#separated for so long and their first meeting being a gentle hand and a gun to his head

[joanofexys]

do I- do I talk about the twinyards vs Riko and Ichirou vs Riko and Kevin? or do I decide to not be a sick and twisted individual today?

[aneurinallday]

Green Eyes

Chapter 14: Quiet

Boxing Day passed in subdued fashion. The guests who’d stayed overnight left throughout the morning, the last stragglers lingering until lunchtime to take advantage of Thomas’s hospitality. Alec, who’d been eager to mingle during the party, mostly stayed upstairs, pleading a hangover.

When the last guest had gone, it almost came as a relief - Thomas no longer had to pretend to be in a festive mood. The decorations were taken down and returned to storage, but Grace’s portraits remained in the attic, shrouded in cloth. The walls stood bare. The house had fallen silent.

For the next week, it seemed that Alec was trying to spend as little time around Thomas as possible. He slept early every night and rose late every morning, and went on long walks through the frosty gardens with Clara toddling beside him or sitting on his shoulders. He’d used to spend hours reading in the library, regardless of whether Thomas was at his desk or not; but now he waited until the coast was clear so as not to disturb Thomas’s work. The piano sat unused, and no singing could be heard.

New Year’s Eve was barely acknowledged, and New Year’s Day was spent in separate areas of the house. But it didn’t take long until they started missing each other. The pain that they’d inflicted on themselves was fading, and little by little, they pieced themselves back together.

“It’s our first anniversary today,” Alec said during one quiet lunch.

“Is it?”

“Of our first meeting at the Arcadia. I remember.”

“You’ve been keeping count?”

“Yes, of course. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the night my whole life changed. How could I forget?”

Thomas didn’t smile, but his expression softened. Both of them were excessively careful in their interactions - Thomas was more polite than came naturally to him, and Alec no longer teased or flirted. Neither of them spoke of what had happened on Christmas night. Maybe Alec was afraid of bringing it up, or maybe he was simply tired of apologising for every wrong move. Thomas, for his part, didn’t know what to say, and so said nothing.

Alec began to play the piano and sing again - soft melodies that wouldn’t cause annoyance. They resumed horse riding, and Alec grew more comfortable atop Queen Boudicea, until he was able to trot without losing his balance. He had high hopes of being able to gallop through the meadows one day, like a cowboy in a motion picture.

Then the sex returned, albeit gentle and infrequent, just hands slipping under clothes. The trust had been damaged on both sides - Alec’s trust in Thomas and Thomas’s trust in himself - and they didn’t feel ready for ropes and blindfolds.

One night in late January, Thomas was woken in the middle of the night by the shrill metallic ringing of his telephone. Within seconds, he was fully alert - late-night phonecalls rarely boded well - and answered with a curt “Yeah?”

“Tom?” John Shelby’s voice came down the line. “Are you alone?

“Yes.”

“That boy ain’t with you?”

“No, he’s upstairs.”

“Good. There’s something I need to tell you.”

In his underwear, Thomas sat down at the desk, preparing for bad news.

“Go on.”

“You haven’t been to the Arcadia since your favourite whore stopped working there, so Arthur and I have been going instead, to keep up appearances. Cobb’s away on a business trip, so his man Bragg showed us around. Pulled us into a back-room and said he had valuable information pertaining to his boss. Said he’d be willing to part with it in exchange for a smooth transfer of Cobb’s assets to his name, including ownership of the Arcadia.”

“Bragg’s gunning for Cobb’s seat?”

“Looks like it.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him we’d hear him out.”

“You made that decision without me?”

“We wouldn’t have had to if you’d been there,” John retorted, “Anyway, he told us something interesting. Something about your whore, Green Eyes.”

“What about him?”

“He still works for Cobb.”

“We’ve been over this, John - ”

“No, Tom, fucking listen to me. He’s still on the Arcadia’s payroll. Cobb made a big show of throwing him out, but he was never officially fired. Bragg showed me the books as proof. He has a bank account under the name Alec Cobb, and he got a pay-rise when he moved in with you. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, and neither did Bragg, but whatever it is, I guarantee it’s bad for you.”

“And how do you know Bragg’s not a fucking liar?” Thomas demanded, “How do you know he’s not trying to start a war for his own benefit? If he wants Cobb out of the way, he needs a powerful ally.”

“Look,” John’s patience was wearing thin. “If it was anybody else, you’d be having him followed wherever he went. But because he’s pretty and sweet, you think he can do no harm? For fuck’s sake, Tommy!”

“I know Alec. I’ve known him for a whole year. We sleep together. We eat at the same table. He lets me hold his child.”

“So fucking what? For all you know, it’s not even his kid. Face it, he played you, Tom. He’s been playing you since the first moment you set foot in the Arcadia. Think about it! You’re fucking lonely, you’re grieving, your son barely talks to you, and suddenly a pretty whore with a sad story just drops into your lap? What are the fucking odds of that?”

Thomas said nothing.

“He gave you exactly what you needed: something new and shiny to make you feel alive again. To make you care. Open your fucking eyes, Tom!”

“But what’s the point?” Thomas finally spoke, “He’s not an assassin - he’s had every chance to kill me in my sleep and I’m still alive. He’s not a spy either - he never asks me about my business and I never tell him shit. Why bother putting him up to this?”

“Even if Bragg’s lying, it still needs looking into.”

Thomas leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple to try and suppress the headache that was already coming on.

“I bet you and Arthur have been having a good laugh, eh?” he said, “You never liked me and Alec together. From the very beginning, you’ve been against us.”

“No. If you think I enjoy being right, you’re wrong,” John said, “I know he meant something to you. I know you cared about him. I’m fucking sorry I have to ruin things. But you’re my brother and I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Right,” Thomas said tersely, “Thanks.”

“Listen. You don’t have to deal with him yourself. Arthur and I can deal with him for you. Do you want us to come over?”

Thomas didn’t answer. For a minute, he simply sat there, thinking, trying to process the depth of Alec’s betrayal and the depth of his own stupidity. Out of attraction and misplaced kindness, he’d allowed the young man into his home, into his bed, into his heart. And now Alec would need to be dealt with, the same way as every other traitor that had preceded him. With a razor and a bullet. It was a reality which Thomas couldn’t bear to contemplate.

And then he remembered.

“What about Clara?” he said. “What happens to the little one, John? I can’t send her to an orphanage. But I can’t raise her knowing that I’m the one who took her father away. She’d find out eventually. I’d hate myself and she’d hate me too.”

John sighed.

“I don’t know, Tommy. We’ll figure something out. But the kid’s not important right now. We’ve got our own family to protect, and she’s not part of it.”

Again, Thomas didn’t reply.

“...Tom?” John prompted him, “Are you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Tell me what you want us to do. Say the word and we’ll bring a war to Cobb’s doorstep.”

“No. I’ll call you,” Thomas said, and hung up.

The silence of the sleeping Arrow House beat against his temples. Rising, he walked through the darkened mansion to Alec’s room and found him fast asleep next to a book of poetry from Thomas’s library, wearing silk night-clothes bought with Shelby money, warmly snuggled between sheets that didn’t belong to him.

Thomas stood in the semi-darkness and stared down at his lover’s peaceful face. He considered how many nights he’d spent in Alec’s arms - too many to even count. What kind of person could sleep so soundly under his roof while deceiving him? Could gaze into his eyes and feign intimacy without remorse?

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and the movement of the mattress awoke Alec. Green eyes opened halfway and tried to focus on the dark shape of his visitor.

“There you are,” he mumbled. “I was waiting.”

Half-asleep, he reached out and stroked Thomas’s arm. He started to take Thomas’s hand, but was denied - Thomas pulled away. Too tired to notice, Alec smiled.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

“You breathed life back into me,” Thomas replied quietly.

Alec closed his eyes, and within moments, had fallen back asleep, oblivious to how completely and irrevocably his world had changed. Thomas continued to sit there and watch him sleep until he felt anger begin to simmer inside him, at which point he left.

Thomas was silent the next morning, but silence was such a cornerstone of his nature that it went unnoticed. Alec was his usual lively and light-hearted self, greeting Thomas with a kiss and filling the breakfast room with his benign chatter.

As Thomas observed him, he found himself questioning the authenticity of every mannerism, every turn of phrase, every facial expression - wondering whether the Alec he’d fallen in love with had ever truly existed, or if he was entirely a construct, a careful affectation designed to be pitied and adored.

When he looked at Alec’s smile, he wondered what schemes and plots were turning inside his head, and what would need to be done to extract them. Was Alec an unwilling instrument or a willing accomplice? Had he spent every day in fear, terrified that his secret would be discovered? Or had he and Cobb been laughing behind Thomas’s back all the while, smugly congratulating themselves at having fooled the great Thomas Shelby?

Being hasty wasn’t in Thomas’s nature. So he waited and watched, biding his time. Perhaps part of him hoped that Alec might suddenly succumb to guilt and confess everything - might redeem himself by a show of remorse. But he knew it was a useless hope. Alec had shamelessly lied to his face for a year. Why would he stop now?

“Can I have the car today, Mister Shelby?” Alec asked as he slathered butter and jam on his toasted crumpets, “I’d like to go into Birmingham and get some things.”

“We can take the train into London on the weekend,” said Thomas. “Better shops up there.”

“No, I prefer Birmingham. It’s my home.”

“Alright. Get money out of my dresser.”

“You’re always so good to me.”

Alec kissed him goodbye, unsuspecting, and went upstairs to get changed for his shopping trip.

Thomas was left sitting in a strange, indescribable limbo. He felt numb. The love had evaporated, but it was too soon for hatred, and he refused to entertain anger until he was certain of the facts. So he had nothing left to feel, as though the young man kissing his cheek was a complete stranger.

As the chaffeur collected Alec from the front door, Thomas stood at the library window. He half-expected to receive a backwards glance, but Alec’s attention was entirely focused on his plans as he climbed into the back seat, drawing his expensive coat tighter around him for warmth. Thomas watched as the black car pulled away down the gravel drive. Then he crossed the room to his telephone and dialled for John.

[nat-alianovnaromanova]

this is more bucky than nat but well whatever. freezer bride. i tried to be good am i no good. as the winter soldier he is simultaneously terrified of the black widow and desperate for her approval. he wants to be good for her.

only he is so very confused on what being good is! is it cleaning her guns for her or sharpening her knives or eating her out or watching her back or doing is as he is told like a good little soldier. he craves excess emotion from her - so fucking or fighting, because she is the only one he is capable of returning this excess for. the only one who shows it to him and demands it in return. and so he tries to be good for her -> wants to be hers because he ultimately conflates goodness with natalia. and again the goodness is not very well defined. goodness as is obeying her as in making her smile as in making her angry as in anything from her is better than the nothing he gets from the rest of the world. so he tries everything and anything for her. pathetically. he is a sopping wet losing dog for her

and nat also equates goodness to the winter soldier only she has a better understanding of goodness. goodness as in sunrises and his laughter and a strong fighter. but nat is exposed to the outside world more than freezer bride bucky so of course she arbitrarily gets the good vs the bad so while yes she does construct her happiness and ideas of goodness around him (she meets him when she is very young and he is the only person who meets her halfway. who wants her to be herself around him. he is a formative experience of her girlhood) she can still also rely on herself to some extent

and this is doubly expressed post-recovery (for nat post shield, for bucky post catws if were talking mcu timeline which ive kept track of better than 616 lol) where natasha’s growth and healing does not hinge on clint but bucky’s sort of relies on nat and steve. both of whom he sort of hates but wants to impress so badly. they are the only ones who knew him as good albeit in different ways which makes it very confusing and obviously results in tension but at the end of the day they each intimately know a separate part of him. bucky vs winter soldier. and obv sends bucky into a downward spiral where he is trying to be one or the other but mostly he wants to be good and worthy of them both

my point was. i tried to be good am i no good -> tell me what im doing is right. as long as i have your approval i am good only i dont know whether i want your approval or the goodness so i will seek both. i just wanted to be yours can i be yours -> lets not forget the winter soldier and the black widow are nastily emotionally codependent. this is one aspect that never ever changes. from the red room where they are each other’s first overt emotional experience. they meet again and again & it is amplified. it never goes away they rely on each other for love and gentleness and validation bc they learned skewed versions of those from each other and they fear they will never get it anywhere else. sort of like the blind leading the blind. my memory restricted to a polaroid in evidence -> post hydra bucky gives up on defining himself as good or bad and lets nat do it for him (not steve bc steve only knew him as fully good and so will always think of him as such despite what came after. bucky doesnt want that, he wants full responsibility and he thinks he will get it from nat: nat knew him as ‘a monster’ and so she knows the extent of how terrible he is only what he doesnt know is that nat is as blind about him as steve is in that she will excuse any horror if it is at his hand). also the whole world is out to get him!! he remembers like. smudged charcoal on steves fingers. snow. blood. natalia in a car. a jesus-like crown of thorns digging into his skull. pain pain pain. he cant defend himself and he doesnt want to when the un or whoever is coming after him with pitchforks with physical evidence of crimes he cannot remember committing. and so it falls to nat and steve. his memory is literally restricted to a polaroid in evidence while he is trying to be good!!!!!!!

am i turning in your stomach. am i making you feel sick evokes the same eeriness and nausea as natalia finding james in his cryo chamber, alive but dead, and it is always her fault (this is one of the most hauntingly beautiful canon scenes btw. ‘what have they done to you. what have i done to you’) and the guilt that comes from that bc she just wanted to be good and his but ultimately she was his demise! idk whatever they are so fascinating someone think about them like i do 😕

[tiesthatbind-tf]

A lad finally gets some of that coveted spotlight!

Benjamin Bane (just Ben or Benji, thanks) may be the youngest of the active Autobot team as their sprightly scout who’s got a chip on his shoulder he wants to hurl into the next Functionist or Decepticon picking on him for his size, and who’s been through quite a bit despite his age, if the burn on his left arm, the slide bite on his right hand  and the multitude of old cigarette burns he’s reluctant to explain are anything to go by.

When not on the field, he’s an avid dancer (with a love for ballet, something he could only pursue in secret until recently, and something which forms the core of his offensive style) and a good enough artist that he, alongside Mirage, are the two assigned to decorate armor for the team.

His smiley, chirpy facade hides quite a couple of issues, including PSTD and self-esteem issues, anxiety attacks, and an urge to please those he trusts even if it comes at his detriment.

More to his story below. (TW for child abuse)

Benjamin Bane (Bumblebee) would be hard-pressed to come up with a single good memory concerning his biological family during his childhood, and not for the lack of trying.

Born to an upper middle-class family in New York comprising a bullish, hot-tempered police sergeant father and a housewife mother, he grew up in the shadow of the son his father, who came from a family of law enforcers, wanted him to be in order to carry on the family legacy.

That he was a gentle, bubbly, sensitive child who loved following his mother around in the kitchen and spending his free time drawing did not bode well for the image his father wished to portray, and it didn’t take long for the discipline intended to mold him into a ‘man’ to become horrifically physical when he was barely five.

His mother, already used to his old man’s temper and quick hand, would often step in to take the punishment meant for him whenever he did something undesirable, though she couldn’t save Ben from the man’s wrath completely, and by the time he was nine, he was never seen without a hoodie in school and had perfected every excuse he’d been told to repeat when asked why he could not take it off or why he would come in on some days with a split lip.

He was small for his size, quiet, and took great pains not to be noticed, which had the opposite effect of making him the target of every other larger child looking to blow off steam, and he became good at running.

Really good.

There was no running from home however, home where the walls were insulated so neighbours wouldn’t hear what was happening within, and while some days would be better than others, there wasn’t a moment that he didn’t break into a cold sweat whenever he heard his father’s footsteps approaching his room.

With his mother unable to bear more children due to an illness, his father furiously continued with the campaign (sometimes the carrot was used  though mostly it was the stick) to mold him into the son the man wanted, so he could make the cut during the streaming process prior to high school where students would be sorted into their future occupational classes.

What support he might have had from his mother in his young years also evaporated, as she pushed him to be the son his father needed him to be to keep the peace, putting the weight of the household’s sanctity on his slight  shoulders.

He was forced into marksmanship lessons (where his first attempt to fire a gun went awry and left him with a deep slide bite wound), multiple self-defence classes to toughen him up (helpful for bullies whenever they didn’t come in packs), and a series of workouts to encourage a growth spurt so he could catch up to other potential cadet  candidates.

The little sliver of hope that he would be good enough to make the junior police  cadets went up in smoke when he was assigned to the manual class instead, owing to his size and his visceral aversion to handling firearms.

Branded as worthless and only good for paying off the ‘debt’ accumulated from the classes his father had earlier forced him into, Ben entered high school with his self-esteem scrapping at topsoil and digging deeper, and had it not been for a chance encounter with another boy who was evading a group of military-classed students intending to instil a lesson about talking back to those higher in the hierarchy, it might have dug itself into a grave.

The boy, who introduced himself as Guillermo ‘Memo’ Gutierrez after Ben dutifully sent the bullies scattering, was also assigned to the manual class and both of them  decided to stick together for safety in numbers.

Ben had ruefully accepted his lot in life after years of being broken and beaten down. Memo, however, had a loving and supportive family; this kept the spark of his defiance to the system alive and he kindled it in Ben’s by giving his friend a safe space to escape to whenever the situation at Ben’s home became too intense.

Among Memo and Memo’s family was the first time where Ben opened up about his interests, could speak freely and found acceptance for what he liked and who he was.

The desire to reclaim the things he loved pushed him to seek out part-time work, which he eventually found after befriending a girl, Charlie Watson, who had helped put an end to the harassment he and Memo endured at school by playing the hierarchy to their favour and wielding her Navy ‘prime-pick’ status.

That she actually wanted nothing to do with the class she was pushed into (Navy) and wished to pursue a career in automotives despite parental objections was something that she and Ben bonded over, and she brought him to the scrapyard her uncle ran where he found work sorting out car parts and helping perform repairs.

He began to pursue art and dance in secret with part of his pay (keeping his sketchbooks and supplies at Memo’s place and taking dance lessons under the guise of after-class study sessions), while saving up the rest and planning for the day he would eventually break free of his father, ‘debt’ or no ‘debt’.

During this time, he subtly packed away important items and was careful not to anger his old man more than his mere presence already did on a good day——something which would become increasingly hard when the Clampdown began.

He would hear his father rant over the dinner table about how ungrateful the protesters who were made up mostly of the Manual Class were, how they weren’t worth the safety net they were demanding for the job they were doing, how they needed to know their place.

He would hear, as time went by, about how his father would beat the ones who were arrested, and more than once, how he would be killed if he, as the man’s son, ever did something as stupid and insolent as that.

He bit his tongue through all this and reluctantly refused Memo’s offer to join a peaceful protest for better wages and workplace compensation.

The protest turned violent after police assaulted those taking part however, and as he watched the news hoping to see if Memo was alright, he saw his friend among those who were tossed into the dreaded black vans to be brought over to stations for interrogation.

His father, fielding a call from a colleague about the batch of protesters being brought in, told them to separate the adults from the teenagers, who would be easier to break, and it was at this point Ben’s spark turned into a bonfire.

As his father got dressed for work, he crept into the man’s study and managed to figure out the combination to the safe where the man’s gun was kept, retrieving it and aiming it at the police sergeant who came in and demanded for him to stand down.

Ben, in turn, demanded for his father to call the station and have Memo released, and when his father laughed at his audacity, mocked the way his hands shook while he was holding the gun and threatened to beat him senseless once this was all over, he shot the man close enough to the head to clip an ear to prove a point, before repeating his demand again.

This time, his father complied and called the station to order for Memo’s release; Ben’s relief however was all the momentary lapse of guard that his father needed to rush in and attempt to wrest the gun back, and in the struggle, he accidentally shot his father in the knee.

Under the hail of threats on how he was going to die once his father got hands on him, Ben flung the gun where the man could not reach, grabbed one of the bags he had secretly packed and ran out of the house to the screams of his mother.

He called Charlie and explained the situation to her, as both of them made their way to the station where his father worked to pick up Memo, who was confused about the state of affairs.

At 18 years, Ben was now a fugitive who could no longer go home; Memo brought him to the manual class district where Ben could hide among allies, and it was here that he spent a few months in hiding, disguised as a manual worker.

However, still fully terrified at the thought of his father eventually hunting him down within the confines of the city, he made plans to leave and head to the West Coast, far away from any chance that he would meet his old man by accident on the streets.

To his surprise,  Charlie and Memo elected to join him in the move, and the three of them left together on a  Greyhound bus; Him to escape his father, Charlie to escape her future with a military complex which her father died for and Memo to protect his family after he was named a person of interest in the protest.

However, they were forced to stop in Texas when police were inspecting passing buses for runaway Cold Constructs. Here, they met Ian Hart (Ironhide), a rancher secretly helping Cold  Constructs escape ownership by crossing over into Mexico to start new lives.

Ian, seeing how they ran from the bus, assumed they were young Cold Constructs and immediately took them in and offered them shelter; when they explained their situation, he kept his offer, letting them stay until they had their plans sorted out and paying them for work done on his ranch in the meantime.

All three of them grew fond of him and spent a month working on his ranch, helping out equally between his longhorn cattle and the Cold Constructs who would come in scared, starving, and seeking refuge from bounty hunters looking to bring them back to the establishments they were assigned to.

Someone however, had gotten wind of Ian’s clandestine operation, and the man was arrested during a midnight raid, though not before he flung Ben, Charlie and Memo into a secret basement with three Cold Constructs who he told them to help cross the border the next day.

They did as they were told, but decided to return to the ranch to figure out how to help Ian, and when they came back there, it was to come face to face with two strangers who were also seeking Ian after seeing him on the news.

These strangers introduced themselves as Omar Parvez (Optimus Prime), Jace Zayden (Jazz) and Preston Wan (Prowl), members of a rebellion that had sprung up in the UK, and upon hearing that they had been with Ian for the past month, requested for their help in tracking the man down to save him from a terrible fate at the hands of government interrogators.

Realising that they were now caught up in something bigger than they ever imagined, Ben nonetheless accepted the request, unwilling to stand back and do nothing while a good man suffered.

Youth, size and a lifetime of abuse would not be an obstacle to him helping someone else, especially with his best friends  by his side.

[daisies-and-buttercups]

“Love and War - Chapter III” - Luca Changretta x reader

Summary: You’ve picked a side, and now you have to deal with the aftermath. 

A/N: When I started this fic I had a decent outline what I wanted to happen but my ideas sorta ended with this part. However, I’m loving where this is going and I have some more ideas, so there probably will be a few more chapters 👀  Either way, I want to thank everyone that liked and commented, not only on this fic but in general, it always makes me so happy and it really means a lot 💕

Words: 3.4k

Chapter I Chapter II

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Your house was now used to your incessant walking, the wood singing along as you stood on it over and over, pacing from one room to the other, picking the phone up, sighing, falling on the bed for a short moment before starting the routine all over again. 

By morning you had slept for only a few hours, the ghost of Arthur visiting you in your dreams to blame you for his death, shaking you up until you woke up. The sun was now high, making you jump up to reach the phone. You weren’t backing down, you’d have no more deaths.

The phone rang consistently, bothering Ada enough to make her pick it up, ignoring Tommy’s order against it.  “What?” Her tone was annoyed, but she understood once she heard yours, nervous and desperate. “Ada? Ada! I need to know where they are. I’m not having them kill each other.”  “Oh darling, I… I can’t. Tommy was adamant about not letting you know.” Her tone was now softer, having missed your conversations and feeling the desperation in your voice. “Ada, please. I covered you when you and Freddie-“ “Is this a me-and-Freddie situation?” “What?” “Is he your Freddie?”  Your fingers tapped on the table, looking up at the flowers that had started to wither. You had pressed the nicest ones in a book, but couldn’t bring yourself to throw the rest away and, even if dried out, they still somehow looked good, so you kept them.  Was he your Freddie? He definitely felt like what Ada had described all those years ago, the feelings she described so vividly were now also your own. You hadn’t spent long enough with him to truly know, but you didn’t want him to die before you had the chance to figure it out. “I don’t know, Ada. I think so.”  Her sigh was the only sign, along with your impatient tapping, that time was still flowing.  “The distillery. Tommy left not too long ago, so I’d rush there.”  You groaned and ran to get your shoes, running back to the phone to thank her. “You didn’t hear it from me, you hear me! Not from me!” She repeated over and over, hoping that you wouldn’t be the victim of the day. She really didn’t want to lose a friend. 

The roads were deserted as you ran past the first buildings, spotting the distillery in the distance.  You turned the corner, trying not to run the final meters that separated you from whatever was going on inside, thinking it wise to listen to what was happening before jumping into a situation you might not know how to handle, but stopped dead in your tracks. Someone stood outside the door, taking a few steps, listening, scratching his head and checking his gun. Someone that looked a lot like… “Arthur?”  He turned and faced you, smiling but quickly placing a finger over his lips, letting you know to be quiet. You walked fast again, walking over to him and crashing against his chest, pulling him in a quick hug, but freezing when you realised why he was out here. He wasn’t alone, but the men stayed back, leaving you the space to talk, holding their guns in clear sight nonetheless.  “How are you doing, love?” He whispered. “You’re… you’re meant to be dead.” “Hope it’s not too disappointing to see me still standing, dear” he laughed softly, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I’d suggest leaving now, it ain’t gonna be pretty.” he motioned to the gun, glancing inside while focusing for a moment on the voices that could faintly be heard. You stood still, listening along and hearing Luca speak, then the sound of banging and glass breaking, the clear sound of a fight.  It was the vortex of emotions swirling in your steps that kept you there, trying to make sense of the situation. Your image of Luca had been shifted because of Arthur’s death, only to now find him standing there, armed, ready for a fight. And you knew who the bullets in his barrel were for. “Ah, that’s my cue. See ya, love.”  You weren’t sure if it was the sound of your heartbeat or of your footsteps, but before he had time to react you slipped past him, holding your stare straight ahead of you, the colour of blood painting your thoughts. It was rage, that rage that had never been strong, that always came when you weren’t part of Tommy’s plans. When you had to stay behind. When it was better if you didn’t know. You wasted all your tears on a man that wasn’t dead, not an ounce of regret in anybody’s mind when you walked in. 

The first thing you saw was Tommy’s expression drop when his eyes landed on you, the only person that could’ve complicated this further. Then you saw Luca.  His face wasn’t the same as when you last saw it. Gashes decorated it, his eye was swollen and his lips hung open, showing you the damage dealt in its full glory. It was a gruesome show, only made worse by the stares that you received for being there.  Tommy was holding him up when you walked in, the faint glimmer of surprise passing through his eyes, expecting Arthur to walk in, not you. But to see you walk over  to the bloodied man… maybe that’s what made him truly speechless. When you reached Luca you stopped, looking at his injuries for only a second before hearing Arthur cock his gun.  “Get away from him, sweetheart. I told you to leave.”  You turned slowly, first meeting Thomas’ cold stare and then facing the gun that was pointed at you, crossing your arms in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere, Arthur. Shoot me, I’m not leaving.”  Luca called your name, pulling you weakly away, trying to get you to stand behind him. He wouldn’t have you get killed over his life. But you didn’t move, asserting your position once more in front of the man, planting your feet harshly against the ground.  You saw Arthur’s eyes wander between you and Tommy, unsure as to what to do. You all waited for the next move, the only sound being Luca’s demands for you to leave as he clung to you, trying to get you to leave. “Go.”  Tommy spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes fixed on your hand, the one that gripped on to Luca’s. He couldn’t watch you, so worried for the life of that man. A person he had considered a friend, a helper, family, even, now standing on the enemy’s side.  You had been Luca’s only request. He didn’t care about the rest, but he wanted you to leave with him, if that was what you desired, and he didn’t want anyone trying to stop you. He wanted you, and that made Tommy’s blood boil, but he played his part, knowing full well that he had the upper hand. He knew that there's no leaving, not for you and not for him. There was nothing to go back to either way. Luca was never going to leave alive in Tommy’s eyes, but when you crossed the threshold the illusion shattered. The way you looked at him made it clear that you’d be willing to risk more than your life for the Italian. He’d been a fool, maybe, but there had always been something about your ways. He knew you, cared for you, and underestimated you all at the same time. In his eyes you’d always follow him like a lost puppy, just like Arthur did, but you were strong enough to break from his spell and get away. “Now!” he shouted, walking over to Arthur and ripping his gun out of his hands, aiming it at you, allowing his emotions to leave him, falling back into his new reality. You were an enemy now too, and he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.  A small flinch and the beginning of a tear was all that you allowed him to see before you moved, cringing at the sound of Luca grunting in pain at your movement, trying to pull him up somewhat gently, but not allowing him to see that, no matter where you stood now, this still hurt. 

Feeling your heart beat in your chest, you focused on the gun aimed at you for a moment, stopping at the door to look each one of them in the eyes. Tommy’s gaze didn’t falter, menacing and cold, while Arthur couldn’t look at you, moving away from where you stood, realising the side you chose didn’t match his own.  You had often sat with Arthur, the two of you ignored on many occasions and gave you an extra reason to bond, and he cared deeply for you, but he wouldn’t go against Tommy, not even to look at you to show you that he somehow wasn’t mad, just surprised and disappointed at your choice. 

While you walked out of the door, no man followed you, making it clear that Luca’s men were no longer his, Matteo standing still behind you, not daring to look up and meet Luca’s eyes, clutching his rifle tightly against his chest.   “I should be the hero coming to save you, not vice versa.”  “Yeah, well, maybe next time.” You muttered, struggling to walk while carrying most of his body weight.  You weren’t sure what other damage he had apart from his face, but his limping and laboured breathing suggested that other parts of his body had been wounded too. He pretended to be fine, taking steady steps before falling back onto you with a grunt, whispering a mix of Italian swear words and apologies. 

The moment you crossed the threshold of your house you walked him over to the sofa, finding the phone and calling the doctor before gathering anything useful that you could find, cursing at yourself for not being more organised.  “You could’ve died.” he spoke, his voice coarse as you made your way back to him with the various creams. “You’re a goddamn fool.” You muttered, dabbing his wounds, making him flinch and hiss in pain.  “Gentle, love.” He tried to joke, moving away from you, only to stop when the pain between his ribs got worse.  “I wouldn’t have to be gentle if you weren’t such an idiot.” You answered back, scoffing but softening your touches nonetheless. The doctor was going to be here soon, so you decided to focus on the various cuts, moving as gently as you could, wiping away the blood and removing any piece of glass still stuck in his skin.  “Never do that again.” He spoke seriously now, moving ever so slightly while you took care of him, lifting his hand to wipe some of his blood that had gotten on your cheek.  “Never do what again, save your ass?”  “Stand between me and a gun.” It had been a bold move, trusting your gut, knowing that Arthur wouldn’t shoot at you, even when your brain was cursing at you to get out of the way, but you weren’t sure if that made all the difference. You hadn’t thought about it, you just felt the need to stand in front of him, to shield him, whatever the outcome.  “Then next time be on the right end of it.”  Your movements were stopped by his hand gripping yours, holding the blood-stained rag still, some of the drops dripping down your arms, colouring your skin with faint red lines. “That was my intention and always has been, I can assure you, but in no circumstance I want you to take a bullet for me.” His eyes wandered, looking at you while you took care of him. He couldn’t have hoped for a better sight, yet something about the scene before him tugged at something deep within him. The fear of what he thought he could never achieve being right in front of him, maybe.  “Turns out I am here to clean up your wounds in the end, eh?” you joked, trying to wipe the serious look off his face along with all the blood.  “Y’ won’t want to kiss me anymore, with all these cuts. Too many scars.” “Who said I ever wanted to kiss you in the first place?” It was a harmless joke, proved for good measure by the soft kiss you placed on his lips, the meeting of your tongues enticed by both of your lips curving into a soft smile, the feeling of finally belonging somewhere filling your chest. “You never seemed to mind, dear.”  “I’ll always want to kiss you.” You added, letting the truth run free. He laughed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, gently caressing your face with his fingertips, tracing invisible lines.  “No good came from kissing this old man, sweetheart. You-“ his words were interrupted by the timid knock on the door. He watched as you rose, making your way to the door, welcoming the doctor in and gesturing towards Luca, quickly explaining that you tended his external wounds and needed some help at assessing the internal ones. He looked away, nodding at the annoyance of being interrupted. 

“He’s got a broken rib. It will take him up to two months to fully recover, but in a week or two the pain should lessen. He’s also running a low fever. Everything seems under control, but if it rises you’ll have to monitor his condition.” The small man talked quietly, as if he didn’t want Luca to hear. Timid steps made him grow closer to the exit with each word he spoke, evidently eager to leave. “Thank you, doctor.”  He nodded, turning to walk away, stopping just before the door to glance behind him, looking at Luca, now standing tall behind you. “Is there a problem?” You asked, feeling the tension rise. You knew that Tommy had men all over town, but you didn’t want to believe that the doctor that had been helping you for years might be close to turning on you.  “They told me to deliver a message.”  A message. Through a man, rather than a phone call. Was that too personal for him now? They had no issue telling you about Arthur’s supposed death by phone, but now that he was threatening you, he used someone else’s voice.  “Have they, now?” Luca’s words were raspy, still out of breath from the movement and the pain, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating in the doctor’s eyes.  He was shorter than both of you, a small and round man, and, even with a broken rib and in pain, he knew Luca could easily overpower him if he so wished.  “They… Mr. Shelby said that you’ve got to leave. You’ve got until tomorrow. If you’re not-“ he took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling voice, “if you’re not on the last ship out of here they’d…” he trailed on, not wanting to anger either of you. A quick glance at you and he nodded, rushing out of the door, closing it behind him in a haste, eager to get away. You turned, letting out an exasperated sigh while Luca stood behind you, considering the doctor’s words. He hadn’t looked at you, only at him, which meant that it was very likely that their appreciation for you over the years had counted for something. They wouldn’t kill you.  “I’ll pack my bags.” It wasn’t a question, there was no doubt that you’d follow him. Life with the Shelby’s had been a blessing, some of the best years of your life, but you doubted Tommy would welcome you back, at least not so soon. There was nothing left for you here, not in the land of Thomas Shelby.  “He’s not after you.” he tried to stop you from grabbing the bag, grabbing a hold of your hand as he spoke, holding you in place. You moved to face him, studying his expression. A lot of Luca came from his eyes, using his words to charm and threaten and keeping his secrets hidden deep inside. “But he’s after you.” “You’ve got a life here.”  “I had a life here.” you answered, feeling the electricity of a new start in the air. “If I stayed I’d have to find a job, and not only are most businesses owned by the Blinders, but those that aren’t wouldn’t welcome someone that got away from them on bad terms. They’re feared, and I’d just make whoever wanted me a target. I made a choice, Luca, and you’re not getting rid of me so easily.” you laughed, moving closer to him and caressing his cheek, gently, avoiding the small cuts. “I get to start over.” He smiled at your words, wishing he had your way of seeing things, the simpler ones, his eyes now trained to see the thousands of possibilities and dangers that his way of life offered him so easily, yet ignoring the other possibilities, the ones that weren’t deadly. You complemented each other, lacking what the other was strongest in. And while he looked at you, all he saw was the image of the wife he never could’ve dreamed of having, hoping that one day you’d be just that. He smiled again at the thought, watching you as you walked back to your bed, opening your bag to pack your belongings.  “America?” you asked, choosing the limited clothes you could bring. You could buy more once you arrived there, but you were sentimental and some had to come; the dress you wore on your first day in Small Heath, the one you had on when you saw Ada’s kid for the first time, and the few dresses you wore with Luca. You placed them all neatly, feeling the soft fabric under your hands, picking a few other items to fill the bag. A photograph of you, Polly and Ada, all smiling proud, a pearl necklace that made you feel like you could rule the world, along with a few memories of your years in England. He nodded, still deep in thought. “Will Matteo be joining us later on?” “Matteo’s with the Blinders now.” “Is he?” you smiled at him, knowing that the truth wasn’t that simple, and when he looked at you, you knew you were right. The mafia didn’t work with money, but with honour. It was a different world from Tommy’s, and Matteo wasn’t going to bail on the Changretta family just for some extra money. “There’s only two ships leaving, one tonight and one tomorrow.” He watched you from the mirror, his fingers lightly dragging over his wounds while he was deep in thought. “They’ll know where to find us.” you spoke the implication out loud, giving you the time to think of a solution. “So what if we don’t go to America?” He stood, his eyes closing at the brusk movements, still not used to the level of care he needed to take when he moved, making his way to the small table where a bottle of wine had been discarded the night before, half of its contents still in it, two glasses lined up next to it but only one used.  “My family needs me.” “Yeah, alive.” “The Shelby’s have fucked with the business, I’ve got to fix their deeds.”  “But you can’t fix anything if they kill us tomorrow.” he opened his mouth, ready to protest, but you continued “I’m talking about one extra day, one stop before heading to America.”  The wine was sweet, calming his nerves in the slightest of ways. “What do you suggest?”  “Call your family, fill them in on what they haven’t figured out on their own. Then we pack our things, spend the night in each other's arms and when we wake up, we leave. The ship sets sail tomorrow at 9am.”  “You’ve planned this.” You nodded, looking at the man that stood before you with a pleased smile. You had spent enough time alone with your thoughts to come up with more than one plan, and this one was your favourite. A simple exit. You picked up the papers, the tickets for your journey, that had been abandoned on the desk, handing them to him with a wink.  “Italy. You’ve got family over there too, right? I’m sure you’ll be able to secure us a place to sleep for the night, and if not I guess we’ll just have to sleep under the stars.” You raised your hand dramatically, moving your fingers around an imaginary constellation. “Then we leave for America. One day, a small change in plan, and we’ll have the Shelby’s waiting for us here. Wrong place, wrong time, but not for us. And once we arrive, you’ll have all the time to fix what needs to be fixed. Deal?”  He took a second to think about it, pursing his lips in thought, watching as you waited patiently, switching your weight from one leg to the other. Then he nodded, your hands lifting in victory as you approached him, softly placing your arms on his shoulders.

“We have a deal.” 

[sopxhiea]

Palpable

Farrier X Reader

Summary: Farrier meets a young woman who works as a spy during the war and it so happens that this young woman’s next mission means she’ll be around for a while.

“Sorry… I wasn’t born with a filter.” 

The sky seems to be too clear for a day of war. The base is full, new soldiers come and go as they’re instructed to do while the ones that have been here for a while just watch. The air force base is a big metal box with high walls that house the destruction machines.

But that’s not how Farrier would describe them.

He sees them as his wings, maybe he was given a pair before he was born but they’d morphed into longer limbs. He knows he’s meant to be flying, whether it’s for his country or not. The war adds danger and thrill to the mix, two things that don’t necessarily go together.

He watches as the newbies walk into the space, they’re mostly young lads with their heads held up high. He knows they’ll come out of this as men, men who are emotionally drained and will never return to their old selves again. It’s a new week, he concludes and walks back to his wing on the base.

His stare drops on Collins first and the scotsman gives him a nod of his head. There’s a line of men waiting to be briefed about their next mission, even though there’s not much to be said. They need to keep the sky clear of any enemies and that’s mostly it. He stands next to Collins and they start making small talk.

That is, until the General walks in.

He’s wearing the dark green uniform, stars embedded across his wide shoulders as he takes a look at the line of men. They become less with every passing day. There’s a bunch of papers on his hand that are soon to be thrown out and a lieutenant follows his footsteps.

And there’s you.

It’s no wonder why you stand out, given you are in a base filled with men and men only. You’re wearing a black suit, similar to what Collins is wearing but it’s baggier and less formal. There’s no indication of a rank on your shoulders but a maroon beret and compartments filled with small guns for all he can see.

And you’re beautiful, too.

He thinks it’s not something that they pay attention to when choosing officers of any sort but the only women he’s seen around are nurses and they certainly do not look as gentle to the eye as you do. There’s a boyish hint to your walk as you eye each and every men on the line, they seem interested.

The briefing starts, it’s short and completely unnecessary. The air force is not the most liked part of the army but you know they do their job, more so than some other parts of the military as far as you’ve seen. You listen to the General as he talks about certain areas the pilots are required to stay away from and then he finishes his words. 

The wing commanders then separate into another room, it’s a different briefing about the movements of the Germans and Farrier follows the General as he walks into the small room. There are four commanders, the general and you in the room and everyone is waiting for the General to address the elephant in the room, that being you.

The general then proceeds to clear his throat and look at you before facing the commanders and speaks.

“This is Ms. Y/L/N from the Secret Intelligence Service. She’ll be here to carry out a couple missions for the crown.” he finishes his sentence and the commanders all nod except Farrier, he’s looking at your gentle orbs instead, the ones that are directed right at him.

Your gaze does not shy away from his or any other commander’s unlike all the nurses or the women they have met through the course of the war. You hold a weight within yourself, something he’d seen in soldiers who’d been bombed and almost died but he just goes along with the General’s orders.

You’re young, he thinks. Young enough that he feels uneasy but not enough to make him speak up.

He then walks back to where his precious Spitfire rests next to Collins. Collins starts making talk about how he’d seen a couple of new soldiers fuss about Farrier’s plane but Farrier is not as present as he sits on the familiar seat of the pilot and gets ready.

A long day waits for him.

--------

The sound of bullets through the air and a plane engine crashing into the water hits his ears as he walks around the base. It’s far past midnight but the base is even more alive. He sees a couple guys he recognizes, some of them from the morning briefing and some are just familiar lads.

He waits for the engine fuel while there’s a clear rush around. It’s not the kind of rush he’s seen a lot in the air force base but more of the kind he’d come across on the ground. He then sees a couple soldiers being carried into the base, wounded badly with nurses overcrowding around their heads.

His gaze falls on you.

You look like you’re walking out of hell with cuts and bruises all over your face and upper body. He sees the blood covered bandage on your left arm and no matter how injured you look, you walk towards the general with full ambition. You look furious.

Your mouth moves, hair falling on to your forehead as you talk to the general and he nods at your words, telling you to meet him upstairs in his room. It’s not much of a room, Farrier thinks but they make do.

The general walks past Farrier and tells him to do just the same, wait for him in his office. Your eyes briefly meet his blue orbs but before he has a chance to say something, a nurse comes to your rescue and drags you around the place only to sit you down and take care of some of the wounds around your face.

The truth is, there are many soldiers that need the nurse’s help. Farrier finds it obscure that this nurse is taking extra measures to make sure your face is more put together when there’s men losing limbs around the place. 

But then he puts it together.

He’s heard things about the secret intelligence spies. He’s heard of a few women but he know they do business with their faces first. He can tell you’re trained to kill but your face says something else, which is just what you need when you’re trying to get into places no soldier can possibly have access to.

He walks upstairs into the crumbling room where the General waits. There’s another lieutenant in the room and you come in with blood and cuts around your face not too long after. Farrier takes a good look at your face, he thinks you manage to look beautiful even with countless glass cuts all over your face but he stops when he finds you staring right back at him.

“Y/N.” the General speaks and you both straighten at his voice.

You nod and speak, it’s the first time Farrier’s heard your voice. “Yes, sir.” you say, a gulp follows the stern voice. He thinks you sound just like how you look, confident but young.

“This is Wing Commander Farrier..” the General speaks and you look at Farrier for a brief moment with the shake of your head, as a way of saying ‘hello’. “...His crew will be the ones assisting you on your next mission.” he finishes the sentence and you nod. You recall the place you need to go for the next mission assigned to you, you catch Farrier nod from the corner of your eye and the General leaves the room along with the lieutenant. 

When the room is fully empty, you turn to Farrier and offer your hand with a soft voice. “Y/N.” you speak, you know he knows your name but there’s always time for proper introduction.

His large hand envelops yours as he shakes it, your soft skin feels new as he speaks. “Farrier.”

Just as you’re about to speak up, Collins walks into the room.

“Hey-” he says but before he can continue, he looks at you from head to toe. Farrier sees no reason to waste any time and speaks up.

“This is agent Y/N.” he says, looking at you and you only while you offer your hand to the scotsman who’s currently inspecting your face. You don’t blame him. You’d had a perfectly clean face in the morning and now, you have blood all over your face.

“Pleasure to meet ya’.” Collins speaks and you nod, he’s dressed sharply compared to Farrier and you note the attitude change.

“It’s been nice meeting you gentlemen but I have a mission to get to.” you speak with a low smile, a childish hint to your voice that makes Farrier want to rescue from what you’re about to do but he watches you walk away and so does Collins.

Just as Collins is about to speak, your soft voice as a shout comes from the corridors of the space, making both of them look out of the door while your back is turned at them for a momentary second. 

“Good luck out there!”

-------

It’s a day later. There’s smoke in the base from the malfunctioning machines accompanied by the silent screams of the lucky soldiers who have been rescued from around the place. There are a couple nurses away from the tent they’re assigned to, running around with hopes to help some of the new comer soldiers covered in wounds.

And there you are, cleaning your fresh wound on your own. 

It’s on your right shoulder, you can see it when you lean down but not too clear. Your irises burn from the smoke around but you know there’s no escaping it. You ignore the oozing pain from your ankles and try to clean the wound to the best of your ability.

Then, he shows up. 

The exhaustion is clear on his face, the day was spent chasing enemy up on the sky but he can’t help but walk towards your figure. You sit on the floor with some bandages around you as you rub alcohol into the wound. You’re actually doing a good job but he figures a hand wouldn’t hurt.

Your eyes meet his when he sits on the ground next to you. You’re about to say something but he takes the cotton from your hand and does what you were doing just a little earlier, just gentler as you watch.

You gulp and speak, he can see the fancy dress you’re wearing but he doesn’t ask questions. Figures it isn’t his place. “Thank you.” you say, eyes far away while he looks at your face, it’s healing up.

You’d gone to a noblemen’s party today, you were assigned to gather information on one of the trusted funders of the war. He was French but the intelligence had enough dirt on him to assume that he was helping the other side, the side that was currently destroying the country from its heart.

Everything was all going well until a drunk rich lord had decided to load his gun and play a little game on his own. You’d stopped the gunfire but it had cost a bullet on your shoulder and cuts from the shattering glass around. It was silly, just how luxurious these lords and madams lived while the poor and unfortunate suffered.

“Your assigned mission is tomorrow?” he spoke, the mission he was meant to watch for was tomorrow and he wanted there to be as little damage as possible. You got up after he finished with patching you up and you both started walking towards the briefing area.

“Yes, although It will be shorter than what you’ve been told.” you spoke and started walking down the stairs and he followed with brows furrowed.

“How much shorter?” he spoke, accent filling each word as you licked your lips before answering him. You had report today’s work to your superior and he was just following you.

“About an hour. It’s an easy job, in and out. It won’t take me longer than that.” you spoke while his boots thudded against the surface of the floor.

He sped up his steps to catch up with you, he was trying to get your attention but you were completely ignorant to the idea. It was war time and you were focused, you had to be.

“What’s the job entail?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.” you said, finding it silly that he would even ask an agent to expose any information but he was just trying to get you to talk. And you did. “The general will inform you on your side of the job.” you spoke, eyes looking up at his and you ignored the fact that he had been staring for a while now. You kept on walking and he followed you.

“Now, Commander, If you’re done asking me about classified missions, I have to report back to the base.” you spoke, voice confident while offered Farrier a smile. He didn’t mind your professionalism, he knew this wasn’t a place of love.

He nodded and murmured a small ‘yes, ma’am’ before you disappeared. Your walls were made of steel, he wouldn’t be able to melt them no matter how hard you tried and you figured, he already had someone as most soldiers did. If they didn’t, they’d take it up on themselves to find a lover around their base.

He was just curious about the mission, you told yourself.

------

Twenty hours, five bullets, two airplanes and three explosions later, you were seated between Collins and Farrier.

The mission was complete, the Queen’s man had been protected and you had enough information about the new individuals to act on them. It also happened that you were covered in your own blood since there had been a surprise attack to the mansion you were in.

The look of surprise in both Collins’ and Farrier’s face was a picture when they saw you. You looked like a dead bride of some sort, every inch if your face and upper body were covered in blood, some your own and some of the other guests’.

You were currently waiting for the general to come out and give you the new details. The pilots were there, waiting to get fuel in their death machines next to you. You got a pack of cigars out, ones you’d gotten from a French aristocrat. You didn’t regularly smoke them, only when you’d been face to face with death.

“Those kill ye’, ya’ know.” Collins spoke, watching you light the cigar and you inhaled once before looking at him.

They weren’t covered in blood like you, they looked just fine but there was a hint of horror in both their eyes.

“I’ll die soon if it goes like this anyway.” you let the smoke go as Farrier watched you with intent eyes. There was no point in lying, the missions had been extra challenging and you’d been shot too many times to be able to function properly.

You realised what you’d just said to two soldiers who faced death everyday. They saw men die all the time, it wasn’t pleasant or wanted but seeing you, a young woman who’s supposedly in the prime stage of her life saying that she’ll die soon had felt like a bullet in their hearts.

“Sorry… I wasn’t born with a filter.”  you said, earning a chuckle from Farrier. You offered them the cigar, licking your lips and speaking as you’d not just said that you would be dead soon.

“You’ll think you’ll make it?” Collins spoke, looking directly at you as you sat next to him on the metal surface.

Farrier’s eyes locked with yours the moment Collins’ words left his mouth. He was not keen on living afterwards, he’d seen his fair share of the world but it was clear that you hadn’t.

“Probably not.” you said, taking another puff from the cigar as they waited you to speak further. “..most of the agents who work for the crown die in their first six months of the missions.”

“How long have you been working then?” Farrier spoke, you gulped before answering him. You weren’t the typical agent.

Most of them were men who were in their mid twenties. It became easer to identify them and targeting them became no hassle for the germans which was why they had secretly started hiring women, young women in particular, to work as spies since they seemed to be more versatile.

“About nine months.” you said, chuckling when Collins murmured a small ‘cheers’.

But what you were saying was different and Farrier was the only one caught up with it. You were a walking corpse. You’d done and knew too much to even survive if you went back home. You had too much information, your young age didn’t matter to the crown. Only your service did and you’d done your fair share of the spy work.

Collins then left, something to with the engine of his machine. You watched as he walked away, probably leaving the base soon to do his job. You were left with Farrier on your side then, the cigar was long gone.

“Are you always that close to death?” Farrier asked, genuinely curious after seeing you work today. You’d went in with a fancy party dress and came out with three bullet wounds and blood all over you. “Like today, I mean.” he kept speaking but you knew what he was saying. There was something calm about him that made you want to take it easy but this was war, not a calm tuesday afternoon in a the peaceful world.

“Mostly.” you gulped and kept on speaking. “They have a line of agents who do inside jobs like me. I deal with the risky side of the business.” you spoke, like it was just regular business and not dangerous criminal work.

“What about the others?” he spoke, curious as to how this all works. He’d heard things but this was the first time he even had the chance to speak with an agent of the crown face to face, let alone a young woman like you.

You eyed him first, he was being nosy. If it was anyone else, you would’ve just told them to mind their business, the information was confidential. But something about Farrier made you lower your guard for some reason. You looked around before speaking.

“They deal with the common people. Officers and workers. They gather information on things like...” you waved your fingers through the air and made a confused face before speaking. “..hideaways and all that.”

He looked at you then, you were far too young for this but he of all people knew that war knew no age. If it was a different time, he was sure he’d find you with rosy cheeks, under a blossoming tree but now, you were covered in blood in a dress the military had provided you.

“I assume you deal with the posh ones then.” he spoke, just trying to make conversation. He knew there was no way he could get personal so he kept the topic on work.

You nodded before speaking again, eyes not meeting his most of the time. “Noblemen, aristocrats, madams and sometimes even presidents.” you said, lifting your eyebrows at the last words as his expression changed from interested to shocked. You dealt with people who caused this war in the first place.

“You ever get scared? Cold feet?” he asked, earning a genuine grin from you. He was cracking up to be something.

“Always.” you spoke, it was the full truth. You didn’t go into a room full of aristocrats and their beloved butlers without sweat on your hands.

He looked at you then, scanning you from head to toe to see any kind of fear of doubt. You smiled at the soldier next to you, a genuine curve of your lips greeted his blue orbs but it felt like a bullet had gone through his head. Your earnest smile was the first thing that had managed to make him feel at ease since he’d gone into this mess.

What was he doing?

He nodded at your words, long after they stopped hanging around the cool air around you as you looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time. He seemed rough around the edges, not like his colleague Collins who was dressed sharply and knew every sign in the book. 

He then asked the biggest question he had, the one that appeared the moment he saw you.

“Aren’t you a little too young to be carrying out missions for the crown?” he said in one full breath. His voice wasn’t as confident.

“I am.” you gulped and spoke again. “That doesn’t really matter. They just want someone who can attract attention and do the job at the same time.” you said, liking the way his orbs change when you spoke.

“And that’s you.” he said, as a matter of fact.

“Surprised?” you asked, finding comfort in talking to this stranger you just met a couple days ago.

“Nah.” he shook his head at his own words. “If anything, I think you’re quite perfect for that sort of job.” he said, watching your curious eyes as he spoke. You laughed at first, it was genuine and he swore it was like birds singing or that time he’d heard a beautiful melody inside a church.

“Well, Commander, I need to leave but it’s been a pleasure.” you spoke, eyes formal and stern again. It was like you had a switch.

“Will I see you?” he said in a heartbeat. He didn’t think twice before saying the words, hence why he was cursing at himself while you gave him a sweet smirk.

“I’m sure you will.”

And you were off.

--------

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras @mollybegger-blog @jelan-bike

a/n: Let me know what you thought of the chapter/if you want to be tagged!! <3 And so sorry this took so long but i hope you enjoyed it.

[echos-newlegs]

Alright so this is a little different from what I have been doing, but it has been on my MIND. I swear I am working on requests too, writing a spicy Tech fic rn.

But anyways.

Due to this post by @spaceydragons I have come up with a series of headcanons for my beloved Echo, but as a country boy because as a country-ish girl myself I love them. (Was fr late to work the other day because of a farmer and his flock of geese on the road and had to help him chase them back into their pin. It had just rained so they were running to the ditch when he didn't get the gate shut all the way 😭)

But enough stories, have this series of headcanons because I feel no one would like a story over it LMAO

If you want me to do a differentcharacter for this au, just shoot me a message, ask, or a comment!! I have ideas for the rest of TBB and some other clone boys and even some Generals 😌

Sorry this is LONG

Echo would be the type that would take you out fishing your first date.

He is a bit shy and awkward, but fishing is something that doesn't need a lot of talking, but you can.

It is something that is peaceful and relaxing, plus he can help you if need be.

Or you can even help him.

I feel like he would absolutely love hunting with you too!

Not hunting with guns, but hunting for different herbs or foods.

He wouldn't be opposed to hunting animals, but it isn't always his cup of tea.

I headcanon that maybe he and all the rest of TBB were in a war, but they made it out.

Echo lost his arm and legs to it.

Which fives told you when you first met them. "Yep, the war cost my buddy an arm and TWO legs."

Echo was not amused and wanted to beat up Fives for embarrassing him in front of a pretty lady.

He is very insecure about his prosthetics at first, but after you assure him that you think they're unique and what makes him, him. He thinks he absolutely wants to die for you.

Plus you admire the fact that he can still do the things he loves even with a fake arm. Which he doesn't always put on around you after you reassure him a few times that it's fine.

He would definitely brag you up if you caught a big ass fish.

"Oh, you caught that? That ain't NOTHIN' compared to what my girl caught down at the lake the other night. 'Bout the size of her arm!"

This may be me being biased, but he would love night fishing too.

He would put his pole up sometimes just to hold you in his lap while you let your line set in the water.

Just admiring the feel of you pressed against his chest and the way the moon light reflected off your features.

He would also love sleeping with you in a hammock.

Unless it's hotter than all get out.

Then he'd stick to two separate hammocks while the two of you talked and slowly dozed off for an afternoon nap.

He also seems like the gardener of the group along with Wrecker.

He would have a mad green thumb with his gentle giant brother.

Though Wrecker would prefer the flowers, while Echo would be more for the fruits and veggies.

Echo would be in close contact with the 501st still, as well.

Taking you over to meet his other brothers. Meet their families and friends as well.

You and Fives would click with the 501st just as well as you do the Bad Batch, and Echo would love you even more for it.

Tbh in this hc I feel TBB would be more the hillbillies and the other clone units. Especially the 501st would be the farming/rancher types.

So Echo would have traits from both.

He would take you for a ride in the tractor, too 😏

He would let you feed the animals and play with the dogs.

Rex would absolutely love you as well. For the fact you're so nice to them and help them out even when Echo isn't around, AND the fact that you are taking care of his brother.

"I haven't seen him this happy since I upped his and Fives' rank."

You would feel absolutely amazing about yourself.

Until Hardcase and Jesse demanded you cook them all a meal.

To which you would, but you'd deep down hate it only for the fact they could all eat a fucking horse, each.

You would be cooking most the night when all the boys got together.

Echo would help out, along with some of his other brothers you trusted in the kitchen.

Like Kix, Tup, and especially Fives.

No one knew how Fives was such a damned good cook, but he was.

Echo would watch you braid Tups hair and make a mental not to let his hair grow out longer.

He loves it when you run your fingers over his shorter hair, but the way Tup seemed to be nearly falling asleep against your thing as he sat on the floor in between your legs while you sat in the chair and braided his hair? He knew he'd love it.

So this actually happened to my uncle 💀. But I feel like Echo would lose his prosthetics as least once. Say he has an old truck, but he loves it? Yeah there's a hole in the floor and "PULL OVER THERE GOES MY FUCKING LEG-" "AGAIN?? ECHO-"

Okay, okay. But imagine- you, Echo, and TBB all going for drives to the lake???

I feel like everyone but Echo and Crosshair would fully submerge themselves underwater on hot days.

Cross seems like he wouldn't enjoy it much. Maybe a little? But I deadass feel like he can't swim.

This may be me projecting my own fears onto Echo(I do that sometimes.) But I really feel like he would be scared of deep waters. Even before he lost his limbs.

He only sits near the water and occasionally goes in with you, but you have to be right next to him at all times while holding his hand

Plus he won't let it go past his mid calve.

Echo would most definitely make you stuff too!

You want a new coffee table?

Bam, him and Tech made you a new one.

It's your anniversary?

Well lookie there, you have a necklace he made just for you!

He would also spoil you.

Even if he doesn't have the most money, he would do little things that meant the world to you.

OKAY OKAY- BUT PROPER DATE NIGHTS-

THey would be little picnics outdoors on a blanket with you favorite sandwiches and drink 🥺🥺

He would wear a buttoned up flannel and blue jeans with cowboy boots because they are easy to slip over his prosthetics.

You unbutton his flannel to find nothing underneath 😏

Oh, and I do feel he would have scarring from the explosion. Which I always hc him with.

He would also have a mega bad farmers tan, because same.

He'd melt each time you trace his scars and nearly malfunction when you kiss them 😩

In conclusion, he would be the best country boyfriend.

[starglow-xx]

retrouvaille

nakajima atsushi x f!reader

fandom: bungou stray dogs

content: hurt comfort, fluff

warning! : mentions of abuse

type of work: one-shot

synopsis: he left the orphanage, and that meant he had to leave you too; fortunately, this time, it seems like the universe was on your side

a/n: this is kinda self indulgent bc ive been feeling kinda down lately...?? and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now and i havent posted in a while so killing three birds w/ one stone ig

the word retrouvaille is a french noun...

The moment you stepped foot into the armed detective agency, heterochromia eyes met your (e/c) ones.

You notice several agents talking and walking over to assist you, but you drown them out only having focus on the gray haired male ten feet away from you.

Said male takes a small step forward with uncertainty and disbelief laced in his voice.

“(y-y/n)...?” 

At the sound of your name, your eyes immediately begin to water and with pure relief in your voice, you softly sob his name; the name of the boy who comforted you when you were both still in that wretched place.

“Atsushi...”

With all hesitation gone, Atsushi runs over to you shoving through his surprised and confused coworkers and wraps his arms tightly around you.

The force of the hug causes the both of you to stumble and harshly crash to the ground beneath you.

But the two of you didn’t care.

In his arms was a person Atsushi thought he’d never be able to see again.

In his arms was the same girl who snuck him food from the kitchens, the girl who stole medical supplies from the infirmary to treat his wounds, to take care of him when he was sick, and the girl who received punishment after punishment for insisting on staying with him inside his damn cell.

You gave him happiness in place where he should’ve never been able to receive it.

As if he ever felt like he deserved it in the first place.

You’re too good for him, but yet you still chose him.

You, his sweet and kind, his so very kind, and so very beautiful girlfriend, chose him, the cursed, good for nothing orphan.

The orphanage staff treated you considerably better before the two of you were acquainted, so Atsushi knew he was the problem. That he was the reason why tears would fall onto your beautiful face, why bruises and scars would litter your arms and legs, and why the staff would call you awful, degrading nicknames about you and or your virtue.

He had always thought that he wasn’t good for you, that he didn’t deserve you, that you could do better, but you stayed by his side regardless of his fears and insecurities, and provided him the strength and comfort he had always been deprived of.

And to his very surprise, he found that you found your own strength and comfort in him.

So he knew that you must of cried for weeks after he was kicked out, that you must’ve been devastated to wake up one morning only to learn that he was gone without a trace.

There wasn’t a single day that he never thought of you.

Atsushi wanted to go back for you, he really did; he wanted to storm into the orphanage with members of the armed detective agency, his new family, right at his tail before eventually reuniting with you.

But he didn’t do that.

Ultimately, he chose to leave you out of the mess that came with his job knowing that you would be eventually targeted and used against him if anyone found out about what he had with you.

So he kept quiet.

No mafioso, government agent, foreign organization, nor agency member had a clue about your connection with him, much less your existence.

He told himself that when things have calmed down by a considerable amount, he would go back and get you, with or without the agency backing him up.

Unfortunately, he knew that time of peace was far from the present.

But to see you, in your beautiful glory, standing at the threshold of the agency? 

His original plan to keep you away from Yokohoma flew out the damn window. 

At the sight of you, his heart did backflips and his legs almost gave out. 

Ignoring the jelly feeling in his legs and the loud pounding of his heart, he raced around the desks and his coworkers—nearly fully crashing into Dazai in the process—to once more engulf you into his arms.

As for you?

When you saw him, you felt like you were going to pass out.

Your legs grew weak, your entire body was shaking, and tears started to fall down your face.

He was here.

He was safe and he was alive.

You mourned his abrupt disappearance from the orphanage and spent most of your time worrying about his well being.

The staff thought you were pathetic, that you sulked and cried over someone who they thought should disappear off the face of the earth.

They could insult and beat you all you want, but you drew the line when it came to Atsushi.

Finally having enough of everything, you planned your escape.

You were patient; you never jumped the gun nor gave anything away. You planned everything to the very last, minute detail, and after a few more months of abuse and waiting, you put your plan into action and left in the dead of night.

Thankfully, a kind old couple took you after you had collapsed in the streets. You worked job after job after job to return everything they had spent on your behalf even after they had told you not to worry about it.

And after another few weeks, you finally caught wind of your lost boyfriend tracking him down to Yokohoma through an old newspaper article.

Knowing your boyfriend, and yourself, you knew that tears would easily escape both of your eyes due to the long duration of your separation, but you weren’t expecting to find yourself crashing onto the floors of the armed detective agency curtesy of Atsushi. 

But, you wouldn’t have it any other way because in your arms was the boy who gave you comfort during the most darkest days in the orphanage, the boy who laid you in his lap or on his stomach stroking your hair so you would fall asleep, and the boy who often threw himself in front of you so you would remain unharmed.

You choked on your sobs as you tightened your own hold on him and they gradually grew louder as you buried your face into the shoulder of his white button up.

Through his own choked sobs and teary eyes, Atsushi gently maneuvered the two of you so that you would be lying on his stomach—a familiar position the two of you would lay in back in the orphanage.

He gently stroked his fingers through your hair and softly rubbed your back as he whispered the familiar sweet nothings into your ears.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay...”

“I’m here, just let it all out..”

Overwhelmed with your emotions, his sweet words only started to make you cry more.

You’ve missed him so much.

Your tears easily soaked his both his shirt and his neck, and you tried to speak only for you to choke up. Atsushi simply just started to shush you—as you would to a baby—and placed a kiss to your forehead as he continued to comfortingly stroke your hair and rub your back.

With the both of you off into your own little world, a world consisting only of the two of you, reactions and looks from the Armed Detective Agency went unnoticed.

It didn’t take long for them to realize the kind of relationship you and Atsushi had.

But what surprised them was Atsushi’s behavior.

The young adult they knew tended to be unsure of everything, including himself, and stammered whenever he was nervous.

But the young adult currently in front of them had this new aura of maturity; he didn’t hesitate to touch you or to comfort you, and for the first time they’ve seen in a while, he was sure of himself; he wasn’t nervous at all.

With the amount of comfortability Atsushi had around you, and the tender, loving care he showered you in, it was clear that you certainly were someone special to their tiger.

Your sobs slowly turned to small hiccups, and Atsushi’s face turned to one of pure tranquility and content, having his lover back in his arms.

Although having calmed down, what Atsushi said to you next made you want to start bawling all over again.

“I’m sorry I left you, and I promise I didn’t forget about you,” he whispered softly, “I thought of you every day. I still do. The thought of being able to see you again is what kept me going.”

You buried yourself further into his shoulder as you gripped his white button up in your hands.

“And thanks to the armed detective agency, I’m stronger now. I won’t let anybody hurt you, not anymore. That, I promise you.”

Actually taking a look up from you, Atsushi ended up locking eyes with Dazai, who had a gentle look on his face.

His senior only closed his eyes, tilted his head down softly, and lightly chuckled before opening his brown eyes once more, giving Atsushi a look of approval.

The gray haired teen’s eyes widened slightly as he looked around the room only to be met with similar looks of approval and gentleness from his seniors and coworkers.

He felt his eyes tear up again, but instead let out a relieved sigh as he tightened his hold on you slightly.

“Hey Atsushi...” you softly murmured.

Equally as soft, he answered, “Yes (y/n)?”

“...I love you...”

Your lover smiled before placing another kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you too (y/n)”

At last, the girl he loved was back in his arms, and the boy you loved was back within your reach.

And neither of you were ever going to let each other go again.

and it means, the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation, a rediscovery

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

[lesbian-lilo]

Mission Mishaps - Wanda x fem!reader

This is my first ever commission for @g-cordelia! Thank you so much for your support and I hope you enjoy!

You awoke to the harsh shrill of your alarm clock, groaning before rolling out of the warm embrace of your wife to turn it off. Your hopes that it wouldn’t wake her ruined as she mumbled a soft “good morning”, pulling you back into her arms. You turned to face her, heart skipping a beat as you gazed at your wife. After being married for 3 years and together for 5 some people would expect waking up next to her wouldn’t be the same. But every time you woke up with her next to you, you were blown away. Wanda had an ethereal glow cast by the morning sun shining through the crack in the curtains. She was lying on her side, her growing baby bump pressing into your own stomach. Her hair was slightly covering her face, eyes half lidded as she stared at you with nothing but love in her eyes. Wanda was always soft in the mornings, something she reserved for you and your child.

You press a soft kiss to her lips whispering a “good morning my angel” before sliding down the bed to be eye level with Wanda’s belly. “And good morning to you too little one” you say, before leaving a kiss on her stomach. “How are you so perfect?” You glance up at these words, Wanda beaming at you before beckoning you up so she can kiss you again.

An abrupt knock sounds at the door and Natasha’s voice can be heard on the other side. “Wanda, y/n, open up!”. You share a glance at Wanda before you climb out of bed and open the door, inviting Nat in before closing the door behind her. Nat moves to stand beside your bed and exchanges greetings with Wanda as you sit back down next to your wife. Natasha looks between you both with a sigh before focusing her attention on you. “Y/n I know you’ve stepped back from missions since Wanda’s been pregnant, but Fury just told me we are needed on an urgent mission. I’m not sure what it is, he says we will be briefed on the Quinjet. I tried to get him to assign someone else but apparently there is no one else for the job”. Nat gives you a sad look as she finishes speaking. She knows how difficult it was for both yourself and Wanda when you decided to stop going on missions. But you both agreed you couldn’t compromise your wellbeing or the life you were creating. Wanda reached for your hand, slowly running her thumb up and down your palm. “When do we have to go?”. “In about 30 minutes. I’ll go suit up so you both can talk. Y/n see you at the Quinjet”.  After saying goodbye to Natasha, you turned to face Wanda, who had a solemn expression on her face. “Promise me you’ll be safe”. “I promise” you whispered before capturing her lips in a kiss. Placing a hand on Wanda’s stomach, you leant down. “That’s a promise to you too little one”. After many kisses and promises you’d return safe, you left to shut up and meet Nat at the Quinjet.

Walking onto the Quinjet, you moved to sit next to Nat in the co-pilot seat, as Fury began briefing you both on the mission. Although you had mostly given up missions for the foreseeable future, a decision you were more than happy with, you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline and excitement that came with starting one. After Fury left, so did you, sparing one last glance at the Avengers compound before flying off to your destination.

The mission was relatively simple. You and Nat were to infiltrate a Hydra base and get information needed for the other Avengers who were on a separate mission. They couldn’t complete their mission until you had found the information needed.

After landing the Quinjet in a clearing close to the base, you and Natasha began the short walk to the edge of the forest that surrounded the Hydra base. This was your first mission since Wanda became pregnant, something you were extremely aware of. You couldn’t help but to play with your wedding ring attached to the chain around your neck. Normally you would wear it on your finger, but you didn’t want to risk losing it.  

“Okay. There’s a ladder off to the left-hand side. I’m going to use that to climb to the roof and then enter through one of the vents. You circle around to the back, there should be a door that’s relatively unguarded. I’ll take out the guards on the roof so you don’t need to worry about that”. You nodded along with Nat’s plan while you mentally psyched yourself up for this mission, reminding yourself that the sooner it’s completed the sooner you can get home to Wanda.

You and Natasha both went your separate ways, you circle around to the back of the base while Nat began to climb the ladder. You stayed near the edge of the forest, waiting for the signal that would tell you the guards had been taken care of and you could enter through the door. After about 10 minutes of waiting, you see Natasha give you the signal before disappearing into a vent. You quickly but quietly make your way to the door, using a key card Nat had thrown down from one of the guards you scan yourself into the building before pocketing it. With guns drawn you sneak down the hallway, making sure to check every corner and doorway. The base was eerily quiet, almost too quiet. You shrugged it off however, not wanting to distract yourself from the mission.

You made your way to the surveillance room, taking out any Hydra agents you happened to come across. After scanning yourself into the room and taking care of the agents present, you began to look through the computers for the necessary information. “Hey Nat, where are you?” After you heard no reply on the comms and due to you jamming the surveillance cameras before you entered, you didn’t have a clue where she was. However, you knew Natasha was an incredible spy and could hold her own. You needed to get the information. You decided you would search the base after sending off the information to Shield if you hadn’t gotten in contact with her via the comms.

After gathering the necessary intel and sending it through to Shield, you began your search of the Hydra base. After turning a few corners, you began to hear the faint sound of fighting, alerting you to Natasha’s location. After running down multiple hallways you finally rounded the corner Natasha was in. There were about 10 Hydra agents all circling Natasha, who was managing to hold the off. You ran up to her and began to help, taking out Hydra agents left and right until you were the only ones standing. “Did you get the intel?” “I did” you replied. “Let’s get you home to Wanda”. You began to make your way back down the hallway, this time with Natasha by your side. As you were stepping over one of the Hydra agents, you failed to realise they were still slightly conscious. All of a sudden you felt a burning sensation on your lower stomach, followed by the sound of a single gunshot echoing through the hallway. You looked down to see a knife lodged into your lower abdomen, and a Hydra agent with a fresh bullet wound in his head courtesy of Natasha, you had moved to your side in an instant. Black dots began to appear on your vision as Natasha helped you back into the Quinjet, immediately laying you down on the stretcher before grabbing the first aid kit from underneath. “Nat” you managed to choke out, blood dribbling from your mouth. “You’re gonna be ok y/n”. “No Nat listen”, you tried again. You could feel yourself beginning to lose consciousness, but you had to tell her something before you did. “Please don’t tell Wanda. Not until I get better”. With that, your vision went blank, and you passed out.

You regained consciousness two days lying in a hospital bed with your wife asleep on a cot next to you. You looked around the room to see Natasha sitting in a chair on the other side of your bed reading a bit. You went to speak but immediately started coughing, alerting Natasha that you had woken up. She immediately got you a cup of water, helping you drink it before sitting back down. “How long has she been here?” You asked, motioning to your wife who still asleep. Natasha sighed, “When we got back, and you were rushed to the hospital ward. I couldn’t keep it from her y/n, especially when you’ve been out for two days”. Wanda began to stir then, your eyes immediately going to her. Nat quietly left the room, wanting to give you both some time together.

When Wanda woke up, she immediately burst into tears. With the stiches in your stomach, you couldn’t move as fast as you would like, however you eventually sat beside her, Wanda immediately throwing her arms around you and burying her face into her neck. It was only then that the reality of what could’ve been set in for you. There was a chance you wouldn’t be the one holding Wanda right now, it instead being Natasha while the mourned your passing. You began to tear up at the thought and held onto Wanda tighter as you whispered you were sorry. After sitting in each other’s embrace for a while, you both eventually parted. Wanda looked deep into your eyes, “My love, why did you ask Nat not to tell me you were hurt?” Straight away you felt guilty. It’s not that you wanted to keep it from her, you never keep anything from her. You just didn’t want her to worry, or to stress either her or the baby out. Wanda immediately realised this; she can read minds after all. Instead of responding however, she brought you into a passionate kiss, one filled with love and hope and desperation. It was in that moment you decided that it didn’t matter if the entire world was ending, you were not leaving Wanda’s side.

Four weeks later….

You woke up soft kisses along your spine and the soft giggles of your wife as you groaned and rolled over. You were still sore but had thankfully gotten your stitches taken out and were healing well. You kissed Wanda good morning before moving down to do the same to her baby bump, whispering a good morning to your child as well. Wanda giggled before sliding down the bed and placing a gentle kiss on the scar that had formed on your stomach. Ever since you had gotten your stitches out, Wanda had kissed your scar almost as much as you kissed her baby bump. It started as a joke however it soon evolved into a loving gesture from the most beautiful woman to grace the Earth. You pulled Wanda to lay on top of you, her head resting in the crook of your neck as you turned on the TV to some random cooking channel. You sighed in content, your hand caressing her baby bump. You truly were the luckiest woman in the world.

[yandere-sins]

Different

I wasn’t in a good mental place yesterday, so I wrote the third part of Circumstances and Unwillingly for Osamu, because why not. Do enjoy this fuckery (: (And I know I said no spice on this one, but well, it happened, it be like that sometimes) I hope I can do the other two justice, let me know what you thought!

Characters: Yandere!Osamu Miya x (afab)Darling, Yandere Atsumu Miya Rating/Warning: Mature, Yandere, Lemon, Dub-Con Words: 4845

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Chop.

Half-listening to the sound of a knife cutting through the hill of parsley on the cutting board before you, you sighed, burying your face in your arms propped up on the kitchen countertop. Osamu side-glanced you, estimated your behavior as if you were a diamond and he the jeweler, unwilling to even miss one movement you made. Part of him still believed you'd reach for the knife to attack him or risk yourself, but you wouldn't. At least, not that day. 

Actually, you were glad that after all that happened, Osamu had left the door to the room open, allowing you to roam. It was bad enough that Atsumu had used you for his sick pleasure, and you had to endure Osamu being very thorough in cleaning you up, you wouldn't have wanted to be alone in your roam, stuck in the dark and silence while he went and made dinner. The only thing that was promoted by being locked away was the endless stream of thoughts that you couldn't escape, no matter what you did. 

If only your memories had been kind ones, but by now, they were only filled with the bad things that happened to you lately. 

As if you were a child, Osamu had lifted you out of the water in the bathtub and made you stand facing and touching the wall, bending over for him as he scrubbed you down. The fact he kept his underwear on had reassured you at first but having him - who, in fact, had never seen you stark naked like this before, much less touch you inappropriately - clean you inside out was just as bad. You couldn't even describe the feeling of his fingers digging into your pussy, not for pleasure but the sole purpose of cleaning, all while he cursed under his breath about his brother.

There was no gentleness to find either, even though the one time you managed to glance over your shoulder, you thought to see a pink tint on his face too while his forehead was covered in wrinkles and his eyes dutifully on the job he was doing. Osamu looked much like when he was cooking, except that he was gentler to the food than he was when he handled you back in the bathroom. At least, and that's what he promised you, and Osamu never broke his promises, good or bad, he sent Atsumu to find a contraceptive pill. Just in case. Just for the possibility that his fingers digging into you to get even the last drop of semen out of your maltreated pussy weren't enough. 

Thinking about it his touch - and you weren't proud of it - made you tingly all over again. It was awful, and you didn't want to feel this way, especially not since you regretfully had to admit that Atsumu had brought you to orgasm, but sensitive as your body was and your constant feeling of being lonely no matter how much the two of them smothered you in their love, simply made you react to any touch you received. 

And Osamu's was so very different.

Even if back then, he touched you in anger and disgust about what his brother did, and you allowed him to do as Atsumu made him believe. Still, it was an experience to feel his touch on your bare skin, his much rougher hands driving down your legs and up your torso. 

Not like Osamu had never touched you before. He did, but he did so sparsely. His hugs never lasted longer than needed, his grip on you had a secure hold and vanished when it didn't have a purpose, and generally did Osamu seem more reluctant to shower you in affection other than short head pats or helping you with something. Atsumu was so brash and demanding when he touched you, while Osamu always felt like he took fifteen precautions before so much as thinking about holding your hand. Really, you appreciated that he wasn't into overstepping more boundaries than he already was with his affections, while Atsumu loved to test them out as far as possible until Osamu called him out. Still, evidently, the two were brothers, so there wasn't a way Osamu could just ignore you and your loveable form completely, and it affected him just as much as it did Atsumu.

At least, that's what you couldn't help thinking about when seeing the visible bulge in his underwear after he finished cleaning you. That was the point where you could have been wrong in thinking about it too much. Perhaps, you should have just left it as it had been, ignored the thought of 'What if' and moved on without ever mentioning again. But rubbing your legs together on top of the bar stool, you wondered. Wondered if Osamu was a different kind of lover than Atsumu was, or if only their touches differentiated from each other. 

Osamu stayed quiet as he proceeded to cook, undeterred by your thoughts and feelings. Even though he had been so angry just minutes ago, he didn't seem to harbor any more ill-feelings - at least for the moment. Maybe he was, once again, pitying you, as you had to stand still for him while he roughly scrubbed you down with a sponge. Not one of the nice, bathroom ones mind you. A kitchen sponge. And he didn't only use the soft side either. Perhaps, after all the nasty curses on his brother were unleashed, he began to reason, realizing that your pitiful, shivering self wouldn't have seduced his brother like Atsumu tried to make him believe.

And now, where he didn't have a chance to apologize for his anger towards you without having to admit that all that was going on was a fatal crime, he had nothing more to say or lash out at you for. So he kept silent as he chopped up the parsley and the meat, preparing a nice, warm soup for you. 

Had it been another life, you could have probably come to appreciate Osamu for what he was doing. For his - controversial - help and care. But it wasn't. This was your life, and you were his captive. You hated him for it and even more did you hate the budding feeling in your nether region, dictating you to act on a whim of desperation. You were tired. So fucking tired that everything was wrong, but you could still feel the need to be loved and held by someone. Someone you chose, even if it was just the only option presented to you. 

Part of you wanted to be comforted and told everything would be okay. In contrast, another wanted to make new memories to drown out all the bad ones from before. Perhaps, if you could just be in charge for one time, you'd be satisfied, you told yourself, and maybe, the only one who could do that was Osamu. 

Slipping off the chair as Osamu stood at the stove, tasting the soup to see if it needed more salt, you rounded the kitchen counter on soft soles, trying not to alert him. However, his attention shifted as you got off the stool with a squeaking sound, and he half-heartedly turned to you to observe what you were doing. Predatory readiness laid in his eyes, and his toned muscles tensed under the shirt he was wearing. Osamu would never trust you to be okay with wandering alone, but he was a quiet observer. A quiet observer that would break your wrist the moment you reached for a knife or tried to attack him. 

But you were doing none of those antics. You simply stepped up to him, pulled his hand down to taste the soup yourself, licking your lips as you nodded that it was alright. That was more interaction than most days, where you wouldn't even taste test for him when he put it into your mouth. However, Osamu seemed to appreciate your cooperation in dinner making, humming thoughtfully as he stirred the soup one last time. He was just about to turn around when you bumped into him, feeling his body tense all over again after initially relaxing. Even though Volleyball wasn't the sport for him anymore, the man was just as well built as his brother, even if it was from different workouts now. 

What Atsumu had in his thighs, Osamu had in his arms. You had to admit that usually, you found it a bit scary when he closed in on you, his figure always making you feel small in comparison. But if it hadn't been for their kidnapping and locking up, you would have given them the benefit of finding them attractive as well. 

Osamu's reaction didn't let you wait as he turned around faster than a cowboy could pull a gun. His hands were both ready to fight you, lifted up over you, while his brain still tried to comprehend what you were doing. God, you hoped he'd recognize this as a harmless hug, or else you'd be going to bed that night hungry, in pain, and horny.

"[Name]?" he eventually decided to just ask, giving you the benefit of the doubt that you weren't setting him up in a catastrophe. But you simply hugged him tighter and took a deep breath until his arms finally settled, lowering onto your shoulders without pushing you away. And as if he knew your intentions, they started to wander, slowly but surely dragging down both sides of your back, creating a pleasant tickling to which you giggled.

Looking up at him, you couldn't believe your luck as you caught him smiling, his wide-open eyes reflecting your imagine in them as if he didn't quite believe what was happening either. The usually stern-looking fella had his reddened cheeks back, together with furrowed, skeptical eyebrows meeting each other in wrinkles of doubt. And yet, he didn't push you away or made an effort to separate you two - a first.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice trembling slightly as if your answer could only be worse than he anticipated. But clearing his throat helped him regain some of his composure, even though his blush didn't vanish. You thought you had him all figured out as you watched him like this, realizing that maybe that was the reason he liked to observe you so much. If you looked at someone long enough, you realized things about them without even wanting to know them.

Instantaneously, it made you realized your mistake, too. No, you didn't want to know any of the emotions you witnessed just this moment. You didn't want to know that the heart-throbbing look in his eyes was the same lovesickness that his brother had. You didn't want to know that beneath him awkwardly holding back, he was exactly the same kind of eager as Atsumu. He was another person that loved you madly, that was absolutely driven insane by just this small affection initiate by you. You had all the evidence presented to you that even when you suspected it, Osamu wasn't so different from his twin at all. Not even a little bit.

His head lowered, hanging in the air just a short while as he waited for you to pull away. He wanted it, demanded it desperately, that you'd appeal to his rationality and sense of staying away for your sake. From the very beginning, Osamu had put on this role of overseer, the role of the person stepping between you and his unrestrained brother, so they wouldn't cause more harm to you than they already had done. It was oh so wrong to keep you as their personal love pet, and Osamu was painfully aware of his wrongdoings. But confirmed by Atsumu, he couldn't bring himself to make it right now and risk losing you along with it. 

Because all he really wanted was you as well. 

And so he hoped that it would be you to restrain him once more. Restrain him before he couldn't help himself anymore but shower you in this love he had for you all this time and held back for your sake. But when you didn't push him away, what else could he do but finally kiss you? It was all your fault, and you tempted him beyond anything he ever experienced. You made him believe that you wanted this; that you wanted him.

Was it him that you wanted, you wondered as you returned his kiss? Where it was a careful dip into the ocean at first, his lips quickly began crashing down on you, just like the rest of his body as he bent you over the kitchen counter, your back on the cold stone and legs dangling in the air. Before you knew it, he had you pinned on the kitchen furniture, pouncing you like an animal seeing the first prey after starving for an eternity. 

"Are you sure?" he managed to press out of his mouth sometimes between forcing his tongue between your lips and pressing up on you, a telling bulge settling between your legs, the remnant of the bath ordeal. It would have been impossible for Osamu to hide his desire for you now, and you dared to assume that even if you said no, he wouldn't have been able to back away from you in his current state. Perhaps he wished he could, but everything on his mind and body seemed to scream for you, riling him up in a way with which you could never have gotten him off you anymore, even if you wanted.

No, it probably wasn't him that you wanted. The moment he let his sweatpants slide to the floor, you realized that you had overestimated the situation and especially yourself. You thought initiating gave you the title of being in control, but suddenly, it seemed to slip off your hands again. What had been your purpose to present yourself so willingly to this starving animal Osamu was? Was it the loneliness you felt? The prickling in your stomach after he touched you all over in the bathroom? Was it simple desire, and if yes, hadn't it been enough to do it with Atsumu prior to this? Or had it been a naive spark of hope to get along better with your captor and earn some benefits with these indecent doings? You couldn't exactly lie to yourself that your initial thoughts hadn't been clouded by your body tingling for him. Still, you wished now you could have gone back and thought twice about it before leading Osamu on. 

For he was no different from Atsumu, a thought you acknowledged much too late.

So you used the bit of strength in your back to lift your legs up, crossing them behind his hips as Osamu groaned, his lips trailing off to explore other regions. Giving your hands free, his own found their place around your hips, holding on needily and pressing you towards him. As he was grinding up to you, you realized just how desperate Osamu was for you, especially after having touched you so thoroughly back in the bathroom and seen Atsumu's chaos on you. It seemed like his brother's doings had, in fact, bothered him more than even you could fathom. But really, who could guilt him for it? Always having to be proper and step back while there was this raging love burning in his blood.

It didn't take him long to explore you, feel you up in new ways he never had before. His first touch on new parts of your body was always cautious, as if he thought he'd hurt you by merely driving his hand down your stomach. But Osamu was quick to get adjusted, eerily choosing the same spots to touch and kiss you that Atsumu loved to play with. The connection of twins seemed to go beyond sharing the same taste in pudding, it seemed, and though Osamu turned out to be much, much more awkward than his brother, you could only blame on his inexperience.

You didn't fight him as he pulled off your pants and panties in on swift motion, but you also didn't bite back the moan warbling off your lips as his face connected with your folds. By now, you wished you could have scolded yourself for your bad judgment of the situation, but as Osamu slowly but surely started to understand what he was doing, you merely flinched in joy of the sensation of him lapping at your clit. 

Sex wasn't the comfort you might have needed. It couldn't replace your happy home life and having a healthy relationship with someone, but you were right that it could make new memories as the only thing your mind concentrated on was the sensation between your legs driving you insane. Osamu didn't mind you clinging your hands into his hair, leading him to the right spots. On the contrary, he seemed to be especially eager the more you engaged. The way he treated you normally, you wouldn't have thought he'd be so keen on pleasing you. But it made sense, considering how little he always had of you, that now that you were his for the moment, he wanted it all. 

His tongue made you exclaim all sorts of happy noises, and you couldn't help but wonder where he learned the way of using his mouth this way. Making onigiri couldn't possibly make anyone good at fellatio. Still, you were ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, for he lifted you up into new heavens. His brother never was as attentive as Osamu turned out to be, and even if it was a short-lived pleasure, you appreciate how different they were in that aspect. 

When he finally let off of teasing your clit, you felt like falling out of all clouds, breathing heavily and unable to even fathom the situation you were in at the moment. Not until you heard his heavy breaths above you and felt a big tip poking on your hole. There wasn't much Osamu could say, even when your head snapped back to look down at what was trying to gain entrance. In his eyes, you could see yourself, suddenly insecure and anxious, but with the deep shades laying over his, you knew it was too late to freak out. 

Caging you between his arms, Osamu kept you in place, unwilling to let you go now, and you took a deep breath, trying to hold it as his hips pushed forward. You could be thankful for the lubrication, but where you had expected him to be about the same size as Atsumu, you had to find out that the twins surprisingly did not share the same size down below. Osamu couldn't keep up with Atsumu's long cock, hitting all the spots there were in you, but if it came to thickness, he way overdid his brother's. 

A soft squeal escaped you together with your breath as you tried to adjust. "W-Wait, slowly!" you wanted to order him, hoping that if he stopped and let you brace yourself before continuing, you'd be able to take on the challenge that was his cock. "Come on now," Osamu mumbled instead, kissing your cheek. His hands folded over your head, and you felt the pressure intensifying from the top, slowly but surely impaling you down onto his hips pressing up. He wasn't even thinking about slowing down now, and you should have known better than even hinting on refusing anything he wanted to do.

"So fuckin' tight, Babe," he sighed while you spluttered in pain and pleasure as he bottomed you out. It was absolutely unbelievable that this man could fill you up by merely embedding himself in your pussy, but there he was. "Feeling good, ey?" he asked, lips curling to a grin as he took an appreciative look over your body, wringing in pleasure as you held back from cumming by simply being entered by Osamu. It shouldn't have been this easy to get you off, but you blamed in on your previous orgasm and his work on cleaning you, nodding slowly. 

"I see," he smirked, and you felt him pull out a few inches before he did a rough re-entering, pushing you over the edge in an instant. Legs tensing and back arching, you squealed in pleasure, soon overcome by a long, pleased moan and his name falling off your lips. Only for the first part of your orgasm did Osamu manage to hold back moving, letting you live out the shakiest of the release before he began to move again, slowly and in shorter movements at first. 

Snaking his arms beneath you, he pressed your bodies together, directing every move that needed to be done while you hung in his embrace, still dealing with the aftermath of your orgasm. It didn't take long for Osamu to pick up his pace, being able to finally experience you like he did in his horniest dreams, even if that meant screwing you like a rabbit. It was evident he didn't want to miss out on even one sensation, lunging his tongue into your mouth to suck away even the last spirits you had while his pace turned erratic. 

When he pulled away, you had only time for a short, surprised gasp before he turned you over on the counter, pushing up your left leg to lay beside you and pushing himself deep inside your spread pussy again. Him reaching new depth made both of you gurgle out delighted huffs and groans, and when he gripped your elbows, pulling them back to push himself further into you, you felt lost in your own body. 

It was wrong. So utterly wrong. But if someone had told you that wrong felt right on occasion, now you would have believed them instantly. You couldn't think about anything besides that thick cock hammering into you and the sloppy sounds your hips made when they connected. Osamu said your name plenty of times, but even if he had someone else's, you wouldn't have minded it at all. Even if you didn't hear them, you could tell what he was feeling for you, his lust wholly overtaken by his love. He kept telling you how good it felt and how much he adored you, the words slurred as they came from a place of passion. But all there was left for you in return was the bubbling in your stomach, your g-point crying out for another release and by the throbbing and pumping inside of you, you assumed Osamu was feeling the same. 

Collapsing on top of you, he didn't stop grinding and twisting his hips against yours, wanting to experience every last bit of you before he stopped. "You feel so good, [Name]," he whimpered, kissing the nape of your neck while his hand closed around the front. "I-I'll cum," he explained as if there was a need to justify himself, and you gulped, realizing his touch was less gentle than expected. 

"C-Cum," you urged him, for the first time in this whole ordeal moving your hips up and down into his grind. "Me… Me too, Osamu."

He let out a low laugh after hearing his name, his hand vanishing from your throat when suddenly his elbow replaced it, squeezing you even tighter and reminding you of the occasional roughness Osamu had. You felt so put in place and dominated over, completely unable to move except for the submissive grinding. That was what you always felt when being with Osamu, and though you thought it would be different now that you were so intimate with him, you had once again misjudged him. 

His last few pushes were rougher and harder to take than any other before. Though you gurgled out your moans, your hands clawed into the flesh of his arm as Osamu grunted with every push. He holed you out and disappeared before filling you to the brink again, and you expected it wouldn't be any different for his cum. The hot, milky substance collected in the spread-out depths Osamu's cock left behind, and your body responded with shivers starting from the inside out. 

Maybe it was degrading and inappropriate for the relationship you and Osamu had, but you couldn't lie that it felt incredible to sink into the fog that came with orgasming again, for the third time that day. If you'd always feel like you were as Osamu left his mark on you, perhaps you'd have been happier altogether. Disconnected and used, but happier. 

Nothing, no fighting, and no behaving would ever feel as good. They could praise you and submit to your wishes, but it probably would never satisfy you as much. Only leaving would ever come close to this experience, even though that meant your mind might have already been as depraved as theirs. 

"I love you," Osamu sighed, face nuzzled into your shoulder. "I love you so much."

"I know," you whispered, almost tempted to respond with something appropriately like "Thanks" or "I love you too". Luckily, you didn't, not giving Osamu the height of responding to his feelings positively. 

"Don't let Atsumu--" he pushed out, getting harshly interrupted by a loud bang on the floor on the other side of the countertop and the rustling of a paper bag.

"Don't let me what?! What the absolute fuck is going on here?!"

It could have been so nice as you looked at Atsumu, both anger, disappointment, and then more anger crossing his face. So nice, if only the twin had stayed away for a few more seconds longer, giving you the time to recover and Osamu to try and cover it up. You heard him grumble on top of you before he kissed your shoulder again, releasing his hold on you before leaning up to face his brother. 

"I made them come twice," he said proudly. Clearly, it was Osamu's revenge on his brother after Atsumu played both you and Osamu dirty with his plans.

"Excuse-- WHAT?! YOU DID WHAT?! You piece of shit--"

The following tirade of curses you simply blinded out, letting out a long sigh as Osamu finally got off and out of you, a splurting sound following his cock pulling out, while he fetched some paper towels. All while Atsumu went on and on about how you two could be doing such things after he got scolded for it, Osamu seemingly very indifferent about his brother's tantrum. Some part of you could kind of relate why he'd feel betrayed coming home to the same scene Osamu had kicked him out before for. But really, this time, it had actually been your fault, and you weren't keen on telling him that and taking his anger towards you. 

Osamu helped you down the kitchen counter and wiped off any excess after following his instructions on lifting your leg up for him. Had you ever seen him so carefree before? He even looked up at you smiling lightly, another lovestruck blush on his cheeks. With your legs shivering still, he put your pants back in place and gave you a kiss on the forehead, telling you to hurry back to your room until dinner is ready, and he figured out what to do with the raging bastard running up and down the apartment.

"Welcome home," you whispered, passing by Atsumu, and his tirade came to an abrupt halt. With his mouth hanging open, he looked after you, as did Osamu, both twins equally surprised that you'd greet him, all while you hurried to get back into your room, closing the door behind you. There hadn't been a specific reason for you to do something you usually refused. Perhaps you found yourself in a too good to be real mood, manners returning to you as a reflex. Or maybe, you just wanted their arguing to finally cease. Leaning against the wood, you listened to the ensuing silence before their voices picked up again, however, less strained and agitated and more with quiet accusations, as well as surprised tones. 

You, on the other hand, slipped beneath your blanket, pulling it all the way up over your head and enjoying the luxury of having it all to yourself for once. This blanket, usually shared by all three of you, managed to finally comfort you - for real this time - even if raging reproaches started to collect and turn the pleasant fog of lust into dark clouds of self-pity. 

How far more, you wondered, would you sink before they'd reach their goal to completely take you over?

When did humans break under the circumstances they were facing? And even more so: When would it happen to you? Unfortunately, it was already too late to ask yourself this, the answer slowly and menacingly dripping down your leg as their voices echoed from the kitchen into the back of your mind.

But you had yet to fully realize that you were already caught in their greater plan of loving you.

[muffindaddystyles]

Harry Styles x Barista!Reader.

Smut, pain kink and over-stimulation.

Mentions of past trauma and healing!

MASTERLIST, LETS TALK LOVIES!

Author's note: Your reblogs and appreciations means alot to me, token me a smile with your love.

His breath smells of strawberries and coffee, plushie lips dangerously close to her's making her half voracious gaze flicker between his lips and up at Tofu, kiss him kiss him you bloody fool, reeled in her head, "here lemme . . ." He notices her jitteriness fetching the birdy for her. She hiccups with a suck of breath when his knuckles brushed the inside of her palms while giving Tofu to her.

"Oi, Harry budge over you bugger!!" She hisses with sleepy voice but in return he squishes her more.

OR

Y/N has a phobia for needles and Harry's her damsel in distress.

//

Something about bungalows not having stairs makes Y/N's cheeks puffs out in disappointing amazement. The fact she couldn't even climb at the rooftop when the summer sky's ornamented with cosmic stars twinkling with the each buzz of music from inside. She hiccups a giggle when the cool zephyr blew her frock away giving out a glimpse of her itty-bitties, glad no-one's in the diameter to have a show. The discernment falls to nothingness when she hears distinct rustle of someone behind the fat‐very-rooty-tree, it widens her eyes into saucers as she blinks comically.

It's not a squirrel she could tell. Couldn't be Ronny who went to take a wee cause all the darn washrooms inside were occupied and his bladder being the weakest, he went for a bush.

But, that bush's behind her and for a moment she forgot her friend even existed since she muted out his piss taking whistle a while ago.

All her frenzied assumptions fails when two figures camouflaged in the darkness tumbles from behind the tree. Her cheeks splashes with burning crimson when they separate with a loud, wet kissing noise and the two men doesn't seem any shy about it unlike Y/N who's foozling the frill of her dress as if she got caught in the middle of a fuck in public loo. Not that, it everrr happened with her, still she has an example set for such incidents.

"Oh, hi." The warble of unprevious voice wins in gaining her attention and she tries to squint through the pocosin of his eyes which glimmers under moonlight if she glances away too quick, she startles in her spot when a gruff voice speaks over them, "Ronny couldn't even occupy a shot of vodka in his bladder." She couldn't seem to flit her gaze away from his cherry of lips glistening from whatever activities they were having before (the only features she could see in such illumination) as the other guy and Ronny bantered off passing a cig in between them.

"Oi, shut up will ya." Ronny locks his arm with Y/N and she flinches that he hasn't even washed them yet, "c'mon truffles we don't wanna be here." He announces dragging her away and the humid air around them bubbled with chuckles.

"Huh." She quips all lost between the interaction and accidentally bumping into two beautiful men kissing eachother, she's totally jealous! Poor thing tries to jerk the mud from her toes and to have a last glimpse of the man with marble irirses.

"D'ya think I've a chance with that daddy-long- legs-one? Dunno, but he intimidates me so bad." Ronny whispers to her and she frowns sniffing with her already runny nose from being a bit tipsy, it's making her bouncy little by little and she knows the bevvys she had will have a full swing within the night, "why? He seems nice."

"His hotness truffles, it intimidates me." He scrapes his already chipped nail polish after washing his hands from the basin throwing towel at her face, she just sighs putting it back in the rack.

"How about you talk to him first." Parties has teeny perks of them and gigantic disadvantages 1) Ronny gets a school crush at every boy he looks at. 2) They get more sweaty, stinky, gluey and more wilder till the clock hits 4 am. Honestly, even if it wasn't for the free bevys she would have never stepped in.

"That's the hard part." They push people aside like stuffies getting cursed and groped in return.

"He's not gonna know himself, Ron, you dump-stick." Good she doesn't need to yell like before as the music has dimmed to a hum possibly about to shut down within minutes. Halting, beside some people crowded alongside the couch some sitting on it and their confused heads shots up at first at the sound of familiar vibrations.

The worst scenarios of someone having a bullet up in their hole and peeps around having a show passes for a mere sec in their heads, together, that's why they're friends since the first semester of UNI.

But, upon seeing what's the ruckus about Ronny shakes his head in utmost panic, "oh no . ." He tries to escape from her grip but she tugs him from collar, "Please Ronny, swear 'm ready to over come my fear! Nothing's gonna happen to me." They stand beside the guy sheepishly (like two elementary kids deciding who'll step inside the staff room first) a gun perched in his hand and Y/N realizes that he indeed's the same guy she met outside, this time she could see him properly and those hickorey of curls brushing the eternity of his popping clavicles.

His back to them but she could see the flex of his muscles from under the sheer black of his shirt with the each movement he does with his gun, she admits that he got prettier back than her.

"Ey Harry this's my friend Y/N and she wanna overcome her phobia of needles, be a damsel in distress pal." So, they know eachother. The whizz of gun stops midway and he dismisses the drunk dude under him tilting his chin to meet her eyes, and it was worth it as it took tiny gasp from her.

He's way beautiful than he was in the darkness.

Ronny was right. It daunts her a bit. The name Harry itself is some kind of royalty.

"Oh, hi there, again." He greets her with a warm smile and it glitter-glittery her insides, will you please not she scolds herself. It's probably the alchol her subconscious assures her but her nervousness from the idea of really doing this says otherwise.

"Have a seat, love." Oh holy goodness. He's as sober as judge and she at whole is miffed.

//

Harry isn't a popular senior. No. His charm's something that woos everyone and his name's always on the top list of invites, he avoids them though unless it's his closest friend. Him remaining to himself has casted a spell on everyone that his personality's intimidating and he's this sex god who has an only concern with fucking people.

He could be called a nerd from his grades everytime being higher than last semester but his attire and being a shining star of the Christmas tree gives it away.

Everyone likes him, ah-ah no everyone absolutely loves him. The thing's he has never felt the same in his twenty-one years of life and that's a fat bummer.

He just gives that "please stay away from me" aura, brows always sewn together and bottom lip jutted makes him appear rather passive aggressive to strangers (well the people who knows him loves him for being the most chill person walking around them).

Right now, he got a tat gun in his hand and everyone's getting a drunk tattoo for the remembrance of this stupid party or just that they've a kink for pain, possibly for humiliation too because what could a tattoo gotten in an unconscious state could bring you?

"Y'alright there?" He asks her and she bobs her head clamping her hands shut in her lap. The rainbow broch on his loafers intrigues her about his fashion senses, it makes her jealous she can't afford to have her own style, "Yeah!" She avoids to even give a spare glance to the gun in his hand because she knows the moment she'd, it will make her dizzy.

She feels bad for cliff hanging him to herself only but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Waits patiently for her to guard herself as Ronny pats her back like she's about to summo wrestle.

"Want me to start it?" He knows how bad it's for some people. Many times he had an encounter with weak hearted persons who got dragged into his parlour by their friends and ended up running away, "Can you give me a moment?" She lifts her head towards him and it makes his forehead knit into concerned lines.

The poor bug's giving a purple face as if she's about to throw up and her ears pink.

"Take all y'want, darlin'." His gentleness flows over her head, she thinks that the music has died or she has gone deaf, can't be neither, cause no-way that such a sweet call wouldn't make her toes all gooey.

"'M ready!" She puffs out a huge exhale moving her shaking wrist nearer to his grasp and he gives her a comforting look before wrapping his fingers one by one around her delicate wrist, skidding the stool he's been sitting on closer to her, "al'ight truffles 'ere we go — wouldn't hurt promise." He decides to stick with truffles since Ronny calls her with the nickname everytime he's at Harry's. Thought his blabbers of his friend were exaggerated coating of sugar but when she's sitting infront of him with those glinting eyes and soft flesh in which his lanky fingers seems to turn pudgy, he gets it why he calls her that.

He keeps on glancing up at her to see if she's okay — she has her hand placed atop Ronny's thigh while he distracts her with his "let's throw shade at mean bitches together" game and Harry just hovered the nib of it over her skin when she passed out but Ronny quickly placed his palm against her cheek to pull her back towards his shoulder.

"'M good . ." She comes back from it with a weak whsiper-y voice trying to straighten up but the instant her already blurry vision falls at the needle again making a line so small it isn't even visible she passes out again and this time Ronny seems unfazed talking to a girl beside him (trust the lad they've done it multiple times but the pain and fear of needles never let her have a single tattoo inked on her skin), leaving Harry to sweat over her.

Sighing he shuts down the machine putting it aside and presses the back of his hand against her forehead --- to be more appropriate, and when she remains as if in the land of nod completely knackered out and woolly in Ronny's arms he realizes that she has passed out for real.

"Truffles?" He doesn't get a response from her.

//

She puffers out her lips blowing raspberries gazing at the sunny sky from the clear glazed window of the shop, chin resting in the softness of her palm as the cosy hall of it emptied from the rush the time it striked noon. The start of her shift's always effete and warm with honey-bees buzzing over the pots of pastel flowers outside, but the evenings are most tiresome and she has to do the closing in a grumpy mood.

"Can you pass me the icing tube, forgot it under the counter shelf 'cos of that pain in ass customer." He's their regular. Has constant complaints that their tarts are too sugary and they need to thicken the formula for their lattes, Y/N just bobs her head at his tantrums finding a way to shoo him away with a promise of next time, "yeah uhh — " Gripping the edge of marble counter she squats down and giggles at herself as she looks funny with her knees making a tent of her ruffle frock.

The door-bell chimes indicating the presence of someone but she goes for her rampage knowing Cora's there to attend them and she was about to pull her head back when she hit it quite painfully against the upper shelf, "Ow!!" She squeaks rubbing the sore spot stabling herself while Cora chuckled taking the tube from her hand to go inside.

She never expected someone to occur at this hour, moreso, she never expected someone like him to pop out of nowhere at their shop. He just doesn't seem like a person to have a merry making at little cosy cafés all to himself, it's been driving her crazy, she cringes at herself everytime when the humiliation of passing out infront of him invades her thoughts.

Half of her heart wanted to see him again and other half was glad she never bumped in him — but seems like nature was evily against her.

"Oops hi!" When she couldn't fiddle with anything she adjusts her frilly apron and with her wrist brushes her loose tresses away which her bow failed to keep. He blinks for several times sipping in the consequence, though it gives her time to take in his appearance.

He's yet again, wearing a sheer shirt with white flower buds spiraling from his abs towards the broad of his chest displaying his inked skin underneath beautifully — it shimmers every time he shifts on his feet letting the sunlight fall on him. His curls tamed and silkier than before, he groomed himself too good it puts Y/N to shame for being a girl, a careless one.

"You work here?" He asks with a drawl as if he has a all the time to dedicate to her, "nope just broke in to do a fat robbery — wanna join?" He cackles, hard it quelled his tummy and it also made her smile blushy-ly that he didn't find her humour boring.

"Okie . . S' what you'll have?" Brassing the belly of his nose he clears his throat roaming his eyes to catch a perfect spot, "'s okay if'll be waitin' fo' someone there?" He points at the nook aligned with the fuchsia coloured book shelves, wooden pots hanging and embroidered throw pillows piled and some overflowing from the love seats.

"Totally!!" She chirps. The thought of him waiting for a date sinks summat a tiny globe of mud in her stomach and dunno why — She wishes she could've things that other people have without burning themselves in effort unlike her.

She watches him getting comfortable, scrutinising around with curious and adorable big peepers. He'd give her a shy smile everytime he'd catch her staring and she'd just shake her head treating her back to track, that he's on a date, but not with you.

She didn't forgot to ask him if he needs anything putting a glass of water at his coffee table without him requesting, it's perpetually hot and even her throat'd get dry after some minutes. He's been here for two hours and even though the weather cooled down spotting pearly drops of rain, perspiration still beaded at his forehead.

The bustle of on goers kept on dying and she feels bad for him, knowing the end of it, she's been there before many times. Even visualised it at this same shop far more she should thinking the world's kind enough to even let their date know with q single message.

Sensing his timorousness she paddles towards him getting a coconut cookie from the jar, onto the plate and sliding it in his line of vision. He seems flustered — everytime they've interacted she's the one to be not in one place and now he's ripping the threads of his tattered skinny jeans.

"You can munch on this cookie, if you want to!" He looks back and forth between the cookie and her, fuziness spreading in his chest glad at her kindness and enough trust in him to not to kick him out, "Thank you." He grabs it taking a bite and she giggles when in the single one he left no crumbs behind, his mouth's big, shut it already! and so pink so pulpy, oh my goodness I hate youuu!!

"'M sure your friend's on way, it's rainy, might —" He cuts her off with a dissapointed spurt of breath, "dunno." He sulks into sofa folding the corner of book's page.

"You still've an hour till the cáfe closes, don't loose hope!" She pats his shoulder and he gives her a weak smile doing that bunny scrunch of his nose, combing his already wrecked hair and thanks her for the next thousand time.

//

Harry had worst dates. This seems to top them. To be honest because of Y/N being here. What will she think? What if she thinks it's his fault? That he's a broken dummy who nobody wants to date? He wants to grumble and call his date to end things but he waits patiently as the sky turned lilacs of night.

Y/N feels remorseful and angry at the person who stood him up this pathetically. With a sad sigh she turns the closed sign to display outward silently looking at him while he's in his own trance, she disappears into the kitchen and Cora gives her a knowing eye.

"Not believing in love's my greatest descion up till far. It's impossibly hard out there." She retorts. Placing a hot chicken steak atop the alfredo pasta and sprinkles parsiman making it appetizing, "Tell him to better end things with a pig like them." She says in all seriousness handing the tray to Y/N.

He's there. Gazing outside with lips pressed into a thin line and he seems down with his loose errand of curls tucked into a man bun now, a perfect hairdo outta frustration "Harry." She keeps her voice low not to startle him gaining his attention.

"You didn't have to." He shakes his head and she made a noise un-recognized by him putting the tray on the table and moves the ottoman with her feet closer to him sitting on it, "let's be eachother's date for a day." She hands him a fork and he accepts gladly. His sulkiness wooshing away when she digs in taking a bite and smearing the sauce all over her lips.

"If you don't mind me asking, is it the same behind-the-tree guy?" He nods. She frowns spitting grumpily, "what a prat." With the help of knife she tears the steak equally sliding it to his side and he smiles boyishly sucking the corner of his lip inside.

"'M sorry, Harry." She squeezes his knee and it bundles up the air in his lungs, "'s okay truffles — glad you were there fo' a rescue."

"Y/N." She tells him forwarding her hand to shake and he slips his calloused ones to envelop her warmth. His cheeks turns pink when his stomach made noises of starvation, "you need to eat c'mon!" She nudges his elbow and he obliges.

After, filling their tummies satisfied and full she hands him a cuppa of latte with a foamy sleeping kitty floating over it she even made two eyes and the uwu kitty smile with the cocoa powder, "pardon me if it seems like I murdered the poor thing . . . 'm still learning from Cora." His giggles were absolutely amazed and gleeful.

"It looks so good, I don't feel like stirin' it." He pats the bum of steamed floffy kitty with the curve of his tea spoon and it makes her giggle some. Relishing onto strawberry pastries and crumpets oozed into butter, sipping onto their lattes, watching the sky turning dark with the rain while Cora left them hours ago to themselves.

She puts a velvet cloak around herself after closing the shop and Harry waits for her as she takes her bicycle, "Thank ye' Y/N. 'S kind of you." He stirs his gaze from his shoes to her face smiling brightly at her and she waves him off with blushy cheeks, they walk along under the shelters of sideways shops avoiding to get soaked while she holds the steering of her bicycle.

"You can lounge at my place, till the rain stops." When he shakes his head she quips turning into the street, "I insist." They stop infront of the old white sculptured building having two floors in total.

The first thing she does entering into her flat's greet Tofu (it's a Bush-tit a white furball with two curious tich button eyes) leaving Harry to get out of his shoes and slip into her house ones (they barely fits him -- making him chuckle at the size difference).

His eyes giving a beautiful glimmer under the glow of the yellow light as he looks around the space, it's simple, with a bedding on wooden floor, a circle shelf against the window lined up with green plants, a desk opposite to it and a golden standing cage of her pet bird.

"Hi bubba missed me much?" She opens the cage to let it out and the chonky white bird sits on her fingers happily, "Harry meet Tofu." His lips curve upward at the lil thing as he caress it's fluffy head.

"Tofu looks like a snowball." He muses with bambi eyes and she agrees with excitement, "Sometimes I wanna squish him, cause he's just too cute." His eyes widens comically laughing softly at her statement.

"Evil thought said out aloud with cuteness still remains evil, love." Tofu hoped over Harry's finger and he takes him towards his shoulder making it sit there but he has another plans, to rest his furry bum over Harry's head making both of them giggle, "c'mon now birdy time to fill your tummy." She tip-toes to catch him in her palms and knocks her nose with Harry's in the way.

His breath smells of strawberries and coffee, plushie lips dangerously close to her's making her half voracious gaze flicker between his lips and up at Tofu, kiss him kiss him you bloody fool, reeled in her head, "here lemme . . ." He notices her jitteriness fetching the birdy for her. She hiccups with a suck of breath when his knuckles brushed the inside of her palms while giving Tofu to her.

"Make yourself home!" She announces going to feed her pet and Harry flops onto her bed quite comfortably with his sweny legs stretched wide over the floor. They watched episodes of 'Bridgeton' wounded under her blankets and she almost fell asleep when he offered her genuinely.

"I'll help ye' have a tattoo, tiny atleast."

"Means alot to me." She yawns pondering with lug brain whether to snuggle into him or not, she did anyways. In the morning she was woken up by cold sheets and beeps of messages from Harry that made her feel she endured wings of fairy and she's bathing in the glitter of happiness.

//

She stares at the shop infront of her in amazement. It's friday night. She winded up all her assignments and came to this place exactly how it was mentioned in the address, when she enters inside spare teens and a bulky man was waiting outside the office thing-y . . .? Y/N presumes — an assistant chewing loudly on her gum talking onto phone with someone in hushed bratty tone and when Y/N knocks at the counter her piercing stare startles her a bit.

"Yes?" How rude! Y/N thinks with a pouty lip at her striking tone and she clears her throat, "'m here to meet . . . Harry." The snarky assistant rolls her eyes dismissing Y/N quickly to move back to her lazying, "He's busy." Y/N picks her finger to interject murmuring something under her breath and strolls back to wait with everyone.

Sun sets outside shimmering evening pink inside the lobby and the door atlast opens making her head perk up, "pet?" He looks sternly to his assistant but she doesn't seem fazed.

"Harry." Y/N grins, "Fo' how long you've been here?" She feels good someone's caring for her even though it's just for the fact she waited some hours for him, "doesn't matter can 've a tour?" He nods and the bratty assistant eyes him furiously taking Y/N's hand to lead her.

Harry watches her with dimply smile when she babbles at the details of his working station, "do I sit here?" She asks excitedly and he shakes his head, "yes, you may." They scrutinise through his sketches of designs together and she squeezes his wrist.

"Harry you're so talented! Look at 'em." He never felt this flustered with the compliments before button nose scrunching adorably. She chooses a a small plain jamsine flower nothing more, nothing less watching collect things for the process, "it's one of me mama's favourite." He exclaims rather proud snapping the latex gloves round his wrist.

"Where d'ya want it?"

"Where it hurts less." She replies wiping the sweat away with her frock, "it's outer shoulder, yer arm, calves and arse — " His mischievous grin awfully stretchy and she she slaps his bicep playfully.

"Outer shoulder?" She tells him confused to herself. He agrees strolling his stool near to her as she turns her back to him; his fingertips twitches when he pushes her hair to the side.

"Can you uh . . mm." She groans trying to reach for the zipper of her frock and he smoothes down his erratic heartbeat muttering, "yeah sure." She digs her nails into the delicate flesh of her palms when his calloused cold knuckles brushed deliberately against her skin while skimming the zip down slowly. Her eyelids flutter like butterfly wings when he slides her sleeve down her arm revealing her shoulder and it's so supple that Harry had to come back from his reverie; lick his lips to moisture.

He applies the numbing cream and she hisses softly the leather of seat sticking to her calves, her nerves jumbles and body startles when Harry starts the gun without warning her.

He loops his arm around her waist atop her thigh massaging it assuringly — sure it did nothing but to make her core throb insatiably as his rasp melted in her ears, "you're okay puppy." She gulps saying no word feeling her body getting hot at the each stroke of his thumb over her waist line.

"Ah -- Harry." She gasps out of air grasping his hand tightly at the sting of pain. She's baffled at the reactions of her body, her panties getting wet and the displeasing constant pricking of needle quenching out noises she never thought she was able to give out. When she whines and squirms Harry presses her down with force shushing her, "bug just a mo' it's smaller and would be done in seconds." She kisses her teeth bobbing her head vigorously and Harry chuckles at her effort remaining polite.

"Done!" He announces pulling away to admire it and when he hears the lil sniffles he quickly leaves everything sitting infront of her on the seat, "darlin' don't like it when ye' cry." He wipes her tears away not even glancing at her exposed collarbones and the plump flesh of her tits barely covered with her arm.

Soft and squishy, soft and squishy, soft and squishyyyyy.

His mind screams but her whimpery voice distracts him, "'m just gleeful that I've a tattoo because of you." He wraps it up expertly and zips her dress back with ever gentleness, "happy tears then?" She giggles with a grateful nod.

"Want a hug?" He thinks she deserves one for being brave and nice against her fear, "cuddle me up." She murmurs with swollen eyes and peachy cheeks. Uff — it stirs his cock in his jeans arousing the need to be with her everytime.

He rests his chin mushily into the crook of her neck swarming his arms around her waist to squeeze her warmly and she snuggles against his throat, damp lips puckering against his adam apple making it bob.

He feels jammy to be able to have a moment like this with her.

"Chinese takeout?" He collects his sketch journals, his phone, fedora apparently, keys of his motorbike and a spare helmet for her, "Yes please!"

//

They ate the take out perched against his bike with the meadow vast laying feet aways from them, under the breezy sky they conversed and Harry already got a tender spot for her in his heart. He never reaches to a stage where he could get to know someone with this passion and Y/N isn't from someone who'd guard herself from him just because his father was in the bad business.

As the evening brisked with cool dew of summer grass Harry leaned into her more and more.

He finds her little things infatuating, her bonding with Tofu and her dire wish to make good bum steamed kitties on the lattes, she has an irrefutable love for floral dresses and her homely habbit is doing ribbon work.

She got to know that Harry owns the tattoo shop, teaches few blokes the skill of it in free hours. He'ad attended lots of parties raving ones and the boring ones of higher socials, never lets any stranger step inside his loft which's situated upstairs of his shop. His father does all the criminaly things, he's this master mind in doing the evil things for people from getting money out of their enemies yada yada and Harry despises him for it, moreso, that he left them. He doesn't want to be associated with him in any case — he's none like him, he's kind and soft-hearted like his mother.

Y/N loves his goofy side. The one that cracks jokes and puns -- makes her fall in love with him without her even trying.

Last and foremost he has the render love for sheer shirts — told her he has shimmery ones for the fancying off.

"S'm no stranger then." She quips beside his shoulder as Harry unlocked his home's door. He glances her timidly amicably hovering over her lips, "absolutely not, yeh me bezzy." He raises his fist and she bumps it giggling.

//

Y/N that night sleeping on his bed dreamt of them laying together into the pillows of growing daffodils of meadow, lining up the stars in the sky and tell each other what they made ----- galloping rabbit, a slipping cake and she'd laugh with ugly snorts when Harry tells her that he sees a massive dick.

His grin proud and mellow to make his bezzy laugh. She squeaks when he pulls her onto him but soon her dreamboat sinks as she stirs at the warmth swallowing her whole.

She startes from her blurrines at something trapping her down till she recognizes the familiarity of two mascular arms sewn around her waist and what the fuck?

Harry made a makeshift pallet on the floor and right now she's all over him, pressed tightly against his chest — her cheeks turns red with embarrassment from being this clumsy and falling over him in her sleep.

"Oi, Harry budge over you bugger!!" She hisses with sleepy voice but in return he squishes her more.

Taking her face out of his neck she admires the softness of his features when he's asleep and the dotting of beautiful moles, sighing a huge relaxed puff of breath and canoodles into him like an affection starved kitty.

//

It's another cool rainy day and Y/N keeps on swabbing the droplets of water off from her eyes with her elbow trying to paddle her bicycle. She was on her way to Harry's when the skies betrayed her. Standing on his doormat she soaks it completely waiting for him to answer the door, sad, that her gift was ruined too.

"Lovin' ye'll catch a cold – shit come inside." Concerned he ushers her inside his loft, halts in his tracks when she remains behind adoring a gruffy pout, "what is it?" He asks walking to her and cups her cheeks the instant.

"Embroidered ye' a shirt 's destroyed now." She raises it to show him and he stares it for good seconds before swiping her off the floor – hugging her to radiate the sentiment of endearment he carries for her in his heart. It bloats her cheeks pressed against his clavicles and her feet dangles as he sways them with a happy noise of favourite melody she's unfamiliar with, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He kisses her temple and it lingers at the tip of his tongue.

I could kiss you right fuckin' now, pet.

"Harry you got wet too, dummy!!"

"Oops, guess we both have to change now."

Harry already set mixers for her on the luke points so that she wouldn't have to pull out her hair just to take a shower (his shower's quite complicated) leaves his shirt and boxers for her on his bedside, putting the lilac sheer shirt she embroidered for him in the dryer.

When she comes outside with trippy hair he already has two glasses of wine filled and windows closed to keep her warm.

She isn't a wine person. She was never able to afford it and it never settled with her tummy (she shares too much and feels bubbly with the rose coloured bevvy). Harry's gaze rakes from floor to her ankles snapping directly to her face and it's just snoggles his heart with fondness, seeing her drooled in one of his shirts.

"Need ya not to worry ye'r gift is good as before." He assures her and she flops onto the sofa beside him, "Thank you Y/N." He says genuinely and she waves him with small smile, "hush you."

They drink in silence, then soon it rośed their cheeks and noses making them giggly and floaty. A bottle gone in just a span of a time. She rumbles her lips stretching out, the twinkle of her belly showing and he does the same, eyeing him she slides down on the floor perching her elbow over the coffee table and YET AGAIN HE FOLLLOWS HER ACTIONS.

"Are you mimicking me?" She squints at him and he squints back, "are ye' mimickin' meh?" She smacks his bicep playfully and when he does the same though the force of it lighter than her's adoring mischievous grin making her squeal with chuckles, "Harry!"

He quips back in equal girlish pitch, "Harry!" blinking peepers up at her softly — to test her fates, the recipe of her drunken state and her heart bursting with affection for him she jests at him.

"I like you and might be falling in love with you." She says without holding back a breath and his eyes widen in an animated way chin slipping from his palm, "You what?" He's in utter shock. He has never come across the words she just said with so much delicacy and sincerity — it boggles him to an extent his tongue got tied.

"Say it back now, huh?" She smirks at him shaking from inside counting on to get rejected and ridiculed. Upset at herself more than him at his lack of response, clearing her throat she whispers.

"So — " But, her apology strucks in her throat when he pulls her to himslef with a gentle grip to her elbow. Grabs her jaw tenderly and with the ardent boldness smushes his lips against her's to seal his affinity for her in a kiss that's so soft it melts her inside. His hands brews at her sides and glides up to their destination, to cup her cheeks and deepen the kiss while billowing her in his lap comfortably. He devours the plumness of her lips, tracing the curve of her bottom one with his warm tongue and kisses the corner of her lips again and again making her puff out air from her nostrils.

He has kissed people and it was always to lead something to satisfy the cavity of loneliness, but this, this already feels like home sitting infront of the Autunm fire eating cookies and drinking milk. She feels like the mold he's meant to melt into and explore every ridge of it.

She doesn't not know what's filthier the string of spit that's connecting them or his raspberry lips that she could kiss and kiss for forever, he doesn't stop there pecks her several times with lil smooches, "You're really good at it." She winds her arms tight around the nape of his neck murmuring against him (she wants to make him feel appreciated), his cock chubbing up in his trousers and it lulls her head against his cheek upon feeling it. The thought of having him hard for her boasts the genitilty in herself and she kisses his smiling mouth.

"Wanna make ye' feel good." He presses his lips back against her's with more passion than before and tips her chin with his thumb to stamp lil pecks down her throat feeling his lips tingling to kiss her again, it's way better than he envisioned. Her softness could swallow him and the thought makes his hips stutter imagining his hard prick sucked inside her swelled up walls. His large calloused hands meander down her bottom taking the ripeness of it in a bunch of squeeze.

"On the bed." He pats her bum pinching it playfully and she squeaks obliging him giggles when she bounces over the bed. Him crawling behind her as lion ready to feast over a hare.

Leaning against the head of the bed he lays her between his wide spread legs, her back against his chest and their fronts facing the tall framed mirror infront of them.

"Comfy?" She bobs her head gulping cause no one has ever cared what'll be consuming for her and what not, "I want ye' to look in the mirror sweet girl, at us." He rasps in her ear stroking the hilt of her jaw in continuous circles and when she hums fluttering her eyelids, arching her back at the throb of her pussy and his dirtiness making her slick down to her bum he glides his thumb inside her mouth telling her to, "get 'em proper wet for me." She does coating his thumb with her saliva and flicking her tongue over it many time while he glazes his palms over her ribs, under the crescent of her tits shirt pulled to her collarbones.

She gags around his digit when he took her perky nipple in between his middle and index pulling it then kneads it with a kiss to her earlobe getting her out of his boxers telling her, "enough, pet." When she doesn't listen to him and kept on sucking thinking of his cock in her mouth he gruffs splitting her thighs apart and pressing the soles of her feet tightly against the mattress with his own ankles, "I said enough." Shushing her hungry kitten whimpers he trails his wet thumb down her fallen lip and chin, popping her shirt open and rims it around her areola, "s' soft wanna rub me cock between 'em tits." The shiver that hits her makes her squirm and Harry gives a chaste kiss to her open mouth putting his thumb at her entrance ready to play with her cunt.

"Your eyes open 'em fo' me, puppy." He ducks down to kiss her not letting her turn around himself so that her neck doesn't strain while caressing his fingers up and down in her slickness making soapy noises on purpose, when she finally looks in the mirror locking eyes with him as if he's holding the most precious gem in his arms — the sight turned her spine into a sharp arrow, "c - ca-can I've more?" She gasps squeezing his bicep pussy lips fluttering and her hole palpitates aching for him.

"My polite girl." He smiles awfully fonded at her and she nods licking her lips to speak, "'m good, good always." He pushes his two fingers inside her cunt and she moans with her whole will trying to sink herself to his knuckles nails digging into his shoulders, "I know ye'r." He assures her sliding them out and teasing her little pink asshole turning her into a whining mess.

She twitches around his fingers when he pumps them back along with her sticky wetness and fucks her with them, flickering her clit with his other hand and kneads the inside of her fleshy thigh. She gives out a gaspy moan of unbearable pleasure when his cock's stiffeness rubs between her asscheeks, "ye' feel it? S' fo' you, gonna stuff yeh full of me cock, fuck you nice n' warm and cum all over yer pussy. How you deserved to be fucked, is that okay?" She never expected him this much of a lewd talker — hell she didn't even expected him to step out of his conserved, rather shy demeanour, "yes, yes, yes." She visioned him as a curt dom, who's more into BDSM but he's warm and caring with her. Just in few second of them doing it he proved it how much he's loving to please her.

"Ah! 'm gonna cum . . . gonna —" His sweet vulgar words combined with him toying, rubbing and fingereing her already swollen pussy tips her to the edge she was desiring to get from him, "cum all over me fingers. Want it s' bad from ye darlin', to see you." He says in a tone that's on the verge of pleading but holds a commanding hint under it and with her bones all stiffing, her skin burning and heart buzzing she snaps into her own dreamy world gushing over his fingers with her juices.

"Oh . . Harry." She loudly mewls thrashing in his arms from the intensity of her orgasm and he holds her tight with his arms wrapped around her torso, kisses to the curve of her neck and exposed collarbones. He notices her stiring away from his hand due to sensitivity and takes out his fingers with a squelching popping noise that made her blink from her semblance. Her chest heaves as she watches him in the mirror licking her cum off his wrists with the tip of his pink tongue, "mhm tastes s' sweet." One by one he sucks his finger humming around them seductively spiking her insides yearing to be fucked by him, "just like you sweet puppy."

Gently laying her down he knees infront of her getting out of his flimsy shirt and Y/N admires the flounce of tattoos trailing from his pecks down his adorable love handles. Her gaze stops at the his happy trail leading down to where he's swelled up against his zipper and she hasn't seen someone so beautiful in her entire life, he shimmies his joggers down teasingly with a smirk and she whines hiccuping when his cock slaps against his lower abdomen making her eyes go wide.

"Oh my . . " She gasps at the gorgeous sight of his rock-hard cock between his supple thighs. He's beautifully big, satiny and a dot of shade lighter than his lips making his prick so kissable, would it even fit?? She could already imagine it stretching her out gracefully and stimulating her in ways her fingers could never, "you're so gorgeous button."

The shiny swollen tip, and the dollop of pre-come weeping down his slit alluring her to have him in her mouth but he strokes it not to waste it.

"What's the pout fo' darlin'?" He asks as she stares it making him all shy but he overcomes it persistent to make her feel good (she shared with him that she never knew what being cared feels like) he wanna gives her all lovin' as she did to him the day in cafe. Cups the nape of her neck to bring her for another kiss splitting his thumb into her hair and the moment is so vulnerable and saccharine as he snogs her to floatiness, "will make sure it fits — make you cum many times, baby." He flips her gently.

"On ye tummy fo' me, like an atta pup ye're." It knots her stomach into ropes and she jolts squealing softly into pillows when he smacked her peach watching it jiggle while tugging at his prick to coat it with his thick wetness.

He moans biting his lower lip lulling his head over his shoulders stroking the head of his cock between her asscheeks and round her entrance not pushing at once torching both of them, "you're so delicate wanna be slow with you." He whispers to her pressing his front against her shoulders while wrapping his hand around his shaft to push inside her.

"It's okay!" Her tiny squeaks rolls into a moan when the head of his cock settles inside her and when she twitches around it he cruffs a groan coaxing her sides, "shhh baby 's okay relax fo'me." Taking his hand away from around himself he places it atop her ass withdrawing and looking down to see her cunt glistening with his and her's wetness — then bottoming out deep inside her till his balls are snug against her bum. His stomach twists with pleasure at the warmth that blankets his cock completely making him hunch but he recoups with his arms pressed beside her temple.

The stretch that burns through her core's so pleasing and fulfilling. It hurts in a good way. She knows how patient and composed he's being for her, from the way he fattens tucked inside her walls and he slides his hand between her front and the sheets to caress her soft breasts moving with rough pace.

"Don't stop, please." She recites the mantra almost crushing his fingers with her grip around, it's alot, the constant rub of sheet against her clit and him driving inside her from behind with moans sexier than in erotic audio books. He draws loose circles over her mound making her thighs spread wider with the inability to hold them as he pinched her clit coercion her sensitive button, "oh my god . ." With the whimpers of his name she squirts around his cock and it makes her throw her hips at him.

When he pulls out to turn her on back she whines with a frown, heaving chest and coral cheeks looking totally fucked already, "wanna see ye'r face when you come . . . s' beautiful." He hisses hauling her legs around his waist lowering himself down to enter her with lil smooches to her cheeks, "cum again fo' me baby — yeah just like that squeeze on meh." He pounds her over and over grinding his pelvis against her's to stimulate her in every way.

Feeling the heat crackling in her bones and tummy she takes him by shoulders to cuddle him closer to her chest raising her hips to meet his's, a crying mess, with glossiness twinkling at the corners of her eyes as she comes with euphoria dawning upon her and Harry works her up again.

"Once more, love, i know you've one more fo' me." He gives out a purry groan biting her throat and the valley of her chest, snuggling against it with kisses — when she shakes her head through around him he lines up his nose against her nose petal–ling his lips over her's, "yes you could puppy my sweet — " His eyelids bolting shut at the built of up of his own release and the moment she cums with his cock now he shoots his thick spurt deep inside her.

"This's what it only took fo' you? Callin' ye mere sweet names." He fucks her through it and Y/N admits that he went with his promise --- fucked her like she had never before, they remain like that for some time catching their breaths and then he pulls out of her gently and pumps himself to empty his load shooting it over her pussy and abdomen, "you came so much." She says completely baffled and he steals a chaste kiss from her looking at the white ribbons sticking to her skin.

"Just for you, babyhun."

He tells her not to move and whisks away coming back with a pack of baby wipes. Her hearts swirls with so much fondness for him when he pats the wipes between his palms to get them less cold and shushes her with pecks when she hisses with sensitivity.

They take another shower, this time together and it's not sexual at all though alot of tired poofy kisses and cute yawns were included as they gave eachother shampoo massages and she'd cooe everytime untangling his long hickorey curl.

They changed the sheets (unapologetically very clumsily) and he fetches a glass of water for her making it drink her.

When they were cuddled awfully good he lifts his head up from it was nuzzled between her titties. His accent drawly and slippery from tiredness, "Y/N." He checks if she's asleep and she hums in response starting to play with his hair lazily.

"That day when me date didn't show up?" Witha half heart she hums again, she doesn't like to talk bout that day, because the hopelessness that conquered him that evening still makes her sad.

"I was glad ye' were there 'n 'm so so so thankful that he didn't show up. Else we wouldn't be here in eachother's embrace 'n me heart still'd been mournful to sleep in cold sheets waiting fo' me person." It's the most he has talked in his soberness. It wells up tears in both of their eyes.

"You're my person." She cradles his face hating it that he was kept so love starved his entire life and she gazes him dearly, sweetly, affectionately all the words that could describe love for someone spilling out of the chambers of heart.

"I want to love you so much, pet, make you me most treasured human hershey."

"I'm in, cuddle me up." He grins smauching a loud kiss to her lips and cosying back to his previous spot purring like a kitten thrown into heaps of fluffy blankets.

[ficsnroses]

Ultrasound; - John Wick x Reader

4.3k words

summary : you’re 4 months pregnant, and your husband john is everything you’ve ever wanted. however, he misses your ultrasound appointment, leading to you being upset with him.

warnings : pregnant reader. angst, but also lots of fluff! x f! reader. 

notes : requested by lovely anon! I really hope you enjoy this, lovie. I know you had asked for a heated argument, however, I just couldn’t bring myself to write John being angry at his s/o. he’s too much of a softie :) as always, please do leave comments and feedback, it means so much! I’m a little nervous for this one aH be kind pls ily xx

At the glass paned, brittle white front door, you stand, a cautious hand placed to the swell of your growing belly, a stray strand of hair falling to your eye as your husband John, kisses a gentle goodbye to your cheek.

“Are you sure you have to go?” You ask, off put, shining eyes with your lip bitten, as if you’d wanted to say more. John had been leaving on early mornings such as today often, far more frequent as of late; you’d be lying if you’d projected it didn’t chip off a small shard of your heart each time he’d leave you for the day.

He’d be back, later. In the evening perhaps, after you’d settled into the cozy depths of the living room couch, a sickly dessert in hand and your preferred 90’s sitcom portrayed in reruns on the blue TV screen, or as you’d retire to bed, awaiting his body to come occupy the vacant spot beside.

“Yeah.” John heavily sighs, briefly announcing his downcast glare to the floor, before reverting those much familiar, chocolate eyes to yours. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I really do.” Subtle guilt pinched at his darkened features, beard groomed fresh to a handsome trim. His hand smoothes over the small of your back, quietly waiting,

for you to end your farewell.

“It’s just…” You trickle, eyes focusing anywhere, but on his. You didn’t mean to press; you’d reminded him of today’s upcoming events much in the last week. “We have the appointment later this afternoon.” You allow, a final time, blinking back guilt for perhaps, over doing it with the constant reminders. “Are you sure you’ll make it in time?”

-an exchange for the true feelings that had been brewing inside, as of late. On the tip of your tongue they twirled, bubbling, bubbling, boiling, and you’d known, perhaps to the slightest mishap, they’d spill over.

But for now, as your husband holds you, tentatively sure he’d return in time, you bite your tongue, choosing to trust him.

Trust. It was the band that held your marriage together.

John softly smiles, offering a squeeze to your palm. “Promise.” Assuring, his Mustang 69’ keys fish out of his pocket with a jingle, equipped to his stockier fingers. “You’re still okay to meet at the doctor’s office?” With every cell in his being, John would have preferred to stay home, with you, awaiting the appointment time.

Yet, odds never worked in his favour. He’d have to go, he’d have to be reminded of the dark that wouldn’t let its best man go easy, even on the most joyful days, such as today. A day that should have been reserved for his loving wife, who meant the world to him and more, and their baby, who would come into the world in a mere 5 months. When nimble fingers reach for the collar of his brown leather jacket, his love nods, faking her best executed smile in return.

John knew you, well as the back of his hand. He knew you weren’t pleased with the idea of him leaving, wherever he was off to today. Yet, he knew you’d often

bite your tongue,

for him. John knew he’d struck gold when he’d found you, when you’d fell in love with him, and him, immensely with you. In your relationship, there had been much darkness. Much obscurity, much ambiguity to the life John lived separate from the one you shared together. You know about John’s profession, and the hurt he’d caused to many wretched souls. When he was home, with you, your John is a daydream, in human form.

Soft, gentle, caring. Words fall short of the mountain that is your man.

Yet the day he’d told you, of the culpability, the shame that resides within him; claws through each regret ridden seam, each sorrow droned bone in his body,

nothing changed within you.

You didn’t fall out of love. You didn’t fall less. The same hands that held yours, held knives and guns, slaughtered the lives of many. But they’d given life to you. The day your John told you he’d lost count of the souls he’d taken, you’d vowed to love him regardless. To accept him with whatever baggage he came with. He kept the details of his whereabouts, and the deeds he’d succumb to scare.

Mixing you with the life he so desperately wanted to escape was the last thing he’d wanted to do. So you let him, you let him keep mum on scattered details and fine points of who the famed Boogyman was,

You promised to see in him, just John.

John Wick, your husband, who deserves more than anyone the life you’ve built together. A beautiful home in a secure neighbourhood, a house filled with love, a house feels warm, painted with white crisp walls that hold no dark, enveloped in the anticipation of tiny feet sputtering down the open halls someday soon.

“I’ll meet you there, then. Drive safe, and call me if you change your mind, I’ll send a taxi your way.” He quietly reminds, still holding the hand that had painted colour to his black and white guarded walls. You’d opened long drawn curtains that closed to all that came; you were the first to let sunlight in, allow it to kiss his skin for the first time, in a long, long time.

“I love you.” John smiles. “So much. Stay safe, okay? I’ll call you.” He adds, a final time, before instilling a soft kiss to your plump stained lips, your own hand smoothing a wrinkle off his shirt clad chest.

“Love you too.” You quietly smile, holding your bump as you gaze him out the white paned front door, off to somewhere you’d never asked.

You’d bit your tongue, for him,

Yet again.

The doctor’s office air proves cold, chilled to an icy, unsympathetic hail. With a hand to your bump, and a much growing pierce to your now aching temple, your brows frown and an uneased anger surfaces inside.

John promised.

One minute to appointment time.

       ‘He’ll come. He’d walk through the door any second,’ muses your heart.

       ‘He won’t. He hasn’t responded to any calls, or messages.’ Punctuates your mind.

He didn’t forget. Something must have come up. He wanted to be here.

Thoughts, ponderings, half attempted assurances to your own worn out mind.

He shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have let anything come up. That was his job as the father of this child.

He needed to be here today. He knew how much this means to you.

It should have meant enough to him to be here.

You, your baby,

       should have meant enough.

“Mrs. Y/N Wick?” The call of your name disrupts your whirlwind of destructive thoughts. Perhaps it was your emotions that had been working overtime as of late, perhaps it was the distance between you and John.

Perhaps it was the scars burned into your tongue. The toxins that burned being bitten down.

Gnawed, bitten,

concealed,

covered.

Sat in the cold leathered office bed chair, your OB-GYN spins you a warm smile, and you smile back best as you can, although reluctantly so. Masquerading joy had proven tough, when the hand that should have been holding yours right now proves absent. You sink further into the bed, hem of your top rolled up just below your breasts to allow the doctor access.

“How are you today, Y/N?” She shines, layering on a pair of blue latex gloves, prior to smearing a cold, frigid gel to your tummy. The chill of the balm had always sent shivers peppering down your spine, you’d clenched John’s hand firmer to the feel at your previous check ups. “I’m doing well.” You lie, you bite the truth. Wispy fingers thread together, placed on your lap.

“John’s not here today?” She wonders, preoccupied with the transducer probe equipped in her left grip, her right still smearing the cold gel to your bump. The sound of the radiology machine powering echoes your ears, and you relieve a soft exhale, sure not to cast your dreary emotions too much.

The last thing you needed right now, was to spill your long shielded, buried emotions to your OB-GYN, who was solely trying to do her job. “No, he’s not.” You dryly return, swallowing thickly in declaration more to yourself, than to anyone else.

Her eyes gloss over your features, eyes focused on the beige office walls, fingers twiddling in your enclosed grip. “Everything alright?” She wonders, to your half lost execution, a noticeable dread on your mind, weighing.

“Of course.” You lie, you smile with an emptiness void of usual warmth, through untruthful teeth. “I would appreciate it if we could get started as soon as possible.” You request, wanting none more than to be left alone.

To sift through long pent up feelings, frustrations and worries that brewed inside; to allow hostage feelings pleading to be let free, overtake your mind.

The couch feels colder than normal; or perhaps it was the room.

A room, that fell cold, longing for someone else to be in it.

John.

The appointment concluded a little over an hour ago, a full pot of mint tea sits brewing on the coffee table as you await his arrival. The clock ticks in the distance, your mind shuffling a million thoughts a minute.

He’s not home. He hasn’t been home.

You’d bit your tongue, far too long.

He’d seared a cut. He’d butchered into a part of you, and you wonder when you’d forgotten the way you used to be.

You ponder; when you’d started to settle for his absence. A fire boils inside, lathers, toils. The scorch of long concealed feelings pent up, brewing in secret. Had the sound of a heavy door closing shut not broke your contemplation, you’d perhaps shed a few warm tears, unannounced. Unwelcomed dew that may have just glided off your cheeks, the weight of a million bricks released.

You’d heard his heavy footsteps on their way in, the sound of Dog’s excited paws trotting along the floor as he runs towards his bestest friend.

John-

the one person you’d thought you could share anything with. Count on for anything, had left you deserted. He’d been building a wall around, leaving you left all alone, in the grey dark. Shackled with dread, the conversation that you knew would follow tonight, is something you’d prayed would never rehearse between you and your John.

Yet, perhaps that was the problem. Your John, seemed to be lost. The man you fell in love with, would leave the world behind if you’d asked him to.

He’d made it clear; you and him against the world.

Nothing was larger, nothing was sweeter than what he’d made with you. He’d been ecstatic when you’d found out you were pregnant, promised to never leave your hand the entire way through.

You yearn for that John again;

Beg.

Hope.

Plead.

Yearn. You yearn for your husband, again. Burn, crash, crumble, the feelings become too much, the anger pounds inside. Indignant, blue, muddled, hurting, hurting, hurting-

“Y/N,”

His voice. A confliction at it’s finest. To fall into his arms and pour out your heart, or to fight. To make him feel the ache he’d doused your heart in.

The toxins on your lips threaten to burn; they’ll sear your cheeks, drip a dark tar with each syllable, each vowel that falls. The sharp edges will only cut further. A faint frown lingers the planes of your face, and you shake your head, gaze downcast when he inches further into the room, stance preparing to kneel in front of you on the hardwooden floor. He smells faintly of the air outside; crisp, winter auburns and sharp wind. Yet there’s that familiar, warmer spice. Something that kisses his skin, reminds you of home.

You don’t remember when you started looking at him, and seeing home. It’s been far too long, and now, it’s all you know.

        It’s tough being angry at someone, who loves so deep;

John loves with his entirety. John feels with each inch of his battered skin; his bones remember the chill of feeling null.

Stare melting into the crackling fireplace, you avoid his gaze, ignore his touch when a heavy hand rests to your thigh. Warm, comforting, a reminder of the way his touch had the ability to stitch each ripping seam inside you; to mend, and adorn flowers all over.

But his touch, holds no triumph today.

The flowers didn’t bloom,

the slits only gushed.

“Baby, I’m sorry-”

It comes in flashes. Bold, like a lightening bolt.

       Boom

               Boom.

“Don’t.” You whisper a grit, jaw tightening with a pounding ache to your temple protruding. “Do not try and explain yourself.”

Firm; like a lightening bolt. Much to your dismay, his cocoa kissed hair falters in hues; long, curtained along the frame of his face. Coffee eyes show repulse, a certain sadness you remember from long, long ago.

A sorrow you hadn’t seen often since you’d given him your heart, for his in return. “You don’t get to explain yourself.” You speak; firm, assertive, tears pricking in watery jewels in the corners of your orbs. Perhaps it was the high of pregnancy hormones, or the dire of the situation. For the first time, with John, today marked the start of something you’d never felt before.

You felt forgotten. Less than.

“I told you how much I wanted you with me. I told you how important today was to me.” Tone dreary, John’s heart practically sliced into a million pieces, at mercy of the dagger that was your wounded voice.

Grim, an aching pound stings his nerves, crinkled lines of stress embroidered to his forehead, and his spine unravels in a lean into your skin, his hands coming to engulf around yours in a tender hold. “Baby, I know and I’m-”

Lightening. Swift; sharp.

“No!” You almost shout, hands pulled out of his larger, rougher ones. “You do not get to explain yourself.” The words had come out harsher than intended, the cuts had been deeper than thought. They pour, and a river streams. A flood of built up emotion, a cry your tears won’t bear hold.

“Baby, don’t yell.” A quiet John speaks lowly, barely heard with a gaze avoidant of yours. “It’s not good for our baby girl.” He seems tense. He feels, he feels with each inch of his bones. Still, his hand never leaves your thigh, resting, reminding you that he’s there now. And he will be.

He will be, for good.

Yet, his words only pierce into you further; the blade twists in your skin. Huffing a sneered chuckle, your eyes blink away unwanted tears, the moment needing your assertion more than a wave of vulnerable grief. “Our baby?” Veins course with something so icy, so frozen; an agonizing burn claws away at your temples, features far from forgiving. You knew the words that threatened to brew up on your tongue were far from the truth. You knew they held far more weight than he deserved to bear.

“Because I feel almost as if she’s just my baby with how absent you’ve been, John.”

After thunder, after lightening, comes rain. Perhaps the worst, of them all. Cold, condescending, long pouring rain; it pelts in darkness, loud, leaving its mark on the drought terrain. It pours quietly, yet stridently all at once. It seeps, and it seeps, and it seeps, until it stops.

       Only, no one knows. When it’ll stop.

“I’ve been alone. I’ve been feeling alone. You’ve made me feel alone.”

Rain. Pelting, and pelting, and pelting.

This stream of misery, these awful words, declarations. You know he’s hurting. You’re hurting him. You’re doing the one thing, you promised you’d never do to him. His breathe remains calm, collected, his eyes seldom avoid yours. His hand leaves your thigh, allowing, respecting your space. Those cocoa kissed eyes hold a weight heavier than the sear of a million burns.

You almost want, plead for him to say something back; to anguish the fire.

       It’s hard getting mad at someone who doesn’t raise their voice. Its tough being angry at someone,

       like your John.

You’ve knew you were lying. You knew your words held zero truth. He hadn’t been making you feel alone. He’d been waking up curled into your skin, holding your hand through the dreadful nights. He’d been sacrificing sleep, putting himself second to make sure you were alright.

To make sure his baby was alright. Yet, his efforts had proved unsuccessful, nonetheless. Because as of late, he had been coming home later. He had been leaving earlier, he had been away. He had left you alone.

Quiet, filled with regret, his voice carries a burden; the burden of hurting the only person that had ever truly mattered to him. Of hurting the women who he loves, adores, more than the stars adore the moon. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. I promise.” John speaks, eyes insistent with guilt.

Make it up. He’ll make it up. Another broken promise, your mind threatens, yet your heart whispers. It whispers, that he will. John had a way, John has an inherent kindness. Your lips pursue, the words needing to come out. You needed to be heard today. You needed to know he understood.

Laced with aggravation, your voice flows off your lips in rougher tides than intended. “I don’t need you to make it up, John.” You explain, calmer, collected. Firm. “I just need you to be here. And if that’s something you can’t do, I need you to tell me now.” Twisted with agony, your heart feels heavy in your chest. “My child needs a father who will be there.”

“Our child.” John interrupts, correcting, quietly, respectfully.

He knew better than to argue with his pregnant, hormone loaded wife. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he would let her abdicate the fact that he is the father of their child. Although they hadn’t met yet, John knew. He could feel it in his bones. She would be the payoff. His baby would hold his entire heart, along with her mommy.

Each part of John yearns for nothing but his wife and child. They are all that matters. They are the payoff; the decades of grim sin that conjure on his fingertips would finally, at last lay to rest because of them. For them.

Quietly, a muffled sigh, heavy, tense, leaves your mauve stained lips. A faint frown lingers the depths of your face, something filled with melancholy confession. A heaviness fills the silent room still, occupied with nothing but your two worn out souls, desperately longing for nothing more, than for this nightmare to be over.

John and you don’t argue. Despite small disputes over shoes left at the front door, or a towel left discarded without care to the bathroom floor, this isn’t something John and you do. It isn’t something small. It isn’t something you can brush off, forget about a minute thereafter.

John and you, complete each other. You compliment each other. You fight for each other.

         His heart and yours, are old, old friends.

The water rises, a river flows from your mouth. Steeping thoughts the stitched seams even, cannot bear hold. With a lingering sadness peppered to your tenor, you sigh heavily, head falling downcast to gaze the floor below. John watches you, in a drown of his own guilt; sadness of his own.

He longs to hold you; it had been far too long without.

“You’re always away in the day as of late, and I hate that the only time I really see you is when you come home to sleep.” You begin, voice cut with sorrow. “Sometimes I lay awake in the late of night, savouring the feeling of you just holding me. Touching me. Because I’ve began to get comfortable with knowing moments like that only happen during the night.” Deeper and deeper, each cut wounds into your skin. “I hate it John.” You confess, longing for those strong, toned arms to scoop you up and assure you everything would be okay. That he would tell you what’s been going on, let you in. “I don’t want to be comfortable in knowing you’re not around.”

A slight chuckle shines through your raspy throat, yet the utter sorrow never fails to paint each feature as the words continue to fall. There’s a certain vulnerability in your tone, a certain weakness you wish you could hide. “My body is changing, and I’ve been feeling low. I’m scared of not being what she deserves when she comes.” You barely whisper, tears pricking, a hand resting on your growing belly. A small drop falls, the pent up weight of a billion timid thoughts. “Feeling like you’re maybe not all in anymore makes me feel,” If a word, could even portray the density, the sheer torment of the thought of life with John being anything less than what you hoped. “..Awful.” You cease, a lip quivering. “I feel so awful, John.”

Downcast, your eyes scan the floor, heart pounding, the stillness killing you. John watches you, eyes doused with remorse. Quietly, he’d barely heard your words, strung together. A pair of beautiful eyes dilate with nothing, but blue, as they search his dark orbs.

“John, are you falling out of love with me?”

       Sharp.

       Shrill.

You swore something inside him broke. Something twisted and turned, left a deep puncture; wounded him for good.

       Like a lightening bolt. You’d sunk the needles where it hurts the most.

Weary of his silence, you continue. Unsure of the outcome, yet allowing the river that falls your lips, to flow free, full, at last. “I just…I miss you so much. I don’t need anything but you right now.” Bitten to your lip, a choked sob threatens to surface, although you manage to keep yourself collected. “I don’t want anything but you; I never have.”

And with those words, John’s weary limbs resist the hold no more. Kneeling in front of you as you sit still on the grey couch, John pulls your frame close, so close, that you hear the steady rhythm of his heart. His body is warm, brimmed with love; you feel the soak of a few strayed tears from his eyes seep into the supple skin of your neck.

       He holds you so close.

       And you hold him; the way it was always meant to be.

With your arms firmly wrapped around his body, you sink into his skin, melting in the touch of the man you love most. Eyes closed, you breathe in his scent, and he threads his fingers in tender strokes to your hair. Honey drenched kisses press to your shoulder, your neck, the side of your head as he quietly finds the right words to surface; nevertheless, feeling as if anything at all would fall short for what he felt in this moment.

John Wick, sees nothing in this world, but you. As a few more moments of silent relish pass, he pulls his head back a mere few inches, still holding your body so close. With his callous thumb brushing a gentle stroke just under your eye, his thin taut lips kiss a tender, soft peck to where a tear had once fell from your cheek, his eyes still soaking in gloom. With his voice, deep, rich as butter, yet rasped, he speaks softly, silked into your ears, never breaking eye contact.

“I’ve been trying to get out.” Velvet. He speaks, as if the finest of velvet. “And I did, I left that part of me behind today.” Swallowing thick, John inches in closer, kissing a soft, gentle kiss to your eye, that had been haven to nothing but drifted tears earlier. “For you, and for our baby girl.”

Close, proximate, he holds you. His touch alone, fixes everything. “You are all I want. Here, is where I want to be. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” He whispers, his forehead resting to yours as you cup his perfectly groomed, bearded cheek. “I didn’t want you worrying; I needed you to stay happy. You’re carrying our baby, I wanted you to be carefree, and nothing else. I never wanted to hurt you.” His heart pours, his heart sears. “I will never hurt you, or our child.” Looking down at your belly, his hand rests to your bump as his lips press a gentle kiss to the top.

And with his lips, holding the only remedy you’d ever need, he kisses you with all the love he holds, all the love he feels for no one, but you. “You are my everything. Please believe me when I say it. I wanted you then, I want you now, and I will until we take our last breath.” His words hold sincerity, something reserved for no one but you.

“From today on, baby, I’m all in. I’m all yours, and hers. I’ll be here for it all, the sleepless nights, the cravings, the aches, everything.” He pours his heart to you, never letting go, as if he’d been scared you’d disappear. “You are it for me, Y/N. I love you more than I could ever tell. Please believe me when I say it.”

And with your eyes, shining into his, you keep his cheek cupped, and your foreheads locked. You stare, and you stare, and you stare, into the eyes of your world. Into the eyes of the man who you knew would become the best father; perhaps greater of a father to your child than he is a husband, if only it was possible.

Your husband, deserves the stars. And if you could, you’d pick them out of the sky like apple blossoms in summer, and decorate them in his hair. And with every ounce in your being, you smile, and you kiss him tender, you hold him so close, so near.

“I do.” You smile, holding on.

       “I believe you. I trust you.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[polpoka]

Neighbor Au

Characters- Kim Rok Soo, Alberu Crossman, Lee Soo Hyuk, Choi  Jung Soo, Tasha

Ratings- K+

Shippings- Kimrokberu

Type- (Fluff)

Part 5

((CW. mentioned racism))

The tray made a harsh clink as Alberu set it in front of Taerang, who was sitting on the lignum vitae chair, on the coffee table which formed a complete set with the said chair.

“So, sir, in the end,” Taerang took a pause to sip on the tea the host had provided, though he was the junior, “Did you tell him your name?”

Alberu averted his eyes, before answering in a low voice, “...Yes.”

Taerang sighed. He cared about his employer a lot, especially because of the fact that they had known each other for quite some time, and in that time, he had come to realize rather early on, that Alberu was rather soft on the inside, despite his harsh mannerisms and stern appearance. He cared far too deeply for people and always hesitated to let a connection go. It would be bad in their line of work, but well, sometimes it was necessary. 

He remembered the way the younger college student had always shook his hand rather than barking at him and treating him like a meagre guard. Even though he was one, who had been given to him as a present for his achievements by his former ‘owner’, Angelica and right before Choi Jung Gun, and before that his guardian, Ahn Mon Ran. 

He was always viewed as a tool, almost always at least, Ahn Mon Ran had no other option but to give him to Choi Jung Gun because of the hand the man had on him.

He asked once again, “Did you say anything that even remotely points out the fact that made the person think that you’re part of the elite Crossman family, and not your average joe?”

Alberu still didn’t meet Taerang’s eyes. Taerang knew what that meant and unfortunately Alberu did too. 

Alberu struggled to meet Taerang’s eyes, “I’m sorry, hyung-”

“Don’t call me that right now, sir. You know you’re in trouble. Big time.”

Taerang took a sip of his lavender tea which had been poured til the brim of the teacup, “You were the one who originally asked for these rules to be made, and we can’t break them, since you specifically gave us instructions not to. No matter what you say at the time.”

Taerang looked at the man who was fidgeting anxiously. He knew why these rules were a safety precaution, and he didn’t want Alberu to go through that experience again. Well, technically speaking, he wasn’t there but he was told the story, and he didn’t like it either way, not one bit. 

Alberu also knew the reasons, and the repercussions, and yet it felt horrible. He knew why this had happened, and he didn’t want it to happen again but still. He looked at the table silently for a moment, thinking about the various possibilities which seemed to end with his heartbreak. 

Kim Rok Soo didn’t seem like the guy who would take advantage of him, he just didn’t. Not to mention, the connection- the connection felt as if he was a gust of wind that had finally found his tree, but he knew that in the end, this was the best move he could play. If he stayed, he had no idea what to do. 

Would he confront Kim Rok Soo? 

Would he pretend never to see him again, despite knowing that his heart longed for the other? 

That would just be running away, but Alberu wasn’t even sure what Kim Rok Soo would want. He thought that Kim Rok Soo was free, and that he, a caged bird could never compare, even if he liquidised all his assets he couldn’t compare with that man, and so, he might as well not trouble the other. 

Alberu was determined, yet this time he felt like he couldn’t win. A feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time. It reminded him of the time he had to deal with his dad, and those were memories he would rather not recall, but he was sure a broken person like him didn’t deserve Kim Rok Soo. 

After this short exchange with himself, he looked at Taerang, his eyes looked soulless, and his voice was brittle as he spoke, “So let’s go through with it.”

Taerang felt something inside of him break, he couldn’t do anything but agree, “...Yes, let’s go through, sir.”

Alberu took a short sip of the liquid that had been sitting in front of him untouched, “Ah look, it’s gone cold.”

***

Kim Rok Soo’s apartment was in an overly pristine condition, despite it normally being clean, Choi Jung Soo could tell that he had cleaned the place intensely a couple of hours earlier. The yellow evening lights had been switched on a few hours ago and the three men were sitting on the floor on a neatly maintained rug, with more than an average number of bottles that three men should consume in a single night being kept on the table. It seemed that they had all acknowledged that the only function of the table right now was to act as storage. 

“Rok Soo-ya?” Choi Jung Soo asked, waving his hand over the other’s face.

“Ah,” Kim Rok Soo blinked, adjusting his eyes to the light, before replying to the call of this man, “Yes?”

Choi Jung Soo took a seat next to him and could easily notice a couple of things that were odd off the bat. For example, the eyebags were deeper, he wasn’t paying attention at all, which even when separated from these discrepancies was odd. Not to mention he was drinking a lot, almost as if he was trying to get drunk. Even though Choi Jung Soo knew that Kim Rok Soo was aware of his own tolerance, which was inhumanly high, something must have happened and it was definitely not a good thing, seeing as the way Kim Rok Soo looked and acted. 

Choi Jung Soo patted the other’s head gently, you could hear the tease in his tone, “What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t really want to talk about it…Could you pour another one?” the other responded with a burnt out tone, letting the hand rest there. 

‘I guess it didn’t go well.’ Choi Jung Soo poured another cup for himself, using the nearest half filled bottle, before filling Kim Rok Soo’s cup. 

Lee Soo Hyuk on the other hand, was drinking a little too much than what a forty year old liver could take. He’d drunk two bottles. Downing them like they’re soup, well not like his dongsaeng hadn’t drunk about three bottles of the same type of strong alcohol in one sitting. 

‘Really, the people around me really don’t take care of themselves,’ thought Choi Jung Soo drinking down his seventh cup of scotch. He sighed and looked at Kim Rok Soo, he was sure it was a rejection. 

Kim Rok Soo felt like throwing up. He wanted to throw up all his feelings related to his former neighbor. It had only been a day, he wasn’t that close- So it wouldn’t be hard at all, if that was the case, right? 

“Who am I kidding, of course not.” he murmured. 

“Hmm?” the one beside him asked, “Is something wron-” Before Choi Jung Soo could finish his question, he was tackled with  a hug from the one he had presumed to be on the other end of the table. 

“Rok Soo yaaaaa~ Don’t worry, these kinds of things will always happen.” 

Choi Jung Soo struggled to escape the bear hug he had, without his knowledge, stepped into. “Hyung- Kim Rok Soo is there- There-” he tried to point to the clearly dispirited Kim Rok Soo, failing and being pinned to the floor, while Lee Soo Hyuk fell asleep on him. 

Gradually, Choi Jung Soo too, started losing consciousness, albeit something he did not sign up for, and drifting to sleep, while Kim Rok Soo was sitting in the end of the line of drunkards, well two pass outs and one drunk. 

Kim Rok Soo shuffled to get the two blankets to cover his hyungs before getting his own to join in on the pile of corpses. He shifted the table a bit, and tucked himself to make the rug a little more comfortable to lie on.  He tried to close his eyes, but he simply couldn’t. His mind was haunted by the brunette, and not in a good way. He turned to a couch, which brought back the incident that occured day before yesterday. He shifted once more, this time to look at the faces of his hyungs, this again reminded him of the time they were so excited about the whole soulmate jamboree. 

Everything reminded Kim Rok Soo of Alberu, and he didn’t like it. No matter how hard he tried he could simply not forget the man. He had a striking appearance and a discernable mark on his life, despite them knowing each other for a day. 

They hadn’t met each other since Kim Rok Soo had moved here, which was 6 years ago. Well, that was partly Kim Rok Soo’s fault for thinking that it was too much work to meet his neighbours, and he just ended it with seeing his then 24-year-old neighbour, who was too busy with his work once. 

Now, he regretted his decision. If only he had met him earlier. If only he hadn’t ignored his neighbour. These thoughts were the only ones going through his head that night, as he kept on twisting and turning, before finally finding a comfortable position to sleep in.

***

Alberu got up to an undesired nostalgia of mahogany furniture and neatly lined bookshelves along with the scent of cookies permeating the room. It wasn’t dense but rather a soft scent, being accompanied by a denser scent of black coffee. 

What was strange, was the fact that there was no coffee in the vicinity, and he knew his aunt, much like him, leaned towards tea. He was a bit curious about the fragrance but didn’t want to give it much thought as his brain was more preoccupied with other means- Kim Rok Soo. 

How would he deal with him? 

Alberu was fully aware of what a jerk he was being. He knew that it had been very unfair of him to just straight up leave.

“Aunt Tasha-” he called out to the similar looking black haired woman, her eyes glistened. Her hair was cut short which gave her a gentle look. 

“Yes?” she answered with a hum.

“So…” he couldn’t help but fidget in worry, was he allowed to ask such a thing in the first place? He knew fully well that what his aunt was doing was for his best interests, for his sake. 

Yet, it bugged him. 

He wanted to see the other man desperately. 

It nagged at him. 

Like a gnawing frostbite that never seemed to go away. 

“Speak up, Alberu. You know I’m willing to listen so take your time.” 

Alberu looked at her, always supportive of him no matter what he wanted to do. Always watching, and he felt guilty about that.

Alberu gripped his arm, he told himself that he had to remain firm. This was just a simple and easy task, so what was he getting all anxious about?

“I think I found my soulmate,” Alberu blurted out, wanting to get it over with. It made him feel a bit too bizarre, a feeling he didn't enjoy. He thought a little about the man, his calming, and sarcastic attitude. It made him smile lovingly and softly, it was almost invisible.

When he saw Tasha’s eyes, his smile fell apart, she didn’t meet his eyes with the same gaze he did. Her face was instead painted with a base of shock, and another which was an even more unfavourable expression on it; outrage. 

One glance is all it took for Tasha to assess the situation. She had already been informed by Taerang about his leaked identity, which in itself had been surprising. Tasha could smell the coffee and cookies off her nephew. She didn’t know how it got there since they had no coffee at home, and she knew her nephew didn’t drink coffee, and buttered chocolate cookies. It would have been plausible if he hadn’t come out of the bedroom.

She knew what this meant, the boy had found his soulmate, but she also knew one thing– you could have problems with your past lover. It was like any relationship, simply adding in the strong connection. It wasn’t that big of a deal as people made it up to be.

After all, her sister had also been in a similar kind of relationship and she easily got replaced. Zed had simply thrown her away when he realized that his soul mark had appeared again. It was plausible that the bad luck might have carried from the mother to the son. Even though deep down, she was sure that wasn’t the case. She was worried, and terribly, terribly protective of her nephew, for he was the only one part of her sister that had remained in the world of the living. Being a soulmate had led to her sister’s heartbreak and eventual death, and perhaps it wouldn’t be as severe in Alberu’s case, but he had suffered enough after his mother’s death, she concluded. 

“You found a soulmate?” she asked, her expression now a bit less animated than her previous one, but Alberu could tell that she was not pleased one bit. 

He had a rough idea why but he wasn’t all that into the details. He was young when his mother and ‘father’ divorced, and he knew how his mother had committed suicide after a weeks of the unusual event. After that, he knew how his life had spiralled down to. She died without gaining custody of her child because Alberu’s talents had been noteworthy and rather eye-catching and Zed thought the boy would fetch a pretty price as a showpiece. 

He wasn’t wrong per se, but the exposure to the life of adults had dimmed his young eyes that had been previously filled with life. He had gotten used to going days without proper food and water, and that he wasn’t allowed anything as an emotional support. He wasn’t allowed to have a weakness, if he wanted to stay with his worth.

He had been locked, neglected, even abused if his scores or position went a bit under than perfect. Well, that was at first, then it escalated to him being the outsider of the ‘family’. 

Alberu had noted at the ripe age of eighteen, the people he lived with were hypocrites. In private they would always say the opposite of what they said under the public eye.

‘The shame of this house.’

‘The joy of our family.’

‘You dirty leech. Shouldn’t you be working non-stop? You live here rent free anyway.’

‘He’s always such a darling brother of mine. I simply worry that he works too hard for his own good.’

‘Disgusting. That skin of yours looks so ugly, maybe it’d be better if we got rid of it’

‘He looks so handsome too! He looks just like father, well his skin tone doesn’t matter.’

‘Don’t you get it? You don’t have a place here.’

‘Even though he looks different, he fits right in. Exactly, it's petty to not care about someone who shares the same blood as your sons just because they have a different skin tone.’

They weren’t memories he would want to remember at all, even though they constantly played on his mind like a broken record player. Constantly. 

That’s why he trusted his Aunt’s judgement, for she was the only one who had helped him get out of that hellhole. It was her acceptance that Alberu wanted the most.

Alberu nodded, in return to which Tasha’s unamusement became even more apparent with a long sigh. She was very reluctant to entrust her nephew in anyone’s hand, and the thought of him getting used made her boil over with rage, and so she simply cut off the communication between the two, by a few words, “Alberu, I don’t approve.”

***

Kim Rok Soo grumbled at the white noise that was playing on repeat in the background. He could hear the chattering that was going on between the two other men in the house. He laid on the makeshift bed until he heard a ringtone. A particular ringtone which made him sure of the person on the other line. 

‘Basen.’

He stretched his hand out to reach his phone, still remaining tucked in his blanket and refusing to move. By the third ring of the phone, he had successfully maneuvered himself in a way that he could stay comfortable and pick up the phone. He finally received it.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end greeted Kim Rok Soo. 

Kim Rok Soo, still groggy and voice still unsettled, spoke in a lower tone than his usual. It sounded synonymous to the croak of a frog, “Good morning Basen. What makes you call this early?”

Basen knew that tone belonged to his uncle, and he also knew that this was the tone of voice he had in the morning before he had even gotten up from bed. He’d found out so from the several sleepovers he had with him. Still it was odd to hear his voice this deep. Had his Ahjussi been drinking? “Uncle Rok Soo, how much did you drink last night?”

“Why do you ask?” Kim Rok Soo said, shuffling in the sheets, shifting his movements ever so slightly to stay within the warmth of the blanket that covered him up completely like a cocoon.

“Have you still not gotten up?” Basen asked, his tone a bit shocked.

Kim Rok Soo hummed to give an affirmative response.

Basen sighed, “Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s...” He slurred while reordering his position to face the clock. “Three.”

Basen sighed, his voice then went low as he turned his face away from his phone “Haaaa... What’s that Pen?” 

Kim Rok Soo’s ears perked up, “Pen’s there?”

He could hear Basen crack up a bit, “Uncle Rok Soo, you attended the wedding, didn’t you? We’re married, so of course we’re living together.”

Kim Rok Soo relaxed again remembering the joyous event that had taken place a month ago, “Ah, yeah yeah.”

Basen slid the phone between his ear and shoulder, “Uncle, are you still out of it?”

Kim Rok Soo twisted his head, cocking it out of the blanket. “Maybe,” he yawned. 

“Rok Soo-ya? You’re finally up?” Kim Rok Soo saw Lee Soo Hyuk standing in front of him. 

“Um, yeah.” Kim Rok Soo lazily replied. 

“Ah,” Basen said from the other end, “If Lee Soo Hyuk Ahjussi is there, why not give him the phone, and probably freshen up.”

Kim Rok Soo nodded and handed the phone to Lee Soo Hyuk, while informing the other person about his nephew, “It’s Basen, he wants to talk to you.”

Lee Soo Hyuk’s face quirked up to form a grin, “It’s been a long time since he’s talked to me, has he been busy with his lover?”

Kim Rok Soo looked over and casually answered,“Their honeymoon did get over a few weeks earlier. So it is a  possibility.”

Lee Soo Hyuk sighed while taking the phone from Kim Rok Soo, “Aiya, I really am getting old. Everyone around me is getting married or starting to date someone. Ah, the woes of an old man.”

He heard an annoyed voice from the far side of the kitchen, “Did you forget that you’ve been with your lover for over 15 years, Mr. old man?”

The mention of Lee Soo Hyuk’s lover made Kim Rok Soo think about his friend, “Ah, I need to talk about the details about the meeting with Beacrox.”

Lee Soo Hyuk turned to him, his head tilted to the right, “He has been talking about that too. Do you have something in mind for the day?”

Kim Rok Soo could feel the headache rushing over him like a tidal wave, “I'll talk later, I need to wash my face and brush.” 

“Oh wait, before you go-” Lee Soo Hyuk stopped him, causing Kim Rok Soo to turn, “You kinda smell like aloe vera? I didn’t know you kept any plants here?”

Kim Rok Soo pulled his t-shirt to sniff it, indeed, it smelled like the said succulent. He furrowed his eyebrows. It was odd, but it was too much for his woozy head to think about. 

He pulled himself out of the mattress and walked to the bathroom, lazily scratching his hay-like hair. His eyes lazily lolled around, scanning the surroundings of his own apartment as if it was something foreign. He sighed, standing there for a moment facing his reflection in the mirror. 

He ran his fingers through the messy strands that gently lay on the shoulder, remembering Alberu’s fingers cold touch. They were hardened and felt like they had been holding a pen their entire life, never wanting to try anything else, though Kim Rok Soo thought that Alberu merely never got the time to engage in hobbies. 

‘That’s not how hair gel works, hyung.’ 

He remembered the annoyed tone the man could endlessly fill his voice with. He splashed some water on his eyes, still wondering where the other had gone. It would be quite foolish to disappear if he were fearing rejection, if that is the reason the dark man had disappeared, he would think of the said man to be quite dense to not recognize Kim Rok Soo’s feelings towards himself.

***

Alberu tried to keep the volume down as he washed the dishes in the empty and eerily huge villa’s secluded kitchen. To be fair, it wasn’t empty, there were servants and Aunt Tasha was lounging in the living room. 

His mind was currently occupied with his aunt’s reaction.

He didn’t expect such a strong rejection since he believed his aunt would be a little more liberal towards this aspect. 

However, Alberu knew the reason why his aunt was overprotective since he was well aware of what happened to his mother. Sure, he understood why she didn’t want him to date Kim Rok Soo, but she also refused to acknowledge that his soulmate was different than his mother’s and it wasn’t fair to not give him a chance. Or at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Bitten once, twice as shy, I guess.’ He thought, sighing. 

He simply wanted to meet Kim Rok Soo, simply wanted to check something, a simple gut feeling. 

An instinct. 

Normally, he would have ignored it, but it was a sensation that he couldn’t help but dwell upon. It wasn’t gripping, more like a mild fever that had come over him. He thought that it was something that would easily go away and not bother him anymore, yet it stuck persistently, that it can’t help but get noticed no matter how much he tried to look the other way. 

It felt real and that scared Alberu. 

He didn’t hate the feeling of love. 

It was just that, he was so scared of being involved with it, that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

The so-called love he knew was only based on the last sole affection he’s gotten from his mother. 

He believed that Kim Rok Soo wouldn’t be the kind of person to ‘love’ him. Alberu wasn’t the type to have gotten everything in his life in a neatly packaged bow, and that included his relationships all the more. 

Love? He couldn't trust it nor did he have the guts to risk letting the feeling take over him.

Any relationship he tried to maintain didn’t end on a good note, for numerous reasons. Even though his face wasn’t shown and he had a fake surname, his previous partners always knew he was rich. His arranged marriage partners thought of him as a mere money milking tool or someone who would just settle for just a crumb of bread. 

The idea of that appalled Alberu. Somehow he couldn’t think of it in a good light. He didn’t want to be the sort of person who would force someone to be with him just for his money.

If that was the case he was better off without anyone. 

But why was it that he couldn’t forget about him?

That man, who had seen him in his most vulnerable state had simply accepted it. Had waved off the thought that he was odd or unbelonging. He had given him the chance to feel these new sets of emotions he thought he would never experience in his lifetime.

Unbeknownst to Alberu, his hands were working fast and intensely out of all the stress. Only when he heard a loud clang was he snapped back to reality. His eyes immediately darted to the cause of the noise, which was a plate that had slipped from his hands and had fallen into the sink. 

Alberu stared at it for a bit, sighed and washed it. 

It was a good thing it didn’t break.

After neatly placing it in the dryer, he walked out of the kitchen and took a seat in the hall on the coach facing his aunt’s. 

She tore her eyes away from the book she was reading to face him. Tasha noticed the lost look in his eyes, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Alberu blinked, turning his gaze away from the table and meeting his aunt’s, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He said, picking up a book lying on the Pacini e Cappellini coffee table to read. 

Tasha sighed, sticking a bookmark between her copy of ‘War and Peace’, marking her progress in rereading the classic, “Are you still bothered by it?”

Alberu tried to feign ignorance, “By what?”

“We both know what you’re thinking about.” Tasha knew that he wouldn’t outright address the topic. He was far too self constricted with her for that.

Alberu met her eyes, but still had his eyes glazed over, it was as if he actually had no idea of what his aunt was talking about, “Like I said, what?”

Tasha however, was having none of that, she knew Alberu since he was a baby albeit she was young during those turbulent times. She motioned her hand as if she was pointing to the person in question, “Your soulmate, whoever that may be.” 

“Huh.” Alberu mused, making it painfully obvious for Tasha to tell he was unimpressed, “What about my soulmate?” 

Tasha, also aware of his current ‘yearnings’ spoke without batting an eye, “You want to meet them.”

“I sure do, but there’s someone who's preventing that, isn’t there?” He said, finally keeping his book down and sending his aunt a glare that was trying very hard not to reveal its true intentions.

Tasha got annoyed at the misconception Alberu had of her. She was doing this for him. How couldn’t he not get it?“ You know that I’m doing this for your sake. Your mother died because–”

“–Of her soulmate.” Alberu completed her sentence. He had heard it for so many times he was sure that was what the next few words entailed. He sighed.

“Aunt,” He said in a chilling voice, he was the closest to his aunt but there was definitely a line that shouldn’t be crossed. 

Not everything was about his mother. He was well aware how his mother’s death had unfolded but not everyone was like his father, not everyone was as egregious as that man. 

“I understand your concerns but do remember.” He paused to take a good look at his aunt, “I am not my mother,” he took another pause “and I never will be.” 

Alberu could never be his mother. His mother was pure, and charismatic, not to mention she was the incarnation of beauty itself. Never attempting any foul means, she tried hard. She died protecting him. 

And he could never be, not even an inch close to being as great as her. Or so he believed.

Tasha looked the other way, “I know that…but it still scares me. What if they lose interest in you and desert you–”

Alberu sighed again. The next few words he had said out of the simple motivation to prove Tasha wrong about soulmates, and snag a lover in one quick move. “Alright, since you are so bothered by the fact that they’ll cheat on me or lose interest. Let me put forward the idea of a bet. I’ll not visit my soulmate for two months and after those two months, let’s see whether they get over me in that period of time.” ‘–well formally, I won’t be meeting him.’

Alberu thought about it for a moment. He would use himself and Kim Rok Soo as an experiment. He set a bet like that out of impulse to prove her wrong. Even though he wouldn’t mind if he had really moved on, a part of him wanted to know the outcome to all this as well.

If fate would really allow them to be together, or would it be another curse that had befallen since his mother’s time? 

Would things be different?

He didn’t know the answer to that. That was why he did this. That was why he made this stupid bet to at least convince himself that it was alright for him to love, or just have believed in his Aunt’s words in the first place.

Alberu was not the type to easily trust people but this time he wanted to try.

He wanted to try and place a bit of his faith on that man.  

Tasha, who was also right at the end of her wits from this conversation, agreed in a fit of confusion and annoyance with the flow of the conversation, wanting it to end, “Ok, fine. Let’s do just that. When should we start?”

Alberu asked, also getting riled up, “How about right this second?”

Tasha leaned back, “Alright then. For 2 months which start at 5pm December 8th, 2XXX until 5pm February 8th, 2XXX(+1). Deal?”

“Deal.” 

“Ok then. Taerang, write this down.” Tasha crossed her arms together, her eyes still lingering at her nephew who broke eye contact.

“Yes ma’am.” The mostly stationary man, who had been sitting on the chair beside Alberu finally spoke.

‘Now that this was sorted,’ thought Alberu, ‘I have to contact him, I guess. Hoo boy, this is gonna be a whole different game to play.’

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (10)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda take you out for a bit and you work on escaping.

Warnings: dark themes, staged suicide attempt, mental health discussion, angst

A/N: good morning/afternoon/night! enjoy this chapter of reader using a bit of what she’s learned from watching her girlfriends...

Previous part

-

A few days later, you woke up to find your shared bed empty as usual. Deciding to get a head start on whatever they had planned, you took a shower and got dressed, grabbing a bottle of water on your way out to one of the swings in the backyard. You were lying on your back, looking up through the tree branches to the sky when you felt gentle hands lifting your legs and placing them on a lap.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” Natasha spoke to you in a soothing tone, smiling when you sat up to meet her eyes. “Have you been up long?”

“Yeah,” you sighed heavily in response that caused her to frown. “Just wanted to sit outside for a while.”

“What’s wrong, baby? You seem different today.”

“I guess being stuck inside is making me feel all moody or whatever. I don’t know.”

“Well, today is grocery day,” she reminded you, rubbing her hand across your knee. “Did you make your list?”

“Yeah, it’s in the kitchen with the main one.”

“Good. Wanda’s just about ready, so let’s head to the car and wait for her.” 

She moved your legs and stood up, grabbing your hands and pulling you onto your feet and into a kiss, a sweet one that had you smiling against her lips.

“There she is,” Natasha praised as she pulled away.

“Do I get one of those too?”

Natasha laughed when she spotted Wanda in the doorway, leading you over to the house and dropping a quick kiss on Wanda’s lips before continuing into the house without you.

“Printsessa,” Wanda began with a frown, intense gaze focused on your own as she touched your shoulders. “What’s going on? I could feel your bad mood across the yard.”

“It’s nothing, Wan. I think getting out to the store today may help.”

“I hope so. I hate seeing you like this.” Her hands slid toward the base of your neck, her touch warming your skin as she leaned in to peck your lips a few times. “Mm. Delicious as always, baby. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

-

You were given your list upon reaching the store, along with the freedom of shopping on your own. At first you noticed them hovering while you shopped, but they eventually backed off with time as they needed to grab their own things. You were quietly inspecting cereal boxes when you heard your name in a voice that made you freeze. Brittani.

“Hey.” She approached you quickly as you faced her. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days now. What was that?! Do you need help?”

“Britt, you shouldn’t be here,” you warned, keeping your eyes and ears open for one of your girlfriends. “I’m fine, but please leave while you can--”

“No. I can’t stand by knowing you’re in an abusive relationship.”

“That’s not what--”

“Here.” She quickly grabbed your hand and shoved a small object into your palm, closing your fingers around it. “It’s a burner. I programmed my number into it in case you need me, okay? I’m only here for another few days or so, but I won’t hesitate to fly back out here.”

“You don’t have to do all of that for me, okay?” you insisted after sliding the phone into your pocket discreetly. “I don’t need any help.”

“Y/N, please listen to me! I can…” she trailed off, eyes widening slightly at something behind you as an arm came around your waist, the hand gripping your right hip possessively.

“Is this woman bothering you, printsessa?” Wanda questioned softly and directly into your ear and you nodded slowly, placing your hand over hers and lacing your fingers together. “Let’s go somewhere else while Tash handles this.”

You allowed her to guide you to another aisle, catching a glimpse of Natasha approaching Brittani and ignoring her calls of your name. When you got to the cart, you turned in Wanda’s hold to rest your head on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her torso and sighing lightly when her hands began to run down your back.

“I got your cereal, printsessa,” Natasha’s voice interrupted your moment, and you pulled away slightly to meet her eyes when you heard the box drop into the cart. “Did that bitch touch you?”

“She grabbed my hand, but that’s it.”

She nodded in response as she grabbed the short list sticking out of your back pocket. “I’ll finish up in here, Wan. Just wait in the car,” she requested, kissing the two of you before you walked away.

“You’re okay, right?” Wanda asked as you walked outside, her arm around your waist again. “We don’t mean to scare you...we just don’t like anyone coming too close, especially that shitty ex-girlfriend.”

“I’m fine,” you assured her with a gentle smile. “Everything is fine.”

It was better than fine, but Wanda didn’t know that.

-

The rest of the day went without incident, coming home to unload the groceries and watching Wanda as she made an adorable snack tray for the three of you to have during your movie marathon. The three of you fell asleep during the second movie and woke up just in time to order something for dinner, which you also ate in the living room in front of the television.

“It’s Clint,” Natasha sighed as she looked at the text she just received. “He needs to discuss a mission with us.”

The two of them glanced over at you, wrapped in a blanket and asleep in a corner of the couch, and quietly decided to take the call in the locked office area in the basement. As soon as you heard their footsteps hitting the bottom of the staircase you sat up, pulling the burner phone from your pocket and drafting a text to a number you’d always remembered.

I need your help. Don’t reply to this or any other messages I send you.

You quickly explained your plan and signed it all with your name, putting the phone on silent and coming back to delete the text when you were sure it was delivered. You then head upstairs as quietly as possible, slipping into Natasha’s room and setting up a bug on her mission bag, repeating the same steps in Wanda’s room. Next, you wandered into your shared room and reached on the side of the bed, pulling out the gun Natasha hadn’t realized you’d seen her hide for emergency protection.

Your eyes watered as you stared at the heavy object in your hands, shaking a bit at the feeling you’d never thought you’d experience again. At least, you hoped. Part of you wondered why Natasha would dare keep any type of weapon this close to you given that she knew everything about you, which included the dark thoughts that led to the first time you held a gun. Still, she was an Avenger and former assassin, so the hidden gun made sense to you.

“It’s okay,” you tried to convince yourself nervously as you walked into the bathroom to see your reflection. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Printsessa?”

The call came from down the hall, and you took a deep breath as you turned the safety off and closed your eyes, lifting the barrel of the gun to your temple.

“Baby, what are you--no!”

The gun was ripped away from your hand and smashed against the wall, and you opened your eyes as Wanda ran over to wrap her arms around you.

“Baby, please please don’t ever do that again, okay? We can’t lose you...I can’t lose you.” Her entire body seemed to tremble against you, and it reflected in her voice.

“What’s going on?” Natasha questioned as she entered the room, eyes widening at the sight of Wanda squeezing you against her and the remnants of a gun at your feet. “Wanda, what happened--”

“I’ll explain downstairs. Go.” You flinched at her unusually cold tone as Natasha left, and Wanda placed one hand on your jaw as she pulled away a bit. “Wait for us on the bed, okay? Don’t touch anything and don’t move, please.”

You nodded and sat on the corner of the mattress as she passed you and closed the door behind her. As soon as you heard her footsteps hit the bottom of the stairs, you jumped to your feet and pressed your ear against the door, listening as the two began an argument downstairs.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Natasha?! Putting a gun in a room with a woman that attempted suicide in the past, seriously?!”

“I didn’t--”

“No, you did know, Natasha. You told me!”

“It’s for protection, Wanda! If someone attacks us in the middle of the night, I can--”

“We live in a fucking fortress! We set this place up so that no one could get in and she couldn’t get out without us knowing! If you need the gun that badly put it in a fucking safe so it won’t be so fucking easy for her to get it! We almost lost her tonight because of your carelessness!”

A moment of silence passed, and you pressed further against the wood to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

“I’m sorry, Tash. Come here, please. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to lose her, Wan.” The words were separated by sobs and you felt a bit of guilt settling in your heart.

“I know, I don’t either. That’s why I panicked and I took it out on you, and I’m sorry.” Another moment of silence passed. “I’m gonna check on her while you calm down, okay?”

You quickly climbed onto the bed again, scooting back to the headboard and forcing yourself to think about terrible things to build more tears as Wanda came back upstairs. You lifted your head as she opened the door, one of the building tears gliding down your cheek without warning.

“Oh baby,” she cooed as she came to sit on your left side, quickly pulling you in against her. “You’ve got to let us in that pretty head of yours more often. Is this what you’ve been blocking me from hearing lately?”

You nodded, sniffling as you tucked yourself into her hold a bit more. “I didn’t want to worry you but it got worse so fast.”

“What happened when we left, printsessa?” Natasha questioned gently as she climbed onto the other side of the bed, wrapping her arms around you from behind. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was, but I had a nightmare. It was a recurring one I hadn’t experienced in years and with everything I’ve been feeling lately, it was too much. I came here to find a sweater or something to comfort me because I didn’t want to bother you, but I found the gun and my mind just went blank.”

“We want you to bother us, printsessa,” Natasha told you with a crack in her voice, and you felt a couple tears drop and soak into your shirt. “No matter what time of day or night, no matter what we’re doing...please always bother us.”

The two of them whispered more soft reassurances that you ignored as you sank further into their holds, getting in a comfortable sleeping position. They followed your lead when they realized you were tired, each of them kissing your cheek as they also settled, and you couldn’t fight the smile that came to your lips.

Phase one was complete.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @emilyprentisswife @fayhar @cherrieloco @bebe404 @seventeen0 @muted-stoneheart @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @sxphiaswitch @wannabe-fic-reader @becka107 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @trikruismybitch @beforeoursecrets @mjaudrey @messuhp @creepingwolfberry @cosmicbrownies7 @darkangelxoxo @witchxaf @sakurat123 @natashadeservedmore

[ficklefics]

Burden To Keep - Zemo x Reader ~ Chapter Four: Precision

Time to figure out how "real-life" your skills actually are.

CHAPTER THREE

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

Taglist: @mochminnie @noavengers @alevelez01​ @boubouinscarlet​ @viviace​ 

Two men stood before you, dressed all in black. The gun was held by the taller one – you assumed he had spoken. “Critical te vrea înapoi. Nu încerca să lupți. Sau altceva.” Critical wants you back. Don’t try to fight. Or else. “Sau ce altceva? Eu nu mă duc.” Or else what? I’m not going. The ease with which the words fell off your tongue surprised you.

“You can speak Romanian?” Zemo tilted his head at you. “Apparently.” You couldn’t remember learning it. That scared you.

“You don’t get a choice.” The stranger switched to English, his accent strong. “Come, or I kill your friend.” His aim shifted to Zemo whose eyes widened.

“Wait,” You dropped the bag you were holding and raised your hands in surrender, “I’ll go. Just don’t hurt him.” “(Y/N)…” Silencing him with a shush you stepped past him. “Good. Bloodshed is not necessary.” He lowered the weapon. Only one thought ran through your mind: No one is getting hurt because of me.

And your instincts kicked in.

Grabbing the gun with one hand, you forced it down. Your leg hooked around his and yanked – he hit the cobbles hard. With him dazed and the element of surprise gone you launched yourself at the second man.

He was ready for you; he grabbed your arms, grappling you and pushing you against the wall. You immediately threw your leg up and kicked him in the stomach with enough for him to hit the opposite wall with a crunch. He slumped down to the ground unconscious, and your chest heaved for oxygen.

“(Y/N)!” Zemo’s voice called out in warning just before the shot rang through the alley. Pain seared through your upper arm. You grabbed at the graze, feeling the blood and the heat through the ripped fabric of your top. Like a whip, you lashed out, grabbing the assailant’s throat and falling to the ground with him. Holding his wrist away from him, gripping it tight until you felt a crunch and he released, you squeezed your other hand, watching his face grow red and his eyes widen in terror as he gasped for breath. You weren’t just choking him; you were draining his will to live, forcing him to experience the worst terror he had ever known. In only a few seconds his eyes rolled into the back of his head – but you kept going. It wasn’t until you felt Zemo’s hand on your shoulder and his voice telling you that you had to leave that you let go.

You let him guide you back through the streets, leaving the two bodies behind you. It was a haze. The only thing keeping you grounded was the ache and sting from the bullet wound.

The apartment was dark; clearly Sam and Bucky were still gone. At least there was that. “Sit.” Zemo gently but firmly placed you on the sofa before crossing to the kitchen and opening one of the cupboards. He pulled out a first aid kit and was immediately back at your right side. “I need to see it.” Shifting your hand, now sticky with blood, you exposed the wound. His fingers pulled the fabric away. You hissed as stray threads pulled at the flesh. He pulled out an antiseptic wipe and began to clean. It stung, but nothing like the feeling of the bullet tearing through you. And besides, something else was distracting you.

Zemo was close. So close. His rough hands surprisingly gentle against your tender skin. His brow furrowed as he concentrated. No words were exchanged. But your heart was racing. Each breath shaking, and not because of the pain.

There was something about him. Something that drew you in despite the danger. It might just be that you had gone so long without a kind touch – now the simplest action was like heaven to you. But that couldn’t explain the shivers that ran down your spine, the panic that swirled in your mind.

“This is going to hurt,” Zemo murmured, his eyes lifting to meet yours; something glimmered within them. He pulled out a needle and threaded it – his hand was steady. “May I ask you something? “Shouldn’t you be concentrating?” “I thought a distraction might help with the pain.” He shrugged. “And this is second nature.” You nodded, letting him continue. “You said that you have hyper-empathy?” “Yes-” The word cut off into a hiss of pain as he pressed the needle into your skin. “How do you handle that? Feeling everyone’s pain and sorrow? Especially in your… circumstance.” “I repressed it. Didn’t feel anything.” Your voice was quiet with the memories. “If I hadn’t, I think I’d have gone insane.”   “It was better to become numb.” Exactly. “Now it’s like a tap – I can turn it on and off. But it’s a sacrifice.” As he tied the final thread, he lifted his head. His gaze ensnared you. “I can’t go through life feeling nothing.”

Right now, you’re feeling everything. Fear, doubt, hope. Desire. You can’t tell what feelings are yours and what are Zemo’s. You concentrated on keeping the two of you separate until it felt as though there was a knot in your stomach; you clung to it like a life raft - worse than not being able to distinguish your emotions, you were afraid that you might accidentally use your powers on him. And you couldn’t let that happen.

The door slammed, breaking the connection between the two of you as Sam and Bucky entered the apartment. You pulled away from Zemo and pressed yourself against the arm of the sofa. Seemingly unbothered, he didn’t move, instead beginning to bandage the freshly stitched wound.

“What happened?” Sam immediately asked upon seeing the first aid kit and the bloody wipes. “We went to get clothes,” You answered, “Capital’s men found us.” “Shit,” He groaned, “Did they follow you?” “No. They won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Zemo smirked. “I knocked them out.” The explanation seemed to be satisfactory. “How did they find you so quickly?”

“I think I may know.” Zemo had stopped bandaging and was now examining your upper arm. He turned it to expose the softer skin on the inside and ran his fingers over it. The sensation tickled. “Yes, here.” He pointed to a spot where there was a thin scar, slightly raised. “May I?” You looked back to Sam and Bucky, who seemed suspicious. “Go on.”

He pulled a small scalpel from the kit – your eyes widened and instinctively you tried to pull away. His hand tightened, holding you in place. The blade slid smoothly under the white line. Bucky and Sam watched on, ready to leap into action if he tried anything. It was replaced by tweezers – uncomfortable, they shifted underneath your skin before gripping onto something and pulling it out.

A small scrap of metal. Almost like…

“A tracker.” He raised it up so Sam and Bucky could see.

“Fuck.” Your jaw had dropped. “I… I’m so sorry. I should never have stay-” “It’s not your fault (Y/N). But we need to get rid of it.” Sam stepped forward and grabbed it from Zemo. “I saw a hotel we can dump it at,” Bucky said. “I’ll take it.” He stretched out his metal hand for Sam to drop the tracker into it. “Get back here quickly.”

He gave a half nod before heading back out the door. Sam turned to where you and Zemo were still sitting. “Are you okay?”

You nodded despite the pain – you’d felt worse.

“Here,” Zemo leaned over you, fully invading your personal space, and grabbed the bag sitting on the floor beside you, “You should get changed.” “Thanks.” He shifted away, letting you stand. Sam’s eyes locked with yours. They screamed a very clear message: What the fuck is he doing? You shrugged, heading for one of the spare bedrooms.

You switched out the ruined jumper for a tank top just in time for the knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Sam came in, shutting the door closed behind him, and folded his arms. “Is something going on with Zemo?” You shook your head. “Not on my side.” You wondered whether to share your concerns – Sam was still practically a complete stranger, despite his Avengers status, and it might be safer to keep things to yourself. Then again… “I think that he has a plan. And now that I’m here, now that he knows what I am, his plan is changing.” “Doesn’t surprise me.” He sighed, leaning against the door. “Look, just be careful. And don’t let him get in your head.” “Message received.” You gave a mock salute. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of practice ignoring criminals.” He chuckled. “So Zemo told you what he did?” Hesitation. “Not everything. Just that he thought the Avengers had too much power and used the Accords to tear them apart from the inside.”

Sam was clearly irritated by your words.

“Not exactly.”

CHAPTER FIVE

[grace-likes-things]

Beside Her

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

A/N: uhh it’s been a while. Here’s this! And here’s to me posting a random one-shot every two years lmaoooooo. Disclaimer: alternate reality where no one died/left after endgame.

Summary: A mission Peter’s off the job for, and which goes terribly wrong.

Warnings: blood, major character death, this one is v angsty folks.

Word Count: almost 6k 

~~~~~~~

“So, am I alright to go with?”

“No way, Peter. Your sling may be off but your arm can't handle the kind of wear you put it through yet. Give it another day or so.”

Peter sighs, exasperated, “But the mission’s tonight!”

“Nuh, uh, Pete,” my dad cuts in across the room, “You’re staying here, doctor’s orders. I told you we’d check, and we did, and Helen says no.”

“Mr. Stark—!”

“Not me, Helen, you really gonna combat her decision?”

Dr. Cho gives Peter a stern look, having had experience with his impulsively-gained-injuries before. He turns away, ducking his eyes, knowing not to challenge her. 

“Peter it’s fine,” I say, hand on his good shoulder, “You’ll join us on the next one.”

“If—“ my dad buts in, “he doesn't go shatter half the bones in his arm again. And don't go assuming you’ll be on the next one, Y/N, I'm hardly supportive of you coming with tonight as it is.”

I sigh, turning stubbornly towards him as he waltzes out of the room, “I've been training for over 3 years, dad I—“ 

“Nope. Still my kid, don't push your luck. We’re t-minus 1 hour out, so go get ready,” and with that, he turns the corner and leaves. 

“Sorry Pete, better luck next time.” Helen picks up her clipboard and departs, leaving us alone in the room.

I turn to Peter, who’s looking rather defeated about the fact that he won't be allowed on the first mission in three months. I nudge his shoulder playfully, “Hey, think on the bright side, now you get to snoop around the lab uninterrupted for a couple hours.”

He gives me a halfhearted smile, “Yeah? I still wish I could be out there with you.”

His eyes change into an anxious look. I look at him, sympathetic, and grab his hand in mine. 

Since the snap, the fight with Thanos, and almost losing my dad, Peter’s had this protective, premature-guilt complex concerning the people close to him. We got lucky not losing anyone, but I think seeing my dad recover from mourning us and the near-death experience I had in the battle, he’s not really comfortable being separated from us in a fight.

“I know. But it’s relatively minor, from what I’ve heard. I mean — minor enough to convince my dad to let me tag along, so.“

“Yeah, I know. I just hate not being there to have your back.”

I lean into his side, shoving him playfully, “You suggesting I can’t handle myself?”

“Absolutely not,” and I see I’ve forced a grin onto his face, “Just think, ya know, maybe your dad’s had a few too many juice pops lately, and I gotta be concerned — I mean, a gain in weight could throw off his balance in the suit—“ 

“Oh! Throwing my dad under the bus here, are we?” I laugh, “That’s funny, maybe I’ll mention it to him later.”

“Kidding! Don't tell your dad I said he’s fat — he's not.” He hangs onto my hand as I stand from the med-bay bed, “He’s a very fit man, you know, for his age.”

I laugh, “This just gets better and better! I’ll make sure to tell him you think he’s old too after I get ready.” 

I move to walk away, but Peter stops me, tugging my hand gently.

“Hey, but seriously,” he murmurs, “be careful tonight. Come back in one piece for me. Okay?”

“Of course,” I say, and lean my forehead against his, “And you have a fantastically boring night, let your arm rest. Don't get into any trouble.”

He kisses me long and gentle, “I’ll try not to.”

——————

Tonight’s mission was a fairly routine one. One of the lingering branches of Hydra left, hiding in a bunker and planning nothing good. We’d all been briefed on the most recent information about their weapons and tactics, and the team had decided tonight was the time to shut the place down. 

I examine the repulsors in the palms of my suit, sleeker like Peter’s, but armed similarly to my dad’s. There’s about 15 minutes before we fly out, so I tuck my braids beside my neck — getting my hair caught in the helmet seriously blows — and make my way up to the launch pad. 

“Hey, offspring!” my dad plants his hand on my head and shakes it, “You still wanna come along on this one? Sure you don't wanna stay home? Absolutely? Because you know, you’re welcome to, in fact, DUM-E's been missing you down in the lab, i’m sure he’d appreciate your company—“

“Nuh uh, old man, I'm going with. You said so.”

“Oh, so I’m old now? You know, I did end up with an extra five years than you, so you can cut me a little slack.”

I laugh and walk onto the quinjet to meet the team, “Never.”

————————

“You all remember your assignments?” Steve asks, “Me and Sam, Tony and Wanda, Nat and Y/N.”

A chorus of yes’s and nods follow, as if this wasn’t the fourth time we’d answered that question. 

The ride to the bunker is relatively boring, other than my dad pestering me with Stay with nat, and don't get distracted, and be careful, and don’t do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything Peter would do. Nat and Wanda chuckle at my situation from across the quinjet, and it was getting pretty old by the time we landed a bit outside the target. 

Once we’ve all gotten set with weapons and coms, we start out on the jog to the bunker. Upon arriving there, Nat and I are tasked with stealing a hard drive that contains targets and weapons data. From what we know, it’s in a room close to the center of the building, so we have a long way to go while trying to get noticed as little as possible. 

My dad tells me to stay safe and call for him if needed before we part ways, and Nat and I are alone in a dark hall.

“Alright,” Nat whispers, “We move toward the center of the bunker, 4 floors down, we’ll use the vents if we have to. They might cause a scene somewhere else, but our job is to keep hidden, all the way in and out if we’re lucky.”

“And when are we ever lucky?” I murmur back with a smirk.

“Don’t jinx it, kid, let’s go.”

For the most part, the beginnings of the mission are easy. We used Friday’s heat signatures for a full week to map out the guards’ schedules, so we knew what halls to stick to and when. Making our way to the less-monitored maintenance stairwell, we walk in silence, keeping an ear out for updates over the coms. Just as we reach the bottom of the third flight of stairs, a pair of guards walks through the doors.

“Hello, boys,” Nat says and quickly turns to me, “I’ll take the tall one.”

With that, we spring to action.

The pair raise their weapons toward us, but Nat quickly disarms the man across from her while I blast the gun from the shorter man’s hand and drag him through the doorway before he can reach the alarm on the outside wall. Slamming him into the stair railings, he tries to get rid of me by throwing a headbutt my way, but my suit takes the brunt of the impact. Pulling my arm back and releasing his wrist, I aim a punch square at his face and hear a crack when it lands on his nose. After a disdainful grunt, he shoves me back and tries to kick my legs out from under me, but I quickly grab hold of his ankle and yank up. The man lands harshly on the floor, and one kick is all it takes to knock him out. 

When I look up, Nat has already beat her opponent and is checking the outer hall for more guards. “It’s clear,” she says, and we both take the ankles of the two guards and drag them through the door into the nearest room, tying them up securely before jamming the door in place. 

“I hope they enjoy a nice nap, let’s keep moving,” Natasha says, and we make our way back to the stairwell.

Finally on the fourth lower level, we hold ourselves with a bit more caution. This is where they guard more heavily, and we still have quite a ways to travel before we’re near the center of the building. With light steps, we make our way down the dimly lit halls, occasionally ducking through doorways and turning corners to avoid passing agents, guards and other workers. It seems as if most of the work they do happens down here, as we constantly see high-ranking members and people in lab coats muttering to one another as they roam the halls. I’m only able to catch a few words of any given conversation, and of the ones that were spoken in English, none of them sound pleasant.

Nat and I travel fairly uninterrupted for the next few halls before she stops me and says, “Alright, we’re close to the center now. The hard drive we need is going to be in a lab somewhere around here, so we’re checking rooms. If there are any heat signatures, we clear it together. If Friday doesn’t pick any up, we split and multitask.”

I raise my eyebrows, “Oh? Going against my dad’s orders, huh?”

She gives me a wry smile, “You seem to be able to handle yourself, and it’ll get us out of here faster,” she points at me, “Just don't make me regret it.”

I laugh, “I won’t.”

And with that, we start scanning the upcoming rooms.

The first room we check has a few Hydra agents inside, so we clear it together, check the computers for the right information and come up empty handed, breaking the doorknob and continuing on. We go about this for a while, knocking out the occupied rooms together, splitting up to clear empty rooms, checking for the right hard drive, and moving on. It’s tedious, but no alarms have been activated so far, and we make a good team. 

Now very close to the center of the bunker, we come upon another few rooms free of heat signatures, so we once again divide and conquer. We have to be getting close now.

“I’ll take this one on the left, you’ve got the right?” I ask, walking carefully toward the door.

“Gotcha, call if you find anything.”

I open the large metal door and take a cautious step in, examining the room around me. There are no lights on, so I use a light on my suit to see my surroundings. 

It’s strange, the room is large with high ceilings, but is pretty much empty. A few scraps of metal and packaging are strewn about the floor. Concrete floors and dark walls line the place. I take a few steps further in to double check that I haven’t missed anything, but all I see is one door on the opposite side. I turn back to exit when the entrance I came through slams shut in front of me. Alarmed, I run forward and try to open it, but the handle won't budge.

“Nat!” I whisper hushed through the coms, “The door shut behind me, can you get it from the outside?”

I hear her footsteps approach from the other side and the sound of her trying to open the door, “I can't get it, and the lock must be electric, there’s nothing to pick. How’d this close on you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see it.”

I hear a new voice over the coms, “Wait, did you two get separated?” My dad’s voice resounds with a hint of anxiety, “What did we talk about, Y/N? I said to stay with—“ 

“I tried! Not my fault the door shut behind me.”

“Well you should’ve gone through the door with Nat in the first place!”

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice cuts in, “While I would love to listen to you two bicker, we’ve got a job to do. She’s fine, Tony, we’ll figure it out.”

“I could just blast the door handle—“

“No, Y/N, it’ll be too loud, we’ve gotten this far without being noticed.” I hear Nat huff through the door, “It’s in our best interest to keep it that way. Friday’s telling me there’s another door, leads out to a hall. I can go around and meet you there. It's further toward the center, so at least if you have to blast the thing down we’ll be closer to the target.”

“Sounds good, I’ll wait for you,” I say, and with that, Natasha stalks off through the halls. 

I turn to make my way across the room, walking leisurely. This place really is unusually huge for a seemingly-unused underground room, about the size of a school gymnasium. I’m wondering if it may have been used for storage or training when I hear a noise to my left.

Turning swiftly with my guard now up, I see a male guard walk through a side door. Another entrance? How did I miss that? I ready my fists in a fighting stance and call through the coms, “Hey Nat? This room was occupied, I’ve got it handled for now but you might wanna make it here quick.”

Strangely, I get no response, but I don't have time to dwell on that fact because the man is charging toward me.

He’s a good fighter, and we both land some hard hits as we combat to occupy the room. I flip over him and blast him into the wall, but he recovers abnormally quickly and rises up again for more. I land another punch to his stomach once he’s in range, but he quickly grabs my wrist after and squeezes with inhuman strength, crushing the thin-design gauntlet on my hand. The metal cuts into my palm before tear what remains off and launch him over my shoulder onto the floor. I move to kick his side but he grabs my leg and throws me off balance, and my back hits the floor in a harsh slam. Groaning, I try to sit up as the guard grabs a metal pole off the floor — oh shit — and slams it onto my other palm, crushing my second gauntlet. Two hands now bare, aching, and unarmed, I continue to fight at a slight disadvantage. But I’ve trained for years, I can handle this.

It turns out maybe I couldn’t handle it. 

The guard has to be one of Hydra’s human experiments, because he’s stronger than the average adult. I struggle to gain the upper hand for several minutes. He's had me pinned me to the ground, and just when I think his weight is lifting off me he brings down the pole on my side. Hard. 

I groan and curl away. Even through the thin — and now damaged — metal of my suit, the blow took the air out of me. I press my palms to the cold floor to push myself up, but another blow strikes my back and I collapse forward. Finally, the man grabs a fistful of my hair and slams my head into the ground, and a ringing suddenly starts in my ears. Dizzy, head aching, and barely able to think, the next thing I register is being dragged across the room to the opposite wall by my wrists, which are then cuffed in front of me.

And strangely, the guard who put all that effort into beating me walks out of the room.

“Hey!” I shout, “What’s going on, asshole!? Come back here!” But he doesn’t return, and shuts that same side door behind him. I groan in frustration, head still pounding in pain, and try to reach the team again, “Anyone hear me? I’m still in this room, my gauntlets are broken and I'm cuffed, anyone around?” No response, “Hello?”

I’m starting to think Hydra somehow interrupted our signal when another noise distracts me from across the room. 

The door opens once again, and this time five people exit. Four guards and…

Peter.

A chill surges down my spine.

They’re dragging Peter into the room.

“Peter?” I call out, panicked, “Hey! What are you doing with him?”

He’s dressed in plainclothes, so he didn’t come here as Spiderman. He doesn’t look like he’s in the best condition, slumped and hardly fighting the guards who are carrying him to the center of the room. My mind starts racing with all the things they could’ve done — what’s wrong with him? How could they have hurt him so badly he isn't able to fight back, especially with his strength? I need to get him away from them, but if these four guards are anywhere as strong as the last, I need a plan of attack. Or backup. Where is the team?

And how did they get to Peter? Peter Parker, not Spiderman, so not out on the streets — he was supposed to be in the lab tonight. Did they get into the compound? Is anyone else hurt? My mind keeps spiraling into more and more panicked thoughts, and then I hear him.

“Y/N?” He calls out, “Where are we?” His voice is raspy and slurred, and I think they must’ve given him something, some sort of drug. I’m about to call back to him when a guard lifts him up and punches him in the stomach.

“No!” I shout, raising up to my knees and then beginning to stand before one of the four guards points his gun at me. I stay there, kneeling before the scene, not knowing what to do to stop either of us from getting hurt. The three remaining guards begin to beat on him again, kicking and punching and Peter is too delirious to serve any resistance other than curling up and grasping weakly at the ankles of the men hurting him. I can hear his pained whimpers, and my heart squeezes in my chest, I feel tears building in my eyes.

“Stop! Stop hurting him, what do you want?!” I scream, wanting to get closer to him but still at a stand still with the fourth guard, “Come on, tell me what you want! You’re not getting anything by just beating him!”

The three guards pay me no regard, but the fourth, still pointing his gun at me, snickers as if I’ve said something funny.

Peter is still at their mercy, receiving hit after hit and a voice in my head tells me, they’re gonna kill him. You have to do something or they’ll kill him.

“What do you want? Come on, what is it?!” 

And with a heavy accent, the man says, “To cause you misery.”

The chill returns, and I decide — despite my terrible odds — that I have to get them away from Peter. 

I get my feet firmly under me.

I charge toward the guard with the gun, bracing myself.

And he does something I didn’t expect.

He turns the gun on Peter.

I hear three shots.

“NO!” I scream, my eyes go wide and I drop to my knees once again, facing Peter and crawling toward him, “No, no, no, no, no!”

The guards shuffle back into the shadows, laughing, seemingly done with their job, but all I can see is Peter.

I’m frozen for a second, staring, shaking, unable to process the scene before me. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, hands grasping at his chest where blood has begun to pour from three wounds. I race toward him and drop to the ground at his side, placing my cuffed hands firmly over the holes in his chest.

“Peter?” I say, my voice tight and choked, “Hey, hey listen to me, you’re gonna be okay. The rest of the team is here, my dad is here, he's gonna get us out, okay?” A few of my tears leak down onto my hands, running into the blood that now stains them.

“Y/N?” He mumbles, hardly able to speak.

“Yeah, it’s me, I'm so sorry,” I sniff and try to keep my throat from closing up, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop them but you’re gonna be fine, Peter, we’re gonna get help.” 

His face is twisted in pain, and when he tries to speak next, only a cough comes out, and blood bubbles out over his lips.

I fail to hold back a sob and move my hands to his cheeks, “Shh,” I try to get out, but it comes out shaky, like a whimper, “Shh, don’t— don’t try to talk.”

His eyes look into mine, I can see the pain behind them as he lies there, struggling to breathe. I stroke his cheek, and only now come to notice the blood I’ve painted there. I sob again. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, I don't know how to help him.

Can I?

Is it too late?

I cradle his head across my thighs, take one of his hands in mine and leave the other on his cheek, trying to provide some sort of comfort.

“I’m sorry, Peter, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” and I just keep saying it, breathing it out and heaving air back into my lungs between sobs. Tears are constantly tracking down my face now, and i’m doing all I can to subdue them while he’s still conscious, still looking at me. 

My mantra of apologies keeps repeating, and my thumb keeps stroking along his cheek, and I don’t know how long I sit there, crying, mumbling, desperately hoping someone comes to help us before I notice him release a slow, defeated breath.

In, out.

“Peter?” I mumble. My blood freezes in my veins. My breath stills. I wait for his chest to rise again. I watch and pray for it to happen. Please, please, please.

It doesn’t move.

A long, whining sob erupts from deep in my chest as I drop my head and cry, and cry, and cry above him, “No, no, no, no. Please, no.”

I sob, loud and painful, unable to take a breath in anymore. I shut my eyes and don't look up because I can't look at his face — his eyes are still open his eyes are still open. 

I’m never gonna see him again,

I’m never gonna hear his voice again, 

I’m never gonna kiss him again.

The pain in my chest gets worse and I feel dizzy with the force of my sobs.

And then suddenly there are arms under mine, and I'm being dragged backwards.

Away from Peter.

“No, no, no, no, let me go! Let me go!” And what i’m saying is barely coherent between the sobs, “Let me stay with him, please, please!” But the arms hooked under me don't relent, no matter how hard I pry at them, no matter how hard I kick and scream. He’s getting farther and farther away from me, alone in that room, and I can't bear the thought of it.

“Please, let me go!”

And suddenly I hear my name, as if through a haze, but I can’t make out who’s saying it. I don't really care. I have to get back to him, I have to stay with him, I can’t leave him alone.

“Y/N— “

“Y/N it’s us! Come on!”

I pull and pull at the hands around me but I can’t remove them, I keep getting pulled backwards until— 

I’m yanked through a doorway, and the room where Peter lies is dark and blank in front of me.

My hearing isn’t fuzzy anymore.

I gasp in surprise but the sobs haven’t stopped, and my father’s unmasked face appears in front of me.

“Y/N? Hey! You’re okay, we’re here!” His hands are on my face but I swat them away.

“No! Peter’s in there! We can't leave him! We have to take him home, we have to get him home—”

“Y/N— “

“Dad they shot him, I couldn’t help him, I couldn’t help him—“ my words dissolve again into cries of grief.

“Y/N he's not in there.”

I turn to him in confusion.

“He is!” I point my hand frantically toward the doorway, “In the middle of the room! They k— they killed him in there!”

“Y/N…” my dad speaks.

And it’s then that I notice my outstretched hand, pointing toward the door.

There’s no blood on it.

I start to shake harder.

“I- I saw it, I saw it happen I— “

And I notice the thin fog rolling out through the doorway, lazily dispersing along the floor.

I look up. I breathe heavy and shakily. The whole team is staring down at my red, tearstained face. Cap’s face is twisted into concern, Natasha looks sad and sympathetic. Hydra agents lie dead or out cold on the ground, alarms blaring, but no one takes any steps to exit. The raid is over…

And I can't see any blood on my hands.

“Y/N, it was a hallucinogen,” my dad says firm, but gently, “Whatever you saw in there wasn’t real.”

I stare at him, trying to make sense of this. It looked so real. It felt so real.

“But— but I saw it— I felt it, I could feel what they did—“ 

He gently breaks the cuffs from my wrists, “I know, I know kiddo, but it wasn’t real. They know how to get in your head.” 

I shake my head in confusion, “But the cuffs? And my gauntlets are broken—?”

“Whoever did that was real.” Nat cut in, “They hurt you so you wouldn't fight the simulation and then the drugs were pumped into the room.”

I sit there on the floor in front of the Avengers. Disbelief, confusion, and grief all playing across my face. 

“Check the room,” I demand.

My dad points a light into it, and Steve walks through, “No one here, see?”

My mind still races, it felt so real.

“Friday?” My dad speaks up, a gentle hand in my hair, “Where’s Peter now?”

“At the compound, sir, working on his suit in your lab.”

I sniff and mumble out, “Vitals?”

“All normal levels.”

I sigh, squeeze my eyes shut, and drop my head into my hands. A sob of leftover panic and relief fights its way out of my chest.

“C’mere,” My dad says, and pulls me closer to him, a soothing arm around my back.

“I need to see him,” I choke out, “I need to know he’s not— “

“I know, I know, we got the job done here, we’re going home.”

——————

I don't remember the walk back out of the compound. It’s all vague reassurances and worrying eyes. I think my dad buckled the straps around me once we got to the quinjet. 

The flight back is somber, quiet, despite the fact that we succeeded. I feel the entire team’s eyes on me, but I don't look up. I’m too busy sitting curled on my seat, staring down at my hands.

There was so much blood. So much of his blood.

I spend the next few hours staring, not speaking, unable to stop the images from replaying in my head. My dad sits beside me, stroking my hair, muttering things I can’t hear.

I thought he was gone. All I can hear are the choked, wet sounds of the blood rising from his throat, all I can see is the stark image of dark red dripping down his pale cheek. Pain in his eyes. His chest refusing to move.

“Y/N,” I think it’s the fourth attempt someone makes to get my attention, and I look up to see my dad kneeling in front of me, “We’re almost back.”

“He’s at the landing pad?” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

My dad takes my hand and says, “Yeah, I had Friday call him up.”

The next thing I’m aware of is the quinjet touching down, and I unbuckle the straps and stand up. My dad rests a reassuring hand on my back, and when the ramp lowers, he walks me forward. He can tell I’m still doubtful. He can tell a part of me still believes what I saw back in that room. 

But then we reach the ground and I see him.

Peter is standing back from the landing pad, accompanied by Pepper. He’s healthy, he’s standing on his own, he’s not bleeding, he’s not hurt, he hasn’t been shot, he’s okay.

He’s not dead.

I pick up the pace, walking out of reach of my dad, and once I’m close enough to see his eyes a sob fights its way up my throat and I throw my arms around his shoulders.

“Hey, shh, it’s alright,” his arms wrap firmly around my back, one hand landing in my hair and one stroking up and down my spine. His hair tickles my cheek, his shirt collar is bent out of shape — he never folds them right. He’s warm and strong and breathing and alive. I bury my face in his neck as another sob wracks through my body.

“What happened?” I hear him ask, confused, and his voice rumbles so low and soothing and I can feel it against my chest, hear it in his throat where my ear is pressed. I can’t stop my cries long enough to answer him but I realize the question wasn’t directed toward me.

“She’s not hurt,” my dad’s voice reassures him, “They messed with her head. She thought — she saw them hurt you—“

“I thought you were dead,” I croak out. My grip on him tightens and I let my hand trail to the curls at the base of his neck, let them twist around my fingers. My voice has risen an octave when I say, “You died, I saw you die.”

We sway for a moment, his hands still running down my back and through my hair, I don't think he knows what to say. I wouldn’t know, either. 

We stay there for a minute, and the rest of the team has walked inside to give us some space, I assume. 

After a while, when my sobs have quelled and I'm just quietly sniffling against him, I feel his hand on my cheek, pulling me back.

“Hey,” He whispers gently, wiping his thumb under my eye to clear away the tears there, “Good thing that wasn’t me then, right? I’m right here. And I’ve got proof— I was talking Dr. Banner’s ear off in the lab the entire time, he can vouch for me,” I let out a watery giggle at his antics, “You wanna go inside? Get you warm, patch you up?”

“Yeah,” I sigh out, disentangling myself from him, but keeping an arm around his side as we walk into the building, “Sorry, I’d give you a hello kiss but I’m pretty sure there’s snot running down my face.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the hair at my temple, “That’s okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

——————

After a brief period of time, I’ve showered, changed into pajamas, and am now sitting at the bathroom sink where my dad is bandaging the shallow cuts on my hands from the broken gauntlets. We sit in relative silence, and there’s no doubt from the look on my dad’s face that I appear just about as shell shocked as I feel. 

“Kiddo, you gonna be okay tonight?” He asks in a hushed voice. 

I don't look him in the eye, instead watching him work on my hands as I mumble out, “Probably not.”

He huffs with a bit of amusement, “Well, thanks for the honesty, I guess.”

He finishes up on my left hand and raises my chin to look him in the eye. I don't know what to say, so I let him speak first.

“Seriously, Y/N, that was heavy, what you went through. Don’t be afraid to ask any one of us for help, okay?” He looks me pointedly in the eye, already doubting I’ll take him up on that. I am his daughter, after all. 

“Yeah,” I whisper, “Got it.”

He stands with a sigh and puts the first aid kit back under my sink.

“Goodnight, come get me if you need me.” He presses a kiss to my head and leaves.

——————

Tony looks at the clock. 7a.m., three hours after they returned from the mission. 

“Friday? Has Y/N gotten any sleep yet?”

“No, sir. She spent a few hours in the kitchen with Mister Parker, but it appears as if they are both headed to their respective rooms now.”

“Alright. Alert me if she needs help, Fri.”

“Will do, sir. Goodnight.”

——————

“Sir, it appears as if Y/N is in distress.”

Tony wakes up to the alert just forty minutes after he’d laid down to sleep. He's quickly alert and shuffling out of bed, down the hall to his eldest daughter’s room. Although, when he turns the corner he sees Peter already at the door.

The teen looks up at him, “Hey, Mr. Stark. I— Friday told me she needed help. I was just gonna check in.”

“Me too,” Tony sighs, “You go ahead, Pete. It’s you she needs to see right now. Goodnight.”

The man turns to leave, but stops short of turning the corner. He says, tired, but playfully, “Door open, Parker.”

“Gotcha, Mr. Stark,” And the boy walks in to comfort his daughter.

Several hours later, after Tony’s gotten his meager version of a full-night’s sleep, and after a night he’s sure has held several nightmares for his daughter, he walks back past her door to make sure she’s okay.

He smiles warmly at the scene. Wrapped in Peter’s Midtown sweatshirt, his daughter sleeps, restless but quiet, leaning an arm over the boy she loves. He holds her secure, both their legs strewn about the covers, and Tony can't help but notice Y/N’s hand. Resting softly at the side of Peter’s neck, fingers in the hair behind his ear, and her thumb rests just over the boy’s pulse point. Thrumming gently in sleep, reassuring her — even in her unconscious state — that what she saw was fake. Peter is alive and well, sleeping soundly right beside her.

—————

Alrighty that’s it! Let me know how you liked it and thanks for reading!