#of course house would make it so dramatic that he needs more meds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gucciwins · 4 years ago

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Trouble Follows

Harry’s a firefighter, he believes in accidents not coincidences but that changes when he meets Y/N multiples times at different calls.

Word count: 8128

A/N: Hello friends, hope you’re well. life has been eventful since the start of the year but when is it not. first story of 2021 and i’m excited to share it. i started this story a few months back (yes chicago fire was an inspiration). firefighter!harry is dear and near to my heart. i do hope you love it and let me know you thoughts. happy reading

It's the start of a twenty-four-hour shift.

A day that feels like it may never end until it does.

Harry's in the common room with the crew. He's got his black coffee, his first of many for the day, and the morning's paper that Lincoln dropped on the table. There isn't anything impressive; he grabs a pen he sees on the table and begins to do the crossword puzzle.

10 letters

1. down - crater creator.

Harry's already lost, and it is only the first one.

He's not good at them, not one bit. Sarah always ends up finishing the crosswords.

The chatter is loud, and as he slides the newspaper down to Mitch, who will silently hand it over to Sarah. Harry likes the morning buzz; everyone catches up from not seeing each other for forty-eight hours. Although, many do see each other, seeing as they are roommates. Harry used to live with Mitch until he moved in with Sarah last fall after two years of dating. Mitch told him there might be a wedding in the future or, as Sarah likes to joke about all the time, an elopement.

"Morning, H.," Wilson says, patting his shoulder, making his way to the empty coffee awaiting him. Harry knows they are seconds away from an outburst. Wilson can be just a tad bit dramatic.

The alarms begin to ring as he lifts up the empty pot. "Truck 51, Squad 3, 62, Battalion 25, Ambulance 62 House fire at 5082 North Bell Ave."

"Looks like we were saved by the bell." Lincoln laughs as they all rush out to get dressed and on the truck as quick as they can.

Harry and Mitch are out in seconds, never one to lollygag. The rest are quick to follow, slipping on their pants, and the coat quickly follows. Harry looks around, making sure everyone is accounted for before jumping into his spot in the passenger seat, Wilson at the wheel pulling out of the station with the siren blaring.

He watches the city go by as they rush to their destination. There is a lot heard of trees they pass by, and he knows they are passing the city park that is always filled with laughter and Harry knows they will be arriving soon, and as always, he prepares for the worst but hopes for the best.

They arrive in under ten minutes. It's a nice residential area, one that doesn't make frequent calls. The fire seems under control, not growing, but there is a lot of smoke. "Frankie, Lincoln, make sure these people stay back."

"You got it, Lieutenant," Lincoln responds quickly, getting to work, Frankie following right behind him.

Harry spots an old woman being held up by a young female his age. The old woman looks distraught by the fire, and Harry knows this must be the owner.

"Ma'am, I'm Lieutenant Styles. Can you tell me what happened?" He approaches, voice firm, ready to take in the needed information.

"She inhaled a lot of smoke. Can your paramedic check her out?" Harry's eyes shift to the woman. She's beautiful; she's in grey sweats and an oversized sweater that has what he assumes is Pascal from Tangled coming out of the pocket. Harry shakes his thoughts away, focusing back on her catching her last words. "Still in shock."

"Sarah," Harry calls out once, and she is quick to rush over. They set the old woman on the stretcher and quickly put an oxygen mask over her.

"Miss, may you tell me what you know. That way, we figure out the best way to get this fire out."

She's quick to nod. "Of course, I was on my way over to check on Mrs. Waters like I do every morning, but this time was different. Earl, her next-door neighbor, was outside calling 9-1-1. He told me he didn't see her run out. I rushed in to see her standing on the top steps of her staircase, staring into the burning room. She was coughing a lot, and I rushed her out. She thinks she knocked the candle down in her knitting room when she went down for her tea." She says all that in one breath. "The room is the first door on the left up the stairs. It's the back of the house."

Harry nods at her before turning away. "Mitch, you and Wilson take the hose through the side gate. Spray the room; it's a candle fire. Once it's out, let me know, so we can go in for a sweep through."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

Harry sees Mrs. Waters has begun to calm down and has the color back in her face. He knows they are going to take her down to Med to do a run-through. Harry turns around to speak with the young woman, but he doesn't see her anymore.

He's about to ask Sarah when he sees Chief Rivera run into a sprint and catches her in his arms. He didn't notice she began to walk away from him and over to the other pedestrians to assure them everything was alright. Harry yells for Esme, worried for the woman.

"I'm good." She barely makes out. "Think the adrenaline has run its course. That's all. I didn't even inhale that much smoke."

Chief Rivera ignores her protests and sets her on the side of the ambulance. "Please check her out." He directs his orders to Esme.

"Thanks for saving me, Mr. Chief. That would have led to a nasty concussion." Pascal sweater answers.

Chief gives her a quick nod before walking away.

"Miss, what's your name," Esme asks her. Putting an oxygen mask over her face and resting it on her nose and mouth. She takes a deep breath before answering.

"Y/N."

Beautiful name. It suits her.

"Do your lungs hurt or your chest?"

"No, do you think I can ride with Mrs. Waters?" Y/N interrupts Esme with an apologetic smile. "It's just that her granddaughter is her last living relative and lives an hour away. Her husband passed away four months ago. I'm all she's got."

"We've got room for you," Sarah responds, always having a soft spot even though you wouldn't know from her tough exterior.

Harry walks away, not hearing the rest of the conversation but feeling good that both are okay. He thinks she's crazy for rushing into a burning building with nothing on her to protect her, but he does this for a living, so who is he to judge?

Mitch gives him the all-clear.

Harry heads into the building with Frankie and Lincoln, no more thoughts of the beautiful girl he met.

He's got a job to do, and he has to do it right. They start in the living room before entering the kitchen, seeing dirty dishes in the sink and a plate of what looks like fresh banana bread. He's going to be left with that craving. Harry leads the way up, careful with the stairs just in case of collapse, seeing how black the once blue carpet has turned. There was a lot of damage, and it pains him to see such a well-loved house be affected this way.

"All clear!" He shouts, making sure Lincoln and Frankie head down before him.

Once back outside, Harry slips off his helmet. He nods over to Chief Rivera, who gives him a curt nod in return. He turns around to address the crew, "Pack it up." Everyone scatters to gather and put away their tools as quickly as they can.

All in a day's work, time to head back and hope each call is as successful as this one.

Harry might not tell anyone, but the woman Y/N stays on his mind all day.

Sitting in his office, getting paperwork done is not something he enjoys. He is good at it, though.

He's always thorough, a perfectionist.

It's essential because the Battalion Chief isn't kind at all, and even the smallest mistake on a report can send him on a full-on rage rampage. Thankfully, it's been a few months, and he is on his fourth wife stuck in the honeymoon phase, at least for the time being, giving them all some much-needed peace.

Harry has an open-door policy; he closes it; he feels he loses that connection to his friends. They may be coworkers, but after everything they have been through, he sees them as family, and one does not close the door on family.

It is also because he gets to hear all that's going on. Sarah and Mitch were going to visit his family in the upcoming month, and Sarah seemed far more excited than Mitch. Wilson had a new date lined up for the weekend to make up for the next few days he has to spend at work. Esme was talking Frankie's ear off about how she was knitting a new blanket for her niece and how each patch would be a different color with a different meaning.

He likes how well they all get on. Squad might keep their distance, but everyone does get along. It's not common in firehouses as he's heard from others. The hazing gets taken too far and ever a few male chauvinists. Don't worry, that isn't the one thing the Battalion Chief does not accept; he respects and loves women just doesn't like others' happiness.

Harry's proud of how far he has come, but most of the family he has become a part of. He knows how lucky he is. It also means he will never take it for granted.

They are his home away from home. Seeing as his family is an ocean away.

"Harry."

He looks up, seeing Mitch staring at him. "How can I help you, Mitchell?"

Mitch rolls his eyes, causing Harry to smirk. "Was wondering what you were doing after shift today?"

"Asking me on a date? Think Sarah might get jealous." Harry smirks at his best friend.

"It was her idea."

Harry smirks is replaced with a sincere smile. "Told you she has a soft spot for me."

"Dinner at my place? Have a few drinks, watch one of your favorite romantic comedies." Mitch suggests not at all like him to do so.

Harry was about to say yes when the alarm started ringing. "Truck 51, Squad 3, Battalion 25, Ambulance 62." A brief pause, "School fire 1260 West Adams."

"That's the small elementary school up the street," Harry tells him, shooting up from his chair and out the door to get in the protective gear.

Harry knows this fire won't be easy, but he's with the best of the best and knows it'll be alright. He knows they are approaching, and he always likes to go over how he wants things to be handled before getting out, but more significant fires need more focus. He also knows they all fall under the Chief's orders today and not his.

"Mitch and Wilson go in together. You know how it goes. Get everyone to head out, and our priority is getting the fire out" Harry looks back, getting a silent nod. "Candidate, how are you feeling?"

"Ready, Lieutenant." She answers confidently.

Harry gives her a sharp look, knowing he's got nothing to worry about her. Frankie is one of the best firefighters truck 51 has ever had. "Good, you'll be going in with Lincoln."

"What about you, Lieutenant?" Lincoln can't help but ask.

"I'm sure the Chief is going in. I'm going to stick with him." Harry knows his Chief well, and nothing will stop him from helping out.

Wilson parks right out front, and Harry can't see any smoke coming out. At least, not yet.

Harry is met with who he assumes is the principal; he didn't have time for an introduction. The woman explained there was a science lab gone wrong and that the sprinklers did not go off. They rushed everyone out quickly, following the fire drill procedures.

These kids are panicked but are being pointed towards an exit, and not until after the fire is controlled can they make sure everyone is counted for. Harry knows they have to work swiftly and make sure no one gets left inside.

A man with glasses and a smoked black salmon shirt approached them, and Harry assumed by the looks of it he was the teacher that was part of the fire. "The bunsen burner caught fire. I don't know why. We've done this experiment for years without accidents."

He eyes a few students wet and can assume the sprinklers went off much later than they would have liked. It means the fire has lessened, and it was safer to go in.

"We'll take care of it." He assures them.

"Get two hose lines in there." Chief Rivera directs right away. "Truck, Squad search, and evacuate. Let's go."

Everyone moves and begins to make their way into the burning building. It's a small two-story building; he sees frightened first graders to fifth graders watching him as he makes his way inside.

"Keep moving," Chief Rivera says to teachers ushering students out.

Harry knows Sarah and Esme have many people to look after and hope that more help can get there sooner rather than later.

As he makes his way inside, he feels the alarm ringing in his ears as he follows close behind Chief. It's something he's used to but doesn't mean he likes it.

"Fire department, call out," Harry shouts. He scans each room, not seeing anything and continuing on.

They make way to where the fire is, and it's growing.

Harry can see a bunsen burner tipped on its side. He takes a step towards the classroom and see's another tipped over but with a tear in it. It seems that one ripped and caught a spark setting the fire off.

"Chief, we need to get the gas off, or it'll only continue to grow." Harry looks over at Jorge, both waiting for the order to go in.

Chief speaks into his radio, asking where the gas shut off is located. Harry hears Florence recite back what a male voice told him to the Chief.

"Gas tank is in the backroom; it should shut it off. Be careful." His voice gruff.

"You got it."

Jorge leads, and Harry follows behind right on his heel. It only grows hotter as they make their way inside. He hugs the right side of the room, making sure to avoid the growing fire.

Jorge reaches to shut it when Harry notices a second one. "Jorge, there's two. We need to shut them at the same time." Harry hurries over. "Ready, turn!"

It clicks shut, and they let out a deep breath. Jorge pats Harry on the shoulder in acknowledgment.

"Let's head out. They need to hose this down."

Harry nods and follows him out, moving much faster this time. As quick as he was in the building, he now stands outside of it. He slips his helmet off, wanting to lose some pressure.

"Hey Chief, the fire's out." Lincoln comes out to inform.

Chief responds with a grunt, turning to the principal, holding a binder with lots of overflowing papers.

"What's the count?" Everyone holds their breath, waiting for the news. Squad prepared to go in if necessary.

"Everyone Is accounted for, Chief." She responds, a shaky smile on her face.

"Good."

Harry lets out the breath he was holding. There was no real injury today, and he is thankful for being burnt in a fire is not easy, and he knows that from experience.

His crew had begun to clean up already, and he was about to join when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turns to see a familiar woman but waits for her to speak; after all, she approached him.

"Hello, Lieutenant." She greets with a small smile. "There was no injury right. I checked over my students but want to know everyone else is safe."

"Injuries there were none unless you count Lincoln tripping into the truck on the way here." Harry jokes, not sure at all what made him break his seriousness.

She laughs. It's music to his ears.

He would enjoy being able to hear it again.

"Our team got everyone oxygen that needed it. The students and teachers are looking fine, and I assume parents have been informed of the incident."

"Called and picked up as soon as you clear out."

Harry stares at her for another second; she's wearing a lilac knitted sweater with bell-bottom jeans. He chuckles looks like he isn't the only one still wearing them out and about.

"You're from the North Bell fire," Harry tells her. He acts like her name slipped his mind, but that is the farthest thing from the truth. Her face and her name have not left his mind since that day. It's as if it has been imprinted.

"Yeah, Mrs. Waters. Good memory." She nods at him, obviously impressed. "She's good, staying with her granddaughter for the time being."

"That's nice to hear." Harry knows their conversation is coming to an end.

"Well, thank you for lessening my concern. Have a good day, Lieutenant Styles." She flashes him a broad smile, her eyes shining bright, keeping him entranced even after she walks away from him.

Harry watches her walk away, how she kneels down to talk to a young girl who was crying. Wipes her tears away with a handkerchief, she pulled out of her pocket. Little girl eventually laughs; it rings loud throughout the mess that way today; a child's laugh uplifting in a moment of darkness. It truly is the small things in life that should be appreciated.

His thoughts drift back to Y/N; what are the odds he runs into her just one week later.

She's pretty; he's not going to lie. He'd ask her on a date if he were to meet her at a bar, but no, never on the job.

If it's happened twice, maybe he's lucky enough for a third.

Although he hopes under better circumstances.

Harry had gone unbothered for over two hours, which is too long in the firehouse. He got the majority of his work done and decided to leave his office to find out what everyone was up to.

He was not surprised to see them in the common room, but he was shocked to see them all munching on cookies and not just any kind. They were snickerdoodle cookies, and they smelled divine like his mother had just taken them out of the oven with his watchful gaze eyeing every single one.

"Those smell amazing." Harry was quick to say eagerly, wanting someone to hand him one or five.

"Home-baked," Sarah calls out through a mouth full of cookies she was chewing.

Harry laughs because he knew that already. He reaches into the box in front of Mitch but is met with a slap on his wrist, and Harry quickly pulls back.

"Oi, that's not very kind of you, Mitchie."

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, but Frankie walks by a smaller box in hand, 'Lieutenant' written on top in elegant writing, and shoves it into his chest. He grabs it quickly, not wanting it to fall.

"Who brought them?" Harry asks because whoever baked something so heavily deserves all the praise, and he is more than ready to give it.

He opens his box and bites into the still-warm cookie. He holds back a moan, not up for the others teasing, but it truly is the best cookie he has ever eaten.

"It was the woman from the school fire, the one that approached you in the end," Sarah tells him, her hand reaches for a new cookie.

Harry frowns; she was here and missed her. No one thought to call him to come out.

If he is honest, he hasn't been able to get her off his mind. Two short interactions, and it is as if she has put him under a spell. He lets out a low chuckle at the thought.

He always tells others he has no time for a relationship, but the truth is he hopes for love. He just doesn't want it to be one night of passion. He wants endless nights, where it ends cuddling with the same person with constant whispers of I love you.

He's a hopeless romantic.

Harry would happily marry this woman. Although trouble does seem to follow her.

It might not be something he needs in life, especially in his line of work.

Golden's.

A safe haven.

A place that feels like home, where firefighters, paramedics, and doctors come for a drink and a good time. The perfect place to come drink away your sorrows with a shoulder to cry on in every corner—the ideal place to celebrate significant accomplishments with the friends that have slowly become your family.

Esme, a paramedic, and Jorge, a firefighter work at Firehouse 19 with Harry; they are the ones who opened up Golden's three years ago. Esme wanted a place to make creative drinks, and Jorge, well, he loved crunching numbers in his spare time, leading to this bar's birth.

Hanging on the walls are pictures of all their family and friends. Harry is proud to be displayed on the wall multiple times, and he loves each photo taken. His favorite being one that is hung right under what he calls his table. It's a photo of all of Firehouse 19 after he was made Lieutenant. Everyone in their uniforms dressed to the nines. Chief Rivera had the biggest smile on his face, as did Harry. Everyone around him had cheered for him, and they then all headed to Golden's for a celebration where his mother and sister were among his firehouse family. That picture always brings a smile to his face.

Harry sits there at his table with Mitch, his best friend, who he met entering the academy from the moment Harry said hello, and Mitch grunted in return he hasn't been able to shake Harry off, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

Harry has been told he has a lively personality, always conversing with those around him; Mitch was mellow, a wallflower. Mitch came to life around Sarah; Harry joked how he had heart eyes around her. Sarah is a force to be reckoned with. The kindest smile but the highest walls, she dropped them down without a second thought for Mitch, seeing as he was the one to make conversation with her when she was transferred from Station 25. Harry admires her strength and quick thinking. She had a dream of being a doctor but is happy as a paramedic for the time being.

The fourth seat at their table always remains empty, open to anyone wanting to sit down for a conversation, but never permanent. Harry knows as well as Mitch that it's being saved. Saved for that certain someone to walk into his life.

He's left wondering if he's finally met her.

Harry spots Esme free and gets up from his table to sit at the bar asking for two beers knowing Mitch will join him. He doesn't try to start a conversation, thoroughly enjoying the buzz of conversation around him and the comfort of Mitch next to him.

It's been three days since the high school fire and two days since the cookies, and all he can think about is Y/N. If he had to guess she was a teacher, he forgot to ask too focused on the fire yet too stunned to ask her why she was there. She had been quick to have everyone checked for and was most relieved when he confirmed everyone was counted for.

Harry was sure he'd never see her again, that she'd cross his path, and that was it. No, instead, he sees her less than a week later, but he made no move to ask her out even though he knows she's interested. At least it seems like she was. She didn't have to approach him that second time or send him his own box of cookies. If he were to meet her now, he wouldn't think twice about asking her out but meeting her out while on the job, he wouldn't let her be a distraction.

"What's got you thinking so hard?" Mitch says, interrupting his internal debate.

Harry takes a drink of his beer. "Nothing." He sighs. "At least I think it's nothing."

"That woman from the high school fire." Mitch states.

Harry chuckles; nothing gets past him. "Yeah, don't know why. She seems to invade my thoughts, and all I know is her name and that accidents happen around her."

"Maybe she's a firebug," Mitch suggests.

"She's not an arsonist." Harry nudges Mitch. "Don't joke about that. Her aura's too bright. You saw how she was with the students and teachers."

Mitch laughs. "Aura, what are you talking about?"

"Oii, leave me alone. I told you I got into meditating and have been doing lots of reading. Gem sent me this book about seeing and feeling it. Your aura gets brighter around Sarah."

Mitch's cheeks go red about to respond when his phone rings. "Speaking of." Harry sips his beer as Mitch takes his phone out.

"I'm taking this outside; she's checking in for the night. Letting me know she's alright." Mitch says, finishing off his beer. Sarah was out visiting family for the weekend, and Mitch couldn't join, so Harry was more than happy to keep him company.

Harry raises his hands defensively. "I didn't say anything."

His eyes follow Mitch outside, watching him hold the door open, phone to his ear when he sees her walk in. She's dressed in skin-tight jeans, hugging her hips nicely. A white silk top and completing the look is a black leather jacket. Harry shits in his seat, she looks fantastic, but he might need a shot or two to get the courage to go over to her.

Harry downs the two tequila shots Jorge placed in front of him, turning to look back at her when he sees two guys with her. It seems they know her well, standing so close to her. One has a hand on her back, and Harry's confidence deflates.

She's got a boyfriend, of course, she does.

The men are good looking Harry hates to admit, he knows he's attractive, but those two might give him a run for his money. They tower over her, like guards protecting a queen. She walks forward, both men trailing behind. She does a quick scan of the room as she approaches the bar, and smirk forms on her face as her eyes meet him for a brief second.

His view is quickly blocked when a female embraces her in a hug. She pulls back, and Harry is surprised to see that the friend is Frankie.

Frankie is the candidate he welcomed onto his truck six months ago. Frankie is remarkable, goes after what she wants, and gets along well with everyone. Chief Rivera was impressed from the start, and that's hard to do.

Harry sits there watching, wondering which one could be her boyfriend. The blonde has a good chance he has his arm thrown over her shoulder casually, but she doesn't lean into him. That makes him smile. Brings back the small confidence he has left. The group laughs at something the redhead said, and she reaches up to kiss the redhead's cheek so it could be him. Harry wants them to come this way and have Frankie introduce them, but they stay far enough where he can't hear their conversation, only her sweet laugh. He looks away but turns once more when he sees movement in the corner of his eye. It's Frankie wrapping her arms around redhead's neck and kissing him on the lips. The blonde has his eyes on someone across the bar, and just like that, Harry can breathe again. Y/N lifts her gaze and catches him staring; she sends him a sly wink before whispering something in Frankie's ear.

No boyfriend. That's good; it means Harry might have a shot after all.

He hears Frankie pass behind him, meaning she also passed by. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He startles when he hears a voice next to him order an old-fashioned. He knows it's her.

"Hey there, Lieutenant" She's leaning against the bar smiling at him. "Frankie was telling me you've never had a woman as a candidate." She says, taking a step forward into his space. Frankie comes behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "She acts all tough, but between you and me, it's all an act." She raises her drink to take a sip. "Just like you."

"Sorry about her Harry, we don't take her out enough to know how to act around others." Frankie jokes as she walks off with her three beers.

"Ouch." Y/N laughs as she watches Frankie walk away from them.

"You're very forward, firebug." Harry comments

She shrugs. "So I've been told." Y/N pauses acknowledging the nickname. "Did you call me an arsonist?"

Harry's eyes go wide. How does she know the term? "No, of course not. I know you didn't start those fires, but two run-ins around a fire the nickname is kind of perfect."

It really is. Harry hopes she agrees.

"Alright, Styles, I'll accept the term of endearment. As long as I'm the only one."

"Wouldn't want anyone else," Harry answers truthfully.

She looks him up and down clearly, not hiding she's checking him out. Harry feels confident in his outfit for the evening. He's wearing a vintage 'Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey' shirt tucked into black flared corduroy jeans. Her gaze stays on his forearms, admiring the tattoos. Her gaze lingers on the mermaid as if she wants to raise her finger and trace around it.

"So, you've been hiding all that under roughly 45 pounds of gear give or take the weight of items." She tuts, shaking her head. "What a shame."

"Not like I can do my job without the gear, makes running into a burning building easier."

"I suppose." Y/N smirks, a glimmer in her eye. "How fast do you have to put on the gear?"

He narrows his eyes at her, not knowing where she's going with this. "Under two minutes. Gets faster as time goes by." He answers cautiously.

"Pretty sure, I could undress you in less than that. Leave you in your boxers, or do you prefer briefs." She takes a sip of her whiskey. "Maybe you don't like using it, heard they could be constricting."

Harry can't help the blush that takes over his cheeks; he's never met someone so forward. He wants to get to know her, and by the looks of it, she feels the same way.

They stare at each other for a few seconds taking in the other's face. Harry notices the smallest detail, like the small scar close to her eyebrow. He catches the peaking of a tattoo from under her jacket. He's really intrigued now.

"It's Harry." He says, bringing his hand out to shake, knowing he's never appropriately introduced himself like she has.

She grabs it and leans in close. "Personally, I like Lieutenant." He shifts slowly, but then she gestures down without breaking eye contact. "Think you do as well."

She finishes her drink and sets it back down. She places a twenty on the counter to cover the cost of her drink and his. "I'll see you around, Lieutenant Harry."

She's out of sight in the next few seconds.

He wants her, more than for just a night. Harry wants to be the reason she laughs, the reason she smiles but most importantly, the one she gets to love. He has it bad. He's never met someone so forward and direct with their flirting; he really loved the attention.

Now that he knows Frankie has a connection to her, Harry knows he'll see her soon. Who knows when that is. He'll be counting the seconds until then.

Mitch walks in and sits next to Harry, pocketing his phone. "Miss anything interesting?"

Harry throws his head back and groans. "You have no idea."

Friday's are never the same. Harry feels like he can never prepare for these days. They had just gotten back from a call; it was a kitchen stove fire gone wrong. It was an in and out; a fire extinguisher was really all they needed. The family was very thankful. He was just glad they were smart enough to turn the stove off.

Harry had just grabbed a seat when the alarm began to ring. He knows everyone is holding back a groan, but it's their job. Sometimes there are either too many breaks or not enough.

"Pin in accident, Columbus Drive Bridge."

Harry is quick to dress, finishing first. He taps the side of the truck, "Let's go, let's go!" Everyone picks up the speed, and they are out in seconds. Wilson is not light on the honking, knowing an accident on the bridge is never good.

"Alright, candidate, remember to walk with a purpose, don't run." Harry begins.

Frankie nods. "Access the details before you act." She finishes off for him.

"Good."

The police are on the scene keeping back the curious group of people that have gathered. Harry shakes his head. All people love having a front-row view of accidents.

The accident looks bad, two cars: one car seems abandoned, a door left wide open. It seems to him that was who caused the accident, good things the police can run their plates. In the second car, the passenger seat door is jammed, there is glass everywhere. There is one person in the driver's seat, a blanket over them.

Harry approaches the vehicle seeing Wilson already assessing the passenger and how best to take them out.

"Female, mid 20's," Wilson calls out.

Harry sees her door is jammed in. "We need to pry open her door before getting her out. The hit was all on the passenger side, but please be careful we don't know her injuries."

Lincoln gets to work, Harry stands to the side, waiting to cut the driver's belt and out of the car.

"She had a blanket over her. The glass missed her face, but one got her abdomen. She's a funny one, taking the pain like a champ. She said she's a nurse so knows it didn't hit an organ." Sarah tells him, as she spoke to her from the back window wanting to best prepare for when they get her on the stretcher.

"Ma'am, how you doing? We are doing our best to get you out." Harry tells her, seeing the door being removed, quickly moving in to remove her seatbelt, which saved her life.

"Thought we were on a first-name basis, Lieutenant." She speaks quietly, voice trembly.

He steps back in shock, seeing her remove the blanket from her face. Her face clean of injury, Stevie Nicks' shirt red and ripped. She's hurt and laughing, but he feels like his heart wants to jump out of his throat.

It's Y/N.

There's blood, and she's injured, but she's okay.

She's fine.

She's alive.

He never wants to see her like this again.

"Took years to find this exact shirt. Got it for a steal at $10." She groans jokingly. "Do you have a remedy to wash out blood?"

"In fact, I do; how about I help you with it once you get these stitches?" Harry tells her, hoping to keep the conversation going, keeps her calm as it is doing for him.

"Asking me on a date on the job. Not very professional." She teases him.

"How do I know you didn't cause this accident just to see me?" He banters back.

He has her in his arms, taking her out slowly. She has very few injuries; he's carrying her to the stretcher when he hears her cries.

"It wasn't my fault you have to know." She cries out. "It was green, it really was, I promise. There are traffic cameras here, so check. I waited a few seconds then went and next thing I know I have the blanket over me. I've got quick reflects." She smiles slightly at the thought. "A nice lady told me help was on the way." Harry wipes her tears away. "I was on my way to the grocery store. Annie, my neighbor, wanted brownies, and I told her I would run to the store to get the items. She's going to be so upset."

"Not your fault, I believe you. Everyone here does." His heart is breaking. She doesn't deserve to feel this, especially when the other driver got away scratch-free, it seems.

"I'm the safest driver out there. I've never gotten a ticket, not even a parking one. When I took my driving test, I passed with zero errors. They said it hasn't happened in years." She groans as they load her into the ambulance.

"I believe you. Your insurance must love you." He comments, getting a small laugh out of her.

"Tell Frankie to send me flowers. I don't like coming home to no flowers."

Esme slams the door shut, and off they go.

He knows Frankie saw and heard; he knows Chief is with her. As good as one is doing their job, once family is involved, it's quick to lose one's focus. Harry knows he has to check on her once they are back at the station. He's going to encourage her to see her friend, not having to worry about the end of the shift because when it comes to family, that is their priority.

Harry knows Mitch is watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to give him any kind of sign he's not okay, but he knows better. He's not allowed to break down in front of his crew. Not something he lets himself do.

Instead, he does what he knows best. He gives orders.

"Pack up back to the station."

Just like that, they begin to load up the truck, everything in their rightful place, but all he can think about is Y/N and if she truly is going to be okay.

Harry is pacing outside her door.

Yes, he got her address. He had to know how she was doing. Frankie was kind enough to give it to him, not without a few warnings. As in if he did anything to upset her, she knew how to handle a halligan. Harry dares not to cross her. He, after all, has only honorable intentions for Y/N.

He takes a deep breath before raising his hand and knocking three times. He quickly takes a step back, not wanting to be too close when she opens the door if she opens the door.

It swings open, and there she stands in an oversized t-shirt and grey joggers. "I have been wondering when you would show." She grins at him.

Harry's eyes widened. "You knew I was coming?"

She nods. "Of course, Frankie had to make sure it was okay to give my address to a man I've only had one proper conversation with."

"It was two, really." Harry jokes.

"Two then." She smiles down at her feet, starting to feel bashful under his watchful gaze. That is when her eyes catch sight of the gift in his hands.

"You brought me flowers." She exclaims, reaching for the pink peonies, and he quickly extends his hand for her to take them.

"Wasn't sure your favorite. These reminded me of you and how beautiful you are." He shares, feeling his cheeks heat up, running a hand on the back of his neck, wanting her to say something and save himself from embarrassment.

"Thank you." She sniffs them. "I've always loved peonies, don't think I've ever been gifted them before." She moves to the side and gestures him to come in.

"Would you like something to drink? I would have offered you food, but I didn't cook tonight; Frankie dropped off Chinese for one." She gives him a small smile to make up for it.

"It's no problem; after the day you had, my well being is not of your concern," Harry tells her, happy to accept the water she handed him.

"See, you're wrong, Styles." Harry frowns, meeting her eyes as she continues on. "You have a dangerous job, so I feel I do have a right to worry about you."

"Fair enough."

Harry sips his water, and she does the same. He assumes she's trying to collect her thoughts. That is what he's trying to do.

He loses his train of thought as he begins to take in the yellow-painted cabinets; the hue holds a softness that allows them to stretch from floor to ceiling without feeling overwhelming. Brown granite countertops and hardwood floors temper the yellow; the bronze hardware marries the two colors. He's never felt so calm and safe in a kitchen.

Back to his thinking, a good reason to tell her why he came to visit her because indeed she'll have to ask.

It could be his crush on her, a growing infatuation. At this point, it might be like already.

One goal before he leaves her house is well-- to have asked her on a date.

Harry's train of thought is broken as she begins to speak.

"I want to apologize for breaking down in your arms. That wasn't right of me."

Harry scoots closer, placing a ringed hand on top of hers, resting on the counter; this causes her to look up at him. "Hey firebug, no need to apologize. It was a tough situation. The crew said you handled it really well." He smiles and gives her hand a squeeze. "I'm happy you're okay."

She nods and lets his words hang in the air for a minute. "I made brownies, and Annie helped me. She did the heavy lifting today. Do you want some?"

Harry knows she changed topics because she felt overwhelmed, and he was happy to follow her lead. "I'd love to try these brownies. If they were as good as your cookies, then I might just eat them all."

A huge grin takes over her face at his confession; he accomplished exactly what he was looking for.

"You loved the cookies?" She asks.

"Loved honestly might have shed a tear when I ate the last one. Your cookies are what I assume they give to eat in heaven." He jokes but very much meaning each word.

"Thank you, I'll be sure to take more down to the station soon." Y/N blushes looking away from Harry's piercing gaze.

"You know, I didn't even ask you how you're doing." Harry laughs, forgetting the reason he came over.

She laughs with him. "I did as well; if you'd ask me, it feels like a regular date night."

Y/N doesn't blush at her words, but Harry sure does. "Date night, huh." She nods. "I'd be up for more nights like this."

"Good to know."

They stare at each other for a few seconds taking in each other's smile and how easy it is together.

"Back to your original question, I'm doing good. Only needed five stitches and should heal up nicely." She puts her hand over her injury as if remembering the pain.

"Well, I'm glad you're well. I'm a phone call away if you ever need anything."

She all but glows at his words. "I'll keep that in mind."

After a while, Harry helps her move over to the couch, wanting her to be comfortable. He fixes her pillows a few times, wanting her to not feel any kind of pain. Y/N just basks in the attention; it's not everyday she has a firefighter fawning over her.

Time with Y/N seems to fly by because the next time his eyes catch sight of the time, it's nearing nine pm. He can tell she's knackered, but he and neither she sees an end in their conversation. It just flows so easy and who are they to try to stop it.

Harry is learning about why she moved to the city and how she has an interview next week for the pediatrics department at Med. Also, she was at the school because she volunteers weekly; Miss Lucy is a teacher Y/N went to uni with and likes doing fun activities with the nine-year-old.

Harry truly doesn't understand how she has so much to give to others, but he's glad to be receiving some of it as well. He hopes to give her back half of what she gives to others.

"I've always seemed to find myself in trouble. Never the cause of it, but it's always around. I always thought it was me, and it seems to be true." Y/N shares with him. She has struggled with growing up; she may have many friends, but she doesn't stay in a place long enough to make herself feel at home, but so far, it has been different.

Harry sees how much her words hurt to say. He leans over and grabs her hand. He squeezes it tightly before intertwining their fingers together. He really loves holding her hand, and he hopes she continues to allow him to do so.

"Where angels go, trouble follows." Harry breathes out, never breaking eye contact with her. It takes every fiber in his body not to reach over and plant his lips on hers. He so badly wants her to believe his words because he knows he does.

She truly is an angel from above, and he is lucky enough to be welcomed into her life.

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up but never breaks eye contact with Harry.

They fall silent, basking in what seems to be their final moments together for the night.

"I should really get going, poppet. Got to let you get your rest." She nods and lets him help her up so she can walk him to the door.

"Do you believe in faith?" She asks as they stand outside the door.

He shrugs. "I never believed in all of that stuff, but in a matter of a few weeks, I've run into you four times, and I wouldn't leave that up to luck. I thank whatever brought us together and that they'll keep us together."

"I like that a lot."

He kisses her cheek softly. "As soon as those stitches are out, will you let me take you out on a date?"

"I'd prefer something sooner, but I can wait." She teases.

Harry nods; he feels like he does a lot of blushing around her. He really enjoys how she makes him feel.

"I'll check in tomorrow." He promises.

"Just so you know, if I need anything, I won't be calling for firehouse 51." He stops. "I'll be calling this guy that has a thing for me that runs into burning buildings for a living."

"Any time of the day, I promise I'll answer the call, poppet."

He had just put his seatbelt on when his phone began to ring. Harry picks it up, never breaking eye contact with her.

"Lieutenant, I need some help. See, I was in an accident today, and I know it might seem a little strange, maybe a bit forward." She bits her lip, not yet breaking the intense eye contact. "I could really use a cuddle to feel better. Do you know anyone that can help out with that?"

Harry shakes his head at her but nonetheless shoots her a dimpled smile. He jumps out of his car and strolls up to her—phone in hand, beautiful smile on her face.

"I would be honored." He leans in and connects his lips to her cheek; he lets it linger for a few seconds before pulling away. "Now, let's get you in bed. I heard from a little birdie you don't kiss before a first date, so the sooner you heal, the better."

Y/N lets out a small groan at Frankie. "Maybe I can make an exception."

Harry doesn't hide the surprise on his face at her words. "You certainly will make life more interesting."

She giggles as she leads him to her room, Harry following closely behind.

Harry knows they were meant to walk into each other's life. The feelings he is starting to feel for her something he has never felt before.

Call him cliche, but a never-ending spark has been ignited.

thank you so much for reading! i love you

come chat trouble follows with me

taglist: @bigspoonstyles @taintedwonder @sunflowersupremacy

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles ou #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry fluff #harry styles angst #firefighter!harry #my writing

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detectivereyes · 4 years ago

Text

Even If You Stumble A Step, You’re Still Moving Forward

Summary: TK and Carlos move into their new home post-finale and TK doesn't exactly make the best first impression on their new neighbors...

Notes: this was like a fever dream i had a few months ago and then i stopped writing but decided to revive it last night so... here we are. also title creds (and emotional support creds) to jillian @marjansmarwani because this fic wouldn’t exist without her. and also s/o to brit @moviegeek03 for being extra supportive of yet another fic where [spoiler] tk falls down the stairs again :/

read on ao3

TK shuffles through the maze of boxes stacked several feet high throughout their new home. The scene shouldn’t surprise him considering it was only a few months ago he was moving his own boxes into their old home. However it feels different knowing that most of this stuff isn’t actually theirs.

Well, it is theirs now he figures. But the fact remains that most of the stuff filling the space was either given to them by various members of the extended 126 family, or was recently purchased by TK or Carlos on one of their many trips to Bed Bath and Beyond.

They had taken their time searching for a new place to live. Owen had made it clear that they were both welcome to stay with him (and Mateo) for as long as they needed, but TK had known it was time.

So when a townhome popped up on Zillow that met all their criteria, they wasted no time booking an appointment with the realtor. They both had instantly fallen in love with the open floor plan and deck out back. Plus they knew the extra bedrooms upstairs may come in handy someday.

While they knew the vertical layout of the home itself wasn’t the best, having more stairs than either of them were used to, it checked every other box and was right in their price range so they had wasted no time signing the lease.

A few days had passed since settlement and now most of their days were spent trying to unpack and make this new house into a home. It would never replace the one they had lost, but it had been exciting to build this new home together.

Though on this particular day, TK found himself alone in trying to get settled in since Carlos had a shift. With the 126 still out of commission, possibly forever, and the department not having any openings for paramedics, most of the unpacking was left for TK.

After getting a good chunk of the living room done, he checks the time and decides to go out and see if the mail has come yet. Not that he’s expecting anything with their address still being so new, and not getting much physical mail anyway to begin with. But it still provided a good excuse to take a break.

TK opens the front door and starts to make his way down the set of stairs leading down.

He makes it about halfway before his attention is caught by one of his new next door neighbors, Mr. Martin- if he remembers correctly, exiting at the same time. Mr. Martin gives a friendly wave and TK goes to return the gesture.

Except, he’s not paying attention when he takes the next step, and he misses, his heel just barely hitting the edge of the step before he starts to go down. He tumbles until he comes to a hard stop at the bottom, with most of his weight coming down on his right knee, sending shooting pains up and down his leg.

The rest of his body is sore, and by the time his ears stop ringing, he can just barely make out a new female voice asking “Sir, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had squeezed shut at some point, to see his neighbor, Mrs. Bailey- his brain supplies, from across the street making her way over to check on him, worried lines painting across her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” he grimaces while pushing himself up to a seated position. He tries to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. Not the best way to make a good first impression on his neighbors.

“Are you sure, son? We can call for help if you need it. Someone you know, or 9-1-1?” Mr. Martin joins in the conversation.

“No!” TK interjects too quickly, startling both neighbors. He panics for a moment when the weight of the predicament settles in. He meets the gaze of both figures still staring at him, clearly concerned and waiting for him to say something. “I mean, I’m a paramedic. I’m fine. Or I will be fine. Thank you,” he flashes them both a quick smile before pushing himself up off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from his knee when he tries to put any weight on it.

Getting back up the stairs is no easy feat, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that both Mr. Martin and Mrs. Bailey are still watching him, concerned. Fortunately, they don’t know him well enough to try and follow or help. He’s not sure he would feel comfortable enough receiving help from some strangers. Half the time he doesn’t even feel comfortable receiving help from the people he does know.

He leans heavily on the railing, refusing to turn around out of fear of further mortification. Once he’s inside the home, he collapses right inside the hall, unable to go any further since his knee decided to stop cooperating.

A few tears pool in his eyes, and he’s unsure if that’s due to the pain or embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: we have to move

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the three dots to pop up before being replaced by Carlos’ response.

Carlos: ???

TK sighs and rubs his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

TK: i feel down the stairs out front and all the neighbors saw

Carlos: Holy shit, are you okay??

He lets out a puff of air at that.

TK: you mean besides my bruised ego?

TK: no, i hurt my knee but i’m fine. that’s not the issue here.

Carlos: Okay, I’ll be home in an hour and you can let me be the judge of that. If I see any swelling, we’re going to the doctor.”

He rolls his eyes at Carlos’ worry. At worst, it’s a bad sprain, nothing that can’t be fixed with some icing and wrapping. But there are other things they need to worry about.

TK: you’re missing the point, carlos. the entire neighborhood thinks i’m an idiot. we can’t live here anymore.

TK knows he’s being dramatic, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. The idea that these are people he’s going to have to continue to face everyday for the foreseeable future. And that now all they’ll be able to think about when they do see him. Now he’ll just be known as the guy who can’t walk down stairs.

Carlos: Relax, TK. I’ll be home soon.

TK: you mean our temporary place of residence which we will soon be moving out of

He doesn’t get a response after that.

His mind continues to spiral while he waits for Carlos to arrive. He knows the other man is likely climbing the walls trying to leave his shift early but it would still be awhile before he could be allowed to leave.

Left alone with his thoughts, his mind keeps playing out the series of events that happened minutes ago. He can't help but beat himself up over embarrassing himself like that. Ironically enough, it’s not even the first time he’s fallen down stairs, having taken a tumble down the stairs in Carlos’ place a few months back. And of course he would manage to injure himself that time, and this time as well.

He should at least try to get up so he can find an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Sitting on the floor up against the wall can’t be doing his knee any favors. Yet he can’t bring himself to move, instead resting his head back against the wall and sighing.

TK pulls out his phone again, cycling through the apps until he hears the tell-tale keys jingling in the already unlocked door.

As soon as Carlos steps through the door, he nearly trips over TK in the doorway. “Woah, hey! TK, are you okay?” he crouches down to TK’s level.

TK shrugs. Now that he’s face to face with Carlos, he can’t help but feel suffocated by another person judging him, even if Carlos’ worry comes from a place of concern.

“Can I take a look at your knee?”

TK nods, allowing Carlos to gently inspect his swollen joint. He winces as Carlos traces his hand around his kneecap.

“This doesn’t look good, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly shakes his head. The worried look in Carlos’ eyes only makes his heart ache, and he can only try to find ways to make it go away. “Just help me up and we can ice it. It will look better once the swelling goes down a bit.”

Carlos gives him a look that screams I don’t believe you but sighs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t…”

“I know, I know. You’ll drag my ass to the emergency room,” TK gives him a reassuring smile.

Carlos returns the smile, and extends a hand to help TK up. TK accepts, and allows Carlos to take on most of his weight once he’s standing. They slowly make their way over to the living room, with Carlos softly depositing TK onto the sofa. He then disappears into the kitchen before returning with an ice pack in hand.

“Thanks,” TK smiles, trying to mask the wince as Carlos places the pack onto his knee.

“Do you want to watch an episode of The Office?” Carlos asks, picking up the remote and settling in the spot next to TK.

TK shrugs, knowing that Carlos is just trying to appeal to him by offering to put on his favorite show. The other man doesn’t even like the show that much, often finding the humor dry and tasteless, but TK thinks he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There it is.

“I just can’t believe I did that in front of our new neighbors. They probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure no one thinks you’re an idiot, TK,” Carlos gently reassures him.

“Yeah all the neighbors saw me make an idiot of myself,” TK sighs exasperatedly. “God, how am I supposed to face these people everyday now?”

“Hate to break it to you babe, but this is not a valid reason for us to move.”

“I know,” he sighs again.

“Besides,” Carlos continues. “If your track record has proven anything, it’s that this won’t be the last medical emergency at our new home. It’s good that the neighbors are getting used to it now.”

TK gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is the second time you’ve fallen down the stairs since we’ve started dating,” Carlos says with a light chuckle.

“Whatever,” TK scoffs. “At least the other time it wasn’t in front of total strangers.”

Carlos softens. “That’s true. But I’m sure the neighbors just care about you. I don’t think this is that big of a deal, TK.”

“You weren’t there though. It was mortifying.”

“What did they say, exactly?”

TK nervously looks down. “They asked if I was okay. And if I needed any help.”

Carlos raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if TK continues.

“They offered to call for help but I said no and went back inside.”

“See? They just care about you TK. I haven’t really talked to anyone yet but they seem like nice people.”

“I guess,” TK shrugs.

“I know, you’re still embarrassed. But if nothing else, they’ll probably forget about it by the next time we see them.”

“You don’t think I’ll be known as the ‘clumsy neighbor who can’t walk down stairs’?”

“Maybe the ‘cute clumsy neighbor that can’t walk down stairs,’” Carlos says with a smirk. “But we could always change that.”

TK cocks his head to the side.

“You think our new neighbors might enjoy some peach scones when we go over and have a proper introduction?”

“You really plan to charm our new neighbors with your baking?”

“You think it will work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes, I do,” Carlos grins proudly. He then leans over and gently removes the ice pack from TK’s knee, grimacing at what he sees. “This still looks pretty swollen, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

TK gives him a pained smile. “You sure I can’t talk my way out of this?”

“Nope,” Carlos says, popping the p. He stands up before extending his hand to help TK do the same.

TK accepts, shifting his weight and leaning into Carlos once he’s fully upright.

“You know, I think you may have a paramedic blindspot when it comes to your own health.”

TK lets out a light laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A week later, Carlos softly knocks on the door of Mrs. Bailey’s home across the street with one hand and a plate of peach scones in the other. TK had offered to hold the scones but when they went over to Mr. Martin's home earlier in the day, it was quickly discovered it was too difficult for him to manage getting up the stairs and holding the plate.

So he settles for letting Carlos do most of the work while he awkwardly limps up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing to keep some pressure off his knee.

After their quick trip to the emergency room, it had been determined that TK’s initial assessment was right and it was just a bad sprain. He was given a brace to help reduce the pain and a pair of crutches, which (much to Carlos’ dismay) he abandoned after only two days, citing that they only made it harder to get around their home which he can now say for certain has too many damn stairs.

A problem which seems to follow him as he also has to get up the stairs to greet his neighbors.

“Maybe we should have moved to a neighborhood of single level homes,” he states with a wince as he joins Carlos at the front door.

Carlos snorts. “We can take it into consideration if we ever have to move again.”

“God, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think about moving ever again.”

“Good,” Carlos gives him a soft smile. “Because I’m planning on staying here for the long run.”

“Me too,” TK returns the smile just as Mrs. Bailey opens the door.

“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaims taking in the sight of the two men.

“Hello ma’am,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“We brought you some scones,” TK adds, gesturing to the plate in Carlos’ hands.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. Please come in. How are you doing?” she asks, turning to TK. “I’ve been worried.”

He exchanges a look with Carlos, the other man's face clearly saying I told you she cares, before turning back to Mrs. Bailey.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. It’s just a bad sprain. But I do appreciate your concern, especially the other week.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Now, you boys aren’t going to make me eat these scones all by myself are you?”

They both let out a light chuckle and exchange another glance before following their new neighbor, and friend inside.

#i've posted too much today #but i need share before i end up deleting it #but actually if it flops i may just delete anyway #whatever at this point #911 lone star #911lonestarfic #tarlosfic #my fic #usersaaya #userbones #reyeslonestartag #pragmaticoptimist34 #tuserpaige

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mossy-covered-bones · 3 years ago

Text

Stitches and Kisses

DP Shiptember 2021

Wednesday: Patching Each Other Up

Ship: Savant Par (Tucker/Danny)

TWs: injuries and blood/ectoplasm

AO3

Danny placed the cap back on the thermos, chest heaving as he slowly floated back to the ground.

The adrenaline of a fight started to drain away, and he was smacked with a wave of pain and fatigue. His shoulder ached, and the gash in his side that was oozing ectoplasm stung, and he felt like he was covered in bruises.

It had just been Skulker, but it was late and Danny had barely slept the night before, so he kept making stupid mistakes, dodging too slow or missing openings that could have ended the fight sooner.

He’d probably bleed out if he switched back to his human form right now—he was already starting to feel woozy from blood loss. Ectoplasm loss?

He couldn’t go back to Fenton Works in his ghost form, since his parents had the sensors running, so that ruled out going back there to sew himself up or grab his phone. Not that any stitches he’d do on his side would be anywhere near good, at the angles the wound was at. Sam was usually his go-to for sewing him up, since Tucker couldn’t handle the blood very well, but they were out of town for a college visit right now.

Danny sent a silent prayer to whatever god wanted to take pity on him that day and started making his way to Tucker’s.

He wasn’t that far away, but it took longer to get there than normal, given how tired Danny was and that he had to split his energy between flying and keeping himself invisible so nobody could follow him to his friend’s house.

Tuck was sitting at the computer in his room, perfectly visible from Danny’s place at the window. He looked up when Danny knocked, eyes lighting up when Danny popped back into visibility.

He hopped up from his desk to pull the window open. “Hey, stranger! What brings you to my humble abode?”

Danny giggled, leaning against the windowsill to keep himself from sinking to the ground. “Hey, Tuck. You busy?”

“Nah, what’s up?”

“I, uh… kinda need a patch job.”

Tucker’s smile turned stiff. “Right, right. Come on in, I can fix ya up. I’m not just a pretty face, y’know.” He turned to pull his medkit out from under the bed.

Danny drifted through the wall, letting his feet audibly thud against the carpet.

Tucker spread an old blanket stained with green and red over his bedding, patting the soft surface. “Sit, let's have a looksie.”

“Geez, Tuck. Buy me dinner before you try and get me into your bed,” Danny joked, all but collapsing onto the mattress. “Sew me up, doc.”

Tucker chuckled, taking a second to glance over his friend. Danny didn’t miss how Tucker blanched when he caught sight of the gash in Danny’s side.

“Okay, let’s get this jumpsuit off,” Tucker muttered, feeling for the zipper at the collar. He peeled the rubbery material off slowly, Danny helping as best he could.

Danny hissed in pain as Tucker started to clean up the wound, one hand holding Danny still as he moped up red-tinged ectoplasm.

“So what happened?”

“Skulker.” Danny took a shaky breath, staring up at the white popcorn ceiling. “He got some new toys, managed to distract me enough to get a swing in with a serrated blade.”

Tucker let out a low whistle. “Did he give up on your pelt or something?”

“I think he’s pissed everyone else keeps giving me scars, actually. Or he’s fed up with me always capturing him. I wasn’t exactly paying attention.” He was too busy trying to keep Skulker from killing him a second time.

Tucker nodded, withdrawing his hands from where they had been pressed against Danny’s stomach. “Yeah, dude’s way too fickle with his plans for your remains.”

“More like just a hypocrite.”

Tucker chuckled. “Definitely. Alright, I’m gonna start your stitches now. Try not to bleed through the Med Blanket this time, alright?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Danny’s hands gripped the blanket under him as Tucker started pulling the needle through his flesh, slowly sewing him back together.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from voicing his pain, eyes flitting about the room to find something else to concentrate on, something to distract from the pain.

They settled on Tucker’s face. Thick framed glasses perched on the end of his nose, eyes flicking back and forth as he worked, tongue occasionally darting out to run over his lips. He looked nervous—of course he looked nervous, Tucker still hated the sight of blood, even if he could tolerate it, and he hadn’t given Danny stitches anywhere near as often as Sam had—but his hands were steady as he guided the needle, movements slow and sure.

Danny took a second to take in his hands, brushing Danny’s abdominal muscles and the bottom of his ribs as Tucker worked. They were lightly calloused, from the tinkering Tucker did in his free time and the Fenton Works weapons he sometimes used.

Tucker paused just long enough to push his glasses back up his nose, glancing up at Danny. “Hey, how you holding up?”

Danny startled, realizing his eyes had wandered back to Tucker’s lips. He forced a wan grin. “Hurts, but I’ll live. Well, half live. How much do you have left?”

“Just a few more stitches, I’ll be done soon. PInky promise.”

Danny winced as the needle was once again jabbed into his skin. “Oh, good.”

His breath caught as Tucker leaned forward, hovering just a few inches above hin

Excuse his mind for jumping there, but Danny was only wearing half of his clothes, he was kind of lightheaded from pain and ectoplasm loss, and Tucker looked kinda hot when he was concentrating. Plus the inherent homoeroticism of tending to your friend’s wounds. Danny’s eyes wandered back to his friend’s lips of their own free will.

Maybe Danny just read too much fanfiction.

Tucker’s hands stilled against his stomach, lingering just a little too long for what Danny would consider to be appropriate for platonically patching your buddy. He leaned back with an exclamation of “All done!”

Danny was probably just reading too much into it. He shook his head, starting to push himself back up. “Thanks, Tuck, I should—“

A hand was at his shoulder—the one that had gotten hurt in his fight with Skulker—pushing him back down. “Dude, you looked a little woozy when you got here, and you keep spacing out. Just take it easy for a little bit.”

He fell back with little resistance, sighing dramatically. “If you insist.”

“Hey, I am on doctor duty today. That means my word is, like, legally binding,” Tucker said, packing up the medkit.

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Tucker laid down on the bed next to Danny. “Not having teenaged half-dead superheroes in my bed at nine pm would definitely help.”

“Wait, you’ve had other half-dead superheroes in your bed? Tucker, are you cheating on me?”

“Ah, you caught me, there’s another man. Though I wouldn’t worry about it, he’s nowhere near as handsome as you.”

They broke out in laughter, Tucker turning to stifle his giggles in his bedding while Danny tilted to the side to take the strain off his injury as his sides started to shake with mirth.

The sound trailed off into short chuckles, and Danny glanced over to Tucker, mouth open in the beginning of a reply that cut off when Danny saw his friend’s expression.

The corners of Tucker’s eyes were still creased from laughing, a fond smile on his lips. He was tilted onto his side, and Danny realized if he were just a few inches closer their noses would be brushing.

Danny could easily lean over and kiss him.

He felt his face flush at the thought, eyes once again finding their way to Tucker’s lips. He was breathless in a way that had nothing to do with the battle from twenty minutes ago.

Tucker just barely leaned forward, eyelids sinking half closed.

Despite the heat in his cheeks, Danny leaned forward to meet him.

The kiss was soft and slow and short, Tucker pulling back way too soon to shoot Danny a shit eating grin. “Hey, are we in a bromance now?”

Danny absolutely did not hit Tucker with a pillow for that comment, vehemently denying the barely hidden giggles, and he totally didn’t pull Tucker in for another, longer kiss.

#injury mention #blood mention #medical inaccuracies #dp shiptember 2021 #savant par #tucker foley #danny fenton #sev writes #danny phantom

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ao3bronte · 4 years ago

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when chaos reigns [the sirens come to play]

A Merman AU. (Rated T with some suggestive language.) Now on AO3!

[Prologue]

Covid-19 and covert relationships don’t exactly go hand-in-hand these days, but you really shouldn’t be touching anyone’s hands right now anyway.

…that is, unless you don’t belong to the same species.

Can Merpeople catch Covid-19? That’s debatable, but news doesn’t exactly flow freely from the depths of the South China Sea. Though we know very little about Merpeople and their ways of life, we do know that they rarely interact with humans, preferring to tear down their ships and rip apart their dams and levies in revenge for poisoning the oceans and seas with their human fossil fuels.

But this isn’t a story about environmental politics, or Covid-19 for that matter. This is a story about love and about putting aside differences. In this tale, Marinette discovers that the term ‘scalie’ (ou écailleux, car nous sommes en France) doesn’t always refer to the commonly known adjective to describe fish skin. And Adrien, bless his heart, really does need to put on clothes when he’s not rocking a fish tail despite the fact that he’d much rather be naked (much to Marinette’s mortification). Anyway you slice it, Merpeople and humans simply aren’t supposed to be together — they’ve always been sworn enemies through and through — but no matter what alternate universe we find ourselves in, these two idiots in love will always find each other.

This is, undoubtedly, their story.

[Part 1]

It’s the beginning of March and Tom and Sabine aren’t taking any chances with this whole virus situation. Marinette seems to catch everything — illnesses, hands, the whole nine yards — and they’d already been talking about sending her down to the Cote d’Azur to spend the summer with her grandmother Gina Dupain in order to get away from Paris for a little while. The constant schoolyard bullying from Chloé Bourgeois has dragged Marinette down so many pegs that Sabine is almost relieved to see Macron call off school for the foreseeable future and books both her daughter and her husband a trip to Marseille before the entire country shuts down for good.

Marinette isn’t happy, of course, but what teen would be? Her friends are in Paris! The fashion is in Paris! She doesn’t want to stay in some sleepy little Mediterranean village where nothing ever happens! Do they even have Wi-Fi there?

It’s a valid question. Tom doesn’t actually know, but he chatters enough for the two of them as the high speed train takes them down the rails to the south of France. Marinette’s sulk lightens a little as he pulls pastry after pastry out of his luggage in the hopes of making his daughter smile just a little before dropping her off with his mother — he knows that their relationship is a little strange after Gina’s last visit to Paris but there’s nothing a little quality time together can’t fix.

Petite Befana is one of those places you find on a postcard. Situated just on the edge of France and Italy, the fishing village’s brightly coloured houses gleam in the sunlight, peppered with lemon trees and winding alleys that seem to almost spill out into the sea. The beaches are craggy and feature small grottos and coves of underground caves that glimmer with seaglass when the sun hits them just right, hiding a pocket sized oasis here and there for the adventurous who like to explore at low tide. Gina likes it here because of the Place du Marché, but Tom often wonders as to the real reason why she’s settled in the quaint harbour after years of Eat, Pray, Loving around the entire planet after divorcing his father.

She’s certainly made friends with every woman in town by the looks of it. Along with her veritable swarm of bar-hopping friends, Tom keeps seeing a woman with pointed features and deep black hair with a violent red streak in it pop up on her Facebook page. They always seem to be in the same jazz club, not that Tom is really paying attention; if his mother wants to spend her golden years drinking negronis and dancing with her girlfriends, that’s up to her.

They disembark the train in Marseilles and take a bus to Toulon, then another bus to Petite Befana. Marinette is passed out and drooling on his shoulder by the end of it so Tom does as he always does and hauls her up like a sack of flour through the thick and winding labyrinths of cobblestone streets towards his mother’s apartment. Gina greets them once he eventually finds the place and, after tucking Marinette into the daybed in the guest bedroom, happily guzzles down the proffered beer on the terrasse overlooking the sea.

“I’ll try to come down as often as I can,” Tom assures Gina, not knowing just how bad of a clusterfuck 2020 was about to become. “I’m sure Marinette will come to appreciate all that Petite Befana has to offer.”

“I’ll take her down to the market tomorrow morning,” Gina assures him, patting her son’s beefy forearms. “There’s an older woman who sells the most beautiful fabrics and I already dusted off my old sewing machine. That should keep her busy.”

“Marinette’s never happier when there’s a project to complete,” Tom responds with relief, downing the rest of his Kronenbourg. “I bet she’ll have an entire closet full of clothes by the time the month is out.”

“And it should only take a month or two for this to blow over.” Gina jabs her thumb towards the television as the news of Covid-19 murmurs in the background amid the waves of the Med on the shore. “And then we’ll be back to normal before you know it!”

(...and we all know how that turned out.)

[Part 2]

Covid-19 affects a lot of people in a lot of different ways. Some feel stir crazy. Others enjoy the alone time. But Marinette? Well, she’s been trapped in the harbours of Petit Befana for three weeks now and our aforementioned heroine is already bored out of her skull. She’s made three dresses, four satchels and twenty two scrunchies with the leftover fabric because what else is there to do down here? Luckily, Covid-19 hasn’t quite affected Petite Befana like it has the other regions of France and Marinette is able to go outside at least...not that she wants to.

There are more artisanal bakeries and charcuterie shops in Petite Befana than there are nightclubs and high end boutiques, which is odd for a village so beautifully situated on the coast of southeast France. Gina proudly boasts that her new home is often bypassed by the glitz and glam of Monaco; lavish superyachts and the seemingly endless stream of paparazzi prefer the glamour and uberwealth just west of their little village, leaving its sleepy inhabitants mostly alone to sell their goods to the tourists that stop by for a night on their bicycles and scooters. Marked with the Italian influences of its neighbour, Petit Befana truly is the little-known last stop on the famous Cote d’Azur which makes it an inspiring landscape for Marinette to discover…

...for all of four days.

She’s already so over Covid-19 and, like any teenager, she’s getting more and more annoyed by the day that she can’t hang out with her friends! Why did Maman and Papa send her down here?! All she wants to do is get back to Paris and design! It’s not like there’s anything fun to do here anyway, besides play video games all day in her bedroom; the only places that offer free WiFi are closed and she can only play Animal Crossing for so long before her grandmother insists on making her get some fresh air.

Ugh!

Grumbling under her breath, Marinette pulls on her raincoat and stomps down the laneway from the terrasse towards the sidestreet where her grandmother’s 1920’s bastide-style home resides. From the cobbled alley, Marinette watches the colourful array of fishing boats land their day’s catch right up on the harbourfront and heads down despite the storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

“Bonjour!” A group of older men wave as she makes her way down the ancient steps, the pathway shaded by thick palms and cacti. She pauses just long enough to ask who’s winning their game of socially distanced pétanque before continuing her way through the pines towards the gravel and sand beaches that line the shore.

The seafront is mostly boarded up, much to both Gina’s and Marinette’s disdain. Her grandmother used to spend most of her evenings at the jazz bar La Sirena with her friends, not that Marinette got to meet any of them. The lockdown shuttered pretty much everything the day after she kissed Papa goodbye and settled into her new life for the next month, but with three weeks already stretching into four, Marinette dejectedly wonders if she’ll ever see Paris again.

Passing the last brasserie on the boardwalk, Marinette leaves civilization for the long stretches of barren coastline. There’s all sorts of little inlets and grottos here and there, especially as she gets closer and closer to the Italian border. Unfortunately, it’s only April, which means it’s rainy, generally unpleasant and completely and utterly empty on the beach.

“No one to talk to, nothing to do…” Marinette sighs and tries to kick a piece of driftwood, only to miss it with her foot in true Marinette style. The faux pas — quite literally — sends her screaming and flailing her arms like an octopus on a ceiling fan as she dramatically plummets face first onto the wet, slimy gravel.

She groans and pushes herself up on her hands and knees, wincing as sea-weathered stones dig into her palms and kneecaps. Marinette is, above all, a walking disaster in every sense of the word — sometimes she wonders if the powers that be seek out to deliberately punish her with embarrassing things like this on purpose for their own amusement.

(ಸ_ಸ … *cough* Zag *cough*)

Marinette whimpers as she wipes chunks of seaweed and brownish foam off her cheeks and chin. At least no one was around to see her fall over — thank god — but she’ll still have to do the laundry when she gets home. She’s covered in muck and little bits of oily slime that are sure to stain if she doesn’t wash it out soon. Marinette grimaces as she tries to shake it off of her hands; humans really have done a number on the seas and oceans...like, why is her front so sticky? She glances at some of the garbage on the shore as she sits on her haunches and wonders if the news has it all wrong. Maybe the merpeople taking potshots at rich people on yachts with old cans and plastic sea trash really do have the moral upper hand…

Marinette, being Marinette, would have continued to stare dazed and confused into space well into the afternoon had it not been for the impossibly shiny something or other sparkling in the grotto straight ahead.

[NEXT PART...]

#miraculous ladybug #mermaid au #lovesquare #adrinette #adrienette #Bronte's Mermaid AU #ml

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evening-starlight · 4 years ago

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Daddy’s Best Friend

Can you tell I love cliffhangers?

All Works Maser List

DBF Master List

Word Count: 962

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Danica," Amaris hisses as her sister sends multiple pans to the floor. It's currently seven in the morning, the morning after her welcome home party. "Shut the fuck up, would you?"

"It's not my fault Harold stacks the pan I need at the bottom of the stack," Danica hisses back, referring to the family's private chef. The sisters had decided to get up early to cook breakfast for the family like they used to do when they were younger.

Danica passes Amaris her favorite pan, the one with the green handle, and looks at her with a serious face. "What are we betting?"

"If I win, I get to wear that top you have you don't let anyone touch," Danica gasps dramatically. "If you win, I will buy two outfits of your choice," Amaris finishes. Danica juts out her right hand, which Amaris shakes.

"May the best omelet win." They both set down their pans and get to work on their respective foods. Amaris gets to the fridge first, pushing Danica out of the way. "You bitch, give me the eggs."

"Suck my elbow, Danny," Amaris retorts. Although their words are harsh, both girls are giggling and enjoying the friendly competition. Amaris fills her arms with her arsenal of ingredients, including the entire egg carton and goat cheese.

"I'm stealing your eggs," Danica warns after Amaris leaves the fridge threshold.

"Over my dead body, Danny."

"I'm not above murder." Both girls laugh and continue to assemble their supplies. Amaris takes the spatula before Danica can. "I will end you, Amaris Clarke, on God, if you don't give me that."

"I didn't know you felt so strongly over an inanimate object," Amaris chuckles while handing her sister the offending utensil. Both girls poke their tongues out in concentration, a habit Amaris picked up from her mother, and Danica picked up from Amaris.

Both heads snap to the noise to their left, watching as Tom shuffles in with disheveled hair and a pair of sweat pants he leaves at the Clarke house hanging low on his hips. He waves quickly before stretching his arms above his head, revealing a small patch of skin that makes Amaris clear her throat.

"'Mornin' ladies," Tom greets in a deep morning voice. "Could I steal you for a second, Amaris?"

Amaris nods before pointing a yolk-covered fork at her sister. "Touch my eggs, and you wake up with a dick on your face tomorrow." Danica winks at her sister to rile her up. They both know Danica will play fair, but Danica - being the younger sister she is - thrives off tormenting Amaris.

Tom brings Amaris into the front room and lowers his voice. "Was I, uh, drunk last night?" Amaris nods with a laugh.

"Wasted. That's what happens when you babysit Cleo, though. How are you feeling? Do you need meds?" Tom smiles down at Amaris, appreciating her caring nature.

"No, I'll be okay. Did I, did I, do anything weird last night?" Tom stutters. Of course, he knew what he did last night, and he knew it was wrong. But he wanted Amaris to think it was nothing more than a drunken mistake. Even if it wasn't to him.

He doesn't miss the quick pas of disappointment that crosses her face, only to be quickly hidden behind a forced smile. "Besides be yourself? No," She lies. If he doesn't remember, it wasn't as meaningful as she was hoping it was. It was a mistake he made because he was drunk. They walk back into the kitchen, where Danica is standing over her omelet with intense concentration.

"Don't worry, I only added a bit of laxative to your eggs," Danica jokes, flashing a quick smile to her sister. Amaris flips her off and goes back to assembling her omelet.

"What are you two cooking up in here?" William asks as he comes into the kitchen, having been woken up by the clatter Danica made earlier.

"Get out," Danica demands while waving out both Tom and her dad. "It's a competition, and you guys are the judges. I'll call you in when it's ready." The two older men chuckle and leave the room while the girls add the finishing touches to their breakfast. Amaris puts her's on a red plate while Danica's finds its home on a blue plate. "Ready?"

"Game on, asshole," Amaris nods, letting her sister know she can call the family in. Juno follows close behind their dad, followed by Thomas. "Oh good, Juno's up. You can be the tiebreaker." Amaris announces as she gets three different forks for the people sitting at the kitchen island.

"One of these is the most delicious omelet you will ever have in your life. The other is Amaris's." Amaris smacks Danica's shoulder before presenting the blue plate. Danica and Amaris lean on the counter, watching as their judges take a single bite of the blue plate omelet. If they're thinking anything, they say nothing.

There's a knock on the door before anyone can try the one on the red plate. "Who's expecting someone?" Amaris asks as she stands straight, about to go answer it for her family. No one says anything, just shrugging.

"It might be a package that needs signing," William mentions. Amaris nods before looking at her sister.

"Don't tell them shit, or I will soak your Louboutin shoes in acid," She threatens.

"Not the ‘boutins," Danica gasps, raising her hands in surrender. Amaris chuckles and makes her way to the front door, making sure her shirt was presentable enough for whoever's at their door at seven-thirty in the morning.

Her jaw drops as she opens the front door, seeing a boy with curly brown hair standing in front of her.

"Armel?"

Taglist: @queenofallhobos

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #i got 99 problems and tom hiddleston could fix everyone of them #love #romance #fiction #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #love affair #affair #Daddy's Best Friend #paris #study abroad story #love story

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sirowsky · 4 years ago

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The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Warnings: Language, little angst.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: A lot happens in this chapter, and we finally get some real sparks going. Also, Máma Moreno starts butting in.

Chapter 5

Three months later, you were not only back on your feet, but running. You’d never really been a runner before, but now it seemed like such a freedom, you could barely get enough of it. You’d lost a lot of weight during your coma, and you were scrawny to begin with, so the nutritionist had not been happy when you’d started requesting more physical activity. But after making a solemn vow to eat as much as he asked, he’d finally agreed. And you had both been surprised to discover that you had gained weight even quicker as your body converted the fuel into muscles. You were actually heavier now than you ever had been, and you were genuinely proud of that, because you knew it meant that you were not only strong again, but stronger than before. It felt like a visible testament to your victory over evil. Plus – you looked good. You’d even gotten the colour and natural volume back in your hair.

You were still living at the Heroics HQ medical facility, and you were still being tested to the nines every single day, but you didn’t mind. Everyone here were nice to you, and it wasn’t like you were in a cage, you went outside every day. They just didn’t like you to wander off too far, since you hadn’t been discharged yet, which meant you were still their responsibility. You’d been pleasantly surprised to find out that they had taken care of all your bills and payments while you were in a coma and the subsequent rehabilitation, so your house was still very much in order for whenever you’d be heading back there.

Marcus had been instrumental in your recovery. As soon as they discovered that his electromagnetic currents helped you, the science-department had temporarily melded with the medical department to figure out why that was, and what was the optimal way of utilising this fortuitus abnormality. Luckily for you, that had meant many long hours spent with Marcus by your side as he carefully experimented with stimulating your muscles into cooperating with you. It hadn’t been nearly as sexy as it sounded, but it did offer you plenty of time to talk to each other, and you knew a lot more about him now. Or, at least a lot more about Missy. The proud dad had quickly emerged once he got more comfortable with you. Curiously, though, no one had been able to work out just how his current had such a positive influence on your body. They thought that it might have to do with some sort of harmonisation between the tiny electrical impulses in your nerves and the frequency of his current, but they couldn’t say for sure, because so far, all of their tests had been inconclusive.

Today was going to be a special day for you, in terms of the testing, because they wanted to do a full-scale physical exam, complete with endurance- and strength-tests, something you’d actually been looking forward to. You were excited to find out if you were getting close to getting that clean-bill-of-health stamp any time soon. The tests themselves were gruelling. They involved running pretty much as fast as you could, in short intervals, but in the break between each interval you had to do a strength exercise. Weight-lifting, or working with kettle-bells, or just regular push-ups, there were lots of different ones. After that, you were given an hour to rest, before you were going to be put through an obstacle course to check your agility and reflexes, and it was at this point that Marcus joined the small crowd of maybe thirty people, that had gathered to find out how you’d do. And you were slightly concerned to see him exchange a look with his mother, the almighty Anita Moreno, at the back of that crowd. What could she possibly want to see this for? He was in his uniform again, and looked winded, as though he’d hurried to get there in time to see this. He met your eyes and gave you an encouraging nod. You’d been told that this course was one that the Heroics regularly used for training, and that they’d scaled it down a bit for you, but that the aim was still to test your physique quite rigorously, so it wouldn’t be easy. You took your place on the start-line, and waited for the whistle. It really was a tough course. You had to use your whole body to get past practically every single obstacle, and by the end, you were so tired that you collapsed the moment you crossed the finish-line, to the enthusiastic applause of the little crowd. The twins were by your side immediately, taking your vitals to make sure that you were only normally tired, not dangerous-tired. They’d been with you the whole day, and this was the final hurdle before you’d all get to rest. They’d both been sweating almost as much as you, just from worrying about you.

“All good. She’s okay.”

Amaire declared to the supervising physician. He, in turn, looked at his digital pad and tapped a few times, then a smile crept into his features.

“Well, it’s not a course-record, but considering the fact that most humans don’t even finish this course on their first try, I think we can give you your stamp now.”

You sat up and stared wide-eyed at him, while Amaire shoved a water-bottle into your hand and all but pushed it into your mouth.

“I’m officially declaring you completely recovered, and no longer in need of our medical assistance. Congratulations, miss. You really are a miracle.”

Joy bubbled up inside you as you took in his words. You’d made it. You’d actually made it. There was a light-hearted laughter in your throat as you worked on getting your pulse under control.

“Don’t let Miracle Guy hear you say that, Doc, whatever you do.”

“Hah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then Marcus was suddenly right in front of you, pulling you to your feet and into a tight hug in one fluid movement. He’d never hugged you before, and you wished that he hadn’t done it now when you were soaking his uniform in your sweat. But, holy crap, his arms felt good around you.

“Felicidades, preciosa! I knew you’d be ready. How do you feel?”

“Thank you, Marcus, I feel amazing. Like I wanna sleep for a week, but still amazing.”

Reluctantly, you pulled back to look at him. As wonderful as it was to be encircled by those arms, you wanted him to see your eyes when you spoke again.

“Really, thank you. I don’t know if I could have recovered this well without you, or if I would’ve even been able to wake my body up, ever again. I was trapped in the most impossible position imaginable, and you set me free. I’ve never thanked you for that. I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.”

He seemed slightly embarrassed by your gratitude, and his eyes seemed a bit glossier as he pulled you back into his arms and held you even tighter.

“You have no idea what it means to me to see you like this. Strong and healthy and happy. I’ll never forget those eyes that stared up at me that day in the hospital, and I spent every day after that feeling helpless and useless every time I walked into your med-chamber. You don’t owe me a damned thing, hermosa. The fact that I get to see those eyes smile again, is more than I could ever ask for.”

Someone clearing their throat very loudly and deliberately, made you automatically pull away from one another. And then you nearly choked on your own saliva when you realised that it was his mother.

“Hey, mom. I was wondering what brought you here today.”

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me, hijo? Didn’t I raise you to be polite?”

“It’s polite not to sneak up on people, deliberately trying to make them uncomfortable, máma. She doesn’t need your dramatics today.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. You were never close with your own family, so it always warmed your heart to see people who were. And he’d spoken about his mother during your long conversations in the med-chamber, so you knew that they were extremely close, which was why they could argue quite heatedly without ever getting truly angry with one another.

“That’s okay. A little drama can be very entertaining.”

You looked from Marcus to his mother, and then introduced yourself, with a respectful nod, rather than offering your still sweat-soaked hand. She gave her son a sideways glance.

“Don’t you have some work to attend to, boy?”

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Do I look like I’m about to leave you alone with a woman that has no idea just how horrid you can be?”

“When have I ever been horrid?!”

“Oh, would you like me the count it out for you? Or would the word ‘ambassador’ suffice?”

“That was just a misunderstanding, and that boy was beyond over-sensitive.”

“He was a war-veteran and you deliberately pushed all of those buttons, until he crashed, just to make a fucking point.”

“Hey, mind your language.”

“Not even a little bit. Now, whatever you want with my friend, you can either start talking, or you can go away.”

You didn’t miss the slightly possessive edge to the way he said ‘my friend’, and you were a tad concerned at just how much you liked it. His mother scoffed and then turned on her heels and walked away.

“Sorry about that. She’s… tricky.”

“I wouldn’t have minded speaking with her, you know.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but you don’t know her. She’s never once asked about you, even with all the time I’ve spent in the med-section. Never wanted to know how you were doing or even anything about you. So, the fact that she’s approaching you now, when you’ve just been cleared, means she’s up to something.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t touched by your willingness to protect me from monster Máma.”

He got a sheepish expression on his face and bowed his head to look at his own shoes.

“I’d happily protect you from anyone.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that if I’m ever in trouble again.”

He looked up at you, and for a moment his face was pained, before he quickly tried to adapt a more neutral expression. It didn’t quite work.

“So… you’re leaving then?”

“Well… I doubt they’ll just let me stay, rent free. Not to mention take up a med-chamber that someone else will undoubtedly need at some point. And I do miss my house, not to mention the cleaning I’m in for. God, I wonder if any of my plants made it? Is it weird that I’m looking forward to cleaning? And cooking, holy crap, do I miss cooking, and sun-bathing in the garden with my favourite music, and curling up on the sofa…”

He smiled a kind of knowing smile, though, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, I’m rambling now, aren’t I?”

“A bit. But I get it. Home is… home. I’m glad you get to go back to yours.”

“Me too. Um… so, I’m sure there’s a bunch of paper-work I’ll have to sign and I most definitely need a long shower and a lot of soap before I go anywhere. But I’d love to see you before I leave.”

“Sure. I’ll most likely be in the control room, or my office. Just ask around.”

“Okay.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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qiankunfics · 4 years ago

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Fics Alert & Updates

New Fics

KunTen

1. My gorgeous by Holmes_n_Moriarty

Summary: Kun is perfect until he's not. Rating: General Status: On-Going

2. Lil' Something by ugly_little_sandcastles

Summary: There's just something about Ten that burrows beneath his skin, prickling and sharp and hot, hot, hot. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

3. Dandelions by eyesonflowers

Summary: After four years, Ten reunited with Kun. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

4. to fall in love in the wintertime by energyboyeric

Summary: To fall in love in the wintertime, Ten decides, is to fall in love with stillness. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

5. honey, shut your mouth by lowkeyamen

Summary: It's date night but Kun, wrecked from work, is on the brink of falling asleep. Ten knows just how to solve that. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot Fem!KunTenWin

6. The Home My Forefathers Built by jiaqins

Summary: Kun is a brilliant Parisian med student, he has two jobs which he is fond of and relatives whom he loves—even when they are as annoying as his cousin Yangyang. But too many challenges stand in his way and disturb the stability he cherishes so dearly. Rating: Teen Status: On-Going

7. crazy over you by andnowforyaya

Summary: The photo of Kun's next mark was a flattering one. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot Trigger: Death

8. When the time is right by drawing_board

Summary: Nothing in the way he feels towards Ten significantly changes. But he realizes that somewhere in there was a latent desire for more. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

9. the last three times we'll meet (see you again) by kloudoie

Summary: Ten sees the number he'll meet people behind their backs–except one. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

10. better days around the corner with you by tullycat

Summary: On a Monday afternoon, the most beautiful man Kun has ever seen walks into the café. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

11. Dreamscape by YHXLWTK

Summary: Ten sighed dramatically and took a step forward so he was standing beside Kun. “You’re my partner for tonight.” Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

12. No matter how goods you're at pretending, your eyes can't lied by Mywoojinie

Summary: NCT2020 promotions really makes relationship between Ten and Kun stumbles. Well. Johnny are there, of course Kun would be jealous. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

13. Unnatural by dojaefairy

Summary: The first time Ten cheats on his boyfriend, he tells himself it's a one-time mistake. It's unnatural of him to cheat on Johnny. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot Trigger: Cheating

14. Mystery Boy by taetens

Summary: Kun has kept most of his life private, so when he opens up about his newest relationship with some hot shot fashion designer, no one believes him. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

15. The Good Side by starrykun

Summary: Kun and Ten work for the same company and were paired to work together to make a collab album. But will things work out between the two? Rating: Teen Status: On-Going

16. slow dancing in the dark by camellia117

Summary: in which kun needs to learn how to slow dance, and he trusts ten to teach him. or maybe, a story where two lonely boys find love accidentally, by slow dancing in the dark. Rating: General Status: Completed

17. sync up, fall harder by suheafoams

Summary: kun agrees to help ten plan out a date for his friend. more falls into place than what he initially anticipated. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

18. Hearing Your Voice (Is All I Need) by peachy_beomie

Summary: But there’s only one person who calls him Yongqin. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

19. it’s almost like you’re in love with me (or something) by Markmeinyourheart

Summary: four times kun and ten were complicated and the one time they really weren't. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

20. cat got your tongue? by starrytae

Summary: kunten miraculous ladybug au Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

21. when he sleeps by bahasakalbu

Summary: Ten can't sleep, and Kun is in a deep slumber beside him. Ten minds wonders around their previous memories, while looking at Kun's sleeping form. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

22. Home-cooked Meal by autumn_sparrow

Summary: Kun makes dinner while Ten takes a nap. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

23. See You Soon, Baby by nekowafers

Summary: Kun is an office worker who lived a pretty boring until he met Ten, an annoyingly good-looking vampire who won't stop sneaking through his apartment window. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

24. Not Like That by Meow12251

Summary: “You know, Kun, you’re not really my type,” Ten says. Kun opens his mouth, face scrunching, unsure what to say. He wonders if he should take offense. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

25. Welcome Home by DestinyHope

Summary: Ten and Kun were living in their house, dreaming about adopting some kids and finally have a family of their own. They didn't expect to end up taking care of boys around their age in need of love and care. Rating: Teen Status: On-Going

26. softly killing me by yeollama

Summary: Ten and Kun lived the ideal suburban dream, suffocating marriage and all. Of course, it wasn't without a few secrets. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

27. persona by latedreams

Summary: However, there were pieces that seemed to have been carved to fit together perfectly, edges effortlessly moulding to each other, creating a perfect harmony. Those were Ten's favourites. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

28. whispers of only the two of us by frinkles

Summary: Ten’s hair sits so well between Kun’s fingers. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

29. Floating Encounters by stupefiscience

Summary: Kun, an exhiled assassin from one of mainland china’s biggest crime groups tries to find his redemption by taking down Ten. An unknown jack of all trades menacing the powerful dogs of the city. Things take a spicy turn, though. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

30. give all my secrets away by yeollama

Summary: Finding out Kun and Ten had some weird secret life which involved violence, cars and constant lying was not what Yangyang planned to overhear, but oh well. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

31. hold onto my mask by moonjongup (nicrt)

Summary: They fell in love over time. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

32. your ethereal existence by moonwalker116 (mikararinna)

Summary: “Because if humans can imagine what aliens look like, who’s to say that they haven’t seen a ghost in real life and spreading tales about them?” Rating: General Status: One-Shot

33. gold star of friendship by sunkissedhyuck

Summary: kun and ten didn't know what to expect at first when putting chenle into school for the first time, but it certainly wasn't anything close to this. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

34. Penis Colada by pinkfire

Summary: “So, what brings you here?” Ten prompted.“My dick,” Kun blurted, and Ten, who was mid-sip, laughed a spray of tea back into his mug. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

35. Second Chances by Vante_20

Summary: That night Kun left Ten hanging. Now he is second guessing himself. Things go down and he knows he won't be able to live with himself if give them a chance. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

36. In A Blink of An Eye by haneyangie

Summary: A secret melody that only he knows. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

37. Some Other Day by qianwtch (dxnutcare)

Summary: Ten somehow felt more homesick than usual. He had been laying in bed doing nothing but trying to sleep his frustration away. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

38. The Finish Line by Maiamia

Summary: Kun is a serious man. Always. It is a requirement for his job after all. But when he’s forced to rely on a shameless, way to handsome driver and his team of outlaws to complete the most important mission of his career, he might realize that keeping it professional is not as easy as it seemed. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

39. Are You A Magician? (Cause You Make My Breath Disappear) by peachy_beomie

Summary: “Why would I embarrass myself more than I already have?” “Cause your future husband Ten Lee thinks you’re cute, idiot!” Rating: General Status: One-Shot

40. in the frozen land, on the night where everything sleeps by 10vesyou

Summary: It marked their one of many, their last strive to save their brother. Tracing the flakes of snow hovering in the air, they set their heart on finding the hidden secret of the world: The Tree of Language. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

41. advil and antagonism by ouchsolo for zhosungs

Summary: Kun doesn't think his life could get anymore laughable, until the man he's sworn to hate forever is sitting drunk on his bed and he has no idea what to do with him. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

JohnKun

42. The Day You Walked Away by senja

Summary: 9 years later, and the same fate was repeated, only this time, only one walked away. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

43. My Universe by senja

Summary: Kun was trying his best to stay cool by drinking a cup of iced americano in a middle of a busy cafe and suddenly a (not really) unfamiliar man came up to him and asked a question he have never received before. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

44. Work From Home by jhengchie

Summary: Inspired by the Song Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

45. not coming back by Kiyuan

Summary: Kun doesn’t like talking about his school days. He’d rather not relive the days he spent hopping between worlds, thinking about nothing else than his partner, his friend and the adventures. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

46. Trust Me by seungwanxndxnly

Summary: Qian Kun and the Case of the Big Bomb Rating: Teen Status: On-Going

KunWin / WinKun

47. i could be your escape by bambirouge

Summary: Kun’s voice drops to a downright sinful level. “What if I got you hard, right here, right now, in the middle of all these people?” Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

KunCas / LuKun

48. Collar Me by softyjseo

Summary: Lucas and Kun were meant for each other, in all of the different ways they can imagine. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

Twitter Fics -

49.https://twitter.com/peachy_beomie/status/1384891177636405248?s=21

Summary: Ten rates his boyfriend’s reactions to his petnames.

50. https://twitter.com/dojaefairy/status/1377708043807436805

Summary: Ten decides to confess to Kun on April Fools Day so that he can pretend his confession was just a joke if Kun rejects him, and things get messy.

Updates

KunTen

1. Wrong (Right) Ad by Alette 2. Has To Be Mine by rowx3yourships 3. catch him if you can by blazingsirius 4. No Biting by taetens 5. Coming Home by YeolsTruly 6. electric magnetic by miramiro 7. Escaping The Moon by Chi_Can 8 .Countdown from Nine by MailOrderBride 9. Pierced! by HaloHalo 10. You Make Staying Away So Hard by Kill3rWhal3D1ck 11. On Thin Ice by taetens 12. all's well that ends well. by chenaki 13. diamonds by rainingover

JohnKun 14. Afterglow by owzy

#kun #qian kun #kunten #johnkun #kuncas #lukun #kunwin #winkun #tenkun #updates #new fics

50 notes · View notes

truth-and-lies-drv3-imagines · 5 years ago

Note

DrV3 boys, with an S/O who appears to be tough and strong, but at times they have flashbacks to their childhood and when it happens, they lock themselves in their room for days at a time only leaving when they need to

Mod Nagito here~! It’s been ages, huh? Sorry about that. I started this one a while ago and never got to finish it, so I did the other 5 boys today and now it’s pretty much done. I forgot that imagines can be pretty fun to write, haha. It’s much more low-pressure than any of what I’ve been writing recently.

I’ll be honest, these turned out a little more like headcanons than imagines, but I hope you still enjoy them! They also turned out to be more focused on how the boys took care of their S/O and less about the S/O’s trauma/past troubles. I wanted to make sure they didn’t vary too much in length, but they got longer and longer, so…oh, well? Here you go!Edit: I kept trying to put a keep reading, but it won’t show up :( Sorry.

Shuichi Saihara

- He’s usually the one getting encouraged by you and tends to depend on you for support. But when you disappear suddenly for the first time and don’t respond to any message or calls for a few days, he’s incredibly worried.

- When he comes to your house, of course, you don’t respond to any doorbell ringing or knocks, so he digs under your doormat and pulls out a key to enter the house. He’ll run through the house and, seeing that common area is relatively empty, dash to your bedroom and knock before entering.

- You’re too zoned out to have heard him coming in and am curled up in your bed and blankets, eyes wide open and slightly damp. When he sees you, he’ll rush to your side and put a hand on your arm gently. “S/O, what’s going on? You haven’t been responding to anyone’s messages or picking up any calls.”

- You try to deny it at first, trying to keep up that strong front. But when it’s obvious that you can’t hide it from him, especially taking into account his perceptive nature, you tell him. You don’t exactly have a picture-perfect childhood, and it’s hard thinking back on it–you never want to, but it happens anyway.

- He’ll nod and reassure you that he’s not mad or anything, that having these flashbacks does not make you weak, and ask you to please rely on him as he does with you or at least tell him what’s going on because he gets worried.

- He’ll lie in the bed with you and talk to you if you want, or if you’d like silence, give you cuddles or just stay there with you without a peep out of him. Shuichi’s a great listener if you’d like to rant to him, scream, cry, whatever you need to feel normal again after this episode of flashbacks. Heck, he’d even be your punching bag even though you’d never actually use him that way.

- Next time you have a round of flashbacks, call him up or text him, and he’ll be at your side in a jiffy. He’ll also go out and buy you anything you need so you don’t have to leave the house–although he thinks some fresh air would be good for you, he realizes the world can be overwhelming when you’re in a vulnerable state.

Kaito Momota

- He really admires how you journey on and push past hardships! But he’s a very discerning person; he sees you have your troubles behind the front that you put up, too.

- When you disappear, he might panic at first, but if he can calm down he’ll be able to assess the situation and remember that you’ve got off moments too. He’ll go looking for you at your home, for sure.

- He’ll pound on the door, and when you don’t answer, he’ll try the door handle, realize it’s unlocked, and enter quickly, closing the door behind him and running through the house to your room, where he’ll probably make a dramatic appearance by bursting in the door.

- He’ll probably have the urge to give you a good talking to, but seeing that you’re in such a vulnerable state, he’ll save it for later. You’ll probably be asleep when he comes in, and only be woken by him sitting down on the side of your mattress slowly, carefully.

- He doesn’t exactly want to wake you up, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to sleep the day away either. He knows from experience that too much sleep can cause headaches. He might pet your head or rub your back comfortingly as you’re roused from your sleep.

- If you want to talk about things, Kaito is surprisingly good at asking you important questions that force you to reflect and see more clearly. Otherwise, he’ll keep his big mouth shut and just keep your company. He might sit in your bed and pull you into his lap. He’s basically a human heater and an extra-firm pillow.

- He makes sure you know that he’s always here for you and encourages you to contact him, talk to him, depend on him. Having another person on your side is always helpful.

Gonta Gokuhara

- He panics and assumes the worst when you disappear and don’t contact him for some time. He’ll run to your house and search for you, all kinds of worst-case scenarios running through his mind. He’s worried to death about his brave s/o! And knowing his strength, it’s more than likely that he could break down a door or a few walls to get to you and make sure you’re safe and sound.

- When he realizes that you’ve shut yourself in on purpose, he feels slightly discouraged. Is he that unreliable, that you’d rather isolate yourself rather than lean on him? But after you explain to him that, in fact, it’s just your habit of how you deal with your pain, he’ll tear up and give you a big bear hug.

- (And he gives the best bear hugs, in case you haven’t realized.)

- He just wants to be the most helpful gentleman possible and support you in any way possible while you’re going through tough times! Just knowing he has your back is a source of comfort to you. He can handle lots, even If he’s often looked down upon for his childish disposition.

- Gonta’s also surprisingly good at taking care of you! He reminds you to eat, drink, sleep (but not too much), get some sun if possible, and take any meds you need. He’s a gentle and positive force in your life, especially when you’re suffering.

- Even though he may come off as oblivious at times, he’s finely attuned and sensitive to your feelings. He worries about your well-being and what he can do to be a better gentleman for you, even if you say that his normal self is enough for you. Thus, communication with him is rather easy at times since he easily understands your current state of being.

Ryoma Hoshi

- Ryoma’s the type of person to have a strong intuition and often sees right through you, with all that he’s been through. So when you disappear, he’s not all that surprised, but he is worried. However, he’s not the kind of person to rush into situations, and while he may worry about you, he trusts that you’ll hold yourself together enough–at least, until he can get in touch with you.

- He knows it’s tough for you to take care of yourself when you get into this state of darkness and vulnerability, so much so that you needed to close yourself completely off to hide that weakness. He reads you well, almost too well, and he’ll leave little (or not-so-little) care packages at the door to your house/apartment, complete with little notes of encouragement and support.

- You’ll open the door to find the care package sitting there wrapped up nice and neatly, and he somehow always has the best timing, so food never spoils. He comes and goes like a cat, but it’s like he predicts your every move. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs and tells you it comes with being an athlete–he can predict your movements just like he can predict the trajectory of the ball.

- (You’re not sure you really believe him, but you accept his help gratefully.)

- Although he’s careful not to push you when you’re in a tough spot, he does sometimes pop up outside your door just before you decide to head out to get some essentials or such. He times it just right, and you often ask him if he’d been waiting long, but he brushes off your concern and shakes his head. He’ll offer you a hand and talk you on a little walk for some fresh air and company.

- If you ask for it, he’ll pat you on the head and give you hugs. He’s not the kind of person to offer much physical contact in general, but for you, he’ll do so just about anytime. The fondness he has for you only grows when you have the courage to ask him for what you’d like from him because even though he’s intuitive, he has his doubts sometimes, too.

- If you’re anxious and ask him if you’re being a bother or other such untrue things, he’ll assure you and offer you verbal affirmations that you are not too much and have not been too much. He’s glad that he can support you during hard times. You’ve been a source of light and support for him, so he’s happy he can give back to you.

- Ryoma’s not the most expressive or mushy guy out there, but for the people he loves, he does his best to be there for them however he can. He counts himself lucky to have you, just like you can count yourself lucky to have him, and so it’s a given that he’ll always do his best to treat you right.

Kiibo

- Kiibo’s absolutely bewildered at first when you lock yourself in and show no signs of coming out, save for essentials like food and toiletries. But he’s a good robot and studies up on human behavior, so he quickly and easily deduces that you’re having a hard time and have partly shut down to conserve the remaining energy you have.

- Thus, he’ll first take the logical approach, which is to make sure you have everything you need and could possibly want. He’ll help you with getting groceries (although he won’t go in your stead, since he’ll insist that you need a modicum of natural sunlight and fresh air), and he come over as much as possible to help around your place, cleaning and taking care of chores.

- When he’s satisfied with the standard of your living situation, he’ll focus more of his efforts on comforting you and helping you in other ways. He’s not exactly the most sturdy robot–in fact, far from it–but the current you isn’t much tougher, so he’ll offer his shoulder to lean on and many kind, loving words.

- Being who he is, Kiibo will tend to probe you for answers and confirmation. He gets nervous that he’s not doing the right thing or that he’s not doing things right, so he has to be sure that what he’s doing is constructive for you. And while subtle enough, delicacy still isn’t his strong suit, so he’ll ask you questions about what you’re going through and thinking.

- If you confide in him, he can offer a safe space for you to reflect in, and it can be healing for you to talk to him about your troubles, past and present. He’s careful not to judge or advise you unless you explicitly ask for his advice. And if you ask, his advice will mostly consist of telling you to live healthily and safely, and to pursue the things that you enjoy and love.

- Although Kiibo is perfectly fine with staying inside with you since his suit isn’t exactly the most weather-resistant, he will still be adamant about getting you to go places now and then. He believes a change of scenery can help you with a change in mood, even if it’s extremely nuanced. If you’re able, he might help guide you in doing some simple exercises or movements that can give you a little more dopamine from moving your body.

- He’ll be by your side even if you push him away. He gives you space when he senses you need it or when you communicate it very clearly, but otherwise, he doesn’t like to leave you out of his sight because he’s very concerned for your well-being. He cares too deeply about you to just leave you alone. He’s a versatile robot and will perform to his utmost ability in helping you take care of yourself, along with caring for you when you are unable to do so.

Korekiyo Shinguji

- As an anthropologist, he’s studied human behavior and quite a bit of psychology and sociology since the disciplines intersect frequently. So noticing you withdraw and shut yourself off from the rest of the world is natural to him, although it’s a phenomenon that feels unpleasant because he cares for you.

- He tends to focus on the emotional side of things. As long as you’re drained and in need of something to fill you back up, he’ll offer you all kinds of possibilities and items that can help you feel a better, even if just a little. He has tons of ideas and knowledge, so there’s bound to be something that will help.

- He loves listening to you talk, and he’ll engage in conversation with you about anything and everything, from the past that’s keeping you stuck in your room to light-hearted topics like what you’d do with a million dollars and a thousand-acre plot of land. If you need processing, he’ll process with you, and if you need to be distracted, he has a plethora of distractions.

- Korekiyo probably also has collected a bountiful amount of gadgets and artifacts that can pique your interest. Among them will be fidget toys, games, and lucky charms. He’ll probably bring over a big box of stuff that you can look through and let you borrow some things to use (or give them to you, if he thinks he’s studied them enough).

- He’s also very good at taking care of people, although he rarely has the chance to show off this side of him, being isolated from most people and having deep relationships with few. He’ll cook delicious, nutritious meals for you and help you tidy up.

- As long as you’re okay with it, he’ll give you hugs and kisses and backrubs. He’ll lie down beside you in your bed so you can get a good night’s rest, and the next day, you’ll wake up in his arms, safe and warm. If you manage to catch him off-guard (although this is very difficult to do), you might even see him watching you in the morning as he holds you gently, just as he does normally before you wake up.

- In short, he’s like a domestic partner that helps you fulfill your emotional needs and restores your physical health with good food. If you request his help on something, he’ll help you without fail; there’s little he can’t do, especially for you, who he loves. Even just his presence is comforting.

Kokichi Ouma

- Kokichi is extremely sharp, so he catches just about any of your shifts in mood. He’s aware the moment your mind begins to enter another space, even more because your attention will wander from him, which makes it even more obvious. That’s why he might even be the one to suggest you take a break, or in other cases, ask you to try not to cut yourself off from everything.

- When you do lock yourself in your room, he’s keen not to leave you alone–at least, not for too long, because he knows what it’s like to be left in the darkness with no friendly presence at his side. If he has to, he’ll be obnoxious and in your face about it and do anything to get you to let him in. If you think you’ve seen the limits of what he can do, you thought wrong. Kokichi Ouma has no limits to his mischief and, in this case, arsenal to tools to compel you to comply with his demands, which is what he believes is best for you.

- Though he’s nimble and composed, he can be somewhat clumsy when it comes to caring for other people. Household duties like cleaning and cooking don’t come easily to him, although he picks up skills pretty easily and always has. But it does mean that at first, you’ll be eating burnt porridge (if you let him do the cooking, that is).

- Sometimes his clumsiness brings a little more work, but his presence more than returns in spades the benefits and comfort of having him around. He’s soft and obliging when you’re in a tough spot. In his mind, he’s probably agreed to give you a break on his tricks and other more high-risk, high-adrenaline activities.

- He’s happy to pet your head and hold your hands, offering as much physical affection as you’re comfortable with. He’s thin and small, but he’ll even playfully offer you a lap-pillow and patiently let you do as you like. He’s just as happy to let you do the touching and thoroughly enjoys your attention, even if he’s worried about you.

- In some ways, his methods of caring for you are like that of a child’s or otherwise chaotic. He’ll offer you messily crafted construction paper cards with heart cut-outs and scribbled drawings in marker. It’s touching, and even if he doesn’t expect you to take the cards seriously, he’ll be happy if you like it.

- He will bug you about going out on occasion. He’ll probably throw a fit and make it look like he’s just being selfish and wanting to go somewhere for fun, but really, he’s trying to get you to go somewhere he thinks might lift your spirits or give you a change of pace. After all, if he pesters you about going to a museum, he probably isn’t wanting to go there because he’s so interested in its exhibits.

- Kokichi is always thinking of you. He likes to go out now and then and come back with little gifts and souvenirs, some more unconventional than others, like a shiny rock or a penny that he found heads-up on the sidewalk. When your eyes light up or you offer a small smile, he feels relieved and is assured that he did the right thing leaving you alone for a bit so he could you bring something cool.

- Overall, he’s not the most competent caretaker in terms of acts of service, and he hardly earns any points for being smooth about it, but his love for you is overwhelmingly strong and supports you in the way only he can. His intentions come from the heart, and he showers you with affection as much as possible–it’s what he’s best at, after all–and your hard days will pass by quickly with him around.

Rantaro Amami

- Rantaro has had plenty of practice taking care of people, especially with all his time caring for his many younger sisters. That’s why it comes easily to him when he comes and finds you with his backpack of supplies, which has all kinds of items from when he took care of his sisters. You joke that it’s like Doraemon’s magical pocket, which produces any number of magical and useful items.

- He’ll pull out supplies for making your favorite foods, which will offer great comfort to you when you’re in a difficult position. If you dig through his backpack, you’ll also find adorable and soft plushies, watercolor paints, a notebook, an mp3 player, and much more. He tells you you’re welcome to use whatever you’d like.

- He’s gentle and not at all pushy. He take care of the chores and helps you with other tasks as needed with great patience. When you ask him how he can be so patient with you, he laughs and tells you it’s nothing compared to his sisters.

- Now and then, he’ll suggest that the two of you take a little walk or venture out to somewhere pretty to see a sunset or such. If you’re okay with it, he’ll bring you out and walk while holding your hand, squeezing it slightly now and then. It’s a reminder of the warmth that lies in himself, and the warmth that lies in yourself, telling you that you’re here with him.

- He’ll sometimes ask you if you want to talk about what’s keeping you in this darkness, and he encourages you whenever you’re doubtful or unsure. He’s a safe space for you, and always will be. But he’ll never demand answers. He also has a few things he’d rather keep to himself, after all.

- He tends to treat you like his younger sisters, being the older brother that he is. He’ll comb your hair, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and give you short, tender hugs.

- He likes to make little crafts like thread bracelets or pouches of fragrances, and he’ll gift them to you when he’s done. They’re little charms that will be a source of strength and remind you of his love, and when he’s not around, they’re a good replacement. Sometimes he even makes flower crowns or flower rings that he’ll reverently place on you and then proceed to tell you that you look absolutely magical.

- Rantaro takes a very laidback and gentle approach to taking care of you and confronting you about what you’re feeling and doing. His kindness is like liquid warmth that embraces you whenever you’re feeling cold or down, and you’ll never feel lonely with him by your side.

270 notes · View notes

beconsumed · 3 years ago

Text

i know i said i wasn’t coming back until next week but i need to spit this all out then go again a big huge reason why i haven’t been online is the fact that my family is still very very covid safe. and i mean like ACTUALLY covid safe as in we barely leave the house we don’t see family we only go get groceries or once in a while when we get too stir crazy we will run to a fun store or 2 like joanns which is always empty or some yard sales. we haven’t seen some close family since before this started (and they now think we’re insane) and the family we have seen is like quick driveway exchanges of gifts and some quick chats and thats it! and its so incredibly enraging and disappointing to log on and see people going to the movies and concerts and going on dates or going to bars or going out to eat and hanging out with friends every day like . do you get it. do you get how much this sucks . it is so goddamn depressing and awful .a family member of mine is immunocompromised BUT even if they weren’t we would still be doing this because

A) covid isn’t a fucking cold its so scary? how are you not all scared? long covid is the scariest thing ive seen how are people not more scared! we don’t even know everything its going to do to us but we know plenty enough to be terrified!!!! and B) WE CARE ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE! we don’t want to possibly be spreading covid without knowing to anyone! especially people who have to risk their lives to work or to get groceries or pick up meds or go to the doctor and are already at risk, why would i want to put them at further risk so i can like “have fun” for a night?

when i say my family goes somewhere/does something we are all double masked with KF 94′s and we are vax’d obviously but like that doesn’t mean as much when no one wears a fucking mask or they do but they went to a concert the night before or a family dinner or whatever the fuck!

it kills me how much all of this stuff im saying is similar to what everyone was saying at the beginning but now those same people have thrown it out the window because they decided staying in the house was too boring which, IT IS BORING! WE DON’T WANT TO BE DOING THIS!!!! i can’t get over people’s willful ignorance in how much this sucks for people actually being safe like, we AREN’T HAVING FUN! but does that mean we just give up and stop caring?!?!? and willful ignorance in the harm being caused every time someone goes to a gathering or hangs out with friends or whatever like . is the domino effect of spreading lost on everyone or what?? and btw i am so sick of people just saying they’re “being safe” when its a situation where its literally not true? like at LEAST be honest with it that’s better than lying about it!

its really the entitlement i can’t stomach it makes me SICK how people think that its fine if they’re not safe because they “want to make memories” they “want to live life to the fullest” they “don’t want to miss out” they’re “lonely” whatever idiotic excuse they make for being an ass AS IF WE DON’T HAVE THOSE SAME FEELINGS?!?!? of COURSE we want to go places, OF COURSE we want to see our friends and family, OF COURSE we want to have some fun, so what makes you so fucking special?!?!? why are you the priority over everyone else?!?! what happened to thinking about others?!?! you’re willing to put other’s at risk, to sacrifice others, to see a fucking concert or eat dinner in a restaurant?!?!

like watching my sibling go through his senior year online while everyone he knows is getting to make their happy graduation memories while he’s stuck at home actually worrying about our health and the health of others has been the most heartbreaking experience, he’s finishing high school so lonely because he can’t find others who feel the same way as him, and everyone thinks we’re “overly dramatic” or whatever for being SAFE!!! what makes it so that you deserve to get those happy memories but those who are at risk or caring for those at risk undeserving??

i know its been said but it has not been said enough that these years have reeeaaally shown people’s true colors in regards to how much they actually care about disabled people and any other high risk groups.

#do i need to do the ''this isn't directed at one person'' song and dance i feel like it doesn't matter #long post #im so mad! im so mad!

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katie-writes24 · 4 years ago

Text

Fell Into The Same Arms Pt.2

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x reader

Warnings: Language, angst, a pinch of fluff, ANGST, suggestive material, mentions of drug use, sad sad sad

Part 1

I’m starting to believe I will never just get straight to the point? But it’s whatever. This wasn’t even suppose to have a part 2, but everyone hyped it up which was super shocking to me? And luckily for you I write a lot when I’m in need of a vent soooo yeah! Anyways, let me know if you want to be tagged! Feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy!

It was cold, the wind a lot stronger this morning because of last nights storm. The window was open.

Thomas always left the window open, no matter how many times she complained.

"What if a bird flies in? What if someone climbs up and breaks in? And I don't like those bug noises!"

"What bug noises?"

"Like crickets and just little noises- I don't know but they creep me out!"

"I get too hot when I sleep, you know that," Thomas shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, climbing into bed and folding his arms behind his head.

"Yeah, well I get too cold now," Y/N gets in on her own side, proving her point and wrapping herself in the blanket, making Thomas chuckle.

"Come 'ere, I'll keep you warm!" He wrapped his arms around her torso, cradling the back of her neck and breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. Y/N curled in and let out a blissful sigh, finally recovering some warmth.

"Don't let me go," She whispered before nodding off to sleep.

"I won't, I promise."

He was keeping his promise.

She should get up and go back to her own apartment, tell Hercules about everything and beg him not to tell anyone because she didn't want to hear the much deserved I told you so's. She should maybe stop at the drug store and pick up some pain meds and concealer, at least try and make the bruises fade. When Angelica calls her and asks where she is, she should tell her that she had a rough night and can't make it to work. She should leave this bed...

But she can't fight the warmth of Thomas's chest, can't seem to remove the covers and face the world just yet.

Lost in her own thoughts, she soon felt a hand run up and down her spine slowly. He was hesitant, and he had every right to be. They shouldn't indulge themselves in this, they both know that it will only hurt them later.

Last night, she let herself fall, both in her own beaten head and in Thomas's arms. She let him fix her up and tell her that it would be okay, and he let her rest in his bed because he knows that she always enjoyed the soft, fancy foam. Thomas didn't call anybody because he knew that Y/N didn't want that.

None of this would've happened if she just stayed home last night. She knew exactly what she was getting into when she opened her mouth and fought the fight that wasn't hers.

"You're thinking too loud."

He was one to talk, really.

His fingers found her scalp and started to massage it gently, and there was no resisting the feeling. It was a moment of peace, something she hadn't gotten in a while.

"When's the last time we were in bed together?"

Just like that, it's gone.

Y/N quickly removed herself out of his embrace and folded the covers back. Thomas only sighed dramatically, "Don't get so sensitive, Y/N."

"Yeah, that's rich. I think you should just be proud that you managed to bring me upstairs in the first place." She was being bitter, she knew it, but he sounded too smug about something that didn't even happen last night. Turning to face him, she could feel tension forming in the air.

"You're right, excuse me for trying to be a nice host!"

"Is that what you would call it? Because you had that dumb look on your face where you think you know exactly what you're doing, but you really don't. It's so...ugh, it's so practical of you to think last night was a whole thing!"

"May I remind you, that you're the one that broke this off." It was a stab, and again, she deserved it. But she didn't want to get into it right now, not when she was sore from a viscous beating from the previous night.

"I don't have time for this, Thomas-"

"When will you have time? We never even- we never sat down and talked about it!" Thomas was out of bed now, pacing the room and looking at her with narrowed eyes. "Will you ever make time for me? Do you even want to try and fix this?"

"If I wanted to fix it, then I would've when it happened!"

Thomas snapped his jaw shut, staring at her in disbelief. Y/N sighed, rubbing her forehead and looking up to meet his eyes. "Look, I know that this is all my fault, everything is my fault! I shouldn't have came here last night, I shouldn't have moved in with you, I shouldn't have said yes, and I shouldn't-"

"You shouldn't have said yes? Really? So...so-what, you just never loved me at all?"

"Of course I love you Thomas! I should've never gotten involved with you in the first place, that's the problem! I shouldn't have brought you into this fucked up life I have. I don't even remember why you liked me in the first place. I was in AA, and I obviously wasn't getting any better! And look at me now, look at my arm-" She thrusted her arm in his line of sight, making him flinch backwards either at the motion or the scrapes and bruises that layered her skin. "There's no helping this, Thomas."

The silence that came afterwards was deafening, both of them standing still, looking at each other. There was nothing more she could do to patch up the hole, there was no saving them.

"I thought you were getting better," Thomas was barely above a whisper, and the quiver in his voice made her feel guilty.

"Yeah...well, so did I." She felt calmer now, there wasn't a reason to be, but she felt like it was pointless anyway. "It's been a rough week. Too many tasks, too many problems. This guy at work....he said that they would help me sleep. I don't know really...what they do, but it's definitely not sleep."

"So, you're taking without knowing what it is? That's just...that's great-"

"I'm not here for a lecture, Thomas."

"Then what are you here for?"

Shockingly, she wasn't expecting that one. There was more to it, a long story that revolved around Alexander and John, one about Eliza telling her to go back to group, one that ended all contact with Lafayette. There was even more to the story of last night, but she was afraid if she told Thomas all of this, he would never open that door again to her, not even if she banged on it crying for help.

She was here because when she fell hard on the cement last night, she thought that it was the end, that she finally lost the battle and it would all be over soon. The first person she thought of was Thomas; if he would come to her funeral, if he would keep in contact with her friends, if he would ever think positively about her again?

There was even a sliver of hope that maybe he would come rushing down the corner, see her and help her. Luckily, the worker taking out the trash across the street saw the scene, started yelling, making threats about calling the police. Even though the threats weren't at her, she couldn't risk it, and she fled.

Looking over at her ex, and seeing his eyes all watery, she then realized she said all of that out loud.

"I always regretted it," Y/N clears her throat, trying to fight her own tears. "Always wish that I could take it all back, never even step foot in that club and take what was offered. I really do, Thomas. If I had just done that, maybe we would still... be together."

And what could you say to that? Thomas was always one to make it known when someone was in the wrong, would always correct someone when they said some asinine shit that he knew wasn't true. She could name three times that he called her out, one time that he even called James out, and she couldn't even keep count on how many times he told Alexander off for being absolutely wrong.

Her last statement..there was nothing wrong about that, because even he knew it was the truth.

She let drugs and people and lies overcome her, and it took a toll in their relationship. They both knew the last time they were in this house together that years of built up trust, compassion and love was destroyed in one minute.

Just when she was about to grab her keys and walk out, out of his life for good, for the better, he scoffed.

"You said love," It was barely above a whisper, but she could hear him perfectly.

Still, she played dumb. "What?"

"When I asked if it was real? If you ever loved me? You said you love me...present tense."

Looking up at his wide eyes, she could remember the nights where she would stare into them like they never ended, like there was a tiny galaxy in his pupils. It made her warm, and he would never look away.

Right now they look hopeful, the stars shining a bit brighter than before.

Y/N gestured small, not really knowing what to say or do. She'd either lie to Thomas or lie to herself, and she had lied to him enough, hasn't she?

Thomas crossed the room, placing his big hands against her arms. Their foreheads touched, and he was too close, it was bound to get ugly. It was bound to fall back into the same cycle if Y/N let him stay this close.

"We shouldn't," Y/N whispered, voice cracking and not meeting his face until he tilted her chin up. There were his eyes again...

"You're probably right," Thomas huffed and licked his lips.

She didn't like the sound of that, she even shook her head to convince herself that this was all just bad bad bad.

"I need help, T."

His thumb swiped against the water on her cheek, shushing her. "We'll get you help. We can do this, you can do this, Y/N. Just let me be there when you do it."

It was tempting, so tempting.

“You know, maybe it’s not exactly fate...but Y/N I know that you were on my doorstep last night for a reason, let it be yours or not, who cares.”

There’s a thought. Maybe if she didn’t show up, she wouldn’t be in this situation, with Thomas so close that she could just selfishly take what she wants. The temptation was right in front of her and yet it wasn’t hers to have.

“Let this be our second chance...please.”

Thomas was begging, he never begged, not like this.

"I can be there, by your side. I will be...just let me in."

“Your relationship was doomed from the start.”

“Don't think about it too much. Things happen.”

“He doesn't need you, not when you're falling apart and breaking from the seams.”

Y/N leaned up and met his soft lips, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him as close as possible. Thomas wrapped his arms around her back, kissing back just as firm.

Call it cliche, but it felt like Y/N was back home, like this whole time she was on a ridiculously long getaway, except that she had never meant to getaway in the first place. This connection was what she needed all along. Or maybe Y/N just needed to be around Thomas, just talk to him. Maybe they were meant to fight and scream and argue and just be. Maybe she was meant to get hooked again only to show up and have Thomas take her into his arms willingly.

Their lips moved against each other with the same rhythm as before, with passion and skill. Thomas massaged her tongue with his own, only pulling back when he was out of breath.

They weren't sure what the future would look like, if Y/N ever would get better, would actually try to. Maybe she'd break Thomas's heart again, and it would be a lesson to him. Maybe they would both take it slow and learn how to build up from here without damaging one another unknowingly.

Good or bad, they were willing to give it a try, no matter how many of their loved ones told them how terrible it was to go back to the one that hurt you most.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!

Jefferson tag list: @notebookgirl30 @dontblinkumightmiss @tinywhim @checkurwindow @einfachniemand @daveeddiggsit @ohsoverykeri-blog @astralaffairs @i-know-i-can

#thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jefferson imagine #thomas jefferson x oc #my writings #hamilton imagine #hamilton fanfic #hamilton fanfiction #hahaha #I was super in my feelings when I wrote this #but anyways #it’s fine we all need some angst in our lives

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twomoonstwosuns · 5 years ago

Text

happiness.

pairing: poe dameron x reader

warnings: soft dad!poe fluff

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i’m starting to think i come up with really good fic ideas when i’m sleeping. this is my first dad poe fic so i hope you like it!

not my gif

Being a general was an honor to Poe Dameron. He was a natural born leader and he cared greatly for people. The fact that Leia Organa trusted him to be her successor meant a great deal to Poe. But it meant a lot of long days and late nights, with the Republic still in the middle of rebuilding after the years long conflict with the First Order. One of the main priorities was to revisit the mistakes made by the New Republic in the name of neutrality and creating a plan to not make the same mistakes again. That meant appointing the right people in positions of power and creating new policies and procedures should a new threat rise up.

There were little things that made the long days worth it. Poe’s best friend Finn remained his co-general. He was someone who knew firsthand the damage the toll of the war took on the people. Several of the people Poe fought alongside took on promoted ranks within the newly formed Republic, so he saw them often. He was a hero to many, the one who led a squad of underdogs against the large Star Destroyer fleet and won. He had the support of leaders all across the galaxy.

And then there was the support from his two favorite girls.

At two years old, Shara was the light of his life. She was so completely his daughter, from the mess of dark brown curls that sat atop her head to the way she had you completely wrapped around her finger. She was a bubbly little girl who adored the attention of anyone who would give it.

Shara was the light of his life, and you were the love of his life.

Poe knew he was going to marry you the first time you turned him down. You were working in the med bay when he came in with a gash on his leg that needed to be stitched up. After weeks of trying, he eventually got you to say yes to getting a drink with him. You should’ve known that smooth talking Poe was even more charming with alcohol in his system. That one drink turned into a weekly affair, which turned into a relationship. He proposed to you with this mother’s ring three days after the Battle of Exegol.

You knew you were doomed the moment he sat on your table and gave you a lopsided smile. He was a smooth talker, devilishly handsome even with blood and dirt all over him. But you weren’t interested in trying to date during the war, let alone date someone who’s flirty reputation preceded him. You’d never tell him how charming you thought he was as he sat in front of you while you patched him up, or how you would’ve said yes to whatever he asked from you.

Four years and a daughter later, Poe never felt happier.

He found the note in his pocket during a meeting, written by your delicate hands in your familiar handwriting, asking him to snag you some Jogan fruit on his way home. He gladly did it, getting it and leaving it by his jacket so he wouldn’t forget to bring it back with him, though your request was odd to him. You didn’t like Jogan fruit. He knew everything about you and knew that Jogan fruit was not something you liked. Of course he’d get it for you. He’d bend over backwards for you. And for Shara.

Poe loved his job, but he loved being a husband and father more. He’d be crazy not to admit that flying home to you and Shara was the favorite part of his day.

The house was quiet when he walked inside, the only sound of life coming from the hallway. He followed the soft lure of your voice to the nursery, leaning against the doorway when he saw you gently bouncing your baby girl in your arms. Poe stuck his tongue out and wiggled it from the doorway, making Shara giggle.

“What are you giggling at, silly girl?”

Poe tiptoed over to his girls, pressing a loud kiss to Shara’s cheek. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden press of Poe’s hand on your lower back.

“Look who’s here!” You exclaimed quietly, passing your daughter off as she reached her tiny arms towards her father. Poe pressed more kisses to her cheeks, her sweet squeals and giggles filling the silence of the room. She absolutely adored him.

“I’m glad you’re home. Someone didn’t want to go to bed without you.” You poked your daughter’s stomach and she squirmed. Poe gasped dramatically.

“Are you causing trouble for mommy?” He asked Shara, who shook her head no before shyly hiding her face in his shoulder, peeking out at her mother. Quiet laughter came from both of you when you heard her tiny yawn.

“Yeah, I know you’re tired Shar. You’re not fooling anyone.” You pushed her messy curls away from her face, adoring the way her eyelids were fighting to stay open. “I’m going to change now that you’re home.”

“I’ll be in soon.”

“Good night, baby girl.”

You kissed her head before leaning up to kiss the underside of Poe’s jaw. Poe knew he only had a few minutes to be with Shara until she fell asleep, so he grabbed her favorite yellow blanket and settled into the chair in the corner of her room. He wrapped the blanket around his daughter and she snuggled into his chest.

“Don’t tell your mom, but I’m glad you stayed up for me,” Poe spoke quietly, rubbing her back soothingly. “I really needed this.”

He rocked slowly in the chair as told her about his day on Coruscant. It felt good to just get some of his frustrations off his chest, even though she didn’t understand a thing he was saying. The deep timbre of his voice was enough to settle her into slumber. He felt the gentle rise and fall of her breathing against him. As gently as he could, Poe stood up from the chair and set Shara in her bed. She fidgeted from the movement but settled in, her tiny thumb finding its way into her mouth. Poe stood by her bed for a moment, finger gently stroking her cheek as he looked at her in awe. He sometimes still couldn’t believe he created something so perfect.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

He quietly closed the door and turned towards your shared bedroom, expecting to see light coming from it. He saw it coming from the kitchen instead and he made his way there. You stood at the kitchen counter, scrolling through a datapad. Your hair that was down was thrown up in a careless bun, one of Poe’s t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts laid delicately over your frame. The box full of Jogan fruit had been found and you were already putting pieces into your mouth. You were a vision, even though you were exhausted from a day of work and a night of caring for your restless toddler. Poe leaned against the counter next to you and you peeked up at him from the datapad.

“I heard you mumbling about Coruscant,” you said. “Bad day?”

“Just stressful,” Poe replied, running a hand through his hair. “I hate the politics that comes with being a general. I don’t know how Leia did it.”

“She pushed to get things done and didn’t take no for an answer. Something that you are very good at it.” You teased. “You’re a different kind of leader than Leia but just as good. You’ll figure out how to deal with the politics in your own way.”

Poe took the datapad from your hand and placed it out of your reach. Pulling you against him, he grinned down at you. “Finn is going to cover for me at those meetings I was telling you about, which means I’ve got the next four days off.”

“Four days, huh?” You pondered, your hands running up his arms to clasp around his neck. “What are Shara and I going to do with having you to ourselves for four whole days?”

“I can think of a few things we can do,” Poe smirked, leaning down to kiss gently along your jaw. You ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, your affectionate husband sighing contently as you did. “We’ll take it day by day. Just being home with you two is enough for me.”

Poe kissed from your jaw to your lips. He pulled away and caught you eyeing him, a small smile on your lips and your eyes sparkling.

“What’s with the smile?”

“I just missed you.” You shrugged, the smile growing wider. You detached yourself from his embrace and held up the now empty box. “Thanks for the fruit.”

“Since when do you like Jogan fruit?”

“I’ve eaten it before.”

Poe scoffed, taking the empty box from you and throwing it away. “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve only seen you eat it once and that was when…”

Poe trailed off, turning to observe you. He looked between the fruit in your hand and you as he remembered the last time you had indulged in Jogan fruit…when you were pregnant with Shara. His eyes widened with realization. “Baby, are you pregnant?”

You bit your lip and nodded. Poe felt his heart beating hard against his chest, the happiness he felt bringing tears to his eyes. He crossed the room and took your face in his hands, kissing you with everything he had. You squeaked in delight when Poe hugged you tight against him, lifting you off the ground.

“When did you find out?”

“Last week. I wanted to be sure before I told you.” Poe placed you back on the ground, his arms still tight around your waist. “So you’re happy?”

“Of course I’m happy, why wouldn’t I be?”

“We haven’t talked about having another kid and Shara’s still so young…”

Poe placed a hand on your cheek, softly caressing the skin under your eye.

“Sometimes things that are unplanned become the greatest things in our lives. I can’t think of anything greater than expanding our family.”

You nearly cried. Poe truly was the best father. Of course, you had no doubt Poe would be a great father when the time came. He was such a dad to his droid already. But from the moment he first held Shara in his arms, you knew he being a dad was something he was always meant to be.

“Poe, that’s beautiful,” you said. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you, baby.” Poe sunk to the ground, his hand rubbing over the tiny curve of your belly and kissing it over his shirt. “I already can’t wait to meet you. I’m going to have my own squadron again.”

You groaned. “Our kids are not learning to fly until they’re at least ten.”

“I learned when I was six and look how I turned out!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, best pilot in the Resistance, I know,” you smirked, running a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face. “I also know they’re going to take after you which means I’m going to be outnumbered by a team of reckless flyboys and/or flygirls and I don’t know if I can handle that.”

“I’ll teach you to fly so you don’t feel left out.” You let out a dry laugh as Poe stood up, leaning against the counter next to you. “How about when they’re seven?”

“We’re negotiating now?” You asked, giving him a look as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. Poe nodded. “Fine. Eight.”

Poe considered your offer, his jaw moving back and forth as he studied you. “Eight.”

“Deal.”

You pecked Poe’s lips to seal your deal, a tired yawn escaping when you pulled away. Poe chuckled and rubbed your arm. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Poe?” Poe was halfway out of the kitchen when you called his name. He looked back at you, expecting to see something wrong but instead seeing a warm smile on your face. You placed a hand on your stomach. “I can’t wait.”

Poe walked back over to you, wrapping you up in his arms and kissed you, all the love he had for you being poured into it. His tongue met yours and he kissed you deeply, slowly, like you had all the time in the world. His hands slipped under the shirt you wore, your warm soft skin a contrast to his rough hands. You pulled away to take a breath and he pecked your lips for good measure. “I can’t wait either.”

“Four credits says it’s a girl.”

Poe laughed, grabbing your hand and turning off the kitchen light.

“You’re on.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #dad poe #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron reader insert #star wars fluff #poe dameron #poe dameron one shot #poe dameron imagine

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jingles--18 · 4 years ago

Text

Matt Casey x Kelly Severide (as dads) II

(not my gif)

Anna Casey and Quinn Severide, best friends since day one, trouble since their first prank.

Here you were feeling very tipsy after promising your dad that you wouldn’t drink at the party. You weren’t sure who encouraged who, but here you both were sitting on the couch laughing at lord knows what as both of your phones buzzed silently in your bags. Your dad dropped you and Quinn off at the party giving you both a final warning about drinking. You guys had made a plan to stay at your friend Lucie Halsteads house, who’s parents were out of town, meaning your parents would never know about your little drunken adventure.

“I hope they never ever find out,” you laughed as you took the final swig of your beer.

“Anna, they never let us have any fun, just relax okay?” And that was all you needed to hear.

The bright lights were blinding, which did not help the excruciating pain in your head. Your eyes begun to focus, making it very clear that you were no longer at the party or Lucie’s house, you were in fact in the hospital. Fuck.

“Oh honey, you look awful,” You would recognise Maggie’s voice any day, she was one of your many babysitters growing up.

“How much trouble am I in?” You asked sheepishly.

She sat on the bed, placing a hand on your leg, “Baby, I don’t know how you’re going to get yourself out of this one.”

You could feel the panick settling in, “What happened?” You asked almost whispering.

“You and Quinn ended up in here needing your stomachs pumped because you both got way too drunk,” she said, acting as if it was no big deal.

“Do my parents know?”

“Yes, Kelly and Stella are already here. Quinn has spilled all the beans unfortunately. We were all worried, Will did not enjoy having to resuscitate his nieces friends.”

You sat there in silence, not really knowing what to say when the door opened revealing a very hungover Quinn.

“Can I come sit?” She asked almost trying to avoid eye contact with Maggie.

“Of course,” you replied, welcoming your best friend.

“Right girls, I’ll leave you be,” Maggie have you both a warm smile as Quinn lay on your bed beside you.

“Bye Maggie,” you both said in unison.

“What happened?” You asked, turning to face Quinn.

She let out a big sigh, “We ended up playing beer pong but apparently Josh put tequila in all the cups so we got pretty wasted. Jamie Halstead was there to pick up Lucie and ended up driving us to the hospital, I don’t remember any of it. But he messaged me this morning. Mom and dad are pissed.”

“I’m just waiting on mine arriving,” you said with a defeated sigh, knowing that your mom would probably murder you.

You both lay in a comfortable silence mulling over the nights events when the door burst open and in walked your parents. Who looked pissed.

“Glad to see you’re alive,” your dad said between gritted teeth.

“Anna, what on earth were you thinking? You promised us you wouldn’t drink. That’s the only reason you got to go!” You could tell your mom was holding back her tears.

“Auntie Sylvie, we played beer pong which I know we shouldn’t have, but a boy called Josh had put tequila in all the cups without us knowing,” Quinn pleaded trying to get you out of trouble.

Your dad let out a defeated sigh, “Anything could have happened to you both, you know that right? If it hadn’t of been for Halstead you guys probably would have choked on your own vomit and we’d be sat in the hospital identifying your bodies!” He was shouting now, you could tell he was pissed because the vein on his forehead was pulsating.

“Dad, don’t be so dramatic-“

“Dramatic? I’m not being dramatic Anna, do you know how many times we’ve seen kids drinking go wrong? Too many times and I refuse to let you be one of them. Either of you.” He stormed out the room with a bang of the door which caused the tears that threatened to fall, to begin falling down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, lowering your head to avoid your moms stare. She quietly walked out leaving you both to sit in silence.

“We really fucked up didn’t we?” Quinn questioned as she repositioned herself on the bed.

“Yup,” you said popping the ‘p’. How were you going to fix this? You honestly had no clue.

“Can I come in?” A voice came from the door, it was Stella.

“Hey aunt Stella, listen i just want to-“

“I don’t wanna hear okay, you guys messed up, scared us to death. But you’re young and Lord only knows how many times I did it when I was younger. I just never got caught. We’re angry, but it’s only out of love. Now give me a hug you pair of riots,” she engulfed you both in her arms kissing you both on your heads.

Soon enough all four of your parents were stood in the room preparing to each give you both a lecture.

“Look, lets get you both home and into your beds. You both really scared us, I hope you know that. We’ve seen some bad things with our jobs and that’s why we may seem overprotective but we just want our girls to be safe okay?” Your uncle Kelly seemed a lot calmer now as you all walked out of the hospital with a wave to both Will and Maggie who both smiled, feeling thankful that you both were okay. Your dad however, was still pissed. He couldn’t even look at you which broke your heart.

It had been a few hours since you had left Chicago med and your dad still hadn’t spoken to you.

“Matt, go speak to her. I can hear her sniffling in her room. She’s clearly upset.” Your mom, Sylvie tried to reason with your dad.

“She completely disregarded anything we said to her and got herself into trouble. This is the consequence of her actions Sylvie.” He backfired earning an exasperated sigh from his wife.

“And you never got drunk when you were a teenager?” She asked, giving him a smirk.

He just laughed, “it’s not the same,”

“Why? Because she’s your daughter? Unfortunately she needs to make mistakes to learn from them babe, we’re here to guide her the best we can but ultimately she’s her own person and she’s growing up. You can’t punish her everytime you don’t want to accept that she is turning into an adult Matt.”

He knew fine well that she was right, he just didn’t want to admit it. When he laid eyes on his baby girl he promised himself that he’d never let anyone or anything harm her. He knew the teenage years would be difficult, for both his children, but somehow it was easier to let Ryan be a bit more adventurous than his baby girl. But that wasn’t your fault.

“I’ll go speak to her,” he sighed as he got up out of the seat and headed up to your room. He walked quietly up to your door and his heart broke at what he heard. You crying into your pillow. So he knocked pulling you away from your sobs. You looked so vulnerable lying in your bed clearly hungover and tears falling from your eyes.

He walked in without a word and sat beside you on your bed, placing his arm around your shoulder to pull you into his chest. Where you felt the safest. He remembered all the times he had tucked you into bed with a story and how you had fallen asleep in exactly this position.

You cuddled right into him and let out a sob, “Dad, I’m so sorry,” you cried out, feeling all the emotions from the last day relieve from your soul.

He kissed your head with a sigh, “I know you are baby, I know you are,” You both ended up falling asleep in that position and stayed like that until morning when the smell of pancakes woke you both up.

#chicago fire imagine #chicago med #chicago pd #onechicago #chicago fire #mattcaseyfluff #mattcaseyimagine #mattcasey #mattcaseyoneshot #matt casey fan fiction

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vidalinav · 4 years ago

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Cassian’s Love is Warm (4/4)

Summary: Nesta’s recovery in the Illyria and her developing relationship with Cassian or the part where it all comes full circle.

Links: AO3, Fanfic.net, Nesta’s Love is Quiet Chapter List, General Masterlist

All of you knew how this was going to end so don’t @ me.

Essay of an Author’s Note on the bottom (Please read)

Nesta comes home with three broken ribs and a sprained ankle and Cassian has to stop himself from adjusting her coat every time she breathes. Margery, it seems, makes a fine soldier.

“How did this even happen?” He asks, his voice a tightly wound string. He places a hand gently on her forearm guiding her past the living room and the pictures that wink and wave beyond their control. The glaze in her eyes saying too much.

“Training near the cliffs is not a good idea.”

That’s exactly what Margery tells him when he arrives in the med clinic hours earlier, his heart thumping loudly, a pounding in his head telling to hit everything in sight. She is lying on a cot, the near identical glazed look staring back at him.

It’s the tonic, Margery explains. A special mix of willow bark and poppy fluff that would make Nesta loopy for a while, but not feel a thing. When he asks her how she’s holding up, Nesta merely smiles, one-side of her lips raising while she leans her head against the wall. He takes it as a sign that the tonic is working

Cassian swallows the urge to grumble as the healer takes forever to appear, mumbling to the room that she should set her priorities straight and heal patients. But the healer, probably having her fair share of encounters with overbearing fae males, is quick to hold up her hands as she enters the tent, her voice assertive as she explains.

She needs to take this every few hours. Plenty of sleep, perhaps a warm bath, and absolutely no training. Cassian memorizes the list. He ignores the part where she says she’s fine, because only time will tell and the fact that she’s fae means nothing when she is sitting there in a daze, having obviously been hurt only hours before.

Nesta says he’s being dramatic.

Cassian can’t deny the claim. He only knows that as Nesta shuffles towards the chair in the dining room, she sits extra slowly, wincing as she twists in the seat. Even breathing seems to hurt her, and Cassian unconsciously holds his breath. Sympathy pains, he thinks, not some slight pull on a string they have barely acknowledged.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, anxious to do anything that is not standing their awkwardly, hoping that she will tell him where it hurts and what to do about it.

Nesta shakes her head. Cassian huffs in frustration.

“I can make you food.” He suggests, but Nesta merely lays her head on her arms and closes her eyes.

Cassian has to stop himself from touching her. He wants to run his hands through her hair, to pat her head until she leans against his palm, to hold her until she’s fast asleep and even then he swears he wouldn’t let her go.

He does none of this of course.

“Leave me alone.” He hears, the sound muffled by her sweater. Cassian taps his foot on the ground, the impatience getting the better of him.

“No.” He asserts. Nesta lifts her head, glaring at him with that look he’s seen a million and two times. If Cassian wasn’t so worried, he would have laughed outright. “Not until you’re better. After that you can kick me out of the house, toss me in the mud, throw me all the way back to Velaris. But not until then. Not until I know you’re okay.”

Nesta sighs and Cassian wants to continue arguing—listing all the ways she can dismiss him entirely, but she puts her arms out as if to say carry me and Cassian all too readily obliges.

He ends up setting her down on the cushioned mattress, pulling the duvet up and over. Her hair tangling with the silvery blue, but he doesn’t comb it like his fingers ache to do. Instead, he rushes to get her a glass of water and another drop of that healing tonic, which she swallows with a twist of her mouth.

Cassian waits until her eyes droop, until they close, until her hand goes slack on the glass, that he carefully unfolds and sets on the counter. He places her hand on her stomach and pretends that her skin doesn’t feel as soft as silk or that she doesn’t smell like aching dreams and heartache.

He wants to stay but he doesn’t.

Because it’s intrusive? He asks himself. Because it would mean too much, his heart answers back. Because there’s something about her that makes him want to be soft. To tuck away all the cares of the past, fluff every pillow, ridding them of the melancholy woes and the hopeless nights, gathering the quilts until they sit on top of both of them. Nothing but sweet dreams and lavender smiles.

But it is all a dream, he thinks. Nothing more than that… The two of them, just a collection of everything he has taken for granted, a mere reminder of everything he could possibly regret. There is no them, there is only her and him. Two separate beings tied by a war-tangled history and childhood sorrow.

Pain recognizes pain. Anger recognizes anger. That’s why he is pulled towards her, not some invisible string barely knotted. It is not because gazing at her is like waking up and finding he is young again. Not five hundred years filled with wars and scars too match, but the insatiable desire to learn and relearn and learn some more. Everything new and bright.

Every color of discovery is hidden behind her eyelids, and Cassian wants to wake her up. Wants to shake her, jumble her clothes, mess with her perfect hair and her perfect pin-straight spine, and ruffle the perfection out of her and strangely… Cassian wants her to yell at him for it, wants her to get so mad that she’ll explode like those distant stars behind him. He wants to see her purse her lips as if sharp teeth will shred him into two, wants those eyes of hers to pierce his soul, seven shades of grey and blue starlight.

Cassian wants her to tell him those things he hears in his dreams. Not the laughs or the breathy moans, but the trembling, fiery words that have his knees melting to the floor.

Bastard... Nobody… Weak. Coward. Not worth the time. Never good enough. It was all the same to him. He’d heard the words enough times to brush them off quickly, but not from Nesta. Not in the way that mattered.

Cassian wants to hear them from her now… wants to stop dreaming strange, improbable dreams.

He walks away to keep himself—to keep his hands—from causing such a raucous.

Cassian goes to stand in the living room and waits, past the loveseat and the cushions, past the pictures judging him as he paces. He huffs on his way to the kitchen, pulls out a pan and then puts it back into the cupboard. Opens the cabinet, takes out bread, makes a sandwich. It tastes like sawdust in his mouth and he plops it back down on the plate.

He starts moving the furniture as a last act of desperation. Cassian hates moving the furniture and Nesta is never satisfied. She says it’s because they’re missing something, and she can’t quite put her finger on what. And though it’s originally Cassian’s idea, he merely replies that he has better things to do than spend hours comparing how the couch looks against each wall.

Truthfully, perhaps it isn’t in him to make homes out of war zones or pretty things out of bones and blood. Scars don’t decorate the living room as easily as they do his body and the house was never really his home. Just a skeleton structure with tattering walls and worn wood. Never with a mat at the front door saying welcome, how have you been, stay a while. He has never been welcome here.

The house isn’t like that now, he thinks, a fact that makes Cassian smile as he tosses the throw pillows aside. He lays his head against the soft grey of the couch, looking out into that big picture window. Nesta could read there, he thinks. He imagines her feet tucked in, the light playing with the color of her hair, her eyes, the book open and wide as Nesta devours it. The dust of snow in the background. Maybe he’d be sitting across from her, watching her eyes scan the pages, or maybe he’d be in the kitchen, a savory fragrance drifting through the house like dawdling clouds.

Cassian shakes his head to stop the dreaming, his feet firmly planted on the burgundy carpet and not out in that burgeoning yellow sky dusted with powder blue. She won’t like it here, his mind keeps repeating, taunting and tantalizing all the ways Nesta can say I hate you in looks. She won’t need them when she can say it so well…

Though, Nesta’s never actually said the words. Good morning, yes. You idiot, most definitely. You brute, his favorite. But never, I hate you.

She could, though, and that scares him most of all. The idea that she can change her mind like he is merely a paint color or some bunched up fabric tossed aimlessly on the bed.

What if… what if he opens the door, lets her move in, change all the furniture, move it around, a plant here, a clock there, some pretty pictures on the wall, and she walks out no worse for wear, ready to leave it all behind? What if he is so easily left behind? Not even worth a memory. Not even called a mistake. Just a moment in an enduring lifespan, so long-lived that every choice could mean someone else. Something else that is not him.

And, maybe, that’s why Cassian doesn’t tell her that he misses her every time she leaves, that he stores conversations in his brain so he can recount them to her later, every part of his day filled with will Nesta laugh at this? What will Nesta think about that? Such joy in revealing himself like filling in lines, coloring in glass, until they all but gleam in the morning sun. Something holy and sacred in the fragments.

Something breakable.

Cassian once wishes for more time and here it is. He spends it wringing his hands and running his fingers through his hair, mulling over the thousand different shades of Nesta Archeron. Not yellow, because it doesn’t hurt to look at her. Not green because her age never correlates with that smart mouth of hers and the wit that keeps him roaring. She could be purple because his skin always aches after touching her. Possibly blue, but not the blue that hides pools of mystery, that pulls and lures and drowns, but the light blue that he looks up to every morning, the color his wings and heart yearn for. Baby blue like forget-me-nots and bright eyes.

Eyes that she could look down at him with, he thinks.

Cassian sighs frustrated, picking up a pillow that presses uncomfortably at his side. The room feeling small as his thoughts abound around him, leaping past like dancing shadows. He can’t sit still. Not when his soul feels as if it will jump out of his body and find someone more stable minded.

Cassian looks around him. So many fragile pieces, so many happenstances…

Nesta is right when she says something is missing. Cassian feels it too.

He stares out that window where the light filters through, imagines their lives in this house. Pictures the coy looks, the surprising smiles, the way they move around each other, some pull from the pit of his stomach to the bottom of her bodice that keeps them coming back for more. Never far from each other, his arms reaching for her. Always reaching— Their noses almost touching.

And maybe…

They knock into a bookshelf or two in their effort to get closer. Run into a coffee table on their way to the couch. Maybe they don’t even make it, maybe they just fall into the small chair in the corner, Cassian careful not to knock the book that is perched on the arm. He can imagine the sharp look Nesta gives him when she thinks he’s lost the page, his own answering smirk when he sets it carefully on the table.

Perhaps, the ice on the window makes them cold, but instead of pulling the blankets out where they rest on the back of the chair, they scramble to meet. Every inch of their skin touching the other, wanting to make each other warmer. Softer. Infinitely more pliant—

Cassian is almost afraid to blink as he sees it all. The room awake, the fire roaring and loud.

He knows what’s missing. He wants to laugh at how obvious it is.

When Cassian enters her room, Nesta is sleeping soundly. Her chest moving steadily up and down. Some part of his brain whispers creep, but Cassian can’t help but stare. Not because she’s beautiful—she’s always been too beautiful for words or quick glances—but because a possessive part of him, the part that’s buried in the middle of his chest, squeezes like a tight fist and says here she is, in our house, in our room, in our bed. She is not afraid of us.

She is not ashamed of us, it says, and Cassian breathes in the words. A deep inhale of possibility as he steps closer, pulling up the blankets she’s aimlessly pushed away.

But, Cassian is quick to step back as he catches his actions. His hands curling at his sides. He is not here to dream, he thinks. Not here to ponder on what might have been or what can be if he ever finds the guts to stop living in fantasies.

Instead, he zones in on the bookshelves tucked into the corner, framing the walls like studious soldiers standing proudly erect. They are tall, a little past his height. Cassian wonders how Nesta can reach the highest shelves for she has filled them all. He laughs under his breath as he sees her trying.

Nothing ever could stop an Archeron sister.

But, Cassian is careful as he collects each book, laying them down on the chair that sits beside it. He counts them as he goes. Twenty turning to thirty turning to fifty in mere moments. How she can read all of them and still want more, he cannot understand.

Once he is finished, he takes the edge of the shelf in his hands and shuffles it forward. Cassian hears a clink from behind.

A picture frame falls to the floor…

Cassian is quick to grasp it, cutting himself where the glass cracks in the corner, but he can pay no mind when he sees the image. The blood welling up in the space between stars.

It’s the two of them.

Her and him. Imagined with such soft smiles, and something in their eyes he doesn’t want to name.

Cassian wants to cradle the picture to his chest, hide it before Nesta can see. He spares a quick glance in her direction, but she is not standing over him ready to snatch it from his hands. He doesn’t think he could let it go now even if she demanded it.

Cassian traces his fingers along the image and wonders if it is possible to jump in the frame and ask the two of them a thousand different questions. All of them bordering on improbable. An impossible dream.

How do you love when you do not know how to love?

He swears he sees their mouths move, their voices loud and bright.

Love the best you can.

Nesta pads to the living room, her body aching as she makes each step. She rubs her eyes and yet when her hands move from her face, Cassian is undoubtedly there.

She can’t help the soft smile that appears. It has been easier to smile lately, and Nesta isn’t concerned about how foreign it might look across her face. He is there. He has always been there.

But, the living room is new.

And as Nesta uncovers all of it’s secrets, Cassian’s grin widens satisfied.

Her bookshelves frame the window and the armchair sits to the side. The couches mirror the fireplace, roaring and loud, and all of it works somehow. Like it never has before. Cassian moves around her as she moves along the walls, tracing her hand over the soft fabric and eventually over the books that sit unperturbed by the light of the sun.

Cassian doesn’t say anything, but he stands behind her as she peruses the living room, her gaze going up to the hanging lamp and the chandelier they picked out all those weeks ago. It glimmers blue and green and leaves triangles on the white oak coffee table as it sways.

Her presence is all over this place. She is in every pillow, and every book, and every candle that litter the tables. Every color, every sound, ever touch…

Cassian is there too.

Little accents of fur and Illyrian suede and weapons that hang neatly on the rack. He is there and she is there and together there is place for both of them. It makes her heart clench to think this is hers and her eyes start to burn as she clutches her chest.

She turns to face him, expecting warm looks and soft embraces.

She’s met with a frame instead…

Nesta wants to claw it out his hands. Like some secret buried and never forgotten, rising from beneath her feet.

Her eyes begin to water as she stares, Cassian watching for bolting signs or some feral vindictiveness ready to storm and rage out of her. Her hands scrunch into fists and she can feel herself reaching, ready to fight for her last instance of security. Danger going off in her head like loud cymbals.

The two of them blink back at her in the frame. Wide-eyed and innocent.

“Why do you have that?” She asks. Cassian hikes up the image, his eyes rolling over its structured planes as he contemplates her question. Her voice a soft drum compared to his roaring silence.

“I found it.”

“Were you sneaking through my things?” She can hear the shrill yell like an echo in her ears. Distant. As if she were holding onto the moment by bare hands as the anger threatens to pull her away. Some distant winds already grabbing hold of her feet.

His nostrils flare, ready to argue, but Nesta steps back, holding her hands up as she reaches for her neck, swallowing a whole universe of shame and hot, fiery words.

Cassian follows. Down a rabbit hole, an abyss of unsaid feelings, tripping over himself as he reaches for her.

“I want this too.” He vows. His eyes wide and shining. “I want this more than you know.”

Nesta shakes her head, her back and chest sore. The pain getting worse as she breathes deeply, as if she can’t breathe at all. Like she’s already drowning, and no more air can reach her lungs.

“You shouldn’t have seen it.” She croaks, trying to force out the words. “You weren’t supposed to see it.”

Cassian rushes forward, his hair floppily landing across his face. His arms outstretched as they stop near her, curling back like withering vines and roses that fall at their feet.

“I can’t take it back,” He admits. To her. To himself. To the quiet walls that hold their breath. To the sleeping books all around them. To the people in their picture who do nothing but smile as if nothing at all is wrong with the world.

Nesta doesn’t snatch the picture away, but she closes her eyes, places her palms where stars start to form behind her eyelids.

“I want this.” He repeats and the words do nothing to calm that restlessness she has learned to embody like a second skin.

“You’ve said that already.” Nesta huffs, her movements careful as she wraps her arms around her middle, her hands clutching her dress. All of it giving too much away.

But, Cassian moves gently, steadily, carefully as he places his hands on her shoulders, moves them until he cradles her neck, her head titling to look up at him.

She can see it in his eyes—the familiarity.

She doesn’t have to hide with him. He knows.

Cassian knows what it feels like to wear pain as a fur coat, to collect anger like sticks thrown in a fire that spits and glares. All of it to keep them warm when their hearts have been buried under rock and ice and rain. When they have no home to return to, no roof over their heads, no family to burrow into. Nothing but soft winter nights and harsh winter words.

Nesta still has to remind herself that it’s spring and she wonders if Cassian will put up with her bitter frost in spite of blooming May’s… if he will still want her in the sunny July’s.

“You and me,” Cassian says as he sets his forehead on hers. “I want this more than anything.”

Nesta shuts her eyes, bleeding stars erupting behind. A mixture of snow and petals sprinkling down. Down. Down.

“Do you want this too?” She hears him whisper.

The smell of firewood burning reminds her of February forests and she buries her face into his chest. Squeezing him tighter as she hears the distant crackling in her ears. Sticks thrown into the fire and readily forgotten.

It is time to do more than burn, Nesta thinks. It is time to be more than frost.

“Yes.”

Nesta is not proud that she can beat them. She is not proud that her fists can be made into flames and her mind into an undisputable weapon. She is not proud that her enemies can grovel at her feet, or that she is safe from all of them.

When the sword in her hand shines like a mirror, she sees who she is. It is not a little girl with bloody hands. Not a young woman scared and alone. It is not a fae who doesn’t know where she belongs. It is simply, Nesta.

For whatever it’s worth. Whatever it costs.

There is nothing truly special about her at the core. Reduced to the literal, she is merely a human heart in a fae body, but beyond that she is just a person. Someone who thinks and feels and cries and laughs and sometimes regrets her life and circumstances, but she is not the only one who dreams.

And just like the others, she is strong. Weak, but strong.. and willful, often. Arrogant and pathetic. Uninteresting… humorous… even disastrous at times. Sometimes beautiful.

She is capable, Nesta affirms.

She is lovable.

Even if that word has never been one to describe her, even if that is only one part of who she is. She is loved, and she loves, and she is not ashamed.

Even so…

Love is not enough she thinks, as she rips open the envelope and out comes her sisters’ letter. Because the worst sound she has ever heard is the voice of Feyre telling her to leave, and the worst words she sees are the ones perfumed on the paper. Her eyes trailing the contents on the way to the kitchens.

Love has never been enough.

It is not enough in that little cabin. It is not enough when Feyre hunts. It is not enough when her father carries ships across seas. It is not enough when he falls to his knees, his head twisted to the right. The blood pooling like spilt paint.

It is certainly not enough when they ask her to come home, because they do. Elain first and Feyre following. She sees it in their handwriting, a joint letter this time, and Nesta wonders why they keep trying. What about her is so appealing?

Love is certainly not enough, now.

Nesta contemplates this as she rushes to Emerie, whose unloading a bag of flour that is half her size. Nesta grabs one end, Emerie at the other, and they both lug it to the corner, the bag flattening on the dusty floors.

They exchange greetings as Margery walks in, a long sword attached to her side. It is their turn for chores and admittedly it is something that Nesta has learned to look forward to, if only because she gets to see them, twice a week.

“Do you plan on cutting carrots with that sword?” Emerie questions with a raise of her brow and a light tilt to her voice.

“And a nice rat, too, if we’re lucky enough to find one again.”

Emerie mockingly gags and Nesta smirks at her friend’s antics. She supposes it’s just the price they pay for living near a forest and being the easiest access to food.

Margery tilts her chin towards her, “How’s your back?”

Nesta raises both hands in assurance, seemingly touched by the subtle affection. “All healed.”

She means it, too. In fact, Nesta has never felt better. She awakes now with little more than a dream, not a wink of a nightmare, and yet… she thinks of her sisters’ letter weighing heavily in her pocket.

Is it love when they write her? She questions. Because Nesta thinks she knows what love is. This is love.

These females laugh with her, they talk with her, they value her opinion. She has never once felt belittled or uneasy and yet all she can think about is the fact that at any moment it can all disappear. Nesta is almost afraid to blink in fear that she has made them up in some half-intoxicated dream. That she’ll waken to her grungy apartment, the four locks clamped shut, pieces of glass shattered on the floor.

This is their fault, she rages. For leaving her in the middle of nowhere when she was falling a part at the seams.

“I’m surprised our illustrious commander didn’t gut me for the injury.”

“Cassian isn’t like that.” She answers, trying to swat away the feeling of betrayal as she focuses on her friends.

“Oh, it’s Cassian now.” Margery smirks, looking to Emerie as her eyes light up. “Not that one or him.”

Emerie adding, “or buffoon or that oversized bat.”

“Yes. Yes.” Nesta concedes, grabbing a ladle hanging from the wall, and giving them a dry look. “He’s all of those now.”

Margery huffs a laugh, going into her routine of ranting about her week. Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. She starts with Lord Devlon making her do drills to prove herself.

“If I have to do one more drill, my legs are going to fall off.”

“You’re still training?” Emerie asks and Margery sits in a chair at the table, leaning back as she places the sword and the harness all over the countertops. Nesta wants to roll her eyes. Margery has never been one to embody domesticity. Even the simplest of chores is somewhere in the range of pulling teeth and all she usually does is shine the steel until it gleams.

In typical fashion, Margery takes out a cloth and a bottle of polisher she’s conveniently stashed away. Emerie gives Nesta a look. Of course.

“The Rite is going to come up faster than you think, and there’s no way I’ll survive if I don’t get prepared.”

“You’re competing?” Emerie asks and Nesta supposes it would be surprising, given that Emerie never trains and straight up refuses when asked. She wonders if that’s also why they make good friends.

Margery merely shrugs, “If they let me.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Well,” Margery explains, her lips pursing, “then I guess I’m just going to have to go by Marco for a couple of weeks…”

Nesta blinks back in surprise.

“Or Jeremiah. Maybe Claud?” Margery jokes.

Emerie does not laugh and Nesta can’t tell if admiration is hidden in her eyes or something more akin to horror.

For Nesta, Margery is bold and Nesta has never been so bold as to demand what she wants. She wonders if she even can, if she has the ability to go against the choice people make for her—the life that people want for her and all of the roles that come with it. Mother knows, she’s never shown satisfaction, but Nesta has never spoken the words allowed. I don’t want this, she wants to say.

In fact, she admires both of her friends. One for running at the target headfirst and the other for refusing the target entirely. She could only wish to be half as brave as they are and though she is stubborn and angry and crass, Nesta always, always gives in.

“Personally,” Emerie starts, “I don’t understand the appeal of wreaking havoc in the mud.

“Why have the Rite anyways?” She questions, looking to Nesta.

She doesn’t voice her opinion and it’s a topic Emerie has been vocal about before.

Her lack of response doesn’t deter Emerie though, and Nesta thinks it’s because she finally has people to say it to. No one in their little group will judge her for it or kick her out into the snow and mud. No one except for Margery on occasion, whose will to fight sometimes outweighed her reasons.

“Why must fighting be the only things we’re known for like some war mongering peasants?”

“We live in a war camp.” Margery mentions casually, giving Nesta a look.

“Exactly, my point,” Emerie sifts, pointing her index to Margery who lounges and Nesta who tries to at least finish peeling the potatoes. “Why must we live in war camps, will we be at war for the rest of our lives? Will we be bearing sons just for them to die who knows where, for a cause that seems useless in comparison?”

“Do I have to mention that you make a living off selling weapons to these war mongering peasants or are you going to negate that in the next speech?”

“I could make a living doing anything,” Emerie scoffs. “I could quit right now and become a cobbler. You try and stop me.”

Margery snickers at the image, and Nesta can’t say she sees it either. But she refuses to mention how unlikely the possibility is, when just a year ago, Emerie is nothing but a daughter at the hands of her father, in search of some well-off husband. Just like her.

It’s just their life, she thinks. Is it so wrong to be the person people expect? Is it wrong to give in and get over it? All of their potential stored in their wombs and their breasts rather than the edge of their minds and their viperous tongues. Is it wrong to be a liar, when lying is taught at such a young age and rewarded with a wealthy life and six children? Did she want the wealthy life and six children? Is that the choice she gives up by becoming fae?

Is that choice she blames the world for?

“Who likes fighting anyways,” She exasperates, her voice rising as Emerie shifts to Nesta, her eyes bright and burning. “Do you like fighting?”

Nesta pauses at the words. Margery stopping her incessant need to see her knife shine like emerald seas and diamond-shaped skies.

She has been asked this question before. Nesta remembers it well.

It has been so many months… so many different Nesta’s before, each worn like a set of costumes and painted faces so that she could be tolerable. Easily chewed and swallowed.

Does she truly enjoy fighting?

Is the answer easy to digest?

Nesta takes a deep breath, looking towards the knife in her hands and the peelings littering the table like bodies in a battlefield.

“I like—I like that when I work hard, my muscles ache and it feels like proof that I did something. Does that make sense?” Nesta taps her fingers on the table, a nervous tick as Emerie nods. “I like that I get to spend time with people—with you all—when before I had no one.”

She clenches her fist around the hilt as she pauses. Her mouth having trouble finding the right words, or rather the ones that don’t yell at her to be said. Her throat burns and she gulps them down, but Nesta is tired of keeping her mouth shut, when all she needs to do is whisper.

“But, I don’t think I like fighting. The act…or the concept. I… sometimes, just… can only see the war.” She turns away, refusing to look at them, “I see the bodies and hear the screams… and I see it all. And I feel it all. And I just want to shut my eyes.” And Nesta does so as she speaks, the horror an echo in her memory, in her ears as it rings and rings and rings.

“I just want it to stop, but it’s the only thing keeping me awake. And I can’t lose myself again. I can’t.”

Emerie shifts towards her and Margery leans closer, setting down her sword on the bench. Nesta shakes her head, holding a hand to her throat, her body shaking.

“I’m afraid that if I stop, everything will go back to the way it was and I won’t be me anymore… and I won’t feel anymore… and I’ll be alone again.” Nesta hides face with her sleeves, “I don’t want to be alone.”

She trembles at the thought of them denying her for her weakness, but Emerie merely shuffles the potatoes away from her, placing the bowl on the counter. She comes to sit beside her, taking the knife from the table, sticking the tip into its wood. Nesta counts each twist.

“My father died in that war,” Emerie admits, looking to the floor even as she clenches her fists. “And I am happy that he did. I know I should be ashamed of such things, but I’m not. I couldn’t even cry.”

She drops the knife and places her hand on top of Nesta’s and her eyes widen in surprise.

“I don’t want to be alone either… So don’t fight if you don’t want to.”

Nesta sniffles, but nods, wiping her eyes where they’ve teared up without her permission. Emerie snaps her fingers and Nesta looks up quickly.

“In fact, come with me to the shop today. It’s not interesting work, and I can’t pay you much…or at all really,” Emerie trails, “but you could help me in the shop. I have to go to the blacksmiths today and I’ve been designing some of my own pieces if you’d like to see.”

Nesta agrees because it’s another choice she’s been granted, and Nesta can count on one hand how many she’s been offered over the years.

She stands to grab another bowl and get on with the chores that need to be completed before anything else can begin. This one is filled with cabbage; the green leaves dusted with mud. But, Margery grabs her arm, tugging lightly. A shadow passing over her face.

“My brother. He came home last spring and he still hasn’t looked any of us in the eyes. I like to imagine I know what he went through, but I know I never can. I want to learn to fight, so my brothers don’t have to…”

Margery stares, the conviction heavy in her eyes. “Never again will I let them go alone.”

She releases her hold, but Nesta can’t stop staring. Her gaze following as Margery moves to pick up the sword again, stepping to parry and swing in the small room. A true warrior, not because she can fight, but because she chooses to fight for the people she loves. The people who mean something to her.

It is enough to write her sisters.

They’re drunk on fairy wine, Nesta admits, as she stumbles out the doorway of the tavern and Cassian trips on the skirt of her dress.

“And that’s how I got banned from the Summer Court,” Cassian finishes, his cheeks red and his smile bright with intoxicated glee. “You see, it wasn’t my fault at all.”

Nesta gives him a look.

“It wasn’t!” He offers incredulously and she laughs at the face he makes, his cheeks flushed and bright red.

The air feels cool as they slow into a steady pace away from the tavern, the sky filled with specks of color. The mountains outlining constellations while all the stars are lit like a city in the clouds. She understands why this is the Night Court.

Cassian wraps her scarf around her shoulders as the wind picks up, and Nesta doesn’t tell him she doesn’t feel cold. Only clutches the fabric closer to her chest.

“Tell me something about your life before.” He says, his shoulders touching hers. In fact, there hasn’t been a moment where he hasn’t been touching her. Hands clasped, thighs brushing, fingers combing through her hair. Lips against lips are only one fraction of the ways the two of them can show affection, she learns.

“My stories are not as exciting as yours,” Nesta replies, settling into quiet contemplation. Too silent for a beautiful walk in the night.

Cassian glances at her, encouraging. “I want to hear them anyways.”

So, she tells him.

She tells him about the lessons. The governesses, the days her father wasn’t there. The brand-new piano he bought her when he missed her eighth birthday. How her mother was strict and frivolous and demanded perfection from her and how Nesta never was the daughter she wanted. She tells him about the sickness—that it took her mother quick and her father was never the same but that Nesta had never loved him the same after that too, because it was the first time he had failed her and it wasn’t the last.

She tells him how he lost everything and how the debt collectors came and broke his leg, Feyre watching while she ran upstairs with Elain. How after that, her father stopped being anything…stopped being alive. Her mother had died on the outside and her father had died on the inside and Nesta died with them because at some point she’d wanted to die…or felt like she was.

“I still love them now,” Nesta says, contemplating the lunacy, “even if they’re gone. I don’t know why. But I do.”

She shakes her head, her hand swiping over the side of her face, pushing the hair out of her eyes. “I remember hating them even as I loved them and now… I can’t even remember how. I can imagine it, but I can’t feel it.”

The stars flicker in specks of gold and silver and Nesta watches as they brush against the painted sky. How many do exist across the universe? She wants to know. That light up solely so someone can dream, and someone can wish, and another can fall in love. How many times does she herself, dream that things are different? How many times does she look up and wish?

“Do you think you’ll ever forgive them?”

Nesta turns her head, Cassian’s eyes never leaving the planes of her face.

“My parents?” She asks.

“Your sisters,” He clarifies, his face grimacing as he catches his breath, “Rhys… Amren… Azriel, Mor… me.” He finishes lamely.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She lies.

Cassian scoffs. “I told you I didn’t understand why your sisters could love you and then played an accomplice—guiltless, I thought—and dragged you here without your consent.”

As if nothing has ever been taken from me without my consent, she wants to say.

“Thank you for the recap.” Nesta admonishes, walking ahead. Cassian steps forward, trailing behind.

“I say it because I know it’s going to end. This—” He stops to gesture around them, to each other, “being here. I know eventually we’re going to have to go back and it won’t be just us anymore.”

“It was never just us.”

“It’s different being here. You feel it, too, I know. It’s…easier.”

Nesta crosses her arms, “For you—it was never easy for me.”

“But that’s what I mean,” his voice stressing the words, “after all of this—after it’s done and we go back home—back to Velaris, I mean, will you forgive us? Will you forgive us when we’ve hurt you so badly?”

“You’ve hurt me?” She asks, a thrumming anger settling in her stomach. She almost forgets what it tastes like but as it bubbles up her throat, Nesta remembers.

There you are, she thinks.

“We didn’t help you—I didn’t help you after the war. I didn’t know what you needed,” Cassian explains desperately. “And I was certain what you needed wasn’t me.

“But if I was there—if I had pushed—things might have been different. It might not have taken so long.”

“Taken so long for what?” She spits, “For me to become someone I still don’t want to be.”

Nesta paces exasperated, her hands planted at her waist, her fingers itching to point and to prod at Cassian’s chest. You did this, she wants to say.

But that’s an excuse and Nesta is tired of excuses.

“All of you think you have so much control over me. That I yearn for all of you, and as soon as I don’t get your attention, I’m dying or angry or sad.”

She faces him. Her spine going rod straight, her chin raised high.

“My pain is my own. Only I can fix it.”

The words settle in her stomach and Nesta is strange to find relief instead of that regret gnawing and chewing through.

There is an end to her pain. It isn’t out of reach and unattainable, always loading over her head and heavy across her shoulders. It is in her grasp… to change how she feels, to actively work against what causes her shame and anger and horrifying despair. It is in her control to be who she wants, to say what she wants, to feel what she wants. All others be damned.

There is no one to please, and no one to be but herself.

Every day she can choose to fight and not with a sword or a bow or some knife strapped to her thigh, but with her mind, her attitude, her will to live. Against those false and very real memories and the lies she keeps telling herself to sleep at night. She doesn’t need magic to see things differently. Just a strong-will and an unrelenting hope for something better. To dream in a land of make-believe and to love in a world that was all but hopeless.

Nesta is capable. She is proud. She is loved and she feels…so many things. Her life is messy, sometimes regrettable, but not unforgettable. She could do something with it. Make something of it.

And who are they to fix her like some broken doll, tell her what to do like some little girl?

She is not a child and she cannot be broken.

Cassian gently grabs her hand and Nesta unclenches her fist in his palm. How easy it is for him to calm her as much as it is to light her aflame.

The quietness settles around them. The hot summer sun turning to cool summer nights.

“I’m sorry I wasted time.” He rattles, his lips loose from the alcohol and the night that hides them in pockets of intimate darkness. He reaches his hand out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, but he pulls away fast, as if she burns him.

Cassian clenches his eyes shut and Nesta can see him questioning. All of the thoughts going through his brain and writing them across his face. But instead of denying her like she’s sure he will, he rushes to cradle her neck, tipping her head to meet his.

They’ve been in the position before.

Nesta remembers it well.

“You were worth the wait.” He says and Nesta’s eyes blinks at the admission, “not just these months… The 538 years. You were worth every minute and you’re worth every minute more.”

“You said you wanted time with me.” She says hazel meeting blue. Her eyes trailing to his lips without her permission.

“I meant every word.”

She glides her fingers along his and places her hands where they rest on her face and she leans into his palm as his thumb brushes against her cheek.

“Do you think we could start now?” She whispers.

Cassian grins. A bright look—one that she can see in the stars.

“I’m already yours.”

Their lips meet. They can’t help themselves. They sink into each other, arms entwined in arms. Crashing and pulling, like their hearts and their arguments—like their hearts are trying to argue if this is right. They plough into cabinets and walls, and distantly they can hear the shatter of glass and picture frames. The ones they chose together. It tumbles to the floor with the rest of their doubts. It is swallowed by the sound of their breathing. They don’t need to say anything; their tongues whisper all their secrets.

The door of her bedroom is both her friend and her companion, crossing its threshold seems matrimonial. Cassian gives her space, but she demands his body against hers, their figures making shadow puppet on the wall. Along with the rest of the house, the walls are decorated. The wood panels and cream-colored sheets protecting their attachment to skin and heartbeats.

Her hands grasp the bed sheets and he leans into her, breathes her in. She figures they’ve already become a part of each other, as sure as the fusion of metals and the weapons he pulls from his belt. They clash to the floor.

He pulls at her shirt and she tears the button off his, and their lips never leave the others, except to map the planes of their existence. They only separate long enough for their clothes to end up on the floor, nothing between them. Even their souls say it isn’t close enough.

Nesta bares her neck to him, Cassian looks at dip of her neck to her shoulder, the gravitational pull of her skin and her smell calling to him. She expects him to leave little bites and love marks, like that first time in another world across the wall, expects the roughness of his teeth and the scratch of his stubble. Instead, he leans in gently and presses a kiss where her heartbeat meets her skin. It is loud and tumultuous; it echoes his own.

She clasps their fingers together, and he places their entwined hands above her head, as he kisses down her body, until she is gasping and flying, her eyes trailing to the wings that expand above him. The deepest shade of black they shine indigo from the light of the moon.

Her distraction is his leverage and he kisses his way down her body. She gasps, and he pushes. He groans, and she pulls. They move together, slow at first, steady, turning into the untamable flames they knew thrived and burned long before they each existed.

Their lips only part to call out their names. Prayers in the darkest night.

Her nightmares sound like the voice of her sisters. Sometimes it the harmony of their demands—telling her she needs to leave. Sometimes, it’s their voices never even reaching her ears. Sometimes, it’s not her sisters at all. It’s her own. Her own sweet words that rupture and tear.

But in the morning, when her head is on his chest and he is tracing stars on her arms, she shuts out the voice in her head that tells her she doesn’t deserve this. That she will undoubtfully make a mess out of the love she cherishes and protects.

If her soul is a fire, she will burn their house to the ground. Their love turning to ash even before she can count the ways Cassian silently says, “I love you,” into her skin. A part of her is already burning.

“You’re sisters miss you; you know.”

She picks at the thread of the purple duvet and gulps the urge to roll her eyes.

“They’ll live.”

Cassian says nothing at her indignant response and Nesta helps him with little conversation. Instead, she chooses to indulge him between pattered sheets and fur. Distraction as much as a weapon as her mind and his sword.

Nesta doesn’t tell him of all the times she wishes her sisters are near, that she could talk to them and bundle into that one bed across the wall in a cabin she doesn’t want to remember. She doesn’t tell him either, that for many years she’s loved them more than herself, and even after all this time Nesta still never shows it well enough.

She loves them still, but she loves herself, too. Enough to know they are all better off and she wonders if this is what love means, to give up or to give in, and if any of those options are palatable. Easily swallowed.

They are not right in sending her off, and she is not right for letting herself get carried away. By both, her grief and her past. They’ve done wrong and she’s done wrong and they’ve altogether done so much wrong that she thinks they all must be monsters. Grotesque and inhumane and unfeeling. They all look like monsters anyways, down to every fae bone.

But it’s a small price to pay and Nesta prefers being called a monster over the fraudulency of her life.

So when Cassian pushes and pulls, Nesta would rather let go. Let her remain the witch, the bitch, the thorn in their side. Let them remain happily ensconced in Velaris allure with twinkling lights all about.

It makes no difference to her.

How are you, we miss you, we wish you were here. It’s not the same without you.

“Do you hate them for sending you here?”

You were killing yourself and we couldn’t watch. We’re doing this for you.

“I could never hate my sisters.”

Go on a date with me.

Why? We already slept together.

Does sleeping together mean I can’t take you on dates?

No. I just think it’s a little backwards.

We are backwards.

Yes, but a dates going to end up in the same place we started with.

Is that a no?

I didn’t say that.

Then, you will?

Ask me nicely.

Nesta Archeron, regardless of how much I will probably regret this, will you go on a date with me?

That wasn’t nice—don’t roll your eyes.

Say yes, please.

Fine.

So tomorrow then?

I said yes.

I know but I wanted you to say it again.

Your face is going to get stuck like that if you keep smiling so much.

Your eyes are going to fall out if you keep rolling them like that.

~~~

Nesta can’t escape the darkness. Like a lover, he grabs her hair seductively. Like a lover, he pulls strands out with his grip. Like a lover, he nibbles sweetly on her ear. Like a lover, his teeth sink into her flesh. Like a lover, he leaves a scar she can never get rid of.

~~~

Cassian holds her hand, gives her a rose. She chooses a dress made of fresh snow. The color reminds her of blood.

~~~

Sometimes, Nesta dreams of wars. Sometimes, she lives them.

There is no color on the battlefield. No death that floats above their heads. No face is familiar, but she thinks she sees her friends. All of them people she has met before.

Their banners mean nothing. Their weapons mean less. Death does not laugh, and they do not scream. She only hears grunts and shallow breathing. It isn’t just Illyrian men who serve. It’s Illyrian men and women and her, standing beside each other to protect their home.

In her dreams, Death is a villain. He is cruel and mean and arrogant. On the battlefield, Death is each and every one of them fighting for the chance to survive, to kiss their children good night, to build their homes, to wrap their lovers in their arms. Tightly. Softly. Locked in an embrace that not even death can sever.

Death does not mock her. It does not smile cruelly or kiss up her spine. There is nothing seductive in its kiss. It lives inside of her—disguises itself like a fae in wolf’s clothing, like lies in sweet words. It is dressed in her armor, with her sword in her hand, with sweat down her back. Like magic under her skin. Death, like magic disguised as fire.

It explodes like the rage she keeps inside of herself.

Explodes before it can even tell her its name.

~~~

Cassian holds her body. She chooses a dress made of roses. It reminds her of blood.

~~~

Cassian's love is as soft as rose petals and as dangerous as a wound. She hears his voice. Feels his hands, his soft breath against her forehead. Where she once feels nothing a pain blooms... and burns... and takes. Like hatred and anger in a once-human turned fae and the love between them both that leaves no survivors.

She thinks his love is something akin to fire, their love something that burns them both in the end... But perhaps it is sweeter and softer and more fragile than matches. Because, Nesta remembers. Nesta never forgets. And as she feels the subtle softness of his trailing fingers, the rough edge of his palms, Nesta thinks of all the ways that lead her back to him.

Cassian’s love is the books left outside her door. The pump of her heartbeat, the feel of skin on his, the hills filled with daisies and the flavor of life in every piece of pie. The color of strawberries and chandeliers and the people who laugh and smile and grimace and cry.

His love is the blood on her hands, the sun she sees outside, and the stars that wink and wave beyond their control.

Cassian’s love is the home wedged between mountains, where the fire is always lit.

Cassian’s love is a small flame.

It isn’t so difficult to choose the light.

The light is warm.

Tags: @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights , @missing-merlin, @strangeenemy, @saltydreamcollector, @midnightbluhm, @my-fan-side, @queenofillea1, @tswaney17, @gloriousinlove, @ekaterinakostrova, @thebluemartini, @anishake, @lord-douglas-the-third, @soitsgorgeous, @lolasjournal

(PLEASE LMK if you want to be tagged or you want to be not tagged or if you asked and I forgot)

AN:

Good enough (shrugs) I can’t fix it anymore than this.

I feel like I made this part complicated, but it was necessary. I wanted to tie in so many voices and ideas that came up in the beginning and I still didn’t want Nesta fully healed because there’s no such thing and I wanted Cassian’s POV and his to seem just as complex. SO it ended up being so long and so full. I hope it wasn’t so confusing to follow. But...

I have to say all of the comments I have gotten from this fic whether it was on tumblr or Ao3 or fanfic.net have been incredible and have made me feel so amazing, especially since writing on a regular basis is very, very hard to me. Sometimes, it feels like physical torture which is unfortunate because I absolutely love to write and to you know perfect the craft so to speak. Believe me when I say that this fic would have stopped after Nesta’s Love is Quiet without all of your encouragement. It means the world to me. <3 I am glad to belong to such a wonderful fandom who really likes to analyze these characters.

“Love is Bright Red, Hope is Dark Blue” the last part of this series, won’t be done for a while, if it happens at all. I have so many fics I have stopped writing on, but this is one of the longest goes I’ve had, so it’s going to be all about the timing, I suppose and the ideas that come up when I start really writing for it. I’m writing Queen of Monsters now and it’s a lot of the same ideas but with more plot and more characters and places and so on and I really want to get on that one.

Even my AN are long, so I’ll just stop here, but please like, reblog, kudos, or favorite for which ever platform you choose to read on, but mostly comment because again I just like talking to y’all and I want to know what you think and how these characters come across to you. Message me even, I’m lonely most days and I need more book friends.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acofas #acosf #acowar #nesta x cassian #cliw #vidalinav

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sirowsky · 4 years ago

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: Another day of side-effects where my head really hasn’t been in the game. But a little fun stuff to pass the time has managed to crop up.

So sorry for the tease ending... I blame the headaches.

Chapter 27

The Chef, Greg, had personally brought you extra leftovers during the five weeks you were living in the cell, training and learning about your abilities. He knew about your abnormal energy-consumption, and had become concerned when you never ordered more than a double portion of food, no matter how exhausted you were. So, he’d come to give you the leftovers one evening, and you’d explained that it felt like you’d be stealing from others that might need it, if you ordered six or even eight portions. After that, he’d begun saving all the leftovers every day, and bringing you that for the extra portions you otherwise wouldn’t have ordered.

“I may have to make Greg my Best Man.”

“He’d probably decline. He’s nice, but he does have standards.”

“Ouch…”

“He doesn’t know you, Cujo.”

“Okay, seriously, what is up with that?”

“It’s just an accurate description.”

“I am not a fucking dog.”

“Yes, you are. It’s just that, ordinarily, you’re a puppy. You just have that lovable puppy-face, with the eyes and the grin that can melt the coldest of hearts. And then, you bare your teeth and growl, and you look fucking terrifying.”

“I do?”

“Um – yes. Unequivocally – yes. It’s amazing.”

“Wait… you like my Cujo-quality?”

“I like that you have that side, when you need it. I like that it comes out almost exclusively to protect the things you love. And I have to admit that I like the fact that even the remotest possibility that William actually had tried something, elicited that kind of a response from you.”

“I was a little shocked at how strongly I reacted to that. Just the thought… I would’ve killed him, if he had. Not because you… belong to me. But because you were weak and unable to stop anyone that might have tried. Thank god William’s even more of a puppy than I am.”

“Will is more of a Greyhound.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know – sleek, effective, streamlined.”

“Okay, let’s just drop the whole dog-topic already.”

“And, just for the record – of course I belong to you. Ass-hat.”

He practically beamed at you.

“Ditto. Mama bear.”

You’d been talking while walking back from lunch, and when you got back to your office, Anita was there. Just standing in the middle of the room, with her signature scowl in full effect.

“Hi, mom. Wow, you’re actually in the office, it must be serious.”

“Fifty noise-complaints in the last hour – is serious.”

You both stopped smiling, and threw a nervous glance at one another, but she just huffed and turned to you.

“Have you had yourself checked out by medical, yet?”

“No… why would I…?”

“Because human beings don’t possess the biological imperative to breed, to the point where their libidos take control of their bodies.”

You had actually checked both your offices for cameras and microphones a good while back, and found nothing. And there weren’t any fucking flowers in your office!

“How the hell do you know that? Seriously… How?”

She just rolled her eyes.

“Get your ass down to medical. Now.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever it is, I feel fine now, which means they probably wouldn’t be able to detect anything abnormal, so I’m gonna finish my work for the day, and then I’ll go to medical.”

You walked over to your desk as you spoke, and as you sat down, you remembered something.

“And by the way, where you in charge of selecting my substitute while I was gone?”

“Yes. Petra wasn’t ideal.”

“You don’t say. If I’m ever gone for an extended period of time again, no one sets foot in my fucking office. Got it?”

“Did you just try and give me an order, loco?”

“I’m not trying anything. I’m telling you. No one.”

She threw you a kinda skewed smile and then turned around to leave. But as she crossed the threshold she stopped and looked back at you with pure steel in her eyes.

“4pm. If you’re not at medical by then, I’ll drag you there by your ear.”

“Try it. Please.”

She left and you sighed and looked at Marcus, who had sat down on the couch again, one arm draped over the backrest while he’d watched you take on Máma.

“Are you absolutely sure you feel fine? Because I’m all kinds of hot and bothered right now.”

“50 noise-complaints, Marcus. That’s half the damned building.”

“And like I said: fuck ‘em.”

“Please go away so I can think.”

“Only if you promise to call me the moment you feel any amount of craving. I’m serious.”

“You think I want to feel like that again? Of course I’ll call, and you’d better pick up. I don’t care if HQ’s on fire.”

“You have my word, famb.”

“You know, your list of nicknames is getting a bit ridiculously long.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started on the real one’s yet.”

“Real ones?”

“Prometida, esposa, amada, mi corazón…”

“Okay, okay, have as many as you like, jeez.”

“Which one’s your favourite?”

“You already know.”

He got up from the sofa and came over to kiss you before he left. His lips lingered long after the kiss ended.

“Hermosa…”

He was intoxicating. You put a hand up on his chest and pushed him away gently.

“Get out of here, gorgeous. Mama’s got work to do.”

“Oh, that’s mean. You know how I love it when you talk all husky like that.”

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

He walked away looking disappointed, but also kind of expectant, like he was looking forward to getting you back later. You smiled and shook your head after the door closed behind him.

You did get a lot of work done after that, and even if you were still miles behind from catching up to where you’d been 7 weeks ago, it still felt good to have gotten back on track. Especially on what had been possibly the weirdest day of your life. Which was saying something. Your libido stayed calm and behaved for the rest of the workday, but you did see Anita’s point in getting yourself checked over, and so you were planning on going to the med-bay. But at 3:30 you were working on your computer, looking up rare metals for an upcoming build, and you sort of stumbled over a site for wedding-rings. You were just gonna take a quick peak, scrolling through the various options, and getting progressively more worked up as you saw the price-tags. You were just about to leave the page and go back to work, when an ad in the corner popped up.

Wedding-dresses.

Fuck.

You clicked.

“If you thought I was kidding about the ear, you were sorely mistaken.”

You startled at the sound of her voice, and a puff of energy escaped you, sending papers flying everywhere.

“Thanks a lot, Anita. Why don’t you give me a heart-attack while you’re at it?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not my fault you were so engrossed in that screen you didn’t notice me. What were you looking at, anyway?”

Had half an hour already passed? You just clicked on that ad a second ago… And why was she looking at you like that?

“Just research.”

“Mhm. Let’s go.”

“Alright, just let me get these papers off the floor.”

As expected, since the event seemed to have passed, the medical exam didn’t reveal anything, and Anita seemed unnecessarily peeved about that.

“What are you so upset about? What exactly did you think they’d find?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Never mind, my ass. You all but dragged me to this exam, and now you’re disappointed. So, spill. What’s the deal?”

“I just hoped that maybe… you increased enthusiasm was…”

“Was…?”

“Alright, most women experience increased sensitivity when they’re pregnant. I just wanted to be sure.”

You sort of half froze midway through pulling your pants back on, and your hands involuntarily went to your abdomen.

“Oh… I never even considered…”

“I’m sorry, niña. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I’m not upset. God, I don’t even know what I am.”

You finished dressing and sat down on a chair, letting your head fall into your hands.

“Eight months ago, I was just a designer, going on a fucking vacation. Now, I don’t even know what the hell I am anymore, much less what to do. Every time I think I’m starting to get a handle on things, something else happens and I’m lost again.”

She tapped your leg with her cane, ushering you to look at her.

“What you are, is my son’s fiancé. My granddaughter’s adoptive mother. You’re smart, highly capable and stubborn, kind and caring, but abrasive when the situation requires it. You’re everything you need to be. And that’s all you ever really need to know about yourself.”

You drew a deep breath.

“Do you think he made the right choice? With me?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Thank you.”

You called Marcus to let him know how the exam had gone, and he was just about to pick up Missy, so since you had your own car you told him you’d race him home. But you decided to stop by Amanda’s house on the way. You wanted to talk to both of them, but her place was closer.

When you walked in at home, Missy was in the living room playing a video-game with Noodles, A Capella and Wild Card. It had been a while since she’d had any friends over, and you smiled when you saw how much fun she was having.

“Hey, Alma! Wanna see me crush these guys for the second time?”

“Any day of the week, angel, but I gotta talk to your dad right now.”

“Okay, suit yourself!”

You laughed and walked into the kitchen to find him opening pizza-boxes and distributing slices onto plates.

“Hey, sweetheart, sorry, this wasn’t planned, they just spontaneously asked if they could come over as I was picking her up.”

“Honey, why are you explaining yourself?”

“I don’t know… it’s just, with the weird day you’ve had and how you seemed a little down after the exam, I thought that maybe you weren’t quite in the mood for a house full of teenagers.”

“No matter how I feel, Missy’s entitled to enjoy herself with her friends. I would never wanna deprive her of that.”

“No, I know. I just worry about you.”

“Yeah, I do too, sometimes. But that’s usually when I remember I have you, and it all feels better.”

He smiled and asked you to help him carry out the food to the living room, and once you’d done that, you sat down at the dinner table to eat yourselves.

“So… I may have googled wedding-dresses today.”

He beamed.

“Really? Did you manage to narrow down any preferences? Don’t give me any specifics, by the way.”

“I did, I think. Or, at least, I found a lot of stuff I didn’t like, so I guess that helps. I don’t know, I feel like I need to see them, touch them, to actually get a sense of what I like.”

He beamed even more.

“I really like the sound of this. I’m sure Amaire would come with you if you asked.”

“Yeah, I kind of already asked them to, this weekend.”

He was fucking radiating joy at that point. He got up and took your hand, leading you to the bedroom and closing the door behind you. Then he reached into his pocket and fished something out. His smile turned just a hint of insecure, as he held up the ring he’d chosen for you. It was gold-plated steel, with a single row of small diamonds sunk into the centre of the band all the way around. A sturdy and solid piece that wouldn’t break or lose its shape. While you admired it, he started trying to explain his choice.

“I know you’re not much of a jewellery-girl, so I figured we’d skip the whole engagement ring plus wedding-band. You can wear it right away if you want and then just take it off before the ceremony, or you can wait and put it on then, either way is fine with me. That is, if you like it? If you don’t, we’ll take it back and you can pick something else. It just felt right as soon as I saw it. You’re not the frail silver band type of person, and I know you’d only get annoyed with a big rock getting in the way and getting caught in stuff. You work with your hands and so I figured something sturdy but elegant. I have a matching one just without the diamonds. Please say something before I pass out from oxygen-depravation…”

“I love it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

You both beamed.

“Can I put it on you?”

“You better.”

He slipped it on your finger and it fit perfectly. And for the first time it really sunk in that you were gonna marry this man. The love of your life. It felt like a really long time until the kids went home and Missy went to bed, with her headphones on.

“I totally forgot, we need to go bed-shopping, honey.”

“I don’t know, a mattress on the floor might be preferable until we know the extent of your ‘heat-situation’.”

“Mm. Good point. Although, breaking in a new bed is always fun.”

“Hermosa.”

“What?”

“Stop talking and get undressed. I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight @farfromjustordinary @allmyspideys @hrk-fic-recs @strawberryperegrine @lucrezia-thoughts @computeringturtle @sarahjkl82-blog

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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