#if she says anger doesn’t suit you and you reply crying doesn’t suit her……. what then

[michyeosseo]

At least one bite? You must be hungry. I know you hate me but–

Yoon Hae Young and Choi Myung Gil as JANG SE-MI & BAEK DO-YI LADY DURIAN (2023) 1.07

[randombush3]

audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.” 

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you. 

“What?” says Jenni. 

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.” 

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?” 

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know. 

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home. 

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.” 

“Are you angry at her?” 

“Yes.” 

Alexia thinks about it. 

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.” 

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.” 

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.” 

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.” 

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought. 

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.” 

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.” 

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Well, I'm not angry at her.” 

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that�� Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her. 

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?” 

“Alexia, bésame.” 

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent. 

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful. 

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing. 

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been. 

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.” 

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose. 

The doorbell rings again. 

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case. 

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you. 

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently. 

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue. 

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?” 

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you. 

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end. 

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough. 

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.” 

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.” 

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.” 

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side. 

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life. 

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia. 

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head. 

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.” 

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.” 

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word. 

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.” 

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed. 

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous. 

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.” 

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true. 

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it. 

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona. 

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself. 

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?” 

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.” 

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats. 

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her. 

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.” 

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.” 

“You’re delirious.” 

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.” 

“No lo sé.” 

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.” 

“Claro.” 

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.” 

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal. 

…

You’re married. 

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface. 

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time. 

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone. 

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.” 

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.” 

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel. 

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.” 

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended. 

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.” 

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work. 

“I left Mia with her dad for this.” 

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.” 

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.” 

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.” 

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.” 

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.” 

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?” 

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers. 

“Not what I meant.” 

“I won’t take it back.” 

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.” 

“Does that count?” 

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation. 

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.” 

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?” 

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.” 

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible. 

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers. 

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.” 

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people. 

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.” 

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove. 

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.” 

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?” 

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well. 

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.” 

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.” 

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?” 

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?” 

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time. 

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her. 

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic. 

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.” 

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days. 

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning. 

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?” 

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.” 

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there. 

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.” 

“How’s the album doing?” 

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.” 

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms. 

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio. 

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment. 

But 2020 kind of sucks. 

For the entire world. 

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal. 

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.) 

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat. 

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.” 

…

The routine changes the following year. 

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading. 

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it? 

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.” 

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down. 

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return. 

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again. 

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.” 

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!” 

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.” 

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.” 

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you. 

… 

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football. 

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him. 

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain. 

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.” 

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words. 

“You don’t have to be.” 

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works. 

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth. 

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment. 

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back. 

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else. 

In this way, she is functional. 

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni. 

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed? 

Where does she put the used bandage? 

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo. 

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea 

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her. 

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see. 

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son. 

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.” 

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.” 

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.” 

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you. 

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.” 

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.” 

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.” 

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle. 

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you). 

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish. 

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.” 

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick. 

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’. 

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?” 

… 

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together. 

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman. 

She consults Mapi. 

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows. 

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.” 

“I’m not asking you to.” 

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation? 

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.” 

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.” 

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right. 

… 

June, July, and August pass with bliss. 

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days. 

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way. 

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.” 

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong. 

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.” 

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her. 

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.” 

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited. 

 You are. 

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back. 

[danikamariewrites]

can i please request a modern au with rhysand x reader where rhysand is sitting in very important meeting and his daughter calls him on readers phone to tell her about her day and what she learned in school today. He answers and doesn’t give a shit that this is a meeting. he just smiles and talks to his daughter. The others in the meeting wait impatiently for him to finish snd someone says

” this is absolutely ridiculous it’s unproffesional, disrespectful and rude to to this in the middle of a crisis meeting “

and he says coldly:

“If my daughter calls me, I’m going to answer. I don’t care if the mother herself sat here. And you’re crazy if you think I’m not going to speak to my wife as well.”

and he keeps talking to reader and their daughter,

” give me one minute sweetie, daddy is coming home very soon. i’ll pick you and mommy up some ice cream from the place you like. yeah okay sweetheart hand the phone over to mommy. Yeah, i’ll be there in 10 minutes my love see you soon. ”

” this meeting is completely unnecessary, i’ll go out and fix this situation in 2 seconds and then i’m going home. ” he says unamused and walks out.

Pointless Meetings

Modern!Rhysand x reader

A/n: I love modern!Rhys who is obsessed with his family 😋

Warnings: fluff and not proof read sorry lol

Rhys was perpetually bored. Two of his board members called an emergency meeting over nothing, Rhys could solve the problem if they simply let him speak. He is CEO and the fact that he can’t get a word in is ridiculous.

As the others argued he simply spun in his chair staring out the window of the high rise. He stared in the direction of home. Where you and your little girl, Isla, are waiting at home for him. Rhys could’ve left thirty minutes ago if it wasn’t for this meeting.

His phone buzzed in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Looking at the screen a text from you pops up, Isla wants to call if you’re not busy 😊.

Rhys smiled at the message as he replied. He would always make time for the two of you no matter what. Seconds later your contact photos graced his screen. He loved looking at the sweet photo of you and Isla smiling, frosting from her birthday cake all over her cheeks and little nose.

Sliding to answer he heard Isla’s little voice as she spoke to you. “Did he answer yet mommy?” “Yup, here sweetie.” She screamed in excitement. Isla hadn’t spoken to him all day and she was desperate for daddy’s attention.

“Hi little bean.” “Hi daddy!” Rhys heard the room fall silent. He stood walking over to the window facing away from the board members. “I miss you, when will you be home? You promised we would watch Monsters Inc.”

A breathy giggle leaves his lips. “Of course we’re gunna watch Monsters Inc. bean, I-“ “Excuse me Rhysand! Taking a personal call during an emergency meeting is highly inappropriate. You are the CEO! Set an example.”

Anger took over Rhys’s features as he looks back at the full meeting table. “This is barley an emergency. And if my daughter wants to speak to me I’m going to answer the phone. I don’t care what’s happening I will always speak to my family.”

He turns back to look out the window, holding the phone back up to his ear. “Sorry daddy, did I get you in trouble?” Rhys could hear the wobble in her voice like she was about to cry. “No bean, not at all. Remember daddy’s the boss so I can do whatever I want.”

Isla’s sweet giggle sounded again causing his smile to widen and heart to warm. “Can you put me on speaker so I can talk to mommy too?” “Ok say hi.” “Hi y/n/n.”

“Hi baby.” Your voice calmed him immediately. Making him miss you even more, wanting you and Isla in his arms. “I’m leaving in a minute and I’m going to pick up your favorite ice cream, any other requests?” After the short list you said goodbye to each other.

Rhys angrily shoved his phone back into his pocket and stormed back over to the table. “So you’re just going to leave without-“

Rhys grabbed the pen from the man’s hand and started scribbling notes on the paper in front of him. “There. There’s your answer. See how easy that was. And stop fucking calling emergency board meetings at the end of the day, this is the seventh one this month and it’s very disturbing you can’t do your job.”

Throwing the pen down on the table he aggressively opened the glass door and sped walked to the elevators. His dress shoes causing an echo to sound in the empty hallway. He slammed the buttons, willing the elevator to arrive so he can get home to the two of you.

[mynameismckenziemae]

A Little Bit Stronger

Part 2

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x OFC

Summary: You begin to open up once you realize you’re safe for the night.

Warnings: Just like everything else I write/post: this story is for 18+ only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language. Please also note this story may be triggering due to the topic of domestic abuse (physical, emotional, sexual) violence-feel free to message me with any questions before reading.

*This is the Bradley from All of Me (Jake and Reese’s story). You should be able to be read as a stand-alone but it doesn’t hurt to start there.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Your anxiety continues to build when your search for a place to stay for the night falls flat. Few hotels in the area have vacancies with the long holiday weekend and none allow dogs.

“Shae?” Reese calls through the door, “I’m here.”

You toss your phone on the bed with a sigh before heading down the hall, Hank hot on your heels.

You hold his collar as you unlock the door, cracking it open before stepping back, “Come in.”

Your grip tightens as Reese pushes it open slowly, but he surprises you by wagging his tail instead of growling.

“Hi baby,” she greets him softly, crouching to pet him as her eyes meet yours, “Oh Shae.”

“I’m okay,” you smile as your eyes fill with tears again, “I’ve had worse.”

She nods. “Yous such a good boy, protecting your mama like that,” she kisses the top of his head as she stands and wraps you in a hug.

So unused to a kind touch, you stiffen for a moment before lifting your arms and returning it.

“Thanks for coming, I didn’t know what to do…who to call,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Of course,” she replies, eyes falling to your swollen cheek when you pull back, “let’s get some ice on it.”

“Okay, right, of course,” you say, touching the tender skin while you nod, “Duh, I’m a nurse, I just-where are the guys? Did they drop you off?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” she smiles kindly at your stuttering while she checks the freezer, “They told me to come in first to make sure you’re still okay that they came.”

It all suddenly feels like too much and you just want to sit down and cry.

Instead, you take a deep breath as you look at the ticking clock and say, “I’m okay with it.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, placing a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel gently on your cheek before guiding you to the couch. “I’ll let them in.”

Reese opens the door and waves them over just as you remember the words of the lady you got Hank from, “he’s a little leery of men.”

You jump up to grab his collar but miss as he trots to the door, “Oh wait! I was told…”

The words die on your tongue as Bradley kneels to greet him, laughing as Hank sniffs his face while his tail wags a mile a minute.

Jake’s right behind him and all 3 look at you to finish your sentence.

“I was told he’s a little leery of men,” you finish, wanting to hide your face at their attention. Thankfully the ice pack hides your flush. “Seems to like you guys though.”

Bradley gives you a soft smile as he rises and holds out his hand, “I’m Bradley, or Rooster, either’s fine. I’m glad to officially meet you, sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

He’s even more handsome up close; the mustache that should look ridiculous but suits him well, deep brown eyes that you could get lost in, the scars on his cheek and neck that you want to run your fingers over. There’s no pity or anger in his expression as you shake his hand; he almost looks hurt on your behalf.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur, trying not to squirm under his gaze, “I apologize for avoiding you,” you say, looking up at him and then Jake, “both of you since I started. It’s been difficult adjusting…”

Adjusting to being able to talk to a man without getting beat for it, not having to come home and report every interaction you had with a male coworker, patient, etc., not being called a whore for just glancing in one’s direction…

“It’s okay,” Jake says as he rises, holding his hand out next. You’re almost reluctant to let go of Bradley’s calloused one dwarfing yours. “It’s understandable after everything you’ve been through.”

Jake’s expression doesn’t show pity either but there’s definitely anger as he looks over the frozen peas pressed to your cheek. But it’s not directed at you. “Let’s get you out of here. I can’t stand being at a place that kicks a woman while she’s down. What’s all yours?”

You realize there’s a familiarity to his anger with his words; someone close to him has been hurt like this too. “Out here there’s just a couple of coffee cups and Hank’s toys and bed, I think. In the bedroom, I need to pack the rest of my clothes in the closet, oh, and a tote too.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Reese helps you pack your bedroom while the guys gather the rest. “Did you find somewhere for tonight?”

You shake your head, “Not yet. Everything is booked with the holiday.”

“You could stay with me,” she replies as she places the rest of your clothes in the last suitcase, “I’ve got plenty of room.”

“I appreciate it, but I won’t risk something happening with Drew there,” you say, refusing to traumatize her son.

“He’s with his grandparents tonight,” she replies. “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, your other choice is sleeping in your car, “Hank’s a big dog and he sheds.”

“Positive,” she answers, zipping the suitcase closed and setting it on the floor, “I have a big house and dog hair never hurt anyone. We can have a drink and talk or sit together in silence. Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” you say, voice cracking as tears again fill your eyes, “thank you.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The host shows up again just as you’re heading out the door. You nearly laugh at the disgusted look Jake throws his way.

You don’t even look at him while you drop the keys in his hand.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Reese rides with you on the way to her house, giving you directions while she pets Hank’s big head resting on the center console.

“I appreciate this so much,” you tell her as you pull into her driveway.

“Of course,” she replies, “Jake was going to spend the night tonight, but I can send him home if it bothers you.”

“No, not at all. It’s your home,” you tell her, shifting your car into park, “I’m sure he’s long gone by now,” you sigh, “and it’s actually kind of comforting; knowing there’s someone his size here on the odd chance he figures out where I am.”

“Okay,” she nods as she opens her car door, “let me know if you change your mind. He won’t care.”

You give her a small smile and follow her inside.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

After getting the things you need for the night inside and settling in one of the guest rooms, Reese invites you outside to join them around her fire pit.

“I’m assuming this is okay?” Reese asks, handing you the same brand of beer you had been drinking earlier when Chad showed up, probably still sitting half-full on the counter in the rental.

“Yes, thank you,” you smile, taking it from her. You felt less dowdy in your leggings and old college tee since she changed into sweats too. Hank finishes patrolling her yard to come lay on your feet with a relaxed sigh.

“Do you think Chad was there earlier?” Reese asks, bending down to pat his soft fur, “You said he was pacing when you let him out at lunch.”

You nod, “Yeah, I think so. He was still worked up when I got home.”

“How did he get in?” Jake asks.

“I let him in,” you frown, picking at the label on the bottle of beer, “he knocked and I let him in without looking because I ordered food. You’d think I’d know better,” you laugh at your own stupidity before taking a long pull. “I was just feeling so good after working; I was actually in the process of texting you that I was gonna tag along tomorrow when he knocked.”

“You still can,” Reese says softly, “I’d love it if you’d come.”

You nod as you gently touch the bruising on your cheek, “I’ll have to see how this looks in the morning first. Anyways, I opened the door and he backhanded me, knocked me back a few steps. God, if he had hit me on the other side…” you shiver and your stomach turns as you imagine it, “I’m still healing from the orbital fracture he gave me. That’s what the bruising was from when we first met.”

“Oh Shae,” Reese murmurs.

“Fuck,” you hear Jake mutter.

Bradley’s hand tightens on the bottle in his hand as he shifts in his seat.

You’re too embarrassed to look at any of their expressions.

“He grabbed my arm and was screaming at me. He must’ve gotten served the divorce papers this week,” you continue, eyes not focusing on anything as you recall the attack, “that’s when Hank bit him.”

“Good boy,” Jake tells him, giving him some hearty pats. Hank’s tail thumps in response.

“He screamed like a girl,” you smile at the memory, “screamed like I did the last time he…” you trail off as you realize what you’re saying.

“You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to, Shae,” it’s Bradley’s voice this time.

You nod, still not looking up.

“I pulled Hank off before he could do anything worse. He was wearing long sleeves so I don’t think it broke the skin,” you say, stroking the soft, downy fur of his ears, “then he ran off. Not before telling me ‘this isn’t over’ and ‘that dog is dead.’”

You swallow back your tears with another drink before looking at Reese’s shiny eyes over the fire. “That’s why I can’t stay here. He’s never going to stop. Not until he’s in prison or one of us is dead.”

“Why isn’t he in prison?” Bradley asks. Now there’s anger staining his voice, but it doesn’t scare you like you thought it would. “Especially if this isn’t his first offense.”

“He should be in prison,” you agree, “but his dad is the Sacramento County DA. His family has all kinds of connections and the entire police force is in his back pocket. All charges against him mysteriously drop with a phone call from his daddy.”

It’s silent while that news sinks in.

“I-we won’t let anything happen to you,” Bradley says after a moment.

“He’s right,” Reese agrees, “and you don’t have to go through this alone anymore. We’re all here for you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, watching the fire crackle and pop.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You’re grateful for the cloak of darkness as the conversation begins to flow. You’ve caught Bradley’s eyes on you on more than once but he looks away whenever you’d catch his gaze.

You can’t help but smile at the banter between friends. You heart pinches a bit at the love Jake and Reese share. The way he looks at her with so much love and adoration almost makes you blush.

It’s the kind of love your parents had. The kind of love you’ve always wished for.

“So…how do you all know each other?” You ask when there’s a lull.

“I met Bradley the same day I met my late husband, Andy,” Reese starts with a small smile, “those two were friends since they were in diapers and happened to be Andy’s ride to the ER when he got hurt. I ended being the only one available to stitch him up. Andy scared the shit out of me when he waiting for me after work,” she laughs, fiddling with what you assume is Andy’s wedding ring on her right hand. “Bradley was Andy’s best man in our wedding, he was there for us when we got Andy’s ALS diagnosis, which was shortly after I found out I was pregnant with Drew.”

A lump forms in your throat as her voice gets thicker with tears. Jake intertwines his fingers in hers before squeezing gently.

“Andy declined quickly and died shortly after he was born. Bradley’s been there for Drew and I every step of the way,” she smiles at him warmly, reaching over to squeeze his knee. He flushes as he swallows heavily before taking a long pull of his drink.

“Jake and Bradley are in the same squadron, and I met Jake the day I got back from my deployment a few months ago at the beach,” she continues. “What was supposed to be a hook-up turned into this,” her heavy sigh turns into laughter at Jake’s scoff, but his lip quirks too.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“When did you say your apartment will be ready?” Jake asks a few minutes later, handing you a second beer.

“Should be done by the end of next week,” you reply.

“Could she stay at your place?” Reese asks Jake, “you could stay here?”

“You could,” Jake turns to you, but he’s wearing a frown, “but there’s a no-pet policy, and my landlord is a dick. I’m guessing you want Hank with you too.”

“I do,” you nod, “thank you though.”

“You could stay at my house,” Bradley says. Your heart skips a beat when you look up and meet his kind, brown gaze. He doesn’t look away this time, though his eyes dip to your lips briefly. Your breath catches as desire hits you like a freight train with the realization that he’s attracted to you. “I-uh, I own a house near the beach. I’ve got plenty of room for you both,” he smiles at Hank, “and I’m sure I can stay with Mav and Penny.”

“I-no,” you argue, “I won’t kick you out of your own home. Thank you though.”

“You’re not,” he smiles, “I offered.”

“Well…” you trail off, not sure what to say. The problem is you don’t want to stay anywhere by yourself after tonight. You also don’t want to drag anyone further into this mess.

“You don’t have to make any decisions tonight,” Reese says with a yawn, “I think I’m gonna go to bed. You want a ride home Roo?”

He shakes his head as he yawns too, “I’ll just crash on the couch if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I was gonna make you Uber if you wanted a ride,” she teases, laughing as he pushes her into Jake.

You smile at their antics as you follow them inside.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Hank’s whining wakes you a little before 7. Though your body is bruised and sore, you feel better rested than you have in years; it’s like your subconscious knew you were safe.

“Shhhh,” you tell Hank dancing at the top of the stairs as you grab your robe. His tail slowly moves side to side as he waits for you to get close before he loudly takes off down the stairs before you can pull it on.

“Wait,” you whisper as you follow, trying not to slip.

He’s waiting patiently at the bottom until he hears soft snores coming from the couch.

“Hank!” You whisper-yell as he gallops to find the source, “Leave him alone!”

But it’s too late.

You hear Bradley’s “oomph” before you can catch him.

“I’m so sorry!” You cringe as you take in the sight of your giant dog splayed on top of him. “I snore when I mess around with him…he must’ve thought you wanted to play.”

Bradley laughs as he tries to avoid Hank’s cold, wet nose against his neck, “It’s okay. I’ve had worse wake-up calls.”

You suddenly remember your lack of a bra as Bradley’s eyes flick down to your chest where your nipples are standing at attention against the pilled cotton of your shirt in the cool morning air. His gaze drops further to your bare legs, shorts hidden by the length of your tee. Helooks away quickly but his cheeks redden.

“Come on,” you coo as you pull on your robe, pretending not to notice to ease Bradley’s embarrassment. You can’t deny that the attention feels good. “Gotta go potty?”

Hank’s head whips around at that and Bradley groans out a laugh as the oaf leaps off him to bound toward the back door.

“Sorry again,” you say with a sheepish smile as you follow.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You sit on the stairs, watching Hank run off some energy when the door opens a few minutes later.

“Coffee?” Bradley asks, holding two cups by the handles as he closes the door behind him. “With or without creamer? I don’t care either way.”

He looks good; like really good in a white undershirt and gray sweatpants.

“Witho-with…with creamer, please,” you catch yourself, “Chad had me on a strict diet for many years,” you explain, knowing he’s wondering but too polite to ask, “still trying to get used to being able to eat or drink what I want.”

He frowns as he hands you the warm cup, his gaze lingering on your bruised face.

“Thank you,” you say, wincing as you try to smile, your cheek aching with the movement. “You can sit if you want.”

He nods before taking a seat at the opposite edge of the steps. “The swelling’s gone down.”

“Has it?” Your fingertips brush the tender skin. It warms under your touch from the way he watches you, “those peas must’ve worked.”

He smiles sadly and you turn to take a sip of the coffee that’s sweetened perfectly.

“I was actually excited about tagging along today; finally starting to feel like the old me again…standing on my own two feet,” you clear your throat, “then he pulled the rug out from under me.”

“You can still come,” he replies, “no one will say anything.”

“I just…,” you sigh, “I shouldn’t leave Hank here all day by himself, and gotta find a place to stay by tonight and…”

He waits patiently for you to gather your thoughts and continue.

“and I’m scared,” you whisper, tears again filling your eyes, “I’m scared to be alone right now.”

“I bet,” he murmurs, “you’ve been through a lot.”

Both of you are quiet for a while, chuckling occasionally as Hank goofs around.

Besides the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach, you feel at ease with Bradley. You had been young and dumb when Chad swept you off your feet; the bad gut-feeling you had about him was easily ignored by the gifts and over-the-top gestures. You’ll never make that mistake again.

“What if…you stayed at my house…with me?” He asks tentatively a few minutes later, “I’ve got a guest bedroom upstairs; you can still have your own space but I’ll be around so you can feel safe.”

You want to be selfish and say yes. You would do just about anything to get a few more good nights' sleep like you did last night instead of overanalyzing every sound.

“Just like roommates, ya know?” He says when you hesitate, “it’s only for a few days.”

“Okay,” you answer without thinking.

“Yeah?” He sounds just as surprised as you.

“Yeah,” you give him a small smile as you nod, feeling overwhelmed and relieved all at once.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: Forced (kind of) proximity anyone? 🤭 what did y’all think?

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I LOVE hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than anything.

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[charnelhouse]

Thoughts on “you couldn’t care less” “oh, I could” and “once I start I can’t stop” (especially for a big guy like ghost) together or separate both wreck me

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Trauma. Mentions of torture.

She throws it at him, spits it like a feral cat. “You couldn’t care less, Simon.”

He gapes at her, blood encrusted in the folds of his suit. Corpses littering the floor. “I couldn’t care less?” he echoes, tone stained with incredulity.

As if the evidence of his care isn’t at their feet.

She turns away from him, staggers slightly to the side before righting herself. She’s wounded and she won’t let him touch her. A pretty bird with a broken wing. His fury rages anew. It builds like a brushfire, and he wants another neck to twist. They had hurt her, and they had paid the price.

“What has two legs and bleeds?” she rasped, raising finger guns and pretending to shoot. She was slumped against the cement wall, crimson spit pooling to the floor.

“Red,” he growled, stepping forward with the keys to her cell door. The relief in his voice was muddied by his fear. Irritation was always his backup. “Not the time.”

“It’s me,” she murmured, exhausted and fragile and half out of her mind. “I think they hit a lung.”

It’s whiplash. Her joking to her shutting him out? She’s galloping toward hysterics, her fingers trembling as they loosely grasp the handle of the gun he had shoved into her hand. Fox had been ambushed and taken as a hostage. It was Ghost who had run after her, not caring that Price had firmly told him no - you're compromised in this particular situation.

“I just...” Ghost begins before trailing off.

He just what? Murdered a whole room of people that he was supposed to keep alive, but they had attacked Red, and he wasn’t capable of playing nice. Not when it came to her. “They tortured you,” he offers lamely. It’s the truth. He knows all about torture. It’s the mental shit that’s the worst, being used and shoved to the bottom of the barrel until there’s no light left.

“You jeopardized the mission,” she argues as she kicks one of the guards’ heads to the side. It’s limp, a water balloon filled with clay. She stumbles again and Ghost shoots forward, arm winding around her waist to hold her steady. “They’re all gonna blame me.” She places her palm on his tac vest, spreads her fingers. “I got caught. You killed them all. Fuck." She sounds resigned and bitter.

“I did,” he replies flatly. “My decision.”

Her lip trembles, her teeth clicking in her mouth as they start to chatter. A box of jumbled bones. She’s going cold and Ghost realizes that she’s in shock and perhaps that is why she’s making zero sense.

“You couldn’t care less because-because you shouldn’t care like this,” she tries to explain. “They’re gonna say you did it for me and I was weak and caught and forced your hand-”

“I did do it for you,” he replies simply, picking her up into his arms. Price is barking something into his earpiece and Ghost knows he’s going to get hell; he may even be put on leave for what he did. “They can say whatever they want.”

“No,” she protests, pushing away from him, but she’s so frail that it barely registers. A butterfly landing on his shoulder. She chokes on a sob and starts to cry and if that doesn’t kill Ghost, he’s not sure what will.

He bites his tongue, attempting to control himself from reacting. Her frustration, her tears, distress him and if she could see the expression behind his mask, she’d understand. Of course, I bloody did it for you.

However, she needs his kindness now. She needs to bash herself against him until she can no longer hold her weight. Douse her anger. Douse her resentment at herself because surely this is about her. She's mad at him for risking his own reputation to save her life.

"Simon," she sputters, and his name plops out wet. Helpless. Her breasts hitch, her heart thumping fast - too fast.

“Hey...hey...easy there, duchess,” he soothes, dropping his brow until it’s fastened against her own. “Breathe with me. We got Evac coming.”

“But...it's not...”

“No more of that,” he hums before inhaling and exhaling at a slow, even rhythm. Her ear is firmly planted on his chest, and she curls her finger around one of the straps of his tac vest. She clings to it. Her hairline is beaded in cool sweat. Blood in the air. He swallows thickly as he feels her attempt to follow his pace. “That’s a girl. Just like that. Breathe. You’re safe.”

[evacado3]

Hey 😃 can I request about Vasco with s/o who taller than him? Thanks 🏃🏻‍♀️

Ngl, was kinda surprised when I received this. Me myself is not very tall sooo it might be a little confusing, I’ll still try but don’t judge too hard 😅

hcs

To him it doesn’t matter, nope

Though Jace kinda sees you as a threat

You might have been mistaken for the leader instead

Will try the hair pulling thingy again with you after seeing little Daniel succeed

Will challenge you to touching the door frame

Wanna teach you how to fight, but respects your hobbies

Jace thanks you cause Vasco's not crying for girls no more, and you actually drilled some common sense in him

If your Tabasco's girlfriend, unfortunately you are officially burn knuckles' queen

So don't too surprised if a group of tattooed guys follow you every where, come on they're only checking if you're safe

Uses BURN KNUCKLES SECRET MOVE [INVINCIBLE CHARIOT] for you

Be aware of the ceiling though, will kneel with their head down if you ever get hurt

Burn knuckles will not need a order from Vasco if anyone tries to hurt you, all of them will go berserk

Shopping havoc

Word count: 1213 one-shot

It's been a month of dating the head of burn knuckles, and you're still convinced that he likes kangaroos more than you. No he really made plans to adopt a kangaroo when you agreed to date him.

The scene was basically you blushing after accepting his confession, but only to hear his dreams of having that large animal when he gets married, leaving you very flustered in public.

Though what embarrassed you more, ever since you were young, was the fact that you are taller than the young man before you. You could see he doesn't give it a single shit about that, but insecurities don't leave after a day.

For the last month, every time you made a comment about your height, he'd make a baffled face. "I think it's cool, what are you talking about your height is perfect." No he really doesn't understand why you have it hard on yourself.

Did you fall in love, obviously, yes. Though Vasco doesn't comprehend the reason behind you're insecurities, he assures that not only is it normal, it's beautiful, you're beautiful. Some height ain't gonna scare homeboy away!

So that's why today you wanted to take your relationship on to the next level, the 'normal' level.

I know, the 'normal' level is very correct. Come on does Tabasco really understand the concept of kissing?

Yes, he might have given his umbrella to you on a rainy day, he might have pinned you to the wall just to ask "You do want McDonald’s or KFC?"

Obviously you knew he doesn't have any experience, so fine, you waited. But after another two weeks it came to you that if you don't bring it up to him, he will never figure that out.

So what better to do than teach him on a date? You've planned out all the possibilities and the events that might occur, it took days to work up the nerve to ask him on a date, alone.

Ok, alone. Not with some big group of guys following you, you even begged Jace to make it clear. Alone. He said yes after seeing your desperation, using his detective skills straightforwardly.

"Good luck on that, you might have to even show him a video on how to kiss."

Fine don't ask what video you chose. Anything to open up his eyes to this current problem.

So you weren't sure why, along with your boyfriend who showed up in a nice loose tee and jeans, you felt seven more pairs of eyes following you.

Are you kidding me?

"Hey Vasco, how you doing today?" you asked faintly, despite your height, you're a softie at heart.

"Hey, I'm great, so we going to get some clothes? I could use some new pants."

Yes he does, have yall seen him running around in pajamas?

You tried hard to ignore those guys at the back, what happened to Jace's promise? They all gave out a suspicious aura, everyone was basically looking. And it's whatever if they walked far behind, they're literally stuck to their leader's ass, not even leaving one meter of space.

You could say the date proceeded well on Vasco's side, it was a regular date and you even picked out some nice pants for him. But on your side? Uh... not too great.

Every time you tried to make a move, there just has to be something that stopped you.

"So babe, umm I was wonder-"

"Mister, we are having a sale this month, would you like to pick out another pair to get 30% off?"

As if that wasn't enough, the boys would send you looks of encouragement at the back like it would soothe your embarrassment.

Sighing, you stepped into the final store you wanted to go in.

"I'm gonna pick out some clothes for you too ok? Wait here." he said with enthusiasm, already running off without hearing out your response. Obviously you couldn't trust his choices, but let the boy have fun.

So you minded your own business waiting for him to come back, but why did the receptionist look at you like that. Wait, she turned back to her friend while pointing your way. What's going on?

You could see them giggling after exchanging some words. They both spun your way, one of them making her way to you and the other one just laughed trying to woe her back.

"Hello, yes you over there. How tall are you?" she snickered.

It was almost as if she was the one over towering you when she stared at you curiously. "Uh... I-I'm not too sure." you replied softly, wishing she'd leave you alone.

"Hey no need to lie, damn your voice doesn't suit you at all. I thought you'd sound like a man! You must be at least 180 miss girl!" she exclaimed, though everyone who heard knew, that was spoken disrespectfully.

But you could only nod and fidget a little, not wanting to cause a scene. There was already a few people looking over to you, but shooting glares at the clerk. You were happy that they knew she was the one trying to disturb you.

"Your little boyfriend over there, isn't he bothered? If it was me I definitely would be disgusted. Are you sure he isn't just playing? Oh, do you play basketball?" her ranting agitated the customer, but still showed no signs of stopping.

Your blood ran cold as she kept speaking, what did she say? Isn't Vasco bothered with me?

What if the reason that he hasn't shown me affection was because he was disgusted?

On the verge of tears, you muttered out, "please stop."

"What?"

"Stop, I do not feel comfortable with you speaking to me like this." you expressed clearly.

She scoffed when she recovered from shock, "hey lady, I asked-"

"I'm not." Vasco stated, popping out by your side. You flinched in surprise, but immediately blushing after he gently wrapped his arm around you.

"I heard what you said, and I'm saying I'm not disgusted or bothered by her." He said with a hint of anger. "Please return and do your job, my girlfriend will not like to speak with a girl like you."

Honestly, no words can express how happy that made you, your man stood up for your insecurities while being respectful. How did I end up with such a good man like this?

The girl gasp with an offended look, but looked down after meeting Vasco's eyes. She stuttered out a weak 'sorry' then fast-walked back to the counter.

Ignoring the cheers of other customers, he walked you out of the store. You were still dazed, eyes focused on the man whose eyes where ahead. Maybe the date was good after all.

But before he kept walking, an unexpected sweet peck landed on your cheek. Your face now resembles a tomato.

"Huh?"

Wait, what was that

THAT WAS SO CUTE

You saw in the between those guys, Jace sent you a sneaky wink.

"Was that ok?" Vasco asked, he doesn't look shy at all. Does he even realize what that means?

"Wait Vasco, continue no more, the queen is heating up!"

"The queen is all red!"

"Vasco you killed someone!"

Guess who got assorted out the mall today.

=================================

Forgive me for putting this in two parts and releasing it so late, I was busy memorizing the periodic table 😀

[ptergwen]

Hi val! Got a request, it's okay if you don't wanna write it, but can you write about peter telling the reader he's going on a huge mission and he's excited about it but the reader is so worried they end up arguing? But when peter gets back from mission all bruised, the reader is still upset but dresses his wound anyway and it ends up with fluff??

abort mission

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, and angst

a/n: woah woah woah i ended up writing way more than i expected but i loved this request so much :,) i hope you do too

-

“we’re staying in this, like, super fancy castle while we’re there. it’s gonna be awesome,” peter rambles to you. he takes all the clean shirts in his drawer and throws them into a suitcase.

he’s packing for a mission in europe with the avengers, and you’re here to say goodbye. you’ve been pretty quiet while peter gives you as many details as he’s allowed to. it’s always an honor when the team invites him on. he gets so stoked about it. you’re happy he’s happy and gets to pursue his passion, but you’ve noticed a pattern.

every time peter leaves the country with earth’s mightiest heroes, he comes back in worse condition than the last. it seems like they protect everyone except peter. he’s oblivious to the fact that the end result is always his suffering. he’s just glad to be there. really, he gets nothing in return except scars that never heal, not even a permanent spot on the team. 

so, you’re not thrilled he agreed to go.

“plus, i get to miss two weeks of school.” peter beams, getting onto his knees to zip the suitcase. “feels like a vacation almost.” “you like school, though,” you remind him. you’re sat at the edge of his bed while you watch, rather than help. he hops up again with a shrug. “i like vacations more.” “it’s not a vacation,” you mutter to yourself, then speak up.

“how are you gonna catch up? that’s a lot of missing assignments.” with that same innocent smile, peter walks over to you. he grabs both your hands and laces your fingers together. “i’m a fast learner. besides, ned said he’d help me.” you sigh, looking down at the floor so you don’t have to look at peter. “or, you could. make it into a little study date when i get back,” he suggests while playing with your fingers.

“i don’t even want you to go,” you finally admit and meet his sparkling eyes. nothing could ever dull them. “why not? you’re gonna miss me?” peter teases, pressing a couple of kisses to your palm. “you don’t have to. i’m pretty sure france has wifi.” he wiggles his eyebrows. “oui oui, mademoiselle, eh?” despite yourself, you giggle at his french accent and tug on his hands. he sits down next to you with a chuckle.

“nat has been giving me lessons,” peter explains, you quirking an eyebrow. “she speaks french?” “she speaks a lot of languages, actually. she’s so cool.” peter scoots closer to you and sets his hands on your waist, his voice dropping. “you’d love her.” your face twists up in confusion at the idea.

you don’t have anything against the avengers, obviously. they’re good people. you’re just not the biggest fan of them at the moment, considering the circumstances they’ve put peter under.

“peter, i don’t want you to go,” you repeat more seriously than before. your teeth sink into your lower lip. “and, it’s not because i’ll miss you.” “none taken,” peter jokes, implying there should’ve been a no offense. he then realizes how distressed you look, so he cuts it out. “sorry, sorry. i’m done now. how come?”

you take his hand again and hold it tight. “what if you get hurt?” you ask in the nicest way possible, out of care. “i don’t wanna see you hurting, pete. this mission sounds really... dangerous.” he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, his grin faltering a bit. “it is, but i’m ready for it. i’ll be fine.”

you’re not convinced yet. that line he likes to overuse isn’t enough to do the trick.

his eyes searching for yours, peter brushes a piece of your hair back. “have a little faith in me, babe.” “no, i... i do. i have the most faith in you, peter.” you find yourself frowning as he twirls your locks around his finger. “that’s not the problem.” peter’s voice becomes a whisper. “what is it, then? talk to me.”

you do the opposite because you’re afraid you’ll upset him further, which is the last thing he needs right now. your silence prompts peter to fill it. “would it make you feel better if i say mr. stark is keeping an eye on me?” he’s smiling sheepishly, you scoffing. “oh, like he kept an eye on you in amsterdam?”

the only eye related activity that happened there was peter almost losing one of his. he’d come back with an eyepatch and couldn’t see out of it for over a month. to this day, there’s still a bit of blood in it when you look close enough.

“i already told you, that was my fault,” peter grumbles, turning so he faces forward. “i didn’t listen to him-“ “who gives a shit? he’s the one who put you in that situation!” you blurt out. you’ve been way too patient this whole time, and now you’re reaching your breaking point. “you say that like i didn’t wanna be there.” peter clenches his jaw, still mostly calm.

“either way, mr. stark,” you mock what peter always calls him, “was supposed to keep you safe, and he didn’t. i’m scared it’s gonna happen again.” letting out a noise close to a growl, peter stands up from the bed. “you’re not listening to me, y/n. everything was fine. i just-“ you’re not in the mood to hear him make excuses, so you interrupt.

“do you know any other sixteen year olds who fight literal terrorists on their free time?” you rhetorically ask and get to your own feet. peter tries to walk away from you, only you follow him. “you’re a kid, peter, in case you forgot.” he spins around to give you a nasty look. “do you know any other sixteen year olds who stick to fucking walls?”

your heart starts to race from his sudden outburst. he’s scary when he’s mad, and he almost never gets mad at you. all you can do is blink dumbly. “didn’t think so,” peter spits. “this is what i’m supposed to do, help people. is that so wrong?” his breathing becomes ragged as his anger grows.

“what about you? are you helping yourself?” you speak softly, expecting an answer this time. “you’re not my fucking therapist, y/n,” he deflects the question. “i am your girlfriend, though. i care about you so much, you know that.” eyebrows furrowed in concern, you reach out for peter. he takes a step back. it doesn’t take long for tears to cloud your vision.

“i was excited to share this with you, and i thought you’d be happy for me.” peter balls his hands into fists at his sides. his voice stays low. “instead, you made it all about yourself. you can never let me enjoy team stuff.” you’re speechless, peter nodding as he lets his words sit. “thanks for the support.”

“you’re an asshole,” you laugh out bitterly and wipe under your eyes.

he didn’t mean to make you cry. he was so caught up in himself, he didn’t realize you were.

peter’s whole demeanor changes. “y/n, baby...” he attempts to put a hand on your cheek, but you hit it away. “get off of me. what did i just say?” you sniffle, your tone harsh in contrast. “you’re an asshole, peter.” he changes his mind about feeling bad. you’ve berated him way more than he did you, anyway.

“you should go. i have to be up early,” peter decides, even though he’d said you could stay the night. whatever, you don’t want to anymore. “fine,” you agree shortly. “i’m leaving.” he stands there while you collect your things, shoving them into your bag. you’re going slow enough so he has a chance to stop you. he doesn’t.

you pass by him on your way to his door, sucking in a breath. here’s your official goodbye. “see you later, peter. don’t die.” “mhm, i won’t,” he replies, his tongue poking at his cheek. with one more shared look between you two, you make your grand exit, no doubt informing may of her nephew’s behavior before you’re gone.

peter immediately regrets the way he talked to you, and that you’re leaving things like this. you were only trying to protect him. you’ll never be able to save the city like he does, so this is how you do it. he truly is an asshole for not seeing that.

frustration consuming him, peter kicks over his fully stuffed suitcase, its contents spilling out. he grits his teeth.

“fan-fucking-tastic.”

-

you don’t talk to peter the whole two weeks he’s gone except for some are you alive and yes texts. he’d called you quite a few times, and was sent to voicemail for all of them. he gave you the benefit of the doubt because of timezones.

it was actually because you declined, which peter knew deep down was the real reason.

he’s coming home from his mission today. you’re not sure when or if he plans on dropping by. you’re not sure you’d like him to, either. you don’t really get a choice in the end.

there’s a series of knocks at your window, at some ungodly time in the night. you’re all too familiar with this routine. it’s peter.

you slip out from under your covers, a scowl already painting your face as you go to the window. surely enough, peter is perched in front of it, clad in red and black. the suit must be new because you’ve never seen it. you push up the window and step aside so he can get through.

“thanks,” peter mumbles, climbing into your room less gracefully than usual. he’s sort of wobbly when he lands. “yeah,” you dully acknowledge. “how was france?” “uh, good. you know, lots of cheese and all that.” his voice is muffled from his mask, since he hasn’t taken it off yet. that’s odd. “i was talking about the mission, but cool,” you almost laugh back.

“the mission was... fine,” peter clarifies and scratches the back of his neck. he never describes something as simply being ‘fine.’ when the boy talks, he lectures. you’re starting to get worried. “that’s good. at least you didn’t die, right?” you say to lighten the mood. peter awkwardly chuckles. “haha, yeah. thank god for that.”

you hum and walk over to sit on your bed, peter staying where he is. “what time did you get back?” you wonder, a completely harmless question. “um, this morning,” he says in response, raising your suspicions. “why’re you still in the suit, then?” you squint at him. “i like it, by the way.” “thanks, y/n/n. i, uh,” peter trails off, no good explanations coming to mind.

you’re quickly developing a hunch for what what down. you wordlessly get up again, meeting peter by your window. he’s nervous to see what happens next. peter’s shoulders slump when your fingers land on his mask. you carefully lift it, revealing his face to you. his banged up, bloody face.

“surprise.” peter musters up a grin, you tossing the mask at his chest. you’re beyond angry now. it’s not at him, athough it is at his injuries. “please don’t be mad,” he nearly begs, you shaking your head. you go to leave your room for some space. peter’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. “i should’ve listened to you, okay? i’m sorry,” he genuinely apologizes.

you still don’t say anything while you look over his beaten body. there’s a gash with stitches in it on his chin, a deep slice across the bridge of his nose, cuts littering his cheeks. he’s even got a busted lip for good measure. this might be the worst condition he’s let you see him in.

“you were right, y/n. i think... i think i’m gonna sit the next one out. it’s too much for me, clearly,” peter continues, fingers sliding down to lock with yours. “you should say you told me so.” “how... how did this happen?” you manage to get out instead. “the bad guy fought me,” he says with the hint of a smirk. “i won, though.”

it’s a relief that he’s handling this so well, even earning a laugh from you. that puts you more at ease.

“this is probably a dumb question, but are you okay?” you brush your thumb over peter’s cheekbone gently, avoiding his scratches. “not really. my face hurts a lot, and flash is gonna tease the hell out of me on monday.” his lips form a line, arms looping around your waist. it’s very much welcomed by you.

“you just spent two weeks trying not to die, and you’re worried about flash?” you snicker and draw a heart on his skin. peter shrugs a shoulder. “he’s so mean to me.” he brings you in closer to him. “besides, this is the normal kid stuff i should be focusing on.” you’re glad he finally came to terms with that. you’ve been saying it for the longest time.

you smile wickedly at him. “exactly. so is all that homework you have to make up.” peter lets out a breathy laugh, you laying your head on his chest. “i missed you,” he tells you quietly. “really wish i could kiss you right now.” “i missed you too, pete. so much,” you murmur into him. your hands settle on his biceps. “and, i forgive you.” “thanks, baby,” peter exhales.

“of course. once your lips are healed,” you pull back from his chest, making a kissing noise. “pucker up, lover- oh my god.” you’re looking up at him with wild eyes. peter gets reasonably startled from it. “what? what’s wrong?” “you... you’re bleeding!” you point at his stitches. he winces, touching the spot. there’s blood, alright.

“crap. do you have a bandaid or something?” peter gives you an apologetic smile. “mr. stark said i should cover them when this happens.” maybe, tony isn’t so bad after all. you nod and take him by his hand. “yeah, in the bathroom. come with me.”

peter sits on the edge of your bathtub while you patch up his chin. he tells you more about the fun parts of his mission, you placing the cinderella bandaid over his gash. you have those from a while ago and also regular ones. however, he preferred the princess design.

“you saw the real mona lisa? like, in person? that’s insane.” you grin, smoothing down peter’s bandaid one last time. “yeah, she’s even prettier up close.” peter returns the smile. “thanks for taking care of me, y/n. i swear i don’t deserve you sometimes.” now pouting at him, you crouch down so you’re at his level. “it’s the other way around, peter.”

“let’s just agree to disagree,” he concludes and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “i love you, okay?” “i love you, too.” you press a light kiss to his bandaid, getting a giggle from peter.

yeah, it’s going to be hell finding replacements for his lips.

[darthmaulification]

Hey! Can I please make a request for a short Drabble where reader is Grogu’s nanny aboard the Razor Crest and Din develops a crush on her, but once he and the reader start visiting Grogu at Jedi School on weekends, Luke develops a crush as well? Doesn’t have to end up with either, but I would like to see either guy’s rivalry and slight jealousy (with Reader’s obliviousness).

A/N: ... okay so, i really got into the whole crush aspect of your request, anon, and this basically became a romantic prose piece. when i looked back to see what you had initially wanted, my product was... about thrice removed from the original prompt. 💀

i think i got some of the points??? like there’s din and luke and they’re both in love with reader and they both have a bit of rivalry with the other and basically that’s what matters??? please forgive me, anon, the ghost of sappho took my body over and forced me to write yearning love poetry!! 🙏 sis forced my hand!! 😭

though if there’s enough interest for it, i can always make a follow up for this, like from reader’s perspective, and write something a lil more in depth (once i get requests finished up that is). 😊

hope you enjoy! 💗

content: nothing but din and luke pining for reader, gn!reader (for the most part), use of she/her pronouns, fluff, but also a smidgen of angst 👁👁, perspective difference!!, kind of a commentary on mandalorian and jedi culture?? (mostly jedi culture lmao)

word count: 1,524

You’re beautiful.

He sees it now how your face lights up like candles being lit when his son succeeds at doing another one of his Jedi tricks. Joy illuminates your face like a spotlight, your soft cheers and kind praise make the whole room warmer. Din watches Grogu leap into your arms, cooing and squealing like he’s been given candy. It makes Din’s heart leap when you kiss his son on the head, and smile so warmly it’s like your lips become sunshine.

Din is infinitely grateful for his helmet in this moment, his face feels like it’s been too close to a fire. His fingers pick at a fraying stitch on his gloves, to prevent his hands from shaking in his lap. He hopes that the Jedi, who is standing casually across the room near you and Grogu, doesn’t notice. Din hopes you don’t notice what you’re doing to him.

I’m in love. 

The sentence slips through the cracks of his thoughts the way a sunrise peeks over the horizon. You look over at him, holding up Grogu triumphantly in your hands like you would a prize, and he sucks in a breath because suddenly it feels like all he can see is you. You and Grogu, you and his son.

Please be my riduur.

“Did you see that? Wasn’t it amazing?” And Din forces himself to dip his head in a slight nod, because the Jedi is also looking at him with piercing blue eyes the color of the sky. His heart pounding, and when you laugh, and it sounds like summertime when everything is good and happy.

People love, he thinks as he stares at you, and suddenly his palms are sweaty and he feels the need to tap his foot, but Mandalorians love harder.

I dream about you every night, think about you when I lie awake. You’re always holding sunflowers, and the nightmares don’t touch me then.

Mandalorians love like there is nothing else in the universe more valuable, nothing more precious, not their vibroblades, their blasters, or even their beskar.

Giving up a blaster and a vibroblade in order to save you from that hut’uun came to me like breathing, I didn’t even think about it... I would’ve given up my beskar’gam too. I still would.

Mandalorians love with their souls laid bare, they love with their entire body, they love with sacred vows, exchanged beskar rings, their riduur’s name engraved on their hal’cabur, above their heart.

When you slept beside me one night, I whispered the entire marriage vow to you in Mando’a. You looked so peaceful bathed in the light of the moon, the silvery glow making you look holy. I’ll admit, it came out mostly accidentally, but it felt so normal, natural even. I wish you hadn’t been asleep.

Mandalorians love in spite of death, they love in the face of it. They love like warriors.

I had gotten shot. All I remember is you holding me in your arms, hands pressed over the wound. I was in pain, and you were crying, covered in blood and dirt, but you were so warm. I’m still unsure if I had actually said what I think I said:

“I care about you too much to leave you.”

He wants to tell you all of this, but he’s never been much of a romantic, or much of a speaker in general, so the words falter on his tongue each time he’s tried. And Din’s tried so many times. You say something to the Jedi, and it makes a sudden, surprising fury bubble in his chest, the vile rising to his throat. Din has to bite his tongue to hold back from shouting:

Don’t talk to her, di’kut jetii! You are undeserving of her words, of her time, of her presence. Unworthy! You can’t give her what I can, shabuir.

You look over at him again, and the hot anger dies completely, leaving him powerless before you. Din felt this way each time he’s tried to tell you how much you mean to him.

I love you, cyare.

It feels like your eyes are boring holes straight through his beskar, through his flight suit, singing his skin with their warmth. Din bites his cheek so hard he tastes copper.

You smile. It’s like the dawn.

You are the sun— His sun— of his universe, and his eyes burn from the light.

Din basks in the rays, and his heartbeat starts to slow to it’s normal, steady rhythm.

Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.

~

You’re beautiful.

He sees it now in how your entire expression blooms into one of pure joy when his padawan successfully levitates the crates. It radiates in your aura, the waves of mirth traveling further than your respectfully quiet cheers and meaningful praise. Luke watches as the child leaps into your embrace, babbling without forming any actual words. Something inside Luke lurches when you place a kiss on Grogu’s head, and when your vibrant smile dissolves his willpower.

Luke draws the Force in on himself, welcoming the sturdiness it brings. He tries to ignore how his palm has gotten sweaty, but he clenches his hand into a fist and hastily relaxes it. Focus, let in calmness like a breeze. Luke hopes that the Mandalorian, sitting stiff and looming on a far bench, doesn’t notice his moment of vulnerability. He pulls the Force closer, and hopes you don’t notice what you’re doing to him.

I’m in love.

The thought springs up in his mind the way shoots of new grass breach top soil in spring time. You glance over at him as you lift the child, and the look is as quick and fleeting as blossoms on trees, but it floats in the Force like dandelion seeds, and Luke is painfully aware of how consuming you are.

Please don’t do this to me.

“Did you see that? Wasn’t it amazing?” And Luke catches your eye, offering you the smallest smile he can afford without it breaking. You look to the Mandalorian, and Luke follows your gaze because he can’t compel himself to do much else. The Mandalorian’s visor is dark like the night, and flashes when he nods his head. Luke feels his heart sink when he senses it from him, a yearning so deep he nearly drowns in it.

People love, Luke thinks and he feels all at once envious and angry and so achingly acquiescent, because Jedi cannot.

I swore by the Code years ago, but I look at you and doubt it all. It can’t be that I’m this willing to rethink everything.

Jedi are forbidden from having attachments, they cannot pursue romantic interests. Love leads to passion, and it all is an influence of the Dark. Luke knows this. He’s fallen to it before.

I’ve spent decades forgetting how deeply I cared for him! But I am reminded daily of my father, every time I look in the mirror, I see his eyes. How dare you pull me back into this cruel trap! I can’t do this again.

Luke contains himself. Jedi value peace of mind, they extend the sentiment to upholding it in the galaxy as well. They do not do it out of love, but out of obligation, out of honor, because of what’s right. They are not love.

When I first met you it was like I’d seen you before, in a past life. It was like retracing my steps, following the trail backwards, revisiting something I had passed. Despite it all, I had moved forward and took my padawan from you and the Mandalorian, plucked him from you like a petal off a flower. I watched you wilt.

Luke reminds himself. Jedi do not love. Focus is key. The Force is everything.

But you are too.

Luke has to swallow in order to make sure the words never reach his mouth, and it’s like eating thorns. You turn back to him and the look in your eyes is tender like butterfly wings. The pink in your cheeks reminds Luke of windflowers.

“Thank you again, Luke,” His soul shivers when his name sounds in your voice, “It’s so kind of you to teach Grogu.”

As he replies and tells you it’s a pleasure, he almost spills everything to you, but an abruptness shifts the energy of the room. There is a lurking anger that crawls at him through the Force, entwines him like ivies. The Mandalorian fumes, the wrath trembles like billowing leaves. Don’t. Undeserving. Unworthy.

Luke forces himself to agree and squashes down everything, pushing each painful emotion into the deepest parts of him. He watches you look to the Mandalorian, your aura flowers with affection, love.

I love you.

His resolve is fading, again. Luke reminds himself, again. Jedi do not love. Jedi do not love. Jedi do not love.

You smile, and it stings his soul like nettle.

Luke forces himself to ignore that your eyes say different things when they settle on the Mandalorian than they had him. The thought feels like eating bittersweet berries.

Briefly, he revels in what could have been.

It’s for the best.

~

A/N: i thought i would add another note at the end of this to explain exactly what the heck i was saying with the word soup i just wrote.

first, din is so hopelessly in love with reader that it hurts. like physically makes his heart ache. i feel that when din falls in love, he falls in love. it consumes him. i wrote a lot of sun/light imagery to portray the overwhelming, all-encompassing love din feels for reader. you are the sun that warms him, and burns him. 

second, i purposely made luke have an even more tragic, even more conflicted crush on reader, on purpose, hahaha i am evil. 😈 he loves you, but forces himself not to. he tells himself that the jedi code means more. luke chooses to suffer because he knows that’s how it must be. there’s some plant/nature symbolism thrown throughout because that’s just the theme that i thought vibed with luke the most.

and that mention of anakin? i subscribe to the headcanon that luke really did love his dad, and just wanted him in his life, but of course, vader ultimately died. luke took a heavy blow from that, learned it hurts to love.

also, regarding the mini-rivalry that takes place, it’s through the force (if that wasn’t obvious) and it’s essentially another example of luke surrendering his own wants/desires and simultaneously din firmly declaring his love for you. it’s kinda meant to be the “understanding” between the two that clearly establishes who “wins” the reader.

... this was all one giant metaphor, huh?

[1025cherrystreet]

funeral

y/n attends a funeral and feels hopeless after losing her best friend until she meets her late bsf's cousin Harry.

a/n: this is for @harrystylescherry​ Playlist Fic Challenge!!! this is inspired by the song Funeral by Phoebe Bridgers. i used the name Phoebe in the story but i wasn't picturing Phoebe Bridgers when I was writing that character, i just liked the name and decided to go with it! but, y'all can picture her however y'all like lol. i went from loving this story to hating it, but i hope y'all like it! any feedback is appreciated!! <3

**despite it being surrounded by depressing matters, it's actually a cute and fluffy story lol! just wanted to point that out because i, myself, kinda avoid reading sad stories

warnings: a LOT of talk about death and dying and funerals, mentions depression/depressive episode?, mentions drugs and alcohol, swearing. i'm ceo of rushing the ending, soz <3 (also, gave up on proofreading lmao)

word count: 8k+ (this is the longest piece i've ever written lol)

Y/N has this dream. Where she's screaming underwater while her friends are waving at her from the shore. She's desperately calling for them, hoping and waiting for them to help, but, seemingly, her friends can't hear... and can't help. Submerged beneath the thrashing waters, her wails fall silent; her familiars deaf to her pleads. The more she struggles to get to the surface for air, the deeper she sinks. Her friends just waving at her as she drifts to the bottom. Every time she jolts awake from these dreams in a sweat stained bed and sticky clothes, she decides to brush it off. Not wanting to think about the problems she needs to face or what she needs to work on. Always concluding that she doesn't need anyone to tell her what it means or overanalyze her life through misplaced visions. Deciding to not believe assumptions made from vague, painful pictures.

As the familiar sinking feeling in her chest starts yet again, Y/N snaps her eyes up at the casket as the sound of her best friend's mother releasing a heart wrenching sob catches her focus.

The contrast of the white roses that lay on top of Phoebe's mahogany stained casket almost glow in the evening light, seeming like a mock to such a somber evening. The way the living looks so effervescent and bright, casting shadows on the less fortunate. The dead never celebrated in such light but rather mourned in dim grief and sadness.

Y/N doesn't like funerals, and not just because her best friend of 10 years is the recipient of this one. She's never cared for them. Believing they're just an excuse to get over the one they are to be honoring, they carry a stigma that everyone in attendance has to cry or you're seen as heartless, while the people who were never close to the deceased are presumed fake for showing emotion. Y/N thinks they're a big joke... with a cruel, cruel punchline.

The sound of despondent music playing and cries ring throughout the cemetery as Phoebe's casket is lowered six feet into the ground. The unchecked emotions start to boil inside of Y/N. Anger boiling deep inside of her quickly reaching its point, anger that stems from betrayal, that stems from hurt, that stems from...loss. She quietly scoffs, shaking her head with a stone cold look, before quickly getting up and walking away from the ceremony as her late friend's uncle, Bill, wraps up his poor excuse of a eulogy.

Phoebe wouldn't have wanted this. She wouldn't have wanted people to cry over her casket, stuck laying in a padded box while people who don't even know the real her, speak of her existence like they were the best of friends. They weren't. She was. Y/N was her best friend. These people don't... didn't know her like Y/N does. It's all bullshit.

In Y/N's quick pace away from the tent around the damp open ground, she spots a bigger gravestone with a stone bench built into it and takes a seat.

She inhales deeply, taking a moment to herself to look up at the sky. The clouds that overcast part of the blue sky drifting farther away from the graveyard as the sun starts making its way to set. She breathes in, the delightful scent of honeysuckle and dewy grass filling her nose before it's tainted by fumes of petrol from the road just on the other side of the cemetery gates behind her. It's so unfair; why of all people did Phoebe have to-

"It's all a joke," A deep accent says to her left.

She almost jumps out of her seat when she turns to the man who took the empty spot next to her. Jesus Christ, where the fuck did he come from? she thinks to herself. He had brown curly hair and green eyes (well, thinking green from what she can gather staring at the side of his face), wearing a black suit with a black button up shirt underneath. Rings clad his fingers and the sunset gleam shines off his cross necklace. She stares wide-eyed at him for a few moments before shaking her head to get out of her daze.

"Huh?" She says when she realizes he had spoken before.

"It's all a big joke," He repeats himself, the British accent more noticeable this time around. His head faced towards the funeral, having not spared a glance at her once this whole time.

She settles back into her seat, shifting her gaze to match his with the group of mourning people in the distance.

"Yeah." Y/N sighs in agreement.

The two of them sit in silence for a moment before Y/N decides to speak. Thinking to herself that if anyone would listen to her thoughts, a man who's also ditching the shitty eulogy would be her best bet.

"They all talk about her as if she was God." She chuckles humorlessly.

He scoffs with a small smirk, "Far from it."

Another wave of silence crashes over them, before Y/N breaks it once again.

"She would've hated this," She whispers, "People she barely even knows crying over her like they had any significance in her life. She probably only talked to five people here. She didn't even like her uncle." She laughs, referencing the man who gave the half-assed eulogy about how Phoebe being such an innocent, bright young girl.

"They're grieving her loss instead of celebrating her life, it's all fucked," He clears his throat before continuing, "Funerals are for the living."

"I hate funerals..." She says in reply.

Glancing at the boy beside her when she hears him digging through his jacket pocket, pulling out a flask.  He takes a sip, and another, before gesturing it to her. Not overthinking it too much, she takes the cool metal bottle and takes a big gulp. Tasting the burn of vodka in her throat and mint from what she supposes is the mysterious strangers mouth.

Handing the flask back she says, "She would've wanted a party. Something where everyone was having fun in her honor, not some substandard funeral full of random people and careless words."

This time he's the one who chuckles humorlessly, "Yeah, she would've wanted everyone t'take shots and dress up in fancy clothes n' wreak havoc on this fucking town,"

Y/N smiles at this because Phoebe really would. Phoebe was the type of person who everyone wanted to be friends with, but also who everyone was scared of. She was mysterious and intimidating (a bit like the man next to her, Y/N thinks). Phoebe was a master at persuasion and could get almost anyone to go on crazy fucking adventures with her. One of Y/N's favorite memories with Phoebe was when they dressed up in wedding dresses they had gotten from a second-hand store and walked down the street yelling random things at strangers, taking turns drinking tequila from a metal water bottle.

"She really was something else, huh?" Y/N says a bit somberly, reminiscing on her late best friend.

"Definitely, a know-it-all," He laughs, bringing the flask up to his mouth.

"Oh, of course, she always thought she was right." She smirks.

"I mean, most of the time she was." He shrugs.  

"Yeah, how did she always know everything?" The two of you laugh, taking turns drinking from the flask.

He shakes his head in disbelief, silence settling over the pair again.

"How did you know her?" He asks, still staring at the gathering of people in the distance.

"...She was my best friend," Y/N responds quietly, still staring out at the sunset.

He hums in return, "You?" She asks as she hands the flask over.

"Her cousin." His rough voice speaks out.

"You're Harry?" She says, less as a question and more in disbelief. Phoebe always mentioned her cousin Harry from England, always telling Y/N of stories they had together getting into reckless shit.

She turns her head to look at him just as he does, "And you're Y/N."

He offers a soft, knowing smile, both having heard countless stories of one another from Phoebe. He leans back and extends his arm on the top of the bench behind her, feeling the warmth of his body radiate off of him.

"I wonder what she'd say to me now. Sitting on a random gravestone in our hometown, drinking out of her cousin's flask, ditching what's supposed to be her remembrance." Y/N says, leaning back on the bench too.

"She would've said, 'quit y'crying, it's a sign of the times' and then would drag your arse t'the nearest pub." He laughs.

She joins in on the soft laughter, shaking her head because she knows that's exactly what she would've said. Phoebe was such a joy to be around, her presence unmatched.

"You know, she always talked about wanting to leave a legacy behind. Most of the time, I just laughed at her, thinking it was just another bizarre thing to come out of her mouth. But, she was always saying she wanted to be remembered as some enigma when she dies..." Y/N recalls the many memories of her and Phoebe staying up til 4am talking. Chills suddenly covering her body, not only from the cool Winter air but because of how Phoebe had talked about her death and now she's actually...dead.

She turns her head to look at Harry and he has a bittersweet smile on his face.

"I think she's accomplished that quite well, hasn't she?" He replies.

"How?" She questions softly with furrowed brows.

"Well, f'starters, her funeral is full of people who never even knew her, or frankly even cared about her, while two emotionless people just got up and stormed away from it t'drink vodka out of a flask on some random person's gravestone." He laughs before tacking on, "Trust me, the people over there are wondering who the hell she was and who she knew, right about now."

She turns her head from the (quite pretty, she thinks) boy to her left, looking at the wake, only to be met with a few people staring back at them.

"Well, I'll be damned," She scoffs. "Of course, the bitch did it." A smile bright on her face, probably the only real grin she's pulled since Phoebe's passing. Her best friends wishes coming true makes her heart warm just a tad, a relief to how cold losing her best friend made it.

"Always able t'make her life seem like an episode of Pretty Little Liars." He says shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

This comment makes Y/N laugh quite loudly, drawing a few — what she could only think were glares — back at her. Wiping a stray tear from her face that fell due to her laughing. The sweet sound coming from her lips only tacking on Harry to join her.

"Oh my god, she practically lived in an indie movie, always the role of the mysterious main character!" She chuckled out, creases forming at the corners of her eyes that Harry has taken a liking to.

As both of their laughter slowly dies out, another silence comes over them; only this time it's almost deafening. It's like the weight of the matter finally settled in.

Harry lets out a deep sigh, staring out at the never ending field of stone. Flowers accompany very few of the many graves; some wilted, some looking fresh, some long gone by now. Name placards littering the ground, all of these lost and forgotten people just decomposing underneath them. People coming and going to visit, only to be forgotten as time goes by, memories fading from their loved ones' mind. He wonders if he could ever forget Phoebe. No, I could never, he thinks to himself. He could never forget the only person that ever truly believed in him and embraced him for being himself.

Deciding he doesn't want to give anymore thought to the painful insight that one day he might forget Phoebe, he asks Y/N something instead.

"Y'wanna get out of here? M'starvin'."

The quiet girl next to him looks his way, his green eyes meeting her's that shine in the last few minutes of orange sunlight. Her eyes are so pretty, he tries to mentally shake that thought out of his head. He can't be hitting on his late cousin's best friend at her funeral, for fuck's sake.

Y/N only nods in response, gathering her bag and phone before standing from the bench. Harry towers over her when he gets up and the observation of how tall her his makes Y/N feel all giddy inside for some reason. Placing the flask back in his suit jacket pocket, he leads the way to a small restaurant nearby. She walks beside him the whole way there, the two of them just quietly observing everything around them.

***

The crisp, cool air passes through, goosebumps creeping up their arms as they sit in the outside seating of a small restaurant. Comfortable silence wraps them up and spits them out as their minds explore all the vast depths of their troubled minds, giving them time for their treacherous thoughts to eat at their sanity bit by bit.

"Phoebe told me once," Y/N cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the scratchy feeling from not using it. Harry's green eyes moved to her from his observance of the lonely street they're next to as she spoke softly. "She told me the only time she truly felt alive was when she made decisions that were reckless and spontaneous. She said living her life precariously was the only reason for her happiness, claiming that the perfect life is just an illusion. That dreaming of labor should not be the goal, but instead becoming your authentic self and living with no regrets..."

Harry stays quiet, reflection in his eyes as he stares at her from across the table, chewing the food in his mouth. Y/N plays around with the food on her plate with her fork and waits for his acknowledgment (although, she doesn't even know if he would say or do anything -- she doesn't know why she decided to tell him that)

"I mean, she's right, righ'? I never understood when people would ask what your 'dream job' is from a young age. No one's dream is t'work everyday 'til they die. They have to, t'make a living and survive, but what's the point in living if you aren't enjoyin' it. But, if y'workin' all the time, how do you make the time to really live?" He says, furrowing his brows as he talks.

Y/N takes in his words. The moonlight and street lamps casting a soft glow on his face, his carved features looking even more beautiful at night.

"Yeah... I guess, I guess I just envy how she viewed life, ya know?" She states, looking at the cars drive by as she tries to explain how she feels. "Always saying things to make you rethink your existence and purpose..." She looks back at Harry and whispers, "...She talked about life so much like she knew she was going to die."

"Well, we're all gonna die eventually." Harry rests his arms on the table with a quiet sigh, his features passive, but his mind is thinking of how he just wants to hug her and tell her everything is going to be alright.

"Yeah, but she just...she talked about it like she knew all the answers. She knew exactly what to say, when to say it. Sometimes, I feel like she was telling everyone around her how to live in complete happiness because she knew she didn't have much of her own, despite convincing everyone she was carefree and unbothered." Y/N shrugs and watches as they fall into a short silence.

"...I miss her." Harry breathes out after a moment, reaching his hand across the table to hold hers. Her skin is soft against his as he rubs his thumb against her hand in an attempt to comfort both of them.

Her eyes soaking in his softened expression, her cherry tinted lips whispering, "Me too."

They eat the rest of their dinner in silence, the only sounds reverberating from the road with the occasional car or pedestrian. Harry pays for the food, but not without many protests from Y/N.

As the two walk side by side down the street, back to the cemetery to pick up their cars, Y/N suddenly falls anxious. She doesn't want to be alone tonight, scared of being alone with her thoughts when she goes back to stay in her childhood home. Her parents, still living in the house they lived in since her youth, had to drive up to another town for a few nights to stay with her cousins because they planned to go there before the news broke about Phoebe. Leaving Y/N alone in the empty house since there wasn't room for her at her cousins.

The black cemetery gates coming into view, eeriness and gloom becoming more apparent when the sun is down, Y/N and Harry can see their two cars sitting idly on the side of the road. Y/N fidgets with her fingers as they grow close to departure.

"D-do you, maybe, wanna hang out for a little while longer?" She turns to face him, looking up at him nervously. "I just don't want to be alone right now." She rushes out when he doesn't respond.

"Yeah, I didn't really want t'go home alone right now either." He offers a sliver of a smile before unlocking his car, grabbing two brown paper bags that look to hold bottles, and gesturing his head, "C'mon, we'll pick up my car later. Let's go celebrate Pheebz, yeah?" He grins.

She smiles at him, unlocking her own car and waiting for him to get in, putting on a playlist full of Phoebe's favorite songs. She drives through her hometown, memories stirring up of her and her best friend smoking weed in the park the summer before graduation and jumping in the lake naked in the middle of winter. The two end up at her house sitting in her abandoned driveway, both unbuckling but neither making the move to get out of the parked car, the engine still running as they sit listening to the melodies playing from the speaker.

Harry suddenly pulls out two bottles from the brown paper bags at his feet, one of vodka and the other tequila.

"Pick y'poison." He says with a smirk.

She picks the vodka and Harry mutters, "Good choice, tequila is more m'speed."

"Weren't you drinking vodka at the funeral?" She laughs, unscrewing the cap.

"Yeah, figured I'd drink Phoebe's favorite since it was her party." He chuckles.

"To Phoebe." Y/N says, sorrow lacing her voice as she turns in her seat to face Harry.

"To living your life precariously." He says before the two of them take a big gulp of the sharp liquid, starting what will only be the beginning of a long night.

***

Light shines through the white curtains, the room glowing bright in the soft, yellow sunlight. The white comforter tangled up in bodies as birds chirp in the morning tranquility. Y/N's eyes flutter open, immediately feeling sweaty and clammy. The headache that sets in reminds her of the amount of alcohol she consumed last night. Waking up in her childhood bed after blacking out in the backseat of her car the night before doing very little for her sanity.

As she lays in bed, groggy, she needs to pee. She moves to get up and walk to the bathroom connected to her room, only to freeze when an arm wraps around her and pulls her closer. Warm breathes pant at the back of her neck, unintelligible murmurs coming from the person behind her. Her eyes widen, realizing Harry is the one she is snuggling with in the early morning (afternoon?) light. Despite needing to pee really badly, she finds herself only melting into his touch. She can't remember the last time someone held her like this, can't remember the last time she felt this content. In fact, she thinks the last time she cuddled with someone was with Phoebe when she slept over in her room at their apartment... Well, just Y/N's apartment now.

Y/N and Phoebe would have movie nights in Y/N's room and in the midst of the fun, they would grow tired. Phoebe would never want to leave the comfort of Y/N's warm bed, so she always asked, sleepover?, with a wide grin. To which Y/N never refused and the two would put on The Notebook and fall asleep spooning one another. The first time it happened, when they were children having sleepovers, she tensed a bit; thinking it weird for her friend to cuddle her because no one had ever done that. But, as the years went by and their friendship grew stronger, knowing that despite both of them being bisexual it wasn't an act of intimacy, but one of platonic comfort.

So, Y/N figured (in her touch deprived mind) that this was just an act of friendly, platonic intimacy...nothing else. After coming to that conclusion, she let herself relax into his touch, his warm embrace nodding her off to sleep once again.

What wakes her up the second time is the sound of a gravelly voice groaning. The arm around her waist squeezes tightly before the body it's attached to tenses up. Harry tries to take in the position they're in -- his arm snuggling her close to his bare chest and legs intertwined with hers -- but his hangover headache clouds his mind too much to think about it. Only registering that he's never felt this comfortable with someone before, never felt someone so warm and cozy. He's cuddled lots of girls (and guys), has spent many mornings waking up in someones hold or holding someone in his, but they've never been as addicting as her. Never being so relaxing, so soft. He's about to just say, fuck it, and fall back asleep as to spend as much time with her in his clutch, but Y/N had stirred awake from his groaning and she really has to pee!

She slowly turns in his arms, their legs shifting apart, and is met with probably the cutest sight she's ever seen. His eyes are glassy and the green of his irises shine in the soft light. His lips pink and his face holding a hesitant look, like he thinks she might yell at him for accidentally ending up in his arms throughout the night, but she can also sense the underlying feeling of content reading on his face. The way his eyes soften when they meet hers and the way his hand involuntarily squeezes at her side. The serene feeling almost tangible as her childhood room becomes their own little world. All the responsibilities and pain of the outside fall ceased at the door decorated with heights of a growing Y/N.

"G'morning," His gravelly voice going straight to her heart, melting it at the beautiful sound.

"Good morning," She says in a raspy whisper, her throat dry from the alcohol and singing at the top of her lungs the night before.

She takes the quiet moment to look at his body, her gaze drifting from tattoo to tattoo, not realizing how many he has. She knew he had some from the ones on his hands yesterday, but she didn't know he had so many. His long sleeve button up had covered the view of the ones adorning his arms, but she looks at them now in awe, thinking how pretty they are.

She's about to tell him how much she likes the butterfly tattoo on his chest, when her bladder has other plans.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to pee," She bashfully smiles as she looks at him.

"Oh, m'sorry. Probably should've told ya' I'm a cuddler." He gives a small smile with embarrassment soaking his words, thinking he's made her uncomfortable.

"No need to apologize," Her eyes light up at his out of character shyness, "I am too, I just really have to go to the bathroom." The harmonious sound of her giggles soothing every worry in Harry's body.

He playfully sighs, "Fine, I guess I'll let y'go piss."

A smirk pulls at his lips as she rolls her eyes and gets up, but he can see the corners of her lips turn up.

She goes to the bathroom, doing her business and washing her hands. She takes the time to brush her teeth and wash her face, cringing when she looks in the mirror. She feels gross that she looked like this when Harry woke up with the resemblance of an angel.

When she's finished, she walks out back into her room, excited to get back into the warm bed (and hopefully cuddle with Harry some more, but she would never admit that out loud), but she's met with abandoned sheets and panic consumes her. Did he leave? Did I make him uncomfortable by waking up in his arms? He was the one to cuddle me and he joked about it! But maybe he was just trying to be nice so he could escape? Her mind starts to race a mile a minute of anxious thoughts before they're all suddenly wiped away at the smell of coffee wafting in from the open doorway.

She throws on a sweatshirt and socks and makes her way down the stairs of the familiar, yet foreign after spending so long away from home, house. Her sock clad feet pad on the hardwood floors as she walks into the kitchen, spotting Harry silently staring at a spot on the wall with a cup of coffee in his hand (he's using the same pink and green mug with a little ceramic pig sitting on the top of the handle that Phoebe would use every time she'd sleepover in high school).

She walks in quietly, coming up behind him and grabbing a cup of coffee for herself, noticing the two pain killers next to the pot (which made her heart swell if she's honest). He had heard her coming down the stairs, but despite her presence his focus is still on the spot on the wall. Taking a sip of her pick-me-up and swallowing the pills, she takes up space next to Harry, following his eyes that stare intently at a picture frame hanging up and her eyes immediately soften.

"That was freshman year," Y/N spoke delicately, staring at the picture herself, "We had both been asked to prom by these senior guys. I was ecstatic because no one had ever shown any liking to me, but Phoebe had played it cool, of course." Harry lets out a quiet breathy laugh because of course Phoebe didn't care.

"We spent weeks planning out how prom night would be. Imagining how the senior parties would be like and if the boys would kiss us by the end of the night or not. She came over at 9am the morning of the dance and we spent all day getting ready and laughing with each other. She had even done my makeup all pretty and I helped her get into her dress. I remember I laughed when she decided she was going to wear converse under her dress, and she almost convinced me to do it too because she said 'you're not gonna be the one laughing when we're at all the after parties and your feet are killing you'." A genuine smile forms on Y/N's face as she reminisces on the cherished moment.

"But, two hours before the dance, our dates cancelled on us and told us they were going with these senior girls." Harry scoffs bitterly, understanding how cruel teenage boys are.

"I remember I was so upset because the one time I thought someone actually liked me or thought I was pretty enough to go to prom with, had just made me a second choice..." She recalls to Harry, who is now looking at the side of her face as she looks at the picture of Phoebe carrying Y/N on her back, piggy-back style, in long prom dresses, dirty white converse peaking out from under both girls' dresses.

"So, she grabbed me by the arms and looked me in the eyes and said 'Y/N L/N, we are deserving of the love we wish for. No senior boys are going to make us doubt that. We are not little freshmen girls who can be seen as cheap thrills and easy hookups. We are women, who demand respect and complete infatuation.' Then she took the tickets that the boys had pre-purchased for us, took my hand, and dragged me to that dance. We had been each other's date and made prom our bitch. She even got us into a party afterward...And we had one hell of a night."

She smiles fondly at the sweet memory. Harry's eyes flutter between the picture and the beautiful girl next to him. How could she ever think of herself as a second choice?, is all he can wonder to himself.

Letting his gaze fall to the picture one last time, he mumbles, "Well, those boys missed out on the best thing t'ever happen t'them."

He doesn't catch Y/N's blush that creeps up on her cheeks as he turns around, taking a sip from his little pig mug.

She shakes her head as to get out of the crushing haze she falls into, turning and walking to the countertop, leaning against it as Harry stands in front of her on the other side.

"Thank you. F'letting me stay the night, last night." He speaks up.

Y/N notices how he's still lacking a shirt, making her mouth dry up just a little at the sight of how fit he is. The tattoos stretching across his tan skin so perfectly, the black ink creating such a beautiful contrast on his body. He catches onto the not-so-subtle gawking and smirks.

"Uh, yeah. It's really no problem. There's no way I'd have let you drive home intoxicated and it was the least I could do after I made you practically spend the day with me." She blushes.

"Y'didn't make me," He shakes his head gently with a smile.

Y/N doesn't know to feel about how her cheeks heat up at his remark, shyly looking away as the teasing gleam in his eyes might make her combust.

"O-okay. Good to know." She squeaks out, the action only fueling Harry's ego and playful mood.

"I should go get m'car from the cemetery before it gets towed," He says almost disappointedly, like he doesn't want to leave yet. If she's being honest, she doesn't want him to leave yet either.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good. I'll give you a ride." She says, shaking off the saddened feeling of his departure.

"Oh, you don't have t'do tha'." He shakes his head but Y/N quickly shoots him down.

"Nonsense, I'll take you. It's no big deal."

He smiles at her objection, nodding, and going upstairs to grab the rest of his clothes, feeling uncomfortable in his dress pants from the funeral that he had put back on when he got up this morning, not wanting to make Y/N feel weird by staying in only his boxers.

***

Vodka Lover: hey... are you up?

She chews on the skin around her thumb, a nervous habit that Phoebe had always teased her about, as she sends the text to Harry (having exchanged numbers when she had dropped him off at his car at the cemetery). Phoebe had always said, 'You're not gonna have any thumb left to chew, babes, if you keep at it'. To which Y/N just rolled her eyes, but in the deafening silence of 4am, she wishes she cherished those moments with her best friend more. Wishing she didn't take for granted in those little encounters of Phoebe's care and concern with her well-being. Y/N would give anything to be able to spend one more minute with her.

Butterfly Boy: yeah, everything okay?

Vodka Lover: um, can i call you?

Suddenly, breaking the bitter quiet with a ringtone, her phone she holds in her palm lights up with Harry's contact. A tear falls from her face onto the screen and she has to wipe it away before she presses accept.

"Y/N?" Harry's deep voice rings out, laced in worry, from the other line.

She chokes out a sob, not being able to hold it back anymore. The floodgate of her emotions she has been trying to keep at bay suddenly burst. Salty tears fall onto the blue fluffy blanket from her senior year she's wrapped up in.

"Hey, hey, s'everythin' okay? What's wrong?" Harry says, more alert now that he hears her in such a fragile and frantic state.

Y/N just cries harder, desperately trying to catch her breath, she feels like she's suffocating.

"Hey, love, just breathe. Just breathe, Y/N." He tries to coax her down in a soothing voice.

A raggedy breath is heard on Harry's side, making the worry dissipate just a little now that he knows she's breathing. Harry sits up in his bed, calling out to Y/N, repeatedly telling her to just keep breathing. He can't get to what's wrong if she hyperventilates.

He was laying restless in his bed when she had texted, lost in thoughts of life and replaying memories with his cousin. Trying to grasp everything she's ever told him before, hoping that by watching the moments he spent with her like a film reel in his mind would help him not forget them.

"Love, can y'tell me what's got you so upset? Please," He asks softly when she calms down enough where her breathing is regular and not sporadic inhales gasping for air.

"I-I-I miss her," She cries out into the phone, the thought of embarrassing herself by breaking down to Harry not on her mind; the only thought she has is how empty she feels.

"I know, I know, love. I miss her, too," He sighs out sadly, wishing he could take away her pain, hating the way her voice quivers with every word. "Do you want t'talk about it?"

She wipes the tears that sting her eyes and cascade down her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The one she wore when Harry slept over, smelling a little like him still from the car ride to his car that day, three days ago.

They had been texting each other and talking every day since then, usually about light topics like asking how their day's were or what they were doing. However, tonight (or early morning), everything felt like it was crashing down on her. Y/N's strong front she had put up since the funeral for Phoebe's family finally collapsed, and she's found herself stuck under the rubble. She was trying so hard to keep it in because she shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself when someone's kid is dead.

She had bored herself to tears, not knowing what to do. The only thing that seemed right was to call Harry.

"Talk to me, babe." He begs her, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

"I-" She sniffles, "I feel like I'm fucking drowning,"

He hates how defeated her voice sounds and he wishes he could just be there to hug her and tell her everything's going to be okay, eventually.

"It-it feels like my whole life is in ruins. Harry, I miss her." Her face scrunches up again as she starts to sob, "Sh-She was my best friend, I d-did everything with her. How am I s-supposed to do this without her? How am I supposed t-to live without her?"

"Oh, darling. I know, but you will..and you can." He frowns, racking his brain for the right thing to tell her, "You got t'live so you can experience all those ways of life she always talked about. Y'haven't experienced all those feelings Pheebz would mention when she would live her life precariously. Don't y'want to know how she felt when she would talk of such a beautiful life she lived, yeah?"

He hears a hiccup and a quiet, albeit breathy, yeah, from the other side of the call.

"You are so strong, Y/N. I don't know how y'made it this far without breaking down..." He tells her whole-heartedly.

"D-don't know how you haven't either," She gets out, realizing how selfish she's probably being, bothering Harry with her grief when he has his own to deal with.

"Honestly," He breathes out through a somber smile, "The only reason I haven't is because I have you, love."

Y/N's heart swells tenfold, she thinks. She didn't realize Harry needed her just as much as she needed him.

"...I'm sorry for calling you, I know it's late." She says through sniffles when she notices the time.

"There's no reason to apologize. It's okay, love. It's okay to hurt or be angry or upset. No one expects you to be perfect all the time." He pauses, listening to her breathing.

"Ya know, one day, it won't hurt this much. One day, you'll be able t'look back at this moment and it won't break y'heart as much as it does now. You're just in the thick of it right now, pretty girl. But, the light's coming soon, I promise." He continues and Y/N feels her heart beat faster at the pet name.

"You promise?" Her voice barely above a whisper and Harry thinks his heart just broke at the sound.

"Promise." He says, wiping the stray tears rolling down his cheeks, "Phoebe wouldn't want y'to be this upset. She would want you to keep living your life and find out the ways to how she was so in love with it. If not for yourself, love, then for her...F'me."

She nods, despite knowing he can't see. Silence falls over the pair, only the sound of bated breaths assuring the other one is there.

"One summer," He speaks up, "One summer, my family had come t'visit them, partly because of the lake near her house. It was after we had moved t'the States from Cheshire, and Phoebe and I would go walk to the little pond near the park,"

"The one near Hope?" She asks quietly if they had gone to the park she had always played at as a little girl.

"Mhm. We would walk there in the blistering sun and when we got there she tried to convince me how fairies were real." He said in a calm voice.

He hears an airy puff of breath escape her mouth, which he takes as a small giggle -- making him want to continue his story as it's helping her cheer up, and because he'd probably do anything to hear her that sound from her.

"Yeah, fairies. She told me that they live at the pond and t'see them, I would have to find a pretty flower and then jump in the water with it in only m'underwear." He breathes out a laugh.

Y/N gasps, trying to keep quiet but fails when she lets out a loud laugh.

"Oh my, did you do it?" She asks bewildered, laying down so her head rests against the pillow.

"So, I told Phoebe 'no way', yeah? But, then she said she can't just tell me about them and not follow through with seeing them. Convinced me that it would bring bad luck." He scoffs, remembering the memory vividly.

"Bad luck, indeed." She giggles and it brings the dimple out on Harry's face.

"Yeah, so of course, me being like 8 or sum', I stripped down to m'pants in the middle of the day and jumped in the water." He smiles when he hears her laughing, even if it's at his expense. "Y'laughing, but I think I got ringworm after tha'!"

"I can't believe she got you to do that! I wish I'd been there." Y/N says, out of breath from laughing.

"Scarred me of ponds for the rest of m'life." He chuckles and a pause takes them both over as they settle back down. 

"...Thank you, H." She whispers into the phone, adoration taking up all her features.

“F’what?”

“For being you, for being here. Just...Thank you.” She sighs. 

They get lost in recalling stories of their loved one for the rest of the night, repainting her memories in gold. They laugh with each other until all the pain seems to disappear. The weight, of what felt like the world, lifting off of both their shoulders. Finally being able to breathe after days of endless battles of trying to stay strong for Phoebe's sake.

***

Days pass since the lonely 4am phone call and Y/N and Harry are still talking everyday.

She finds out he lives in her city, only a few blocks from her apartment she shared with Phoebe! She didn't believe him when he first told her, but he said he was always busy with college whenever Phoebe tried to meet up. Y/N's not going to lie, her heart picked up when she found out he'd be so close to her, wondering if he'd want to hang out with her when they leave her hometown.

Almost everyday of the last few days they have visiting, they've spent at Y/N's empty childhood home. Harry asking her to explain pictures and what she was like in high school, whenever he gets the chance. In turn, she's been picking his mind on what Holmes Chapel was like and how his family was growing up. She found out that he lived with his sister, Gemma, and his mom, Anne. They talked about everything, from their favorite things to every pet they've ever had (Y/N, particularly, falling in love with the pictures of his cat, Evie).

Just as the last few days have been spent, they are spending Y/N's last day in her hometown together before she goes back. Harry told her he had to stay a couple more nights with his family before he could leave, assuring her he would've gone back with her if he could've. That comment made her blush and she had to pray the butterflies growing in her tummy to relax.

That's another thing. Y/N had stopped lying to herself and denying the ache in her chest that would form when she was away from Harry, growing very fond of him since their first encounter at the headstone bench.

Harry, also, couldn't deny any longer the way his heart would flutter at every little thing she did. Just wondering to himself how everything about her was just so pretty. He loved the way her eyes would light up every time she saw him and how he would catch her checking him out whenever he took off his shirt.

He especially loved the way she let him sleepover a few times and how they would end up cuddling into the late hours of the morning. Both parties not minding one bit, the comfort and warmth actually preferred than sending Harry home to sleep in his own bed.

"Bet I can reach that branch right there," Harry shouts with a gleeful tone, a bit out of breath as he tries to stretch his legs far enough so his shoe brushes against the leaf on the end of the tree branch.

The two of them decided to go to Hope park, where they both held fond childhood memories at. They settled at the swingset, calm swaying in the seats quickly turning into a competition of who could swing the highest. Harry won of course, his legs being much longer than hers giving him the advantage. Playful giggles and sweet conversations of things occurring in that moment help distract them from both Phoebe and the fact that Y/N is leaving.

Y/N is distracting herself from worrying about if Harry will reach out to her when they get back to the city, if he even wants to talk to her again after this weekend or if this was all just out of politeness.

Harry, on the other hand, is distracting himself from wondering if she fancies him. He wonders if the cuddles and small touches meant as much to her as they did him, if after this weekend she would want to hang out again or if she was just being nice because he knows what she's going through.

"Bet I can reach it before you!" She giggles as her hair whips around in the wind she's created. Pumping her legs back and forth, desperately trying to get higher so she can beat Harry in her made up competition.

"Now, love, not everything has to be a competition," He huffs, really reaching out this time, "But, I wanna win, if we're playing a game, I wanna win." He grins, the cute dimple that Y/N has fallen for making an appearance on his face.

The two try their hardest to be the first ones to touch the tree branch hanging not too far from their swinging feet at their highest point. Harry, however, attempts a little too hard and flies off the swing when he lifted up his leg to make the two inch gap he was short of.

Tumbling to the woodchip covered ground, he ends up laying on his back. Groans spill out of his mouth and Y/N's eyes go wide with concern. She slows herself down just enough to safely jump off the swingset, rushing to Harry's side.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" She asks worriedly, trying to hold back the laugh that's trying to bust out. Crouching down to him, she runs her hand over his arm that's grabbing his leg.

He rubs his knee with a pained smile, "Yeah, just peachy, pet."

"Is anything hurting? Bruised?" She questions with a loving smile.

"Just my ego," He chuckles, looking up at her and admiring her caring nature.

She can't hold it in anymore, she laughs loudly at his comment, her carefree happiness making Harry's ears perk up and his heart warm.

"Yeah, love, just laugh at the crippled man." He jokes, smiling up at her happy face, wishing it could stay that way forever.

She lets out another laugh at his comment, delicately grabbing his arm to help him up, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It wasn't funny," She attempts to calm herself but fails, "Okay, it was a little bit funny!"

Giggles fall out of her mouth as Harry brushes off the mulch from his jeans, "See how much you're laughing when I push you out of the swing."

"I'm soo scared." She mocks fear.

"Oh, just wait, pet. You'll never be safe on another swing set again." He playfully grabs her sides to tickle her, but her fighting his tries just ends up bringing her closer in his hold.

Their laughs quickly die out when they realize he's holding her in his clutch, his hands at her waist, hers around his neck. Harry stares into her eyes as she stares back into his. The empty park is serene, no other noises besides the chirping of birds and the sounds of other animals sprawling about. The sweet moment causes Y/N's breath to hitch and her palms to sweat. They've only been this close when cuddling, she's never been this close to his face before. His features glow in the sunlight, his green irises complimenting the bounce of his skin and dark eyelashes. Her skin is soft and warm against his, and he just wants to lean in and-

Y/N's eyes flutter close as Harry's face comes closer, his lips meet hers in a gentle caress. With the sweet kiss, he takes note of how soft her lips are, how warm and fuzzy her intimate touch is making his head. While one hand is squeezing at her side, the other is brought up to cradle her face and she leans into his touch. Harry sucks on her bottom lip before peeling away so they can catch their breath.

Y/N lets out a whine at the loss of contact, her bottom lip jutting out as he pulls away.

"What are y'pouting for, pet? W-was that not okay? Should I not have done tha'?" The blood almost drains from his face at the pouty look on her beautiful face.

She shakes her head at him, "No, I liked it. I want more," She pants, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her lips.

He chuckles at her cute antics (and in relief of not fucking up his shot with her). He smiles against her lips as he melts back into her, her hand around his neck reaching up to tangle in his curly hair. He groans when her nimble fingers pull tenderly at the curls at the base of his neck, causing him to squeeze her side gently.

She breathlessly kissed him, slotting her lips between his and immediately opening her mouth in acceptance when he brushes his tongue against her bottom lip in a silent ask to take it further. As the kiss deepens, the need for air increases. They naturally separate, Harry sucking her bottom lip as he goes until it pops back.

Taking in her reddened swollen lips and her pretty flushed face, he presses one last chaste kiss on her lips, and one to her cheek and her nose.

A big, genuine grin adorns Y/N's face as she stares up at the man in front of her.

"Thank you f'letting me do tha'." He says with a gravelly voice.

"I've been thinking about you doing that since the first night you stayed at my house." She tells him bashfully.

"Me too, love. And it was better than I ever expected," He says whole-heartedly, leaning in to press one more quick kiss to her lips again.

"So, does this mean we're gonna hang out when we both go back home? Because I really want to do that again." Her glassy eyes blink at him with hope awaiting his answer.

He smiles and shakes his head, bewildered at how she could ever think that he could just ghost her after that, "I think Phoebe would come back just to slap me upside the head if I ever kissed her best friend and just never saw her again."

She chuckles at his comment, shyly looking down to her hand on his chest when he doesn't say anything else.

"Of course, I want to hang out when we get back. I want to take y'out on a real date, if you'd let me."  He looks at her all starry eyed, squeezing her waist.

"I think Phoebe would come back and slap me upside the head if I ever kissed her cousin and just never saw him again," This time he's the one that laughs.

"I'd love that very much, Harry." She beams up at him.

Going back home couldn't come sooner to the both of them.

******************

ahhh i hope y’all liked that, i’d love feedback :) i’m thinking of making a series out of it, but only if that’s something y’all would like! so, pls let me know if you enjoyed it or if i should make a part 2 ?? 

anyways, stay safe and much love <3

[randombush3]

YEAHHHH!!’

gladly x

---

“Y/n left me.” 

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you. 

“What?” says Jenni. 

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.” 

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?” 

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know. 

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home. 

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.” 

“Are you angry at her?” 

“Yes.” 

Alexia thinks about it. 

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek.“I can't. I have a son.” 

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.” 

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.” 

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.” 

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought. 

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.” 

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.” 

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Well, I'm not angry at her.” 

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her. 

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?” 

“Alexia."

---

what do we think?

[roscgcld]

NANAMI KENTO + GOJO SATORU || the one that got away

request: i'm literally in love with your fics- i was wondering if you could write a Nanami x reader x Gojo where Nanami and the reader were dating before he left Jujutsu Tech, but they break up when he leaves. When he comes back he realizes he's still in love with the reader but she's engaged to Gojo and there's just a bunch of angst and tension. Sorry ik that's a lot :') But ty!!

note: lowkey thought you wanted a nanami x reader x gojo and i was like ‘oh babes am so ready-’ until i rer-read your request lmao! but honestly this was a lot of fun to write. tbh, if i was reader I would choose nanami cause rn am a whole ass SIMP for the man that is nanmi kento cx but i hope i managed to capture what you wanted in this request babes!

pronouns: she/her

“Maybe we should take a break.”

Those six words were engrained into the mind of Nanami Kento for the rest of his life. Those six words were the words that tossed his world upside down - and every time those words came into mind, the imagine of your crying face comes with it. 

You were so distraught, yet you put up a brave front as you gave him a shaky smile - something that he loves so much about you. That even though his explanation as to why you two should break up was childish, selfish even; you still go the extra mile to make sure that he knows you understand. That you understand why he wants to take a break so that he can focus on himself and his career.

“I understand, Nami...just know I love you, okay?”

Your simple words, coupled with your tearful eyes and watery smile made him want to take back the words as soon as possible. That he wants to just turn back time and just admit to himself that he was going to regret his decision. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to. If he did go back in time and stopped, he might end up breaking your heart again; if not with more bitterness and anger. 

When he was young, he hated that he was a jujutsu sorcerer - hated how he has this responsibility over him that he never asked for. He just wanted to be free from the jujutsu world and never look back. You were different - you were so proud that you were a jujutsu sorcerer, always a beacon of light in the dark reality that is being a sorcerer. Somehow you made it bearable for him, and at one point he thought he can do it for the rest of his life. Until after the death of Haibara Yu, a classmate that the both of you call a dear friend.

It was at that moment that he snapped, and he knew he didn’t want to do this anymore.

Yet he couldn’t force himself to drag you away from something you love so dearly, something you see as your duty to protect. He knew that either way he was going to be selfish, and either way tears were going to be shed; so he chose the one that would hurt the least. However, now years down the line, he still thinks that maybe things could have worked out. There was no denying that he still loves you - even though he keeps in touch with his senior, Gojo Satoru, from time to time, he doesn’t ask about you.

From what he knows, you stayed back in Jujutsu Tech and became a teacher, but that is all he knows about you. He was too scared, too embarrassed to face you once more - because he knows better then to dream. Dream that the promise you promised to keep as teens was going to hold up now that the both of you were in your late twenties.

But there is no harm in dreaming, right?

Nanami checked his watch as he got off the train, making his way towards the bus station located right outside of the building. It was his first time back at the college after being away from it for a few years, since he had called Gojo the other day on asking about if there is an opening for him to return as a sorcerer.

Even though Gojo can be a huge pain in the ass to deal with, Nanami knew that if there was anyone who can confirm a space for him at work, it will be Gojo Satoru.

Walking out of the crowded station, he looked up just in time to see the white haired shaman waiting for him at the entrance; who grinned and waved when he saw his junior. “Nanami! I knew you were not going to be late.” Gojo called out to the man dressed in a fresh grey suit and blue shirt underneath; his spotted tie knotted around his neck. The bespectacled man just sighs tiredly and made his way towards his overly excited senior, scowling when the taller male draped an arm around his shoulders.

He opened his mouth to say something when he noticed the ring that was resting on Gojo’s left ring finger, causing him to raise a curious eyebrow as he allowed the older male to lead him along. “You got married?” He asks the taller male, who glances at his hand before he grins and shakes his head, flexing his hand a little to show off the simple band around his ring finger. “Nah, we just got engaged. We are planning for the wedding though.” He stated simple, to which Nanami glances over at his senior in surprise. “What? Thought that I was too good to be married off?”

“No, I am surprised that you somehow managed to find someone willing to chain themselves down with you.”

“How mean!” Gojo gasps before he shakes his head in amusement, playfully squeezing his junior who just scowls lightly. “For your information, we’ve been dating for the last 4 years. And we have both talked about marriage before, so I wasn’t blindly shooting into the dark when I proposed.” Gojo commented as the two of them made their way towards the taxi stand, where Ijichi greeted his two seniors with a soft bow; all three men getting into the car. “Still surprised they said yes.”

Gojo just pouts and whines at his junior, who just listened to him with his deadpan expression the entire way to the college. He was surprised that Gojo managed to come on time to pick him up, since he had expected for him to be late, and for him to have either taken the bus or hailed a taxi on his own. But he didn’t really mind; he’s used to handling Gojo’s childish personality, and he gets a free ride at the same time. So he doesn’t mind the brief ride with Gojo.

Soon they arrived at the wooded area where the college is located on, getting out of the car once Ijichi stops the car. Quietly Nanami got out of the car and squints his eyes a little at the sunlight that shone down on him, his eyes slowly focusing on the grand temple-like compound that is Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. “Feels weird to be back?”

“A bit.” Nanami admitted to Gojo when he walked from the other side of the car to Nanami’s side, the man just chuckling before he gestures for him made his way through the gates and into the campus, immediately being hit with all the nostalgia of being a student once more. It felt like a light weight was being lifted off his shoulders as he soaks everything in, like the guilt of him leaving his duties as a sorcerer behind has been lifted.

The two men made their way deeper into the college just as someone called out to Gojo from behind, causing both men to pause as they turned to look back. Immediately Nanami felt his heart skip a beat when his eyes finally settled onto you, a warm smile gracing your features as you made your way towards the both of them. Nanami was so stuffed that he didn’t catch the way Gojo grins and opens his arms for you, watching the two of you embrace one another as a sinking feeling when he saw the delighted grin on your face.

The same grin that you used to give him after not seeing you for awhile. 

Somehow Nanami managed to keep up an indifferent façade as you embraced your fiancée, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek in greeting whilst Gojo just nuzzles closer to you; in an attempt to milk all of the attention he can from you. “How needy.” You giggled at him before you turned to the man beside your fiancé with the intension of greeting him; only to freeze up when you realise who it was. “K-Kento?”

“Nice to see you again, Y/N.” Nanami greeted in his usual indifferent tone, trying to hide his heartbroken eyes beneath the shadow of his sunglasses as he tilted his head ever so slightly. “I guess some congratulations are to be said.” He stated simply before he gestures to your left ring finger, where a simple yet beautiful engagement ring rested on your finger. For some reason your heart sank as you awkwardly hid your hand behind your back, causing Gojo to raise an eyebrow as he glances between the both of you.

Was there something going on between the two of you?

“O-Oh, thanks.” You mumble out awkwardly, knowing immediately that Nanami was no longer in his usual indifferent mood. You can feel the slight hurt in his voice, one that causes your heart to break a little; bringing you back to the day you two broke up. How you promised to keep loving him until he was ready to return - yet here you are now, engaged to another man. It wasn’t like you fell out of love with him, you still love Nanami with all your heart, but that love had started to shift the years you two spend apart. And somehow, you started to fall for the white haired shaman known as Gojo Satoru.

But that doesn’t mean you didn’t feel any guilt for how evil you might seem to your ex for stringing him along like that. “I wasn’t expected to see you here.”

“I decided to come back.” Nanami stated simply with a shrug, glancing over at your quiet fiancé who blinks at him owlishly back at him. “Plus, Gojo here told me about a student of his by the name Itadori Yuji that I am supposed to take under my wing.” He continued, giving Gojo the chance to jump in as he smiles down at you, squeezing your shoulders gently. “That’s right! Kento-kun here said he wanted to come back! So his first job is to supervise Yuji-kun.”

“Oh.” You replied in a small tone, unsure of how to answer at all. But luckily Nanami stepped in before the awkward silence can drag on for long, pulling the sleeve of his jacket off his watch to check the time. “I don’t want to get in the way of your free time now, Y/N-san. I am going to go and rest up in my room before dinner is served.” He stated simply before bowing at the both of you, not meeting your eyes. “Excuse me.” 

With that he turned to walk away, forcing himself to not look back at you as he made his way down the familiar hallways towards the dorms; the keys to the room he is to stay at for the time being clutched in his hand after he slipped it into his pocket. What was I thinking? He thought to himself as he continued his way down the empty hallway to the dormitories. Did I really think an amazing woman like that will wait for me? 

He sighed to himself as he shakes his head a little, slipping his polished dress shoes off his feet before putting them on one of the free cubbies built into the wall; grabbing a pair of the guest slippers before he puts them on. “At least she managed to get engaged to Gojo. He’s definitely worthy of her love.” He mutters to himself, reminding himself to be happy that you found happiness. He doesn’t blame you for finding love once more - when he left this life behind, he also left you.

No call, no text, no attempt to reach out. Was he expected you to just fall into his arms once more? Pretend that nothing happened, and to go back to where you two once were? That thought alone caused him to let out a soft snort as he made his way towards the locked room, unlocking it with his keys. “Don’t be foolish, Kento. Be happy that she’s happy.” He mutters to himself as he entered his new room, closing the door behind him with a tired sigh.

“Guess you really were the one that got away.”

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[amazingmaeve]

right where you left me ↠ f & g weasley

━ “i like you for you, you know that.”

summary ━ Y/N is heartbroken when Fred breaks up with her and leaves her at Hogsmeade and she feels like she’s frozen in time. Until someone snaps her out of it.

warnings ━ angst, fluff

a/n ━ no twincest. also no hate to angelina or fred. Loosely based on ‘right where you left me, by taylor swift. Also may make a part two if i’m up for it.

word count ━ 2.3k

tags ━ @risingtripletaurus @hey-there-angels @lindsaytriestowrite

Before the war everything was fine between Y/N and Fred. They were in a relationship ever since their 4th year. Fred Weasley and Y/N Y/L/N were hopelessly in love.

Then the war came. Everything changed after that.

Y/N knew that Fred must be going through a tough time since a wall almost crushed him to death. She was there when he woke up screaming from a nightmare. She held him while he cried. Comforted him when he needed it.

She suggested a therapist where he can talk his problems out. Fred immediately declined not even thinking about it for a second.

They no longer went on dates where they could spend time together. Laugh and be in love. Fred put his focus on the shop which Y/N could understand since she worked there as well.

Before the war Fred would cheer Y/N up whenever she was sad, angry, frustrated or even when she had a bad day. Fred would there to cheer up, making her smile and laugh.

But now when she had a bad day Fred didn’t even know. Not even when she was sad or angry. It was like he was falling out of love with her.

Y/N would usually shake those thoughts out of her head not believing it.

Fred worked longer than she did and always came home late. Y/N assumed it was work getting to him. Also him not wanting to sleep because of the nightmares, which she completely understood.

She didn’t want to make Fred worry at all since the war so she tried doing her best with everything. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry so he didn’t have to do it.

She assumed this was the normal. Y/N was happy for the moment. She was here with Fred and everything was okay. It would’ve been much worse if Fred had died she told herself.

She was content for the moment.

Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.

Fred told Y/N that they would be going on a date tonight which made her really excited. It’s been awhile since He took her out.

She got dressed in her favorite dress and put on makeup to make her look presentable. When she was done finishing putting her earrings on she looked at herself in the mirror.

She smiled at herself. She felt so happy at the moment. Fred might be coming back to her and that was the best thing in the world.

Fred took her to this really nice restaurant where she ordered some salad while Fred ordered some steak. He was being very quiet which confused Y/N.

“What’s wrong Fred are you okay,” Y/N asked worriedly while she put her hand on his. It surprised her when jerked his hand away from her.

“We need to talk,” Fred says, not looking at her in the eyes, this makes her heart sink into the bottom of her stomach.

“About what,” Y/N asked as her voice wavered a bit out of nervousness. She dropped her hands to her lap and picked at her nail wondering what he was going to say.

“I think we need to break up,” Fred blurts out making her eyes widen.

Many emotions are running through Y/N. Confusion, sadness, a bit of anger. Her lip trembled when she met his beautiful eyes.

“Who is she,” Y/N sighed tears brimming her eyes as she looked down at her lap. She didn’t know if he cheated, she just wanted to know if she did. Fred let out a sigh.

“Angelina Johnson,” Fred answered. Y/N could feel the tears falling as the name slipped out of his mouth. Angelina has a crush on Fred in Hogwarts but Fred always reassured Y/N he never liked her.

“Of course,” Y/N scoffed, tears finally falling down her cheeks. He didn’t love her anymore. She thought they’d be together forever. The mascara must be wearing out from the few tears that came out which probably made her look like a freak show.

“Also I think you shouldn’t work at the shop anymore,” Fred says softly. It took everything for her not to cry. She was losing her boyfriend and her job in one day.

Y/N nodded not looking at him. Fred got up putting the money on the table and walked over to Y/N kissing her forehead. The contact made her flinch.

“I’ll come pick up my stuff tomorrow,” Fred softly says before leaving Y/N in the restaurant. She tries to finish her salad to get something in her stomach but she just couldn’t.

She finally got up wobbling on her legs. Putting a tip on the table before leaving the restaurant.

The cold air is a sensation that made her flinch as soon as she stepped out on the sidewalk. She walks home as tears slip out of her eyes as reality sinks in.

Fred doesn’t love her, he loved Angelina.

She puts her hand over her mouth to cover up the sobs so people don’t look at her weirdly. When she finally gets inside her flat she falls on the ground sobbing into her arms.

Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and rocks herself back in forth. What did she do wrong to make Fred not love her anymore? Did she not love him enough?

She got up after half an hour of crying and put her pajamas on. She looked inside her closet and saw Fred’s quidditch Jersey.

Y/N pulls it to her chests as more tears fall out of her eyes. Her heart feels like it cracked in half from the heartbreak.

“Why?” She whispers to no one. She starts to get angry. She did everything to help Fred, she comforted him when he had nightmares, suggested a therapist to help him and even offered to pay for it. Y/N did everything to help Fred but apparently Fred didn’t care anymore.

She crawled into bed as she let a few tears fall until the exhaustion finally hit her like a freight train. She fell asleep hating the fact that Fred would never love her again.

Y/N woke up early the next morning so she could pack up Fred’s stuff so he wouldn’t be there for long. She didn’t want to look at him if she didn’t she would break down in front of him and Y/N didn’t want to do that.

She got some boxes and threw all of his stuff and put it on the kitchen counter waiting for Fred to show up. Y/N thought about what job she could get since Fred fires her.

A knock on the door startled her. She sighed paddling towards the door and opened it reluctantly.

“Your stuffs on the counter,” Y/N walks him to the kitchen where she stares at her feet not wanting to look at him.

Fred nods and notes that she’s not looking at him. “Just so you know I will never stop caring about you,” He walks himself over as he holds the boxes.

Y/N scoffs, “Whatever.”

Fred sighs, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze to reassure her. She closes her eyes until she hears the door close and when she opens her eyes again tears start pooling again.

Y/N never wants to see Fred Weasley ever again.

For the next few weeks Y/N stays in bed wallowing in her own misery. She cries herself to sleep every night wondering what went wrong.

The only reason she gets out of bed is to go to eat, shower, and read the paper to see if there’s any jobs out there. She watches rom coms where they get the guys in the end and wishes it was her.

One particular time she’s sitting at the counter eating someone bangs on her door.

“Y/N open up, it's been weeks,” George yells, continuing to pound on the door. He’s been here everyday since the break up wanting her to get out of bed.

Y/N sighs angrily walking up to the door opening it letting George in. He walks in and turns around to look at Y/N.

“You look like hell,” George comments, putting his hands into his suit pocket.

“Thank you, you always know how to make a girl blush,” Y/N sarcastically replies rolling her eyes. “What are you doing here,” She says more seriously.

“I’m just worried about it,” George says worriedly. “You’ve been in bed for weeks, it's not healthy,” George states.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” Y/N coldly replies.

“I will always worry about you, you are one of my best friends and Fred is an asshole for cheating on you,” George sternly says.

“I can’t even look at you without crying,” Y/N says looking at her feet on the hardwood floor. George pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not Fred,” George sighs.

“I know but you look exactly like him,” Y/N counters back.

“Well no Fred has that birthmark-,” Y/N interrupted him.

“Okay you can stop,” Y/N snaps holding her hand up.

“I’m just saying I’m not Fred and I want to be there for you,” George tried to reassure the girl.

“Why Fred’s your brother,” Y/N finally looks up at him with a confused look on his face. She doesn’t understand why he wants to be there for her.

“Yeah and he’s a prat for cheating on you and for firing you,” George scoffs. “But I still love him and that doesn’t stop me from not caring about you,” He explains.

“Fine if you want to see me be miserable,” Y/N accepts. George gives her a smile before walking in the flat further and following him.

For the next six months George kept coming to her flat everyday to see how she was doing. He stayed for dinner and if he couldn’t come he’d call her before.

George was being so nice to Y/N and she felt a crush forming on him. But she didn’t want that because Fred would probably accuse her of using George.

But she didn’t want George to think bad of her. Him thinking that she only likes him because he’s Fred’s twin is something she does not want.

Whenever she feels particularly down George drops everything to come and comfort her. No matter what.

Y/N doesn’t want to go to the shop because she’ll see Fred and she doesn’t want to run into him or Angelina. George understood knowing how bad it could hurt her.

They would sit on the couch watching shows and movies laughing and joking with each other. She felt so comfortable around him and she felt her heart race around him.

Y/N would never have thought she would have feelings for George Weasley since she was with Fred. But her feelings change when Fred doesn't want her anymore and now she sees George in a different night.

On one particular night she was cooking some lasagna and waiting for George to show up.

“I got breadsticks,” George yells as he walks in the door with a smile on his face.

“I knew you would,” Y/N giggles pointing her spatula at him. George sets the bag on the table and walks around the counter to go next to Y/N.

“You always make the best food,” George groans smelling the lasagna. “Fred moves in with Angelina today,” He blurts out.

Y/N nods biting her lip getting the food out of the stove and setting it on the table. George told her a few months ago that Fred might want to move in with Angelina.

“That’s great that means I can come over to your flat now,” Y/N teases, getting plates and setting the food out on it.

“I thought you’d be more upset about it,” George’s eyes furrow as he takes a bite of the food.

“I did too but I guess if he’s happy I’m happy,” Y/N sighs leaning against the counter poking at her. “You want some wine,” she asks, getting the glasses.

“Sure I love getting drunk,” George accepts with a smile. Y/N pours the wine and hands the glass to George and pours one for herself.

Only in a few hours George and Y/N are drunk. They’re making out on the couch and neither of them knew how this started. But at the moment they don’t care, they only care about getting their clothes.

Y/N rubs her eyes when she wakes up in the morning feeling the sunlight in her eyes. She feels someone pressed up against and she looks up to see George laying there sleeping.

“Oh my god,” Y/N whispers, getting up out of his arms to go and change into something more comfortable. She sits on her bed before walking out and shaking George awake.

“Give a guy a break Y/N,” George grumbles, rubbing his eyes as the sun peaks in through the blinds.

“We had sex last night,” Y/N snaps.

“Why are you so mad about it,” George asks sitting up.

“Because we’re friends,” Y/N states wondering what George is going to say about it.

“We’re more than friends and you know it,” George snaps at her getting his clothes and putting them on. “Are you telling me that you don’t have feelings for me,” He asks as he stands up.

“Maybe,” She whispers, crossing her arms over her chests. “But it’s be wrong you’re my ex boyfriend's twin. I don’t want you thinking I’m only doing this because you look like Fred,” She explains.

“Is that what this all about,” George asks, his eyes softening. He brings his hands to her cheeks and cups them.

“I like you for you, you know that,” She smiles at him, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“I know love.”

[wienerbarnes]

Italian Heart

Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader

Word Count: 4,867

Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol

A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.

Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.

As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.

Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.

“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.

“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.

When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.

Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.

A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.

“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.

“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.

Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.

“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.

You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”

“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.

Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.

“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.

You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.

“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.

A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.

His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.

“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.

“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”

“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.

“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.

You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.

“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”

You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.

Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.

“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.

“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.

“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”

You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”

…

Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.

She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”

“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.

Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.

Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.

“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.

One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.

“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.

“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.

“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.

“It’s pork, you asshole.”

Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.

“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.

“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.

“That wasn’t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.

“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.

“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.

Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”

“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.

Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.

“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.

“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.

Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”

…

The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.

You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.

“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.

“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.

“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.

“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.

“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.

Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.

You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.

Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.

There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.

You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.

“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”

“Can I -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.

You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.” You demand, more than ask.

“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.

You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”

“Would you let me explain?” He tries.

“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.

“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.

“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.

The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.

“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.

“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.

...

Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.

They don’t question it.

“You and Bucky will go in together and I’ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.

His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.

“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”

“Safety.” Bucky answers.

“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.

“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.

“One I can’t refuse?”

“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.

Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.

“Easy - peasy.” You respond.

The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.

About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.

You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.

“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.

It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.

He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.

He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.

It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.

Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.

“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”

“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.

You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.

“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”

“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”

“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.

“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.

“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.

He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.

He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.

“Don’t kill the guy.”

You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.

You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.

“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.

You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.

He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.

“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.

“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.

He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.

Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.

The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.

He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.

“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.

“Just - Let me, would you?”

He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.

You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.

“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”

He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”

“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.

“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.

...

Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.

“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”

“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.

He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.

It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.

One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.

“You got company, Boss.” He says.

You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.

“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.

“What’s in the box?”

“Cannoli.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”

“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.

You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.

But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.

“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.

His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.

“Let me take you out tonight.”

“Maybe I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel ‘em.”

“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”

“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”

“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.

He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.

“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.

“I get to pick the place.”

“No.”

“The kind of food.”

“No.”

“The -”

“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.

Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?

“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.

He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.

[accioprozac]

Jealous : Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You’d known the Weasley twins since 1st year and had been pining after Fred nearly as long. You knew it wasn’t requited, Fred treated you like he treated Ginny, like a little sister. Your crush on him was painfully obvious, almost everyone knew except Fred. Still, you were holding out hope. Then Fred asked Angelina to the Yule Ball and you felt your heart spilt in two. But despite Fred’s apparent disinterest in you romantically, he still attempts to sabatoge all your dates and you’re getting sick of it.

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s note: Please interact! Also, I wrote this on my phone so sorry if the spelling and format is a bit wonky.

“The Yule Ball is coming up,” you mention, trying to keep your voice light, “Are you going to ask anyone?”

George gives you a knowing look and you glare at him. He knew about your not-so-secret crush on Fred. Hell, almost everyone did, except Fred. You weren’t exactly good at hiding your feelings.

“I have someone in mind,” he grins slyly.

“Really? Who?” You ask, a bit too excitedly, and he gives you an amused look. “Come on Fred, tell me!” You wheedle but he puts a finger to his lips, zipping them shut.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he starts, “She’s in Gryffindor.”

Well obviously,” George snorts. Fred gives him a look that says what’s that supposed to mean? “You barely talk to any Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws are too smart to put up with your shit and Slytherins? I’m pretty sure that whole house hates you after the prank we pulled last year.”

Fred’s eyes light up at the mention of the prank and he enthusiastically starts to recount Snape’s reaction to his House’s robes being turned red and gold.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

“He didn’t say much, but do you think he could be talking about me?” you ask Hermione anxiously as you both get ready for bed.

“Well it would make sense. You are the girl he spends the most time with.”

“I hope he asks me,” you say wistfully, “Night Hermione.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next morning, Hermione’s forehead is wrinkled in thought when you sit down for breakfast, “Y/N,” she starts, “I heard from Lavender Brown who heard from Katie Bell that Fred asked Angelina to the Yule Ball.” Her lips are pursed as she anxiously studies your face for some type of reaction.

“Oh,” you say dejectedly, “Good for him.”

“I’m sorry Y/N,” Ginny says sympathetically, “My brother is an idiot.”

You give her a weak smile back.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

A few days later, Ernie Macmillan comes up to you and nervously asks you to Hogsmead. He’s sweating profusely but you secretly admire his bravery. You accept and the date is fairly uneventful, mostly consisting of playful banter, and he walks you back to the Gryffindor common room, kissing your cheek chastely before departing.

Fred and George caught sight of the kiss and Fred snorts, “A Hufflepuff?”

“What’s wrong with Hufflepuff?” You demand, crossing your arms.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he mutters before angrily storming off. George mouths “sorry, I’ll talk to him,” before following Fred.

Ernie doesn’t talk to you again after that date. Every time you approach him, he finds some reason to leave quickly. You couldn’t lie, it was hurtful, was the date that bad? He seemed almost scared to be around you.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

A boy from Durmstang ends up asking you to the Yule Ball. His name is Ansen. He’s tall and has nice eyes, so you accept. Maybe you aren’t in love with him, but he’s a nice distraction from Fred. You get along with him well enough, you both like quidditch and chocolate frogs. He’s not a bad dancer either, he twirls you around and that combined with your F/C dress makes you feel like a princess.

When the Yule Ball ends, he walks you back to the Gryffindor tower and wishes you a good night.

When you enter the common room, George and Fred are talking in harsh whispers, heads bowed. Both of them are still in their Yule Ball suit. Fred looks up and seems a bit annoyed, “Who’s that bloke you went to the ball with?”

“His name is Asen, he goes to Durmstang,” you say, shrinking a bit under Fred’s glare. “He’s really nice,” you added, just because you could.

“You went with him??” Fred huffed, sounding a bit disbelieving. “He’s Bulgarian, how do you guys even talk?”

George grinned, “I bet there’s not much talking involved when they get together.” You shoot him a look, not helping George.

Ginny glares at them from a armchair by the fireplace, the splitting image of her mother, and they shrunk under her angry gaze. “Stop being gits,” she grabs my hand and pulls me to the girls dormitory, “Tell me everything.”

Once you’re done recounting the date, she smiles, “He sounds nice.”

“He is.”

“You don’t sound too happy,” Ginny notes innocently.

“I know,” you sigh. “I just wish I that Fred had asked me.”

Ginny winces, “I know the feeling.” Harry, right.

“I’m sorry Gin.”

“Boys are stupid, who needs them?”

“Here, here,” Hermione agrees from her bed, her voice is thick with tears and muffled slightly by her pillow.

“I’m going to kill Ron.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next day, Ansen’s hair is bright blue. When you try to talk to him, he seems disgruntled and brushes you aside, muttering something about “stupid Weasley twins” and “she’s not worth the trouble.” You narrow your eyes and put two and two together. Fred and George.

You storm up to them and Fred gives you an annoyed look as you cut of his conversation with Angelina.

“You two are unbelievable! You can’t just prank everyone I try to date,” your voice raises a bit and you know you’re making a scene, but you’re to mad to care. You can feel onlookers burning holes into your back with their curious stares.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fred drawls and George quickly removes himself from the situation, putting his hands up like don’t get me involved.

“You dyed Ansen’s hair blue and now he won’t speak to me,” you shoot a glare at him, “Not to mention whatever you did to poor Ernie.”

“We prank everyone,” he says defensively.

“You scared them away,” your voice is accusatory.

“Well if they’re that easily scared away, they’re not worth your time,” he replies breezily.

“You don’t get to do this,” you repeat. Your voice is quiet but shakes with anger and hurt.

“Why not?” Fred asks, looking a bit sullen.

“Because you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to ruin all my chances of love after you broke my heart,” your eyes widen at your thoughtless confession.

He gaped silently for a moment, “When I broke your heart?”

“You took Angelina to the Yule Ball.” At his blank look, you felt your face grow hot with anger, “You know what? Forget it. Fuck you Fred Weasley. Stay out of my life”

“Wait, Y/N!” He scrabbles up and grabs your wrist. You jerk it away from him, feeling like he burned you, before running into the girls dormitory.

Hermione, who had been silently watching the exchange, set her book down, “Fred Weasley, you are a compete arse,” she hissed before running after you.

She finds you lying face flat on your bed, “Y/N? I’m sorry about Fred, boys are idiots.”

You let out a watery laugh, “I hate him,” you pause, “but I also love him and he doesn’t love me back and it’s hurts, Mione.”

“I know,” she sighed, wrapping you in a hug. You allow yourself to cry on her shoulder and she glares at the wall behind you, thinking of all the things she wanted to do to Fred Weasley for hurting you.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You avoid the Fred for a whole week and you’re absolutely miserable. You’ve been spending more time with Hermione which is fun and all, but you missed George(and maybe Fred too). It’s not that you were mad at George, but if you spoke to him, Fred would probably be there. You made sure to continue to smile at George in hallways but your face would turn icy at the arrival of Fred.

The next week, you’re walking to potions and Fred grabs you and pulls you into an empty classroom. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

You sigh wearily and avoid his gaze, “What do you want Fred? Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I want you.” His voice is so earnest and when you look up to meet his eyes, he’s smiling nervously, hands wrung together.

You look away, “No, you don’t. You’re just saying that because you can’t stand seeing me with another boy and no longer fawning over you like a lovesick little girl.” Your tone is venomous and you take a step back, preparing to leave but his voice stops you.

“That’s not true,” he says defensively, “I fancy you, I think I always have. It just took seeing you with another bloke for me to realize.”

“What about Angelina?”

“I don’t love her, I love you,” his frank declaration stuns you into silence.

“You love me?” your voice is a hoarse whisper.

His face flushes and you hate that you still find him endearing after everything he’s done, he nods solemnly, “I do. I know I’ve been awful to you these past weeks and I don’t blame you if you don’t want to see me.”

You feel your resolve crumbling, “I’m still mad at you but I do miss being friends.” You don’t address the love confession, you were still too mad and hurt for that.

“I’ll make it up to you Y/N, I promise.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

He stays true to his word. He walks you to every class and even apologizes to Ernie, who is no longer avoiding you. He doesn’t try to demand anything from you or push you, leaving everything up to you. Slowly, you begin to trust him again and can feel your relationship shifting from friends to something else.

Your first kiss is at the end of the school year. You say goodbye to George and turn to Fred, nervously aware of his family standing a few steps away. “Write to me?” you ask and he nods. You stand on your tip toes and peck him on the lips, quickly. He stares at you in shock for a moment before gently grabbing your waist and pulling you in for another a kiss that leaves you both breathless. You can hear his brothers hollering in the distance and Molly scolds them.

When you pull apart, Fred’s face is almost as red as his hair, “Bye Y/N, I’ll uh- see you next year,” he pauses, “Or maybe you could come to the Burrow sometime during the summer? You don’t have to but I reckon Mum would love to have you, and I would too of course-“

You cut off his rambling with a laugh, “I’d love to Freddie.”

[lexwritess]

Taken [P.P]

Inspired by this tiktok

Pairings- Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader, Steve Rogers x platonic!reader, Steve Rogers x Daughter!Reader

warnings- abuse, abduction, fighting, mentions of blood, fighting, swearing, angst, scars

Word count: 2825

a/n: in this fic tony, nat, and steve are still alive and here. may is dead :( sorry it just fit in better like that.

Italics are translations

“Have you see anyone yet?” You hear Tony ask through your ear piece.

“No not yet...I’m going to peek behind this building.” You reply. You were currently on a mission with Tony, Wanda, Sam, Steve, and Peter. Steve and Tony usually don’t allow you and Peter do go on missions together because your first instinct is to always protect each other, and Tony knows how overprotective Peter is. But they decided that they needed both of your abilities to complete today’s mission.

“Okay be careful, you’re getting pretty close to the unit.” You hear Natasha.

You were investigating an old HYDRA unit. Even though HYDRA has been destroyed, you and the team think there are still people trying follow through with their plans.

You move from the Pilar you were hiding behind and just as you take the first footstep bullets start flying your way.

You use your powers and create a force field around your body as your eyes turn from Y/E/C to your signature neon green.

You created green energy orbs with your hands and shot them at the attackers.

“There’s people now guys. I’m west from the unit, lots more people are coming out so please hurry.” You breathe out.

They started getting close enough that you needed to go to hand-to-hand combat.

Two were coming at you at the same time. You gave one a swift punch to the head, your arm glowing green in the process giving you extra strength. The other one was coming behind you but before they could do anything you grabbed his arm and flipped him over your head.

More men started rushing towards you and you weren’t sure you could hold them off much longer.

“Guys there’s about 30 agents here now!” You say frantically into your mic.

“We’re coming, just hold them off a little longer you got this!” Steve encourages.

“Y/n, be careful please.” You hear Peter’s wavering voice.

“Don’t worry.” You pause ducking into a split from an agents hit, punching him in the nuts.

You flip back up from the ground and get back to a fight stance.

One comes at you shooting a gun. You quickly from a force shield and run towards the guy. You jump onto his back and climb up onto his shoulders. You make him spin around while his gun is firing, shooting all the men surrounding you.

You jump off his back and start firing your energy orbs wherever you can. The amount of agents surrounding you now is getting over whelming.

There’s about 6 men trying to fight you up close. Your trying to battle them out but some of them are laying some good hits on you.

You feel a sharp sting, you can quite identify what caused it. Just as you go to look, 4 of the agents have been knocked down.

You check your surrounds to see what caused the men to fall and see caps shield. You smile and let a breath out knowing you have a little extra help now.

“Thanks cap!” You shout over to him. He nods with a smile and runs over to you and starts fighting by your side.

“Where’s everyone else?” You ask while knocking an agent out.

“They’re coming. We got stuck at one of the buildings.” He replies knocking down one of the last agents. You know it won’t be the last one but you have some time to cool off for a while.

You nod and pace around, catching your breath. You look down and an agent lets out a groan and moves a little. You give him a quick kick and he’s out again.

“Hey did you see this?” You hear Steve ask.

You turn around and see him holding a used syringe.

You get nervous and start to think maybe they was the pinch you felt earlier while fighting.

“Steve check my neck and see if there’s anything.” You ask.

He walks over to you and tilts your head up to exam your neck.

“Shit...Y/N/N.” Steve sighs.

“Okay, it’s nothing to worry about Nothing’s happening.” You shrug.

“Yeah yet.” Steve turns away.

Steve is very protective over you. He’s basically your father. He found you hiding during the battle of New York. You had a pretty traumatic life. Getting abducted by HYDRA at the age of 4, getting powers due to the experiments, your parents dying, but hey now Captain America basically raised you and you’re an Avenger dating a boy with spider powers.

You look around once again and see more agents coming your way. You tap Steve and tell him to get ready.

In the other direction you see the rest of your team coming. Now you might actually be able to get into the unit.

Everyone has attackers swarming them you can barley see each other. You find it suspicious that they keep eyeing you though. But before you can finish your thought a pistol came to your head and you blacked out.

-

You woke up in an unfamiliar room. You’re surrounded by grey walls and strange tech equipment.

You groan out in pain. Your whole body aches and you can feel your head pounding.

You go to get up, but you’re body is restricted.

You look and see you’re body is tied up to the cold metal seat. You try to use your powers to break free, but you are left to see you’re powers aren’t working anymore.

“What the hell?” You mutter to yourself, wondering why and how your powers abruptly stopped working.

“Hello Miss Y/L/N...” A cold voice rang throughout your ears.

Your head shot up to see who it was. The man was tall with dark grey hair. He was wearing a suit and the other two people behind him were as well.

“Who are you?” You grunt out, struggling against your restraints. Damn maybe you shouldn’t of skipped out on training last week.

“Well if you must know, we are the remaining members of HYDRA. We and a couple more people have joined again to finally carry out our plans.” The one in the middle tells you. You assume he’s the leader.

“Why did you take me? Out of everyone else?” You ask them.

The man raises an eyebrow at you and then smirks. “You, dear Y/n, are one of the most important people on the team. They all care for you so deeply it’s disgusting. And quite frankly we aren’t finished with you.” The man hunches over so his eyes can meet yours.

You scrunch your nose up as he inches close to your face.

“You have something of ours.” The man tells you.

“I don’t have anything.” You say.

“Liar!” The man yells and strikes you in the face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You shout at the man, blood trickling from your nose into your mouth.

The man scowls at you and says something in German. Another man walks over with a knife in his hand.

He was younger then the man, he looked to be about 30.

The men all discuss while glancing at you every couple seconds. You try to hear what they’re saying but it’s all German.

You glance around the room and see there’s a camera in the corner. The light is blinking so that means they’ve been recording your whole interaction.

The younger man kneels beside you and places the blade on your arm.

“Where is our Grün serum?” The man persists.

“I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cry.

“Tu es.” The gray hair man mumbles and you feel the blade sink into your skin.

You scream out in pain. The pain never resides, you wanted to see what he was carving but the sight of your mangled skin would freak you out even more.

“I didn’t take anything!” You weep.

You start yelling in agony again when the man starts carving on a new section of skin.

“PETER!” You scream out, maybe just a little bit of hope if he was still around he’d hear your screams.

-

At the Avengers compound

“PETER!” They hear your painful screams through the monitor.

Peter breaks into a sob. Hearing you yell for him and he’s not able to save you kills him.

“Shut it off I can’t watch anymore.” Steve says and looks away.

“I wish we could, but we need to see if they say anything.” Sam says trying to remain calm.

“Did you find the location yet?” Tony asks Natasha.

“Almost, five more minutes.” She responds.

The team looks at the monitor as the man comes to eye level with the camera.

“If you want your girl back you must surrender to us. For now she’s hydras property.”

And with that the monitor went static.

“I’m leaving.” Peter stands up.

“Kid you can’t leave. We gotta strategize first. You can’t leave without the team.” Tony demands.

“I don’t care!” Peter shouts.

“She is being tortured and she doesn’t have her powers! Without them she’s just a teenage girl, she’s going to die!” Peter grits his teeth in anger and starts to exit.

Wanda uses her powers and drags him back to his seat.

He huffs and slouches into his seat, tears brimming his eyes.

“Did you at least find where they’re keeping her?” Peter asks, his voice tired and raspy.

“No, I thought I was close but the coordinates are false.” Natasha replies, defeated.

“Then why are we here! I’m so tired of your stupid plans! We never follow them anyway. Y/n is going to die! Die! Do you not understand what that means?” Peter starts screaming and crying as the team starts rushing towards his side.

“Peter it’s okay, we’re going to find-.” Peter cuts Sam off.

“It’s not okay!” Peter’s voice cracks. “I keep losing everyone I care about. My parents, uncle Ben, and now May...I can’t lose Y/n.” Peter walks out of the room, he needs air.

“He’s not wrong Tony.” Steve says, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill.

“Go talk to him. Calm him down, I’ll figure something out.” Tony says and Steve exits.

Steve walks out to the balcony where Peter stands.

“Hey queens.” Steve says softly to Peter.

“Hey.” Peter says, his voice just above a whisper.

“Listen I know exactly how you feel. She’s my kid! I’m mean I know not actually but she might as well be...I want to get up and go after he just as much as you do. I don’t think they moved locations. I believe they’re still at the facility.” Steve explains.

Peter takes a glance at Steve. He nods his head, after cooling off he realizes there should probably be a plan. He still would rather leave though.

“So that’s exactly what we’re doing.” Steve stands up straight getting ready to go.

“W-what? Seriously?” Peter asks with wide eyes.

“Yeah, kid cmon get your suit on.” Steve motions for him to go and Peter immediately starts walking with him.

-

“Mr. Stark is going to kill me.” Peter breathes out.

Peter and Steve were in a car that Steve “borrowed.” He didn’t want to be tracked down.

“It’ll fine. He’ll understand...eventually.” Steve huffs.

“So what made you change your mind?” Peter breaks the silence.

Steve bites his lip while thinking.

“Y-you I guess.” Steve let’s put a breathy laugh.

“Seeing how determined you were just reminded me I can’t just sit here. I’ve never been on to just sit and wait. And this weekends Father’s Day... I would always make sure she’s happy that day because I know how it can be not having your dad.”Steve pauses.

“You can join to of you want.” Steve smiles.

“O-okay yeah.” Peter smiles back, but on the inside he wants to cry, he’s never had someone offer him something like that before.

-

At The HYDRA Unit

You feel awful. Your whole body aches, your skin burns, you can feel the cuts on your arms are infected.

Looking down at your arm you see the man carved “HYDRAS PROPERTY.”

You feel dirty, you’re tired, and maybe even getting sick. You don’t know what they injected you with or what they’re planing to do but it’s really taking a toll on your mental and physical health. The abuse doesn’t make what’s going on in your body any better.

“I just want to go home.” You cry out, your voice broken.

“You can’t...you are the final step.” The man gets inches away from your face.

You get fed up and spit in his face.

“Curva dracului! Damn you whore!”The man shouts and cracks you across the face.

Maybe you shouldn’t of done that, but damn it was worth it.

You can’t help but laugh. You’re used to the beatings and you’re delirious at this point

“You think this is funny?” The man sneers at you.

“Hilarious.” You reply.

Before the man can do anything, a loud crash was heard.

The man glared at you before running towards the source of the noise.

A couple seconds later you hear bangs and grunts, you’re assuming it’s a fight.

A little bit of you hopes it’s Peter.

You see a man blasted across the wall and a red-suited figure follow.

“Spider-Man!” You say with the the first genuine smile in a long time.

“Hold on Y/n I’ll be right there!” Peter shouts and webs up another agent.

Peter comes over and unties you. Once your finally free you pull Peter into a bone crushing embrace.

“I missed you so much.” You mumble against his chest.

“I missed you.” He says while caressing your head.

“Cmon guys we gotta go before anyone else comes after us.” Steve urges.

Peter picks you up and runs back outside towards the car.

“Okay go!” Peter tells Steve.

“Seatbelts.” Steve says.

“There’s people literally shooting at us and you’re waiting till we put our seatbelts on?” Peter complains.

Steve doesn’t say anything and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Alright there go!” Peter yells.

And with that Steve slams on the gas and leaves the facility.

-

“I know I’ve already asked you this but are you sure you’re okay?” Peter asks you. It’s been a week since your rescue and he’s still treating you like your glass.

“Yes Peter I’m perfect.” You smile and kiss him sweetly.

Bruce and Tony worked together so you finally got your powers back.

You feel a lot better now that you’re back home with everyone you love, but you can’t help me bothered by the scaring of HYDRAS PROPERTY on your arm. Will you actually always be apart of them?

“Y/n, I know somethings on your mind...what’s up?” Peter asks concerned.

“Nothing...just look.” You pull your sleeve up and show him the healing scars.

“Baby listen to me...you’re not apart of them. You’re apart of the avengers and they can’t control you anymore. I won’t let them get you ever again i promise.” Peter pulls you into his warm embrace.

“Thank you so much Peter...I love you.” You whisper.

“You love me?” Peter whispers back.

“Yeah I do, I love you a lot Pete.” You smile.

“I love you too, Y/n.” Peter smiles back and kisses you passionately.

You giggle and pull away.

“Alright let’s focus on today.” You say.

“Do you think Steve will be happy about his gift?” You question Peter.

It’s Father’s Day and since Steve has always treated you like his own daughter, you got adoption papers to make it official.

“Of course! He’s going to love it!” Peter reassures you.

-

“Hey Steve!” You walk into the living room where him Natasha, and Bucky are sitting.

“Hey Y/N/N, are you and Peter ready for lunch?” He asks you while patting a seat beside him for you to sit.

“Yeah we’re ready, but before we go I got you a gift actually.” You smile.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift.” Steve smiles back.

“Well I did so here.” You let out a shaky breath and handed him the papers.

“If you want, I got the adoption papers so you could legally be my guardian. I know it’s a little difficult when I get into trouble at school and they need to see my ‘parent’ and you always the one that comes. You’re the one that’s always there when I need a parental figure, so thank you. Happy Father’s Day, Steve. I love you.”

“Y/n...” Steve pauses which kind of scared you.

“Of course I’ll be your dad. What do I have to do! Just sign?” Steve says with the biggest grin.

“Yeah, yeah just right there and it’ll be official.”

Steve signs the paper and stands up.

“Alright celebratory lunch! C’mon official daughter. And Peter you come too.” Steve grabs you and Peters arms as you walk out the door.

-

*Bonus*

“Nat, are you...are you crying?” Bucky asks Natasha.

“It was a sweet moment! If you ever tell anyone I’ll kill you.”

-

Tag list

@bubblicious-trashcan

@caswinchester2000

[paperpocalypse]

significance.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 26. Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you” + 47. “I’ve been in love with you for years”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,118 words

Warning: Swearing, violence

His head feels like it’s been split open, the rest of his body feels like one giant bruise and the Handler’s daughter has her fancy leather boot on his fucking throat.

Five couldn’t be less surprised by his luck.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

He forces in just enough breath to answer her. “Eat shit and die …!”

The reaction is worth it. Lila lets out a furious cry, gritting her teeth and bringing her foot down even harder – and in doing so, changes her center of gravity. Opportunity. Five digs his nails into that damned shoe and pushes upwards. The sudden force sends her flying, and he can breathe again.

Fighting the ache in his bones, Five stumbles to his feet as she does the same. “Come on,” he pants, readying his stance as the woman turns to face him again. “What are you waiting for? Let’s finish this thing.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, sniffling. “This isn’t gonna be quick. You are going to suffer for what you did.”

Suffer? For Christ’s sake – Five scoffs and drops his hands. “Lady, I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ronnie and Anita Gill.”

“Mean nothing to me.”

“1993, East London.” Lila continues to stare at him like he knows what the hell she’s talking about. “You hog-tied them and you shot them in the head.”

Five narrows his eyes; it’s very possible that she’s just bullshitting him. But despite the rationality of just ignoring her and going for the kill, he searches his memories anyway. 1993, East London. Hog-tied. Tables overturned, the pleas of a couple inside a tiny flat in the middle of the night. Yes, wait – he does remember. 1993, toys strewn everywhere – he told you to close your eyes but you didn’t – East London, two quick shots –

“We had no choice.”

“I know. But …”

“The flower merchants,” he murmurs. Five looks at her with wide eyes. “They were your parents …!”

“And they never did anything to anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

The Handler ordered him to kill Lila’s parents. Lila, who has powers like them. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Absorbing this newfound information, Five attempts to talk the woman down as he fills out the rest of the picture. “You’re right, alright? I killed them. But I killed a lot of people over the years. It was all just a job. Alright? That was never personal.”

At that, Lila laughs. “‘Never personal,’ my ass,” she sneers. “Yeah, I’ve killed – it’s always, always personal.”

“That’s why you’re not cut out to be an assassin.”

She yanks a knife out of her boot as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Bet your life on that?”

Right then, a shadow moves in the doorway to the barn. Five immediately knows who it is, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“Lila!” Your voice is firm and taunting.

Shit. Shit!

Without hesitation, Five lunges for the knife, only to find himself grabbing at air as Lila reappears behind you. The blade is pressed against your neck before he can even shout your name.

Five clenches his fists as he meets your eyes. Your expression is stony, hands stiffly grasping at Lila’s arm. Jesus Christ, just a little energy to blink – nothing –!

Fucking shit!

“Let her go.”

—

The bearded man smiles. “Sorry, no can do.”

The alley is frigid and dark, the air damp and rotting. He doesn’t move a muscle. In front of him, you breathe steadily, in and out, not saying a word. The steel barrel pressed flush to your temple mirrors the one against his.

“Just hand over your valuables and that briefcase, and we can be on our way.”

“Sorry,” you say, voice steady and cold. (It makes him proud.) “Everything stays with us.”

He looks at you. You blink.

Within the next half-second, he’s knocked your captor to the ground and the two of you are aiming the guns at their previous owners. They raise their hands almost immediately. Exactly like the exercise from his youth.

Another half-second, and both of you pull the triggers.

Five stares down at the corpse now lying on the ground. Then he straightens his tie and turns to you.

You’re still pointing the gun at the other target. His frown softens.

“[Y/n].”

Putting a hand on your arm, he notes how you stiffen, snapping out of whatever zone you had been in. You meet his eyes and breathe in sharply, then relax.

“We’re done.” You frame the question as more of a statement as Five takes the former thief’s gun from you.

“For the night,” he affirms, holding your gaze curiously. “You good?”

You wet your lips and tuck your weapon away. “I’m okay,” you eventually reply. He raises an eyebrow; your mouth twitches. “I just – well, you’re taking this whole assassin thing a lot better than I am. Pointing guns and shooting and killing for real, and – and all that pizzazz.”

“I was a member of the Umbrella Academy,” Five points out dryly. “Thirteen more years of formal training and being able to spatial jump gives me somewhat of an advantage.”

“… That’s true.” Still, you seem unsettled. “Five, you’re okay with this? We’re … killing people.”

“No. But we have no other option,” he says. “It’s only until I figure out how to get us back, alright?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”

The pair of you leave the alley, leaving the targets there to be found by the police. The fact that they had a gun pointed at your head should make him feel better about it. They were already criminals, too. Self-defense instead of cold-blooded “corrections.”

There’s still a bitter taste in his mouth anyway.

“You hold your own pretty well,” he murmurs after a while, trying to distract himself.

You grant him a small, knowing smile. “Thanks,” you say, taking his arm as the pair of you walk the rest of the way to the motel. “I had a good teacher while I was stuck in the ruins of the apocalypse.”

He hums. “Weren’t you lucky?”

Your hand tightens around the sleeve of his tailored suit.

“The luckiest.”

—

He’s going to kill her.

Teeth bared, Five starts toward her, only to stop short when Lila presses the blade harder against your throat.

“Not another step, Five,” she warns him, her grip tightening. “Or you’ll both regret it.”

“She’s not responsible for what happened. I was the one who killed them!”

“But she didn’t stop you, did she?”

Five struggles to control his rage. The knife is sharp and black underneath your jaw, ready to draw blood at a moment’s notice.

You inhale shallowly. “Lila,” you rasp.

“Don’t speak.”

“Look,” Five forces out as evenly as he can, catching the woman’s attention again. He can’t take his eyes off that goddamn knife. Five can almost feel the edge cutting into his own skin. “You wanna blame someone, blame the Handler, alright? She faked the kill order.”

“Bullshit! I saw the kill order. AJ Carmichael ordered it, and you and [Y/n] carried it out.”

“Lila, listen to what I’m telling you, alright? The Handler gave us the kill order. She came on the job, which she’d never done before.” He unclenches his fists with unwilling, trembling fingers. His mind is reeling. “You’re Commission. You know execs never go on jobs, but that day in London, she was there. Ask yourself why –”

“Stop trying to muddy the waters.”

Five swallows, pulse racing. He rips his eyes away from your neck to gauge Lila’s expression. Doubt is beginning to bleed into it, and he manages to keep his tone level.

Focus on completing the picture. No sudden movements.

“Think about it, Lila. It all makes sense.”

Lila’s grip on the knife relaxes by the smallest amount. She hesitates for a moment before speaking. “What?”

“She never cared about your parents. She was looking for you.”

What little is left of her anger melts off Lila’s face. For the first time, the girl looks completely vulnerable. And it’s not a farce.

“Why?” she whispers.

Come on …

“‘Cause you’re one of us.”

Lila whips her head around when Diego cuts through the silence, holding you even more tightly against herself. Five’s gaze snaps back to the knife again and he swears internally.

Dammit, Diego, you better have a plan!

“The Handler stole you, Lila. Just like our asshole father took all of us,” his brother explains carefully.

“No. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. Because he didn’t have our parents murdered.” Diego approaches her, staying low to the ground, hands outstretched. “Listen to me, Lila. You were born October 1, 1989, the same day as all of us.”

The rest of his siblings close in on Lila, slowly, warily. The movement sends her into a panic, and she cuts a little into your neck. You let out half of a gasp and swallow the rest of it, but it’s enough.

Five sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

“STAY BACK!”

“Five! Back off!” Diego shouts. Chest heaving and blood roaring in his ears, Five looks at him and then at your sweaty, frozen face – and against every fiber of his being, he listens and backs off, glaring venomously as his brother then turns to Lila again. “Lila? Lila, stop. Let her go.”

She turns her head from side to side, knuckles white as she keeps the knife against your throat. “No,” she chokes. “Diego, you don’t understand. They killed my parents. They took my life away from me.”

Five seethes. “For the last time, it was nothing personal –"

“And it was wrong. I know.” Diego’s eyes flit to Five’s, silently reprimanding. “You want to make them pay for what they did. But killing [Y/n]’s not gonna bring your parents back. You know that.”

“It’s not about bringing them back.”

He nods once, softly. “You’re right. It’s about justice. Honoring their memory.” Diego’s voice is gentle. “Trust me, Lila, I get it. I lost someone to the Commission too. She wasn’t family, but she was my friend, and I cared about her. She wasn’t supposed to die. She didn’t deserve to die. But she did.”

As Diego continues talking, Five keeps his guard up on the other side, watching and waiting for a contraction of a muscle, a single forewarning of violence. If another drop of your blood stains that blade, shit, he’ll kill the woman with his own two hands, Diego’s feelings be damned.

Tightening his jaw, Five shifts on his feet as he looks at you. You stare back with calm eyes – just like that night in the alley, but this time, with no signal for him to make a move.

Goddammit, they should’ve gotten you to safety by now!

“… Just think about whether taking another life would honor their memory. [Y/n] deserves a chance to start over, live a peaceful life with people she cares about. And so do you.”

Lila’s trembling. Yet, she refuses to budge. “If it weren’t for her and Five,” she whispers, “I wouldn’t need that second chance. I would have been all alone if Mum hadn’t found me that night.”

“But there’s a reason she found you. She’s using you, Lila. The Handler.”

“You’re wrong. She raised me.” Lila pauses, then asserts, “She loves me.”

“She’s dangerous,” Diego emphasizes. “And you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power. That’s why you dragged me to the Commission. Because I know what it’s like to love dangerous people.”

—

“Oh, my.” The Handler puts a hand on his shoulder, hovering behind him. “One hundred and forty-three kills on the simulation? That’s a new record. Very, very good, Five.”

Five bristles at her closeness, but he doesn’t move away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of unnerving him. “Thanks,” he says tersely.

“Tell me, Five. From what I’ve seen during your training, you’d be a lot more efficient in the field if you were a one-man team. Working alone is when you work best.”

“I’m partnering up with [Y/n].”

“And you’ve filled out the paperwork and everything, I know. I know. But I implore you to think about it logically,” the Handler tells him, leading him down the hallway. “[Y/n] has highly marked assessments, but frankly, they’re nowhere near your level.” She raises her eyebrows at him and blows out a stream of smoke. “Forgive me for assuming, but perhaps this is less about a partnership that would benefit the Commission and more about your personal … relationship.”

Five smiles thinly at her. “With all due respect, we’ve worked together for years. Almost forty years, in fact. I can assure you that our partnership will deliver more than satisfactory results.”

The woman just hums serenely, eyebrows still raised and cigarette holder between her lips as he faces her. Behind her, he sees you approaching.

“Excuse me,” he says politely.

As he sidesteps the Handler to meet you halfway, your shared employer calls out to him, voice ringing through the sparse crowd of Commission drones. “You’re a dangerous man, Five,” she drawls, “and this is a dangerous job. If you want to protect someone, we won’t stop you, but don’t let it endanger this opportunity we’ve so generously provided. To the both of you.”

“Duly noted,” Five replies over his shoulder, walking away with you. He can hear the Handler’s heels click against the floor as she goes on her way as well.

“She’s suspicious about us partnering up, isn’t she?” you ask him lowly.

He frowns. “I would be too if I were her. But we have to stay together.”

“Well.” You reach up to adjust his hat, tilting it slightly. “In any case, I’m pulling my own weight in the field. Just like in the apocalypse. No one-sided protection.”

“[Y/n], this is different from the apocalypse. We’re not dealing with food shortages or bad weather – we’re dealing with people.”

“All the more reason for you to trust me.” Despite your usual controlled tone and mien, he sees the way that your eyes glint. “I’m kinda dangerous myself, Five. Especially for the people I love, and I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Five sighs.

“You’re so sappy, you know that?”

(Nevertheless, he finds himself mumbling those four words, just loud enough for only you to hear.)

—

“Difference is …” Diego glances around at their siblings, then looks down, “they love me back.”

“Shut up.”

“The only thing she loves is power. Now, the minute she can’t use you, she will turn on you, and deep down, I know you know that.”

She tilts the knife against your neck. Five sucks in a breath, his heart pounding.

“You don’t know me, Diego.” Lila’s voice is hoarse.

Diego steps closer. He lifts a hand to cover hers over the knife.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. “I know that we can be your family. If you just let us.”

Lila’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears. Hesitantly, she turns her head to look around at his family, and in that moment, Five has a cautious inkling that Diego’s words actually got through to her. She doesn’t resist when Diego pulls her hand gently.

When she releases you, he almost feels weak with relief.

Five murmurs your name as you stagger over to him; you grab his arms, and he raises his hands to hold your face between them.

“Shit,” he breathes, “[Y/n] –”

“I’m okay,” he hears you say, but his ears are ringing and your skin is cold and shit, your neck – delicately, Five tilts your head back, and you attempt to brush his hands away. “Five, it’s – it’s just a scratch …”

His fingers brush against a wetness on your skin. You wince, almost imperceptibly. He draws back to look at his hand, and when he sees the blood on his fingertips, your blood, the wave of relief crashing onto him abruptly morphs back into rage.

Before you can pull him back, Five lunges at Lila.

Gunshots echo throughout the barn.

—

You’re smiling.

—

He wakes up, gasping for breath.

“Oh, good! You’re still alive,” the Handler says, looming over him. Her lipstick is bright red through the dizzying blurs. “Lucky you. You got to see how this all played out.”

Grappling for air, Five tries to speak – tries to give one last word, to finally tell the damned snake to fuck off as he stares into the barrel of her automatic. But it hurts to breathe and he can’t. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts. His tongue feels like lead and his throat is closed up. All he can do is look.

But before she can pull the trigger, he hears gunfire.

Bullets rend flesh that isn’t his. Five’s eyes widen, stunned; the Handler gasps sharply. She turns. More gunfire.

She falls.

Shit, that could only mean.… Five struggles to lift his head, almost blacking out from the pain as the gunman approaches, crushing straw underfoot. A shadow falls over him.

The Swede silently tilts his gun down at his face, and he realizes: they are both the last ones. Everyone else is dead. The Swede’s brothers. The Handler. Lila. His siblings. You.

This is the end.

(This doesn’t have to be the end.)

… Five blinks, numb.

(You’re the one who got us stuck here.)

Unless …

(Seconds. Not decades.)

Seconds.

His lungs burn. Hope blooms in his chest.

(C’mon, Five.)

Concentrate. Hands clenching sluggishly, Five focuses on gaining back the feeling in them. Seconds, not decades. A familiar, electric buzz thrums through his bones, warm, crackling with energy. His hands begin to glow. Blue envelops them like they had so many times before.

It happens slowly, time reversing itself like molasses oozing back into a jar. The Swede lowers his arm and retreats. Bodies begin to rise. Five feels himself getting pushed up, and his feet touch the ground; he presses forward, running, refusing to look back. The sharp pains recede to a singular ache.

Seconds.

Seconds.

He breaks through behind the barn door with a gasp. Air fills his chest, full and crisp.

Immediately, Five looks back at you and everyone else, standing and breathing, and pats himself just to make sure.

Holy shit.

Spotting movement outside, Five leaps at the Handler just as she walks in, seizing her weapon and turning it on her. His finger curls at the trigger. She raises her hands in surrender, lips pursed.

Got you, you son of a bitch.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What Five said,” he hears Lila ask. He doesn’t dare look away from her mother, meeting her poisonous glare with an equally cold one. “Answer me! Is it true?”

The Handler takes in a breath. “Well –”

Before she can finish her sentence, blood sprays out from her chest. She collapses. Dead.

The Swede. Five stares at her body, gun lowering. There’s a pregnant pause, void of any air – and then in his periphery, Lila shoots forward.

Luther charges after her. “The case!”

“No!”

Diego tackles him to the ground. Lila disappears in a flash of blue.

One dead, one missing. Neither of which are you or his siblings. There might be hope for them yet. Rolling his shoulders, Five turns his attention to the rogue assassin, cocking his gun and pointing it at him. The Swede reciprocates.

Nobody utters a word, for fear that it may be their last. But as Five feels the weight of the automatic in his arms, he wonders, suddenly, just how much he has in common with this man. A forgotten humanity. The death of their families. The force of a person with nothing to lose.

Except in the Swede’s case, he has no chance of gaining back what he had lost.

This is the end.

Five takes his finger off the trigger, then after a brief hesitation, lets go of the gun.

“Enough,” he says.

Nothing happens at first. The only sign that the man heard him is how he looks away from Five, surveying the rest of the barn’s occupants.

Five returns his gaze firmly, muscles tense, when he meets it again. The Swede regards him for another moment, then finally speaks.

“Inte mer.”

He drops his weapon. No more killing.

—

After Vanya helps the kid and calms him down, she goes with him and Sissy to help them pack up. Everyone else exits the barn as well to rest up and say their goodbyes before leaving, save for Diego, who talks to Herb and Dot with you and Five before joining the rest of the group at the house.

As soon as everything seems like it’s on track, Five brings you straight to the bathroom before you can protest.

“Five, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

In a familiar turn of events, you’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, sulking as he cleans the rest of the dried blood from your neck. Five scowls as he inspects the thin, rough scab underneath your jaw. For shit’s sake, it’s more than a ‘scratch’ – but at the very least, the cut wasn’t deep enough to cause too much bleeding.

Obviously, he’d have preferred it if you hadn’t gotten cut at all.

“She could’ve killed you.”

“I know,” you murmur. He glares at you softly, and you reach over to hold his hand. “Sorry for worrying you.”

Five scoffs, shaking his head. “Worrying me? I was damn well past worrying when she –” At that moment, he makes the mistake of seeing the guilt in your eyes, and he sighs. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You shrug quietly as he opens a large Band-Aid. “That I had to do something to keep you safe.”

“At your expense?”

Your miniscule smile changes into a grimace for a split second when he sticks the bandage on, but it returns immediately after. “You would’ve done the same thing, Five.”

All he can retort with is a displeased huff.

Silently, you stand up and turn him around, urging him to sit down this time as you pluck another hand towel from the stack that Vanya had given the two of you. Five sits still, mouth shut and eyes watching, as you start cleaning his face. Your expression is tender. A familiar feeling wells up inside of him.

Suddenly, you chuckle.

“What?”

“It’s just – if I didn’t know any better,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly grimy spot on his cheek, “I’d think that you were a schoolboy that just got into a fight and lost.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, good thing that you do know better, because I obviously would’ve won.”

“Obviously.” Your eyes glint, like they have so many times before.

—

“How bad does it hurt?”

Your hand is soft in his as he glances at his wrist, propped up on a stack of books, then into the small fire burning a few feet away. “Not that much,” he answers. “Thanks for splinting it.”

“Thanks for talking me through it.” You breathe in, head on his shoulder, testing the words on your tongue before you continue. “I was worried. I’m glad it’s feeling better.”

A wrist sprain is nothing to write home about, figuratively speaking. It’s more of an inconvenience than an actual concern; Five figures that the injury will heal in a week, a week and a half at the most. Frankly, he’s more concerned about how much longer it’ll take to complete daily tasks in the meantime.

… You, on the other hand – well, he wonders if you’ve ever gotten anything more than a few cuts and scrapes growing up. The closest he had ever seen you get to panicking was after he fell today, and you’ve been wandering around with him for years.

In a strange way, Five thinks, he was glad for it. He is glad for you. Glad for your presence, your level head. He is glad for the way you hold his hand and talk to him during the day and after dark. And he is glad, secretly, that you want to protect him just like he wants to protect you.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, rough and unbidden.

Five holds his breath when they echo in his ears. You stop tapping your fingers over his skin. Perhaps that’s a bad thing. It was not a mistake, of course, and he isn’t going to take it back, but if that wasn’t what you were saying this whole time – shit. He lets go of your hand, his throat scratchy and strangely closed up.

But then – your fingertips brush his face. He swallows.

“I love you too.”