#no right-handed person would hold their coffee mug with their left hand given a choice (again jane killed it with these observations)

[deluluass]

all yours; all mine

71 and 58 with Atsumu pleaseeese. I just love this man and I would appreciate it if you wrote something with him. Youre so talented!💕 — anon

sidenote: anon, i hope u know that u have a very special place in my heart for being the first ask ive ever received. i hope u are well & having a gr8 day ;U;

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; daddy kink; mild angst; implied post-breakup depression; toxic relationship/s

Breakups are a messy business. A lot of crying, begging, screaming (if it's that type of a breakup). Whatever it is, breakups generally inspire intense— so-intense-it-could-get-you-kicked-out-if-you're-in-a-public-place, high-strung, and the most unpleasant kind of emotions. 

It’s understandable, considering you’re losing the person you love. 

But he doesn't even look upset.

"Aah," Atsumu sing-songed, twirling the plastic stirrer between his fingers. "Ya wanna call it off?"

The heat from the mug bit your skin as you gripped it. 

"What?" you choked, shaking your head. "I didn't say that, Atsumu. I only-"

He scoffed. "Fuckin'- ya just did."

You finally looked up at him, porcelain clinking as you placed your drink back on the saucer. Ball cap on,  muscles filling up and straining his hoodie and jeans; even in an outfit that almost concealed him he never fails to take your breath away. 

Only, it's for a different reason this time.

"I said that I-" you cleared your throat. "I want- I want you to-"

"I get it, I get it." Atsumu sighed, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Let's break up, then."

He was already standing up and he didn't even deign to meet your eyes. You didn't expect much when you'd travelled all the way to Tokyo just to have a talk with him. After all, the last conversation you had was over the phone. (And that, too, did not go well). 

Though, is it too much to expect he'd at least listen to what you have to say?

"Tsumu-kun! Wait!" 

Some customers were already staring, urging you to hide, hop on the next train, and run back home; away from the cold scrutiny of strangers. 

But not now. Not when what you have with him is hanging on a balance.

"Please, sit down and- and let's talk," you huffed, voice and hand trembling as you held onto his.

Breakups are a messy business, you heard.

A lot of crying. A lot of begging. A lot of screaming. Whichever kind it is, don't breakups usually inspire only the most intense emotions?

But he doesn't even look upset, doesn't even look like he feels anything other than a passing irritation, as if you were a fly buzzing in his ear, when he told you, "I know this is ya first rodeo, but yer gonna find someone new eventually, hm?"

It's been a long time coming, Atsumu thinks. He'd known for quite a while now that his relationship with you would end, actually, ever since you'd wanted to include "feelings" and "trust" and "opening up" into the mix. 

"Why?" he'd laughed at your face once. "What? Ya ain't happy? That it? We got somethin' good goin' on don't we?"

He didn't get it, at first. You'd always been your cheerful, bubbly self; never failing to be that one sunny spot when his day gets too pesky and such a pain in the ass. You were happy.

Until you weren't. 

"You don't.. tell me things," you muttered, fiddling with your hands on the kitchen table. "Which is fine! I'm not- go at your pace, but- but know that I'd listen to you. Always. I'm here, 'Tsumu."

And it wasn't as if he didn't try. It's just that Atsumu realized, a few months later, that he wasn't any good at it. 

Every time he'd lay it all out in front of you⁠— every tiny and pathetic and gritty part of him, you would eventually take him in your arms. So much smaller, weaker than his and yet Atsumu did not mind if it could be his entire world. 

Then, a thought would creep in, like a thief that'd stab him in his sleep. In the safety of those tender arms, with those guileless eyes peering at him, Atsumu would think that he'd rather stay there forever, cling onto you until he bites the dust.  

It disgusted him. 

Atsumu couldn't stand it. Because if he could be anything in this short life, he'd choose to be perfect. And that- that wasn't it. 

So he avoided it when the occasion arose. Diverting the subject to mundane stuff was easy, at first. The weather, the new show you're binging, your slacker of a boss, what happened back in the game. When that didn't work⁠— well, there were other ways. 

(His favorite was sticking his tongue in your wet cunt, to prod at the soft walls with the tip, and to lap and suck at the clit until you're begging for the stretch of his fat cock.)

The break up was understandable. When you'd greeted him in the café as if you'd spent the entire time you were apart crying, Atsumu knew it was over. 

You just repeated what you'd always said. It's okay to be vulnerable. If he needs some time to work out the right words then you'd always wait because I love you, 'Tsumu. 

(But there was that feeling again. Like he could die on the spot if you would so much as leave his sight.)

(Ending it was the only way out. When poison seeps itself into the bloodstream, you're left with no choice but to cut off a part of you.)

Unlike others, he can say that it was a clean parting. You wanted something and he was bad at it. And because he hated fucking up, Atsumu decided to leave. Easy. 

Really, the only people who didn't understand were his teammates.

"That's strange," Hinata spat, rice bursting to his chin when he suddenly faced Atsumu. "I don't think I've seen her for weeks now."

He could hear barely suppressed groans  behind him, no doubt from Bokuto and the others, before their spiker blurted out a confused, "What?"

Because, of course, Hinata could only mean one "her.” (There had only ever been one that Atsumu Miya allowed inside the team's gymnasium; inside his circle of friends; inside his life.)

Apparently, except for Hinata Shoyo, everyone had caught on that the both of you had thrown in the towel, so to speak. (And here they thought the guy's finally in it for real.)

"Nah, it's fine," Atsumu smirked, addressing it to everyone gathered around Samu's onigiri stand.  

"We broke up." 

He clicked his tongue. "It's not like there ain't no other fish in the sea."

The remark, casually said in between sips of cold coffee, was met with a gaping silence. 

That turned out to be right, like everything else that he'd predicted. 

A hole is a hole is a hole is a hole. No disrespect meant to you. But before you there had been many others who'd helped warm his bed. It just so happened that you got to stay for far longer. 

(Because waking up next to you meant waking up to that dreamy look, as if whoever's in charge up there has finally given you everything you've ever wanted.)

(And when he greets you with a hoarse good morning you say it back with eyes that tell him he's worth it, simply for being there.)

Anyway, going back to that old routine hadn't been difficult. 

(Except when he finally does it with someone new, for some reason he keeps searching for a different touch, expecting that endearing combination of inexperience and enthusiasm.)

(And when they cum he can't help but put a hand on their mouth, around their throat, because he's hearing the wrong voice, seeing the wrong face.) 

It's obvious, looking at him. Everyone can see that life's going pretty well for Atsumu. He can only hope that the same goes for you.

"You're miserable."

Peeling your attention away from the mother braiding her young daughter's hair, you hurriedly brought it back to the two women sitting in front of you.

"See?" Aya swung her hand in your direction. "Not even listening."

"No, no," you giggled sheepishly. Kaori was already pursing her lips.

"No, seriously. I am."

You sat upright, setting the chopsticks on your bento box. 

"Then what was it she said?" Kaori pressed. She folded her arms and you knew you were in trouble. 

"Uh..huh." You nodded. "Right. So. Um...."

"You didn't catch it," said Kaori.

"I didn't catch it," you winced.

Both girls sighed. 

The first three buttons of their blouses were open, the heat of the afternoon getting to them. And as they leaned back against the wooden bench, you had a feeling that they were about to give you the Conversation that's been waiting to happen for two long months.

That's why you'd decided to start it before they could. Just so it won't linger anymore painfully so.

“I know what you're going to say."

They only raised their brows, a mere "okay, go on" than an actual expression of surprise. 

"I've been sad. I haven't been..fine. That is true," you inhaled, preparing yourself for the agonizing part. Then, you released your breath.

"Ever since..'Tsu-" you gulped. "Ever since breaking up with Atsumu I haven't been feeling like myself but nowadays I'm getting back on my feet and I'm still working see so really there's no need to worry okay? Okay."

Aya grinned, but it didn't hold her usual devil-may-care humor to it. 

"You say that," she started, "but we’ll probably always be if you keep at that- at that⁠—"

"You're rarely in the moment," Kaori supplied, to which Aya replied with a harsh thank you. "You're distracted. And we know you're trying your best to be okay on your own. We've given you space, but remember that you have us."

Something was lodged in your chest and you found it hard to breathe. You'd missed them. You hadn't realized it, but you missed your friends. 

So much.

"Thank you," you whispered, forcing back  tears. "I- I wouldn't know what to do if it not for you two-"

"Hold it." Aya raised a palm. "Before you get corny again. Can I just say, I know he's your first dick-"

"Aya," Kaori murmured.

"And we all know it was good-"

"Aya," you hissed.

Your face burned as you searched from left to right, making sure no innocent being heard her.

"But can I just say," she slapped a palm on the surface of the table. "I don't care what you or the TV or his fans say about him! But the man's a walking red flag since day one!"

Kaori rolled her eyes. And despite yourself you couldn't keep a chuckle from bubbling. 

"Here we go again."

Aya almost rose from her seat. "When he sent that poor dude from accounting to the ER for just, I don't know, breathing your way, I knew something was up!"

You felt your smile die. 

That had been the first time it happened. You'd asked him what's wrong, after you'd rushed to the hospital, and all he gave you was silence. A whole day of it. He hadn't spoken a word about it, only that he'd warned you not to talk to that bastard again, or else.

(You'd learned, much, much later, that he doesn't do well with people that annoy him. That's what he said. You wanted to know more, but he suddenly decided that he had to make it up to you between the sheets.)

Kaori touched your hand. "Talk to us," she whispered.

You hummed as you shook your head. "I just remembered him," you said, only half of the truth.

If they knew it, they didn't let on. But Aya did say, "Tell you what. Company outing's upon us. So you know what that means?"

"Oh, I don't know," you mumbled apologetically. "I might sit this one out."

"No," Kaori gritted. 

Aya held your face with both hands as she  stared you down.

"You will buy yourself a new swimsuit. You will enjoy that cheap beach resort." 

The heaviness was lifting, bit by bit, as you felt your stomach ache with laughter. And with each silly word uttered by your friends, you could almost see the gray clouds overhead disappearing. Even for a little while.

"And you, you beautiful person you," Aya beamed. "Will finally, finally get laid."

Having best friends who are dead set on helping you get over an ex is a fearsome thing to behold, indeed. 

You couldn't even get a word in edgewise as they took you in a whirlwind of spas, salons, mani-pedis, and shopping bags. 

"Calm down. You rarely spend for yourself," Kaori told you when she'd caught you peeking forlornly at the frightening bill you'd amassed. 

But, try as you might to miss owning a fat wallet, you couldn't deny that you have no regrets wasting your money away. Not even for a single cent. Because you did feel amazing.

And when the day arrived, you couldn't help at the giddiness of having compliment after compliment thrown your way. 

"Is that really you?" said a co-worker when you'd boarded the bus. "You're glowing!"

During the games, as well, you'd often hear "Love the new look!" and "Have I ever told you before that you're so pretty? Because you are." And you'd preen with a soft-spoken thank you, having been taught by Kaori that denying a compliment makes one look stupid.  

It was so silly, honestly. Though not the part where, after a lovely comment, you'd be emboldened to strike an actual conversation. Learning that a coworker has a new baby now, or that so and so has recently moved up the corporate ladder; learning that, during your period of grief and self-pity (and even during the blissful time you’d spent with Atsumu), there were so many things you hadn't noticed.

You basked in it: the shower of pleasantries and anecdotes that had you feeling soft and fuzzy inside. The same way you lazed on the sandbar, clutching tiny conch shells in your hand, as you watched the sun tinge the sparkling waves with warm light.   

"Hey."

You jolted, turning towards the person who'd called your name. It was him. "Poor dude from accounting" as Aya dubbed him.

"Sano-san," you gasped, reaching for the towel beside you to cover up. "How- how are you?" 

Of all the people in your office, he was the last one you wanted to see. Solely for the reason that things have been awkward between you ever since that incident. A working relationship characterized by the literal turning of the other cheek whenever you two bumped into each other.

"Oh, pardon me," he scratched the back of his head. "Do you..want me to go?"

Yes. 

"No..!" you blurted out. "I think-"

The sun was almost setting. You wrapped the towel around you as you took in the balmy sea breeze. 

"I think I'm done hiding," you whispered, meeting his gaze for the first time in a long while, head on and baring the tiniest hint of shame, like how you did with your friends and other coworkers.

He didn't say anything, allowing you to continue. "I- It's nice. Talking to people again," you giggled. "Look, Sano-san. About before, I'm really sor-"

"Actually," he smiled. "That's why I'm here. Well, my partner pushed me but-"

You grinned at the blush that rose to his cheeks. 

"But I wanted to tell you: No hard feelings."

Sano-san extended a hand. You stared at it for a few seconds. His hand, then his face. Back to his hand, then his face again. And when you'd finally accepted it, it felt like witnessing the cage that’s imprisoned you for centuries finally open.

"By the way," he added, walking back towards an obviously amused fianceé. "It's a good look on you, being happy."

Atsumu entertained the possibility that maybe— just maybe, not everything was  fine the night the Jackals went home after an overseas tournament.

As soon as the plane landed on Japanese soil, the hunger he felt throughout the journey morphed into some kind of  anticipation, palpable through the thrill that electrified him into wakefulness. He might have left in a hurry, only half of his mind present when the Coach ordered for a short meeting. 

His foot tapped endlessly on the way⁠— while in the car; during the tedious elevator ride⁠— and when he'd finally entered his pad, slamming the door open with much eagerness than usual, Atsumu felt his heart plummet down his stomach when he was welcomed by a dark and empty hallway. 

You're not here. Not anymore.

Hasn't it been almost half a year now? Why did he expect you, face brightened by a grin that went from ear to ear, to materialize in front of him, with the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen? As if a magician with a hat trick.   

("Welcome back!" he was aching to hear.)

(You always insisted on eating with him when he got home; sometimes opting to just stay by his side⁠— munching on a midnight snack while you babbled on, if he arrived later than usual and you'd already had dinner.)

("It's lonely having a meal on your own," you explained. "Don't you think food tastes better if you have someone with you?")

Perhaps it was the jet lag. Or, it could be that the abrupt change in time zones was starting to mess with his head. Either way, Atsumu was sure that sleep would eventually cure him of the momentary delirium. 

But then he woke up the next day feeling like someone had pissed in his morning drink. The day after that, too. Even the next had been the same, persisting onto the following weeks. 

Until one game, after a winning streak that had the crowd chanting their names and with blood still roaring in his veins, he condescended to survey the numerous people occupying the bleachers. 

And when he couldn't find one⁠— one person that had always stood out to him despite being constantly drowned in an ocean of spectators— it was only then that Atsumu Miya decided that enough was enough. 

You hadn't really agreed with Aya when she told you that you'd be getting "laid" during this short vacation. 

Reason number one: it's a company outing. And you're sure you'd be breaking some protocols by fooling around with any of your coworkers. Reason Two: as you'd sagely imparted to a miffed Aya, "I don't think it's nice to cure a broken heart with sex; strings attached or no."

That being said, the lingerie she'd chosen for you did flatter your figure. It didn't matter that "no one would see it," as Aya grumbled. It was enough for you that you yourself saw it, you thought as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror. 

The way it was tailored made it seem like it was made just for your body. The details of lace also made it look so pretty that you felt kind of sad that you'd have to cover it up with a summer dress soon. 

Nevertheless, you allowed yourself to strike a few poses in front of the mirror; feeling like a teenager on their first date as you admired how you looked in it. 

You smiled to yourself, humming a tune, before you opened your makeup kit and prepared the necessities you'd be bringing for the bonfire dinner. 

"Wipes: check," you murmured, rummaging through your bag. "Hygiene stuff. Where are you hygiene stuff, hygiene stu⁠—"

You froze.

Something rustled. Outside. As if something had moved. 

Putting a robe back on, your heart thundered against your chest as you stepped out of the bathroom and into the dimly lit sleeping area, illuminated only by a small reading lamp.

"Be careful there, girlie," the old caretaker warned as she guided you to this room. "Lots of mean spirits lurking about."

You didn't believe in ghosts. For some reason, however, your coworkers did. So you'd taken it to yourself to move here after a room assignment mishap, leaving Aya and Kaori behind. 

It didn't seem like the cursed chamber that she purported to be. Sure, it was isolated at the furthest wing of the beach house, away from the other rooms and separated by a too dark hallway. But that had been the creepiest thing about it. Besides, you heard from logistics that renting the house didn't cost much, despite its size, so maybe it's just that they lacked the resources to renovate. 

The floorboards creaked beneath you. "Aya? Aya, I know it's you," you called out as you squinted, catching a faint silhouette reclined at the corner of the bed. 

It was too large to be Aya, but you chalked that up to the shadows playing with your eyes. You puffed out a chortle, resting a hand on your hips when she finally stood.   

"Very funny, Aya," you snorted when she sauntered towards you. "Just you wait until Kaori hears about.…" you trailed off.

"......this."

You drew in a breath as she moved closer, revealing a build that was much taller, towering almost in the small room, shoulders that are way broader than the ones your friend has, and a face that clearly wasn't Aya's.

"Evenin'," Atsumu yawned. 

Your legs refused to listen to you.

"Been a minute, hadn't it, darlin'?"

You don't know why he's here. 

And even if you wanted to ask, you find that no sound could escape from your mouth when you tried to open it.

You do know this, as he gave you a lopsided grin that used to have you eating at the palm of his hand, along with a lazy gaze that was belied by a bird-like focus:

That although he told you that all he wants is a little chat, you knew that he didn't come here just for that.

You ran.

Atsumu had been the worst boyfriend.

He's aware of it now, realized it fully when he knocked on Samu's door, shit-faced, and it only took a single look and a consoling arm from his brother to break Atsumu into tears and snot, as well as Samu's voice telling him, "Yer a big baby. Ya need her, dontcha?"

That's why he followed you here, figuring that you'd love a thoughtful surprise. Because you always have. He didn't expect you'd take to it kindly, of course, not right away. But he also didn't expect that you would be doing the surprising.

You were talking to that man when he arrived. 

Didn't he tell you not to?

His intentions still haven't changed. He's here to bring you back, but before anything else Atsumu's sure it's only normal that you guys clear things up first. 

And if you're going to do that, he can't have you running away now, can't he?

Grabbing you by the waist, Atsumu's palm tingled at the feel of your body, pulling you closer to him as he pinned you to the wall and stifled your shrieks with his hand.

"Everybody's gone, angel," he whispered, losing himself in your skin, though covered in silk; lips and fingers roaming every which way because finally, finally, fuckin' finally you're here and you're real.

"Just wanna talk." He stroked the curve of your ass, middle finger tracing the lining of the crack. "Ain't this what'ya always wanted? S'let's talk," he murmured against your collarbone.

You were already crying, shaky hands weakly grasping his back and tears wetting even his cheeks. Atsumu couldn't help but smile. You'd always been a crier. It's one of the many things he loves about you. Always so honest with your emotions.

"I missed ya," Atsumu groaned as he grinded his cock against your pussy, feeling it harden when he mouthed your tits.

There was something peeking out of your robe, he noticed as it became more rumpled. 

"D-don't," you breathed, your attempt to swat his hands away thwarted when he seized your wrist.

It was lace. The color pulling the eye to your body like a siren's song. And when he stripped the robe off of you, silk swishing down your elbows, Atsumu saw that it was a piece of lingerie. One that he hasn't seen before.

Because he didn't buy this one. It wasn't from him. You weren't the type to get one yourself. 

Until now.

"This for him?" he murmured, pressing a kiss against your pulse, beating like a drum against his lips. 

"Wh-who?" you whimpered.

"The ugly piece of shit. Saw you guys gettin' chummy earlier."

He was close, too close to you, back at the beach. You smiled at him, laughed and showed him what he isn't supposed to see. And when he touched you— when the fucker touched you, Atsumu wanted blood on his hands.

"Yer gonna fuck the guy whose face I busted?" 

You squeaked as he dug his blunt nails against your wrist. Atsumu licked the red impressions they made.

"And what- what about it?" Your voice was so brittle and small. God, he just wanted to hold you. "It's none of your business, who I spend my time with. And don't- don't tell me you're jealous because-"

He chuckled, the sound of it making you shrink back into the wall. "Jealous? Doll, ya wouldn't wanna know what I'm feelin right now. But, sure." Atsumu lightly nipped at the tips of your fingers. 

"'Course I'm jealous," he rasped. "You're mine."

Then, Atsumu looked at you. And what he saw in your eyes made him stumble that when you shoved him away, all he could do was stand and stare.

"I'm not your thing, Atsumu," you cried. A light-year difference from the girl who'd always stare at him so tenderly. "I never was and I never will be. I'm not yours."

You didn't run this time. You should've. 

Atsumu clenched his jaw. "Like hell ya ain't," he snarled.

People say that breakups are a messy business. Atsumu was so sure he wouldn't have to endure that, before he met you.  Now that he's had the experience, though, Atsumu can say with confidence that breakups are, in fact, a goddamn mess.

But you're over that now. It's time to turn over a new leaf and return to one another. And Atsumu's finding out, in the process, that making up can be astonishingly reminiscent of the breakup.

You started crying when you woke up, screaming for help as you tried to budge the rope that was tying your hands to your knees. You got louder when you found out that you were naked and not in the rickety confines of the beach house. 

"Welcome home, baby," he beamed, eying you from between your legs. 

The begging started when you realized how drenched your little pussy was, his tongue lapping and slathering the cum dripping from your twitching hole, against  your swollen folds; his calloused thumb massaging deep circles on your clit. 

And when he stuck another inside your puckered asshole, you writhed out of your binds and squealed, "T-tsumu-kun…!"

Fuck. 

"Babydoll," he growled. "Daddy's gotcha, daddy's gonna treat ya so fuckin' good."

He slapped your damp cunt with his long fingers, thrusting them inside to rub and feel at your walls, at the bump that never failed to make you screech. "Daddy's been mean hasn't he? Hm? Been a bad daddy to ya, baby?"

You could only gasp out wordlessly as he slurped the juices off your clit, not stopping until you were gushing, sloppy cum drizzling on the bedsheet, every muscle in spasms, incapable of even stretching out your legs although Atsumu knew you wanted to, you really wanted to so fuckin' bad, resorting to curling your toes instead. 

"E-enough, please, please, stop!"

How adorable, Atsumu thought. "My little slut," he cooed, tapping the tip of his hard cock on your pussy. "My good 'lil fucktoy."

He relished it, wanting to draw this on forever, so he slides it against your folds, pussy lips wrapping the meat of his cock, gyrating his hips back and forth, as if he were fucking you, and grabbing your tits to play with your nipples. 

"Atta girl," he laughed, licking his teeth when he finally sunk inside your tight cunt, pushing you so far down into the mattress until his chest was rubbing against your tits, your feet dangling against his shoulders.

"I don't-I don't want this, 'Tsumu," you sobbed. "Don't want this!"

Oh, of course you don't. Atsumu knows you don't. He'd fucked you against your will, after all. 

But you were taking him so well, darlin'. Your walls were hugging his cock so fuckin' nicely that he couldn't help but shove deeper inside you, craving for the way your pussy twitched rapidly around him. 

If you weren't bound, he's also sure that you'd be pushing his hips away. But that's not what's getting to him. Because as he pistoned his cock into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass, you instantly turned your face away.

Did you know that you were breaking his heart? Shattering it to pieces, when you close your eyes like doors, locking them to prevent him from ever reaching you again. 

So he gripped your chin. Forced you to meet his eyes as you wept and shook your head. 

"Am gonna be better, baby," he groaned.  "No more keeping things from ya. None of that bullshit, now."

Atsumu shivered as you came around him, convulsing under him and strained voice still begging him to stop. Because he wasn't. He would never stop. Not when it comes to you. 

"Am all yours, angel. All yours." He pounded your fucked out cunt, chasing his own high as he kneaded your tits. 

A tear fell from your eyelids. And when he kissed you, it felt like everything in his life shifted back in its rightful place. "You can have it all," he sighed, cupping your cheek.

"So give me all of you now," Atsumu pleaded. "Come back to me."

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Fake dating Drabble No. 5

Today with Dave York and 2k (🤡) of being undercover married to him (F) because the neighbors are leaders of a terrorist organization. The leader get a little too handsy at the dinner you had been invited to and Dave does sell the jealous husband very, very well.  Steph’s fake dating Drabble week

Warnings: cursing, inappropriate touching, masturbation, implied sexual content

It wasn’t like you had a choice when the CIA decided that you had to go undercover. It wasn’t the first time and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. But three months in, without having anyone to talk to except your partner, or the neighbors who most likely were the most dangerous people you had ever encountered, it was starting to frustrate you that there was no new information you could provide. But tonight the neighbors had invited you and your partner over for dinner.

Oh yes. You also had to pretend to be married to Dave York, who was your partner for this mission. It didn’t help that you were spending all your time with a man that always seemed to be plotting murder whenever you caught him starring looking at you. These last months were hard. You weren’t used to living with someone, let alone pretending to be in love as soon as you left the walls of the CIA proofed house you were living in with him.

Dave York was a mystery not only to you, but to everyone at the CIA. You always felt a little uncomfortable every time he looked at you and you couldn’t place why. He was nothing but polite towards everyone, but there was something dark surrounding him. Like he knew more than everyone around him. Like he knew all the dirty secrets. Your dirty secrets.

But it also had it’s advantages living with someone. It was nice waking up to the smell of coffee, a mug waiting for you on the counter just as you liked it, while Dave was checking his mails on his laptop. Part of your undercover identity was being the devoted housewife while Dave played the role of the husband who worked as an accountant from home.

You knew he had been married before, but somehow you never felt comfortable to ask him any personal questions. He never asked you either. Every other day you found yourself sitting next to him on the sofa after dinner, his arm on the couch behind you, without touching you, while you watched some netflix together. So people who walked by your house could see that you were a perfectly normal married couple.

He always let you decide what to watch.

“What do you want to watch?” you had asked one evening.

“I don’t really care. I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“Really? And here I thought you were a couch potato,” you had a glass of wine on that evening and you could have sworn you saw him hide a smile before you started a new episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

“You ready?” he asked through your closed bedroom door. You were occupying the master bedroom, while he slept in the guest room. You decided on a yellow summer dress for the dinner at your neighbors. You felt a little naked with your exposed shoulders and legs, but it was a hot day and it would make zero sense to be wearing something you could sneak your gun in. You knew Dave would be carrying a gun, he always did. And you had no choice but to trust him. Not that he had given you any indication as to not trust him.

You took one last look in the mirror before you walked towards the door and opened it. Dave looked at you, his eyes taking you in for a second before there was this twitch at his lips again. A small smile and this time you were sure of it and you had no idea how to feel about it.

“Come on, we gonna be late,” he said quietly.

He took your hand as soon as he locked the front door, a bottle of wine in his arm.

“If we’re lucky we are finally going to get some intel tonight. These fuckers are a suspicious bunch,” he said as he leaned closer to whisper. You nodded.

“I would be suspicious too if I was running a terrorist organisation from a suburban neighborhood.”

“True,” he chuckled, “You make sure to stay in sight. We don’t know what kind of people these are and I want you to be safe.”

“Aww are you worried about me, hubby?” you teased.

“No. I’m worried about them. I have no doubt that you could take them out if you want to.”

“Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment, Dave,”

“It was, just… Don’t try to be the hero. We knew this would be a longer mission and if we’re lucky tonight might finally be the start of getting things going.”

“I know,” you squeezed his hand and breathed in deep.

“Ready?” he asked. You nodded, plastering a fake smile on your lips as he knocked on the door.

Dave really could play the perfect husband. He even remembered what you were allergic to, making sure that no trace of parsley could be found on your plate. At one point he excused himself to the bathroom, giving your leg a squeeze. His hand had been placed on your knee as soon as you had sat down at the dinner table and it almost seemed like he needed some kind of connection to ground himself. You spend enough time with him to know that he was on edge ever since he came back from smoking with the man you knew to be the leader of this whole organisation you were here to get more information from.

His hand went up to your shoulder when he got up and to your surprise he leaned down to kiss your temple before he left the room. You were so surprised by this gesture you almost jumped when you felt someone sit down next to you.

“So… How long have you been married?” he asked. You looked at him, Bill, the man who was responsible for thousands of deaths. You smiled, remembering the story the CIA had manufactured for you.

“Second anniversary is coming up.”

“How did the two of you meet?” he asked and you felt his eyes growing cold. You were now being interrogated.

“That’s a silly story,” you laughed, shaking your head in played embarrassment. Bill only looked at you, waiting for your answer.

“Well we went to College together. We never really had much in common. He’s into numbers, I’m more creative. After college we went our separate ways but years after I needed an accountant for my business and his name popped up.”

“What kind of business?” he asked.

“I used to own a flower shop back in DC. I sold it once Dave got the job offer here.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Not really. Where he goes, I go. And I’m actually looking into opening a new one. Just looked at some properties last week.”

“That’s nice. If you need any help just say the word. I have connections in this city,” Bill nodded, getting closer. It took everything in you not to flinch as his hand came down on your thigh. Much higher than it was appropriate. You gulped.

“I mean it, if you need anything, just say the word,” he was so close now you could feel his nose on your cheek. Closing your eyes you thought about all the ways you could break his wrists within the next 15 minutes when you heard Dave call for you as he walked back into the room.

“Everything okay?” he asked. Bill only looked up at him, giving him a smirk, before he squeezed your leg and let go of you.

“Everything’s fine. We’re just getting to know each other, isn’t that right?” he asked. You nodded with a smile that hopefully didn’t look too pained.

“Great. Well I hate to cut this short, but we got an early morning,” Dave’s hand was on your shoulder and you turned your head to look up at him, your hand coming down on top of his.

“Oh, well. It was nice getting to know you,” Bill said. You got up from your seat and Dave’s arm sneaked around your waist immediately, bringing you closer to him and you let your head fall against his shoulder.

“Likewise,” Dave said, following Bill to the door.

“You’re a beautiful couple. Let’s do this again,” Bill said, his eyes lingering on you. You only nodded, thanking him before you let Dave lead you down the Driveway.

“Are you okay?” he whispered. You only nodded.

“If you would have come into the room 10 seconds later I would have blown our cover. Fuck he’s a creep.”

“He also is involved in way more shit than we originally thought,” he reached into the pocket of his pants, showing you a USB Flash Drive.

“What did you find?” you asked. He shook his head, looking over his shoulder.

“Not here,” he whispered. His arm around you tightened.

“He’s still watching?” you asked. He nodded. “Kiss me,” you whispered. Dave stopped walking and looked at you.

“You just saw someone touching your wife… I think we need to sell this better, I could feel him watching us all night.”

He breathed in deep, closing his eyes before they opened and he pushed you against the tree you just passed.

You couldn’t even take a breath before his lips crashed down on yours, his hand on the back of your hand, so he didn’t hurt you. He towered over you, his body pressed against your and you tried to suppress the moan at the feeling of his lips against yours but failed miserably. He used your surprise to dive his tongue into your mouth and your arms flew up to hold on to him.

“Dave…” you sighed.

“I’m right now playing a very, very fucking jealous husband sweetheart…” he groaned.

“Fuck…” you let your head fall back as his lip wandered down your neck. You felt his thigh between your legs.

“Is he still looking?” he asked, rubbing his thigh over your core.  You looked over his shoulder, seeing no one standing outside.

“No…” you gasped, rolling your hips. Fuck you were wet. He kissed you again, before he whispered against your lips.

“Good, then let’s go home.”

You were more than confused. As soon as you were back in the house, Dave let go of you and went to his room with a mumbled “Good night.”

You on the other hand were still trying to get your brain to slow the fuck down. You were undercover. This was all just an act. Right? Dave York was the best agent around and he knew what he was doing. You had to get your libido under control just because he kissed you once. Groaning to yourself you stripped off your clothes to take a shower. Which should only have taken a couple of minutes, but you just couldn’t stop thinking about Dave. How his lips felt, how his hands felt, how it would feel if he would push you against the wall and fuck you senseless.

“Fuuuck…” you moaned quietly, touching yourself, growing frustrated when you just couldn’t make yourself cum, knowing he was just down the hallway. Shaking your head you got out of the shower, drying yourself off, not bothering to change into your pajamas. You needed to cum. Getting out your vibrator your sighed, wondering how big Dave was when you opened the door and found the man in question sitting on your bed, looking at you with hungry eyes, asking:

“Need any help with that?”

[sambvcks]

redefined, b.b. x reader

summary: just because those ten words no longer wreak havoc on his mind does not mean they are gone. just redefined.

warnings: mentions of food, blood, gunshot wound

word count: 3.7k....whoops

author’s note: first standalone! i’m also itching to work on a sam story next. the last episode still lives in my mind rent free and this is a reworking of that which diverges from civil war and we get one big happy avenging family that aren’t dead :)

[ read on ao3 | masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

Longing

An Avenger.

The concept was still so foreign to Bucky, despite dozens of successful missions under his belt and a permanent residence in the tower. Still, every morning he sprung up in bed expecting to still be in some run-down apartment halfway across the world, on the run.

Instead, he would awake on a plush mattress that offered little back support. He would shuck on the first shirt his bleary eyes could see and pad into the hallway, the smell of fresh coffee overtaking his superhuman sense of smell. You would be perched at the kitchen counter, pouring over mission files stained with coffee rings that Tony would later complain about.

Steve and Sam would have already come through on their way to their morning run, the coffee pot running dangerously low. You’d already placed his favorite mug nearby, two packets of sugar emptied into the bottom. A routine.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever have a routine again.

His hand would press against your shoulder in a familiar greeting as he passed, you’d grin up at him with sleepy eyes and a lazy smile before returning to your work. Your cereal sat forgotten beside you, the overly sweetened kid’s choice growing soggy.

It was a silent and comfortable interaction. Neither worked to fill the quiet or felt the need to. Even with Steve, there was always talking and planning and ‘what about this’. With you, it was so natural to just exist how he was in that moment. No excuses, no whispered apologies.

He pushed his back against the sink as he sipped at his coffee, eyes immediately settling on your distracted figure. Your pajamas were wrinkled, mouth formed into a perfect concentrated from as you hunched uncomfortably, hand scribbling furiously. He swallowed and decided you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen, especially with your coffee breath and fingernails chewed to nubs.

He wanted so desperately to move across the kitchen and press himself perfectly against you, to push aside your paperwork and demand your sole attention. His hand clenched into a fist as he longed to feel your soft, round cheeks in his hands, how warm you would feel against the cool metal of his left and how you’d nuzzle closer still.

He hadn’t heard the dragging footsteps of Steve and Sam returning from their run and didn’t even notice them until they were settled at the doorway, watching him watch you.

“Morning.” Steve grinned, all knowing. Bucky cleared his throat and refocused on his mug.

“Morning.” Bucky replied with a look that said ‘don’t say anything’.

Rusted

Bucky learned that if you weren’t cooped up in your room or camped out on the kitchen island, you were tucked away in Tony’s garage. On slow days where it seemed everyone was off in their own little world, Bucky would know to find you under the hood of one of Tony’s vintage cars, each kept in pristine condition, but you claimed that ‘there’s always something to work on’.

Bucky was never a car guy. His family was too poor to even think of ever owning his own car. He didn’t even have his own license and technically couldn’t legally ride his bike either. He found out quickly that being an Avenger meant the term legal could be bent a bit. So, he wasn’t a car guy. But the sight of you with streaks of grease across your face and your raggedy workshop clothes would have him buying one just to see you work on it.

You were notoriously protective of your little hideaway, the music loud and the sound of metal ringing as you fixed and fiddled with every little thing. Steve nearly got a wrench to the face when he tried to distract you from Tony’s antique Chevy.

Bucky was different, though. He was always different.

He would sit himself on a tall stool positioned next to one of Tony’s many rolling tool chests. You’d call out a tool and he’d rifle through the collection until he found what he thought was the right one and only slightly tease him when he’d emerge with the wrong one. Typically, you’d spend these afternoons in silence, the thumping of the heavy base of whatever crazy metal album you picked the only soundtrack to your work.

Sometimes, though, you’d play gentle rock music. Bucky would ask questions on what you were doing, how you learned to do all of this, why you did it when Tony worked on these cars enough for the both of you.

You’d fish your rag from your pocket, concentrating on scrubbing the grease from under your fingernails as you answered.

“I like using my hands. I like fixing things. For every car that Tony has in this garage, there are hundreds just like it sitting in junkyards gathering cobwebs and rust.” You looked up at him from under eyelashes and Bucky knew you were speaking about much more than just hunks of metal. “They’re worthy of love and care.”

You were talking about him, too.

Seventeen

Bucky didn’t think this superhero business would have so many parties. There seemed to be a celebration for everything. Galas, fundraisers, full on parades whenever Tony happened to wake up in a good mood.

At least this one is a holiday, he thought to himself as he nursed his third beer of the hour. Not that it did anything other than keep his hands occupied.

The year was coming to a close, and the top floor of the Avengers Tower was decked in golden confetti and banners to ensure no one forgot. The music was obnoxiously loud, and the lyrics made little sense, but everyone seemed to be having a good time mingling and even venturing to the dance floor.

No matter how many times Sam tried to drag him in with an invisible rope, Bucky was not going to dance. Well. Maybe he would if you asked.

The party had been in full swing for hours now, with only ten minutes until the ball a few blocks up finally dropped and he could sneak away to his room without a teasing ‘bedtime already, old timer?’ from Nat.

Still, the party raged on and he eyed the glass door to the balcony. He downed the last of his beer, brushing past enthusiastic partygoers with his shoulders hunched forward in some attempt to minimize the space he took up in the room that only seemed to be getting smaller. He caught Steve’s eye on the way out and plastered on a smile in response to his disappointed look.

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as soon as the glass door slid closed behind him. His eyes closed as he leaned back against it, the chill of the December New York air blew his hair in every direction.

“Fancy meeting you here.” You were sat in the far corner, so well hidden he hadn’t even noticed you, though he had been on the lookout for you all night. “Tired of the festivities?”

“And Tony’s music.” He grumbled as he fell into the seat beside you.

“Been waiting for you for the past thirty minutes. Honestly, you made it a lot longer than I could’ve in there.”

You were waiting for him. You wanted him to be there, with you, tucked away from everyone else’s prying eyes. He wanted that, too. Sometimes he wanted it so much it scared him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, doll. It’s not polite for a gentleman to make a girl wait.”

“Hmm, I think I’ll find it in myself to forgive you.” Your shoulder pressed against his, eyes focused on the smattering of buildings surrounding you. Identical parties were happening in each of them, you were sure. “Can you believe another year is gone?”

“I can’t believe I’m about to make it to 2017 and my back hasn’t given out yet.”

You laughed, loud and unabashedly in a way only Bucky could make you laugh. Head thrown back and eyes glittering from the city lights, Bucky wanted to spend every new year you would allow him to by your side, trying his best to make you laugh again.

“Well,” You stood to peer over the glass railing, Bucky close behind you. You could hear the drunken cries inside as the countdown begun. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” Bucky offered his hand to you. You took it easily.

5, 4, 3…

He wanted nothing more than to pull you close, to finally press a kiss on the lips that had thrown teasing remarks at him during missions. To once and for all end this little dance you both loved so much. But you looked so perfect.

Bucky wasn’t ready to ruin that perfection with everything wrong with him quite yet.

“Happy 2017, Bucky.” You whispered as the fireworks started, but Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes from you.

“Happy 2017, doll.”

Daybreak

The mission had been long and grueling. The week-long stakeout turned into two and quickly turned into a month away. You can’t remember the last time you’d had a good night of sleep that wasn’t interrupted with Bucky’s hand on your shoulder, telling you it was your turn to keep watch.

It wasn’t a horrible mission, more of an exercise in patience and restraint than anything. Bucky’s stories kept you entertained enough, and he was a good partner. Which is why you were paired together more often than not.

Still, it was nice to finally collapse into your familiar bed, not even bothering to kick of shoes or take a much-needed shower. Your sleeping schedule was all out of whack and you tossed and turned, despite the exhaustion seeping through your bones.

After fifteen minutes, you finally huffed a sigh of defeat and stumbled back to your feet. You showered, which was a few good days overdue, and dressed in your largest, most comfortable pajamas.

You weren’t surprised to see Bucky up as well, sitting at the dining table with a mug of fresh coffee.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His foot kicked out the seat beside him as an invitation.

“Sleeps overrated, anyways.” You shrugged, slumping into the seat and pressing your face into the cool glass of the table.

“Sleep is good for you.” He insisted, reaching forward to brush aside the hair that had curtained over your face. “You deserve a good night’s rest.”

“So do you, Buck.”

He stayed silent for a while, just sipping at his coffee and stealing glances at you, face trained out the floor to ceiling windows. He really didn’t know what he deserved, anymore. Sure, he had made some semblance of peace with what the Winter Soldier had done with his body. He was better, that was certain.

Worthy of you and all your unwavering sweetness? He wasn’t so sure.

You idly chatted about nothing for hours, filling comfortable silence with talks of the mission and the food poisoning he had given you when he tried to make dinner two weeks in. You sat side by side until day broke the next morning, eyes squinting at the sun peeking over skyscrapers and finally finding the need to fall shut in rest.

“I guess I should say ‘good morning’ instead of ‘good night’.” You were the first to stand, shuffling towards the hallway that led to your bedroom.

“Good morning.” He answered as you padded away, deciding he would be just fine losing sleep every night if it meant he could watch the sunrise by your side.

Furnace

“Doesn’t Tony make enough money to keep this place at least habitable?” You grumbled as you fell into the couch beside Bucky.

“I’m fine.”

Bucky sat in his patent jeans and t-shirt, unphased by the temperature that practically had your teeth chattering. You were bundled in multiple layers, including one of the many sweatshirts he’d wear jogging on cold mornings and blankets you had stolen off his bed. Your glare from under your cocoon of warmth rivaled even his.

“I’m not a muscle-y super soldier-”

“You think I’m muscle-y?”

“-that runs so hot you’re basically a personal furnace.”

“Oh, so now I’m hot.”

“I would strangle you to death right now, but I’m about to lose my fingers to hypothermia.” You burrowed further into your smattering of blankets with a violent chill running down your spine. Bucky simply rolled his eyes and marked the spot in the book he had been reading before you stormed in.

“C’mere.”

He balled up a fistful of one of your blankets, tugging you even closer to him. You opened your arms to allow for direct contact, sighing contently as your face pressed into his shoulder and legs tangled with his. You sighed contently as you welcomed his warmth, shimmying as close as you could get.

“Better?”

“The best.”

Nine

“Do you ever think what your life would be like? If you’d gotten to go home?”

Even a year ago, this question would have turned Bucky into a brooding mess. He would have delved into every little moment he had missed, every plan that had been turned upside down when he fell from that train all those years ago. But he was better now, more contemplative. He wouldn’t drown in the idea of what could have been because he knows what it’s like to be on the other side.

“I like to think I would’ve gone to college.”

“Really?”

“You calling me dumb, doll?”

“No! You’re the smartest person I know. I’m just picturing you at college. Carrying textbooks and wooing all the dames.” You fell into him at the thought, a fake swoon overtaking your face.

“I’d be too busy studying for dames.”

“Studying what?”

“I always liked math. Maybe engineering or something. Wanted to be a teacher before the draft.” He shrugged like the information was no big deal, but to you it was everything.

“Professor Barnes. Kind of sexy.”

“Oh, shut up.” But his words held no malice. Instead, he was grinning that cheeky grin that pulled his cheeks into perfect rosy apples and his eyes crinkled in joy. “I wanted to have ten kids.”

“Ten?!”

“So we’d be a dozen. My own little army of mini-Buckys to take over the world. Couple sets of twins, maybe. Definitely as many girls as I could manage.”

Of course Bucky would be a girl-dad. Playing dress-up for fake tea parties and scaring off boys when they’d come ‘round for first dates. You could imagine how he’d learn how to take care of their hair and plait intricate braids when they asked. He would make breakfast for the whole bunch, kiss his wife goodbye before escorting them to the bus stop and taking off for a day of teaching classes. Bucky would be an amazing father.

An amazing husband, too.

“I think ten may be pushing it, Barnes.”

Bucky pictured it, too. A little more modern than maybe the image you conjured up. Teaching was replaced with small missions. The gaggle of kids were smaller, and he wouldn’t have to kiss his wife goodbye. You’d be in the car next to him, headed to the tower for your morning briefings together.

“I’ll settle for nine.”

Benign

If you were to ask any New Yorker what they think the Avengers do on Friday afternoons, they would probably say something like ‘kicking ass!’. None would get even close to what your actual routine looked like.

None would imagine The Winter Soldier lounging in a bathrobe, hair knotted into a bun at the top of his head as his fellow world-saving Avenger spread some green goop over his face. Chinese takeout boxes littered the living room coffee table, his feet were bubbling in warm foot spa.

“To keep your youthful complexion!” You had promised him. He didn’t comment on the obvious sound of your phone’s camera clicking.

He knew he must have looked completely ridiculous. But as you sunk into the couch next to him with identical spa treatments covering you, he couldn’t find it in himself to really care.

He never thought in a million years that he would have the chance of boring, completely benign afternoons. He thought he would be sidelined to violent missions for the rest of his life, to being thawed out like a microwave meal every time he was deemed useful. Sure, he felt a bit ridiculous when you reached over to adjust the slices of cucumber placed over his eyelids, but he also felt so relaxed.

As you settled even closer to him, head tilting to rest on his shoulder, he would happily take the teasing remarks from Sam when you showed him the pictures.

Homecoming

Peter wasn’t crazy about the idea of getting ready for his senior year homecoming dance at the tower. But Aunt May was upstate on vacation with Happy and he still didn’t know how to tie a tie.

“Oh, you look so handsome, Peter!” You gushed as your fingers worked on his tie. Bucky stood to the side, holding MJ’s corsage in a delicate plastic container. Peter had been careful to find the perfect color, with a little guidance from you. The white dahlias matched perfectly with Peter’s light green tie.

“Thanks, Ms. (Y/L/N).”

Peter, ever the polite kid.

“Be safe, kid. Have her home at a reasonable time and no wandering hands.” Bucky handed over the corsage with a supportive slap to Peter’s shoulder. He was quick to promise that he would follow all the rules before making a dash to the door, just as you were about to ask for pictures.

“Don’t wait up!” He called as the elevator dinged behind him.

“They grow up so fast.” You sniffled. “I didn’t even go to my homecoming dances.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody ever asked me.” You shrugged, collecting the other ties Peter had picked from and hanging them carefully over your arm. Tony didn’t have to know that Peter was taking one of his priceless Versace neckties to a homecoming dance.

“To be fair, I would’ve been scared shitless to ask you to a dance.” Bucky followed close behind. “And I fought a war.”

“That’s sweet, Buck.” You brushed him off as you retreated into Tony’s closet.

“No, really.” His hand caught your elbow. “I would’ve been the luckiest guy in town if I had you on my arm.”

You fell asleep that night imagining you and Bucky twirling around a dance hall without a care in the world.

One

Steve’s hand was firm against your shoulder, his tactical glove soaked and dripping with your blood. Your eyes were unfocused, head lulling every so often when the fight to keep it steady just seemed too difficult. Sam was at your other side, cracking jokes to try to keep your attention on him and not of the literal bullet lodged in your shoulder.

You were escorted from the jet in a flurry, doctor’s hands replacing Steve’s. You barely winced when you were administered painkillers and the ache begun to subside. Before you could blink, you were lifted onto a gurney in the medical bay and the clink of the bullet that had been dug from your flesh rang through the room as it clattered into a metal dish.

Bucky ran in just as the doctor finished maneuvering a long roll of gaze around your shoulder, scheduling a time for you to return to have it cleaned and reapplied again.

“What happened?” He brushed past the doctor without a second glance, eyes trained on your figure pressed against the sterile hospital bed. “Steve said-”

“It’s nothing. Steve likes to be dramatic.”

“-that you were shot!”

“Oh, well. Yeah, that happened.” You moved to sit up, your arm immediately giving out under the weight. Bucky moved even closer to help you, hand careful on your back like you were made of glass. “But just the one time.”

“As far as I’m concerned, one is too many.” He watched the gauze turn darker against your skin; your eyes screwed shut in pain as your knuckles turned white against the sheets. “And you’re never going on a mission without me again.”

Freight Car

“You’re free.”

He remembers those worlds so clearly, it’s like him and Ayo are still sat next to that crackling fire in Wakanda. He thought that had been it. He would never again worry about those ten phrases that erased Bucky Barnes and allowed a machine to emerge from his memory.

As he stole glances of you from the corner of his eye, shadowed by his unruly hair, he knew those words still very much existed in his mind.

They weren’t a means to an end, anymore. He didn’t have to grit his teeth and clench his fists to fight them off. They were new, now. He saw each of those words in you and realized just how important they are now they they’ve found a new meaning.

His love for you came easy.

One second, he was looking at his friend. She was looking back at him and he felt safe.

Your fingers brushed over his shoulder, where flesh turned to metal, and you looked away as though you hadn’t just made him fall in love with you with a single touch.

It took three years for Bucky to make a move. Another party, another escape plan to the balcony where you were waiting for him, like always. The last time you had found yourselves in that position, he had been too unsure. Too wary of what it would mean and if it was too soon.

Now, he didn’t care. He just wanted you and to be selfish and not think about consequences when he leaned forward and finally pressed his lips to yours.

You pulled back, but not far.

Something clicked.

Your love for him hit you like a freight car. Swooping in from nowhere but really, you should have felt the rattling of the tracks beneath your feet. You should have seen all the signs that you loved him and he loved you back. In stolen glances and easy afternoons, in hard missions and bloodshed. He was there, and he looked at you like that. Like everything his body had done was to finally make it to you in this moment.

He waited, patient. He had waited this long, what was another few seconds as the realization washed over your features?

“Oh.” Was your clever whisper.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s hands cradled your face, “Took you long enough.”

taglist: @bibliophilewednesday @teti-menchon0604​ @thiswasnevermylifefromtony​ @spid3rgwen​ @beautyandthebleh​ @victoriabaker112213​ @orthellqs @phasma-trash​

[forcefullyawake]

This is for @cupcake-rogue’s like a virgin collab!

Denki x F! Reader

Warnings: None, tooth rotting fluff, and a suggestive ending. 

Summary: Sometimes the right person runs into you. Literally. Other times it’s a hero who’s not watching where he’s going.

WC: 1.9k

Denki Kaminari doesn’t do being nervous. 

He’s a hero, a pro, top ten. He worked his ass off during UA, his internships, did everything right, shed his jokester ways, and in the first hero rankings he was in? He placed higher thank even Bakugo. He’s impressive, he thinks, tall and blonde, having grown into himself after those first few awkward years. The point is he’s not nervous around women anymore, doesn’t stutter over his words or make inappropriate comments. He’s cool, mature, a catch for any woman. 

Until, that is, he quite literally runs into you.

“I’m fucking late,” Denki announces to nobody- it’s not like anybody stayed over the night before. It’s a true testament to who he is now that his morning routine can be essentially cut in half and almost nothing goes wrong during it. His hero costume is not only easy to get on, but something that works well with his usual wardrobe, so that he can be out the door in under twenty minutes for times like these. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” He mutters to himself, finally getting all the buttons into place right when the elevator opens up to the ground floor. It’s impressive, actually, that he manages to run into you. With a quirk like his, he’s learned to be constantly aware of his surroundings so nobody gets shocked accidentally. Today, however, he’s not thinking straight and runs directly into you, knocking you (and your paperwork) to the ground. 

He stops dead in his tracks, wanting more than anything to start apologizing, helping you pick things up. You know, things any normal person or hero would do but he finds himself stuck in place. You’re… hot, for lack of a better word. He’ll think of some later. He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something about you that has him immediately bewitched- mind, body, and soul, just like that. You’re standing now, a scowl on your face and- hey you’re snapping your fingers for some reason, maybe he should listen in.

“Hello? Is anybody any there?” Your voice is understandably irritated, looking him up and down quickly before huffing. “Whatever. Watch where you’re going next time, jerk.” You spin away from him, taking his hopes and dreams right with you. But you walk into his apartment building, and through the glass doors that stand between you he sees you walk to the manager- so you’re either gonna live there or work there. Either way he has a second chance. 

His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket, and a quick glance tells him it’s Mineta, demanding to know where he is- is he okay? Was there a villain attack? Denki shoots off a quick text saying he’s just overslept before hurrying on his way. 

It’s not until later, when he’s finally in his office, that Denki realizes how he was feeling. 

For the first time, in a very long time, Denki Kaminari was nervous. All because of you.

“Stupid hero, not watching where he was stupidly going,” You mutter under your breathe before plastering on a smile when your new apartment manager steps into view. God, this place is so nice. You can’t wait to move in. You have to dropped off the signed leasing forms and then give the place one last look around before the moving trucks start coming in. 

The meeting goes smoothly, which helps ease whatever leftover tension you have from the morning. The keys are in your hands, the boxes are piling up, and your neighbor is out for the day it looks like so you can play music as loudly as you dare. Your day goes just about as well as a moving day can. You get the important things set up first- bed, tv, coffee maker. The creature comforts for when you’re inevitably exhausted tomorrow. You hear movement in the other apartment, frowning at the shared wall with how clearly you can. Hm, that might be annoying. Still, you don’t plan on turning down the music unless asked. 

Almost like clockwork you hear a knock on your door. You pause to lower the volume to a more acceptable level before opening the door, ready to introduce yourself and apologize, make a good first impression and all that only to see-

“You!” You raise an accusatory finger- at the hero who knocked you over and did nothing this morning. “You can’t be my neighbor!”

“I-” He starts, having the good sense to at least look a little sheepish now. “I’m sorry?” His hand comes up to scratch at the back of his head, making him look even more nervous but you can see his eyes looking over your shoulder to peer into your apartment. 

“Yeah, you should have said that this morning,” It holds less venom than you want, especially when you get distract by the muscles his actions put on display. Huh. Your new neighbor is incredibly built. You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “Again, whatever. I turned the music down. Goodnight.” You go to close the door but his voice stops you. 

“Hold on, I wasn’t going to ask you to turn it down,” He starts, finally looking away from your apartment, “I liked it. And maybe you can play it for me now? I could help you put stuff away? Make up for this morning?”

You should say no. You’re already getting tired, you have stuff beyond packing to do tomorrow, and it’s stupid to let a complete stranger into your house. Even if he’s a pro hero. And even if he’s cute. You should tell him to get lost. Instead, you open your mouth to hear yourself say,

“Sure, come on in.”

Denki can’t believe his luck when you open your door a little wider to let him in. 

He was so sure you were going to say no- hell, even you looked a little confused when yes came out of your mouth, but he wasn’t going to question it too much. Your place already looked a lot cozier than his, with decorations half in the boxes, even. You have photos up on the walls already, pictures of people who look like you too and people who look like your friends. His own apartment is pretty sparse, just a place he can sleep and eat in. 

“Could you help me in the kitchen?” Your voice carries through the space, having left him behind. “I have some stuff that need to go onto the top shelf.” He follows blindly, biting down so hard on his lower lip it almost bleed when he sees you. You’re not doing anything scandalous, just putting dishes away but the way your arms are raised over your head have given him a glimpse at your skin where your shirt has ridden up. He can feel the blood rush south in his body, embarrassingly. 

“Stop ogling and start helping,” You snap over your shoulder, frowning at him. That snaps him out of his daze, not wanting to leave too soon despite having another early morning shift. He grabs the box you point at, and starts to place the mugs on the top shelf. They look like gifts, he thinks, all of them printed with far too many places for one person to have visited. 

“Your friends get you these?” He asks, trying to sound casually interested, not too desperate, “Or a boyfriend?” You snort at him.

“Friends, mostly, and some family,” You wait a long moment before continuing, “No boyfriends, though.” Denki internally heaves a sigh of relief. 

“I don’t get out much, with my job. But I like to pretend I do,” You say, eyeing the mugs wistfully. “How about you? You travel a lot?”

“That requires taking time off,” Denki says, frowning a little as he tries to remember his last actually relaxing day off. “But you know what they say- if you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life!”

“Oh, bullshit,” You snort out, abandoning the box you’ve been unpacking all together. “I love my job, a lot, but I have worked some days.” The tension is broken after that, with Denki asking you to elaborate and you trying to play coy until the rants just burst out of you. It’s not until your stomach gives a loud grumble that you realize neither of you have been unpacking but just talking for the past hour and a half. 

It’s just late enough that a normal dinner is out of the question, but maybe you could order something in?

“I know a good ramen place that delivers here,” Denki volunteers, grinning sheepishly. 

“Are you sure your quirk isn’t mind reading?” You tease him, just to watch him laugh. He’s pretty hot when he laughs, you think, then immediately try to squash the thought. Dinner first, crushing on a hero later.

Dinner is ordered.

Denki’s right, the ramen is good and it comes quick. The two of you slurp your soup in silence, the awkwardness returning from before. Denki seems almost unable to look at you now, for some reason. He focuses in so hard on his bowl you’re surprised it doesn’t go up in smoke. You want to ask him about it but you can’t figure out how to phrase the question. 

For his part, Denki is having an internal meltdown. When you lean forward to take a sip of the broth your shirt pulls forward just enough that he can see the swell of your breasts. It shouldn’t affect him this much, he’s been around enough, but there’s something about the white of your bra that makes his head spin, makes him feel like a virgin all over again. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him the same moment he blurts out-

“I can see your bra, I’m sorry, don’t kick me out,” All in one breath. You’re silent for a moment, and then another, and another, and Denki regrets every choice he’s made in his life until now that brought him here. You keep not saying anything and a million and one scenarios run through his head, each one worse than the next. Oh my god, what if you tell people? He’ll be known as the pervert hero, he won’t be able to work in Japan anymore, he’ll have to someplace like America or-

“Would you like to see more of it?” Your voice is soft, shy as your hands twist in the bottom of your shirt, looking at him with wide eyes. He’s sure he’s misheard you because there’s no way you’re offering what he thinks you are. 

“More?” He manages to croak out. You don’t reply, but your shirt keeps going upwards. Your shirt continues upwards until it’s off of you and Denki’s brain has finally, truly short circuited. 

You’re not sure what’s possessing you to be so bold- maybe the conversation, maybe the way the food has made you comfortably warm and a little drowsy, maybe you just wanna see what he’ll do next. It’s cute, endearing even, how his eyes can’t figure out where to look. He can’t decide if he wants to throw himself at you or away from you. 

“More,” You agree, moving closer to him on the couch, taking the bowl from his hands to set on the table in front of you. Denki stops breathing as you move even closer to him, your face swimming in front of his eyes. “Tell me if I should stop?”

“Never,” He breathes, pressing his lips to yours, tasting like a promise, sending a shiver down your spine. It’s so easy to fall into him, like you’ve known him forever, like this is as easy as breathing. 

It’s sunrise, somehow. Denki is still there, blissfully unaware as you watch him sleep. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t watch where he was going the previous morning. 

Now, though, you wouldn’t mind running into him again. 

[squiggledrop]

Frayed Ends - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Part 1: No Strings

Part 3: Tying the Knot

Summary: Strings Part 2 -- Spencer and Reader have a friends with benefits arrangement. The only problem is, they both have feelings for each other. After Reader ends things between the two of them they are both heartbroken, yearning in silence for the other.

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: crying

Note: The third and final part will be up next Friday! Thank you so much to everyone who left kind feedback on No Strings and asked for a part 2

Spencer walked into the bullpen the next morning, his bloodshot eyes sulking into the deep bags that hung below. He wanted to stay home and just bury himself beneath a mountain of blankets, but he didn’t want to give you that too. He had given you everything. He poured his heart out for you, placing it into your hands, only for you to throw it away. He hated that you left, he hated that you ended things, and he hated that he would have to work with you every day, knowing there was nothing he could do but wallow in his hurt. But he didn’t hate you.

No matter how much he wanted to, he could never hate you. But he sure could hate himself.

He couldn’t let you know that, however. He couldn’t let you know how you destroyed him. How when you stormed out of his apartment less than six hours ago, you took all of him with you. He needed to be strong.

His plan was simple. Avoid you at all costs. It was easier said than done, however, considering your desks were across from one another. He slumped down into his desk chair, busying himself with paperwork, not daring to look up, no matter how much he was itching to spy on the glass doors.

You grasped onto Emily’s hand in the elevator, willing the tears that threatened to breach your waterline to stay at bay. She gave your shoulder a gentle nudge, silently asking if you were okay. Taking in a deep breath, you nodded, breathing out as the elevator doors opened. 

You had made your choice and Spencer had made his. All you could do now was focus on your work, and try not to break down every five seconds like you had been doing all night.

When you walked into the bullpen, you saw Spencer hunched over his desk, not even sparing a glance up. You didn’t blame him. He had every right to be mad at you and hate you. You sighed, slowly making your way to your desk across from his. 

You gripped the back of your chair, slowly pulling it out in an attempt to be as quiet as possible. After setting your bag down on the ground and pulling out some files, you granted yourself a moment to look at Spencer. His eyes were trained on the documents in front of him, never faltering from their vertical trajectory. He had a slight scowl on his face, his eyebrows scrunched and his lips pursed. You knew him, and you knew he was hurting. The pang of guilt rose in your chest, clawing its way around your throat. Its grip tightened, pushing the tears from behind your eyelids. You cleared your throat, hoping that it would mask the silent tears that trailed down your cheeks. 

Upon hearing you, Spencer immediately looked up, only to be met with you avoiding his gaze. Your head was down, causing your hair to drape around your face, hiding it from him. He scoffed before aggressively shoving his chair back.

“Spen-,” you choked out at his abrupt movement. But, before you could finish, he had walked away, not even sparing a glance back at you. You sighed in defeat, wiping away the tears that burned your face. Fine, you thought to yourself, if he wants space, he can have space. He can have whatever he wants. The sad part of that was, you knew Spencer could have whatever he wants, and he had made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t you.

Spencer was bubbling with rage, fueled by the pain he was trying to quell. How dare you waltz in here and sit across from him as if nothing happened. You were the one who left. You were the one who said it was over. Spencer ran his hand across his face in frustration as he approached the kitchen. His feet faltered at the doorway, however, when he heard hushed voices coming from within.

“What’s up with (Y/l/n)?” Derek asked. Spencer felt his heart stop at the mention of your name. She broke my heart and wants to pretend that nothing happened is what’s up, he thought in spite.

“She said things ended with this guy she was seeing,” Emily said, sympathy lacing her voice. “She came to my place crying last night, and she didn’t stop until the car ride this morning”. A frown made its way across Spencer’s face at Emily’s hushed words. Despite how much pain he was feeling, it hurt, even more, to know you were upset. He still loved you, no matter how hard he tried not to. Spencer took a deep breath, finally walking into the kitchen.

“Hey kid, what’s up?” Derek asked, turning away from Emily.

“Coffee,” he smiled weakly, motioning towards the cupboard. Emily and Derek nodded as they began to make their way back to the bullpen.

“Did (Y/n) say who this idiot is?” Derek inquired, “Because if I need to go pay someone a visit, I will.” Spencer rolled his eyes as he grabbed a mug.

“No,” Emily replied with a shrug. “But she said she still loves him, so I don’t think a visit is necessary,” she smirked. Both Emily and Derek turned around, hearing a loud crash on the counter.

“Reid, you okay?” Emily asked. Both she and Derek looked at him with concern as his hands fumbled to pick up the mug.

“Y-yeah, um,” he said, placing it down on the counter, “w-what exactly did she say? A-about the guy-- the t-the guy she loves?” He looked at them with eager eyes, and he could feel his head buzzing.

“Not much else,” Emily sighed, slightly confused as to why Spencer was so interested. “She said she loves him but she can’t be with him, and she was really distraught so I didn’t want to push her any further.”

“Oh o-okay,” Spencer nodded, “thanks.” He brushed past both of them, hastily walking back to his desk.

“Your coffee…” Emily called out, but it was no use. Spencer’s head was spinning, and all he could hear were the thousands of thoughts consuming his mind. You loved him. You still love him. He wanted to run up to you and just kiss you. He wanted to forget everything and just hold you. But, one of the downsides of having an eidetic memory, is that he can’t just forget. He can’t forget the pain in your eyes when you told him you guys were over. He can’t forget the countless hours he spent crying over you, and apparently you him. He wants to be with you, but he doesn’t think he could handle another rejection.

He sits back down at his desk, causing you to look up. You open your mouth, about to say something, but you think better of it. You already put him through so much, and he doesn’t deserve to be strung along. It’s best that you just let him be.

The rest of the day drags on, both of you averting your eyes, trying your best to ignore the other. With every tick of the clock, the silence becomes less deafening. The chattering hum of the office slowly filling your senses. For a moment, you almost forget about the person on the other side of the desk. But just for a moment.

Out of habit, when something Spencer was reading reminded him of something he read in a journal last week, he looked up, wanting to share it with his best friend. You gasped, looking up at his sudden movement, the normalcy of it all washing over you. Spencer opened his mouth, but you could see the gears turning in his mind, as he remembered who he was looking at. His lips rejoined, forming a faint frown as you both sat there, looking into each other's eyes for the first time since you told him to try to forget you.

In the split second that you hold each other's gaze, all the emotions from the previous night come flooding back. You could still feel Spencer’s hands gripping your skin, his hot breath on your neck as he moaned that he loved you. But, you could also feel the anxiety coursing through your veins at the thought.

Spencer could still feel the way your thumb would brush against his cheek as he looked into your beautiful eyes. The sound of you moaning his name and how soft and warm your skin was still replayed in his head. Looking into your eyes, he could feel all of his love for you grow. But, with every ounce of love he felt, it was followed by a cascade of doubt and betrayal.

Just as palpable as the love between both of you was, the fear and pain pierced it just the same. The uncertainty of the moment held you both, stuck in between wanting to just let go and come together, but also wanting to run and hide. The dreadful reality being, that whether your hearts collide or grow further apart, they would still shatter nonetheless. You were two oppositely charged atoms, attracting one another. When you are apart, you are drawn together, the pull undeniable. But, when you get close enough, one of you will be ripped apart so the other can survive, and neither of you were prepared to do that to the other.

Quickly, you both looked down, dread and regret consuming you. Spencer got up to finally make himself a coffee, fearing he would burst out in tears if he stayed any longer. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t look at you and pretend that he’s fine. He knows you aren't either, but that doesn’t change anything. You were the one to tell him to forget about you. But what you didn’t understand was that he couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, trying to escape the reality of you in his life, he was only met with you clouding his dreams. You were everywhere, and even if he could, he’s not so sure he would want that to change.

Watching Spencer walk away for the second time today was too much. Once he was out of sight, already feeling tears trickle down your face, you wiped them away, heading straight for the bathroom. You closed the door behind you, locking it before you sunk to the ground. You gasped, trying to hold back the boulder of sobs that had been building in your throat throughout the day. You wished so badly that you could just give in. You wanted to fall into his arms. But you couldn’t. Instead, you found yourself constantly falling to the ground, choking back tears for a man you loved with your entire being. But he could never know that.

When Spencer makes it to the kitchen, he lets out an aggressive sigh, roughly turning on the coffee maker. His fingers grip the edge of the counter, the pain from his white knuckles a welcomed comfort from the pain that had been throbbing in his chest all day. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, letting his tears fall freely. When he opened them, he reached for the mug from earlier that still sat on the counter. With shaking hands, he picked it up, looking at it and letting out a pathetic whimper. 

He rubbed his thumb across the slightly worn decal on it, and a weak smile graced his lips. You had gotten this mug for him a while back. The team was away on a case and the precinct only had paper coffee cups. After ten days working on that case and it still not being over, you had joked with him that he had probably deforested an entire country by that point. The next morning, you had walked in with a ceramic coffee cup, with the words ‘Best Grandma’ written on it. You had smiled, claiming it was the only one the pharmacy across from the hotel had in stock. Spencer smiled nonetheless, grateful you had thought about him. That night you two slept together for the first time, starting the whole arrangement.

Spencer admired the mug through glossy eyes, reminiscing on all of your memories together. Sure, you weren’t perfect, but to Spencer, you were the most beautiful, funny, and caring person he had ever met. He loved you. There was no denying that. He loved you, and he wanted his friend back. He would wait for you as long as it took, even if it was forever. 

Placing the mug down on the counter, he grabbed a second one from the shelves, filling them both with coffee. He filled one with cream and a spoonful of brown sugar, just the way you like it, before filing his with a Spencer approved amount of sugar. He picked up both mugs, taking a deep breath before he walked back into the bullpen.

When he reached your desks, he noticed you were missing. He sat down, placing your mug on your desk. He nursed his drink, pretending to focus on paperwork as he waited for you to return.

After a few more minutes, he turned, hearing the door to the bathroom swing open. He watched as you slipped out. Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, he could see the red splotches that surrounded your bloodshot eyes.

You slid back into your desk chair, your eyes focused on the ground. At first, you didn’t notice the mug on your desk, but the smell of coffee slowly wafted over. Hesitantly, you looked up, seeing the cup of coffee. Spencer peaked above his mug, looking back down so you wouldn’t notice. You did, however. You noticed everything about him. A shy smile crept over half your face, and you picked up the mug, cradling it in both your hands. You brought it up to your lips, taking a small sip. Spencer did the same, both of you glancing at the other from behind your mugs. Although the other couldn’t tell, you both had a slight smile on your lips. You placed the mug back down, Spencer following suit. 

You didn’t speak for the rest of the day, but it was a comfortable silence that fell over the two of you. The sound of your beating hearts mixed with the flipping of pages and the scrawling of pens, melding into the gentle buzz of the office that filled the room. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You may no longer be tangled in each other, but you were closer than you were at the beginning of the day, and that was enough.

-----

tagging people who asked for a part 2: @bugg-zee​

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 1,787 warnings: mentions of food, skipping a meal, fainting

author’s note: part 2 is here and i am excited! i received the support that some of you have given by liking and reblogging and i appreciate it so much! please do share some of your thoughts. i’d love to hear from you. for some reference on what our Prince Wonwoo wore on this chapter during the first few bits: here. 

two: what could have been | masterlist

“What?”

One of these days you’re going to start blaming Wonwoo for the unusual accidents that happen whenever he is around or whenever his name is brought up. It’s a relief that you didn’t trip, again, because you were more than sure that making an abrupt stop while wearing heels can lead to several painful possibilities. 

“You okay?” Jeongyeon was quick to hold on to your arm, helping you find your balance again. She’s definitely not risking anymore injuries especially now that there’s no Doctor Jeon around. 

“What did you just say?” You repeat as you try to compose yourself and start walking across the hallway like how you were supposed to in the first place. 

Jeongyeon blinks at you for a few seconds before gasping, “Oh, right! According to my sources, apparently the long term girlfriend was actually the one for Prince Wonwoo,” she says casually as if she’s just dropping the weather report for the day. “He had plans to propose.”

Propose?

“By sources you mean?” You ask. The lawyer in you is making sure that this is nothing but a baseless rumor and also the rational person in you is making sure your head doesn't get clouded by jealousy.

Me? Jealous? Your left eye twitches at the thought.

“Dr. Kwon also known as Hoshi,” she answers like they have been friends for ten years. “He’s the Prince’s friend from primary school up to medical school.”

“How do you even know this Dr. Kwon?” You ask while narrowing your eyes at her. You are nowhere near done verifying her sources.

Jeongyeon sheepishly smiles before giggling nervously. “Well…”

You sigh. Jeongyeon can be brilliant but she could go overboard at times. “Don’t tell me he works at the same hospital as Wonwoo and you yourself went there?”

“I had to!” She defends, stomping her feet. “You told me to go look up some info and I did. I just wanted to do a good job while I was at it.”

You close your eyes in defeat before pulling her close to whisper a reminder to her ear, “Next time, let’s tone down the enthusiasm, alright?”

She just grins. “No promises.”

Were you threatened by the recent information your assistant just shared to you?

No, of course not.

Were you bothered?

Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent. 

You’re bothered because you can’t help but think about what could have been.

What could have been for Wonwoo and this mystery girl. You suddenly feel terrible. All this time you were okay with this arrangement. In fact, you were beyond okay already. But, how about Wonwoo? Sure, maybe you thought he could be against this marriage. But, it didn’t cross your mind what he could have left behind back home. What he had to give up and what he had to let go.

“Hey.”

All your thoughts and worries flushed down the drain in an instant at the sound of the voice you’re starting to grow fond of.

Wonwoo arrived like a breath of fresh air with his light blue button down and jeans. The glasses are a bonus that you are lucky to see for the first time. You weren’t aware that he wore them. In fact, you have never seen him wear casual clothes until today. If you were frowning earlier, you are blushing now because of how good he looks. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he sincerely apologizes as he walks towards you. “I’m not gonna lie. I overslept.”

Come to think of it, you have been standing outside this terrace for quite a while now. Thinking too much can be a good distraction to the point that you won’t even notice that you have been waiting.

You cleared the rest of the afternoon to sneak in some wedding planning. Meanwhile, Wonwoo decided to take the night shift yesterday and take today off to join you. 

You shake your head and give him a small smile in understanding. “It’s okay. I just arrived too.”

That was a lie, but it doesn’t matter. Especially now, in spite of getting the right amount of sleep, you can tell that he is still tired and sleepy. And, adorable. But you would never let him know that.

“It didn’t look like it though,” he counters, making your brows raise. “You looked like you were already here for a while. A penny for your thoughts?”

Your eyes roll at his teasing tone while he just smirks. 

But then, you figured since he already asked, this could be the right time. “Can I ask you something?”

Wonwoo crosses his arms, pretending to contemplate your request. “It depends. Am I in trouble?”

“No,” you deadpan. “You don’t have to answer though. That’s what I can guarantee.”

“Fine by me.” He relaxes his arms to his sides and stands close to the railing you were leaning your body weight against. 

Well, okay.  Your palms suddenly started to sweat. Maybe it’s a bad idea to pry about his past. What’s the point of bringing it up? What do you need out of this anyway? Why the bother? 

Yeah, let’s just not, you decided to drop it but Wonwoo already beat you to it.

“Let me guess,” the Prince noticed your silence and decided to take the matters in his hands. “Is it about my ex-girlfriend?”

Heat immediately rose to your cheeks, embarrassed by how could you let it get this far. “I’m sorry. Nevermind. Let’s just go inside. They’re probably ready for us.” 

You were fast to lift your feet from the ground and honestly,  if you could, you’d run away and never return. But, Wonwoo was faster. He was faster to grasp your hand and make you stop from taking another step in a heartbeat. 

You’re not one to let your head hang low and avoid eye contact, but here you are doing everything in your power to not meet Wonwoo’s eyes. You’re also not one to grow flustered easily. You always know what and how to make the last say.

But again, here you are tight-lipped and wishing to be buried underground. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he promises while tilting his head to the side, searching for your eyes. “I’m not making fun of you and I understand that it’s inevitable for this to be not brought up.”

You relent by nodding and finally turning your body to face him. “Okay.”

Wonwoo smiles and caresses the top of your head. “This is not something you should be worrying about.”

His brazen touch made you feel small yet comforted. 

“Do you really want to marry me Wonwoo?” You whisper between the two of you. 

He blinks then furrows his brows. “What kind of question is that?”

You frown, you’re supposed to give me an answer. “I just thought that maybe it’s better to call it off already before we regret anything in the future.”

“Y/N,” he calls for your name for the first time. “My past relationship is already in the past. I am not dwelling from what happened and what could have been. I am here now and that’s all that matters.”

“Don’t play smart with me,” you scoff and pull yourself away from him.

But Wonwoo just laughs and tightens his hold. He now holds both of your hands and strangely enough, having his hands entwined with yours is nice.

“Why? Does the princess don’t want to marry me?” 

“I don’t actually have much of a choice, do I?” 

Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to scoff. “Who’s playing smart now?”

You burst into a fit of giggles and Wonwoo does the same. 

It’s kind of scary to feel this way. Feeling so reassured and secured with your relationship with Wonwoo like it was the two of you from the get go. It seems so easy. You are at ease and it terrifies you. 

It’s time for work, you slap yourself back to reality. You can’t continue thinking about Wonwoo especially now when you have matters to take care of and clients to satisfy. You sigh and pick up your coffee mug to sip some only to see that it’s already empty.

You quickly reach for your telephone to request for a refill.

“Coffee? Again?” Jeongyeon reprimands before you could even speak. “Your Highness, this is your third cup and it’s only nine o’clock in the morning.”

You ignore her exasperated tone. “I know.”

“How about some bread instead? You’ve had enough caffeine to last the week.”

“Please just bring me one more,” you plead while resting your palm on your forehead, feeling a headache coming up that could actually last the week. “I promise that would be my last cup.”

You can hear Jeongyeon sigh in defeat before muttering a soft okay.

You should have chosen the bread instead of the third cup of coffee because not less than 15 minutes after drinking it, your stomach feels like it’s burning inside by how painful it is. You thought a glass of water can help minimize or dwindle down the pain but it’s of no help.

What’s worse is you suddenly feel hot in spite of the air condition inside your office being on full blast. Your hand brushes against your face and it is wet. Why am I sweating? You quietly groan as another pang of pain hits you. You think you might vomit. 

Maybe you should go to the restroom or whatever. For now, you just want to move in the hopes that this uncomfortable and sickening feeling would go away. You push yourself up from your chair with a lot of effort because your body doesn’t seem to have any more intention to cooperate with your mind.

You decided you’d rest at your apartment for a while and just go back in the afternoon on the assumption that you’d be fine by then.

Slowly and painfully, you walk to the huge doors of your office and with every step you take, you’re catching your breath. You reach the door and clutch the knob tightly, desperate to grab some painkillers and just sleep this off. 

However, before you could twist the knob and take further steps, you were falling to the ground. Your body doesn’t want to act on your decisions anymore and the pain on your stomach is just way too unbearable, you can’t even stand straight. 

And just on time, Jeongyeon opens your door and enters, chirpy as usual, “Your Highness, you have a visi--- Your Highness!”

You were not sure if your eyes could still register what you saw before you blacked out. But, you were positive that you saw the one and only Prince Wonwoo, one moment smiling and the next rushing towards your limp body on the cold tiled floor.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Turning Point (Levi x reader)

Summary: After graduating college, you are presented with the opportunity of becoming a “counselor” at a small rehab facility located in the vast Montana wilderness. You didn’t know much about it, just that it was for troubled teens, ran by a privately funded staff. You are eager to meet the “campers” and your fellow counselors, but you know that it won’t be easy. You’ll have to build a strong relationship with both your coworkers and the campers, who aren’t exactly happy to be there.

Warnings: vomiting, lice, rehabilitation mentions, allusions to ED, mentally ill teens.

Word Count: 6.2K

You hadn’t slept much at all that night. Connie had been hunched over the toilet into the early hours before he finally exhausted himself. Levi had scooped him up and laid him on the cot, covering him up with the blanket. You had barely contained your laughter as you watched him haphazardly throw the blanket over the boy.

“Get some sleep. Breakfast is in three hours.” He said as the two of you crept up the stairs.

“Okay...Hange never told me the position that I was going to be working in here….do you have any-”

“See Erwin sometime tomorrow, he’ll pick out a job for you.” Levi cut you off before you could finish your sentence and you couldn’t help the slight tinge of annoyance.

“Got it.” You mumbled and turned on your heel to head back towards your room. But the sound of a choked sob coming from upstairs made you pause. Levi noticed and rolled his eyes, pushing past you he took the stairs two at a time.

“I’ve got it.” He said and you wished that you knew more. Had more experience, but that was what you were doing here after all, learning. You heard the crying cease and the sound of the bed creaking as he settled into it. You were surprised he was so diligent with the teens. It was admirable, especially given how crass he came across. You felt torn between going upstairs to be of use and the idea of the bed waiting for you just across the hall. It had already been such a long night and you knew that it was only going to be more taxing as the days wore on. Besides what could you do? You had little to no training in this field, and you had barely been of use with Connie, supposedly the easiest kid.

After a moment of hesitation, you turned and fled to your room. With the door shut behind you, the sobs were almost muted. Almost. You leaned heavily against the door, the weight of the day really crashing down onto your chest. You had known that it would be difficult, but it was so much more intense than you had imagined. Admittedly, you had very little experience with troubled kids, having grown up in a small town where mental health was hardly ever mentioned. You began to doubt your choice, how could you make a difference here? You sighed and stalked across your room, not even bothering to change out of your clothes before you fell onto the bed and buried your face into the pillow. All you could do was take it by the day, and soak up as much knowledge that the staff could give you. Your eyelids drooped and you stared at the window, which had a thin layer of mesh between the glass and the screen, much like the other windows in the house. The countryside was already bathed in a pale light, the sun just rising from the east, it coated the trees and fell effortlessly onto the dewy grass. You couldn’t help but feel at peace, even if it was just the calm before the storm. With that thought you closed your eyes and let sleep take over your body. ___

You woke up to the strong aroma of bacon and what you assumed was eggs. The sounds of dishes clattering and the wooden floors creaking as people shuffled through the kitchen. You rolled out of bed and wiped some drool from the corner of your lips. One glance at your watch told you that it was already six in the morning. So you quickly got dressed in a pair of worn jeans and an old shirt that you’d thrifted, like most of your clothes. You didn’t check which you had put on, too drowsy from the few short hours of sleep you’d managed to steal. As you fastened your belt around your waist, you wandered out into the dining room, where the same thin brunette was setting silverware down. She turned and surprisingly beamed at you. You blinked at her in shock but managed to smile authentically back at her, seeing as she was the only kid that had smiled at you besides Connie.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Her voice was bright and bubbly despite the shake of her hands with the small effort of holding the bundle of sporks.

“Good morning.” You pulled your messy hair off of your face as you turned your sights to the kitchen, where Hange was leaning on the counter with a steaming mug in her grasp. The blonde chef was lining an array of plates out on the counter, each with a perfectly prepared piece of french toast and an array of fruits as well as bacon.

“Ah beautiful morning isn’t it?” Hange said with a bright smile, Niccolo scoffed and slid another plate onto the counter.

“Coffee?” A woman with short blonde hair and a thin frame asked as she reached up into one of the cupboards for another mug. You nodded and came to stand next to Hange.

“This is Nanaba, Nanaba this is the newbie, (Y/n)” Hange introduced you and you waved with a friendly smile at the woman who beamed back. She passed you the warm mug and you leaned up against the counter next to her.

“Nanaba is the teacher around here, can’t let these kids run around uneducated!” Hange babbled as Nanaba rolled her blue eyes.

“That’s so cool!” You said as you lifted the cup to your lips. Hange hummed and turned to look back at the stairs, the sound of them creaking alerted you of someone descending them. A girl with short, choppy hair rounded the corner, a red scarf wrapped around her neck. She wore a black Slash band tee and a pair of distressed Levi jeans. Her eyes were lined with black makeup and her face was pale, with round grey eyes. But what really caught your attention was the thin scar that was peeking out from behind her bangs.

“Good morning Mikasa, how’d you sleep?” Hange greeted as she pulled a plate out and passed it to the gloomy girl who shrugged.

“Would’ve been better if Annie hadn’t been screaming.” Mikasa huffed as she turned to take her place at the table. The brunette girl set her sporks aside to greet Mikasa, throwing her arms over her shoulders and pressing her face nuzzling into Mikasa’s cheek.

“Want something to drink Mika?” The brunette asked and Mikasa turned to glare pointedly at Hange.

“Coffee would be fantastic.” She deadpanned and Hange wagged a finger in her direction.

“Your coffee privileges have been revoked, you can thank Zeke for that one!” She tutted and Mikasa turned to cross her arms over her chest. You smiled tensely as you watched the brunette flaunt into the kitchen, leaving Mikasa to finish setting out the sporks.

“Sasha dear, could you pour the orange juice?” Hange asked and the brunette nodded, reaching into the large stainless steel fridge and pulling out a glass jar of orange juice. Sasha began pouring out equal servings of juice and lining them up with the plates on the counter, although it was slow work, seeing how shaky her hands were. The stairs creaked under the weight of another person and you turned, eager to meet the next kid. Nifa rounded the corner first, holding her hand out for the tall girl, but she breezed past her with her chin held high. Nifa was unphased, however, tailing the girl from a safe distance. The girl dropped into one of the seats closest to the door, her eyes shifting uneasily across the room.

“Good morning Addy, how was your sleep?” Hange asked conversationally, Mikasa placed a fork by the girl and she flinched at the motion. Mikasa paused and looked to Hange, as if waiting to be scolded, but it never came. The girl looked away from Hange, her long bangs falling over steel grey eyes.

“That’s alright, the first nights are usually the roughest.” Hange shrugged off the rejection with ease as she picked up a plate and handed it to Nifa, who then placed the plate in front of Addy.

“Do I need to do anything to help?” You asked, placing your cup aside, eager to be of service.

“Nah, we like to let the kids do the work in the kitchen,” Hange explained as she grabbed two glasses of juice and handed them to Mikasa who was waiting for them.

“Oh, I see.” You said as you watched Mikasa place the juice next to her plate as well as another plate next to her before coming back for more. You had been so busy watching Mikasa, you hadn’t noticed the stairs creaking as two boys rounded the corner, one with sandy blonde hair and the other with a chocolatey mop of hair. The two walked right up to the counter and snatched their plates, the brunette dropped into the seat on Mikasa’s left, the girl turned and her face opened up at the sight of him. You raised a brow as you watched her pat him down as if she was making sure he was really there.

“Hands off Mikasa.” The boy grumbled, shrugging her off, her face fell but she rallied, pulling her skirt over her mouth and facing forwards.

“You can hang on me Mikasa.” The other boy said, sitting opposite of the pair, pushing his food around with his spork. Mikasa’s face screwed up into one of disgust before she reached for her juice and took a small sip.

“Shut up Jean.” The brunette sneered, jade green eyes narrowing at the other boy.

“Well its obvious that you don’t want her fawning over you!” The boy threw his hands up in frustration and Hange clicked her tongue as they continued to bicker.

“These two never quit.” She said with a wry smile as she jabbed a thumb in their direction.

“-well she obviously doesn’t want to fawn over you either!” the brunette snapped, standing abruptly and slamming his palms flat against the table. Mikasa reached out and gripped the sleeve of his flannel and he almost immediately desisted, sinking back into his seat and crossing his arms.

“Do your cookie breathing Eren.” A meek voice called from around the corner, a small-framed blonde wandered into the dining room, his hands fiddling with the buttons on his own flannel. Eren sucked in a deep breath through his nose before, his shoulders tense. After three seconds he exhaled slowly out his mouth, the tension visibly leaving his body. Mikasa nodded her approval as the blonde grabbed his plate and sat down calmly next to Jean. After sitting down he tapped his finger three times against the tabletop.

“Morning.” Jean greeted, hazel eyes on the small blonde who nodded, although he seemed a bit absent-minded.

“Armin, how was your night?” Hange greeted as she brought him and Jean a glass of orange juice. The boy shrugged and tapped his finger three more times on the tabletop.

“Fine….but Annie seemed….agitated.” He turned and looked up at Hange with a worried expression. Hange frowned and patted his back before stepping away, absently ruffling Jean’s shaggy hair. Jean grunted and shook his hair back into place.

“So I’ve heard,” Hange mumbled as she brought her mug up to her lips. As if on cue, another girl rounded the corner, two others close on her heels. The girl in front was short and blonde, with distant blue eyes, directly behind her was a lanky brunette with freckles splashed across the apples of her cheeks and a wolfish grin on her lips. Rounding out the group was another blonde, her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, unlike the first girl, her eyes seemed to catch every movement. As Nanaba shut a cabinet she whipped her head to take in the cause of the sudden noise, once she deemed it nonthreatening she relaxed slightly.

“Historia, Ymir, and Annie.” Nanaba said as she set another empty mug out on the counter. You hummed and watched the trio take their seats.

“Won’t be long until-” Before she could finish her sentence, two more boys padded into the dining room, a broad blonde and a lanky boy with dark hair. The two sat next to Annie, who blew her bangs out of her face and tried to ignore them as they both took their seats. The large blonde boy accidentally elbowed Annie, who turned and slapped his bicep, hard. You winced and looked to Hange, unsure of how she would respond to the girl lashing out.

“Annie, what have we talked about?” Hange asked with a stern look. The girl rolled her eyes and crossed her arms like a toddler. The table fell silent as they waited for her to respond, but the girl seemed set on keeping her silence.

“Annie….” Nanaba placed her hands on her slim waist and arched a brow. Even Niccolo paused his work in the kitchen, making the room fall unusually quiet.

“...Keep your hands to yourself.” She grumbled and shot an icy glare to the blonde who shrugged and turned to talk to the lanky boy on his left.

“Very good, thank you, Annie.” Hange praised before picking up some plates for the boys. You let out a slow breath, feeling the atmosphere return to the significantly lighter tone it had been previously. You tapped your foot anxiously on the black and white tile floors, the table was nearly full, save for two seats that were set but had no occupants. The sound of someone stumbling down the stairs made you perk up. The other kids seemed uninterested, except for Addy, who lifted her head and pushed her bangs out of her eyes.

Her sister was breathing laboriously as Moblit guided her to the seat next to Addy, who much like Mikasa had, began patting her sister and pushing her matted choppy hair off of her face. The girl groaned but leaned into her sister’s touch, the table once again fell mostly silent as the other teens checked out the fresh meat. You watched as Moblit and Nifa began pouring meds into tiny plastic cups, murmuring softly about what meds they were lacking.

“-Zeke should be here any minute, Erwin is waiting for him outside at the gate,” Moblit muttered as he shook the last two pills out of a large bottle. Nifa nodded and looked up at the teens, Armin was scratching his chin, which was blossoming red, Eren was still glaring daggers at Jean, who was scratching at a dent in the table. You looked to Hange once more, to see her jotting something down on a small notepad before shoving it deep into her pocket.

“What’s on the docket for today?” You asked and Hange hummed as she bit into a crisp apple.

“You’ll be with me today, but at some point we’ll need to stop by Erwin’s office to discuss a long term position for you.” She said, reaching into the fruit basket on the counter and tossing you an orange. You jabbed your nail into the top of it and began absently peeling the fruit, keeping a wary eye on the antsy teens.

“Do we need to wait for Connie? We all know he’s probably puking his guts out still.” The brawny blonde scoffed as he pushed his bacon aside. His comment earned an amused huff from Eren and a low growl from Jean.

“Shut up Reiner.” Jean snarled, and for a brief moment you admired his loyalty to Connie, but that was short-lived when the sound of someone stumbling against the doorframe made all the heads turn towards the entrance.

“Speak of the devil.” Ymir chuckled darkly, Connie was propped up against the doorframe with a weak smile on his lips and Levi’s jean jacket slung over his shoulders loosely.

“Nice fade.” Sasha chirped and Connie winked at her. You slowly stood up straighter, waiting to see what Hange would do, but she seemed content to let the scene play out.

“Thanks-” Connie lurched, cheeks puffing out and all the teens winced, waiting for him to hurl all over the dining room floor. Niccolo grabbed a towel and wiped his hands off, stepping out of the kitchen to see what the commotion was.

“Levi gave it to me. But I think that some of the lice-” He paused again, eyes widening and then he sprinted, straight into the kitchen, hands catching the counter and head disappearing into the sink followed by the sound of dry heaving. A bark of laughter made you look back at the table, where Ymir was holding onto Historia’s shoulder as she laughed at Connie’s expense.

“That’s rich! Just what I needed to start my day!” She literally slapped her knee and reclined back into her seat as Connie staggered back into the dining room.

“Want some crackers Connie?” Sasha offered, tuning out Ymir who was still cackling.

“Uh no. I want my hair back.” He glared at Ymir who howled with laughter, slapping Annie on the back, the blonde bristled but seemed to remember what had come of her hitting Reiner. So she crossed her arms, fists balled tightly before closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

“Ymir...settle down it’s not that funny.” The lanky boy said a bit quietly, the brunette turned and glared coldly at him.

“Or what beanstalk?” She smirked when the boy visibly clammed up, a bead of sweat rolling off of his temple, he opened his mouth before promptly closing it.

“That’s what I thought.” She huffed and turned to drape an arm confidently across the back of Historia’s chair. Connie leaned against the counter near Hange, looking up at her with puppy eyes and Hange reached out to place a hand affectionately on his shaved head.

“Can I get that hug now?” He asked, making grabby hands at her and she scoffed, withdrawing her hand.

“Not here Connie, go take a seat.” She shoved him towards the table, but then her face screwed into one of concern.

“Wait, what are you doing out of detox, you were supposed to be down there this morning too. Did someone let you out?” You saw her eyes shift in your direction momentarily and it felt like a boulder had settled in your gut.

“Oh yeah, Levi left the door cracked after he gave me his jacket,” Connie said as he dropped into the seat next to Sasha.

“Really.” Hange crossed her arms and Connie nodded, pulling Levi’s jean jacket closer. Hange sighed and waved her hand dismissively.

“Moblit, you and Nifa supervise while I take (Y/n) out to meet the truck,” Hange ordered as she marched towards the door. You scrambled to follow her, Connie perked up when he noticed you and you gave him a small smile.

“See you babe!” Connie called after you before the screen door slammed shut. You jogged after Hange as she stalked across the meadow. Sure enough, the sound of a truck rolling up the drive caught your attention, a few moments passed before an ancient truck breached the trees. In the driver’s seat was a shaggy blonde man with round glasses. He parked in front of you and leaned across the car to push the passenger seat open.

“Hop in.” He said simply and Hange motioned for you to go first. You smiled awkwardly as you settled on the bench, thigh pressing against the strangers.

“Hello, I’m Dr.Jaeger, Zeke Jaeger.” He offered you his hand and you shook it firmly. Once Hange slammed the door shut, he pulled the gear into drive and the truck rattled up the drive, pulling into the small paved space behind the pole barn.

“Let’s get these meds in the storage room shall we?” Zeke said as he pulled the keys from the ignition and shoved them deep into his worn jean pockets. The three of you gathered at the bed of the truck, Zeke popped it open and leaned into the bed, pulling out a box and passing it to your waiting arms. It was heavier than expected and you let out an involuntary huff of air as you adjusted to the weight.

“Got it?” Zeke chuckled and you smiled tensely before nodding.

“In through that back door and to the right.” Hange directed and you took off towards the barn. Shortly after you had found the door, Hange arrived with two boxes, she jutted her hip out, and you fumbled to find the right key on her ring. Once the door was open you were greeted with the sight of shelves filled with old flat balls, dusty file cabinets, and some collapsed boxes. You added the new boxes to the shelves, Hange reached into her pocket and tossed you a pocket knife, you cut into the box and found it to be full of pill bottles.

“Ha, I feel like I’m dealing drugs.” You almost immediately regretted the comment, but to your relief Hange chuckled and nodded, clapping her hands, signaling for you to throw the knife.

“It can be surprising, but it takes a lot to keep this place running.” Hange agreed as Zeke stumbled in with the last three boxes, you took the top one off of the stack and placed it next to the others.

“Sure does.” Zeke agreed as he set the other boxes aside as well.

“How long can you hang around?” Hange asked, brushing her hands off on her jeans.

“Couple of hours,” Zeke said with a sigh as he reached up to stroke his beard.

“Great, we got two girls who need to get checked out. They are pretty rough on the edges.” Hange warned and you frowned, thinking back on how torn up the girls looked.

“Sure thing, let’s get right on that shall we?” Zeke turned and walked out of the room, clearly, he knew where he was going. Hange matched his pace, you followed closely behind as she told the man about the girls. He listened to her intently, taking in every word.

“Is Erwin here?” He asked looking around the large field as they got to the steps of the large home. You could hear the kids making conversation with one another as they were guided into another area.

“He said he was going to the gate to meet you,” Hange said, her eyes also drifting to the large gate which was still opened.

“He’s probably still in his office. Have you briefed him?” The man asked, light reflecting off of his lenses as he looked down at Hange.

“Yes.” She said, her voice calm as she spoke as if remembering something. You felt lost as they talked like you should have been somewhere else.

“Okay then, we should separate them, I want to talk with Alice first.” The man said, Hange nodded before looking back at the gate which still hung open revealing the large dirt road that you had ridden in on the day prior.

“Okay, I’ll get Mike to close it, then (Y/N) can help us with the girls.” She said, pulling out a small walkie-talkie and speaking into it, you could hear Mike's voice on the other side. Soon you saw him walk Leisurely out of the large pole barn and shut the gate. Zeke examined you, almost as if he was trying to figure something out, all you could think to do was give him a small smile, which made him shift his gaze back to the brunette.

“We should go now, they just finished breakfast so they’ll be going to the barn for rec time and group.” Hange said looking between you both. Zeke nodded and led you into the home which was now quieter than before, the only voices heard were two hushed boys in the kitchen, though you couldn’t see them you had a suspicion it was the small blonde and Mikasa. The two girls were still sitting at the table, the taller one was watching as Alice took small bites of her breakfast, it looked to be a taxing task for her.

“Hello, girls,” Zeke said, his tone soft as he pulled up one of the small stools that stood at the mismatched table and brought it close to the teens. The taller one practically jumped in her skin when he got close, placing a protective arm over her sister. While she looked at the man, her body looked so small as she met his eyes with a still expression. You had now noticed the two nurses from before, both standing at the ends of the stairs. Zeke was met with cold stares from Addy, he seemed used to it.

“How are you two managing? I know adjustments like this can be hard.” He said his expression kind as he spoke to them.

“The moon,” Alice said softly, her voice partially gone from the screaming she had done the night before.

“What about it?” Zeke asked, seeming to take note of what she had said, it was the first words she had spoken since she had got here. You could tell Hange got excited, her glasses glinting in the morning light. Alice looked as if she was about to speak more but Addy opened her mouth before her sister could.

“She’s always liked to see it, it calms her. She can’t look at it through the barred window in the attic.” She said, looking directly at Zeke, almost as if it was a demand he had to meet.

“What do you like about the moon?” He asked the girl, who seemed to open up at this question, turning her body towards Zeke so she could talk.

“No matter the date it always has a precise agenda, you know where it’s going to be every night, you know how it’s going to look. And even if you can’t see it through the dark clouds, you can always see the light. You always know it’s there.” She said, her voice light as she spoke about it, Zeke nodded intently as she opened up to him. You noticed that the sleeves of the long sweater she wore were frayed as if she had bitten at it. Addy watched the two, anger building up inside her as her sister began to converse with this strange man.

“Would you like to come to my office with me and tell me more about it?” Zeke asked, that same soft smile from the car appearing on his lips as he asked her the question. The girl nodded, looking more innocent than any kid here did. Holding a look in her eye that you couldn’t shake, pure joy.

“We don’t go anywhere without each other.” Addy hissed, her eyes widening as she held her sister back.

“We have something else planned for you, you’re going to go hang out with the others for a while and get your chore list,” Hange said, chiming in before the girl could get too aggravated.

“I’ll be fine,” Alice said, looking up to her sister who started to stand from the large table.

“I promise I won’t keep her long,” Zeke said, giving Addy the same smile he had given her sister. Hesitantly she removed her hand from her sister and watched as the two nurses led the small girl out of the room, each letting her stabilize herself on their arms. Zeke followed behind them as he told her what they would be doing.

“Ready kiddo?” Hange asked the girl, whose eyes lingered on the doorway where her sister once stood.

“That’s a stupid fucking shirt.” Addy spat, her eyes now fixated on the colorful t-shirt that you had been too busy to look at this morning. You looked down to see the black letters on your shirt that read “ smile while you still have teeth.” A wave of embarrassment flew over you, you crossed your arms over your chest as Hange tried not to chuckle at the phrase which she had also just seemed to notice now.

“What?” You asked, actually finding the wording clever when you purchased it at the old thrift store by your parents' house, it brought back memories you didn’t even know you had.

“It's pretty bad.” Hange laughed, before walking over to Addy who had a smile hanging loosely from her lips.

“I thought it was funny.” You said, clearly hurt by the words that had just been exchanged. Addy scoffed and pushed past you and marched towards the main hall, Hange turned and beckoned Armin and Mikasa to follow. The odd group stood on the porch for a moment as Hange addressed her staticky radio. Armin was looking at you with wide, curious eyes and you gave him a friendly smile in return.

“Hey.” You greeted and he smiled at you widely.

“Hello.” Mikasa watched the exchange with careful eyes, clearly ensuring that Armin was handling the situation well.

“My name is (Y/n).” You introduced yourself and Armin nodded and extended a hand to shake.

“Armin, and this is Mikasa.” He gestured to the girl and her chin lifted at the mention of her name. You nodded and shook his hand firmly.

“I’m excited to be here with you.” You said and he shrugged.

“First time?” He asked, making you recall the way Connie had introduced himself to you.

“Yeah, that easy to spot?” You chuckled and he shrugged indifferently.

“Well, when you’ve been coming here as long as we have….new staff members aren’t that common.” He explained and you felt dread drop into your chest. This facility was practically year-round, it amazed you with how many kids were spending their teenage years here.

“Ah, that makes sense.” You weren’t sure how to appropriately reply to that, but Armin seemed to think it was funny, he giggled and folded his arms over his chest.

“Alrighty kids, they’re just waiting on us!” Hange exclaimed and the lot of you all crossed the lawn and entered the pole barn. Now the main floor was filled with metal folding chairs. All of the kids were gathered in a circle, Levi was bouncing a dodge ball absently in the center of the circle, the ball was the only sound in the room. The three kids that you and Hange had escorted took the open seats and Hange and you stood back as Levi continued to bounce the ball. Once the three were settled he caught the ball and raised a brow.

“So...who’s going first today?” He barely got the words out before Connie’s hand shot up at full force, his chair screeching against the concrete as he planted his feet into the ground, propelling him backward. Levi tossed the ball and Connie caught it with his raised hand, bringing it to hug against his chest as he grinned at the teens.

“My name is Connie, and I’m 16 years old. I’m bald now because I had lice, I also have crippling anxiety and a history of drug abuse.” He nodded, pleased with his share and looked to Levi for his reaction. When Levi motioned for him to keep going, he inhaled and looked up thoughtfully.

“This is my third year here at Turning Point. Uh I keep coming back because the ladies here are fine as-”

“Connie” Levi scolded, eyes narrowing and lips pressed into a firm line. Connie’s shoulders dropped and his eyebrows cinched together, the happy facade falling for a brief moment.

“In case you haven’t noticed yet...I cope using humor, as Zeke tells me anyway.” Connie’s eyes drifted to Levi, looking for his approval, Levi nodded and Connie lit up once more.

“That’s enough.” Levi grunted and Connie surveyed the group before winding his arm up and tossing the ball to Eren who caught it with ease and tapped his hand against it once before opening his mouth to speak.

“I’m Eren, I guess I have anger issues and anxiety. The only reason I’m here is because it was either this or juvy, so it was a lose-lose situation.” Eren looked over to the side, losing his focus for a moment, his expression detached. He looked to Levi who motioned him to speak more, he obliged with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“I guess I’ve always been angry, gotten into a lot of fights, got kicked out of my home, got kicked out of school. I haven’t gotten lice though which is a step up from Connie.” The boy gave Connie a fake smile, which made Connie itch his head while glaring at the dark-haired boy. Ymir scoffed and Levi shot her a glare.

“Okay Eren, pick someone to go next.” Levi cut into the boys, visibly annoyed with how immature they were acting. You had to hold in a laugh as Connie stuck his tongue out at the angered man who didn’t respond to the action. Eren handed the ball to Mikasa who in turn chucked the ball across the room, the ball smacking loudly against Jean’s head.

“Why me!?” Jean yelled, rubbing his cheek dejectedly, the ball rolling to a stop at Levi’s ankles. He sighed and picked the small dodge ball up and tossed it gently back to Mikasa. The girl scoffed and squeezed the ball, knuckles turning white. She shot a pointed glare at Levi before she spoke.

“My name is Mikasa, I’m 16 years old and this time the court ordered me to be here, but in the past, I’ve been admitted here for my depression….” Her eyes shifted to Levi and he gave her a curt nod and she tossed the ball in Ymir’s direction. The brunette smirked and hit her palm against the rubber ball with a loud smack. Several kids jumped at the sound, but the most noticeable was Historia, who was seated to her left.

“The name’s Ymir, and the only reason I’m here is cause some jackass messed with me and I lit his car on fire-” You had been so invested in the sharing time, that you didn’t notice the man approaching you from behind. A strong hand landed on your shoulder and broke your concentration.

“Sorry for the wait. Welcome to Turning Point (Y/n), my name is Erwin Smith, I’m the director here.” You turned and craned your neck upwards to meet his shockingly blue eyes.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” He chuckled and shook your hand firmly.

“There’s no need for such formalities.” He said quietly as he broke the intense eye contact to look at the group. You were surprised to see Levi looking at the two of you, but once your eyes met his, he returned his gaze back to Reiner, who currently held the ball.

“Let’s take this conversation into my office.” He suggested, eyes still on Levi as he spoke. You nodded and Erwin’s hand returned to your shoulder, guiding you around the perimeter of the barn towards one of the few back rooms. Hange tailed behind you, her arms linked behind her back as she walked. Erwin opened the door for you, motioning you in before him. The space was surprisingly minimalistic and modern. There was an array of photos decorating the wall, one in particular that caught your eye was a photo of Erwin and Hange on a beach, Erwin’s arm looped around her waist. Erwin sat behind his desk and Hange leaned up against the door casually. You slowly sank into the seat across from Erwin and straightened up your posture as Erwin opened his laptop and began to scroll through it.

“As I understand you graduated with a major in psychology and a minor in sociology, very impressive.” He mused as he took his eyes off of the screen to meet yours once more.

“Yes that’s correct.” You clarified, crossing your legs.

“Excellent, well seeing that you have no prior experience in facilities like ours, I believe that the best option for you here is to shadow one of our more experienced members.” Erwin seemed to almost be speaking to himself, not really seeking your opinion on the matter.

“Hange, do you have any recommendations?” Erwin asked, eyes on his screen once more as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

“I would volunteer but I took the last one and we all remember how that worked out…” Hange scratched the back of her neck awkwardly and Erwin let out a low chuckle as he nodded in agreement.

“Levi it is then.” He made some final notes before closing his laptop and linking his fingers together and resting his chin on them.

“Any objections?” He asked, you shook your head and he flashed you a bright smile.

“Excellent. It’s settled, from now on you’ll work with him on all his usual assignments.” Erwin said, standing up from his desk and you did the same.

“This’ll be rich.” Hange snickered and Erwin shot her a stern look.

“You’ll get along just fine,” Erwin assured you and you felt an uneasy feeling settle over you. Hange laughed once more and strode over to you, draping an arm over your shoulders and pressing her cheek against yours.

“Who knows, maybe you two will hit it off!” She teased and even Erwin cracked an amused smirk at that.

[writerofblocks]

*sneaks this in* Bridget/Troy - things you said with no space between us (or) things you didn’t say at all

This was. From a long ass time ago. BUT ITS FINISHED NOW SO IM POSTING IT.

Sleepless in Stilwater

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Troy held up three fingers. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in as many minutes. And I’d be okay with that if you weren’t, you know, doin’ seventy on a forty-five mile an hour highway.”

Bridget broke eye contact with the road long enough to give him a sidelong glare that would wither a lesser man. “I’m not the only one doing their best Fast and the Furious impression out there,” she irritably shot back. A sports car rushed past them with an ear splitting squeal that made Troy jump, and she gestured at it. “See?”

Troy sunk back into the leather seat of the [insert car model here], returning her glare with one of his own. “That’s not the point and you know it. The point is I’d rather not end up a red smear on the pavement because my wheel man fell asleep at the goddamn wheel.”

“Oh, is that all I-” Her mouth cracked open into another face-splitting yawn; she barely managed to hide it behind her hand. “-all I am to you? Your wheel man?”

“Four. And don’t give me that crap, you’re the one that called dibs on driving.”

“I only called dibs cause you drive like a grandma on a broken scooter.”

“You mean I drive the speed limit.”

Bridget ignored him. “Besides,” she said, swerving around a semi-truck sharp enough to make him grab at the handle above the passenger window, “I’ve got places to be after this. Julius called me about a-” she let out another yawn. “-about a storage place, said the Rollerz keep their best wheels there.”

A smirk crossed Troy’s face. He waited until Bridget’s attention was on him before he held up five fingers and wiggled them. It was worth it to see the way her eyebrows dropped into a sharp V before she jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“Don’t need to say anything.”

The one finger swiftly flipped upward into giving him the bird as she returned her attention to the highway. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the highway this second,” she growled, though a smile playing at the corners of her lips undercut the hostile tone.

Troy chuckled, then settled back in his seat enough to look out the car window. Stilwater was a shithole on a good day, but the oranges, purples, and blues of sunset colored the world into something more palpable to take in. Light bounced off the towering buildings of Downtown, harsh edges and cold, reflective glass softening under the gentle touch of twilight. But you could only watch buildings whiz by for so long. His gaze, as it so often did in these rare quiet moments, returned to her.

As much as he bitched about it, there was one thing he didn’t mind about Bridget being the go-to driver. It allowed him time to just… take her in. Look openly, without other people seeing and giving him crap for being lovestruck. Without her giving him crap for being lovestruck, because even after the months they’ve been together she still shied away from open affection more often than not. She cuts the sentiment with a joke, or by teasing him, or some combination of both. He doesn’t mind it- he wonders sometimes if he’s a glutton for punishment, given his career path and choice of romantic partner, but he doesn’t mind being so. Not with her around.

So he looks at her. The way her eyelids keep fluttering slightly, only for her to stubbornly hold them back open. The dark circles he’d think were black eyes if they weren’t only on her lower eyelids. She’s tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, jiggling the leg not in charge of the pedals. Any motion to tell her body it isn’t time to sleep yet. He’d make a joke about looking in a mirror if seeing it didn’t bother him so much.

That was the downside of being undercover. You got real good at seeing things people tried to hide. He had to say something. He opened his mouth, and...

“For real, though. You look like shit. Have you slept at all?”

And of course something stupid came out. Miracle of miracles, she scoffed instead of chucking him onto the highway. “Bold move to question my sleeping habits. How many used coffee mugs are on your desk again?”

Troy chose to ignore her words. “Look man, just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “-go home. Take a shower or something. Get some food. You need a break, Bridge.”

Bridget’s face was impassive, staring straight forward as she shifted the car into the express lane. “Can’t. Julius-”

Enough of this. “Did he tell you to do it tonight?” he asked, cutting her off before she could restate whatever bullshit task Julius had given her to do on top of everything else he’d piled on her. For fuck’s sake, sometimes it felt like she was carrying the whole gang by herself in between the tasks Julius sent down the pipeline and the duties she’d taken on herself to perform.

The glare she gave him could melt permafrost. “No.”

“Then do it tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

“I’m fresh enough,” she bit out. “You’re worrying way too much-”

The words burst from his chest before he could vet them. “I’m worrying the right goddamned amount for someone watching a person he cares about take way more shit on than she needs to.”

Bridget’s eyes went wide, whatever she’d been about to say dying in her open mouth.

Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this is some macho attempt to prove yourself or some shit, but you don’t have to do this. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Just- please.”

She was quiet for several minutes, eyes locked on the road as she slowed to match the speed of traffic. He’d almost given up on getting a response before she spoke again. “I won’t go to the storage place tonight. It’s-” She swallowed. “It’s late. Rollerz’ll be getting the cars out for races by now, there’s bound to be way more hanging around than during the day.”

He knows those justifications. Her saying he’s right without saying it directly. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Got anything else going on later?”

Manila folders scattered across a coffee table, a rapidly growing pile of cigarette stubs as he figures out the best way to ruin his friend’s lives-

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Bridget had first joined the Saints, Troy had thought her unreadable. It was easier now to read her once he knew what to look for. Her rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger- something self soothing. Bouncing her leg- buying time to think. The lift of her head to look at him directly- she was searching him, weighing his reaction. “Feel like staying over?”

Always. “If you want me to.”

The tension in Bridget’s shoulders dissipated, and she gave him a small smile. “Of course I do, that’s why I asked,” she replied, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

===

Rain tapped an improv jazz rhythm on the glass of Bridget’s bedroom window, and Troy couldn’t sleep. Blame the cigarettes, the coffee, the crippling anxiety and paranoia. The cause ultimately didn’t matter, the effect was the digital clock on Bridget’s bedside table hit 2AM and he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he originally lay down. Bridget, though. Bridget had been asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a moment of satisfying vindication.

He rolled over, resting a hand on her arm.

It was strange to see Bridget asleep. If Bridget was awake, she was moving- tapping her foot, shifting from side to side. She bounced her heels if a meeting went too long, rattling the table until he placed a hand on her thigh to get her to stop (among… other reasons). If she chose to talk, she talked with her whole body, her hands dancing in the air. Even when she was seated and still, a part of her still seemed to tremble with energy, anticipation and eagerness. Not now, though. Now she laid there, the rise and fall of her chest the only motion. Light drifted through the cracks in the blinds from the streetlight outside her window, resting softly on the freckles on her cheeks.

His hand traveled down her arm, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip bone. Bridget wasn’t a paper-thin waif by any stretch of the imagination, but without the bulk of her sweatshirt to fill out her usual silhouette, she looked… smaller. More vulnerable. Which was ridiculous, he’d seen what she could do with a gun- hell, forget a gun, he’d seen the havoc she created with her fists alone- but somehow. Somehow that veneer was stripped away in the hazy orange light of a half-dead lamppost bulb, and the only thing left was a tired twenty-one year old who needed a hell of a lot more sleep than she was getting.

Christ. She really was twenty-one, wasn’t she? The face she wore around the other Saints made her seem older than that. It was all harsh angles and stony silences, only a twitch of a smile or a slight furrow in her brow betraying the emotions running electric through her veins. The uncertainty there at the beginning had long since suffocated under a rap sheet he hated to tally up in his head. It was a thing with no remorse, and little room for mercy.

And yet that face was forgotten in her sleep. The ever present tension slackened, releasing that hardened shell and letting it fall away in favor of something softer. She denied the existence of that softness, but he knew. He was allowed to know, he realized, warmth settling in his chest at the thought. Of all people, she’d offered that gift to him.

And it’s a gift you’ll lose soon.

The thought cut a sharp line through the haze, frozen against the warmth of the moment. Troy stilled, his hand resting on her waist. Somewhere in between the light on her cheeks and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, he’d forgotten what would be waiting for them. That as much as he tried to dodge and delay, the day Chief Monroe decided it was time to pull the plug on the Saints was coming sooner than later- and Bridget, ambitious and unknowing, was only hastening that end.

His sigh was frayed, thin and trailing off into nothing. This relationship was never going to last forever. He’d known that going in, had willingly condemned them both to heartbreak, but it hadn’t mattered then. That future had drowned in the affection in her gaze. The warmth of her laughter. The spark of her lips on his. But now…

Troy cupped Bridget’s cheek, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he closed his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He had to say it, just once. Even if she didn’t hear it- since she would never hear it- it needed to escape before it withered under his held tongue. It needed to exist, just for a moment, all his regrets pouring into that simple, weighted phrase.

At some point she’d wake up, either through him gently shaking her or her own merit. Either way she’d grouch at him for not waking her up sooner, blinking blearily at him in a hopelessly endearing way she’d punch him for if he ever mentioned it. She’d whip the covers off of both of them, laughing when he protests. Showers would follow, breakfast of some sort, and time would continue to march forward to that inevitable, heartbreaking point.

But that was a future they didn’t have to face yet. For now, they could stay like this- curling into each other, breath to breath and at peace.

For now, he’d save her a rude awakening.

[lilsuzn]

MLQC Victor - Fluff abc headcanons

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice

Warnings: None. Fluffy flluff. The reader is gender neutral :)))

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

The ambition.

The witt.

The open-mindedness.

The kindness.

The creativity and imagination.

The passion.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Smile. He loves it, because it’s a clear indication of your happiness.

Your eyes light up, cheeks become so adorably pink.

He has a different picture of your smile on a main screen and lock screen of every device he has. Even his work laptop.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Given his initial attitude you couldn’t believe how after your first time together Victor got cuddly out of the sudden.

He’s not clingy. He doesn’t do it at any given occasion, but when you are alone in the comfort of his home - he will want to cuddle and might even get a bit touchy-feely sometimes.

Spooning on the couch is his favorite. He can be a big or a small spoon. He doesn’t really have a prefered role. Victor just wants to be close and keep you warm.

Candles and slow music.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

Perfect gentlemanly manners.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

His ideal date would be a cosy, romantic dinner at his place. Just the two of you. Everything will be served to you. And don’t even think about helping him wash the dishes afterwards.

He can be quite aloof in public.

If he bares himself to you - it’s only in private (if at all). 

When the look in his eyes softness and the corners of his lips tug upwards - that’s when he pulls you close and lays kisses all over your face.

Doesn’t really know how to talk about his feelings. Won’t really try unless absolutely necessary.

Will take extremely good care of you if you need it. Sick? Tired? Grumpy? Sad? He would nag, but is ready to stop the earth and move the sun if it is to make you smile at him again.

He’s a hard worker and would rather die than to give up on keeping you happy. And by his side.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

YES.

Whenever you are ready and if you want to have kids at all - he will be happy to provide.

Only thought of you carrying his child makes him all hot and bothered, but that’s obviously not all.

He just wants to have everything with you. Beautiful wedding, big house, children... maybe even a dog, if you into THOSE -.-

He sometimes imagines you both gray and old with your grandchildren. Making cookies in the kitchen or walking around the park.

He (very) secretly dreams about ending your love story the same way it ended in the Notebook (that he has officially never seen!). Embracing each other. Closing your eyes for the last time knowing that your children are safe and happy. That’s just who he is deep deep deep inside - a hopeless romantic.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

Well, he doesn’t really believe that gifts are an indication of love. People give each other gifts all the time and for no apparent reason.

He cherishes every gift you give him, but if it was the only thing you did, he wouldn’t be too happy about it.

Same goes for him. He’s a man with money. He might not be able to give you ANYTHING you might want, but he can sure provide you with a lot.

And he will. He could never leave you wanting without a good reason. He sees it as his responsibility to gift his beloved one with everything a woman might want.

Every work trip - a bag full of ‘I’m sorry I left’ gifts. He just needs to prove it to you that he was thinking about you every second he was away and how else could he do it?

He also likes to present, well, himself with jewelry or clothes for you to wear. Something beaming like your smile? Something precious like you are for him?

He just can’t deny himself the pleasure of seeing you look so gorgeous in something he personally picked out.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

Oh, so you thought you would be able to NOT hold hands on every possible occasion? Cute.

Don’t feel like cuddling on the couch or in the bed? Okay, hands holding it is.

Feel like cuddling? Okay, but don’t let go of his hand.

Walking around the town together? You better believe he won’t let a chance to show off his wonderful woman slip. Yes, madam old lady walking by, yes mister homeless guy going down the trash container, yes madam sales lady and you, random guy on a bike - she’s my babe.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

If you injure yourself by being distracted while ie. cutting something with a knife or stirring something hot - he will get a bit upset with you.

But even though he will bumble discontentedly under his nose, he will take better care of you than you need. Hurt your right hand? He will feed you, write things down for you and whatever else he sees necessary. Hurt your foot? You’re being carried around and he will be mad if you try to walk on your own. “I know it’s nothing serious, but what if it gets worse when you always walk so carelessly?”

If somebody else hurt you? Well, he’s ready to kill with cold blood. Wouldn’t hesitate.

Stabs as a warning.

If you got seriously hurt he would probably close himself in the bathroom and cry for a while, but nobody but him will ever know.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

He finds such acts very childish and would never prank you. He flinches with only a thought of the word.

If you attempt such a thing to him, he will get VERY UPSET.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Full of love.

He doesn’t like to kiss just for the sake of it or for the expectation to kiss your partner.

If your lips meet it’s always in an emotion-filled kiss.

No matter if it's a featherlight, sugarsweet, lovingly sensual or burning hot kiss - it's always intense in it’s own way.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

Acts of service - His mane operational system. He lives to please you. To treat you like a goddess you are for him. Acts like he’s taking notes of your preferences, dreams and dislikes. Only buys the coffee you like. Stops eating meat for you. Do you remember saying that you wanted that cute, sakura starbucks mug, but had no idea where to get it? He does. He ordered it for you already. Remember briefly mentioning that you would want to see Tokyo in winter? He already has a whole trip planned.

Gifts - well, I already covered it in G, but I’ll just add that he will surely be reluctant to buy you some seemingly useless stuff even if you ask for them.

Physical touch - once again, Victor isn’t really clingy or touchy feely. He has his moments, we all do, but usually he just likes to hold hands and that’s all he wants for outsiders to see. At home he gets a little more physical, but not too much. Some affectionate caressing and hugs. Kissing is not that often of an occurrence, but when it happens is usually preparation for devil's tango (which with him happens pretty often but that’s not the list for the details).

Quality time - See Q.

Words of affirmation - Well, he is a good critic. Too good. However it’s just because he wants you to push your limits to thrive. He will tell you that he’s proud of you, appreciates what you are doing for him/your relationship and other things that are usually task/success related, because that’s the only appreciation words he appreciates. Words are empty for him. He’s a lawyer, he knows how willingly people lie to get what they want and how hesitant they are to make some more effort when it comes to it. Will tell you that he loves you at least once a day, because he always adds it to his to do list. Won’t praise your beauty too much, but you can tell he likes what he sees when he likes it. If you wear red lipstick the man will basically drool, but will not say a word until he pushes you down on his bed… and the rest is history.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

Remember that third date I mentioned? The one his kissed you for the first time on?

It was a very nice date.

He took you for a walk around the rose garden. Bought you your favorite coffee to keep you warm during the breezy evening.

Didn’t let go of your hand for a moment.

You looked so pretty that night. Smiled so pretty. TALKED so pretty.He didn’t even realise when he stopped and leaned down. He could not have noticed when you closed the gap between you.

But the kiss was outwardly. That first one and every other you shared that night.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

To disappoint you.

He sure is scared of losing you, hurting you and a few more, but seeing you disappointed by him…

To imagine such a thing is already hurtful for him.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

Taking photos of you while you’re asleep.

He just can’t help it. You’re so beautiful. And cute.

Would never show them to anyone though. Not even you.

No… He couldn’t even confess to you about it. It’s just his little secret.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

Is ‘dummy’ a pet name? Because… Dummy.

‘Baby’ might also happen if he's feeling playful or you did something cute.

If he’s in a good mood you can count on ‘my love’ or ‘my lovely’ - but never in public.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

Can’t do without it.

As I said in D, Victor will both serve you and entertain you. Whatever you want to do - he’s okay with doing it with you.

He might not really pay any attention to some of your movies and work on his laptop instead, but he wouldn’t even dream about leaving you alone and doing it in his comfortable office instead.

He rearranged his home office so you would come over and you both work together more often and more happily. Now you sit across from each other and, heh, see H.

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

Me? Myself?

Beyonce - Ego. OBVIOUSLY. Check it out if you don’t know it. (it’s a tiny, little bit suggestive, beware)

But in the more romantic mood…

The Neighbourhood - Sweater Weather

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

You need to put a lot of work for him to finally open up.

After that first time, however, if he finds your reaction pleasant, he will start testing the waters on his own from time to time.

THEN, if you won’t fail his many, many tests of course, he will open up for good.

No secrets. No hiding his feelings. He’s your book that is eager to be read.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

He doesn’t fall for anyone. Ever.

If he was to, I’d have to be a conscious decision. With a lot of thought put into it.

That’s what he was telling to himself his whole life, a least.

But then when he met you… it wasn’t a love at first sight, but it took approximately a fithteen minutes of group conversation for him to get all tingly on the inside.

He didn’t ask you out that day and he regretted it alot. The next time you run across each other on the street, he spears no time.

He kissed you on your third date. Neither of you voiced it, but the situation was very clear.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

He acts upset.

He’s angry and he either actively doesn't talk with you or throws passive aggressive comments around.

He doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s upset.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

You're absolutely supreme in his eyes.

Beautiful, intelligent, talented.

He takes a lot of pride by introd you as his partner. Takes you everywhere he can as his plus one, so he can show you off to even more people.

Talks instead of you as he does that, but obviously you are more than okay with that.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

Do I even have to say it?

Because it’s obvious. Have you even ever heard about this guy?

He would kill and die for you.

Do anything to keep you by his side and happy. That’s just who he is - a fighter… for you.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

His talent to read people is one of the main things he owes his success to.

Even if you don’t show what’s inside your head in your face, he sure will find other ways to read you.

You can’t hide anything from him.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

As I said, he doesn’t show it off much, but it’s quite clear in his gestures towards you - he’s a hopeless romantic that is madly in love with you.

Christmas morning. Sipping on hot chocolates that Victor made for you. You open your presents.

As always, you end up ashamed of how little you spent on him, even though you couldn’t really afford more. He bought you so many things you’re not even sure you’ll be able to store it.

After going through a few bigger presents, you finally go down on the smaller ones.

One of them particularly tiny, causing an awwww to leave your lips.

You got a few rings from Victor before and even more pairs of earrings. It really didn’t seem suspicious, especially since you’ve been dating for only a few months then.

But after you open up the box and see it… you get a bit confused at first.

White and yellow gold molten together creating an uneven coloration of a band that bends and twists and splits like a branch that holds two gleaming diamonds like they were two blooming flowers. One white - bigger, other pink - smaller.

Their cut - unseen. Enhancing their flower-like look even farther.

At first you are consumed by inspecting every detail - the way the metal cups the stones to like a tree does flowers. Causing a petal ilusion to grow even more realistic… You don’t even notice when he goes down on one knee before you until he puts his hand on your thigh.

You look at him. Your eyes wide in shock.

He has never been a man of words and some might say that his proposal ‘speech’ wasn’t romantic… But for you it was more than just perfect.

“Marry me, (Y/N).”

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

Seeing you calm. Seeing you happy.

Knowing that you don’t have to worry about another day, because he’s been working hard his whole life to provide for you.

[wevegottogetaway]

I love you

First I love yous...do I need to say more? Anyway, please don’t hesitate to reach out for anything, whether that be comments, requests, feedback or just to have a chat! Happy reading xx

It’s been three days of utter pandemonium ripping through your brain in complete disarray. Three days of pent up stress storming through your mind as you ran like a headless chicken to try and find a handle on a situation that frankly, you didn’t give a rat’s ass about.

It all started when your boss had called you in his office, his signature tyrant-resting face on, solid frown drafting his features in a look of severity. Well, this can’t be good, you’d immediately thought once you took a hesitant seat across his desk. You’d hoped for a benign reason behind the sudden meeting, and that the scowl on his face was merely a residual of some other trouble that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

Your prayers had fallen on deaf ears however, as the summoning proved to be a twenty minutes angry diatribe about how one of your most recent client had expressed their wish to withdraw from their deal and de facto, the company. Though it hadn’t been your fault per se, your boss didn’t have any reservations about reminding you of your supposed responsibility to keep your clients sated and on the company’s leash. He’d given you three days to fix it after that. Three days to persuade the client not to pull out of the deal, or you risked some serious downgrading if not redundancy.  

You’d called Harry for support the minute you got home and spent the whole evening brainstorming the craziest ideas to him. He’d listened patiently, holding your hand on the table as you both indulged in the Thai take-out he’d picked up on his way over. That first night, you’d barely slept as you laid in his strong arms, back to his chest. Your reeling mind had still been trying to conjure up any sort of plan that would help you out of this chaos; but for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, your hopes had dwindled some.

You hadn’t known then, but Harry couldn’t find rest either as he spooned you against him. You two hadn’t been dating long, several months at best, but already your distress was unbearable to him and every bone in his body ached to do something to help you. This feeling of powerlessness was crawling out of his skin and swimming around like a shark amidst his prevalent thoughts of support, admiration and love. Because, while he’d shown you the first and conveyed the second countless times in the past, the third had yet to tumble out of his lips, despite the confession burning their flesh a bit stronger every day.

What really had had his mind reeling though, was knowing that maybe, just maybe, he had the power to make this situation go away; and for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, his hopes grew some.

Your earlier utterance of the client’s name had been ringing through his mind in faint recognition, an itch starting to fester at his fingertips. Dialing a phone number was all it could take. A couple choice words and if he played his cards right, the deal would be back on the table. He’d known interfering was arguably a bad idea, and truthfully he’d always made a point of honor not to use his connections to serve ulterior motives (his or anyone else’s), but how was he supposed to do nothing when the person that caused you trouble was in fact a friend of a friend that might reevaluate their stance if he pitched in with a bit of charm and compelling words? How was he supposed to stay idle, watch you dissolve in an anxious mess, if he wasn’t as powerless as he thought?

So he didn’t. 

He’d originally planned on keeping you in the loop, but you’d been gone by the time his forest green eyes had fluttered back to consciousness the next morning. After a quick shower, a large mug of the coffee you’d left for him before running back to work, and locking your apartment with the spare key you’d given him a couple weeks back, he’d pulled out his phone. Two minutes was all it took for his friend to pass him your client’s number and without hesitation, he’d launched the call and brought his phone to his ear.

It took a bit longer than a couple of minutes for that conversation to take effect, but eventually his words hit their target. After all, his lovely nature could pierce through the most robust walls and stubborn minds. He didn’t even have to put on the charm that much, instead drawing earnest sentiments about your impeccable skills and rambling about how there was no better person to keep their account safe in the business. He’d gnawed at his lips the whole time, desperate to pull through but still scared to fail you somehow. You’d already been let down by the client and your boss, you certainly didn’t need your boyfriend added to the list.

The call had ended with their promise to reassess and consider your undeniable abilities in the equation, yet the next day you were once again convoked to your boss’ office with a snarly bark of your name. Puzzlement washed over you as you speed-walked after him. Why was he still so resentful with you when you’d gotten the client to reenter the contract?

Another twenty minutes of intense scolding provided you with that answer. With a disdainful gaze puncturing your poise, your boss told you that while your job was no longer on the line, you’d been given a firm warning about using your boyfriend as negotiator for the company’s dealings.

How he knew when you yourself weren’t aware of the fact, you didn’t know. In retrospect, your talk with the client had been suspiciously easy for someone who’d made their will to ditch the company crystal clear. You’d merely laid out your arguments, expecting resistance and some pushing, but were only met with a squinted look and cautious acceptance. Now you know your case had already been pleaded once, by the man who was taking more and more space for himself inside the chambers of your heart.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it; didn’t know if you should be mad or grateful. You were specifically stunned because you knew it was out of character for Harry. Your boyfriend was the most generous being you’d ever met, but humility was even more so a prevailing layer of his beautiful nature. You certainly didn’t expect it, didn’t wish for it to happen again because you were always adamant not to ever use anyone for their assets. Yet there was a tingling, a mixture of discomfort and gratefulness, sloshing in the pit of your stomach. 

This whole thing was a mind-fuckery of emotions you were too tired to process.

What you did feel though, was the pure frustration at your boss’ hypocrisy. You both knew he didn’t really care how you’d gotten the deal back, just that you did, but his intolerable disposition wouldn’t allow him to applaud your efforts and move on.

Wanting to put this all mess behind you, you bit back the retorts that you craved to force down his throat, simply nodded through his chastising charade, and leaped to your feet as soon as the dismissing words left his stupid trap.

Now that you’re making your way inside your home, your nose is hit by a waft of delicious aromas traveling from the kitchen. Your mind is still fuzzy with every trouble and startling revelation that transpired in the past three days, but as your eyes settle on your apron-clad boyfriend, you take a moment to appreciate the sight of his soft figure stirring the content of what must be a pan on the gas. His back is facing you, but you can hear the gentle humming under his breath, as he hasn’t registered your arrival yet.

After another minute of whistling, he finally twists around and his eyes almost pop out of their socket when they find your timid stance a couple feet away. "Jesus, pet, didn’t know you were home yet," he chuckles softly before taking in your somewhat moony features. Your expression is hard to pinpoint, your delicate traits blank of any emotions yet your eyes have the same sparkle that greets him every morning and every night when he pulls you for a deep kiss in his warm embrace. "Everythin’ okay, love?"

The query snaps you out of your semblance of trance, your head looking down to the floor to gather your wits before you level your gaze back to his. "Yeah it is. Umm, my boss called me in again today," your bite your lip, not knowing how to navigate the conversation. In all honesty, you just want to be done with the whole thing, would rather spend an evening full of cuddles and potentially mind-blowing sex, but you know this ought to be acknowledged.

"Oh," his brows pull together with the same confusion you’d experienced when your boss ushered you to his office. "Did he thank you for the big save?"

"Not exactly," you clear your throat bracing yourself and Harry’s face tenses at the realization about where this is going. "My job is safe and I’m still working on the account," hie loosens up in relief, but your next words have him stiffen right back up in alarm. "But I got a warning for a certain someone’s involvement in the company’s operations. Apparently, my boyfriend called the client on my behalf and forgot to clue me in…"

Your voice is calm and doesn’t carry any reproachful tone, but Harry’s pulse is suddenly speeding with dread regardless. The fact that he could have lost you your jobs is the only thing registering in his frenzied mind, as he sets the dish towel from his shoulder down on the counter and steps closer to you. His eyes are bouncing off yours in a frantic back and forth, as he gulps his remorse down. Before you can appease him with reassuring words, and show your lack of anger, he launches in an apologetic rant, enclosing both your hands between his palms.

"M’so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. Fuck I just- I kept thinkin’ I could help since your client was a friend of a friend. And, the more I thought about it, the more I kept thinking 'I can’t do nothin’. Cause I hate seein’ you in pain an’ I really want to be here fo’ you and I know this was probably the wrong way to go about it, but damn y/n, I couldn’t stand doin’ nothing, m’sorry-"

"I love you."

The words come fast but distinct, airy but firm, not an ounce of doubt laced through their utterance. An eerie silence permeate the small space surrounding them, as Harry tries to find his own words back. It took three of them to steal all of his, but in his defense they were the ones he’d been dying to hear and to deliver himself. His eyes are wide, blinking in total surprise. He’d expected irritation, disappointment perhaps, maybe even anger, but definitely not the sweetest words he’s been keeping at the forefront of his mind. "I- you do?"

You still have that wondrous look on your face, but this time a bright smile enlivens your features, "I really do." You take your hands out of his grip to hold onto his wrists and pull him closer to you. You have to look up since he towers over you but you’ve always liked that about your relationship; the way he always seems to dwarf you in his embraces, whether because of his height or his bear-paw hands. "I mean, don’t that again," you let out a soft laugh, "but I know why you did it, and I love you for it." 

Harry smiles rivals your own now, as your hands smooth up his arms to clasp at the nape of his neck, "plus, my boss is a jerk anyway so, who cares?" You pull him in a loving kiss then and his arms wrap themselves around your shoulders in a tight lock. His lips are as soft as ever between your own, and you detect the faintest taste of pepper and other exotic herbs lingering on their edge, from his cooking endeavors. He’s always been one to have a taste or two while he’s working, whether that be in the kitchen or other rooms…and regardless, you always like it when you get your share from his supple lips.

He feels slightly distracted against your mouth though, his technique not as ravishing as it usually is. and before you can wonder why, he’s pulling an inch away from your swollen lips, hurriedly whispering your tender confession back to you as though the words couldn’t be out of his mouth and into your heart fast enough, "I love you too, pet. So much." His hands are cajoling your face, thumbs drawing soothing circles across your cheeks, and his beaming smile is melting your heart in a goo of pleasure after all the strain it suffered in the past couple of days.

"Fuck, c’mere, don’t ever wanna stop kissing you," Harry mutters against your lips before diving in for a real mind-bending, soul-shaking, tantalizing kiss this time. Just like that, all your worries and sorrow evaporate into thin air, only to be replaced by an intoxicating pink loving brume. You two definitely spend the most perfect evening with lots of cuddles and endless mind-blowing lovemaking. Screw everything else.

➪ Masterlist

[morganaspendragonss]

if your looking for a bth prompt what about used in sacrificial ritual where tk gets abducted on a run and carlos is the lead detective on this case of people getting murdered as sacrifices and they arrive in time to save tk but the ritual involved cutting limbs off and tk ends up losing a leg? perhaps w lots of fluff at the end? <3<3

anon, i cannot tell you how excited this prompt got me. i’d been toying with a very similar idea for weeks and this was the push i needed to actually write it - with certain modifications to fit your idea. (i promise it has a happy ending!)

i’m super proud of how this came out, and i hope you like it as much as i do!

@911lonestarangstweek day 7:  Free choice!

Two months ago, TK vanished, snatched while out on his evening run. Carlos will do anything to get him back, even if that includes running himself into the ground.

ao3 | 4.9k | cw: kidnapping, depictions of violence, death and injury, forced amputation, career-ending injuries

It’s been two months.

Two whole months since TK left for his evening run with nothing but a shouted goodbye and a promise to be home soon.

Two months since Carlos hadn’t even turned around, because apparently the dishes were more important than his husband.

Two months since they found TK’s shattered phone and wallet, abandoned in the park next to a pool of blood.

Two months since Carlos’s world came crashing down around him.

He blames himself - how could he not? He’s been the lead detective on this case for months; he’s the one who’s so far failed to catch the guys who have mutilated and killed so many people, and now might do the same to his husband. More to the point, he’s the one who is supposed to protect TK, and it’s clear he’s resoundly failed in that department.

His captain had tried to take him off the case, once they’d found out that TK had become the latest victim. But Carlos had informed him in no uncertain terms that he was going to keep looking for his husband, even if he had to go above his head to do it. 

They’d allowed him to keep the case, but Carlos knows he’s being watched. They think he’s having a breakdown and, the thing is, Carlos isn’t entirely sure they’re wrong.

He hasn’t slept in their bed since the night it happened, when he got woken up at two am to the sound of his ringtone blaring through the room.

“Reyes,” Mitchell had said, tone heavy. “I… Shit, Reyes. You gotta get here. There’s another one and I… I really didn’t want to be telling you this over the phone, but…”

She’d paused, and Carlos had sat bolt upright in bed, suddenly all too aware of the empty space next to him. And, in that moment, he’d known; even so, he’d still choked out a quiet, “No.”

“I’m sorry, Carlos. I truly am.”

*

He’s been living in a daze ever since, work and TK the only two things on his mind. He eats when he has to, barely sleeps, and never hangs out with their friends anymore, which he almost feels guilty for. They’re suffering too, Carlos knows this, but he can’t afford any distractions right now. If he were to be out somewhere and ends up missing the one chance he has to get TK back, he’d never forgive himself.

He’s just about to leave for another shift when there’s a loud, insistent knock at the door. Carlos rolls his eyes and goes to yank it open, about to tell whoever it is to leave him alone.

Only to come face-to-face with a very determined looking Grace Ryder.

“Grace,” he sighs, irritation dissipating. “Can this wait? I’ve got a -”

“I know you don’t have an official shift today, Carlos,” she interrupts, folding her arms. “Just like I know you’re working yourself to death, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore. You’re coming out with me, no arguments.”

Carlos shakes his head. “Grace… I can’t.”

“Oh, yes, you can.” She clicks her tongue, levelling him with an unimpressed stare. "You should be thanking me; Judd was planning on bringing the entire crew down here to stage a full intervention. Now, I managed to talk him out of that one, convinced him the last thing you need right now is a house full of people, but I will not hesitate to go back on that. So you've got two options. Either you go back upstairs and get changed and I'll take you out for coffee, just the two of us, or I'm gonna unleash my husband and the full force of the 126 on you. Choice is yours, Reyes."

He sighs, wearily meeting her eyes. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"No, sir, you are not."

Carlos closes his eyes and hangs his head, knowing just how stubborn Grace Ryder can be. “Alright,” he says, though his every nerve is screaming at him for it, “you win. Give me a minute.”

She smiles encouragingly at him. “I’ll be here.”

*

The coffee-shop Grace takes him to is mercifully empty, both of people and memories. He wonders if she did this on purpose, but figures it’s more a stroke of pure luck, his first in months. It’s a nice place; he’ll have to remember it for when - if - they get TK back.

Grace quickly returns with their drinks, placing a sandwich in front of Carlos, too. “Don’t even argue,” she warns. “I won’t hear it.”

Carlos forces a smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

They sit in silence for a while, Carlos keeping his gaze turned to the table, picking listlessly at the sandwich. He can feel Grace’s eyes on him, feel the tension in the air between them, and part of him wishes she’d just come out with it already.

The other part wants to run for the hills, but he’s pretty sure Grace would catch him before he got too far.

Eventually, she sighs, setting her mug down and leaning across the table. “Carlos, we miss you,” she says softly. “I know it’s tough, but you’ve barely spoken to any of us since it happened. We’re worried.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“No.” She shakes her head, voice still unbearably gentle. “You’ve been keeping yourself busy. There’s a difference. And that’s okay, up to a point, but you haven’t given yourself a break in two months and that is not okay. You know TK wouldn’t want you to be doing this.”

“You say that like he’s dead.”

Grace sucks in a sharp breath. “Sweetheart, you know that is not what I meant -”

“Maybe you’re right,” he cuts in, ignoring the pain in his chest as he finally looks up at Grace. “It’s been two months; you know as well as I do what survival rates are for missing persons, even in normal circumstances.” His breathing trembles and he squeezes his eyes shut, images of the bodies they’ve found so far flashing through his mind. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks next. “You also know that the third month is usually when the bodies appear. We’re running out of time, Grace, and I don’t - I don’t know if I believe any more.”

“Carlos Strand-Reyes, I did not just hear you give up on that boy.”

He smiles humourlessly. “Not on him, Grace. On me.”

A long silence follows his words, though Carlos can feel the disappointment and worry rolling off Grace in waves. He should probably feel guilty for ruining a perfectly fine day, but he’s just so tired. He’ll do anything to have TK by his side again, but each day that passes is another day that TK slips further and further away from him, and it’s difficult to hold on to hope.

“I’m terrified,” Carlos admits quietly, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “Any day now they’re going to tell me they’ve found another body, and it’s going to be him, and I won’t be able to handle seeing him like that. You don’t know what they do to them, Grace, it’s - it’s -”

His breath hitches, and suddenly Grace is next to him, gathering him in her arms as he breaks down in sobs against her chest. She shushes him, running a gentle hand through his hair and, for a brief moment, she makes it easy to push away memories of sightless eyes and missing limbs and slit throats.

Grace holds him close, murmuring assurances Carlos doesn’t really hear, until he’s cried himself dry. Then, she pulls back, swiping her thumbs under his eyes, unshed tears shining in her own.

“You’ll get through this, Carlos,” she says, wobbly smile on her face. “No matter the outcome, we’ll all be here to help you get through this.”

Carlos nods, but, privately, he thinks she’s wrong. If TK dies, he’s not sure he’ll be able to find a way through that, no matter how many people are by his side. Because the only one he really, truly needs, won’t be there. 

*

Carlos rubs his eyes, his vision blurring as he stares at crime scene photos, as he has been doing for the past however many hours. He must have gone through these thousands of times over the past eight months, and yet he’s still drawing a complete blank as to clues that could help them find the killers.

They’re always too careful, never leaving any DNA on scene, never caught on camera, never seen by witnesses. There’s not even much of a common denominator between the victims, aside from the fact that they’re all young - the oldest being 38 - and they were all alone when they were taken.

The only consistency in this entire thing is the bodies. Official cause of death is always a deep cut to the throat, accompanied by at least one limb being cut off when the victim was still alive, sometimes more. They never find the missing body parts, which bothers Carlos more than it probably should.

He rubs his eyes again, blinking hard to try and stay awake. He didn’t sleep well last night, which is nothing new, but the past two weeks have been exhausting. After Grace’s coffee outing, the 126 have been stopping by regularly, one or two at a time, to check up on him and make sure he’s doing okay. Carlos appreciates it, he does, but he doesn’t have the energy for it these days. 

He’s so tired that he doesn’t notice Mitchell walking up to his desk before she’s standing right next to him, casting a shadow over his papers. Carlos looks up, and dread washes over him at the grim expression on her face, the tense set to her shoulders.

“We’ve got another one.”

Carlos makes a noise halfway between a choke and a sob. “A body?” he whispers, looking up at her fearfully.

“A disappearance,” Mitchell corrects, and Carlos doesn’t even feel guilty for the relief that floods him at that. “Industrial estate across town, one of the workers got nabbed when he went for a smoke. Same MO, no witnesses - it’s them.”

He nods, praying that Mitchell doesn’t notice the way his hands shake as he gathers up his papers. If she does, she doesn’t say anything, though he catches her exasperated head shake when he turns back to face her.

“Let’s go.”

*

The crime scene is, as always, pristine, and Carlos can’t help but be frustrated, even if this is what he’s come to expect. The case had been wearing on him even before TK was taken, but now it feels like every dead end is a spit in his face, like the universe is taunting him directly.

He’s about to wrap up the scene when a young officer comes barreling towards him.

“Detective!” he yells, panting. “Detective Reyes!”

Carlos stops, raising an eyebrow as the officer skids to a halt in front of him, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he gasps. Straightening, he clears his throat, pointing across the street. “There’s a hidden speed camera over there.”

Carlos blinks. Of all the ground-breaking news he imagined might warrant such dramatics, speed cameras weren’t one of them. 

The officer heaves a long-suffering sigh, which, under any other circumstances, might be amusing. “We’re not sure yet, but, looking at the angle, we think it covers the place the guy got taken from,” he explains, and Carlos’s eyes widen. “If it does, we might be able to get some ID, maybe even a license plate. I know they’ve always been careful not to get caught on camera before, but they might not have known about this one. It’s a chance, Detective.”

Carlos breathes out shakily, mind reeling from the officer’s words. It’s a chance. An honest-to-god chance. “Have we pulled footage yet?”

“Doing that now.” The officer grins boyishly, and Carlos feels a small smile tugging at his own lips. He can’t let himself get too invested in this; there’s every chance that it’ll turn into yet another false lead. And yet.

Something like hope lights up Carlos’s chest, and he dares, just for a second, to believe in it.

*

It works.

It fucking works.

They don’t have an ID - the killers are at least smart enough to cover their faces - but they do have a plate, which they’ve managed to track to a warehouse on the outskirts of town. Carlos taps the steering wheel of his cruiser anxiously; they’re parked in some trees just out of sight of the building, and he itches with the desire to jump out and go.

Every second they wait here is one more second in which TK is still with them, suffering, dying. He chews on his lip, then turns to Mitchell.

“We clear on the plan?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I am. Are you?”

“What -”

“I know what this means for you, Reyes,” she interrupts, not unkindly. “I know what might be waiting for you in there. Now, if it were up to me, you would be benched. It’s too personal, and you’re way too close to it. But, since it’s not, you’ve gotta promise me that your head is screwed on tight, you hear me? We’ve got a good plan, and it’ll work, but it’s only good so long as we are all following it. So, you tell me. Are we clear on the plan?”

Carlos swallows thickly, glancing back in the direction of the warehouse. Mitchell is right - he is too close to it, and he’d be thinking the same thing if the situation were in reverse. He just… He can’t fathom being anywhere but here right now.

He can do this; he knows he can.

He has to, for TK. 

“Yes,” he says firmly, meeting her eyes. “We’ve got this.”

She nods. “Alright, then.” Her gaze shifts past him and she jerks her chin up. “There’s the signal. Let’s move out.”

*

It’s almost too easy, in the end. The suspects are woefully unprepared for an ambush, and Carlos doesn’t even need to fire his gun, which is always a good thing. They find the guy who was taken today in the same room as his kidnappers, a little worse for wear, but not too injured, all things considered.

Carlos wants to be happy about that, but he can’t. Not when TK is still nowhere in sight.

Mitchell takes over managing the scene and questioning the hostage. He’ll have to remember to buy something for her in thanks when this is all over; she’s been a rock over the past three months, often covering for Carlos with their supervisors when things became too much.

He glances around at the swarms of police and paramedics filling the warehouse, feeling oddly detached from it all. He’s itching to go looking for TK, but there’s only so far he can push things - though he’s being no help here, he has to maintain an appearance if he wants to not get fired.

That appearance being, the calm and collected detective, which is the furthest thing from what Carlos is right now.

His hands tap restlessly at his thighs, his senses dialled to eleven with anxiety, which only spikes when he sees an officer making her way towards him, a grim look on her face.

Please, god, no.

Carlos moves to meet her, but he’s not able to form the words for the question he needs to ask. Fortunately, she takes pity on him.

“We’ve found your husband, Detective,” she informs him.

Carlos swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to tamp down the fear. “Is he...?”

“Alive,” she says, and Carlos could cry with relief. “But he’s in bad shape. I’ve been told not to let you back there.”

He stares at her, dumbfounded. “I appreciate the concern, but my husband has been missing for nearly three months,” he says tightly. “It would not be a wise idea to keep me from him any longer.”

She hesitates, biting her lip uncertainly, but eventually relents under Carlos’s hard stare. “Alright. Follow me.”

Carlos is led down several corridors until they stop outside a door, guarded by two other officers. The woman who brought him has a whispered argument with them, but Carlos pushes past her to glare at them, his patience at an end now that he knows that TK is mere feet away from him.

“I told her to bring me here,” he says. “That man in there is my husband; I’m going in there one way or another.”

The two officers exchange a glance, then wearily sigh and nod, stepping to the side. Carlos doesn’t bother to thank them before rushing inside, coming up short at the sight of three paramedics crouched around a body on the ground. He can’t really see much of TK yet, but he feels frozen in place, his mind suddenly rebelling at the thought of having to witness what three months of captivity have done to him.

He shakes his head and wills his feet forward, feeling like he’s walking through treacle as he rounds to TK’s side. Bile rises in his throat and he can’t stop the gasp that escapes him when he finally catches sight of his husband - it’s worse than anything Carlos had imagined, and he’d imagined a lot.

TK’s completely naked; the paramedics have lain a sheet over his lower half, but it does little to hide his emaciated state, his entire body outlined with sharp corners where his skin seems almost shrink-wrapped to his bones. Carlos can count every one of TK’s ribs, and the hollow of his cheeks is deeply pronounced. His torso is discoloured from bruising and he’s horribly still and pale - Carlos would think he were dead if not for the barely there rise and fall of his chest.

That’s not the worst of it, though. Carlos’s eyes travel down TK’s body, cataloguing his injuries, before sticking on his left leg.

Or, rather, the space where his left leg used to be.

Carlos barely refrains from throwing up, his stomach turning at the bloody mess in front of him. This isn’t… In the back of his mind - in his nightmares - he’d known that this was a possibility, but he’d never prepared himself for actually seeing it. He doesn’t know if he could have prepared himself, even if he’d tried.

“Detective.”

He’s broken from his horrified staring by one of the paramedics, now standing in front of him. Strange - Carlos hadn’t noticed him moving.

He sighs, obviously disapproving of Carlos’s presence here, but his expression holds nothing but sympathy. “Your husband is lucky we got here when we did,” he says. “But I can’t make any promises, and he is nowhere near out of the woods yet. To be perfectly honest with you, Detective, it’s a miracle he’s still breathing right now. He’s severely dehydrated and suffering from starvation - it looks like his kidnappers were giving him just barely enough food and water for him to survive. I’m also worried about infection in his leg, plus there might be injuries we can’t see yet. We’ve done everything we can for him here, but we have to get him to the hospital as soon as possible. I’m assuming you’re going to ride with us?”

Carlos immediately nods. There’s no way he’s going to remain here, even if he knows he won’t be able to stay with TK when they get to the hospital. He trusts Mitchell to handle things, and he wouldn’t be of much use anyway, even more so than before. Not after everything he’s seen, everything he’s heard.

The paramedics get TK loaded on a gurney and Carlos follows them out, eyes locked on TK’s still form. He brushes a hand through TK’s limp hair, forcing back the tears burning in his eyes.

“Hold on, my love,” he whispers. “I’m here; you’re safe now.”

He hopes, somehow, that TK hears him.

*

“Oh my god.”

Carlos looks up from the bed at the sound of Owen’s voice. His father-in-law has a hand over his mouth, shock written all over his face at the sight of TK - what little that can be seen underneath all the bandages and machines he has hooked up to him. Carlos had done his best to prepare Owen for what he’d face when he arrived, but it had been an impossible task. He’d barely been able to get the words out, for one, but there was no explaining just how bad things are.

Nothing will ever be the same. Not that Carlos had ever expected that it would, but when (if, he reminds himself) TK wakes up, it will be to a completely different life than the one he had walked out of all those months ago. 

The physical injuries alone would be bad enough - and, god, he’ll have to do so much at home to make it safe for TK - but he’s more worried about how this will have affected him in other ways. Carlos can’t imagine the level of trauma his husband has suffered, and he just prays that they can find a way to get through it.

Owen’s face crumples as he makes his way across the room, collapsing heavily in the chair on the other side of the bed. He reaches out as though to touch TK, but snatches his hands back just as quickly, expression stricken. “Oh my god,” he repeats.

Carlos lets him be for a few moments, allowing Owen to process what he’s seeing at his own pace. He turns away so that he can have some semblance of privacy, though he can’t ignore the soft sobs he hears. It’s almost as though they’re mourning TK, even though they now have proof he’s alive, which is more than can be said for the last three months.

Eventually, Owen sniffs, and turns to address Carlos. “Have they… What did the doctors say?”

“Nothing concrete,” Carlos answers, focusing his gaze back on TK. “If he makes it through the next few days, then they think he’ll have a chance, but that’s a big if, Owen. There was so much damage. His organs weren’t functioning properly, he has a head wound from when he was first taken that never really healed right, and his leg… It had become infected where his kidnappers cut it; they had to take some more in surgery to stop it from spreading any further.”

He tears his eyes from TK to meet Owen’s gaze, almost wishing he hadn’t when he sees his own pain and grief reflected back at him. “It’s bad, Owen,” he chokes out. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I’ll do if…”

He shakes his head, the words sticking in his throat. Not that he really needs to say them; they’re both thinking the same thing.

“The doctors probably told you, but they’re restricting visitors to two until he’s more stable,” Carlos continues, eyes dropping back to the bed. “I know the team will want to see him, but do you think you can hold them off for a while? Just for a couple of days, until we know more. I don’t want to keep them from him, but I just…” He trails off, guilt welling up in him even though he knows this is what’s best. “I know it’s a selfish thing to ask, but I think it’s for the best, for everyone.”

“I understand,” Owen says gently. “I’ll let them know. And… I’ll do my best to prepare them, for when they do come and visit.”

Carlos nods his thanks and the two lapse into silence, broken only by the hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor. Proof that TK’s still with them, but each noise sends another bolt of pain through Carlos’s heart.

He squeezes his eyes shut, finally allowing the tears to fall down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Owen,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Owen gasps. “What for?”

“I was supposed to protect him! This was my case, I’m the reason he got taken, the reason he might not make it. He could still die, and it’s all my fault!”

Carlos drops his head into his hands, chest heaving from the force of his sobbing. Distantly, he hears the scrape of a chair on linoleum, then Owen’s hands are on his shoulders, turning him into an embrace. Carlos falls into him, not caring about the almost childlike way he clings to his father-in-law.

“You found him, Carlos,” Owen whispers, rubbing circles on Carlos’s back. “You found him. Any chance he has at making it through is because of you. That’s what matters now; it’s the only thing that matters.”

*

It’s several more weeks before Carlos’s prayers are finally answered.

TK was declared stable some time ago, the doctors saying that, barring any unexpected complications, they should expect him to wake up. They hadn’t said anything about what the damage might be once he did wake, but Carlos hadn’t wanted to ask; at this point, he can’t focus on more than one thing at a time, else he knows he’ll fall apart.

He’s practically lived at the hospital since they brought TK in. He’s pretty sure Owen, his parents, and the 126 came up with a rota for making sure he wasn’t starving himself, because it was always someone different who attempted to pull him away from TK’s room for food or sleep in an actual bed. Carlos resisted as much as he thought he could get away with, but he’s not stupid. He knows he needs to keep his strength up if he’s going to be of any use once TK wakes up.

It happens early one morning, when the sun is just beginning to filter through the blinds. Carlos is already awake, keeping a vigilant watch over his husband, though he doesn’t quite believe it when TK’s eyelid twitches.

He holds his breath, waiting, and, just when he’s given it up as a trick of exhaustion, it happens again, both of his eyes cracking open this time.

“TK?” he breathes, half-rising from his chair. He reaches out and grabs TK’s hand, which moves - actually moves - in his, and tears spring to his eyes.

It takes a few more minutes before something like awareness creeps into TK’s face, his eyes fully opening for the first time in weeks. Carlos just sobs at the sight, drawing TK’s attention to him, at which point his expression turns to shock and disbelief.

TK’s mouth moves, but he can’t force out any words, causing panic to flash over his face and his breathing picks up. Carlos leans forward, squeezing his hand and stroking his cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says softly, reassuring him. “You’re okay, I promise, everything’s going to be okay. You’re in the hospital. I’m here, and you’re safe. God, TK, I swear I’m never going to let anything happen to you ever again, I swear it.”

TK shakes his head, still not understanding, so Carlos reaches to press the call button. He forces a smile for TK’s sake, though his mind is crowded with worries about what their next steps will be. It’s going to be a long time before they can even think about going home, he knows this, but everything is so uncertain now.

Carlos wants to believe that there can be some sort of normality in their future, but, right now, it seems like a distant dream.

*

Time passes.

He brings TK home.

It’s hard, so much harder than he thought, but they have a whole team of people willing to help out as much as they can. Paul and Grace often bring food, usually stopping to talk for a while afterwards. The others - most often Marjan and Judd - sometimes come by and take TK out in his wheelchair for a while, giving Carlos time and space to relax or tidy. Letting TK out of his sight was difficult at first, and he still gets anxious watching him disappear out the door, but he knows that the 126 would do anything to keep him safe.

He just has to trust them, which he does, implicitly so. 

Owen’s also a frequent visitor to their house, staying overnight a time or two in the beginning. Carlos is grateful for it; he doesn’t know how he would have coped if not for Owen’s steady presence while they were still figuring out their new reality.

TK struggles a lot, even with simple things these days. The head wound caused brain damage, leading to migraines and he has problems with speech and carrying out tasks. It breaks Carlos’s heart to see him, but he forces himself to keep up a front, only letting the emotion out when he’s alone - or, rarely, with one of the 126.

He suspects TK knows anyway, but they don’t talk about it.

It’s a long few months of recovery, of pain and exhaustion and frustration. But it’s all worth it, because it means that TK is alive. It means that Carlos has him back, and they can work on getting better together.

It means that, one golden morning, Carlos wakes up to see TK’s beautiful green eyes already open, watching him intently. He reaches out to caress TK’s cheek, then leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his lips, lingering for a long moment.

And, when he pulls back, TK smiles.

And it feels like everything is going to be okay.

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 25

-----------

2005

It was the semi-finales for girl’s lacrosse. Miraculously, I was made captain as a freshman. Which meant, for some reason, people were offended and thought that I should be picked on more. Fact of the matter is that lacrosse is a game of strategy. Together; with the help of my teammates, we would play to win. Being captain wasn’t a choice, Finstock made me captain and the role was a big shoe to fill. But here we are, semi-finales.

As we made our way out to the play, I looked at the stands. Mom, Dad, Uncle Noah, Stiles, Scott on one end. Laura and Derek on the other side. 

There were fifteen minutes left in the game, the score was tied. We needed to make one more goal to win and get to the finales. For this next play, I was face to face with the other team captain, waiting for the pearl to be thrown. 

“You don’t deserve to be captain.” The girl glared, her eyes looked like they wanted to melt through my helmet and into my brain. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. I worked my ass off for four years to be captain. What makes you so special?” 

I blinked at her, a little confused as to where this hostility was coming from, “I’m just playing a game.” 

“A real captain knows the lacrosse is more than a game.” She smirked, “When we win this, I’m getting a scholarship to So Cal, so why don’t you just do what freshman do best and lose.” On one hand I felt bad for her. She probably had parents that pushed and pushed for her to be the best. And I also felt bad because I knew we were gonna win.

The ref blew the whistle starting play. And everything was going according to plan. That was until I was passed the pearl. I ran with it, tossing it to another player. Meaning that it was completely unnecessary for me to be tackled and would be considered aggressive. But that didn’t stop the other captain from using her entire body to slam me into the ground. One minute I was standing and the next I had was on the ground. My chest felt tight, like I was straining to breathe. When I opened my eyes, I saw her face over mine, smirking down at me. 

“HEY!” I heard Finstock’s booming voice, “Ref! Aren’t you gonna call that?!” No whistle, either the ref hadn’t seen it or he was allowing it. But Derek wasn’t allowing it. I heard multiple shouts and then watched the player who stood above me get shoved away, Derek replaced her. He knelt down, placing a hand on my shoulder. 

“Derek, what are you doing?” I groaned. 

“Can you get up?” He asked, trying to help me sit up. I hissed at the movement. 

Derek turned back to the bench, “Get a medic!” And only then did the whistle blow. The girl had given plenty of excuses, but they still gave her team a three minute penalty that made them lose the game. Looks like I had been right. 

I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with a concussion but I would be fine just in time for the finales. The whole time in the waiting room, in the room itself, and even when we got home, Derek had been right beside me, holding my hand.

- 

I had grown to hate hospitals and everything about them since the last time I had been to one I had been stabbed. The gowns with the open backs that were way too open to the public. That smell that was a cross between cleaner and the latex and rubber of gloves. The beds that were as hard as a rock and were covered in paper that would crinkle and make noise even if you weren't moving. That apprehensiveness that would build up in your stomach every time you heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Thankfully, I didn't have to go through any of that. Since I was a pregnant werewolf, going to the hospital in Beacon Hills was a definite no-no, so the next best option is Dr. Deaton, a veterinarian and a makeshift supernatural doctor. Not to mention a full blown druid in this day and age. But from what I've learned in the past couple years, old magic was very much alive. 

I was sitting on the metal table used for the animals, swinging my legs back and forth, waiting for Deaton to come back from getting my medical records emailed to him by Melissa. He could have gotten them himself, he just figured it would be less illegal if he got them from a nurse. 

Thoughts were racing through my head for no rhyme or reason. Since I became a werewolf, every scar or scratch on my body had become only a memory. My stab wound, the acid burns on my legs, the cuts on my face from being tortured all those months ago which really felt more like a lifetime. It had been a different life, a life fabricated through magic and spells. A life that almost didn't feel like mine anymore.

"Sorry, for the wait, (Y/N)." Deaton walked into the room, his eyes scanning over the stack of papers in his hands.

"You're alright, Doc." I smiled, leaning back on my hands, "So how am I looking?"

“Very pregnant.”

"Nothing gets past you, huh?” I smirked. To be fair, I was approaching the three and a half month mark. Deaton smiled, taking my vitals and a vial of blood. 

“So I’ve been made aware that Mr. Hale is the father.” He said, pressing a cotton ball to my skin after removing the needle, “How's that going?"

“About as well as you can imagine.” 

“So not at all?” He asked. I nodded, shrugging my shoulders. 

"Everything looks normal," He smiled as he wrote everything down on his clipboard, "Just need to get a look at the little guy." He looked up, "You said it was a boy, right?" He asked, moving over to get the sonographer that I’m sure had never been used on a human before.

“Unless the baby’s sprouting a third arm. That'd be cool." I smiled, “But yeah, that’s what the ultrasound tech in Scotland said.”

He chuckled and shook his head, "Alright, lay back and lift your shirt up." I laid back on the table, lifting my shirt up. The jelly he put on my stomach was cold and reminded me of the goo that had encased Jackson when he was a lizard person. He moved the sensor over my stomach and looked into the monitor. Ultrasounds were usually a little hard to see anyway, just like a fancy warschak paintings. And the fetus? Kinda like a funky jellybean.

“There we are.” He grinned, “Little werewolf.”

Craning my neck, I looked up at him, "You can tell he's a werewolf?"

"No.” He took the monitor off, handing me a paper towel so I could wipe off my stomach, “But odds are since his parents are both werewolves, it would make sense that the child would be also. However, you had the dormant gene, maybe your child will too." He turned off the sonographer.

“Have any names picked out?”

"I have a few... I liked Jacob, which Derek hated because it was too ‘Twilight’. Then there's one other but I don't know about it." The name that Derek loved more than anything for some reason, "Nicholas." And damn was it good. 

"What about Nicholas Jacob? Just use both of them." 

"Or I could name him after Stiles" I smirked to myself, "Mieczyslaw Nicholas.”

"Maybe that would be a little too much."

“Stiles is a little too much.” I smiled to myself

-

"So Nicholas?" Sheriff looked at me from across the table, a cup of coffee in his hand. I hummed and nodded, sipping my hot cocoa.

"Nicholas?” He asked again.

"Mieczyslaw?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

He raised his eyebrows, "It was his mother's father's name." 

“I remember Grandpa Mitch, trust me." I smiled, holding my mug in both hands, “I was thinking maybe Nicholas Noah.” I avoided looking in his eyes. Emotional talks were never really his strong suit, especially after Aunt Claudia. I wanted to honor him somehow.

He smiled, blinking a few times, “Sounds pretty good to me.” After a moment he asked: "What are you going to do now?"

I finished my drink and stood up to put it in the sink, "My plan, right now at least, is that I'm going to stay here to have the baby... Then...” I washed out the mug, “Then I'm not sure. I don't know if I want to go back to Scotland or stay here." He stood up as well and pulled me into his arms for a tight hug. I wrapped my arms around him, blinking my own tears away. 

Uncle Noah stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head, "Whatever your decision, I'll be there for you. Whenever you need me. I'll always, always be there for you." 

-

My pajamas had taken a turn for the worst. No more t-shirts and shorts, it’s moo moos and nightgowns from now on. I pulled my night gown over my head, smoothing out the skirt. Did I look like I had raided a grandmother’s closet? Absolutely. I looked down at my stomach, rubbing my hand over my bump.

"Are you a little alien?" I smiled after a moment, listening deeply to his little heartbeat, “Nice.” I glanced over at my desk, then pulled back my blankets to get into bed. I stopped, my head snapping back towards the window where there were red eyes staring back at me. 

 Now, if this was two years ago I would be losing my mind over the fact that there were red eyes staring at me. But since I've gone through emotional Hell, I was feeling rather annoyed by some alpha that just thought they could mosey around my house, around my window, and around my goddamn personal space. I stalked over to the window and slammed it open. 

"Listen, pal, you have about five seconds to get out my yard or I swear by all that is damnable, I will put you through so much pain that your great-grandchildren will be sore."

The eyes came closer, revealing a familiar crooked jaw, "Nice to see you too." 

"You could have just come through the front door, ya know? If Stiles can make a spare key to your house, then he can make you one for his." Scott only looked at me seriously. It was like the kid from three months ago was gone and all there was left was a battle hardened man. 

"Can I please come in?" I stepped away from the window, watching him crawl inside and stand up.

"I've been great, Scott, I've only been in Scotland for months, crying and wondering why none of my friends or family were contacting me. How have you been?" Was it petty? Absolutely, but the hormones were raging. Even if Derek told everyone to stop talking to me, what hold did he have over anyone when Scott was around?

"I'm sorry about that, I really am. But I came to-"

I cut him off, after finally connecting, "Who did you kill?"

“What?”

"To become an alpha, who did you take it from?" 

"I didn't kill anyone!” He said in an exasperated voice, “Why does everyone ask that? Not killing people has been my thing since Peter bit me." He ran his hand through his shorter hair, it suit him.

It then dawned on me. The one thing that had little to no documentation of. Even the Lunar Circle had just the basics. It was the stuff of legend, a hear say. I didn't think it was possible. 

"A true alpha." He stared at me for a second and blinked a couple times.

"You're a true alpha." I grinned, "Oh my god, Scott, this is unbelievable." I grabbed his shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze, "Tell me everything. I wanna know how it happened and what situation you were in. How were you feeling? Were you hurt? Was your body under so much stress that it just happened?”

Scott grabbed my hands and placed them by my sides, "(Y/N), maybe another time I came here for a reason."

"Oh, right, of course." Probably looking ridiculous, “What’s on your mind?”  

"I really don't think it's safe for you here." 

"Here we go agai-" 

"Will you just listen to me before you start whining?" He growled. That certainly shut me up. I raised my eyebrows at him, but I guess I should hear him out. I motioned for him to continue.

"I'm not so much worried about you.” He said, “I know you can take care of yourself. I'm worried about..." He paused, "Uh..." 

“Nicholas.”

"Yeah, I'm worried about Nicholas." He sat in my computer chair and leaned forward, "The pack we're facing don't care who they kill or why, all they want is to hurt us. You're my friend, (Y/N). I don't want anything to happen to you. And I don't want anything to happen to your kid. Please." He rolled forward and took my hands in his, "Please, go back to Scotland. I promise you, you won't be in the dark. You don't deserve to be left out. I'll call myself, and if not me, Stiles will. It's not safe for you.” I looked down, gnawing on my lip. Scott was right, he was completely right. It wasn't safe. I couldn't be a tough alpha when I had so much to live for. Keeping this kid safe is my top priority. As much as I wanted to stay home, it wasn’t safe.

"You'll tell me when it's safe to come back?" 

"You have my word." 

I sighed, looking up at him with a half-smile, "I may be stubborn as hell, but that doesn't mean I can't admit when someone's right. And you're right, Scott. I'll go." 

He closed his eyes, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He dropped my hands and rolled back, "I'm so glad you agreed with my first speech, if you hadn't I would have been improvising for my life." He chuckled.

Shaking my head, I grinned at him, “It’s good to see you again.” 

“It’s good to see you too.”

- 

"So you're going back?" Uncle Noah looked over his coffee with tired eyes, spying my luggage that had only been unpacked for two days. It was a new day and another plane ride.

"It's not safe for me. It's not safe for any of you." I rested my head on his shoulder, "But I know that will never stop you from helping the ones you care about." 

A small smile pulled at his lips, "You're way too good at reading me." 

"Well, I've only known you my whole life." 

He set down his coffee and hugged me tight, like this was the last time he would see me. I know he was worried about me and Stiles, it was in his nature. This was the best option for me. As much as I wanted to stay and fight. I couldn't fight if my child was kidnapped and hell knows what would happen to him. 

Giving him one last squeeze, I pulled away, the honking outside meant that Stiles had pulled in and was ready to drop me off at the airport. 

"I'll call you when I land. Or text you. Depends on the time." I kissed his cheek, "Bye Uncle Noah." 

“Goodbye, sweetheart. Stay safe." I kissed his cheek. My head held high, I grabbed my bag and my rolling luggage and went out the door. Stiles grabbed my bags, opening the back of Roscoe to throw my luggage in. That was until a familiar black Camero pulled into the driveway, blocking Stiles in. 

"God. Dammit." I muttered to myself. My life was just going swell, wasn't it? I looked down at my stomach and sighed. I felt the burn of acid reflux in my throat, my child showing obvious discomfort as well. Me too, little man. Me too. 

There was no way around it, I couldn’t leave without talking with him. Not that I should have to begin with. I sucked. 

Derek got out of the car, coming around quickly and standing in front of me. 

“Derek, I don’t think you should be here.” Stiles stepped forward. Very sweet, but realistically Stiles wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing against Derek. They stared each other down, the air just filled with masculinity.

“Stiles...” I said, grabbing my bags, “If he wants to take me to the airport, let him.” 

Stiles eyes widened, “You’re really giving him the time of day? Really?” 

Sighing, I pulled Stiles into my arms and hugged him tightly. He hesitated, but hugged me back. 

“I know that this seems like a bad idea, and most of my ideas are bad, but I got this. Trust me.” I smiled and kissed his cheek, “I love you.” He pulled away, looking between Derek and I. 

“I love you too. Scott and I will let you know when it’s safe to come back.”

“You better.” I turned back to Derek, trying to keep up the attitude I had to keep Stiles at ease. I held out my bags. He took them without a word and we both started the trip to the airport. It was hard to get a read on him at the moment. He emotions were dull, nothing that stood out. He still looked as tense as ever. His brows were knitted together and his piercing green eyes looked hard. 

“So...” He said after a while, “What are you going to do about...” He trailed off. 

“Him?” I looked down at my stomach, “I’m just preparing and getting ready for him. I picked a name too. Nicholas.” 

A small smile pulled at his lips, but he hid it, “Hmm.” 

“Derek....” Now or never, “I just need to know why?” 

He inhaled deeply, “I wish I could tell you. I don’t even remember it happening. Like I was under a spell and I couldn’t break out of it.” So he had experienced what I had when I was under Matt’s control. In this situation, in Beacon Hills, there was no reason not to believe him. His heart told me it was true. 

“I’m sorry that I hit you.” 

“I don’t blame you.” He glanced over at me, “If I felt the same thing you did, I would probably lose control too.” 

“I’m tired of people taking advantage of you. If I see that bitch-” I hadn’t realized that my eyes had turned red. 

“(Y/N)...” He reached over his right hand, placing it on my knee, “Calm down.” I took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes. Just the simplest touch could calm me down and it was something that I missed. 

“Nicholas, huh? I like it.”

Happiness welled up in my chest, “I sure hope so since you picked it.” 

“I didn’t think you liked it.” 

I sat back up and opened my eyes, “What are you talking about? I’ve always liked that name.”

“Riiiiight.” 

By the time the conversation ended, we were at the airport. I reached for the handle to open the door when he reached over to stop me. 

“I let you leave alone last time, I’m walking you in."

We got inside and checked in, the only thing left was for me to board. Maybe it was a good thing that he didn't take me to the airport last time, because now that he was here, I didn't want to leave him.

"How selfish would it be for me to ask you to drop your life here and come with me?" I leaned on his arm.

"Very. Trust me, the thought crossed my mind. I'm needed here. I have to be here for Cora."

I smiled slightly, "We're gonna get through this. Soon we'll be together again and we can have that big happy family that you deserve. That we deserve."

Derek sighed, resting his head on top of mine, "Is it cliche to hope that this all ends tomorrow?" 

My smile faltered, "Don't believe in miracles, Derek."

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----------------

Read part 26 here!

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[littlemisslipbalm]

“You get me” Pt. 2 -- aka “I got you” (famous!y/n x harry)

Harry x famous!y/n - FLUFF pretty much 

ahh you all are so kind and literally you all mean so much for liking, reblogging, and commenting! Means the world to me! NOT PROOFREAD

also if anyone wants to let me know how to properly do a tag list ?? as of now I have a couple people on the tag list so yah but if it grows i might need some tips 

 Taglist: @marauderswhisperer​, @morgannope​, @daddystevee​

Now for Pt. 2 - feedback super welcome, maybe we’ll have a part 3 and please no stealing of the work :)

Dedicated to all the peeps out there who find themselves constantly in line with Harry and his vibes but feel weird agreeing with him constantly because people think you’re only that way because you’re in love with him

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: kissin’ and stuff, nothing graphic

Pt. 1

-

“Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed.

“No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips but nonetheless he reassured you.

--

It’s seldom that one person meets someone so perfectly matched to themselves. So similar yet not annoyingly so. Two pieces of clothing from the same custom collection, perhaps. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry. Your conversations ranged from silly situations to music inspiration to any dreams you had unfulfilled. Your answers always lined up - not the same, but exceptionally similar and the other was always quick to say “wait, me too” and jump into their own story.

It was the next morning after hanging out at Harry’s and you’d had trouble sleeping, worrying about not having your phone with you. Luckily, that meant your body was quick to wake you up in the morning even without your usual alarm. When you woke up, you quickly dressed in sweats and a tank top, shuffled some shoes on, and freshened yourself up with some quick hygiene care - teethbrushing, facewashing, and the likes. Then, you jogged to your car, anxious to reunite with your phone and the prospect of seeing Harry again so soon moved your legs far quicker than normal. You had figured you wouldn’t see him very often, despite the amazing friendship the two of you had already cultivated, he lived in England mainly and you lived in the United States - California specifically, the furthest you could get from the Harry within the continental United States, sadly. This mistake gave you the chance to see him much sooner than expected and you were very grateful for it.

As you drove out to Malibu, you kept the windows down and your sun roof open. It was a lovely day and you could never get enough of the warm wind whipping around you as you belted out the lyrics to the old rock radio songs. When you sensed you were getting closer to Harry’s you felt yourself begin to tingle, your nerves were gone this time, only excitement filled you as you took in the now familiar surroundings. Harry’s home was set further back from the street so that random pedestrians and street noises never reached the house. You noticed more and appreciated the total beauty of the grounds while you walked up to the house this time, the daytime sun and the lack of nerves both allowing you to soak it all it.

Your actions mirrored those of the previous night, just in a slight fast forward - everything moving faster. You had began to worry slightly though, ‘what if he is upset that I woke him up, what if he is out and I can’t get my phone, what if he has early morning company?’. Still you proceeded to knock and hoped to hear Harry’s footsteps any moment. Thankfully, your ears were greeted with the sound of rustling and soft, slow steps behind the door. You then heard the deadbolt turn and again Harry was before you. His hair fell into his sleepy spectacle-clad eyes, barely open, but he had raised a hand to rub out the sleep from one of them as he opened the door, skewing his glasses. You took in his disheveled appearance, you had obviously woken him, his sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had a hoodie on that was askew, showing a hint of his tanned olive skin - a corner of one of his laurels if you were being honest but you forced yourself to believe it was just a shadow. His feet were bare and you noticed his toenails were painted electric purple and a deep green.

“Hi,” you squeaked, biting your lip. Harry blinked hard and opened his eyes and raised his brows, just trying to wake himself up, but also slightly confused to see you at his doorstep. He had texted you last night, asking if you’d made it home safely, but had never heard back. He hadn’t worried, just assumed you weren’t always on your phone. His was a light sleeper and had heard the knock on the door echo through the house, so he slipped on a hoodie and went to see who it was, when it was you it was definitely surprising. Your presence was shining through his stupor, a small smile graced your face, but it radiated light as strong as the sun.

“Y/N... s’lovely t’see you again, but why’re you ‘ere, love?” He almost whispered your name, his voice catching in his throat due to the lack of use during his slumber. He quickly cleared his throat to get rid of the rasp and groggy sound he heard emit from his own voice. Your smile grew at the sound of his melodic voice, how he pronounced your name - like it was something fragile and needed great care, how it was rough from sleep, but it mostly grew from his use of love, so common for him, yet it felt so special for you. “I left my phone here last night, actually. Sorry for barging in, and, uh, waking you up, I’m assuming,” you said as you took in his appearance once again. He nodded and mustered enough strength to chuckle.

“When’d you realize you’d left it?” Harry asked as he let you in, as he swung the door open, he hung onto it, to keep him upright. “Oh! Right when I got home, of course!” you started as you began to talk with your hands again. You walked ahead of the slower Harry, through the house, back to the sitting room where the two of you had entertained yourselves last night with each other’s company. “Barely could sleep at all, was so worried you’d have jetted off again already and I’d have to figure out how to break in and heist it out of here.” More laughter. Being around you like this was like a shot of espresso straight to Harry’s veins. He perked up at the sound of your sweet voice and your accompanying hands. He noticed they were void of your rings this morning, he guessed you took them off to sleep and forgotten them this morning, due to the rush.

He pushed his hair out of his face with both hands and huffed out a breath as you looked around the room. “Where could it be?” you asked slightly desperate, more to yourself than to Harry. He suggested the couch, walked over, and began to take the leather cushions off. You sighed and began to help Harry with his search of the couch. The last cushion to be removed from the couch uncovered your abandoned phone. “Finally!” you both exclaimed. Then, you looked around, “We made a mess...shit, I’m so sorry, Harry.” “Don’t, don’t be silly, its an easy fix, and y’needed your phone, c’mon Y/N.” He was quick to discourage your apology, despite your surroundings looking like someone had ransacked his room. All the cushions were discarded haphazardly, some blankets had fallen to the ground, and magazines were strewn across the coffee table and the floor.

“Well I’m not leaving you here to clean up a mess I caused,” you stated matter of factly, quickly beginning to repiece the room. Harry threw on a couple of the cushions then said, “S’alright, really, but if y’insist...I’ll start a pot of coffee. Do you?..” he trailed off, but you understood his question. It was kind of him to offer, but you assumed it was more for himself than you. “Nah, I don’t love coffee, sorry, now tea, that’s another story, but I’m fine really.” Harry glanced over to you and there was that smile again. It’s like it lived full time on your face, Harry thought, no wonder you’d already seen such success, not only were you technically a good musician, you were also a good person. He quickly nodded with a breathy laugh. You two went about your self-given tasks, cleaning and “cooking”. Neither of you spoke much as you worked, but you glanced up when you heard Harry begin to play some song from his phone after he had set up the coffee pot. The moment was domestic and tranquil, like the two of you tidy the house and make coffee every morning together.

A whistling sound cut through the soft moment just as you were grabbing the final magazines from the ground. “I thought you said--” Harry cut you off before you could finish, “I made both, love. Any preference for your tea?” You moved into the kitchen and leaned against the bar top, amazed by the man before you. He’d gotten down two mugs, gotten out an assortment of tea, put on the kettle and the coffee pot, making you what you preferred despite your claim to be fine with nothing. He held the two mugs out to you, “Which?” he questioned moving them back and forth from his chest encouraging you to choose, raising his brows for added effect. One was a wide and short ceramic speckled mug with a line painted fish. The other was a taller cream ceramic mug with a shiny red interior with a colorful scene of a town around the outside, the sun was shining in the little town. You crossed the kitchen to him and placed both hands on the red town mug, encircling the little people and houses smiling up at the two of you.

“Good choice, very treat people with kindness of you.” Harry smiled down at you. Whenever you were in closer proximity to him, his body so obviously towered compared to yours. It would seem intimidating, but really just felt comforting, safe. This moment far tenser than any previous moments that morning. He stared into your eyes and you returned the gaze. His hands still holding the mug you had chosen, you felt the heat radiating off of him and warming up your cheeks. There and then it was gone,  you turned from him and went to the stove where the kettle sat. You filled your mug with the boiling water and fished a packet of some pink floral Parisian tea you saw and dropped it in the mug. Again you turned and leaned on the counter. Harry had poured his coffee and was opposite you, leant against the counter as well. Like a silent conversation had gone on between the two of you, Harry said, “Creamer’s in the fridge.” You nodded and went and grabbed it. You scurried back to your place against the counter. Harry set his mug down and crossed the short distance between you. His movement was so sudden and disturbed the peacefulness occurring in the kitchen, the synchronous movements between you two. You tensed and your heart began to race when he didn’t stop moving closer. His body was almost against yours when his left arm reached above and past your shoulder, opening th cupboard, and taking out a box of brown sugar cubes. Slowly, he moved the package between the two of you, either side resting on parts of both of your bodies. His warm coffee saturated breath fanned your face.The smell was warm and all consuming when it mixed with the scent of just Harry, probably a combination of shampoo, laundry detergent, and sweat. “Sugar’s right ‘ere,” he spoke just for you, lingering in the bubble your proximity had created. He couldn’t pull away and neither could you. But you had to. You nodded and took the box of sugar cubes, plopping a few in your tea. With that, Harry huffed an inaudible sigh and grabbed his coffee.

Happy witht the taste of your drink, Harry and you journeyed back to the couch where you been last night. Careful to set your phone in eyeline, you got comfortable, tucking your legs under you on the couch, leaning back and gazing at Harry. Comfortable silence fell between you, but again it was like the two of you were communicating in someway that didn’t require words. You noticed you were situated closer to Harry on the couch than you had been last night. Maybe you were less careful or maybe Harry had chosen to scoot closer to you as well. “So, I’ve been thinking, I know we like literally just met, but I’m just so in awe of how well we get along, Harry. Honestly, when I was little I was a huge fan and when you said you wanted to meet to discuss my work I was on a new level of existence, seriously,” you stated, “Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m being for real,” you feigned hurt when Harry giggled from your word choice. “Anyways,” you emphasized and playfully gave a pointed look towards Harry’s shaking body.  “You’re like image in my head that I never thought was attainable and now...feels like we’ve been friends for ages,” you finish softly. You weren’t exactly sure why you were sharing this thought with Harry, but the moment in the kitchen had set your heart beating. You had to say something to try and explain how you were feeling. Harry had grown silent again as you had pressed forward. His brows had slightly furrowed as he had watched you speak. You sensed you’d messed everything up, you believed the silence was a sign of your overstep. You both seemed always to be on the same page and now you’d jumped chapters and Harry was still behind. Learning a spoiler can always be upsetting, sometimes even ruinous.

Shit, you thought. “Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed to add, hoping to salvage any work relationship possible after crashing and burning so hard with this presumptuous statement. “No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips, but, nonetheless, he reassured you. He reached out and cradled your exposed shoulder, his thumb brushing up and down. “I feel it too…s’a bit weird, innit?” Harry kept smiling and you had to smile too. His lips were perfect, you noticed, shape and color. Every feature of him was like that, perfect shape, perfect composition. In your heart, you felt the words of a song beginning to piece itself together just from his face. You wanted to explore its every nook and cranny, the slope of his nose, the peaks of his cheeks, the sleek lines of his jaw, the depressions under his eyes, all of it. You didn’t want to leave a single piece of flesh untouched. It stayed silent and you noticed Harry had leaned in to hold your shoulder and you shifted comfortably towards him in return. And you were about to reach out and touch want you wanted so badly, your faces closer than ever before, when a doorbell rang throughout the home.

Harry twitched his hand away from your shoulder and pulled back from your face exploration activity, throwing his head back on his neck in some sort of disappointment. You were in disbelief, pulled from the trance that was Harry’s beautiful skin, ‘I didn’t know there was even a fucking doorbell here’. “‘S one momen’,” Harry grumbled, running through the house to the front door. You took a deep breath, trying to cool yourself off from what you were pretty sure was just about to happen. You grabbed your mug and took a sip. You strained your ear to hear anything at the front door, but it was all completely muffled, but the conversation seemed to be coming to an end after a couple minutes. You looked inquisitively at Harry when he returned, he waved you off. “Unimportant...what were we doing?” Harry said as he regained his position beside you. “You were about to kiss me,” you replied, taking the arm underneath your resting head and grabbing at his hand. You intertwined your hands as you had last night, when you first noticed that Harry was being vulnerable with you and getting to actually know you. Harry was caught off guard at your forwardness in the moment, but melted at the sight of this confident and caring woman in front of him. You had been so true to yourself on your album he realized after your first conversation last night. You were beautiful inside and out. He looked down at your hand in his, “No rings today…” “I forgot them...had to get over here.” “Were you excited t’see me again?” Harry questioned somewhat out of the blue. “Of course. What about when I showed up at your doorstep?” It was fine Harry hadn’t really addressed your kiss comment, you were so comfortable with him, it didn’t bother you. “I’d ‘ave thrown anyone else out after they’d found their phone if they’d been the one t’wake me up this morning.” He raised his free hand up to your hair now and ran it through until he cupped your ear, then he ran his hand down your jaw and up onto your cheek, his hand cradling your delicate face. “Can I?” He looked into your eyes intently.You bit your lip and leaned forward into Harry. Your lips connected and the kiss was so tender and filled with mutual respect and care, passion just below that surface of soft kindheartedness. Your plush lips pushed against Harry’s and the two of you moved in unison. Soft touches and faint whispers.

The chaste kiss began to turn when you pushed Harry further into the couch and crawled into his lap, your legs seated on either side of his sweatpant clad leg. One of your hands held his jaw in a strong yet loving grasp, while the other was tangled in his hair massaging his scalp. You arched your back as Harry ran his fingers down the back of your spine to land on the side of your hip, his other hand on your neck. His tongue pushed into your open mouth and you made a noise of appreciation and your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. His touch was liquid fire on your skin, seemingly harmless yet burning you everywhere he felt. His hands traveled to the bottom of your ass, slowly sliding over its entirety and squeezing at the bottom. You squealed and Harry grinned, “Easy.” You couldn’t help it, your clothed core was pressed against his toned thigh, his hands were on your ass pushing you down and to top it all off, he was an amazing kisser. He kissed your lips one more time before moving to the corner of them, then your jaw, and finally your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, soft and tender. He was slowing down, taking more time to run his tongue over your neck, massaging it in a way. This was just as amazing as the rougher makeout session that had just occurred. You resumed massaging his scalp and brushing through his curls. Then, you ran your hands down to his broad shoulds beneath his sweatshirt. You drew patterns over his skin and he hummed. “Mm I’like tha,” he whispered into your skin and looked up at you.

You both wore matching smiles, basking in the warmth the two of you had just created. You dropped your head into the crook of Harry’s collarbone beneath his neck, “We should do that again.” “We should definitely do that again, Y/N,” Harry responded emphatically, giving your bum a final squeeze before moving his hands to encircle your waist. You two sat there silently for awhile and then changed to a better cuddling position where you could both still drink from your mugs. You discussed your upcoming schedule, press, time off, and upcoming tour dates. Harry would be in town for a couple more weeks, but was going back to London afterwards. “You should come visit me when you’re on break before tour. We can go out and do somethin’. Tha’d be fun.” You agreed that it sounded fun and that you two should schedule something when it was closer. Harry was largely free during the time that you were on tour. “I dont wan’t to be presumptuous, but… if you wanted, you could come visit me while I’m on tour, we could explore when I’m on my Europe leg?” you said hesitantly. It was Harry’s turn to agree, “Sounds like a great idea, love,” he ran his fingertips up and down your arm idly. You continued to plan the future, nothing had to be defined, it was clear the two of you loved to spend time together, everything just seemed to flow when you were together. Everyone and everything else could fade into the background, as long as you had each other, you were pretty sure you’d be alright.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, breaking some silence that had settled over your cuddled figures. “What for?” Harry looked down at you in his arms. “For getting me,” you smiled for the thousandth time that day. You were sure you’d grow extra smile lines if you continued seeing Harry so constantly like this. Harry returned it and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.”

-

Pt.3 🥺

[that-other-him]

In the belly of the Leviathan

Warmind!Au Destiny story inspired by and tying in with @hdreaper 's own story just posted. Please enjoy!

Fear was something of an old hat to Winter. Memory skips left her anxious, quarantine duty made her anxious, being cut off from Rexy, her frames and the network made her anxious, the anxiety making the memory skips worse made her anxious...

But the fear she'd been living with for the last month blew all of that out of the water.

Ra-1, the fist of Rasputin, the Dragon Ascendant, had personally sent her a message to say that if she didn't start doing exactly what he told her, he'd activate the code-black killcodes built into her Rasputin Exo body, and blow her Exomind into electronic spaghetti. After all, she was wired into the Charlemagne network, and had a documented set of fears he could abuse. She'd gather confidential data for him, she'd send him warnings of Charlemagne's actions, and she'd allow his scientists to try and duplicate Rexy, and the fear of final death would keep her in line.

But.

But but but.

Rasputin's records of her had been accurate...once. Yes, she was still afraid, but her body was no longer a Rasputin model. It couldn't be; that whole area was considered an infohazard now, and her last body was never coming home. And without that final threat, she'd found the courage to do something...stupid.

So here she was, on Ra's flagship in deep space with Charlemagne's blessing. She'd met up with lance troops a few times for debriefs, but recently she'd been allowed to spend time on the flagship itself, ready for Ra to send her where he wanted her. But that same set of interface skills that had allowed her access to Charli's files had also granted access to just a few of Ra's.

Winter paced back and forth in the tiny cabin she’d been assigned. She wasn’t sure if it was some kind of power conservation action, but the light down here barely cut through the shadows. She could have headed up to one of the main decks where things were a bit less claustrophobic, but Ra’s soldiers were everywhere there, and being the only blue-lit Exo on the entire ship guaranteed her the kind of attention that, if things went wrong today, could get her killed. She checked the ship’s clock fruitlessly. Somewhere out there, right now, Ra himself was boots-down on Riis. The data scraps she’d found didn’t say why, or for how long, but there was no question that he was just a little vulnerable right now.

Just a little would have to be enough; her Guardian contacts, who she’d affectionately nicknamed Fireteam Fuzzy, had cut their way through all kinds of monsters since she’d met them, and she’d made damn sure they knew exactly how dangerous he would be. She’d helped Fuzzy find their targets and coordinated some bounties for them down in the Quarantine zone, and when she’d outlined her proposal, they’d agreed to pass it on without question. It could have been typical guardian bravado, but she knew they’d lost friends to Ghostbuster rounds in the attack on the farm a while back. Maybe they actually trusted her.

Maybe that trust was going to get them killed.

Pushing that thought away and herself to her feet, Winter shoved her way past the door and started striding away towards the lifts. One way or another, with the Ira Terra still out in the styx, any news of the strike would take time to arrive, if her information had even been good in the first place. If she was going to stew in uncertainty, she may as well do it somewhere that felt less like a prison cell. Ra may have been a terrifying, merciless, wannabe-tyrant, but the facilities he provided for his troops were actually first rate. She’d find a sim-station no-one was using and throw herself into some story until the guillotine had, one way or another, dropped.

She had made it to the first brightly lit corridor of the barracks floor when her whole body exploded into pain.

Protocols cut in, protecting her mind from the overwhelming agony, partitioning and quarantining it. The feeling of burning alive dipped, sank, then seemed to drain from her whole body into solely her left forearm. When she could see again, she was crumpled against the wall of the corridor, chest heaving, digital heart still pumping on overdrive. It felt unpleasantly like the worst of the memory blips-she was in pain, alone, with no idea why or what to defend against. She cast her eyes down and to her left, and just like with the blips, her circumstances slotted into place. Set into the casing of her arm, where her network interface and uplink were supposed to be, were a smoking ruin of burned and self-destructing circuits. Her only remaining Rasputin hardware, her connection to her frames, to Rexy, to the ship’s system.

Ra-1 had just tried to kill her.

Oh, if she had thought she’d been afraid before, it paled in comparison to the terror that swallowed her now. It felt like her heart was going to burst out through her chest. There was no way her guardians would have told him she was responsible, right? They knew she was undercover, and even in the heat of the fight, he could have sent the kill codes at any time. They’d keep her secret...

...until their dying breaths.

There was a crackling noise that initially failed to cut through the panic, until it resolved unto the familiar voice of the great warlord, and even as the announcement rang out the ship’s engines powered into life and rumbled the flagship into thunderous motion.

“Attention, warriors of the Broken Lance. A guardian strike team has just made an attempt on my life, using information given to them by a traitor within our ranks, Winter-1. The guardians have been dealt with, and I have already ensured she has been rewarded as a traitor deserves. However, an example must still be made. Have her remains gathered and waiting for me upon my return to the Terra. Her masters shall have her broken husk returned to them. A commendation to the squad who has her corpse in my office upon my arrival. Ra out.”

Oh.

Hmm.

Ah, ok.

Winter was pretty sure she’d just lost a minute or two by the time her awareness came back to her. She still felt like she was about to die (fully independent of the hundreds of trained and eager killers probably now closing in on her position) but the freeze instinct was graduating to flight. She had an exit strategy, at Charlemagne’s insistence. It wasn’t a good strategy, but the warmind had explicitly ordered her to try. She reached out with her interface to the subroutine she’d left running on the ship’s server, and-

Ah. Her eyes once again turned to the sparking, melted mess where her interface was supposed to sit. It felt like one of her senses had been scooped out; a huge, gaping wound where the network was supposed to be. Nevermind just the escape protocol, without the access codes built into it, ninety five percent of the systems in the ship would no longer recognise her as a person, including the ones required to log into any network access point on the ship. She knew where her escape protocol was located, and could theoretically trigger it if she could reach an unsecured terminal.

But right now she could already hear tramping boots approaching from the barracks and she had no choice but to run.

She lost count of how many times she blipped as she led a desperate game of cat and mouse through the guts of the ship. The Ira Terra was bigger than the Stultorum had been, back when she’d served upon it, but if the ship ran about the same, the cargo deck mid-flight would be on skeleton crew with nobody caring if an unsecured terminal was technically a security violation. So she kept heading down and back, focusing on that one thought to the exclusion of all else. When she blipped in this time, she was halfway down a corridor created by two shipping containers, moving towards the illuminated sign of a shift breakroom. She took the next step and immediately fell nearly to the floor, sprawling gracelessly and nearly braining herself on the container. Oh-she’d been shot. That explained why her right side and upper leg were one big mess of static and pins-and-needles. She supported herself on the side of the crate and limped forward, conscious of the shouts and stomping boots echoing from somewhere in the distance behind her. She made it to the door, shouldering it open, almost collapsing with relief when her flickering vision was met with the friendly glow of an open terminal. She immediately dragged herself to it, closing the chat and shipwide alert windows to immediately start digging for her protocol.

She must have been five seconds in when she heard the shatter of breaking crockery behind her.

Slowly turning to face the noise, Winter looked into the eyes of the exo washing the dishes in the kitchenette, set into the corner of the breakroom. For a moment, both were still, surprised, the other Exo’s hand still in the air where it had been holding the coffee mug a moment ago. Then his eyes flicked to the screen of the terminal, where a moment ago had been the bounty on the only blue-lit Exo on the ship.

She didn’t even question trying to engage him. She whirled back to the screen, fingers flying as she desperately raced to run the command. The man had no weapons, probably no combat training, but he crashed into her from behind and her leg went out from under her, skull bouncing off the frame of the screen as he tried to wrap his arms around hers, voice bellowing that he’d found her. She was so close it burned, even more intense than the pain. She gripped one of her hands with the other and shoved it over her shoulder as hard as she could, outstretched thumb punching into his optic and causing a very human scream that no amount of mechanical upgrades would prevent. His grip slackened, and she pulled herself out of his arms and high enough to see the screen.

There were shouts behind her, the sounds of guns being brought to attention, the exo at her feet was tightening his grip again, and her vision was fading into black on the edges.

She hit the last key on the screen.

Everything went white, then black, silent and cold.

It was maybe ten seconds before the first ship thundered across her line of sight in the perfect silence of vacuum, the many supporting ships of Ra's fleet rushing to keep up with the flagship as it finished positioning itself for the jump. Even its coasting speed had brought it far enough away from Winter to render it a tiny dot in the distance, before there was a flash of light and the ships were gone.

Her transmat had been a random distance in a random direction, untraceable, and searching for her would delay the ship's travel to pick up Ra. She'd be left behind in the void, passing beyond its signal jamming, allowing the beacon hidden in her circuits to finally begin transmitting. A waiting friendly vessel would be on route to pick her up, provided the fleet hadn't shot it out of the sky.

Which left Winter here, curled in a ball as the moisture on her clothes crystallised. In theory, Exos were built to be vacuum-resistant, but she had a feeling that resistance didn't account for there being two bleeding holes in her dermis.

The thought drifted through her brain as her senses shut down one by one:

Who would claim her first: the cold, the bleeding, or her rescue?

She found herself thinking that she didn't want to die again.

Slowly, the black faded back to white.

[mannien]

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - CHAPTER 1

The one with stress, takeout food around the world, late night walks, and Disney dreams.

Word count: 6.6k 

Warnings: some stress, some anxiety, mention of sex, and a lot of smiles

Masterlist

Fourth week into the morning pitch meetings at BBC, Millie felt lifeless and drained. The room was usually exploding with ideas, creative energy, and a lot of constructive feedback to the few interns who were allowed to join the conversation with editors, writers, and producers. That morning had started ugly enough for her: with an overwhelming number of e-mails about the schedule and missing content for Politics Live.

When she first landed her spot at BBC, Millie was over the moon. She was constantly calling it a dream come true, a once in a lifetime opportunity for her to begin a writing career in media. Her degree seemed to be the best choice for her future and Millie was ready to prove that graduating from humanities can actually land her a decent job. Her first days were filled with morning preparations, early commute to the city centre and exceptionally smoothed out shirts. The work environment in such a fast-paced industry felt inspiring and daunting at the same time, but Millie felt obligated to use this experience to its full potential. Each day she attempted to learn more than the day before and possibly show off a tiny bit more of her creative skills to her superiors. She spent her evenings researching topics and people, trying not to fall out of the loop. Being one step forward was hard work, one that Millie desperately wanted to ace.

The second week of her internship brought a slight shift to her agenda. After grasping the general concepts of working for a major radio and TV broadcasting company, she was aware of the production processes. She tried to happily follow up all the details about the work of a writer, a researcher, or an editor – just so she could be prepared for the follow-up of the introductory week. And as she hoped her interview was remembered and she would soon contribute to any program touching upon music or pop culture, her dreams and calls were slowly fading away. The intern manager ascribed her to the team devoted strictly to politics and daily news, having no vacancies for the popular radio programs. Even though she took whatever spot was offered, it was only to get more insight and experience.  

Having already managed to speak up a few times during the morning routines in the conference room, Millie eased herself into the work environment and was treated like a regular employee. But the first wave of success quickly passed, especially when she was hit with growing emptiness in her brain. She did not enjoy politics, so as far as she could, she attempted to sneak in a sociological aspect into the context. But her tactic had an expiration date.

A couple of heads were expectantly turned at Millie when she was unsurely stuttering her weak ideas for the upcoming programme. She knew it wasn’t going well and she was mentally cursing herself for trying to impress the producers that much so early on.

“This isn’t gonna work. We’ve covered this enough in the evening news. Let’s take five, and maybe you’ll come up with a different angle. I’ll give you another shot here.”

Hugh, the head writer took off his glasses and watched her fidget in her seat. She nodded and took a deep breath, before leaving the room for a short break. Her mind was racing in panic; she wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t have any idea. She walked back and forth through the corridor until she cursed quietly and walked away to the main hall. She pulled her phone from the back pocket and without overthinking this anymore, she called her boyfriend. He picked up after the third ring.

“Babe, can I call you back…”

“No, Frank,” She felt determined and fierce. Her hands shook from the pure view on board members slowly coming back from the kitchen with fresh coffee mugs. They were probably waiting to hear her another take on the TV show which Millie, wholeheartedly, was beginning to hate. “My work on the programme is too basic and I’ve been roasted for the past fifteen minutes or so. Hugh has me in the spotlight in front of everyone. Help me, please?”

“It’s not your fault they’ve given you a job you’re not good at, babe. It’s just an internship, they will roast you anyway.”

Millie’s lungs were ready to stop working and suffocate her. She feared she might start hyperventilating, or at least meet up with a panic attack from the nerves. Franklin’s reaction seemed to be absolutely unfair and inconsiderate of her actual feelings, and he must have felt that through the piercing silence on the line.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t worry so much about it. They will probably just give you another placement where you’ll fit more, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing.” And just like that, she started doubting herself and her right to overthink her situation. It didn’t sit well with Millie and she could feel anger slowly making its way through her veins.

“Can’t you just fucking help me? This one time?” She lost her temper, she lost her patience. At the same time Riley, one of the end writers, started waving at her from the end of the hall as to show her that her time is coming to an end. “I need a hook, or something that would spark a debate. Brexit-themed, maybe. Can you think of anything?”

Frank groaned loudly. He wasn’t exactly happy that she made him break down his ambitious wall and let her in on topics he was too invested in. Millie could hear him moving around as he left his desk of the equally large office of The Guardian, until the line went surprisingly quiet. Her anger and fear made her clutch her phone tightly to her ear, while her legs started carrying her slowly to the terrifying conference room.

“Think internationally. See what the Spanish had to say about May’s resignation from the Office. Think economics in the EU. Try to stand on the Union’s side and do some fair judgement.”

“Give me facts, not ideas. You’re the one who knows politics.”

“Spanish government says that May’s resignation is bad news. Compare it to the popular opinion that she was the worst Prime Minister since the 18th century and the American war on independence.” Millie breathed in, trying to desperately grasp all the details he just provided her with.

“That’s a… harsh and history-digging argument,” She mumbled in surprise, “where did you get that from?” She grabbed a yellow post-it note from the reception desk and quickly scribbled the key words on it. Her briefing on politics was never something like this and she could feel the embarrassment making its way into her heart. It wasn’t her way of thinking and she felt like a fraud.

“I can’t tell you that.” By the end of the single sentence Millie could feel the blood escaping her face, making her look pale and scared for dear life. She didn’t want to have heard that sentence, she was definitely happier not knowing how did he come up with a story like this. That was one of the many reasons she tried not to talk business with him.

“An opinion entry. A column for The Guardian. Shit, you just busted one of your colleagues.”

“Sometimes I hate it that you’re smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You just saved my internship!”

“Please don’t say that. I will pretend that we just talked about the weather.”          

“I’ll spend them the details. You’re the best, Frank.”

“Alright, go kick ass.”

And that she did. Franklin did save her internship, mainly because Millie avoided the specifics about who and why said something so harsh about the resigning Prime Minister. However, it definitely did spark interest among the production board. Afraid of not being so lucky next time, she decided to politely suggest a replacement for her permanent internship division within BBC, due to her ‘personal discomfort with discussions over issues of such importance and potential shame to their glorious country.’

Millie felt bad for using her boyfriend’s knowledge for survival at work. She wasn’t genuine and her idea didn’t come from her hard work - it was sourced in fear and anxiety-driven reactions. This situation proved to her that she wasn’t fit for the position, but it also raised her stress levels around the fact that she couldn’t get by on her own in the industry. She didn’t want others to navigate her through it all, but the conversation she had with Frank had also made her uncomfortable. Her need of support in a stressful situation was primarily turned down, so—naturally to her character—she started to worry even more.

With a heavy heart and two bags of Wagamama takeout, she walked up the stairs to his apartment. She was usually working until later hours than Frank, so all she really needed was for him to open the door for her. She leaned on the doorframe as she waited patiently for the two turns of the lock. He opened still in his work attire – tailored jeans and a light grey button up shirt. He was holding his phone next to his ear and humming approvingly to the speaker when he looked her up and down. He winked at her and let her in, as he continued to talk with someone.

Inside, Millie found the TV turned on with a football game playing. His work jacket was still hanging on the back of the tall stool in the kitchen, and the grocery bags laid unpacked on the table. She took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she made a little room for their food on the countertop. Pulling off her sweater, she peeked into the shopping bags – she wasn’t surprised to find a couple bottles of beer and food essentials, a multipack of tissues and a large box of condoms.

“What’s all this, babe?” Franklin came up to her and briefly kissed her on the lips, before looking into the boxes with deliciously smelling food.

“I just thought it might be nice to eat some goodies,” She smiled, trying to sniff out his mood first. He smiled back at her with approval and reached for the plates in the cupboard, so she continued, “also, it’s a ‘thank you for being my saviour today,’ kinda thing.”

“Ah, yeah. I bet everyone on my floor will hate BBC’s guts for that.” Frank said it so casually, with a shrug to follow up, that Millie struggled to understand the dynamic he had at The Guardian. He seemed to be a great fit for his team, because a week into his new job, he was already invited for Friday drinks and talked about his co-workers just like anyone would about their long-time friends. She couldn’t understand how was he getting so lucky at any step, but the last thing she wanted to do is doubt him. Any time worries and competitiveness clouded her brain, Millie was making extra room for compassion and support.

Frank unloaded some of the curry on his plate and started eating with a fork, and then made his way to the living room where he spread out on the sofa. He didn’t say anything else, somewhat scaring Millie that he will let her know he’s uncomfortable randomly, on a promisingly good day. Trying to figure out her brain, she followed his actions and took some extra food to the coffee table, before sitting down next to him.

“But you’re not gonna get into trouble for that, are you?” she was biting the inside of her cheek hard, definitely not used to not being judged for using someone else’s help.

“Nah, I don’t think so. They don’t know I’ve got a girl at BBC, so I should be just fine.”

Millie ate her curry in silence, suddenly at loss of words driven by his surprising statement. She didn’t want to raise an argument or seem overly sensitive. But for some reason she hoped that he would talk about her at work, especially considering his already formed strong bonds in the office, and a definitely higher success rate in his position. Ever so charming Franklin, he always glowed among people. She couldn’t really fight with this, so she just kept any comments to herself and focused on her food.

Frank switched the channel to the evening news and pulled her to his side once they were done eating. It comforted Millie to know that at the end of the day, they could both enjoy each other’s company, no matter what was happening at work. She didn’t pay much attention to the news, but rather focused on the way he reacted to it and what he enjoyed. She felt too tired to get invested in another load of politics, so she just soaked in his warmth and curled more into his side. He smelled of coffee and heavy, musky cologne that he liked to reapply frequently. Millie closed her eyes and breathed out the stress that weighed her down after a long day, finally finding peace.

“I’ll go grab a beer, you want one?” he abruptly stood up, making her slightly loose her balance and lean back towards the pillows. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You’re awfully quiet today.” He spoke already from the kitchen, not even catching a glimpse of her pursed lips.

“I just need to wind down. It’s been stressful day.” She pushed a little smile on her cheeks as he came back with a frown. He took a few large sips of his drink and put it on the table, before lowering himself on the couch and leaning over Millie.

“I can help you relax, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, leaning into her and leaving a series of delicate kisses on her lips. He then moved onto her jaw and sucked on her skin, but never left a mark. Slowly massaging her waist, he slid his hand under her shirt and sprawled his fingers across her hip to pull her closer.

Millie enjoyed the warmth that started to spread through her body, but she couldn’t find any energy to give some of it back. She felt drained and exhausted, so a mere thought about participating in sexual activities was sure to make her at least slightly uncomfortable. Unless Frank was willing to change something about it.

“Okay, hold on,” her chuckle and a light push at his chest made him narrow his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t think I’ve got enough energy today, Frankie.” Her whisper was followed by a reassuring smile. She weaved her fingers through his short hair and kissed the tip of his nose.

“What if I provide you with some energy first?”

“What, you’ll give me an energy drink?” She laughed at her poor joke and he chuckled, too, but more at her silliness than anything else. He laid her down comfortably and cautiously peppered her with kisses on her neck and the tiny bit of cleavage that was available without unbuttoning her shirt. She was slowly giving in, allowing him to get lower on her body and touch her. Frank either wanted to make her feel better, or was really horny. But whatever the case was, she didn’t want to stop him and ruin his enthusiasm. The glow in his eyes and admiration painted across his face were too intoxicating to back away. His touch was filled with sparks of emotions and a kind of drive that Millie was addicted to. She felt wanted and needed, and that’s what made her return the heated kisses despite her hooded, weary eyes.

They walked hand in hand through the chilly evening, sometime after she persuaded Frank to walk her to the nearest tube station. The wind was slightly tickling her neck, but other than that she felt at peace. She let her hair down, flowing gently with each blow of the air and lightly caressing her face like a safety blanket. They swayed their hands until they had to make room for a group of people passing by.

“Jane texted me about a little get together this Friday,” She mumbled into the night, trying not to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Ah, yeah. Aaron told me about it, too. I guess we’re going, right?”

“Yeah, it might be nice. The girls mentioned this new club near their apartment? I think that’s where they wanted to go.”

“Cool. I could use a little break.”

As they continued their walk, Millie mostly focused on leading the way through tight London streets. Franklin’s parents rented him an apartment in the city centre, close to everything you could dream of in London. It also meant crowded streets at any hour, so to have a nice walk around the neighbourhood usually requested it to be late at night. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he had a short commute to the office and all other things that life requested from him, within reach. There were times when he would mention coming back to Manchester and supporting his parents at their law firm, but Millie saw how much he preferred his growing career as a journalist. Mathilda and William were a generous couple, so they shared their resources with him and tried to help him get into the business as smoothly as possible. Sometimes she wanted to ask him about his permanent position at The Guardian and whether his name had anything to do with it, but she never felt comfortable enough to do it. Some things were better left unspoken.

Reaching the staircase to the station, Franklin stopped and made her turn to him and look up at his smiling face.

“Thanks for coming over tonight. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled shyly, nodding her head in reassurance.

“I wish you could finally move to the city, though. It would be so much easier if you were a few blocks away.”

“You do realize that even if I moved out, it wouldn’t be anywhere nearby?” Her chuckle resonated through her body, almost as if she wanted to humour herself at the topic that had started to come up more often in their conversations.

“I could ask around the office if anyone has a room available to rent.”

“But I don’t want to share my personal space with strangers, you know this. Don’t try to change my mind about it.” She smiled tightly.

Frank has been trying to persuade her into moving out for months. He wanted to be closer to her, within a short train journey, rather than a whole commute in and out of Kingston. He felt comfortable in the business of London, and Millie liked to call him out on being spoiled by having an apartment on his own in such a lively part of the city. But she wasn’t financially ready to leave her family home in equally comfortable Southwest London, where she had all she needed within her reach, and her social life was just a tiny bit longer train trip away. It was a source of their small disputes from time to time, because it was Millie who spent more time on going to his place and spending time there. Naturally, it made her feel more engaged in their relationship and Frank tried his best make up for the difference. But one thing that never occurred, was Millie staying over for longer than a night. Even a night’s sleepover was a rare event, somehow always blessed by excuses from either one of them.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he pecked her lips and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I talk about it out of concern, okay?”

“Okay. But I like my train rides and I like Kingston. So let’s just deal with it for now, yeah?”

“’Course,” He sent her a tight smile before giving her one last kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

Millie was one of those people who could be easily judged as thinkers. Years of taking trains and buses in and out of central London taught her to cherish every moment of peace she gets during her journeys. That’s how she learned to create playlists for each season – summer commutes were always different than autumn ones; they required different sounds and lyrical quality. Intense months during university semesters also showed her how to read fast between the stops and how to juggle standing on the tube and holding an open book without falling, as the train slowed and rushed every few seconds.

As she was approaching her station in Kingston, she stopped the music but kept her earphones in. A bunch of other people was hurrying to get out of the train and get home as soon as possible, but after leaving the station, she would have a lonely 15-minute walk to her neighbourhood, so she always tried to stay alert in the evenings. Getting on the sidewalk in the busiest area of Kingston, she closed her book and put it back in her backpack, pulled the jacket tighter around her middle and continued her steady walk.

The air was getting crispier with each minute outside. It was refreshing and calm, disturbed only by a few laughs from the pub across the street and two cars passing her by. She turned into one of the quieter streets, where the buildings were becoming shorter and more separated from each other. Brick fences and trimmed hedges adorned the concrete sidewalks on both sides of the street, illuminated only by a few lanterns. Most of the light was coming from the windows in a row of semi-detached houses that Millie has known for a good chunk of her life.

Right when she wanted to cross the street and take a right, she heard a subtle clicking of a dog collar and a leash. Soft padding from the back was slowly approaching her and becoming louder, as well as someone’s whistle.

“Tess, come here!” a hushed call didn’t disrupt the peace of the night, but rather added the familiarity that Millie adored. She slowed her walk and turned around, just in time to be met with lightly jogging blue Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She panted lightly with her tongue out and reached Millie’s legs, where she tucked her head and mewled timidly.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Millie chuckled at the dog’s persistence in keeping close. She scratched her head and patted her on the back, “are you on your evening walk, Tessa? Is that right?”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Millie,” Dominic reached them and sent Millie a kind and apologetic smile, “good evening.”

“Hi, it’s good to see you.” She beamed at the middle-aged man, whom she learned to adore like a family member.

“Likewise, yeah. Heading home?”

“I am, just got off the train.”

“We will keep you company, then. Is that alright?” He fixed his glasses and leaned down to attach the leash to Tessa’s collar. Millie’s insides warmed and her mind calmed down at the idea that she will get to spend a few minutes with a friend.

“Absolutely, thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I bet Tom would have my head, hadn’t I offered,” they chuckled at the mention of his son. Their laughter died off comfortably and escaped into the night air, while Millie reminisced about the caring nature of the Hollands. “How is it going at BBC?” he asked after a moment, letting her go first through a narrow passage.

“It’s… going,” she smiled shyly, not sure how to dress up her words. In Dominic’s company she always felt one step behind in her creative skills; his writing and comic abilities exceeded her capabilities, or so she thought. “but I feel like I’ve definitely hit an end with politics. I know it’s only been a month, but it’s just… it keeps on proving that I should be writing about something else.”

“Oh, it’s totally understandable. Rest assured, you’re not the only one stuck like this,” They turned the corner onto her street. “but I wish you luck there. They have some sensible editors, so I assume you’ll get a chance at something else as well.”

“I hope so. Today I asked them about switching departments and the intern manager told me she will think about it, so there is a tiny light.”

“Something will always work out. You’re smart, you’ll find your way there.”

Dom and Millie continued down the sidewalk, until Tessa stopped near the gate to Millie’s house. She sniffed the pavement and turned back to the girl who crouched down to pet the Staffy one last time.

“Thanks for walking with me,” her smile was genuine, coming straight from her heart. “please say hi to Nikki and the boys. Is Sam still home?”

“He is, he starts his practice at the end of June. So, we all will be here to celebrate your birthdays.”

“Oh, that’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“That’s true. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

“I know, thank you.” With fondness painted across her face, she scratched Tessa’s ear and stood up straight, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“Have a good night.”

“You too. Bye, Tess!”

Whenever she got the chance to interact with someone from their family, Millie instantly felt their love and care penetrate her straight to the core. It was this kind of relationship that had been built through the years, only making it stronger and bringing it closer to the concept of family.

Nikki, Dom’s wife and Anna, Millie’s mother met shortly before Millie and Tom were born. At first only neighbours, soon they became best friends to the point of engaging their families in a kind affair. Greetings at the doorstep turned into late night family dinners and weekends away with the kids. They were used to spending most of the birthdays and holidays together, especially when Millie and Tom’s birthdays two days apart brought them all closer. She raced her best friend in Anna’s womb and came out to this world right before the brown-haired boy. Ever since the Beavers celebrated the birth of their third and youngest daughter, the Hollands began their journey with four boys. They always stayed close and treated each other like family, deeming it necessary to nourish their friendship and turn it into something everlasting. The example of their parents taught Millie and Tom to mimic the closeness and made them create their own little world.

Millie’s older sisters also treated Tom, Harry, Sam and Paddy like brothers, but not as much as Millie did. Samantha and Liz were already grown toddlers when the families got together, so they figured more as the female patrons of their youngest sister and her adventures with the boys. But Millie and Tom’s friendship turned into something so effortless and harmless that no supervision was necessary. They were each other’s partners in crime, best friends from next door. Their mothers had signed them up for the same dance classes, helped them get to the same summer carnivals, and let them have late nights in makeshift dens. Millie was one of the first people their dog, Tessa, got familiar with. She missed him dearly when he started his journey as a young actor, but Nikki made sure he always made the time to call his best friend when the time zones were somewhat cooperating. They nurtured their friendship through Millie’s education and Tom’s career, not stopping even for a moment. He was there for her always, carrying her home when she scratched her knee after falling off the slings. She would help him with homework whenever he felt too embarrassed to ask his parents. Tom escorted her home from her disaster of a prom; he was the first one to understand her anxiety and help her through it. And Millie always read the books and scripts Tom needed to prepare for auditions. Just like that, they always found home in one another.

           Their house smelled of baking and freshly watered plants. As quietly as possible, Millie took off her shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, turning on only the least invasive, small lights. She put down her backpack and lightly stretched, letting out a tired, yet content breath. Her eyes scanned the kitchen in search for the source of the sweet scent, and there it was, on a cooling rack in the corner, covered with a tea towel – fresh lemon sponge cake, the favourite of Millie’s mother. Lightly dusted with powdered sugar, it added an extra layer of sweet comfort to the late night’s atmosphere. She left the cake untouched, but put the kettle on to quickly make herself a cup of tea for a good night’s sleep. She let out an overwhelming yawn and rested her hips on the side of the countertop, patiently waiting for the water to boil.

           She felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. The brightness of the screen was almost blinding, until it adjusted to the low lighting in the room. She could feel the anticipation growing in the back of her head as she noticed a new message.

           (Tom) I got you something today

           After a second or two, a picture loaded under the message. Millie gasped and smiled like mad, when he showed her a pair of Minnie Mouse sequin ears. It was an artefact that Millie has always dreamt of, not having an opportunity to go to Disneyland ever in her childhood.  She awaited the chance with high hopes and wandering mind, but she knew the trip had to be thorough, well-planned, and wholesomely happy.

           (Me) You were in Disneyland????

           (Tom) yeah we did promo for spidey today 

           (Me) I’m so jealous rn

           (Me) THANK YOU FOR THE EARS!!!!!  

           (Tom) it’s alright

           (Tom) I didn’t get any weird looks at all

           (Tom) Just casually carried around this shiny sparkling beauty

           (Me) I bet you loved this feeling

           (Me) I bet you bought yourself a pair too

           (Tom) Don’t tell anyone

           (Me) You could always pretend they’re for Tessa

           (Me) I just saw her and your Dad btw

           Whenever her and Tom texted, it always sparked a never-ending conversation about sweet nothings. They mocked each other, talked about their days, spoke about all things home. It allowed them a safe space from their daily hustles; Millie was able to breathe lightly and happily, and Tom had a chance to detach from the world he desperately tried not to drown in.

           Almost spilling the tea, she slowly made it upstairs without losing the sight of her phone screen. She struggled to turn off the lights in the corridor without making a noise but somehow, she managed not to disturb her parents too much, as she reached her bedroom. Safe within her own little space, she put down the mug and let go of her backpack and jacket. She threw herself on the softest bedspread and waited patiently for Tom’s reply.

           The text bubble stopped and a massage didn’t appear, but her phone started ringing. Millie answered the FaceTime call and waited for the camera on his phone to adjust and show his familiar face.

           “I had a meeting with Disney and they want me to participate in one of their projects for a Marvel-themed ride at Disneyland,” from a crooked angle she could see his neatly gelled hair and uneven eyebrows. Tom was walking somewhere, but then sat down and perched his phone on the mug that stood on the coffee table, so that she could see him better.

           “That’s exciting, right?”

           “Oh, yeah!” She could see him rummage in a brown paper bag and pull out a box with some takeaway food. “But I’m telling you this because we could turn it into our Disneyland trip that you’ve wanted, right?”

           “That would be nice, yeah.” She smiled back at the screen, but a terrible yawn sneaked in to her expression. Tom scrunched his forehead and took a large sip from a bottle of water.

           “I didn’t wake you up now, did I?”

           “No, I just came back home. I am tired, though.”

           “Yeah? How was work?”

           “Stressful and not nice. It wasn’t a good day.”

           “Oh, I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?”

           Tom spent the next minutes carefully listening to her words and trying not to spill his soup on his fresh clothes. He hummed to some of the stories and asked little intrusive questions, to get the whole picture. She kept rubbing at her eyes and stifling her yawns every now and then, at last making a mess of her mascara and getting it all over her skin. Despite the seriousness in her voice, Tom smiled fondly to himself at the view of her ruined face that probably mimicked her current mental state. It wasn’t something he should laugh about, but it was rather endearing to have her so comfortably sharing her lows with him, while he casually ate his lukewarm, very late lunch.

           “Why are you laughing at me?” She returned his smile, knowing it was probably something she did.

           “You made yourself look like panda.” He chewed on a chunk of chicken from his second plate. The wrinkles by his eyes deepened with each of her chuckles and proved to them that this is the lightness they need in their daily routines. “Well, it’s good you asked for a new placement. You should be comfortable in your work environment. I’m proud of you.”

           “Thanks,” she yawned again and stopped herself mid-rubbing her eye again, earning a wholesome, groggy laugh from her friend, “your dad thinks they will give me another chance.”

           “I mean, he knows some people there, so he probably has a point.”

           “Yeah, I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high, you know?” A comfortable silence rested between them after he nodded and continued munching on his food. Millie stood up from her bed and took the phone with her, but also started to slowly get ready for the night.

           “You will know when the moment feels right and shows you something worth a shot. Trust yourself, Mills.”

           “I guess…” she trailed off, making her way to the closet to find fresh pyjamas. “I’m glad my panda face entertained your… what is it, lunch break?”

           “Sort of, yeah,” he chuckled, enjoying the playfulness of her tired self, “I should be coming back in two weeks. We could hang out then, if you’ll have the time.”

           “Oh, for sure.”

           “Alright, I’ll let you rest. Text me anytime, yeah?”

           “I will. Thanks for the Minnie ears!”

           “You got it, Minnie Mouse. Sweet dreams.”

                                                          *  *  *

After her little mishap with Politics Live, Millie tried her best to keep up the hard work, but stay low. She tried not to focus too much attention and just assist other workers in their tasks, only coming up with ideas when necessary. She strived to come back to her public voice, but she knew she needed it to have a comfortable outlet, preferably in another setting and on different topics. She was greeting the intern manager with additional caution and kindness, trying her best not to leave her case forgotten.

Segregating files for the research team seemed to be the best solution to her temporary creative break. Her attention to detail and wholesome care about the task being done to its full potential came in handy. She volunteered to help the group of meticulously scribbling and researching men in keeping their documents in order.

The soft mumble of the radio in the background was interrupted by a guy named Tim. He always wore rock band t-shirts under his jackets and Millie swore she had seen him participate in a wild dance routine during the last year’s Glastonbury Festival. He stopped typing on his keyboard and started to quietly hum a song that was definitely different to what Scott Mills was announcing on Radio 1.

“Oh my God, do you guys know this song? I can’t get it out of my head!” he groaned in frustration, making a few people in the open space office chuckle.

“Do you know any words, maestro?” Millie’s head snapped up at the sound of Kim, the intern manager’s voice. She was passing by with a bunch of files and a coffee, before she perched herself on his desk, obviously making fun of her friend.

“It’s got this very cool, mariachi-like trumpet between the lines,” he mimicked a trumpet player and hummed some more, “and the guy sings something about stopping a feeling…”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“You know he’s not my jam, Kim! It’s an old-school song.”

“You’re the old-school one here.” Kim’s comment earned a couple more laughs at poor Tim, who was genuinely struggling. “you’re the researcher, have you googled it?”

“Of course I googled it, stop mocking me! People are watching.”

Their little light-hearted exchange brought a breezy atmosphere to the office and made Millie smile some more. She kept on looking up at Tim to check if he’s found the song he was looking for, but without luck. Her fingertips started to tingle with each swipe through the pages in a file, because she felt like she knew the song. Deciding to come against her decision to lay low, she gently cleared her throat and swallowed her nerves of speaking up in a new environment.

“Hey Tim, have you tried to find it on Spotify?” they both looked at Millie with playful smiles, as anyone would to the up and coming intern fresh out of university.

“I don’t think it’s the title of the song, so I won’t find it there.”

“But you actually could,” she offered, biting her lip nervously “since the recent update, you can now type in the lyrics into the search bar and the results will show you all licensed songs with the same or similar lyrics.” Tim instantly reached for his phone and started typing away.

“Oh really? I didn’t know that, let’s see…” Kim looked into his phone and watched his progress.

“And since you’ve remembered a catchy verse, it’s very possible that others also tried to find this song through the same words. So, it will probably come up within the first few results.”

“Alright, smarty.” He shook his head in amusement. Millie watched as Kim’s face got ridden of any emotion and just stared at Tim’s work.

“But if nothing comes up, you can always try ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ by Blue Swede.”

Millie waited with racing heart at their reactions. Tim clicked on one of the results and raised the volume, filling the room with a sound so familiar to Millie’s memory. She smiled shyly and internally patted herself on the back, before coming back to her task.

           “How did you know this song?” His triumphant smile was radiating, as he did a little dance in his seat and twirled on his rolling chair. “It’s such an old tune, I didn’t think your generation would know it!”

           “Yeah Millie, how did you know?” Kim encouraged his question and watched her carefully, almost as if she was studying her intern.

           “It’s in the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy. I wrote a paper on it.”

           “Hm.” Kim’s unreadable expression was giving Millie chills, but in a positive way. She liked to be asked about things that interested her and prompted her to be creative, so the way this situation evolved was close to burst her heart into passionate flames. “I’ll ask the Radio managers if they want a music and pop culture geek, how’s that sound?”

           It sounded like Millie put the trust in herself at the right time.  

****

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear@sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection@cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0 @spideyspeaches

If it bothers you that you’re tagged, please let me know!

[makbarnes]

Chapter 4

It had been two weeks since seeing Loki at the mall and your mind was going nuts. Who was he there with? Is he with another girl? And in the clothes I bought him!?

“Boo!” Bucky kissed the crook of your neck, snaking his arms around your waist as you jumped a little at the sound of his voice.

“Hi.” You leaned your head back and puckered your lips at him. Bucky pressed a soft kiss to her lips. He had been coming over more and more since he slept over that night. You had persuaded him to stay over a couple nights and actually got him to sleep in your bed with you. He even tucked Tatum in a few times and it was adorable. Bucky had planted himself behind you with his arms around you. Stopping what you were working on, you turned around to face him. He picked you up on the counter and gripped your face. Pushing his lips into your own passionately, you gripped his hips and pulled him close to you. His metal hand was under your thigh, while your hand was messing with the back of his hair. Your lips were burning from the pressure Bucky was putting on your lips, not to mention the constant nipping he kept doing to your bottom lip. Your arm was around his neck and you licked his lips before letting his tongue go into your mouth. Letting him take control over the makeout you moaned quietly into his mouth, feeling his hands move up your outer thigh. Pushing his wrist back down your thigh he moved his hand up behind your neck, pulling you in deeper. Your legs wrapped around his and you moved closer to the edge of the counter. Hearing Tatum cry lightly in her room you pulled away from Bucky and took a breath.

“Tatum’s awake.” Bucky pulled you off of the counter, and held up in his arms. Dipping you down in his arms he planted one last kiss on you before setting you down on the ground. Tapping your lower back you went off in the direction of Tatum’s room. Picking her up from her bed she was clutching her new bear and wiped her eyes. Petting her hair down you carried her into the main room where Bucky was leaning against a wall.

“There’s my little sunshine.” Bucky chimed and held his hands out for Tatum. You placed her gently in his arms and she positioned herself. You continued with cutting up some fruit for Tatum’s breakfast. Bucky bobbed her on his hip and you adjusted the fruit on her chair, pouring some apple juice into her green sippy cup you set that down next to it. Tatum wiped her eyes again, and yawned before opening her eyes. You gripped your hands toward her and got her from Bucky’s arms, Sitting her down in the chair you grabbed her bear from her and she cried a little.

“Okay, Shh. Here.” You gave Tatum her bear back and she hugged it tightly. Sitting it down next to her.

“Eat Baby.” You tapped the edge of the chair and stood in front of her. Tatum yawned again while she picked up a small apple slice and bit into it. A few moments later you heard a ding from the coffee machine and got down two mugs from the cabinet. Pouring the coffee into the mugs you handed one over to Bucky and he took a few sips from it. You smiled at Tatum who was waking up more now. You sat your mug down on the counter and rushed off into your room. You heard your phone ringing and quickly picked it up.

“Hello?” Listening to the other person on the line your mind went into a panic.

“Wait What? No he can’t confess, Who offered him a deal? The evidence is all wrong! It wouldn’t hold up in court.” You hung up the phone and lightly hit the wall, Bucky looked up from his cup. His blue eyes gleaming from the red color reflecting them.

“The client I’m representing got offered a deal by the prosecutors and I already told them that the evidence won’t hold up against him in court and I have nobody to babysit Tatum.” Bucky sat down his mug and approached you.

“Hey, you go get ready and I can watch Tatum either here or at my place.” Bucky kissed your forehead and you sighed. Going off to your room you pulled out one of your daily suits. Getting ready you pulled your hair back and pinned it with a brown clip. Packing up your things you grabbed your car keys from the counter and sat everything down on the counter. Kneeling down at Tatum you brushed some hair away from your face.

“Okay sweetheart you are gonna stay here with Bucky just for a little bit while Mommy goes to work.” Kissing her forehead you smiled at her.

“Tatum? Is that okay?”

“Okay.” Tatum stated before chewing on her apple slice. You nodded your head and gathered your things in your arms, checked around making sure everything was with you. Bucky led you to the front door and kissed the back of your head goodbye. Shutting the door behind you, you dashed down the hall and into the elevator going off to help an innocent man. Bucky turned back to Tatum and smiled.

“Alrighty Doll, Just you and me.” Bucky fluffed her hair and she held up her bear to him.

“Meet Bucksie.” Bucky took the bear and smiled, handing it back to her.

“She is very pretty. Just like you.” Bucky tapped her nose, making her giggle a little. Bucky finished off his coffee while he let Tatum finish her mixture of fruit you had given her this morning. Tatum gripped her hands towards Bucky and he picked her up out of the chair setting her down on the floor next to him. Grabbing the plate and the cup he put them in the sink before heading over to the couch. Sitting down He picked up Tatum and set her on his lap.

“So what does your mommy usually do with you during these days?”

“Little Mermaid!” Bucky smiled and he glanced over at the collection of movies you had on a little case by the TV. Seeing the DVD Bucky moved Tatum and put in the disc, Sitting back down where he was, Tatum climbed back onto his lap while he pressed play. As the opening credits played Tatum messed with a button on Bucksie’s little jacket and Bucky set the remote back down on the table.

“So why did you name her Bucksie?”

“Because we want you to be my new Daddy...cause I’ve never had a real Daddy before.” Tatum took hold of Bucky’s hand and cuddled into his chest.

“You will have to ask your mommy about that.” Bucky felt his heart ache. He would be happy to be Tatum’s dad but sadly it wasn’t his choice.

“You are her prince, and she is your princess. What could go wrong?”

“I think you are my princess and she is my queen. That way you can find true love too.”

“But I already love you and Mommy” Bucky had nothing to say to Tatum’s response to him. He ignored the movie and all he could think about was living with you and spending the rest of his life with you and Tatum.

Meanwhile,You had gotten to a conclusion with the prosecutors and had a small meeting with your client. After leaving the courthouse you headed back to your car before a scent caught your attention. Noticing it was coming from a bakery nearby you crept into the place and looked at everyone around. Noticing some familiar blonde hair that was reading a paper you went over to her. Your best friend Felicity was sitting there reading a newspaper while sipping on some tea.

She was the one that texted you yesterday regarding the deal at Build a bear.

“Hey there, Stranger.” Felicity sat down her paper and adjusted her glasses while smiling at you.

“Hey. Where’s Tatum?”

“Oh she is staying with Bucky.”

“You know James Buchanan Barnes?”

“He is kind of my boyfriend.” Your friend looked shocked at the news.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well I was going to wait around at Build-A-Bear to break the news to you but I got out of there as quickly as possible...I saw Loki there yesterday.”

“You..did? Uhm, was he with anyone?” Your friend instantly turned nervous and you looked at her suspiciously.

“Did you know who he is with?”

“{Y/N}, I think we should go outside.” Felicity stood up and you followed her outside. Her hands were shaking a little, and you grabbed her wrists.

“Sweetie, just tell me.” Felicity took in a deep breath and stood tall.

“Loki was there to see me yesterday...we have been dating for seven months and it’s getting pretty serious.” You felt your fists clenched, and you gritted your teeth at her.

“SEVEN MONTHS!? He has been on earth that long you didn’t even mention it to me?”

“He was working through things and stayed at my place mostly.” You relaxed still feeling rage build inside of you.

“Did you tell him anything about Tatum?”

“Yes, He kept asking so I told him all I knew. But yesterday when I got home from work he was in a ball and crying. After seeing you and Tatum yesterday it was too much.You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Yeah well he should be crying about it. Where the fuck does he get off in leaving me then going after my best friend?!” Felicity moved some of her hair away from her face and touched your arm which made you jerk away from her.

“Loki has changed, He is depressed about how he left things with you and he wants Tatum to know who he is.”

“He has no damn right for that! Leaving me for years then wanting to see his daughter that he left without a father, not to mention the heartbreak I went through. No! He is not getting near her.” Before Felicity could reply, you grabbed your keys from your purse and headed for your car and felt her grab your arm.

“Wait, please don’t be mad. I can explain, just not right at this moment.”

“No, I have to get home and see Tatum.” Flaming mad you got into your car and sped away from Felicity. Heading back home you felt your heart racing as you neared the apartments. Bucky heard you outside and paused the TV before getting up. Passing Tatum on her playmat he opened the door to see you pissed off as ever. Stepping out a bit, he took your hand and felt it shaking.

“My best friend is dating Loki…” “Who?”

“Felicity, I ran into her and she told me about Loki and why I saw him at the mall the other day.” You pushed past Bucky and went into the apartment seeing Tatum stand up.

“{Y/N}, Just calm down.”

“I can’t calm down Bucky, My best friend since eighth grade is dating the guy who broke my heart. She has been keeping it from me for seven months!” Your voice cracked a little not being used to yelling this much. Tatum covered her ears and sat down, being a little scared.

“She has a good reason.”

“He probably has her knocked up by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she is already pregnant and hiding it from me.” Bucky looked over at Tatum who was watching this all unfold and winked at her in an attempt to let her know everything was okay.

“Baby, stop shouting.”

“How can you be this calm?! LOKI IS HERE! ON EARTH! He could come hurt me or Tatum for that matter.” Stopping you looked over at Tatum and she had a few tears down her face, leading to a blue spot on her cheek. Your face went calm and quiet while you walked over to her.

“Please don’t tell at Bucky, Mommy!”

“Baby, I’m not mad at him. Just things that you can’t understand right now.” You brushed over the blue spot on her face and glanced over at Bucky.

“What did she get into? She didn’t have that when you got here.” You stood up and pushed back your hair.

“No, no, no… I was hoping she didn’t get that trait…”

“What trait?” SIghing you stepped away from Tatum.

“Okay Loki was part, just part frost giant and he always turned blue when he got really angry or upset and I was hoping she didn’t get that but she did apparently.” Kneeling back down to Tatum you kissed her head.

“Tatum, calm down. Please.” Bucky came over to her and kneeled down to her.

“Doll, Mommy and Daddy aren’t fighting. I promise.”

“Okay…” You grabbed Tatum from the floor and walked her to her room. Settling her down for a nap you walked back into the main room where Bucky was waiting. Letting your hair down you ran your fingers through it, fluffing it out.

“I have a question for you. When did we get married?”

“It just slipped out. I’m sorry.”

“No it’s fine but just take it a little slow. It’s only been four weeks.” Bucky pulled you close to him and you rested your head on his chest.

“Tatum called me your prince today.”

“Tatum doesn’t have a dad and she latched onto you. Which I am proud of, you are a perfect example.”

“Well I will always be here. For you and her.” BUcky rested his lips on your head before swaying you slowly.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, my dear.”

NEXT CHAPTER

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