tissues in the table. Tissues. Like Nikolai, of all people, would disintegrate into weeping and mucus. Perhaps it would have been easier if he had.

"Laswell," Nik greeted her in his usual manner, eyes crinkled in the corners, his hands spread. He looked at the three men standing around her in turn and instantly noted a fourth missing. The one he looked for first every time. The one that owned his heart and soul. His gaze lingered on Gaz, whose head tilted as if to begin an apology, and then finally Nik looked at Laswell. "Where is the captain?"

"Nik, take a seat." She gestured at the chair next to the table. Nik glanced at it, and then looked back at her. There was no point insisting. He was as stubborn as John was... had been.

The facts. "On 8th October, the 141 were involved in a raid on a base in search of a high value target. The mission went awry, and John was... killed covering the escape of his men." She swallowed, lowering her voice. For the first time since she had learned the news herself, she felt a stab of pain in her chest. "I'm sorry, Nik."

She believed she had seen grief in all its forms, but what she saw in Nikolai's eyes added a new dimension to her understanding. It was like all the light vanished in an instant; the jovial, lively man she had known for years since he turned informant for MI6 dissipated like smoke in the wind. It was a silent death; his face turned hard, his eyes darkened, and his huge body seemed to expand, casting a bigger shadow. The Nikolai she knew, and loved in her own way, disappeared before her very eyes.

"How?" he asked, his voice no more than whisper.

"He was shot," Sergeant MacTavish stepped forward. The scar down his face was still raw; a livid red in the artificial lights. "Savin' us. Watchin' our backs. Like he always did." Soap pulled something from his pocket and slid it across the table to Nik's hands. A boonie hat, Laswell noted. "Don't even 'ave his dog tags tae give ye, I..."

Nik looked at the folded beige cloth in silence, his eyes moving left to right as if he was reading something from it. When he picked it up, he touched the folded rim to his lips and then his forehead, before gazing down at it in his palms. "Who?"

"Nik?" Laswell asked, watching him carefully.

"Who is to blame? Give me the name."

"Nik, I can't--"

"A name, Kate!" His voice snapped like a whip through the room, with all the impact of a gunshot. She saw the fury in his eyes, the sharp edges, the fury, turning his usually warm brown hue into two bottomless pits.

"Makarov," Lieutenant Riley said. "Vladimir Makarov."

"Ultranationalists." It rolled out of Nik's mouth like he was spitting poison from his tongue. The corner of his eye twitched, his lips curling in a sneer. Laswell often forgot how dangerous, how volatile, Nikolai had been in those early days, when his wounds were raw and open, before John had helped him heal into the best version of himself. But she remembered now as she watched those proverbial wounds split open again, rending through psychological scars long since faded. Nik said nothing more, but tucked John's hat into the loops of his belt as he turned to leave.

"Nikolai, whatever you're planning on doing, we must ensure you--"

"There is no 'we', Laswell," Nik said. "There is not even a 'me' anymore."

She watched him leave, her words lodged in her throat. No one else tried to stop him either. They had lost their mentor, their captain, their friend. Nik had lost his heart. She cast a glance at Riley. "If it gets bad, if he goes too far, it'll be you that has to put him down."

Soap scoffed. "Why'd we do tha'? Hope he gives 'em hell."

"The only thing that kept Nikolai on our side was John Price," she said. "And once he's finished tearing through Ultranationalists and realises it hasn't healed his grief, or brought him peace, who do you think a man like Nikolai will come for next?"

They stood in silence.

***

"König, ich möchte dich einstellen."

"Ha! Nikolai? Was ist mit Chimera passiert?"

"Dafür brauche ich eine andere Strategie."

***

"Do your worst. I have nothing to tell you," the prisoner spat, a globule and saliva and blood landing on the floor near Nik's boot. Nik had already torn out three teeth with pliers, broken his ribs and two fingers. The man, one Ivan Yegerov, was tied to the chair with rope and barbed wire, which meant every convulsion tore into his skin, leaving deep welts of rended flesh leaking onto the floor.

He wasn't the first. Not even tonight.

Nikolai had shattered Yegerov's friend's skull with the wrench propped up against the wall nearby. The blood had spattered up his bare torso, matting his chest hair, stained the side of his face. Shirtless, with a buzzcut he hadn't worn since his time in the Russian Air Force, he looked every part the madman he had become. He had ignored Laswell's attempts to contact him, leaving bodies for her men to find, with notes pinned to their foreheads containing their sins. She had stopped trying after two years, but he knew she was still following his blood trail.

Yegerov and his ally had been at the base in Ukraine and, with KorTac's help, it had been a simple matter of extracting key links in the chain for a conversation. Nikolai was tracking them down, one by one, and once he was done there, he would make his way slowly to the top.

"This is not an interrogation," Nik said as he ran his fingers over the tools on the table. "This is revenge. The interrogation will start soon."

Nik selected a serrated hunting knife and turned it over his fingers as he walked towards his captive. Yegerov leaned back in the chair as Nik planted his hands over his broken wrists, seething and whimpering in pain. "Do you know the best way to extract information?" Nik asked. Yegerov said nothing, so Nik squeezed his wrists. "Answer."

"Ah, no! No! I do not."

"They truly do not make terrorists like they used to," Nik said quietly. "I will tell you." Nik ran the tip of the hunting knife down Yegerov's cheek as he spoke, not quite pressing hard enough for it to cut in yet. "You must find a bargaining chip. Every man has something in their life that they cannot live without, a line they will not cross. It is their reason to breathe, it governs their actions, it helps them... find their limit."

Nik stood up straight and reached into his back pocket, his fingers skimming over the folded boonie hat threaded through his belt loops. The picture he pulled out was crumpled and worn, spattered with sweat and blood. It had been pristine when he had snatched it from the overhead screen of his Black Hawk, the rage running in torrents of tears down his face as he had pressed it to his lips.

He had torn himself out of it, because he looked nothing like the man he had; his hair buzzed down to a military shave, his body leaner, his eyes dead. Only John remained, with his big grin and his glittering eyes. Nik pushed the picture close to Yegerov's face as he had done with every man he had killed so far. "He was my line. My reason to breathe. And you took him away."

Yegerov squinted, terrified eyes lifting away from the picture of a smiling John Price to Nik's. Before he could say anything, the nearby door burst open and König forced two hooded figures through in front of him, one so small he barely reached his hip. "Ah, bargaining chips," Nikolai stood, throwing the hunting knife to the table. "Shall we find your line, comrade?"

König shoved his hostages forward to stand before Yegerov and then tore their hoods off. Yegerov let out a strangled wail of horror as he drank in the tear-stained faces of his wife and daughter. "No, no!"

"This is how it works," Nikolai said. "You give me name of someone who will know the current whereabouts of Makarov, and I will allow you to choose who survives." It was unlikely Yegerov would know anything. Nik just wanted him to experience the feeling of powerlessness as his loved ones died before his eyes.

The same feeling Nik had felt when he had been considering turning his Black Hawk towards the White House; suicide by F-15. Numb emptiness, desperation, a bottomless, writhing grief that shredded his heart. He had decided then to leave a trail of bodies in his wake first, only then would he join John.

"No, please... please, no."

Nik picked up his M9 and checked the magazine. "I count down; five, four..." He pulled back the pistol slide and turned the weapon first to the woman, who cowered, clutching her child's head to her chest.

"Please, she is just a child!"

"...three, two.."

"Wait! Wait! He's alive!"

Nik's finger lifted from the trigger just as he was about to pull it, settling along the barrel. He looked first to König, and then to Yegerov. "Repeat."

"He's alive... John Price," Yegerov said, almost hyperventilating. "Stop pointing that gun at my wife! I will tell you! Tell you everything. Please."

Nik hesitated. For the first time since this crusade had begun, he hesitated. He returned the M9 to the table and trudged back to his captive, both hands slamming down onto his broken wrists. "If you are lying to me, I will make you watch as I peel every inch of skin from your wife's body while she is still alive."

Yegerov swallowed. "On her life, he is alive. Prisoner 627. He is at a gulag in Petrovpavlosk. Please. He is alive. You can check using my... my passkey in our system. Do not kill my family. Mercy."

Nikolai looked at König who inclined his head, disappearing from the room to follow the lead. The two hostages sank against the wall, whimpering and shivering, and Nik straightened slowly. His fingers ghosted over John's hat, and then found his picture again. Hope was a dangerous thing and Nik resisted the heat of it burning in his chest. "Mercy is for those with a heart," Nikolai said. "You tore mine out the day you took him from me. Pray that we find him."

***

"This belongs to you, sir."

***

Price watched the drills in the parade square outside and wondered whether the drill sergeant noticed the trooper lagging slightly out of step in the third row.

The medics had cleared him to leave. There was a pamphlet about PTSD shoved in the side pocket of his bag, and he had weekly meetings with the base psychologist until they were happy he wasn't going to snap at the wrong moment. He wasn't sure what the road forward looked like, or how to even take the first step, but there was one person who he knew he wanted to be there when he did.

The door behind him opened and Price turned. The man that stood in the doorway was leaner than he remembered, his black hair cut in a military-short back and sides he hadn't seen for nearly a decade. Nikolai looked knackered, no better than Price did, which was understandable given what Price had been told.

Nik walked in tentatively, as if he felt like he was intruding, and that cut Price down to the quick. If there was one fuckin' person he had wanted to see all this time, it was the weary Russian pilot currently stood before him. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Nik's broad chest and burying his face in his shoulder. Nik squeezed him back, just as desperate.

They held each other in the quiet, confirming, checking they weren't dreaming, until finally Price pulled away to study Nik's face. "Yer hair looks shit," he croaked.

Nik smiled, just as lopsided as Price remembered. "And your beard is bad."

"Least I had an excuse," Price said, scratching at the scruffy stubble on his jaw.

Nik's eyes saddened. "As did I." He lifted a hand and cupped Price's face, bringing their foreheads together. "My life ended when I lost you."

"Ya didn't lose me. Ya found me, didn'tcha? Tore the world to pieces, Simon said."

"My hands got dirty, John," Nik rasped.

"Dirty so that my men could stay clean.'

Nik lifted his face away, studying Price's eyes, looking for condemnation, anger, disgust. He would find none of it, Price was certain. All he felt in that moment was gratitude, relief, exhaustion.

"Laswell has agreed to waive my arrest warrant," Nik said, clearing his throat. "Under the agreement that I am to retire when we have defeated Makarov."

"Sounds fair. I've always thought ye'd make a good stay at home husband."

Nik looked startled, and Price leaned in to kiss the stupid look right off his face. Bewilderment broke into relieved laughter, and then eventually tears. Price held Nikolai's face to his shoulder as the sobs shuddered through his body.

"S'olright, I'm home."

[tsumuus]

hiiiiiii i hope youre doing great. ur fics and smaus are all so good i just love them! for your follower event, i was wondering if you could do the song "sailor song" for izuku😓 again, ily and ty so much!!

₊✩‧₊˚ izuku midoriya + prompt 3 ˚₊✩‧₊

₊✩‧₊˚ sailor song ˚₊✩‧₊

The rain poured in sheets outside the large windows of UA's teacher's lounge, each drop tapping against the glass like a soft reminder of the world outside. You sat at the far end of the room, a book in your hands, though your attention had long since drifted. Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, tracing the slow-moving minute hand, when a familiar figure caught your eye.

Izuku Midoriya entered, soaked from the rain despite his umbrella. His dark curls clung to his forehead, the water dripping from his hero notebook, which he still carried even though his days as a pro hero were over. He caught your gaze and smiled- a soft, knowing smile that held a warmth you were too familiar with.

Midoriya had always been focused, a man on a mission ever since high school, but now there was a different air about him. He was quieter these days, more contemplative. Losing his quirk hadn’t dulled his spirit, but it had changed his course. The boy who once dreamt of being the greatest hero now stood in front of students, teaching them the principles he had learned through his own struggles. You admired that about him- his resilience.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice soft yet carrying the same nervous energy you remembered from years ago. He walked over to the window seat across from you, shaking the rain from his hair before sitting down.

"Long day?" you asked, closing your book and giving him your full attention.

"Yeah," he sighed, leaning back against the cushioned seat, staring out the window. His green eyes, once always so full of determination and fire, now held a softer glow. They flicked to you, and for a moment, it seemed like he wanted to say something, but the words lingered unsaid in the space between you.

The silence stretched for a few beats, only broken by the rhythmic patter of rain.

"I've been thinking..." Midoriya's voice trailed off, his gaze now fixed firmly on his lap. You tilted your head slightly, waiting for him to continue.

He shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his notebook. "You know, my entire life, all I've ever focused on was becoming a hero. Ever since I was a kid, that was my dream. I didn’t think about anything else." His eyes lifted to meet yours, and something in their depths pulled at your heart.

You nodded, understanding all too well. He’d always been driven, and his passion for heroism had consumed most of his life, leaving little room for anything else. And for a while, you had accepted that. You had been content with the friendship you shared, never daring to hope for more.

But somewhere along the way, your feelings had deepened. You had fallen for him, the same way someone falls asleep- slowly, then all at once.

"I knew I had feelings for you back in high school," he confessed quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I always told myself I didn't have time. That I needed to focus on becoming a hero first, on saving people. And now..." He paused, glancing out the window as if searching for the right words. "Now, I can’t be the hero I wanted to be. But that doesn’t mean I can’t go after what I want."

Your breath hitched slightly. His words hung heavy in the air, thick with the weight of unspoken emotions. You had known Midoriya for years, and this was the first time he had ever been so direct, so vulnerable.

"I've spent my whole life wanting to be someone for others, someone strong enough to protect everyone," he continued, his voice steadying. "But I've also wanted to be loved. I want to be able to say it, to show it- without shame, without fear of losing focus. And I think... I think I’m ready now. For this." His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his confession sinking into your chest like an anchor.

Your heart raced as you processed his words, the rain outside a soft backdrop to the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

"Midoriya..." You breathed his name, your voice trembling slightly. His eyes widened, anticipation and nervousness written all over his face.

"I’ve felt the same way," you finally admitted, your voice soft but steady. "Since high school, actually. I just didn’t think you ever noticed me like that. And when you became so focused on your hero journey, I didn’t want to get in the way. So I stayed quiet." You smiled, a small, bittersweet smile that mirrored years of quiet pining. "But I’m glad you’re telling me now. I’m glad you feel the same."

A mix of relief and disbelief washed over Midoriya’s face. His hand hesitantly reached for yours, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against your skin. The touch sent a spark through you, one that you had long suppressed, now igniting the air between you.

"You deserve to be loved, Izuku," you said softly, squeezing his hand gently. "Loudly and proudly, just like you’ve always dreamed."

His face softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Midoriya allowed himself to smile fully- no nervous laugh, no awkward stutter. Just pure, unfiltered happiness.

"I don’t want to waste any more time," he whispered, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I want to be with you, if you’ll have me."

You felt a warmth spread through you, a sense of completion that you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for.

"I’ve been waiting for you," you replied, your voice steady and sure.

And just like that, the weight of years of unspoken feelings melted away, leaving nothing but the two of you, finally free to embrace the love you had always wanted but never dared to reach for.

a/n timeskip izuku bc i lowk lobe teacher izuku. also made the reader a teacher bc i wanted to so i did :) very vaguely based on the song and im sorry for that. but i rwally do love this song so ily for requesting it. i tried to incorporate like the way i percieve and interpret the song into this so hope you liked it!!

₊✩‧₊˚ 555 follower event ! ˚₊✩‧₊

main masterlist

[thevoidstaredback]

The week after the Gala, there was another meeting at the Watchtower. Just as they had before, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, The Flash, and Aquaman stayed behind after everyone else left.

No chatter started up as the door closed with a final sounding noise. Like a Death Knull in the ears of five of the seven present heroes.

An eternity passed between one second and the next, everyone waiting for someone else to say something. No one knew why no one else was saying anything, but they all knew they didn't want to be the ones to drop whatever shoe was being held over their heads.

All except Batman, the epitome of stoicism, and Green Arrow, the epitome of suspense.

Eventually, Batman said, "So, how did you enjoy your trip to Gotham?" He didn't address a single person, prompting everyone to speak over themselves at once, all trying to explain away their presence in his city. Soon, though, their anxiety gave way to confusion as everyone realised that everyone else was saying the same thing as them.

"What?" Wonder Woman asked, "What's going on?"

"I asked how your trip to Gotham was."

"Um," Green Lantern said, "Care to address who you're talking to?"

"Why would I? You all know who I'm talking to."

There was a beat. "All of us?" Aquaman asked, "Were all of us in Gotham?"

"Yes." Batman says. "How did you enjoy your trip?"

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait!" The Flash said, "First of all, how would you know that?"

"Nothing happens in Gotham without my knowledge. No one or thing enters or leaves the city without me knowing."

"Right," The Flash relented, "That's creepy as hell, and a huge privacy violation! Second of all," he directs this at the rest of the room, "When were you all in Gotham? I was invited to a gala at Wayne Manor last weekend."

The round of agreements from around the room only confused everyone further.

"Wait, you mean we were all in one space as civilians?" Superman asked.

"There's no way that's a coincidence!" Green Lantern yelled, "What the hell, Batman?!"

"Arrow?" Wonder Woman's voice hushed everyone else's. "You've been awfully quiet."

Green Arrow took another moment before he moved. He chuckled lightly, "I see what you're doing, B. I can't believe I didn't notice earlier!" As he spoke, he reached up and removed his mask and hat, ignoring the others' disbelief. "It's nice to meet you all formally, I guess. I'm Oliver Queen."

The Flash blinked.

Superman spun to face Batman, anger in his expression. "You had Wayne throw a party to force us to reveal our identities to each other?!"

"I've known who you all are since just after you all made names for yourselves." Batman said.

Oliver shook his head. "You're horrible at this, man."

"We didn't tell you our names." Aquaman growled, "At least I didn't."

"No," The Flash agreed, "I didn't either."

"I am a detective first and foremost. I needed to know who you all are before I could trust you with the safety of this world."

Green Lantern got right up in Batman's face as he said, "You don't get a say in that, Batman. That's not up to you to decide."

"Not to mention that Wayne, who is a very well known civilian, knows who we are now. " Wonder Woman said, "Or, at least, I assume he does."

"He does," Batman affirmed.

Superman grabbed Batman's cape and picked him up out of his chair. "We were good friends, Bats, ut you've crossed a line."

"We can still be friends." Batman says.

"Oh, yeah?" Aquaman asks, "How?"

Ignoring how he was still suspended in the air, Batman, too, removed his cowl. Superman dropped him as soon as he realised who he was holding, backing away so everyone had a view of Batman. "Because I'm Batman."

Part 17 Storyboard Alt. Ending

[supernaturalfreewill]

Warnings: drunk adult of legal age lol "Okay, can you navigate the stairs?" Sam asked you, rushing to spot you as you charged forward toward your front porch.

"I'm not THAT drunk," you retorted, and quickly lost your balance on the second step.

"Whoa! Okay..." Sam caught you gently by the elbow and steadied you with another hand on the small of your back. "Let's just slow down a little, yeah?" he laughed, smiling down at you.

You were looking up at him with wide eyes. His were full of so many colors. You found it slightly dizzying. Or maybe that was the alcohol...

"You okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing down.

"Mmm," you nodded. "Sam. I have a secret..."

He laughed again and gently nudged you up the stairs and toward the front door. "You probably shouldn't tell me then," he replied.

You paused to dig around in your bag for your keys, biting your bottom lip. "Well—I mean, if you insist, I guess I could tell you." Your words were slightly slurred and Sam shook his head at you, cocking an eyebrow up.

"I didn't—but go on, I guess," he said, holding the door open when you finally managed to get the key in the lock and turn it. It was pretty clear that what he had to say mattered very little at the moment...

You waved him to come in but he only stood a little nervously on the mat as you dropped your purse and immediately began pulling off your shoes and your jacket. When you were done, you stepped close in front of him again and looked up at him. Sam's eyes flitted down to the soft pout of your lips. "You—you probably shouldn't tell me anything you consider a secret," he said quickly. "You're prettyyy drunk."

"But I want to tell you," you said, still staring up at him.

Sam gulped.

"Sammy—" A jolt of electricity zipped up his back when you said his name like that. You rarely called him 'Sammy'. "—you know, I've had a huge crush on you since the moment we met," you said. Your voice was breathy and low.

Sam gulped again. "Are you sure this isn't just the whiskey talking?"

You shook your head, looking slightly offended that he didn't believe you. "It's not the whiskey. It's true. And the longer I've known you—"

But Sam suddenly gently gripped your shoulders and interrupted you. "Y/N—I'm gonna stop you. You are drunk. And I don't want you to say something you might regret tomorrow."

You looked up at him and a perplexed expression muddled your face. "Why would I regret—"

"Just—trust me. Okay?" His heart was pounding. It took every bit of power he had to stop you from saying what it seemed like you'd been about to say. But he didn't want to hear it this way, with you foggy and fuzzy from a night at the bar and with him unable to feel right about grabbing you and kissing you, worried he'd be taking advantage... "But tomorrow, when you're sober, if you still want to tell me... I promise you I would be—beyond happy to hear it. But for now... goodnight. Drink some water, eat something, and get some sleep, okay? I'll check in with you tomorrow."

Prompt: "Mmmm I have a secret." / "You probably shouldn't tell me then." / "Oh geez, well... I mean... if you insist, I guess I could tell you." / "I didn't but go on, I guess..."

[irregularcollapse]

for the kiss drabble ask, 38 for clegan!! (38's is this: …because they’re running out of time. it feels beautifully angsty)

i'm going to cheat!! because! i wrote this for a christmas fic that i may or may not finish on time. but it fits the prompt! and maybe has some of the requested angst. i've been mulling this prompt over and over since you sent it, and i think the concept wormed its way into my planning for this fic. and hopefully if i make it known that i'm writing this, i can guilt myself into finishing it on time! perhaps!

requisite context is that Bucky is about to get on a plane (to LONDON!!!) and go away for a year (or will he?). he is around 23 years old, and Gale is around 20.

this is currently not proofread or edited! still very much in the working stages! but a little preview of something Christmassy.

38. ...because they're running out of time.

“It was your idea, Buck. You told me to go.”

“For a month or two, not—It’s a whole year, John. And maybe it don’t seem like long right now, but you’re gonna—”

“Forget you? Come on. Babydoll,” he croons, maybe a little hammed, and it turns out Bucky is the one looping arms around Gale’s neck and tugging him in, kiss landing on his cheekbone. “How could I?” When Gale breathes out, it huffs and shakes, warmth stuttering over Bucky’s neck. His arms come up, wrap around Bucky’s middle, vying for closer contact against the barrier of his backpack. Some jostling, and he shoves it out of the way, arms locking in a solid brace.

“I know you—you ain’t the pen-pal type. And you’re gonna meet people.”

“Buck, baby, don’t think like that, alright? It’s only a year.” When Gale doesn’t reply, only drops his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder—another way of not looking Bucky in the eye—he finds himself gritting a sigh. “You should come with me.” The shake of Gale’s head is almost immediate, and he doesn’t straighten.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Fuck, Gale. I don’t know, then. I—” He sucks his teeth, shifting until he can drive Gale backward by the shoulders before tripping fingertips over his hardened jaw. There aren’t tears in his eyes. There’s not much of anything at all, just that crystal emptiness. Bucky’s palm slots against his jaw the way it always has; neat, easy, object and receptacle. He tucks some of Gale’s hair behind his ear without thinking about it, just something his fingers know how to do. “If I’m going to bet on anything, I’m going to bet on us, Buck.”

Gale’s eyes are huge, and hollowed, shadowy with what could be the lack of sleep: they’d stayed up all night after the bon voyage get-together, talking, and fooling around, and then he’d spent most of the morning checking everything in Bucky’s suitcase. His silences stretched as the day went on, until the drive to the airport had him only humming as punctuation to anything Bucky said as he drove. The rose-gold of his complexion looks grayish and murky under the halogen lighting. Even his lips are pale, held tight but seeming to sag.

“Don’t say that. You don’t know.”

“And you don’t, either.” Maybe Bucky is trying, a little bit, to push a smile onto Gale’s face with the way his thumb rubs at the corner of that drooping mouth. Still a sweet thing, pouting and pretty, but it’s miles from the devoted sadness that Bucky fantasized about: Gale looks as though he could throw up. “You know something I do know?” The grip on Gale’s face is more of a guide now, keeping his head straight. Bucky can’t do anything about his gaze, which does drop and flicker even as his hands come up to wrap around Bucky’s wrists. “I know I love you a whole lot, and I’m not a quitter. Not when I worked so hard to get you, huh?” He tucks away another wisp of Gale’s hair, lingering a moment in trailing through the length of it to his shoulder with meditative fingers. He’d dreamed of this as well, in the months before making his move. There’s no giving it up, no possibility of it, not when Gale leans into his touch like that even while looking so drained of all his light.

Bucky swallows, and a jagged rock works its way from the back of his tongue through his chest and into his stomach.

“I’ll be back at Christmas, for a bit. I’ll come back, alright? It’ll be you an’ me, same as always. C’mere, baby.” He can feel the downturned slope of Gale’s lips against his own, and the wetly quivering breath that Gale draws in, but he does kiss back. He kisses back, and a TSA agent is shouting to remind everyone in the queue to remove their shoes, and a big bubbling family are all talking over each other, and there’s a final boarding call crackling across the PA system, and Bucky’s heart is throbbing and thumping in his ears, but when Gale murmurs something into his mouth, he thinks that it might be, “Don’t count on it.”

(from these kiss prompts!)

[alldevilsarehere90]

May I request #2 and #18 with Daryl pretty please?

(Some Daryl whump if you’re feeling especially generous <3 )

Title: All I'm living for

Pairing: Daryl x female reader

Summary: Just when you finally got the man you wanted, another surprise could threaten your relationship, especially when a herd of walkers is almost at your door step.

Setting: Alexandria (between season 8 and 9)

Warnings: talk of pregnancy and motherhood, anxiety, crying, slightly suggestive, angst and fluff.

Word count: 4k

Prompts: "I'm pregnant ok, that's why I don't want to go on runs and that's why I've been avoiding you." "You can't be serious, that's suicide!"

A/N: I have never done hurt/comfort before, so I hope I've done it well. I did try to condense this one, only to end up making it longer haha. Enjoy!

The feeling of careful eyes on you, suspicious, narrowed and unwavering, and you knew just who they belonged to. Without even looking you knew, you knew he was trying to read you and you also knew you were not making it easy.

You and Daryl had shared a different kind of connection from the very first day you met, one so deep you were aware of the others presence before coming into view. The electricity that charged a room the two of you were in was undeniable. You'd had your time of pretending not to notice, that was…until terminus. You will never forget reuniting with him outside of their captive walls, the sheer relief to have him in front of you, holding him in your arms as he squeezed you in return. 

It was then you could no longer lie to yourself about how you felt. Lying to him, however, was surprisingly easy while you lived on the road, constantly moving from place to place, you hadn't had a moment to breathe let alone relax enough to think about it. 

Until Alexandria.

Then you spent too much time thinking. Overthinking. The timing was never right, or his mood never seemed to fit, or sometimes you just couldn't face the thought of rejection and losing his friendship in the process. 

Then came the saviours.

That's when everything changed, you no longer cared about being embarrassed or unrequited feelings. 

When he was captured by Negan you were filled with regret and it was all consuming. If only he'd known how I felt about him. If only I'd told him before this.

When he returned, he was a different person. It took a long while for him to open up to you and tell you his story. He needed time, that much was obvious but in this world we didn't have the luxury of that before something else needed our attention or our fight. 

You'd confessed one night, when you found him asleep in his basement room having a traumatic nightmare. His body jolted and his face contorted in pain, it hurt your heart in ways you couldn't even describe, in ways you didn't even think possible. He whispered your name and your hands were on him, gently stroking to rouse him from his horror.

He'd awoken with a start, eyes darting to all the dark corners in the room, reaching for his knife when he saw your silhouette.

"Daryl, it's just me." You said, hands up as you stepped into the moonlight seeping in through his small window.

His fright dissipated as he dropped the knife; clattering against the wooden floor. The tears in his eyes had you closing the space between you and wrapping him in your arms, he clung to you while he cried. 

That was the night you could no longer keep the words inside you.

His response had told you everything. He made love to you that night, drawing his name from your lips numerous times until the yellow of the sun streamed through his window. 

Since then, passionate kisses and delicate caresses only when you were alone, along with whispered words you'd only dreamt of…until a week ago.

You'd been off, that much was obvious to everyone in Alexandria. Knowing Daryl, he was probably obsessing over what he'd said or done to upset you, you could practically see it ticking over in his mind constantly and it killed you. Knowing it was you making him feel that way, knowing you were making him doubt himself, something he definitely didn't need any more help with but right now, you couldn't get out of your own anxiety; you couldn't see past it, as selfish as it was. 

The constant feeling of wading through mud, everything seemed harder and your mind felt slower than ever, you were drowning in it and nobody could pull you out of it. Especially Daryl and that was a first. He was the person you spoke to about everything but this…something this big and you couldn't bring yourself to tell him. 

Making the mistake of glancing over at the group discussing the herd of walkers travelling in this direction, only to meet his gaze and for a moment, you see a flash of hope in his eyes as he straightens up, rigid on his seat on the steps of the porch of your shared house.

Your body flinches but you force a smile as you look away again.

"Hey," a voice sounds behind you, making you jump.

Looking over your shoulder as you continue sharpening your knives, you're met with Aaron's sincere and concerned face. 

"Hey." You reply weakly, head down and focus back down on your task, relishing in the high pitched scratch the blade makes against your stone.

He slowly squats down next to you making avoiding his questioning gaze now impossible. "What's going on?"

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, the tears pricked the corners of your eyes, making your vision blurred but you stayed attentive to your knives. "Nothing."

Sighing he placed a gentle hand on your leg, the notion a comfort you didn't want, knowing you would crumble right here in front of everyone. "You're not fooling me, I know you and I know when there's something troubling you," his thumb rubs small circles on your thigh, in his usual caring manner. "why don't you come over to my place and we can talk? And whatever it is, I'll be here to support you however I can." 

A lone tear fell onto your lap as you were careful to keep your eyes down. Aaron must have noticed as he gently took your hand in his and pulled you up discreetly, leading you towards his house. 

You were closest with Aaron, second to Daryl, he was someone you trusted with your life but this wasn't just about you. How could you share this with him when you haven't spoken to the one person who needs to hear it the most?

As soon as your back’s turned to Daryl and the rest of your group, you swipe at the warm tear that escaped, leaving a wet trail down your cheek in its wake. 

Sitting in Aaron's house, leaning back into the couch and feeling yourself relax slightly from the familiar comfort, worry evident in his eyes as he took the seat opposite you. "What's going on?"

Chewing your bottom lip, debating where to even start, not sure you can even find the words to explain how you feel. You're more than aware of how you should feel rather than how you do and yet, here you are, unable to even understand this pit that has formed, weighted and heavy inside you.

"Is it Daryl? Did something happen between you two?" 

You swallow the nervous dry patch scratching away at the back of your throat. "You could say that," mumbling in response.

Leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, eager to hear what's on your mind. "Did you tell him how you feel?" 

You could see it, the excitement blooming under the surface that he was trying so hard to keep restrained and to put him out of his misery by nodding in response.

"And?" His eyes wide with eagerness, almost cartoon like and under any other circumstances you would have laughed. "Did he upset you?"

Letting out an amused sigh as the idea was ridiculous in itself. "No, far from it." 

He smiled, seeming satisfied and leaning back against the chair. "Didn't I tell you he had feelings for you? You two are made for eachother." 

He registered your watering eyes and immediately joined you on the sofa, taking both your hands in his, waiting patiently for you to continue.

You swallow the nerves you feel rising in your throat like bile, burning your insides as they creep upwards. 

"It's me, I'm messing things up, not Daryl." 

The tears fall freely now, unable to ebb the steady stream down your face. "He's amazing and I don't deserve him for how I'm making him feel right now."

He rubs your back softly as you speak through your sobs. Regaining some ounce of your control in order to choke out the words that made you want to vomit. "I–," your stomach lurched at the thought of even saying those words. "I–," you sat up straighter assessing the churning of your stomach. 

"I think I'm gonna be sick." Your hand went straight to your mouth as Aaron managed to hand you a bin before your breakfast came up and out of you, your stomach pulling, retching until there was nothing left to bring up.

You hadn't noticed you were alone until Aaron walked back in with some tissues and a glass of water, to which you down greedily, feeling a thirst like never before.

Kneeling down in front of you rubbing your arms, he looks you over. "Are you…are you pregnant?" 

You nod, gently pushing the bin with your foot, wanting it as far away from you as your leg could reach before it had a chance to turn your stomach again. 

"Have you told Daryl?"

There it was, the loaded question you couldn't face. Your eyes met his; guilt and desperation radiating from them, telling him the answer before you had a chance to speak.

"Why not?" He frowned, sliding closer to you, holding your knees. It wasn't lost on you how he knew you responded best to touch. It made you feel safe and that was what you needed to open up.

Shrugging, not really knowing yourself and painfully aware of the cop out response you were giving. "I'm scared."

"Listen, Daryl would be a great father and–," 

"I'm not scared of that." You almost scoff, the idea of him being anything other than that is absolutely preposterous. "I know he'd want this baby, and I know he'd be an amazing father." 

You stop, taking a shaky breath, pulling the courage from inside you to speak the truth, "I'm scared of bringing a baby into a world like this, of being terrified all the time that something will happen to it, of being so afraid if something happens to me or Daryl and where will that leave the baby. People die all the time now. Look at Glenn and Abraham, Sasha…Carl. What if we come across another group like the saviours. What if I can't protect this baby?" Another pause and when you next speak your voice comes out like a haunting whisper, "what if I'm an awful mother?" 

You can't help but stand, pacing across the room as thoughts race into your head. Some old offenders and new. Your hands find anchorage in your hair as if that will stop your head pounding with unanswered questions.

"How can I fight walkers off with a screaming baby? You can't, it just goes against everything nature is throwing at us right now. I don't want to go out on runs, I don't want to leave these walls because it's not safe enough, how am I supposed to be useful anymore?"

Your feet finally find pause as your eyes search Aaron's face, pleading for some kind of resolution of all your worries.

He takes a few tentative steps towards you. "And you're worried you'd be a bad mother?"

Taking both your hands in his, he gives them a gentle squeeze. "You're already protecting this baby, you're already being her mother."

That silenced your wild thoughts for a moment. Every decision you've made recently was putting this baby at the forefront of your mind, even if that meant letting others down, that didn't matter anymore, only the safety of your baby and yet, you've failed to realise that until now.

While you processed his words, something else stood out to you. "Her?" 

He smiled, "I can just picture Daryl as a girl dad, that's all." 

Your heart swelled in your chest, fit to burst at the image of Daryl holding a little mini you. A little girl with your hair and his eyes. The scene flickered behind your eyelids like a movie, him smiling down at her while holding her tiny body, making his hands seem even bigger. As a child, teaching her how to track and hunt but letting her put makeup on him or play dolls with her. Then, as a teenager, dealing with hormones and mood swings and trying to fiercely protect her from heartbreak. The image had excitement blooming inside you.

"Listen to me," Aaron grew serious again, "it's terrifying, I know. I'm scared for Gracie constantly and she's not even biologically mine. But when I come home to her and she's safe, that's all that matters."

Aaron had taken to fatherhood like a duck to water, even whilst grieving for the loss of his beloved…Eric. 

"And look at our family here," he continued, "…they are always there to help and support me since Eric…" he trailed off and your heart panged for the sadness in his eyes, forcing a smile he continued. "Look how you are with Gracie and Judith, you protect them so fiercely, I know there isn't anything you wouldn't do for them."

You'd die to keep them safe, without question, like many others in your family would too. The support system you were lucky enough to have was incredible.

Suddenly, you stood here feeling rather foolish. Here this man in front of you was raising a baby on his own after the tragic death of his partner and here you are with the man you've wanted for years, ready and willing in front of you, plus the gift of his baby but almost throwing it all away. And for what? Because you're scared. God, you wanted to slap yourself and tell yourself to grow up.

You have everything most people want in life and yet, you're over here crying and worrying about things that you can't really change, a world you have no choice but to make the best out of, instead of being with the man you love and sharing this happy news with him.

You had the opportunity to be a complete family unit, how many people in this world got the chance at that?

Aarons eyes locked with yours, his wide and full of meaning, "Whether you realise it or not, you're already a mother."

Those words made your heart pound violently in your chest with purpose and validation. 

He was right.

You felt a lot brighter about this unexpected pathway your life had now taken and ready for the next step of talking to Daryl.

With a freshly splashed face you returned to the house you shared with some of your family members, Daryl's eyes on you instantly, chewing his lip as he anxiously played with his pocket knife.

Rick glanced round at you, a solemn look on his face you'd come to know well.

 "Just the person I was waiting for," he put an arm around your shoulder as you joined them. "Listen, I need your help, we've got a herd coming our way, the biggest yet."

All previous positivity diminished hearing those words. You knew you would all have a part to play in keeping Alexandria safe, the cost was unavoidable but who would be the one to pay the most?

"We have a plan…" 

You looked up at him sensing what he wasn't yet saying, "but?"

A slight grimace contorted his face, "but, you're not gonna like it."

You couldn't help your eyes rolling, wishing he would just get to the point. The anticipation was too much to bear, especially with your stomach churning again, through nerves or nausea you weren't sure. "Spill it."

He informs you of his plan. He had men out there building barriers ready and hoping their faith in Rick wasn't misled. 

Who was staying behind to fight them off at the gate? Who was going outside the walls to try and keep them in formation- you apparently? And who was going to try and lure them away? You knew the answer to the latter before the words had left Rick's mouth. Anxiety and anger bubbling and ready to erupt at any moment.

"Daryl's got the bike, he's offered to lead them away, as many miles as he can get them before turning round and coming back." 

Your head shot over in his direction.

"You can't be serious, that's suicide!" Your voice was loud enough that it shocked even you. 

Daryl's eyes were on you, a hint of relief before he concealed them to his usual blank glare.

"Ain't nuthin I ain't done before." He mumbled.

"Why do you have to do it alone? What if something happens to the bike? With all of them following you?" You were tense, your body coiled ready to spring into protect mode for him.

His response to shrug infuriated you fiercely, lighting a fire in your belly, something that must have been obvious as Rick's arm around you dropped and he gave you some much needed space.

"Can I talk to you?" You directed at Daryl, sharply. "In private." 

You stormed up the stairs of the house, hearing his slow footsteps follow behind and stomped down to his basement room, less chance of being heard in there.

"So now you wanna talk to me, huh?" He says kicking the shut behind him. "This what I have to do, to get your attention?"

Guilt stabbed you in the gut, nausea rearing its ugly head again but you pushed it aside needing to be brave and needing to do the right thing.

"I'm sorry." You started with simply, a look of surprise flashed in his eyes as he took a step towards you. "I'm sorry I've been…off. I was too in my head and too scared to talk to you about it because once I did then it would be real."

He looked down at his feet, face hiding behind his messy bangs, nervously chewing his lip, a sight that made you want to grab him in your arms and never let him go. "If ya changed ya mind 'bout us, it's fine, I get it."

You froze, heart aching that that was his first conclusion, before closing the distance, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. "My feelings for you will never change, Daryl Dixon, don't you dare suggest otherwise."

He nods timidly, fighting a small smile before his brow furrows. "Have I upset ya?"

Shaking your head. "No. You haven't done anything wrong." 

"Then why ain't yer spoke to me all week? Yer ain't been near me or wanted me near yer."

The tears pricked your eyes, feeling like the worst person in the world for making him feel this way. He did not deserve this, he was the last person to deserve to feel like that.

"I'm pregnant ok, that's why I don't want to go on runs and that's why I've been avoiding you." You blurted out quickly before you had the chance to be distracted or interrupted.

His eyes popped as his frame stood frozen, unwavering and silent.

"I was scared," you continued, attempting to ease the shock. "and I didn't know how to tell you. It's all happened so fast." You sighed, the weight of the world removing itself from your tired shoulders. "I'm sorry for making you feel like it was something you'd done."

His hands came up to either side of your face, gently holding you in place, thumbs softly stroking your cheeks. "Are yer sure?"

You nod, eyes moving back and forth between his, "I found a pregnancy test from one of the stores on our last run and did it as soon as I got back." 

Watching the light of sheer happiness in his gaze illuminate his entire face made you exasperated with yourself for neglecting to tell him this long. How could you ever not want this man?

His hands still cradling your face pulled you close and his mouth was on yours, gentle yet urgent, with one arm wound around your waist holding you close, bodies pressed up against each other.

You had missed his hands on you, the warmth he radiated and his body close to yours. Heart hammering wildly, drumming against your ribcage so hard you were sure it was trying to escape to join Daryl's as one.

Breaking away only to catch your breath, foreheads still touching, your hands found their way around his neck, keeping him as close to you as you could. 

"'m gonna be a dad." He said quietly, a heart wrenching smile stretching across his face, a rare sight that you bathed in when it was present.

"You're going to be the best daddy." 

You knew hearing that meant more to him than anything else due to his relationship with his own father. 

His eyes sparkled as his gaze clicked with yours again, the intensity of it making you weak in the knees.

"I love yer." 

Breathing hitching, heart fluttering hearing those words from him for the first time, even though you knew it, it had never been uttered out loud.

"Now, how are you gonna tell me something like that when we have urgent work to do," you stroked a finger down his face, relishing the way his body shivered in reaction, "and I can't make love to you exactly the way I want to." 

He kissed you again more fiercely, growling as his mouth explored yours like a starved wild man.

"I'm yours as soon as I'm back." He rasped.

Reality came crashing down on you then, hitting you like a ton of bricks, suffocating you under their weight. "You're not doing this alone. I mean it, this time."

He nodded. "Fine, but ya ain't coming. I need yer here, behind these walls, keeping our baby safe."

You're about to put up a fight but nod, knowing it's pointless to argue with him. Besides, he wouldn't be able to focus on his job if he was worrying about you.

You would do what you could behind these walls unless it was vital.

You both head out onto the porch with the others, while Daryl goes over to Rick you take a seat on the steps next to Rosita, who mouths, "you ok?" Nodding and smiling in return, you squeeze the hand she puts atop yours.

Watching as Daryl whispers to Rick, his eyes meet yours with a flash of surprise followed by warmth, before composing himself somewhat. Clasping Daryl's shoulder before pulling him into a quick hug and turning back to the group.

Rosita turns in your direction but you ignore it and keep your eyes on Rick.

"Alright, I need someone to take a car and help Daryl lead the walkers away?" Rick asked, turning back towards you all.

"I'll do it." Aaron's arm shoots up and instant relief washes through you. The two people you trust the most helping each other out there, you felt much more comfortable about the situation now and didn't feel as sick knowing they would be out there together.

Rick calls your name, regaining your attention. "You'll be here on the wall with Gabriel, you're the best shooters we have. Do what you can from here to hold our walls."

You nod in agreement, before everyone breaks away to start getting ready.

Daryl's by your side in an instant, arm winding around your waist and pulling you to him. Your arms make their way around his neck as you memorise his face, every line, scar and curve. 

"I'll be back soon, ok?" He says quietly.

"Make sure you are." Standing on your tiptoes you kiss him passionately, relishing the way he tastes against your mouth, not caring that your family were watching.

"I love you." You whisper against his lips.

His answering smile makes your stomach flutter as he gives you one last kiss on the forehead before heading over to his bike. 

"Stay safe." You call out, hands clasped tensilly together in front of you.

"Always." He replied, turning around to face you and walking backwards. "Make sure you stay safe!"

You lifted two fingers up and crossed them over each other, making that silent promise to him, one you would do your all to keep. 

A hand squeezed your shoulder and when you saw Aaron's face next to you another pang of sadness and anxiety pulled your heart strings. 

"Stay safe, and thank you for going with him." You whispered as he pulled you into a hug.

"We'll both be home soon." His gaze turned serious as he held you firmly in front of him, "be careful."

He heads off towards the car, returning your attention to Daryl, who's mounted his bike and whose eyes are already on you. His stare fierce and yet loving, the way that man was capable of conveying everything he needed to in just one look never failed to surprise you.

A lump the size of a golf ball sat in your throat as you watched him start the engine, giving one last look back at you before he begrudgingly lifts his foot off the ground and let the bike take him. You watch the wings on his back carry him off until the gate closes.

Your chest felt empty, a giant hole still beating but with nothing inside, until he returns, bringing your heart back with him.

[football-and-fanfics]

The First Meeting - Kevin de Bruyne

Who: Kevin de Bruyne Prompt: "I honestly didn't think you even remembered my name." Requested by: anonymous Word count: 498 Warnings: none

A few weeks ago you had met Kevin through a mutual friend. It wasn't like you at all, but you felt the butterflies in your stomach from the first moment you started talking to him. Something about his bubbly, yet mature personality swept you off your feet completely.

But knowing the big, well-known footballer he was, you never even made a move. He was way out of your league, you were sure of that. And afraid that he would laugh at you if you made a move, you didn't act upon your feelings for him. You knew you would regret it later, but your fear of being turned down was just too great.

---

You sat watching TV in your living room one evening, weeks after meeting Kevin, when you were startled by your doorbell ringing.

"Who is it?" You called through the door, hesitant about opening it to strangers. "It's... it's Kevin." Came the nervous reply from the other side.

Immediately, the butterflies were back in your stomach. Even though you had met him only once, you instantly knew who it was. You slowly opened the door, indeed revealing Kevin on your doorstep; He looked so nervous, fidgeting his hands together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I-- I am so sorry to just drop by like this," he stammered before you could say anything. "I got your address, and, I hope you don't mind me going after where you live, but... you've been on my mind ever since I met you."

Kevin sighed heavily to steady his nerves. "I'm not usually like this." He chuckled a little erratically, before he rambled on. "I don't fall in love at first sight and I don't usually stalk friends until I get an girl's address, but... apparently you are different. And I realize now that I should have asked for your phone number, instead of scaring the hell out of you by appearing on your doorstep like this." He fell silent, afraid of what your reaction would be.

You blushed heavily. Never, even in your wildest dreams, had you imagined a man would go to these lengths for you. And you surely had not expected him to be just as smitten by you, as you were by him.

"I..." You stammered as much as Kevin. "I honestly didn't think you even remembered my name." "Are you kidding me?!" Kevin grinned, relieved that you weren't turning him down right away. "I would go as far as to say it was love at first sight. I've been thinking about that one evening every day for weeks now." If possible, you flushed even redder. "Me, too."

"So?" The stammer was back in Kevin's voice, but there was a hopeful undertone there, too. "Should we maybe meet up sometime?" "Yeah." The blush remained furious on your cheeks. "Would you like to come in? I mean... I've got drinks and snacks." A smile slowly broadened over Kevin's face. "That sounds lovely."

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[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: let me carry you

Pairing: RosieLemmons

Robert gets out of his fort after his final run for Big Week and Ken's waiting just to the side of the runway. Robert runs to him and scoops him up and spins him around, and Ken laughs and holds his face. 

"Went well, then?" Ken asks. 

"Lemon Tart!" Robert crows. "We all made it back!" He says, turning to look at the forts. All of them tucked up neat and ready to be checked by Ken and his boys. Robert had flown out first and made sure to land last, wanting to count each fort as it went by. It had soothed the ache in his heart for all the boys they'd lost before Big Week but especially during. When command hadn't minced words on their chances but stressed what it could do to the Germans. When Robert had gone up with them knowing the numbers said half were most likely not coming back this time. And it was worse than that a few times. 

But. This last sortie, there'd barely been any Germans in the air at all, and the ones who had come at them had dropped quickly. Robert had seen it. Had felt it. Had heard the joy over the radio even through standard orders. They'd all seen it. They'd known it. They'd fought with everything they had, watched their friends and brothers in arms fall out of the sky over and over and over, and they'd felt, finally, that something had changed. That maybe now more of them will make it back in one piece. 

Just like today. 

He puts Ken back on his feet, prepared to kiss his cheek then head to the idling truck that will take him to interrogation, but he lets Ken go, and he stumbles, eyes rolling back. "Ken!" It's not a joyous shout this time. It's terrified. He catches Ken before he hits the ground, but it's close enough Rosie lands hard, Ken cradled against him. 

Robert hears someone yell for the doc, but he's checking Ken's pulse and realizing Ken's got dark circles under his eyes and that his hair is a mess under his cap. Ken's pulse is strong, and just as Doc Smokey comes running over, Ken blinks a few times, then opens his eyes. 

"Robert?" Ken asks. 

"You fainted," Robert says. He looks at Doc Smokey. "He just dropped."

"Let me see," Doc Smokey says, tugging at Robert's arm. It takes Robert a moment to loosen his hold. "Easy," Doc Smokey says to Ken. He presses the back of his head to Ken's forehead, then listens to Ken's heart. Then takes his pulse. "Okay," he says. "How long since you ate, son?" 

"Two hours," Ken says. 

"And since you slept?"

Ken squints. He shakes his head. "I'm not sure."

Doc Smokey nods. "Then that's probably why you fainted. Can you get up? We'll get you to the hospital, give you something to help you sleep."

"The forts–"

"Someone else can clear them for post-flight checks," Doc Smokey says before Robert can say the same. "You've done your part in this, Lemmons. More than you should have, clearly."

"I'm fine," Ken says, struggling against Robert's hold. "I just need a minute."

"Ken," Robert says quietly, and Ken's eyes cut to him, a brilliant fight that disappears after a moment. 

"I'd tell you to go with the doc," Ken says, rueful. 

"And I'd put up a fight, too," Robert replies. He stands slowly, pulling Ken with him. Ken nods to tell Robert he can let go. Robert does. Ken takes two steps and slumps again. Robert catches him and picks him up in a bridal carry. 

"I don't–"

"Let me carry you," Robert says. "Let me just carry you to the ambulance, and then I've got to go to interrogation, and I won't see you until tomorrow, probably, depending on what the doc gives you."

"It'll be at least tomorrow," Doc Smokey says. "I'll make sure of it."

Ken sags and rests his cheek against Robert's chest. "Does it have to be tomorrow?" he asks. "Can't you just give me enough to nod off for a little bit?"

Doc Smokey snorts. "Son, it won't be the medication keeping you down. It'll be your own tired bones."

Ken huffs. Robert presses a kiss to the top of his head and walks towards the ambulance. "I'll come and sit with you, anyway," Robert says. "Maybe give you a sponge bath while you're sleeping."

"Waste of a good sponge bath," Ken replies, a small smile showing when Robert glances down at him. "Promise you'll at least wait until I'm awake before you do that."

Robert chuckles and holds Ken a little more tightly. "I promise," he says. "Just promise you'll let yourself rest. Can't lose my favorite mechanic. There's still a war to win."

"I'll sleep," Ken replies. "I promise."

"Thank you." Robert lays Ken on the stretcher the medics have waiting. He touches Ken's cheek and gives him a smile. "Sweet dreams," he says. 

"I'll try," Ken replies, and Robert knows he means it.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

A/N: Ohhh, so y'all forced this out of me, what with all the talk about the "Blue Scarf" and expanding the "Scarf Universe" thrown at me this week! 😂 (I hear you, I hear you!) Be careful what you wish for, lil' darlin's!! Honestly, though, I've known since I ended Pink Scarf that this was something that was going to happen in this particular way to our dear Reader and E, I just never knew if it was going to see the light of day. And with this week's prompt, all the inspiration and stars seemed to align at once on Sunday, so this came out rather quick and may be rough, and it's possible I might go back and tweak it later, but I'm happy with it for now. I hope this satiates you for the moment. I hope it gives you all the feels. And, yes, perhaps I may expand this little Blue Scarf into a series and include a spicy story or two later, if you all are good lil' babies for me. 😏 💙🧣💙 Let me know in the comments and reblogs...😉

Thanks always to my sister wives @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally and @vintageshanny for allowing me to skirt by late with this week's prompt. 😇

Prompt: “How are we going to solve this problem?”

Rating: PG (ish?) || Word Count: 2.7k

TW: Fluff, angst (always), infidelity (sort of??), no smut (so sorry loves)

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

August 1971

It’s fitting, you think, that today of all days, you’re wearing his blue silk scarf in your hair. Elvis hasn’t worn it much since that fateful summer a couple of years ago—and only for a few more shows and a couple nights out—so you had absconded with it and made it your own, as you’d managed to do with many of his things. You loved how it smelled of him, the silk doused in his musk and cologne, and how it reminded you of the not-wearing-a-shirt-under-a-jacket/jumpsuit phase he gone through that summer and fall of ‘69. Lord, you’d loved that phase. It had been so easy to lay him bare before you.

Heat floods your cheeks at the thought of what this particular scarf has seen between the two of you, and then at the fact that this might be the worst possible time for a thought like that to pop into your head. You know it’s the shock of the bomb that just dropped on your lives that has your brain short circuiting a little. Because neither of you ever expected this.

You nervously twist the platinum and diamonds on your ring finger, the ones which pledged his love for you in front of your family, friends, and the world. Thoughts fill your mind of your lovely, small wedding, how this scarf had been there for that important moment, too, tied around your waist, cinching your white dress—being both your “something borrowed” and your “something blue.” Elvis loved that you’d included it, this piece of him, as part of your gown.

He also loved untying it at the end of the night and letting it flutter to your feet with the rest of your dress.

It’s counterpart, the pink scarf, had been tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket, a little secret for you both. You’d enjoyed it, as well, later that night.

“Y/n, did y-you hear me? I-I-I-It’s me,” Elvis says, snapping you out of your memories, his hand lingering on the phone he’d just placed back on its cradle. “How are w-w-we going to solve this problem?”

The wavering fear in his voice is palpable and in any other circumstance it might scare you, but a strange sense of calm falls over you. Somehow the domino effect of both of your actions two years ago have led you to this very moment. Tragic as it is, it seems meant to be.

Just like you and Elvis.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you breathe deeply. Yes, there is a part of you that is still jealous and angry about what brought you here. But you knew, even back then, that it was possible he’d been with others in your month-long absence, that his fear of losing you plus old habits could have driven him into the arms of another. It wasn’t a new revelation, just one neither of you had wanted to talk about after all was said and done. And it hadn’t been an issue since, so you figured bringing it up would be more trouble than it was worth.

Pushing that hurt aside, a much bigger feeling swells within you—one you’ve been hesitant to name for fear that it would not come to fruition. But now everything has changed.

“It’s not a problem,” you state, your voice surprisingly steady.

“W-w-what?” Elvis questions, those oceanic eyes of his widening in disbelief.

“It’s a gift, Elvis. From the most unlikely and sad circumstances, yes, but a gift all the same. Isn’t it?” You’re not quite sure if you are trying to convince him or if you are just stating the obvious, but those feelings continue to rise in you and have for days. And they overshadow the fading fissure of anger and the burgeoning fear that you refuse to let consume you.

Hope. Joy.

“A gift?” he repeats, letting the words roll on his tongue, letting them sink in. He blinks slowly, gaze shifting off into the distance for a moment. Then, he looks down at the paperwork on the table. At the picture. “Oh. Oh.”

A shuddering breath shakes his shoulders, his ring clad fingers clawing at his knees. It’s when the tears pool in his eyes, finally betraying his sensitive vulnerability after so many days of keeping it in, that you slide out of your chair and rush to his side.

He immediately buries his head into your belly, his arms circling around your waist, clinging to you. A sob wrenches out of him, one so deep that it brings tears to your eyes.

“I-I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I didn’t think...I-I-I din’t know,” he hiccups. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing to you or her or him. Maybe his apology is for all of you.

“Shhh, hush, it’s okay,” you coo, tears trickling absently down your cheeks. You run your fingers through his soft hair before pulling back, cupping his cheeks so he is forced to look at you.

He is so wide-eyed and young-looking staring up at you, his eyes now matching the scarf in your hair with their electric blue, a dramatic contrast against the redness caused by his tears.

“It’s not a problem, honey, it’s a gift. He is a gift,” you say, wiping the tears that linger on his prominent cheekbones. “We can do this. I want to do this. If you do.”

Elvis blinks up at you, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. If he’s a part of you, he’s a part of me, too. And—and,” you choke up, swallowing your past sorrows, “you know it’s something I’ve always wanted. Something I never thought we could have. This is…a chance to make something wonderful out of something tragic.”

You’re aware the reality is likely going to be much more complicated than either of you can fathom in this moment. There is a part of you that is utterly terrified it won’t live up to the miracle you want it to be and that you won’t be worthy of the task. But that is not what Elvis needs to hear, not right now. Your insecurities can wait.

Elvis looks down at the picture resting on the table of the young woman and her baby. Your gaze follows. The first time you saw it, you knew, based solely on the fact that the woman looked so much like a younger version of you, that something had happened between them in those weeks you’d escaped from Vegas to California, when you left him, trying to figure out if you could forgive him. When you were trying to recover from your life turning upside down.

Her likeness plus the look of horrified guilt on his face upon seeing the picture told you all you needed to know about that. His begging and pleading for forgiveness at your feet solidified it.

But it had been the way Vernon had blanched white as a sheet when seeing the baby that you understood the true consequence of Elvis’ dalliance.

It was a punch in the gut, at first. Of course, it was. But logically you knew that he’d been hurting in those weeks without you, unsure if you’d ever come back to him. It wasn’t altogether surprising that he’d sought out comfort from a girl who looked so much like you.

You wanted to be furious at the fact she had gotten pregnant by him so easily, but you knew that was a futile road to go down, especially after what happened to her.

According to the letter she’d given to her lawyer, who had sent it on to Elvis, the cancer within her spread like wildfire. It was too late to save her by the time her pain had sent her to the doctor. She—Theresa—had never planned to ask Elvis for a thing, she reiterated. Theresa had been content to raise her son by herself. But she had no family to take him in when she was gone, and she could not bear to think of her son alone and unloved.

“You don’t have to take him, Elvis, truly. But I beg you, please, please make sure he is placed with a nice family, that he is loved and taken care of. I cannot leave him all alone.”

His lawyers weren’t convinced, however, and didn’t want him to even entertain the thought. It could open you up for all sorts of future problems, Elvis.

But that didn’t stop him from finding out for himself because, as all of them knew, nobody tells Elvis Presley what he can and can’t do. He tracked her down, in Denver of all places, and took you and Vernon with him to the hospital to see Theresa. You didn’t know how you would feel seeing this girl Elvis had been with in a moment of weakness. Would you want to slap her face? Would you want to cry and scream? Would you want to tear her apart?

Instead, it had shocked you into silence, seeing someone that resembled you so closely withering away from disease, as if it were some sort of eerie harbinger. It made your skin prickle. But then compassion filled you, more so than you ever expected. The poor woman was on death’s door, but you’ll never forget the relief in her eyes when you all walked through the door. That look was something that couldn’t be faked. Nor was the toddler playing with the nurse in the corner, the little boy who Vernon looked at like he’d seen a ghost.

The boy was the spitting image of his father.

But that didn’t stop Theresa from encouraging a paternity test. She was well aware of what a mess this could be for Elvis, and she didn’t want there to be a shadow of a doubt for anyone involved. She wanted him to be sure.

“I don’t want to ruin your life,” she’d croaked, her emaciated frame limp and barely able to produce the tears she was trying to hold back. “I never want him to be a burden.”

The tiny blonde child chose that pivotal moment to break away from the nurse, waddling over and grabbing Elvis’ flared pant leg with chubby little fists, commanding Elvis’ attention downward. His chin tucked, gaze following the movement at his feet, and you watched him wrestle with what to do, what the protocol in this sort of situation was. It was intense, this first moment between them, and the boy’s all-too-familiar crooked smile and slow blinking blue eyes made your heart clench.

You watched Elvis come to an unspoken decision, and he lifted the boy easily and almost too naturally tucked the boy into his hip. The room collectively held its breath, watching the scene unfold. You’d never seen a child snuggle up to an unfamiliar person like that before, the way he buried his head into Elvis’ shoulder as if drawn in, inexplicably trusting. Granted, Elvis had that preternatural way about him, his essence bringing people to him constantly. But this was different.

Heart fluttering into a gallop, you watched Elvis take this moment in before nodding solemnly, sucking in his lip. With the child tucked into his side, it was obvious to you that he was holding back his pressing emotions to stay in control. Nevertheless, he was unwavering when he told Theresa, “Even if he’s not mine, I’ll make sure he finds a good home. I promise you that.”

She’d closed her eyes then, and when they opened, you saw a gratefulness and relief so strong it nearly bowed you over.

Elvis had done the blood test right then at the hospital. Everyone was quiet on the plane ride home. Elvis, pensive and withdrawn, clutched at your hand so tightly it tingled from the loss of circulation. And when the call came the next day that Theresa was gone, your heart broke for her. Sheer willpower had kept her alive long enough to make sure her son would be safe. A mother’s love.

You’d wept for her. You’d wept for you and for Elvis. You’d wept for that little boy.

Nicholas. Nicholas Aaron.

You didn’t tell Elvis that the moment you saw the 16-month-old toddle towards you that you knew. That you loved him instantly, like something magical locked into place. It was too early, too soon. But you knew.

Elvis hadn’t wanted to talk about it much as you all waited for the results. He was antsy and on edge, everyone giving him a wide berth. His guilt was trying its best to distance him from you, that deep seeded, insecure vulnerability in him trying to simultaneously push you away while needing you close. It was evident in the way he clung to you in his sleep. But you did everything in your power to let him know you didn’t hate him for the indiscretion, that you still loved him unconditionally, no matter the paternity outcome.

Of course, your mind whirled in overdrive, circling the drain around your surprising emotions about Nicholas. You found yourself worrying your nails down to the quick about whether he was safe and who was caring for him since his mother died. Your heart felt like it was tearing in two whenever you thought about it. You knew you shouldn’t get too attached, but you couldn’t help it. It was primal and biological, this response.

So when the phone rang this morning and Jerry had so seriously handed it to Elvis, you knew what it was, your breath catching in your throat. This was the moment that would change everything. And you hoped it was for the better as you sat across from him, wringing your hands in your lap. Silence filled the room as Elvis listened to the voice on the other end, his face going Hollywood blank, giving you nothing to hold on to. Your heart threatened to explode right out of your chest and onto the table.

He thanked the voice on the other end and hung up the phone.

“E, what did they—” you started.

“I’m his father,” Elvis finally whispered in shock.

And now you are here, holding him to you, being his rock while in your own state of disbelief and wonder. A thousand emotions roll through you all at once: Hope. Joy. Sorrow for Theresa. Guilt for being happy in the face of Nicholas’ tragedy.

“Do you want this, to take him in, Elvis?” you ask, prompting him to look up at you once more. You pray you know the answer.

“Of course, I do. I’m his father. He’s my son,” he says, as if the unfamiliar words have finally landed and he believes them. Then his signature 1,000-megawatt crooked smile spreads across his face. “I have a son! We have a son!” he adds, proudly.  

Elvis jumps up, grabbing you by the waist, spinning you around until the room tilts on its axis. You laugh breathlessly, arms locked around his neck, wondering how in the world you’ve managed to get here after all this time, in the most unlikely of ways.

A son.

When he sets you down, he looks at you, grinning from ear to ear with an unbridled passion like you’ve never seen from him before. It’s not sexual, and it’s different from the passion he has for his music. It’s the love of a new father, you realize, something you never thought you’d get to see. It makes your heart swell uncontrollably.

“Are you absolutely positive this is what you want, lil’ mama?” His questioning eyes search yours as he cups your face, his fingers catching in the blue scarf in your hair. The pet name suddenly takes on a whole new meaning, releasing butterflies in your stomach.

Excitement has your heart racing and your breath short, but you beam, winking, “Oh, I’m one thousand percent positive, Daddy.”

Elvis kisses you deeply, as though he’s merging with you, engulfing you. It takes your breath away completely.

“We have a son,” he whispers, smiling against your mouth. “Let’s go get our son.” There’s something in the way he includes you in this, a pointed clarity that you are not an outsider because you aren’t Nicholas’ biological mother. No, he’s telling you in no uncertain terms—this is your boy as much as he is mine.

And after so many years thinking it could never be, it finally, truly hits you, without a doubt:

I’m going to be a mother.

*

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[melodygatesauthor]

Jake Lockley w/ this prompt: “What would make you the happiest right now?”. The story could be about him hanging out with his best friend after a few around of wine, he likes y/n. It can be platonic or not. You decide since it’s your birthday Queen.

Bad with Feelings

Jake Lockley X gn!Reader

Nonnie YES. This was fun to write. I'm not 100% sure if what I wrote was quite what you're looking for but I loved it haha. We all need a little soft Jake in our lives. - changed the prompt a little to “what can I do to make you happy right now?”

Tags/Warnings: SFW, alcohol consumption, drunk/drinking, friends to lovers, probably one of the CORNIEST things I've written but I love it so deal with it haha.

Word Count: 918

Jake tipped his head back letting the burning liquid course down his throat. You’d lost count of how many shots in he was, but you’d stopped being able to keep up a while ago. You chuckled when he wiped his mouth in his gloved hand and looked at you with a deep lidded gaze.

“One more.” He slurred.

“Nope, come on drunkie, I’ll bring you home.” You took his arm over your shoulder and led him to the black Lincoln parked outside.

“I’m not letting you drive my car amigo.”

“Jake, you don’t have a choice, get in the car.” You opened the passenger’s side door.

“Nope, call a cab.”

On a normal day, Jake was fast, and much stronger than you, but not in the state he was in at that moment. You snagged his keys out of his pocket faster than he could block your arm before you shoved him into the seat and slammed the door. The grown man crossed his arms and scowled out the window while you walked to the other side and got in the driver’s seat.

“Are you…are you pouting?” You looked at him with a raised brow.

His face was downturned and he kept his eyes out the window.

“Just bring me home.”

You couldn’t help the smile that crept across your face. Jake looked like a child, arms crossed and lips downturned while you started driving toward his house. Fortunately he didn’t live far, so the silent ride was only awkward for a few minutes. You’d known Jake for quite some time, and you knew he was only afraid of a few things, and someone else driving his car was one of them.

“Are you going to be able to walk yourself inside or do I need to carry you?” You looked over at him.

He started going off in Spanish about how fine he was and how much he didn’t need you to take care of him. You rolled your eyes, got out of the car and walked over to his side. You opened the door and the grumpy drunk stayed in his seat, not seeming very willing to let you help him out to the car.

“Jake, come on.”

“No.”

“If you come willingly, I’ll make you your favorite.” You said in a sing-songy tone.”

You leaned over and started trying to undo his seatbelt. He was in the way, making it difficult.

“I don’t want food.” He grumbled.

“Are you going to move over so I can unbuckle you? I mean honestly Jake, what did you expect me to do? It’s just a fucking car, you’re acting foolish.” You scolded.

He started going off on you in Spanish once again. You stood back.

“Fine, you know what? Sit there then. I’m going inside.” You walked toward the house. “I’m gonna stop going out to the bar with you like this if you’re going to do this to me every time!” You shouted as you ripped the door open.

You were hungry, despite him saying he didn’t want food, so you started cooking. Not five minutes later he was stumbling into the house and tripping his way to the living room. You grabbed a glass of water and brought it to him.

“Gracias.” He muttered, taking big gulps of his cup.

“De nada.” You replied, crossing your arms over your chest. “Why do you get like this? We always have a good time going out and then it always ends with you grumpy and dismissive.”

He handed you the glass and brought his glistening brown eyes up to meet yours. You took the cup and kept your gaze on him, waiting for his answer. He pulled off his hat, letting his curls drop into his face before putting it on the table and combing the stray hairs back.

“Because, when I drink it’s the only time I…feel.”

Your shoulders slumped down and your expression softened.

“What do you mean?” You walked over and sat next to him.

“I’ve done some terrible things, things you can’t begin to understand.” His lips pulled together in a thin line and he looked down at his hands. “And even though I know you’d be better off without me, when I drink, I get this feeling like…”

He trailed off and looked over at you. You didn’t expect anything other than friendship from Jake, and that was all he expected of you, but it was clear something else had developed. You weren’t sure you were ready for what he said next.

“I have these feelings for you that I am afraid to express because I don’t deserve even your friendship, never mind anything more.”

You smirked. They said the truth comes out when you’re drunk, and Jake was full on spilling his guts.

“Jake.” You put the cup on the coffee table and then rested your hand on his arm. “I’m content being friends, but I’m also more than happy to see what comes next. There’s no pressure.” You pushed a stray curl from his face. “What would make you happiest right now?”

He leaned in, the smell of alcohol and tobacco permeated your nostrils. He breathed heavy, bringing a gloved hand up to cup your cheek. You leaned in too, letting the moment happen. His lips were soft, gentle and full of passion.

He pulled back, sporting a rare smile across his beautiful face. You couldn’t stop the smirk from taking over yours too.

“You make me happiest, always.” He said.

Celebration Masterlist

[chickenbyday]

hey y'all! I'm doing an advent calendar fic this year! (Wish me luck 😅)

I'll be following @allforthegamebingo 's foxes prompt list, so stay tuned!

We're starting off with the prompt 'hot chocolate' with Kandrew, which you can either read on ao3 or below the cut. Happy December ^.^

"It's just a cafe." 

Kevin's shoulders draw up farther around his ears, and Andrew pauses and turns to look at him head on. 

Kevin has been jumpy since Andrew picked him up twenty minutes ago. Andrew had asked him while he bundled his scarf in his lap what had him so skittish, and Kevin had just glared at him and gestured wordlessly like that was all the explanation needed. It wasn't, not really, but Andrew is well versed enough in Kevin's nerves that he let it drop, figuring that eventually Kevin would let him know, one way or another. 

"I've heard good things about it," Kevin snips back, but when he turns to catch Andrew watching him, says, "But we can always go somewhere else." Andrew doesn't know if he remembers Kevin ever ceding his choice without a fight, and that alone is enough to make Andrew open his door without a word, Kevin scrambling after him. Kevin beats him to the door and holds it open for him, and, at Andrew's raised eyebrow, rolls his eyes. 

"Fuck off," he mumbles, and Andrew holds up the hand not holding his cane in mock surrender. 

The place is nicer than their usual coffee stop that's stationed exactly between their two apartments, with wide windows letting in the soft winter light and booths that look like they won't be too cramped for the knee he busted last season. 

(Andrew had been... worried, when it took him out of the playing field for good, that that would be the end of it. He should have known better. Kevin doesn't believe in quitting, or giving up on lost causes. He wasn't going to start with Andrew. Andrew still feels some type of way about it almost a year later, and he refuses to label it as relief.)

They wait in line, Kevin telling him about his attempts to befriend the stray dog that lives under his stairwell with minimal input from Andrew, giving him a chance to look around and figure out where they can sit to both people watch and keep an eye on the door.

Kevin's going about it wrong, feeding it when he knows it isn't there, because he thinks that will make it trust him. Andrew tells him this as Kevin is paying. He waved Andrew off when he tried to pay, and then hip checked him when he tried to budge himself in front of the card reader anyway, so Andrew just leans back against the counter and watches him dig carefully through the receipts and business cards that he inexplicably keeps every time he's handed one in search of his card, eyebrows pulled together and shoulders still curiously hunched in. 

They sit down in the booth to wait for their order, both on the same side against the wall, Kevin boxed in so he can turn and lean against the wall with an arm thrown over the back of the booth like he usually does and Andrew on the outside so he can stretch his leg out into the aisle between tables. Andrew turns to flick him on the forehead. 

"Hey!" Kevin says, rubbing at the red mark, scowling at Andrew like he's the one owed an explanation. 

"Why are you being so weird?" 

Kevin shrugs at him, pink dusting across his cheek bones not entirely due to the cold they just escaped. "It's," Kevin pauses to wave a hand. "Different, like this. I don't know, I don't really go on dates." 

Kevin shrugs again, like he didn't just catapult every train of thought Andrew has ever had right off of their tracks with no way of coming back on line. 

Date?

Andrew stares dimly, not taking anything in for a long moment, before Kevin's name is called. 

Kevin taps his shoulder to be let out, but Andrew doesn't budge.

"Andrew, are you–"

"Date?" Andrew cuts him off, slightly strangled, and he thinks he should be commended for the "slight" aspect. 

Kevin's face pinches in confusion before paling. 

"Oh," he says, too loud for how close they're sitting, before scooting backwards into the wall and taking his arm back from where it was propped up over Andrew's shoulder. "Um." 

There's a wide wildness about his eyes, Andrew thinks, as they dart around Andrew's face, that exactly mirrors how Andrew feels. 

"I thought– Well, I said... and you agreed, so I thought... Andrew?" Kevin is saying words, Andrew is fairly sure, but nothing is getting through to Andrew, and he doesn't know if that's because Kevin isn't making sense or because his brain still isn't online. 

"Kevin, what the fuck are you talking about?" Andrew asks, but he suddenly understands. It's a date, Kevin had said, something odd about his tone, but Andrew had just poked him and said, obviously. 

The Kevin in front of him looks miserable. "Forget I said anything," he says, not meeting Andrew's eyes, "We can just– let's just go home, it's fine." 

"Shut up," Andrew spits, and Kevin deflates. 

"Okay," he says quietly, still not looking at him and picking at his hands. 

"No, just–" Andrew cuts himself off to reach forward and grab Kevin by the nape of his neck to get him to finally look at him. "I'm going to kiss you," he states, still strangled, and shakes Kevin's head slightly, and Kevin nods, eyes still wide but no longer wild. 

So Andrew does. 

They're still sitting in a cafe in the middle of the midafternoon weekend crowd, so it's not much more than a brush of lips, but Kevin sighs into it anyway, and Andrew's stomach does somersaults in response, and it doesn't stop even as he pulls away, even as Kevin follows his lips for a split second and takes a moment to open his eyes. 

Andrew's throat dries at the sight, and his tongue darts out to his lips to try to keep the lingering taste of him, and Kevin catches the action if the way his eyes flick down to his mouth is anything to go by. Andrew leans back forward again to recapture his lips, letting their tongues meet and his hands slide through Kevin's hair, letting Kevin grip his biceps like it's the only thing that's keeping him grounded, and Andrew can't believe they haven't done this already. 

Andrew pulls back abruptly, shuffling out of the booth and standing with a hand braced on the table before leaning back into Kevin's space. "We're not leaving our first date early to go fuck in the backseat of my car," he says, not quite sure who he's trying to convince, but the face that Kevin makes to the words is not helping his own resolve. Even so, Andrew follows the line of his neck with his eyes as he forces down a rough swallow.  "But I don't have any rules against taking you home after." Kevin doesn't quite cough at that. 

Andrew jerks his head towards the counter. "Now go get my hot chocolate." 

Kevin nods, then nods again, shaking himself a bit. The pink high on his cheeks has darkened to a scarlet, and Andrew wants to touch it to see if it feels as warm as it looks. "Am I asking for sprinkles?" he asks, and Andrew knows he's making fun of him. 

 He scoffs. "Obviously." 

[thexsanctuaryx]

{ You Can't Stop Me }

Summary: Emma confronts Jake about their relationship as a last hope of getting through to Marc and Steven. Prompt: "You can't stop me." "Who said I wanted to?" from @prompts-and-circumstance

Pairing: Original Character { Emma Harper } x Jake Lockley; mentions of Emma Harper x Marc Spector && Emma Harper x Steven Grant Contents: angst, kinda fluffy, kinda friends to lovers, happyish ending Warnings: none? I don't think for this one Author's Note: Well hello again, I've recently been trying to challenge myself to write shorter one-off pieces as I tend to always end up getting carried away with things and struggle to keep them short let alone one-off. Not totally satisfied with this piece but practice? Right? Word Count: 881

She’d been through this with Marc, even with Steven. They’d both insisted that being with them was too risky, too dangerous given their world.

Marc hadn’t been a surprise, especially given his history and his issues with self-worth. He’d made every excuse about the dangers of being involved with him but she knew deep down that there was more to it than that.

The real reason that he felt so strongly about keeping her at arms length was because he believed he wasn’t deserving of love. Not after all he’d ‘done.’ Not after all that had been done to him was more like it.

She’d been lying when she’d agreed that they’d continue to be nothing more than friends. She couldn’t stop herself from something that had already happened what felt like eons ago. She couldn’t go back and erase her feelings for him, and she didn’t want to.

Steven had been more of a surprise to her when he’d sided with Marc. She thought surely he’d see sense. She knew he reciprocated her feelings. He didn’t exactly have the best poker face.

With Marc, she might even be able to believe that he didn’t harbor the kind of attachment to her. He was good at stonewalling after years of practice.

But Steven? She pushes out a guttural sound of frustration as she makes her way now to confront Jake. Her final hope of getting through to them.

Jake might be pretty good at putting up walls, concealing his true feelings, but he didn’t have the self-loathing that Marc did. And he was more open about how he felt in general. He didn’t hold back. Still, he was more reserved with her when it came to certain things, this being one of them.

She knows he’s fronting and she knows he’s home. He always texted to check in on her when he was in control. When he’d asked how she was doing, she’d simply asked where he was. He’d told her and them asked why, worried something was wrong.

So here she was, standing in front of their door, about to raise her hand to knock when the door swings open first.

He’d been waiting. Initially, when she asked where he was, he’d panicked, ready to leave in a fraction of a second to go to her.

Despite hiding his own feelings from her since the first time they’d met, it didn’t negate their existence. In fact, he was almost certain that he was the one that embraced them the most. He wasn’t keeping them from her to deny them, or even to agree with the other two.

He'd kept them from her because they were so powerful that he worried they’d consume him if he weren’t careful.

Somehow though, he’d known she’d be coming and he knew why. He’d paced furiously over the floor the whole time it took her to arrive. But as if sensing her presence on the other side of that door, he opened it before she could even make herself known.

There’s a moment of a standstill as they just stare at each other. She looks so furious there are tears in her eyes.

“I’m not gonna apologize for what I want or how I feel…” She seethes through a shaky voice. “And you can’t stop me. You can’t stop me from loving you—from being in love with you—”

His response is immediate, cutting her off before she can continue, his voice deep and smooth.

“Who said I wanted to?”

She chokes back a sob, her chin dropping as she shakes her head.

Jake is quick to close the distance between them, fluidly moving into her space. He raises his hands to cradle her jaw, lifting it to look in her eyes even as they squeeze shut, cascading more tears down her cheeks.

“Look at me, nena…” He gently commands.

She coughs out another sob as his thumbs brush firmly at her tears. She opens her eyes pleadingly on his.

His heart aches when their eyes meet, knowing exactly what the other two had done to break her heart.

“I don’t want to. I don’t want you to stop feeling the way you do, because I feel the same way about you…”

Emma pushes out a disbelieving and unsteady laugh of another sob, “y-you do?”

He nods slowly, looking her directly in the eyes and leaving no room for doubt. His voice is low and strong.

“I love you too.”

He wastes no more time as he leans down, finally capturing her lips for the first time.

She all but melts into him, her legs almost giving out as her lips move slowly in time with his. Her arms slip up around his neck, releasing a shaky breath into him as she does her best to keep herself upright.

His own tension begins to drain, releasing his hold on her jaw in favor of lifting her into his arms. He carries her back into their apartment and kicks the door shut with force, refusing to let her go long enough to give it too much attention.

His mind briefly thinks on the other two, but only how intends to make his stance known.

Waking up beside her the next morning should be convincing enough.