#teammates? mirrors? lapses? how ever you want to look at it

[seb-boo]

♘ red, missed ♘

[nopelleen]

Perish, Pretty Please (5/5)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Rick Flag was known to be a pretty good leader, it was the reason why he had been chosen to lead a squad of infamously reckless and idiotic criminals, however it was a lot harder to maintain his authority when one member of the team despised his guts for seemingly no reason.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Rick Flag x Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.7k

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: it took me so long, but it’s finally there -- the last part! I started this fanfiction knowing I had a tendency not to finish them and I’m honestly so proud right now, I hope you’ll enjoy this last part as much as I enjoyed writing all of this! (also please let’s all have a moment of silence to remember the moment my hopeful, foolish ass actually posted the first part with “1/2″ in the title)

“Nope, there’s something we gotta take care of first."

You watched with blatant bafflement as the three men nonchalantly walked away from the blazing truck that had been transporting them merely minutes ago. There was almost a bit of disappointment in your heart as you watched the plan you and Cleo had so meticulously orchestrated on your way here vanish into thin air. It was a shame – your rescue plan involved a lot more wow factor. Had you known the outcome of this small drawback, you wouldn’t have put so much effort into it; but how could you have guessed the three of them would find a way out of a van guarded by multiples soldiers all the while handcuffed and therefore supposedly incapacitated? That was absurd.

“Don’t look so surprised, it’s insulting.”

You shot Flag a tight lipped, mocking smile as a response to his friendly jab, clearly recognizing the words you had used against him in the afternoon. Your sardonic grimace poorly mirrored the playful smirk the colonel adorned as he walked towards the van, and you were surprised to feel your heart swell a bit when you noticed his smile spread into a genuine one as he walked past you, slightly shaking his head in amusement.

Without even questioning how they had gotten themselves out of that prickly situation, you whirled around and followed suit as Rick climbed back into the van, telling Milton the small change of plan. That one enthusiastically nodded before happily informing the squad that you’d reach the city by dawn, making you realize you had spent a good chunk of the night at that bar and yet did not feel that tired yet – which might just have been from the adrenaline released into your system at the sight of your three teammates walking out of a blazing vehicle.

“You sleep, I watch Thinker,” Nanaue suggested as he heavily lumbered towards the back of the van, where the hostage was surprisingly staying very still, wise enough not to attempt anything while sharing the same space as King Shark.

Your steps faltered as you entered the van, your gaze hesitatingly flickering towards the seats in the back which appeared way too crowded for your liking. You usually would’ve simply gone back to your seat at the front, but Rick was now occupying the one near the window, probably as a way to stay close to the driver.

With a reluctant sigh, you were about to follow King Shark towards the back when Rick casted a pointed look towards you before patting the seat beside him in case you did not understand.

Relief washed over you and you didn’t even need to give it a second thought before flopping onto the space beside him, glad not to have to settle for a spot anywhere near Peacemaker. Your muscles were stiff as you quite literally bounced onto the cushion, and as soon as your back did as much as graze the backrest, the entire day of walk, hours of dancing and minutes of worrying about Flag’s well-being caught up with you with a dizzying speed.

If earlier that day you had been able to fight off sleep vigorously, you now found yourself melting into the cushion of your seat as soon as you flopped onto it. At first, you remained steadfast, refusing to yield to your basic human needs as you forced yourself to sit up straight, but then there was a strong gravitational pull making you sway a bit on your seat as your head started lolling forward, and then another pull – Rick’s hand, this time – gently steering you back into your seat. Incapable of fending off the drowsiness any longer, you surrendered and finally allowed yourself to loosen up, feeling your head snugly land upon Rick’s shoulder as you drifted off into a soundless sleep.

-----

“Outburst, hey!”

“She’s sleeping.”

From his seat at the very back of the van, Peacemaker frowned as he craned his neck in an attempt to peer at your figure still slumped over Rick’s shoulder. “Well, wake her up,” he groused, tinges of annoyance seeping from his usually polished tone. “She’s… spewing her emotions all over the place. It’s reeking of sadness in there.”

◦◦◦

“It’s reeking in there; crack a window open, will you?”

Your finger harshly jabbed the switch, your gaze remained firmly fixed on the buildings passing by in a blur as the window lowered just a bit in an abrupt, choppy motion. From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your mother shooting you a brief, curious look. You hadn’t uttered a word ever since you two had left the family reunion. You knew it hadn’t been a good idea to agree to come.

The car then lapsed into another uncomfortable silence. You were both acutely aware of the thick, sweltering acrimony flooding off of you and yet still refused to address it, instead letting you bask in it with your mouth clamped shut, letting it gnaw your insides until your lungs felt charred, incapable of drawing oxygen any longer.

Why had you agreed to this? You were an adult; you didn’t need to expose yourself to this anymore.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to breathe in deeply, only for your chest to constrict, becoming painfully hollow. Tears started brimming at the edges of your vision and you finally allowed your lips to part, letting a bated breath stumble out of them with urgency.

“I heard you earlier.”

◦◦◦

“I’m not waking her up,” Rick scowled in one curt sentence, already feeling a bit on edge and therefore not wanting to dwell on the matter.

Peacemaker’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper at Rick’s unwavering tone. He usually dealt easily with negotiation and compromises, he worked well under authority and was a suitable soldier because of it, but at the moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to be patient – maybe because of how thick with tension the atmosphere had become because of you.

“We can feel her,” he insisted again, spitting the words out in an irritated hiss.

◦◦◦

“Honey, I can feel you, tone it down,” your mother complained as she kept her eyes on the road. Either your words went completely over her head, or she refused to acknowledge them, knowing that with the amount of resentment she could feel rolling off of you in waves, there was no way a discussion could lead to a good outcome at the moment. She was already having a hard time not letting the irritation get to her in spite of the smoldering atmosphere.

“I heard you talking to aunt Matty,” you reiterated. “You said it was my fault.”

“What was?”

“Dad leaving.”

The uttered words dropped like thunder in the car, leaving the air charged with electricity.

“I didn’t say that,” she rebutted with a bit of an acerbic tone. The tension was starting to get to her, slowly but steadily eating away at her mind in spite of her resolve. She could feel the resentment seeping into her like a foreign body infiltrating her immune system, but paradoxically, the angrier she got, the less willing she was to fight it off. “Don’t twist my words, you know I hate when you do that.”

◦◦◦

“I didn’t say she wasn’t allowed to sleep,” Peacemaker clarified, starting to sound a bit agitated as the tensed atmosphere got more and more on his nerves. “I’m simply saying she shouldn’t until we are.”

“She’s not hurting anyone.”

◦◦◦

“You said I was hurting him.”

“I said he was often on the wrong end of your temper. Listen, it’s—”

“Back off!”

◦◦◦

“Back off,” Rick sternly admonished him as soon as Peacemaker made a step towards the front of the bus, protectively wrapping an arm around your sleeping form. “She needs to rest. She got shot acting as a distraction so your team could make a smooth entrance, remember?” he reminded the man scornfully.

Peacemaker’s face remained calm in spite of the irritation coloring his eyes. His gaze briefly flickered from you to Flag, hesitating.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

◦◦◦

“You know how you made him feel,” your mother uttered, efficiently putting an end to the exchange.

You remembered the times during which you were moody, when you came back home after having spent the entire day feeling everyone’s emotions around you, when your father did as much as try to talk to you about it, thus instantly setting you off. He was always the spark that ignited you. Whether he was inquiring about your day, or commenting on your behavior, or even just standing a bit too close to you… He’d end up angry, hurt, aggressive – whatever you were feeling at the moment, he’d always end up feeling it too.

Your mother was just wise enough to stay away.

But you also remembered the shouts in the kitchen, the jabs, the constant bickering between them. You remembered listening to it from the stairs and then being blamed for their bad tempers. You’d be blamed for the anger, the aggressiveness, the slaps that so often echoed through the house.

She was wise enough to stay away, and yet be close enough when she’d need an excuse.

“It wasn’t just me,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

“I never said it was.”

“It was you,” you spat out as you whipped your head towards her. “You made him miserable.”

Your eyes were completely focused on her face, her pursed lips and closed-off features, and never once did you notice the way her foot slowly started pressing further onto the accelerator.

◦◦◦

You woke up with a start and instantly casted a frantic gaze around you, expecting the usual blaring horns and shouts that followed this exchange. You were surprised to find yourself in a safe environment, all wrapped up in an unexpected warm, comforting atmosphere. Usually, the second you woke up, your instincts picked up on the foul aura of anguish you had unconsciously secreted into the air, and yet, here, you could feel nothing but utter peacefulness.

One of your eyebrows formed an elegant arch as you lowered your gaze to glimpse at the warm weight wrapped around you, only for your eyes to land on a familiar calloused hand hanging from your shoulder and almost grazing your cheek. You felt a faint smile tenderly pulling at the corners of your lips before even turning your head to confirm the identity of the owner of the arm wrapped around your shoulders, and when you turned your head to direct your gaze towards Flag’s sleeping face, you simply found yourself incapable to fight it off anymore.

Then, with a fond smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you snugly nestled you head back into his side and shut your eyes, this time knowing for a fact that you wouldn’t risk infuse the atmosphere with anything else than a blissful quietude.

◦◦◦

It was chaos. Utter chaos.

Your car was long abandoned a few feet away from you, fuming after having hit another vehicle in the middle of an intersection. The driver who had started fighting with you was now in a fully blown-out fist fight with another man who had merely tried to step in for you, and the more people got out of their cars to understand what was going on, the more people got trapped under your influence and started fighting, some going as far as purposefully ramming their vehicle into another’s.

Your voice was hoarse from shouting at the driver who had first attacked you and you were now trembling with anger as you watched an entire riot unfold before your very eyes, unconsciously fueling it with intense waves of rage that'd hit any innocent that'd happen to walk a bit to close to the scene.

Someone gripped your shoulder and you tried to jerk away from the touch, whirling your head towards the person with your teeth bared, ready to attack whoever was trying to get your attention.

“Honey, focus on me, alright? Focus on me.”

The voice was rough, the tone frenzied, and yet when the hands grasped your shoulders, it was with an unexpected gentleness. The fingers were quivering with restraint, barely managing not to dig into your skin in an attempt to snap you out of it.

This staggering tenderness startled you so much that it managed to take you out of your trance for a fleeting moment, allowing reason to take over as you fought back the instinctive urge to shove the hands away. With frantic, brimming eyes, you diverted your gaze towards your mother, desperate for a comforting point of focus to latch onto like a lifeline.

A sob threatened to crawl up your throat as soon as you met her eyes. There, in the midst of all the hardly concealed anger – a glint of affection, a vacillating spike of tenderness battling to emerge from under all that vibrating rage your mind was forcefully pushing into her. With a choked-up breath of relief, you instinctively stepped forward, latching onto that abiding twinkle of kindness in spite of all that surrounding violence like a lifeline.

Then, when there was an anticipated screeching of tires coming from your side, a glimpse of grey metal flashing out of the corner of your eye, and an oh-so-familiar harrowing feeling of dread seizing your insides, you kept your eyes unwaveringly locked into your mother’s, resolutely shutting out everything else around you. You bored your gaze into hers and let your mind soak in her warmth.

The car never came, the shouts quietened down, your surroundings slowed down until coming to a complete halt, time stalled and your dream mercifully stepped away from your memories to spare you.

You stood there for ages lost into your mother’s loving gaze, until – having strayed too far from reality – your subconscious lost all senses of what was and wasn’t at the time and let the scene morph into whatever your mind desired. Then, when the voice spoke up again, it wasn’t your mother standing before you anymore,  but a person you now trusted more than you ever thought you would.

“Don’t be scared of me.”

 -----

“We need to help these people.”

The words went completely over your head as you despairingly gaped at the glass in front of you, feeling cold to your bones.

You had gotten a bad feeling as soon as the elevator doors had cracked open.

There hadn’t even been time to make a step forward before you had gotten hit by the foul, repugnant thickness sullying the air with a strength that almost had you rearing your head back a bit. For a dizzying second, the vile and nauseating reek had left you standing there, blearily blinking as your senses had desperately struggled to accommodate to the repellent atmosphere. Yet, in spite of the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes just from the sheer despondency emanating from the place, you had been far from imagining the atrocity, the barbarism of the experiments that were taking place down here.

Despite your reluctance, you had been forced to follow the others as they had stalked out of the elevator, engaging into the dark and humid place with feeble, hesitant steps. As you had all crossed the small entrance leading to the laboratory, you had needed to fight your instincts that they had urgently pleaded you to simply whirl around and run back into the elevator.

Every breath you had taken weighed heavily on your tongue, the pungency sticking to the walls of your throat and poisoning your lungs. Every other second you had spent down there had simply felt like another year taken off your life, the wretched atmosphere slowly eating away at your brain like acid.

In spite of all of that, it had taken some time for the horror to truly dawn on you.

The despair had crept into your heart with every step you had made into the cellar, and then, when you had gotten to the center of it, you had felt for the very first time of your life an intense claustrophobia swarming your heart. Surrounded by a sea of decaying bodies all bound together by the same searing, devastating agony, the hostile basement had quickly gone from a gruesome laboratory to a deadly trap slowly closing in on you.

With nothing but wandering bodies all around you, you felt at the bottom of a pit of wretchedness, your head swelling with an intense, overwhelming pain. It was as though you were entrapped in the center of a microwave which was channeling thousands of screams directly towards your brain instead of radiations, however one of them was significantly stronger than the others and seemed to come from the wide glass wall right in front of you.

“Impossible, dear. They’re corpses below those stars.”

In spite of the searing agony flaring through your chest, your heartbeat seemed to slow down and settle onto a numbing, soporific pace as you unconsciously started stepping towards the wide glass, as though bewitched by the heart-wrenching wail you felt coming from whatever was hiding in that liquid.

With trembling, tentative fingers, you lifted your hand and slowly pressed your palm against the freezing glass, yearning to soothe the poor sufferer from their wrenching agony. The pain only seemed to intensify at the touch, the feeling of desolation gripping your insides as your ears started ringing, completely isolating you from the others. There was nothing else in that room but you and a desolated martyr screaming with thousand of voices right into your mind.

You watched with mournful, brimming eyes as the dark figure behind the glass started stirring until a single, colossal eye revealed itself in front of you, appearing emotionless to any common spectator and yet emitting an amount of woe that would’ve had you on your knees had you not gotten so used to sensing people’s emotions.

“Outburst?”

Rick’s voice rose up right behind you but still didn’t startle you, your eyes riveted onto the creature before you with rapt focus.

“It’s in pain,” you croaked out, the faint words scraping your dry throat like some sandpaper grating your vocal cords. “It’s in so much pain.” You shifted your fingers a bit, as if trying to press your hand closer to the glass, get closer to that strange creature, completely blind to the danger it represented. The tentacles, bumps and single eye did not matter – all you could see was the utter suffering it was in.

“Well,” the Thinker unabashedly butted in, “if I’m not mistaken regarding the purpose of your self-righteous egomaniacal mission – not for much longer.”

His words dawned on you with a dry clarity and had you shifting away from the glass in one brisk motion to whirl your head towards Rick. “We can’t kill it,” you asserted with an adamant, steadfast tone that did not match the slight waver in your voice.

“We have orders.”

Rick’s steadfast voice was way more convincing than yours, and what would’ve usually been a mere reminder of his status as colonel felt like a frustrating hindrance that only heightened the desperation swarming your heart and made you let go of the glass to tighten your fists as you turned around to fully face him.

“No, we can’t, we have to help it, it’s—”

“It’s dangerous,” Rick cut you off, his distrust-colored eyes briefly flickering towards the glass wall.

“It’s suffering!”

Your distressed screech echoed through the cellar, your plea painfully reverberating on the walls and splattering the frantic desperation dripping from your tone all around the basement.

For a fleeting moment, Flag remained speechless, as if hit with full force by the intensity of your despair. During that fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse of the hesitation flashing in his eyes, the way he seemed to ponder over the situation for even just a second, wondering what to do and which way to choose. Then, his gaze flickered to the side, briefly meeting Peacemaker’s, and you were able to pinpoint the exact moment he put his guards up again, welding back on his old mask of professionalism to tightly shut out any emotion you could try to induce in him.

There was a subtle shift in his expression, so subtle you might not even have noticed had you not been so desperately seeking any trace of support on his features. Instead of showing the understanding you were so badly hoping for, the traits of his face hardened, the glint in his eyes dimmed, and then you weren’t standing before Rick anymore, you were facing the colonel, towering over you with his back straight and his orders engraved in his mind.

You were acutely aware of the fact that the mission outweighed you; you had just hoped Rick would hold enough respect towards you to give your words the slightest bit of consideration. Apparently, this respect only allowed you one minute of his time before he completely shut you out.

With a sharp, regretful sigh, he took a step towards you and grabbed your arm with a gentle reluctance that contrasted with the harshness of his tone as he said that you needed to go with the other team.

You tried to protest but his strides were long and hasty, and before you even knew it, he was punching the first-floor button of the elevator as you stood inside of it, stunned.

Just as the doors started closing before you, you feebly parted your lips to utter one last plead; your pained, wavering voice coming out laced with betrayal. “You said I could trust you.”

When he had seemed ready to turn away as soon as the doors started closing between you, Rick’s attention seemed to be piqued by your words as he shifted his gaze back onto you, lingering in front of the elevator for just a second more.

The distress coloring your eyes melted into a sullen resignation as soon as your gaze bored into his, your chest constricting with dejection. There, under the thick coat of seriousness, in the midst of all the restrained belligerence this place inspired him, no glint of affection was to be found, no spike of tenderness desperately trying to emerge from the vibrating anger – nothing but cold, glaring callousness.

Not Rick.

Colonel.

-----

“Where’s Flag?”

Bloodsport turned his gaze towards you, and you instantly recognized the apologetic look in his eyes.

As he grimly shook his head, you finally experienced it firsthand – the agony of a thousand people.

-----

“Apparently Waller sent something to his hospital room. People are joking and saying she sent flowers, but if you want my opinion the old hag probably sent him a reminder that his contract doesn’t cover paid sick leaves.”

The voice, just like the steps accompanying it, echoed through the corridor and kept getting closer to your cell, undoubtedly coming from yet another guard who’d attempt to get a word or a reaction out of you – anything that’d stop them from having to book in an appointment with the jail therapist.

You had seen many of them pass by while you had spent days in a temporary cell during your recovery but hadn’t thought they’d keep on sending them after having transferred back in your old cell this morning.

The landscape change didn’t make any difference for you, as you simply kept on staring at the wall for hours on end with the most irksome gloomy look clouding your features.

You couldn’t think about anything else than Rick.

You didn’t think you had even truly processed it yet. It had happened too fast.

Within the span of a few days, the colonel had somehow gained your trust, slowly leading you to warm up to him by showing you an affection you hadn’t experienced in years. It felt like he had turned your world upside down, made everything brighter with the prospect of saving lives alongside a superior who truly valued you, and then you had made the mistake of letting him out of your sight, forced to walk away from that dreadful laboratory for just a few minutes, and he had died there, the one person on this earth who you could genuinely trust now buried under the rumbles in that bottomless pit of agony.

You had mulled over it what felt like a thousand times already and you just could not figure out how to simply go on with your life. Not when your one chance at a brighter future had been squandered so violently as soon as you had turned your back to it.

Somehow, it felt like your fault.

You had been careless, unfocused. You had forcefully dragged Rick’s attention away from the mission at hand only because you were too weak to handle the downsides of your ability, your eyes pathetically overflowing with tears of empathy as the rest of your team simply tried to achieve the mission. You had distracted Rick as that one had been forced to take you to the elevator like a child, had unconsciously helped Peacemaker steal a secret file and forced Cleo to try and stop him on her own before Flag could come to her aid.

The file had been retrieved, but only after Bloodsport had stopped Peacemaker from coldly eliminating Cleo. Only after Rick’s body had already been left laying soundly in the laboratory.

They had fought with all their might for that file, for those values you had accused Flag of lacking merely days ago, and you hadn’t even been there.

It had been crushing to find out that the trust you held towards him had been misplaced, but it was nothing in comparison to discovering he shouldn’t have trusted you either.

You forcefully swallowed back the lump in your throat when you heard the steps finally come to a halt right by your cell and had a hard time concealing the startled look on your face when a very familiar voice rose up.

“Well well well, from what I’ve heard little princess doesn’t want to eat anymore?”

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end at the falsely dulcet tone dripping with a syrupy looking but dangerously abrasive poison. You had to keep yourself from gritting your teeth as your gaze caught up on Griggs’ silhouette standing before your cell from the corner of your eye.

“You’re not even gonna make an effort for me?” he teased you as his lips spread into a sneering smile that made him look more moronic than sadistic due to the absolute lack of sagacity behind his eyes.

You kept your mouth tightly shut and your eyes riveted to the wall across from you, trying to muster the blankest expression you could not to let him affect you but feeling a peeved expression weighing down on your features nonetheless.

“Aww, guys it looks like we’re gonna have to use the feeding tubes,” Griggs ironically groaned, turning towards his colleagues with a facetious glint in his eyes. One of them instantly stepped up to open the door to your cell, not even needing to think twice about the threat just emitted. “You know how much I hate doing that,” he then kept on jeering, much to the amusement of the other guards.

You waited with anticipation as he stepped into the cell, feeling your entire body buzzing with an overpowering apprehension, not having a clue of what you could do but knowing for a fact that with all the adrenaline slowly being spread into your system, there was no way you’d let Griggs go back to his old mistreatment.

His filthy fingers barely grazed your skin, and, as though electrified, you jumped to your feet, putting some distance between you and him. You kept your eyes determinedly fixated in front of you but could see from the corner of your eye how stunned he was by your abrupt reaction. He had gotten to the unresponsive side of you that had emerged after only a few months here, the poor figure staying down on the ground and no longer batting an eyelash at his constant abuse. His face remained dazed for a fleeting moment before the ghost of a smirk reappeared on his features.

After all, he had broken you once, it’d be no bother to do it a second time.

“What, you go on one mission with Task Force X and then you don’t like me anymore?”

He reached out a hand again, much more aggressively this time, and you jolted away, instinctively bringing a hand up without even knowing if you were willing to take the risk of hitting him.

“Step away from her, Griggs.”

The stone cold words loudly rang through the cell and heavily fell between you both, instantly followed by a deafening silence as Griggs’ hand hovered in the air for a fleeting moment, just inches away from the skin of your arm.

Then, for a dizzying, fleeting moment, it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the cell.

Chill shivers of relief racked your spine before your brain even had time to process the voice, and then, when the familiarity of it finally sank in, you felt as though some freezing water had been dumped over you, leaving you soaked and shivering in the middle of your cell – only this time Griggs wasn't the cause of it.

You whirled your head towards the entrance of your cell with a vertiginous speed and had to bite back a choked-up noise from stumbling out of your lips when your gaze landed upon the owner of the voice glowering at Griggs with a murderous look in his eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be back yet,” Griggs pointed out sheepishly, letting his arm limply drop to his side now that his focus had been completely taken off of you.

“I was feeling better,” Rick informed him with a tight-lipped smile which then briskly dropped from his features. “Now stand down,” he repeated himself, his voice steadfast and as neutral as he could muster it. “I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you. I’ve seen what you did to her, and I’d love to show you what it feels like to be on the wrong side of the blade.”

The threat made the cell go utterly silent and for just a second, the sweetest second ever, all traces of amusement vanished from Griggs’ suddenly pale face. He looked started, nervous, oh so pathetic, and then when he finally regained his composure enough to quickly muster up the most serious look he could to paint on his pallid features, he had already lost all respect from every occupant of the room.

“You’d risk your job for a bitch who told you to eat shit five minutes into your mission?”

There was an imperceptible twitch on Rick’s features at the reminder. He had to briskly fight off a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, but you could still discern the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes and had to swallow back a choked-up laugh – your heart swarming with a bunch of overwhelming emotions you couldn’t even identify at the moment.

His eyes briefly flickered to you. “Apparently,” he conceded with the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, before he cast his gaze back on Griggs and recovered a cold, severe expression. “And, trust me, given how liked you are around here, I don’t think I’d risk more than a paid leave even if I attempted to murder you.”

Yet another sullen silence fell over the cell like a heavy fog, and this time, Griggs made the wise decision of not shattering it, containing his anger within a single huff before stalking out of the cell with heavy steps that made him akin to a stomping child. His colleagues briefly glanced at Rick, not quite knowing what to do, before meeting his eyes and promptly deciding to follow Griggs’ decision.

“You’re alive,” you breathlessly uttered as soon as you were both left alone.

“A bit roughed up, but yes, alive,” he winced back, turning his gaze towards you.

You knew he couldn’t feel the blissful exultation swarming your heart now that your ability was smothered by the collar secured around your neck, but you hoped he could see it in your eyes and in the way you just couldn’t seem to blink those relieved tears away.

Rick took a few steps towards you and let out a bated breath, as if he was finally allowed to exhale, as if he hadn’t been able to feel comfortable until standing near you again – and you then knew for a fact that if he couldn’t see the exultation in your heart, he at least felt it as well.

Without another word, he then tentatively brought a hand up before letting it hover uncertainly in the air. He seemed hesitant as if he wasn’t sure how to act anymore now that his mask of professionalism was gone, and you couldn’t help but let out a short chuckle. This was enough for a single droplet to finally fall from your brimming eyes, and the way Rick’s gaze seemed to soften even more at the sight of it almost led you to shedding a few more.

With utter cautiousness, he brought his hand to your face to brush the stray tear away and then left it there, his warm palm cradling your cheek.

“Looks like I’ve won again,” he said in a breath, the words merely stumbling out of his lips as if he were afraid to break that frail, tender moment of vulnerability between the two of you. His thumb gently stroked your cheek again and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, your gaze never once leaving his. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You had once said that the only way for Rick to ever get close to you was for you to give out your last breath, and yet, ever since that very vow you had felt yourself ever-so-slowly opening up to him, as though there was something in the air and it was killing you softly.

Now that the sweet, sweet poison had filled up your lungs – all wrapped up in his arms and boring your gaze into his with a wide-eyed fascination – you chose to completely let go of that vow, braving the risk to perish and merely uttering back two candid, gentle words.

“Pretty please.”

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[daily-dose-of-imagines]

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Hello hello~! Admin T relayed this to me-- so here I am writing this Akaashi in a skirt SKSKSK from what I’m aware of, she got this idea from @imaginethathaikyuu​ so I guess this goes out to both them and Admin T LOLOL I hope this lives up what y’all want ^^

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think I’d have to do a sudden grocery trip.”

With her eyebrows furrowed and a pout on her lip, (y/n) couldn’t help but feel guilt swirl in her heart as she held the crumpled grocery list in her hand. 

“It’s no big deal, darling. Honest. If you’re correct that it’ll be quick then by the time you get back here all the snacks and books will be laid out for you so you can jump right in.”

As always, the soothing calmness that filled Akaashi’s voice brought a sense of relief to her as she could only lightly nod. Still, the pout seemed to stay on her face as she wondered exactly how this situation came about. She was so certain that she had stocked the fridge up the night before.

Then again...it wouldn’t surprise her if her roommates had decided to have a sudden feast without her knowledge. Oh the absolute joys of college life.

“Hey now, stop pouting sweetheart. Like you said, the convenience store is just around the corner. Plus we can always order take out if you don’t get everything you need.”

Within that brief lapse of time, she was brought out of her stupor by the soft plush feel of his own lips against her own. A small sound of happiness escaped her throat as she met his loving oceanic gaze. 

“Yea...I’ll just get the bare minimum and I’ll come back to pitch in for take out. To apologize for it, it’s your pick on where we eat Keiji~. I won’t take no for an answer either.”

“...of course you have to make it at least a little bit difficult.”

Despite the connotative phrase, the warm loving look in his eyes never faltered as he tauntingly pinched her cheek lightly before giving her a light nudge.

 Rolling her eyes, she gave a mock salute before hurriedly grabbing her wallet and keys. On her way out the door, she tugged him forward for a quick kiss. As the light pink blush dusted his features, she couldn’t help but give him a teasing wink before escaping out the door with a promise of being quick.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Fondly shaking his head, Akaashi watched her skip out the door with her own unique flourish before beginning to prepare her bedroom for their surprise study night sleep over.  

With ease, the former setter of Fukurodani began his tasks of lightly cleaning her bedroom before pulling out the mini table. Already, his hands worked on pulling out the necessary books and stationary for their little study session before lightly clapping his hands together at the simple yet aesthetically pleasing sight of their books neatly stacked together.

Though as he went about with his tasks, a thought had come to mind. One where he knew it could result in a large misunderstanding, yet here he was quickly escaping into the bathroom to change into a simple outfit. One that he had been meaning to try out eventually, but never really found the chance to. 

With shaky fingers, down came the jeans and up went a flowy simple deep space grey skirt. Though it was slightly short, the skirt itself brought a sense of relief to the male as he substituted his dress shirt for a large sweater-- courtesy of (y/n) as she had a rather large stash of over sized sweaters in her closet.

Shyly grinning to himself, the male couldn’t help but spin briefly in place to admire the style and comfortable fashion skirts had brought into his life. Though it was a suggestion by Kenma, he hadn’t necessarily thought he’d pull through with it. Now, the aspiring editor felt a new sense of curiosity peak as he left the bathroom for (y/n)’s bedroom once more. After all, he knew she had a full length mirror hidden somewhere.

“It’s...not that bad...”

Despite being flustered and shy, the dark haired male couldn’t help but give himself a long once over. Even though he was of a different build, he was still a lot leaner than a majority of his old teammates. In all honesty, he didn’t think the whole ensemble would suit him. That was obviously quickly shut down as he appeared much more...softer. The slight curls from his hair framed his already ‘pretty face’ as to what (y/n) had said, and the large sweater seemed to only add to the soft aesthetic.

Unbeknownst to Akaashi, (y/n) had returned home earlier than anticipated.

“Holy shit...”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“(y-y/n)?!”

It was the first time she had ever heard so much emotion overtake his voice. She had known him for quite some time, hell the last time she ever remembered his portraying so much emotion was during one of the games during nationals.

Akaashi felt his heart stop as a dark blush overtook his normally pale features. His words came out in a jumbled mess as he tried to explain, though found his words were shut down almost immediately as he was tugged forward into a rough kiss by the other.

“Shit...I’ve imagined you in skirts...but holy shit you’re seriously too pretty Keiji...”

Absolutely dumbstruck, Akaashi could only stare at her in shock. That was short lived though as he was suddenly pushed down onto her bed. An immediate instinct to keep the skirt down from flying up before he was met with a sudden weight on his lap.

“Y..You’ve imagined me in a skirt?”

“Mmmhmm~. I always knew you’d look good in anything, but fuck you really look good in anything Keiji.”

(y/n) watched as the tips of his ears became an even darker shade of red as he struggled to keep his flustered expression down. 

“H-How...who even--”

“Kenma sprung the idea onto me. Can’t say I’m not thankful, but now I owe him $20 bucks.”

“What--- why?”

“I told him I wouldn’t jump you the moment you tried on a skirt-- easy to say I lost.”

A soft groan came from him as he struggled to cover the embarrassment on his face. Yet even as he tried, she easily caught his hands. Her fingers intertwining with his own as she leaned forward to lightly kiss the tip of his nose.

“Stop shying away from me Keiji~.”

“You’re...not upset?”

“Upset? Why would I be? Like I said, I lost a bet to Kenma because I was certain I could control myself. Besides, it’s literally the 21st century, who the fuck cares with how you act or what you want to wear? It’s all cute and hot to me.”

“I...thank you..”

“Don’t thank me, love...now. If I told you I had a cheerleader outfit in your size sitting in my closet right now, would you wear it for me?”

“(y/n)!”

“What? I’ll still study! I promise! I just want you to model for me Keiji~!!”

[sophielovesbarnes]

All or nothing, chapter three.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Winchester!reader

Warnings: Mention of death, fluff, drinking.

Author note: Took me a while to write this one, I had a horrible writer’s block, and yesterday I managed to break it.

I hope you enjoy the chapter, let me know if you want to be tagged.

Requests are open.

Gifs are not mine.

Masterlist

Chapter two

Chapter three.

Why the hell did you have to wait until the last minute to start cleaning? You mentally slap yourself and sigh before getting back to scrub the floor; you wanted to give Spencer a good image and for what you have learned so far, he is a neat person and likes very clean spaces, which is why you were in the middle of an intensive cleaning session. 

You aren’t much of a messy person, but you are also in college, so there is unfolded laundry on the couch, empty food containers on the kitchen, dirty dishes in the sink, and shoes on the floor, and you have had a hell of a week, after meeting Spencer on Tuesday, you spent all night on the moon, then on Wednesday you had to spend all the afternoon doing homework, so now you had a lot of work to do, including packing to go back home after school on Friday. 

“Come one Y/N, stop procrastinating and get to it.” 

Three hours later the kitchen and the living room are spotless, your laundry is folded and stacked on your closet, there is nothing on the floor, your suitcases are ready and the lasagna is in the oven, and there is freshly baked garlic bread on the table. 

You admire your work as you rub your wet hair with a towel, trying to absorb as much water possible so you can blow dry it, then you go back to your room so you can find something decent to wear in your closet, you end up choosing the blue summer dress Sam gave you for your birthday last year, you had been saving it for a special occasion and this was definitely one.

When you are ready you finish setting the table and at 6 o’clock on the dot your doorbell rings. 

***

Spencer has changed a total of seven times in a lapse of fifteen minutes, he can’t remember the last time he felt this nervous.

He likes you, he really does, and it shouldn’t be possible to like someone this much in such a short span of time, but you are the most gorgeous girl he has ever been with, and you are also funny, and kind, and smart, and as hard as it seems you both share so many interests in common. 

But at the same time you are like him you are also quite the opposite, you take him out and far away from his comfort zone, and it is both exciting and terrifying, but it makes his mind wander and worry, will he be enough for you? And if he is, if you manage to get into a relationship, how will you make it work? With him living 576 miles away from you, and you both having such different lifestyles. 

He also has Maeve on mind, he couldn’t keep her safe, and he has seen the families and loved ones of his time getting in the crossfire, he saw it with Hotch, when Hayley got killed by Foyet, and he is terrified by the idea of something happening to you because of him. 

He stops himself and tries to shake the shiver from his spine, he shouldn’t be worrying so much at this point, he brings himself back to the hotel room and stares at the mirror and finally decides what to wear, the blue sweater with the matching tie will do, he tries to tame his hair with his fingers and then he leaves his hotel room, he is lucky enough to have both Morgan and Rossi out so he won’t be asked to explain something he hasn’t finished understanding. 

The address you gave him is quite close to the hotel he is staying in so he decides to walk, the city is nice and he can see why do you like it so much, sooner than he expected it he finds himself in front of the apartment complex that you indicated, he builds himself with courage and he rings the bell, the gate opens and he enters and calls the elevator on the fourth floor he gets down and knocks on your door.

When you open he is astonished, you look incredibly beautiful, you are wearing your hair down and curled, and the blue dress you are wearing hugs your body perfectly, and just like that he confirms one more time how much he likes you.

“Spencer! Hi, come on in.” He enters, closing the door behind him and you give him a smile.

“I-I got you these.” He gives you the bouquet of gerberas he bought in the way and he sees your eyes sparkle as you receive them.

“They are so pretty! Thank you.” You head to the sink, fill a vase with water and then you place the flowers on the kitchen bar. “Please take a seat, can I get you anything to drink?” 

“Water is fine.” He answers admiring your house, it’s small and cozy and all the pictures on the walls make it feel like a home. “It’s a nice place.” 

“Thank you, I owe it to Dean, like pretty much everything in my life.” The timer rings, giving you the cue to turn off the oven and take out the lasagna, you put on your gloves and take it, and then put it on the heat proof mat you had placed on the table. “I hope you are hungry.”  

“Starving.” He replies with a soft smile. 

You cut the lasagna and serve it on both of your plates, Spencer gives you a soft smile thanking you, you sit in front of him and raise your glass.

“To us.” He imitates your action and clinks his wine glass with yours. “Cheers.”

“Did you know that “Cheers” originated from the old French word chiere which meant “face” or “head.” By the 18th century, it meant “gladness,” and was used as a way of expressing encouragement.” He rambles. “And toasting is thought to come from sacrificial libations in which a sacred liquid was offered to the gods in exchange for a wish, or a prayer for health. It was Greek and Roman tradition to leave an offering to the gods, including alcoholic beverages, during celebrations and commonly after a death. In Greek mythology, the god of wine, Bacchus, was often toasted.”

“I did, and did you know that in Medieval times, glasses were clinked and people cheered loudly to ward off any demons or evil spirits? And that there are theories that say that it was done to avoid poisoning?” You reply, and he is fascinated to be able to talk with someone that is actually interested on this kind of facts and willing to talk about them with him. 

You take a sip of your wine and smile at him, and he could swear his heart jumps every time you do it.

“Bon appetit.” 

He takes the first bite and then looks at you with his eyes wide open.

“This is really good.”

“Thanks, it’s my mom’s recipe. She used to have a restaurant and people would make lines to try her food.”

“Are those your parents?” He asks pointing to the picture of your parent’s wedding, it was your favorite photograph of them, your mom looks beautiful in her white dress and she seems so happy and your dad is looking at her, and you can see the love in their eyes. 

“Yeah.” You reply, nostalgia running through your veins. 

“It’s a nice picture, do they live in Kansas as well?”

“No.” You take a deep breath and then continue. “They are gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it has been a long time.” You sigh and try to keep your emotions on the line. “They died in a car crash when I was eleven.”

“That’s why I owe Dean so much, when the accident happened Adam was already in college, but I was still little, and my aunt Sabine tried to take me back to Minnesota, but Dean wouldn’t have it, he filled to be my legal guardian and he went to trial against my aunt and he won, then he sold his bachelor’s apartment and bought a house for the both of us and he became both my mom and my dad.”

“He sounds like a great brother.”

“He is, I’m lucky to have him, and Sam and Adam, they are quite amazing.” You take the picture from your first competition and show it to him. “These are my brothers, Dean is carrying me, Sam is on the left and Adam is on the right.”

“You look really happy.”  He comments.

“Yeah, I was, it was probably one of the best days of my life.” You reply, filled with joy of reliving the memory, the moment when your team was announced champion, the proud looks on your brothers’ eyes, the screams of excitement coming from your teammates, and the intense feeling of joy running through your veins. “It was my first all star competition, man, you should've seen Dean, he bragged about it for months.”

“For how long have you been a cheerleader?”

“I started with ballet and gymnastics when I was 3 and I joined the squad at my elementary school as soon as I got in.”

“What do you like about it?”

“Well, I love dancing and I love sharing joy, cheerleading lets me do both.”

“Are you planning to do it professionally?” He asks.

“I don’t think so, to be honest I think I would rather develop my career as a psychologist, I would also like to have a dance academy, but I think that would be an extra.” You take a small pause to admire the soft color of his eyes and then ask. “What about you? Did you always know that you wanted to be an FBI agent?”

“Not really, I knew that I wanted to help people but I wasn’t sure how, then when I was 22 I decided to join the FBI.” 

“Have you ever considered doing anything else?”

“A part of me would like to teach, but I don’t think I do good in front of many people.” 

“Well being honest, I loved hearing you.” You see his cheeks blush and he looks away for a moment.

“Thank you.”

You finish eating while doing small talk, you ask him about his career, his team, you see how enthusiastic he gets when he talks about them, when he tells you how they became his family.

He also tells you about his mom, about how she slowly deteriorated and how much it scares him to get sick like her. When he is speaking you place your hand on top of his, he gives you a small smile and then changes the subject. 

“Tell me about your brothers.”

“Well, Dean’s the oldest, and he has always taken care of all of us, he is the most loving person I know. He taught me how to ride a bike and helped me to do my homework every day until highschool. 

He is a mechanic, he has his own workshop where he does restorations on vintage cars, he was also a soldier, he enlisted after 9/11, that’s where he met Castiel, he was an army doctor, he crushed on him but he was already married to Lisa, and she was expecting Ben, my nephew, then he came back home but he and Lisa didn’t work together as a couple anymore, they tried to stay together for Ben, but they weren’t happy, so they got divorced and stayed as friends, then like fifteen years later Dean got in a small car accident and the doctor that got his case was Castiel, they started dating very little after that, and they got married three years ago, this year they adopted a little boy, Leo, he is the love of their lives.” 

While you are talking Spencer looks at you with attention, and your hand never leaves his. 

“Sam’s the smart one, he studied law at Stanford and he is now a junior partner on one of the biggest firms on Kansas, he is married with Jess, they have two daughters, Marie and Elizabeth, and Adam studied Mechanical Engineering at KU, he works on the workshop with Dean, and he is expecting a baby with Jo, who is basically my sister, they used to hate each other they were always jumping at the other’s neck, so it was definitely a surprise.”

“Do you miss living in Kansas?”

“Yeah, I do, sometimes I get very lonely here, I have friends and all but, it’s not the same as having my family here, that’s why I love vacations so much, because I can go back home and see them.”

“Yeah, I get the feeling.”

Talking to him is easy, when you are with him you don’t feel the need to keep your guard up, you feel like you can trust him with anything, when you talk he listens with attention, he actually listens, not like other boys you have met, that only wait for you to stop talking so they can focus the conversation on them, and when he talks you are fascinated, he is insanely smart and well educated, you have the most interesting conversation you have had in your entire life , and time seems to fade away, when you notice it, it’s already past midnight.

He helps you to clean, after you finish you walk him to the door, you are standing under the threshold when you both start to speak at the same time, you chuckle softly and then let him start.

“Thank you for having me.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Then you stay in silence, and you allow yourself to get lost in his eyes, slowly you get closer to him, so close you can feel his soft breath over your mouth, he hesitates for a minute but then he places his hand on your waist and then you close the distance between your lips and his. 

Kissing you has to be the most exhilarating feeling he has ever had, it is like his lips were meant to be in yours, you run your fingers through his hair and then he pulls you closer to him, making your chest rest on his, your lips move softly and in synchrony his his. 

He wonders if you can feel his heart beating, because it seems like it may abandon his chest at any moment.

Every shadow of doubt fades away, at that very moment he makes the decision that he is not willing to let you slip away from him, he will fight to keep you next to him, he will do whatever it takes.

“Good night Doctor Reid.”

Tags: @that-aesthetic-wannabe

[each-uisge-enthusiast]

sum tired writing for y’all

——————

suga would be lying if he said he wasn’t tired. he hadn’t slept properly since exam season rolled around.

the amount of extra studying he was forcing into his schedule, combined with practice and trying to control the first and second years, seemed to have simply sucked his will to work.

“seemed to” was the wrong terminology. it definitely had. he’d been staring at the same page of this stupid math book for an hour. he’d reread the first line about twenty times, and so far hadn’t managed to get half way down said page without realising, his brain had been elsewhere, and having to start from the top again.

so yeah, he was pretty tired. suga was pretty damn worn out.

honestly, if he hadn’t seen that it was daichi’s name glowing out from his phone screen, he wouldn’t have picked it up. but, it was daichi, and suga was more than aware that if he didn’t pick up, daichi would be hammering down his door within the hour.

he took a split second to compose his voice. if he sounded as dead as he felt he’d be yelled at for not sleeping enough.

“hi daichi!” the chirpy tone to his voice didn’t sound forced in his mind.

“hey suga,” daichi said, in such a way that suga knew daichi knew he was sleep deprived.

suga’s eyes moved toward the alarm clock that was glowing beside his bed, the bright green numbers burned his eyes.

23:45, which was an entire hour later than he’d thought.

“what are you even doing up at this hour daichi?” suga asked, leaning forward on the table, carefully propping his head up on one hand, the other hand holding the phone to his ear.

daichi laughed, rather stupidly, before responding. “you know, i actually rung you to ask that same question.”

suga’s tired brain wasn’t quite sure it fully understood what daichi had said. “how did you even know i’m awake? what, do you have cameras in my room?”

“what, no-”

“oh my god! you’ve been stalking me! daichi how could you?”

“no! it’s nothing like that!” even through the phone, daichi sounded flustered. “and keep it down, you’ll wake your parents up.”

suga rolled his eyes. “yeah yeah, but, seriously, how did you know i was still up?”

“went on a stress jog.”

“at quarter to midnight?”

“shut up, like you haven’t rung me at this hour whining about tv shows.”

suga huffed. “okay, fair, but may i ask if there was a purpose for this call, other than insulting me?”

“yeah, i’m still outside your house, i figured if neither of us are sleeping we might as well do something.”

“oh? what on earth might you be suggesting daichi?” suga purred, adding a teasingly lilt to his voice.

“get your brain out of the gutter, suga,” daichi snapped, suga only snickered in reply. “i was just thinking, i don’t know, we could go see if that twenty four hour ice cream shop is open.”

“repeat that sentence to yourself a couple times,” suga said, flicking his eyes back to the alarm clock, before letting out a light sigh. “i’ll be down in a minute, just let me get a jacket.”

he didn’t let daichi get a response in before he hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket as he stood up.

he paused to glance in a mirror. he looked like a lunatic. there were seriously heavy shadows under his eyes, and his hair looked like a bird nest. eh, he was pretty sure he was rocking the look.

despite that, he did pause to try shove his hair into place. he told himself it was because he didn’t want to walk around in public like that, even though he knew it was far from the truth.

he snatched up a pale yellow jacket off his bed, as well as an equally pale grey scarf, tugging them both on before slipping out of his room and down to the front door.

“daichi!” he hissed into the cold air, white clouds forming in the air when he spoke.

“wow you really haven’t been sleeping huh?”

suga pulled a face as he turned to look at his friend. “you aren’t any better,” he said, a hand snapping out to hit daichi in the side. daichi shifted to dodge, successfully.

that was a lie. daichi looked, well, suga’s drowsy mind couldn’t really pull the right words. handsome? pretty? somewhere in between?

he was hardly dressed to the nines, but as usual he looked drop dead gorgeous in that stupid all black jogging outfit. suga would have been jealous, had he not enjoyed looking at daichi as much as he did.

daichi rolled his eyes at the comment, letting out a vaguely unamused huff. “i’m sure,” he drawled, before grabbing suga’s hand and dragging him forward. “come on, then, i’m craving cream anmitsu.”

“i don’t understand how you like the chestnuts so much,” suga mutter in reply, his tone hardly matching the bouncing steps he was taking as he followed after daichi.

daichi rolled his eyes rather dramatically. “says the one who always steals them.”

suga huffed, and his free hand swung out to smack daichi’s ribs, this time daichi failed to dodge, and let out a grunt as suga made solid contact.

“i’m not apologising,” daichi snickered. “hitting me is not going to help.”

“blah whatever. i stand by the fact that chestnuts are gross.”

“yet you eat more of them than i do.”

a puff of white air was all daichi got in response.

the bantering continued most the way to the store, though at some point their positions had shifted, suga’s arms ended up wrapped around daichi’s waist, and daichi’s arm was slung over the silver haired boy’s shoulders.

the girl sitting behind the counter gave them a grin as the bell rung. suga thought it looked a little more genuine than most customer service smiles, and he wondered if they were the first customers she’d had.

“hey boys!” suga decided they were definitely her first customers. her tone was too chirpy.

“it’s a bit late for ice cream is it not? you’re the first not-drunk customers i’ve had since i took up night shifts,” she continued.

the poor kid can’t have spoken to anyone for awhile, because the minute daichi responded, and gave their orders, she was off. didn’t shut up. not that suga minded all that much, she was friendly, mainly groaning about trying to keep up with sleep while she worked night shifts and spent six hours at school. then about how she didn’t have much choice because she had to get money somehow.

suga, who was very much used to his teammates ramblings, ended up droning her out while he sat at a tiny table, daichi seemed torn between doing the same or entertaining her, suga was pretty sure she was just using them as an excuse to talk. he honestly doubted she’d care much if they didn’t listen.

quite honestly, suga was rather distracted watching daichi’s expressions. the way his lips twisted into a smile every time he tried to not laugh at the employee’s struggles, the roll of his eyes as he got caught up in her stories. she seemed to notice suga’s eyes, a quiet quirk of her eyebrow snitched on her for watching him just a little too closely.

“anyway, i just haven’t spoken to anyone outside of classes in, like, two weeks.”

suga snickered as he heard daichi’s terrible attempt at stifling a sigh of relief.

“so thanks for not telling me to shut up! enjoy your ice cream boys! and uh, might i recommend getting home soon? it‘s a friday,” she paused to look at a clock, “a saturday morning. there’s gonna be drunk idiots running around and believe me, they aren’t fun to deal with, particularly when, well,” she flicked a hand towards the pair. something in the movement made suga wonder if she played volleyball.

daichi turned to say something to her, but she’d already disappeared out back. suga took advantage of his distraction and snatched a chestnut out of his bowl.

“hey!”

“you know, she has a point about drunk idiots,” suga mused, glancing out to the dark streets.

“think we’ll run into coach ukai and takeda?”

“hah! they’ll both be in ukai’s house getting wild by now!”

daichi made a face of disgust and threw a scarf at suga’s face. suga simply laughed.

by the time they’d finished their ice cream, and opted to just try and sprint full pace back to daichi’s (which was closest, suga sent a text through to his parents, as he had already decided he was not going to try reach home in the dark), the subject had somehow switched to what school ice cream girl had gone to.

“she had a shiratorizawa look.”

“isn’t it a boarding school? she wouldn’t be able to work a night shift if that was the case. she looks like an oikawa fangirl, seijoh.”

“she was pretty cheery, johzenji?”

“nah she looks like she’d hate the colour yellow.”

“how?” daichi tilted his head, squinting his eyes.

“the shadows under her eyes were too purple for her to be the kind of person who would willingly be near that uniform,” suga shrugged. “seijoh.”

daichi, seemingly unable to argue that, hugged and nodded. “okay you win. for now, we can probably just ask her next time.”

“next time?” suga smirked at daichi. “my my, is Mr. Responsible Team Captain really suggesting he’s going to take me on a second irresponsible midnight date?”

as he spoke, he tilted his head down, staring up at daichi with a jokingly flirtatious face, hoping it would smother the pure joy his heart felt, or at least stop it from shining through on his face.

daichi made a strangled noise, his hands moving to hide his face. suga could see the red colour burning the tips of his ears, even with the miserable lack of lighting.

“don’t say it like that,” he mumbled, sounding less like an intimidating captain and more like an embarrassingly lovestruck teen, which had suga giggling.

“you really are easily flustered daichi,” suga murmured, leaning gently into the other’s shoulder. “it’s cute, really.”

the rest of the night lapsed into a peaceful sort of quiet, the sort that one could only ever really feel with someone they were entirely open and comfortable with. the rare kind that regularly reassured suga that he and daichi would be beside each other forever.

[inkribbon796]

Forgotten Light Ch. 2: The House that Thomas Built

Summary: The heroes get some information from an unlikely source.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Spade’s projection made an eerie, glitchy chuckle. “And Ranboo and Bing call me overly paranoid.”

“Is this a projection or some remnant of this psychopath,” Nate demanded. “What else did this asshole leave in our base?”

“I’ll be brief, while you are no doubt demanding questions of me,” Spade began talking, his form occasionally glitching. “Around our fifth reset, everything went so poorly that it compelled me to start making some precautions. One of them was to ensure you idiots keep your hands off of Thomas.”

“Thomas is fucking dead!” Joan told the projection. “When are people going to listen to the fact that my friend is fucking dead?”

Spade glitched, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Give me a moment, I had to make a whole program to respond to your rather inane questions. How I ever did this before is beyond me. Anyway, ask your question again if you would?”

“I didn’t ask you a question,” Joan spat. “I’m asking for some decorum for the dead, you shitbag.”

The hologram glitched. “Oh, Joan, if I’d registered you were here before, I would have been gentler.”

“What do you want?” Joan demanded.

“To stop all of you from doing something idiotic. These spells can only be undone by myself,” Spade gestured to himself with a smug smile. “Or at least your out of date version of myself.”

“So that’s why you took the camera, Logan told me that Deceit hadn’t been the one to give it to us,” Nate spat.

“My conclusion for our failures to save people is because of your ineptitude and recklessness.” The hologram’s expression crashed into a frown. “My Thomas was corrupted by the deaths of three of the Sides, I wouldn’t have killed Orange if I’d known it had such an adverse effect on him. If you are even hearing this message, I can only assume we were successful in saving Roman and Virgil. A cause to be celebrated.”

“You killed Orange?” Joan balked in horror.

“He made a couple crass remarks about Roman and Virgil, while I was still metaphorically raw, one too many times and I was already in a foul mood, so I beat him to death and absorbed his aura.” The hologram had a dark look in his eyes, his tone chillingly calm.

The atmosphere went terrifyingly quiet.

After some pause, something in the hologram’s programming was directed to say something. “Thomas is not violent, despite what the situation at hand would lead you all to believe,” Spade tried to convince. “I am more than capable of dissecting flesh from bone. Roman’s and the Duke’s weapons can kill with ease. But Thomas has been trapped for years, the camera has kept him asleep for years. I believe that is worth mentioning.”

With that the projection disappeared and the nanites that were in the camera swirled into a small cube that Jackie immediately picked up and raced over to Bing who accepted it immediately.

Jackie was back as the heroes were discussing the situation, Joan picking up the camera and looking at it.

“Trusting a demon who murdered a hundred people is a shit idea,” King shouted.

“The guy could have left an explosive charge and he didn’t,” Mare reminded, walking over to get a good look at the camera. “Pixels here didn’t even try to hurt us.”

“Yeah but a demon not trying to kill us at this second doesn’t mean that it’s lying,” King reminded.

“This doesn’t change the fact that we need Logan, but they won’t be back until Sunday,” Joan cut into the argument as they studied the camera. “There’s nothing we can do about it right now.”

King let out a frustrated groan, “You do realize that if this thing gets out it will kill the Sides as we know them. For all we know, the only reason future Logan was probably able to think for himself was because there were already so many of the Sides dead and something else probably happened to the legate. There’s a lot we’ll never get to learn about the guy because of bullshit time travel.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t drop kick this thing into the closest ocean,” Joan shot back, holding the camera to their chest as if they were trying to protect it. “I’m just saying we should wait until the Sides get here to decide.”

Looking away, King was quiet as the heroes put it to a bit of a vote. They all decided to wait, mostly because Joan refused to hand over the camera until they decided to wait. Nate put it back into holding and Jackie went to discreetly check on the Sides in his normal clothes. They seemed fine and greeted Jackie warmly.

Everything was fine, and if they suspected something was wrong, then they never even hinted that there was anything off.

So the heroes waited until the Sides came back from their vacation. As they suspected, Logan knew someone had been in their home the instant he was through the door. When they rushed over to the base, there was white-hot anger in his eyes.

“I think it’s time we had that talk,” Nate told Logan.

Logan stiffened before he started stomping over to King. “Get your hands off of that.”

The logical Side slammed into a barrier as Virgil nervously took a step back and his back collided with a magical barrier that had triggered when they all passed through it.

The anxious Side let out a sharp gasp that immediately drew his three teammates’ attention. Only when Logan was sure that Virgil wasn’t being harmed, did his head sharply whip back to the other heroes.

“What is the meaning of this?” Logan demanded. “Did you all go through our house without permission?”

“Depends,” King’s fingers drummed on the camera and Logan seemed to become angrier. “If we’re talking to Logic, Morality, Anxiety, and Princey then it was for your own good. If not, this conversation is going to turn real nasty, really fast.”

“Worry not,” Roman smiled as he pushed himself in front of Logan. “None of us are that dastardly neerdowell, Deceit.”

“Oh, trust us,” Jackie scoffed. “We’d be havin’ a much different conversation if he was here. Might e’en get better answers, ‘cause yeh all sure as shite ain’t givin’ us any.”[1]

Logan pulled Roman back and the creative Side glared at him and yanked his arm away. “There appears to be some kind of misunderstanding, dispel the barriers and hand over the camera and we can talk.”

“You do know the archives and storerooms have cameras, right?” Nate reminded Logan. “We know you have long conversations with him, so start telling us what you’ve been talking about.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan glared at them.

“Is his name still Thomas or is he telling you to call him something else?” Nate demanded.

“Thomas is dead,” Logan’s tone was especially snappish. “If I could have been in communication with him I would have been years ago.”

“But yeh have been, yeh make yer way inta the storage room an’ yeh talk ta this thin’ but whene’er we try an’ get the audio it’s just a garbled mess,”[2] Jackie accused. “So either yeh tell us, or we’re gonna have ta force a conversation.”[3]

“I have not been talking with that thing, it is an inanimate object not worth talking to,” Logan denied.

“You do,” Virgil informed.

“You kinda do, Lolo,” Patton told him.

“It is a touch unsettling, but I always rehearse lines in the mirror and I hear nerds talk to a rubber duck, so who am I to judge?” Roman shrugged.

“No, I do not talk with some useless object, my coding duck is a completely different matter,” Logan defended, as Joan was loading up something on a PAD. It was a time lapse of Logan casually sitting in the storage room, his mouth moving but the audio coming out a garbled mess.

Logan felt an uncomfortable weight settle in his stomach, “I have no memory of this.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” King scoffed. “It also explains why you don’t have any aura. All the other Sides have aura but you never had any to spare.”

Logan stared at the camera and hazy memories of feeling something in him getting drained away and nothing but empty silence in his head. “I . . . I . . . What is that thing?”

“It’s a very dangerous demon, and when Thomas was spilt he did so incorrectly,” King explained. “And voila, you became his Sides. If this demon gets out or wakes back up it will turn you all into his proper thralls. A legate’s thralls only exist to bring their legate aura and mindlessly serve it.”

“And it’s trapped in that thing?” Virgil asked nervously. “No wonder Dee hated it. How do we keep it from getting out?”

Logan was quiet, just staring at the camera.

“If it is a foe to be vanquished I won’t go down without a fight,” Roman declared, drawing his sword.

“Maybe we could just talk to this legate?” Patton suggested. “We could try it.”

“What part of: if it gets out, you’ll become mindless thralls, didn’t you understand?” King demanded.

“Is it conscious?” Logan asked, silence crashing around the room. “Because if what’s in there is awake, I will rip that camera apart with my bare hands.”

“You’ll free it,” Nate reminded.

“I don’t care,” Logan decided. “Not too long ago I was in the same position. I was trapped in that drive for only eighteen hours, and I was made to suffer in my inability to move and speak. I would not wish such a fate even upon my worst enemies.”

“He’s gonna[4] get out eventually and then he’ll just be more pissed,” Virgil agreed, more than a bit of fear in his voice.

King groaned, “Yeah, you two have a point.”

“We should make a barrier, break the camera and if he attacks, we fight back,” Silver suggested.

“I think instead of the weapons and the magic,” Joan cut in, “the first thing he sees should be me.”

“An unacceptable risk,” Logan told Joan. “If this demon is even a fraction as dangerous as you all insist, you cannot be allowed near it.”

That got Joan a little upset, that Logan was so dismissive about something that was still a part of his old friend. “No, I don’t care. The others aren’t here, and I was one of the last things Thomas saw before he died. If there’s a chance he’s still in there, I want to try it.”

“We’ll be here to move in if he even tries to strike at him,” Silver promised. “Powerful or not, we outnumber him.”

“Fine,” Logan barked dismissively. “Since I’ve unwittingly had the most interaction with him, I should be their bench test for how this demon will react to the other Sides. If it proves to be non-violent or will not consume me, it will be safe to let the other near as well.”

“No!” Virgil shouted in blatant fear.

“Absolutely not,” Roman balked. “What if he hurts you.”

“I would rather him hurt me than you,” Logan decided.

Patton had a determined frown on his face.

“You think you throwing yourself into harm’s way makes it any better?” Roman spat, pointing at Logan. “I am capable of defending myself.”

“I will not watch you die again!” Logan shouted, his glasses glitching for a second and Roman flinched, fear flashing in Roman’s eyes. “You and Virgil are to be protected at all costs, whether than threat comes from hunters, demons, or anything else.”

“Lo,” Roman said, his face a mix of terror and shock. Virgil ducking behind Patton.

“The first thing he put in my head,” Logan clutched at his temples, “was the sight of your dead body, of your lifeless eyes. It is a sight I never wish to see again. Not your death, not Virgil’s, not Patton’s. It would be my undoing. I—”

Patton cut Logan off by hitting him with a hug and held him in a vice grip. “Lo we’re here together and we just wanna[5] help you.”

That finally stopped Logan’s screaming tirade. The warm, physical reminder that someone he loved was still here. Logan’s eyes turned back to normal and Patton held Logan to him. “Hey, come on big guy. We’re all still here and we’ll do this together.”

Logan, stubborn to the end, commented, “This individual has been feeding off of me for years, if I have not been taken as a thrall yet, there is the possibility that it will recognize me and I can convince it not to harm anyone. Will you give me a chance to reason with it?”

“No risks, you wait for Joan, and you run before it can hurt you,” Roman ordered.

“There are too many variables to—” Logan began to refuse.

“The only variable that we care about right now is your safety,” Roman told Logan. “Maybe you trust us for once, yeah?”

Logan looked conflicted, turning away.

Taking his hands, Roman tried to position his head so that he could look Logan in the eyes. “We’re a team, we do things together.”

Finally Logan let out a reluctant, quiet exhale, and closed his eyes. Then he gave a shallow nod.

Patton hugged Logan tighter. “We wait for Joan and the others, and when it’s safe, we all go out together.”

Then we’ll all die together. Logan thought morosely, but he didn’t say anything. His attention instead turned to Virgil who was not doing well with the situation. Between the undercurrent of fear in the room, it was having an adverse effect on his own crumbling mental state.

He was crying, and shaking, little anxious noises coming from him. To try and offer what comfort he could, Logan let go of Roman and gently pulled Virgil towards him.

Immediately Virgil bows his head forward to hide it in Logan’s chest.

Logan leaned forward and kissed the top of Virgil’s forehead. “My darling nightshade, I would let nothing set their finger on you if I were capable.”

Virgil’s stressed shaking began to get worse and he tried to press his head further into Logan’s chest. Logan’s free hand rubbed comforting circles into Virgil’s back as he tried to be as soothing as the situation would allow.

When Virgil stopped shaking as much, Logan could stand to take his attention off of Virgil.

Jack walked over. “Maybe yeh four shouldn’t be in the room when we pop the seal, we get some ‘a yer aura Logan, an’ we can try ta keep yeh guys safe.”[6]

Logan nodded and the other three Sides let him pull away long enough for King and Nate to use his aura to undo all the enchantments Spade had placed on it. Leaving the camera, at last, defenseless. The Sides were allowed to pass through the barrier.

Roman and Patton pulled Logan back into their group as they walked down the hall, turning out of sight.

It left the other heroes to get ready in the somber mood. Joan was finally left alone with the camera and the spell to crack open the camera. Everyone else who wasn’t Joan or a side was behind a protective barrier that Nate and Mare enchanting to keep them invisible until they needed to defend Joan or the Sides.

Nate stepped out to double check the barrier before walking over to Joan. With a heavy sigh he looked down the hallways, “Ready?”

Joan nodded, Nate catching the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Alright,” Nate took a deep breath as he readied his magic. “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Behind the wall!”

Nate pulled and severed the line as Joan took the camera and it shook before it began to glow. Then the camera cracked and a soft white light came from the old device as a person dropped out of the light.

Joan immediately recognized Thomas’s face and they tried to listen for any signs of life. “Thomas” was deathly quiet and still eyes closed before his eyelids twitched and he groaned.

“Thomas?” Joan urged gently, keeping out of direct arm’s reach but moving closer. “Are you okay buddy?”

Thomas blinked open his eyes and began to weakly pick himself up, looking up at his old friend, “Joan?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. We’d be having a much different conversation if he was here. Might even get better answers, because you all sure as shit aren’t giving us any.

2. But you have been, you make your way into the storage room and you talk to this thing but whenever we try and get the audio it’s just a garbled mess

3. So either you tell us, or we’re going to have to force a conversation.

4. going to

5. wanna

6. Maybe you four shouldn’t be in the room when we pop the seal, we get some of your aura Logan, and we can try to keep you guys safe.

[barnesandco]

Little Hands (2)

Bucky is woken one morning by a small girl hammering on his door and crying her eyes out. He takes her to Child Protective Services only to be called back and informed that he is in fact, the father, and the mother a murder victim from the night before. What happens when he now finds himself a father, and the daughter in question becomes inexplicably, irrevocably attached to his neighbor who lives across the hall?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder, war injuries.

A/N: Thank you for the tremendous response on this series! I’m so excited that so many people are enjoying it. Tags are open, let me know if you want to be added. I’d love to hear what you think!

“I'm glad you came, Buck. Everyone's been trying to get to know you better, and hopefully this will help. You need to get out of your apartment more.” Steve murmurs across the table to Bucky, leaving the boisterous collective conversation momentarily. Bucky doesn't know how he got roped into team lunch at the Barton farm, but here he is. Eating apple pie at the table that is meant to fit half the people it's currently accommodating, as some Christmas musical rerun plays in the background. If it weren't for Nate dancing in front of the TV and singing at the top of his little lungs, someone would have asked to turn it down or off already - it's not even Thanksgiving yet.

Grateful that Steve has stopped the mother-henning for now, Bucky turns back to the pie, and then to the other Avengers. Some of them, at least. Clint looks immeasurably happy as Nat discusses target practice with his daughter, Lila. On his other side, Laura and Sam are engaged in a fierce debate on the best sides for Thanksgiving meals. The Avengers with families of their own - Scott and Tony - are notably absent, spending free time with their children, making it seem as though Clint has taken in a collection of strays. 

He looks past the table and out the window, where the remaining few leaves are falling down in an early winter breeze. It's grey, but then, everything feels grey compared to Wakanda. Ironic coming from a man raised in the smog and fog of Brooklyn, he knows, but his life is just one color after the other. Phases passing like the seasons.

After Brooklyn, it was the trenches of the war, where Bucky knew nothing but brown for months on end. Then the sterile silver of Zola's equipment, followed by the consuming black of his cell. When he finally got out, the most dominant color was white. Agent Carter's perfect teeth, his cold knuckles around a rifle, the snow-clad mountains he fell between during that awful train-ride. Red followed - the bloody stump where his left arm used to be, the gunshot wounds that blossomed wherever he went, the star on his shoulder. His stupid fucking Henley, even the robe in green, green Wakanda. He's sick of red, longs for blue, now. 

That's the crux of his problem, at present. Those blue eyes from yesterday, glittering like the moon, distant, but ever present. And oh, so familiar. Unrecognizable, whenever he tries, and he doesn't think any of his memory lapses have frustrated him like this one. He should know where he's seen Nina's eyes before. He doesn't, though, cannot. Pressing his brain has yielded no answer, not as he saw her staring at him from the rearview mirror on the way to drop her off. Not when she started tearing up again when it was time to leave, not when she watched you as you reassured as she clung on to you. Not when she almost glared at him, as if for a betrayal, over the shoulder of  a social worker that carried her way. He thanks God that childcare workers have weekend shifts, because he wouldn't have known what to do with Nina for a second longer, with or without your help.

He had dropped you at your intended grocery store with too many thank-you's and awkward blushes and red stutters. Almost smacked himself in the forehead after you left the car for his total and utter inability to be coherent around you. He knows he isn't who he used to be, doesn't expect to be the ladies' man Steve tells him about, but he wishes he could at least put on a facade. At least appear sane and capable of basic human interaction. You never seem to mind, though, always offering a friendly giggle and gentle patience as he stumbles over his words. He wonders if that's a facade, too. If you're not as willing to put up with him as you appear to be, the way you were with Nina yesterday.

He could tell you were out of your depth, but you handled it like a champ. Handled her, rather. All his thought processes are circling back to Nina, and he doesn't understand it. One child, left alone on his doorstep in the dead of night. The mystery of it is most inconvenient. Bucky shakes all thought of it out, and decides to participate in the conversation at the table, and jumps, to find Wanda staring at him.

She smiles as if it's not an issue, as if she hasn't been watching him for who knows how long, and reaches for another piece of pie. 

"Are you okay, Mr. Barnes?" She asks when he doesn't stop looking at her and Steve looks over. Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes at the concern that immediately overtakes his features.

"Yeah, Buck, you look a little out of it. Everything alright?" Steve leans on his forearms, ready to do whatever is required to put Bucky at ease. The others start to get up as lunch is now over. Bucky begins to answer Steve as he makes his way past him with a plate to put away. 

"I'm fine, Stevie. Don't wor-" Ring. Saved by the bell. Bucky puts the plate down and pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at the caller ID; it's an unsaved number. His teammates are bustling about, getting ready to settle down in the living room, and he mutters a generic excuse me and answers the call. While holding the phone to his ear, he accidentally presses the speaker button.

"Hello?" He says gruffly, standing in the foyer.

"Is this Sergeant Barnes?" A woman asks from the other end. The TV has been turned off, Nate's attention diverted. The four-year-old runs out of the room, barely missing Bucky's legs, and rushes up the stairs.

"Yeah, who's askin' ?" Everyone in the next room has gone quiet, and he - super senses and all - does not know it yet, back to the door, eyes on his socks scuffing against the worn floorboards, and ears on the professional, straight-cut voice on the phone.

"It's about the girl you brought in to our Brooklyn office yesterday morning. Nina?" Bucky holds his breath. He had given the CPS office his number to let him know when they found her parents. Something in him, maybe the forgotten big brother part that still holds on to Becca, feels a responsibility towards the girl. And he can't get rid of the niggling question that asks: why would someone go to all that trouble to leave her on his doorstep?

"Yeah? What about her?" He shifts his weight, tucks a hand in his pocket, clenches and opens his fist. "Have you found her parents?" 

"Sir, you're the father." Bucky's heart stops. He freezes, blood turning to stone and muscles to glass. The anger floods his cheeks red. Steve stands, cup of coffee neglected on the table.

"Is this some kinda joke? 'Cause I don't find it funny. That's impossible." He fumes, now pacing, assassin-silent stalk abandoned in favor of heavy treading across the planks. His hair curtains his face and he pushes it back as he listens closely to her response.

"Sir, we conducted a DNA test to see if there was a match in the system, and you are the father." Bucky ceases pacing when he meets Steve's eyes through the doorway, tunnel vision excluding the others' stares. 

"Did you find the mother?" He asks, hand no longer raking through his hair, but pulling at the strands.

"That's the second cause of concern, Sergeant Barnes. The mother was found murdered in Bushwick on Saturday morning." She replies, apology now saturating her tone. Bucky can taste the sympathy through the phone, and he doesn't know whether to swallow it up or vomit. 

"What's her name?" He manages.

"Irene Petrov." 

"What's going to happen to Nina?" Bucky asks, not accepting this result, but retaining some semblance of pragmatism. He doesn't have a daughter. He can't have a daughter. The name Irene rings no bells, and there's no way, even with his bruised, battered memory, that he would forget making a child with someone. The idea that she's dead sends a jolt to his gut, and he staggers. The nausea that comes with the gut feeling that something is not right tastes like metal and bile in his throat, and he heaves in deep breaths of clean country air in order to listen to the woman answer his question.

"You have custody, unless you decide to give it up, in which case she'll enter the foster system." Clint is now on his feet, too; Wanda's taken to biting her nails. 

"Okay. Okay, alright. Can you send me the results? I'll pick her up soon." Bucky wrings his free hand, asking for some sort of verification. He needs proof. Evidence. Something to hold onto as the world swims around him, buzzing ears barely perceiving the woman's promise to send him the documents, and subsequent good-bye. A headache builds between his eyes as he turns back to Steve, holding his phone like he doesn't know what it is, or what it does. 

"Buck? What was that all about?" Steve speaks first, walking up to him, audience forgotten. Bucky looks over his shoulder to realize they heard the entire conversation, but finds that he doesn't fully care. He told them about finding Nina earlier, and now they know everything. Just as well, he would have had to tell them anyway.

"You heard everything, Steve. Don't know what more there is to say." He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief at the phone in his hand. The phone buzzes, signaling an email. 

"These are the DNA test results. Got no idea how that's possible, but there you go." He shows Steve the phone screen, still shaking his head, unsure whether to laugh or scream. A daughter. 

An hour later sees him standing inside the reception he dropped Nina off at yesterday, not knowing that her mother was dead in a proverbial ditch a stone's throw away. Irene Petrov. The name means nothing to him, but he can't trust his mind, based on the events of late. 

Sam is standing on his right, and Steve to his left, both silent and in wait. After verification of the results through a quick phone call with F.R.I.D.A.Y., they had left Clint's house together in Sam's car. Both men had insisted on joining him, noticing his evident despair, and wanted to be by his side. A social worker holding Nina’s hand emerges from a hallway, and Bucky moves forward. It’s the same woman who coaxed Nina away yesterday when he dropped her off. 

“Sergeant Barnes. Nice to see you again.” She says, smiling, but Bucky suspects she’s disgusted. Suspects that he tried to abandon his daughter - his daughter? - and was found out. He forces a stiff nod in response.

“Hi.” He says, then looks at Nina, whose gaze is defiant, chin turned up. She’s angry, as angry as a child can be, anyhow. 

Before he can address her, however, the social worker gestures for him to follow her to a seating area nearby, still holding Nina’s hand. They sit, and she opens a slim manila folder, showing him the documents within. Rather, the alarming lack thereof.

“Nina has no record, Sergeant Barnes. No birth certificate, in the US or otherwise, as far as we can see. No passport, medical records, any official documents of registration. We’ve just registered her here, though, and it’s on the basis of that registration that we’ve made the papers assigning you to have her full custody. Please sign here.” She hands him a pen, turns the page towards him, and he reads through it. Lifts the paper to see copies of the DNA report underneath. After mere moments of deliberation - wasted moments, it’s not like he has a choice - he signs the fateful paper. Wipes his palms on his thighs anxiously, looks at Nina but talks to the social worker.

“Can we go now?” He asks, like a teenager excusing themselves from the dinner table. Nina’s watching him, curious, piercing blue eyes fixated on him. Perhaps he recognizes them because they’re her mother’s, who he doesn’t recall meeting, but his subconscious does. Is that why they’re so startingly familiar? He shakes the query out of his head, once again, and stands when the woman does. She nods, wishes him well, and hands Nina over, points out the car seat and backpack that has now been brought out. She waves goodbye, and Nina watches her go, patiently, unmoving. Bucky bends down, rests one knee on the beige carpet, and looks at her.

“Hey, Nina, remember me? I’m-”

“Bucky.” She blurts out, and he is taken aback. Didn’t expect her to remember his name, and he knows she only does because of the conversation between you and him on the way here. You had introduced him. This is my friend, Bucky. He’s nice. He smiles at Nina, nods, and holds out his hand out to shake hers. Almost withdraws it when her eyes widen, and he prays she doesn’t cry again. Calmer than yesterday, having had time to come to terms with this horrible predicament, she doesn’t cry. Instead she shakes his hand, and he releases the breath he was holding hostage in his chest, pressure from his lungs relieved but the pressure on his hand remains. She has a firm handshake.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be taking care of you. Is that okay?” He asks, fully aware of Steve and Sam’s stares burning into him. He can see a smirk and a dropped jaw from his peripherals, and feels like pumping a fist in the air just for Sam’s awestruck gaze. Internally thanks Steve for having more faith in him than he does himself. He’s not the only one, because it seems that Nina is starting to trust him, too. 

“Yes.” She says, voice a whisper, gliding around him. He stands, and holds out his hand. The feeling of her small fingers wrapping around his large, calloused ones is indescribable. Soft, warm, they fit in his perfectly, and unbelievably, inexplicably, Bucky’s heart soars. His stomach is still in knots, the thought of Irene Petrov doing somersaults in his abdomen, but for the first time since yesterday morning, he thinks something feels right. Her hand in his is comfortable, and he doesn’t want to let go. Stifling the smile, he finally gets to where Steve and Sam are.

“Nina, these are my friends.” She doesn’t respond, looks up at the men unimpressed, and he smiles again. “This is Steve, and this is Sam.” He says as each man kneels down to say hello.

“Where is the lady?” She asks, her r and l pronounced as w’s, and Bucky blanches. Thinks of you, doing more than you should have, kind mind and sound heart, helping him drop Nina off with your shy smile and glinting eyes. Wonders if you’ll understand his situation, even though he knows he has bigger fish to fry than worry about his chances at taking you on a date when he now has a girl, a whole person, to take care of. So he tells that girl the only thing that comes to mind.

“She was busy, honey, I’m sorry. Hey, do you want to get ice-cream on the way home?” He says, and changes the subject before she can react. She frowns, then perks up slightly, nods for ice-cream. Unfortunately- 

“Ice-cream in November, Buck? She’ll get sick before you’ve even brought her home” Steve points out, and she glares at him. Bucky very nearly laughs at the look on her face, and Sam grins.

“Okay, okay, ice-cream in November.” Steve actually laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, waving away the distrust on Nina’s tiny, chubby face. Bucky’s gaze goes to her little hands unclenching from the fists they were in.

“Alright, man, let’s go.” Sam says, picking up the car seat and patting Bucky on the shoulder as he leads them out. Bucky grins, if only for a moment, watches the beginnings of a smile on Nina’s face as they leave the building.

---

Kamenev holds two empty glass vials up to the flickering lightbulb suspended from the ceiling. One used to contain hairs belonging to the Fist of Hydra, proof of DNA just in case. The other held a fingerprint mold of the same man - biometric identity. He smashes the vials in a tissue, flushes it all down the toilet of another dirty motel bathroom. 

He’s sick of these dingy, disgusting places, knows he deserves better. He deserves the world at his feet, after his scientific accomplishment, the only evidence of which is the child itself. The child that has been slipping out of his grasp like sand through his fingers. She manages to evade him, even when her mother could not. However, he is sure he will find her soon. He must.

Taglist:  @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @captainchrisstan @mickmoon @notsomellowmushroom @alyxkbrl @mcueveryday @jennmurawski13 @hailqueenconquer @luckyfiction17 @veganfangirl5

[abbacchiosbelt]

Can I get wedding headcanons for all of La Squadra? Like what style of wedding they’d have, how they react to their s/o in their dress or tux, that kind of stuff...! Maybe even wedding night HCs if you want...?

under the cut for length!

Risotto prefers a smaller and more traditional wedding, perhaps even in a Catholic church if you don’t mind. He may have lapsed on his religion, but his upbringing was important to him. It’d be a very private affair for your safety — his men are there as his closest confidants as well as security. Still, Risotto is in awe that he found someone willing to spend their life with him. Seeing you walk down the short (but still decorated with the perfect touch) aisle in your custom-made dress or tux leaves the intimidating man at a loss for words. 

The ceremony is short and to the point, with Risotto leaning down to whisper his own handwritten vowels to you. He’s actually rather reserved and shy about showing affection in front of others, so his special words are for you and you alone. 

There’s an interesting twist to your ceremony, though. Risotto makes the rings then and there with a mixture of your blood and his using Metallica. It’s a bit morbid, but 100% Risotto.

After the ceremony, the men will escort the two of you to a private villa before heading off for the night, stationed nearby (but not close enough to impede on your privacy) in case anything were to happen.

Risotto insists on cooking you your favorite meal with a glass of expensive and perfectly-aged wine. While it’s not traditional, it’s his silent way of thanking you for all you’ve done and everything you will do for him in the future.

Once he has a glass (or three) of wine in him himself, he’ll set up the record player so the two of you can share a private ‘first dance’ before he whisks you off to the bedroom to finish the night.

Formaggio never thought he’d be the type of guy to get married, so he’s at a loss for what wedding planning entails. While he chimes in with his opinion, he’s far more likely to leave it to you. The only thing he wants is an open bar — though he does promise to behave himself. It turns out to be a lovely little wedding ceremony, held in an outdoor space that’s far from peeking eyes. While the men of La Squadra spend most of the night playfully ragging on Formaggio, they’re happy to see their friend happy. Formaggio absolutely cries and laughs in joy when he sees you all done up in your wedding outfit.

Risotto is the officiant (because they can do that online now, as discovered by Melone) and most of the time is spent with Formaggio loudly & proudly declaring his love for you. Once the ceremony is over, he’ll sweep you off your feet in front of everyone and carry you to the cozy indoor reception area. (With that bar he wanted!)

The rest of the night is pretty lively, with lots of dancing and drinking. Formaggio gets extra handsy with you on the dance floor, to no one’s surprise. He just loves you so much!

With the night finally winding down, Formaggio is more than ready to christen your now ‘marital bed’ with several rounds staking his claim as your husband. 

Illuso, if his career choice was something different, would have an extravagant and over-the-top wedding. As it stands, he can’t afford to have something so flashy, let alone risk your safety by having something that stands out so much. Still, he takes a big part in the wedding planning process and manages to combine both your ideals to create the perfect wedding for both of you. The venue is beautifully decorated and Illuso manages to get a few of your closest friends and relatives there privately. It’s everything you could have asked for with the hints of the dream wedding Illuso once planned for. (There are always vow renewals...)

Illuso looks more than handsome in his tux, but he feels like the luckiest man on earth when he sees you in your wedding attire. You’re more than stunning — you’re picture perfect to him. Once again, Risotto acts as an officiant and the two of you share both traditional and personalized vows.

There’s delicious food catered by some of Italy’s best chefs (apparently someone had owed Illuso a favor) and a substantial cake that both of you smash in each other’s face. All in all, it’s a lovely little wedding that could fit right inside a twee wedding blog or magazine, had you made it public.

The night is just for you and Illuso. Your sweet husband will take you into the mirror world so absolutely no one can interrupt you — you’re completely safe with him, as he always wants it to be.

Pesci gets really into wedding planning with you! With your encouragement, he feels a little more confident in making decisions and the two of you bond further while planning your wedding. You decide on an early evening beach wedding with just you, Pesci, Prosciutto, and Risotto. Pesci is a shy and private man, so he doesn’t want a big audience and knows you’ll be okay with it too. 

Prosciutto officiates this time and helps Pesci set up grabbing your rings with Beach Boy — it turns out very sweet and Pesci can’t stop smiling when you laugh in delight at his retrieval of the rings. He thinks you look absolutely stunning in your outfit and turns bright red when you call him handsome. It’s very cute.

Prosciutto and Risotto watch carefully while you and Pesci ride off in the sunset on the boat Pesci saved up so long for, the two of you headed towards a private island to spend a short honeymoon on. The cabin is stocked with plenty of supplies and the two of you get to enjoy your wedded bliss in private!

Pesci’s favorite part of the night is watching you lounge happily on the deck while he maneuvers the boat towards your destination, for once feeling completely confident that he’s made the best decision of his life. He thinks that all night, especially when you playfully push him onto the bed and show your thanks for the smooth boat ride. 

Prosciutto turns into a Bridezilla. It’s what you knew would happen, yet seeing it happen is something else. He keeps it away from you, somehow, but you feel a little bad for the wedding planners. Still, your wedding is nothing short of immaculate and you can barely believe your eyes when you walk into the completely transformed venue. Prosciutto is very smug and happy about it. Like Risotto, he prefers a traditional ceremony. A few close friends and family are invited, and Prosciutto is waiting to show you off the second he sees you walking down the aisle. 

Once he’s assured that everything is going perfectly, Prosciutto can’t help but show you off to everyone, exclaiming how unendingly perfect his bride/groom/partner is. It’s not like him to be this affectionate in public, so you don’t mind eating it up.

No one can quite believe that Prosciutto is acting so domestic, but they’re happy for their teammate and friend. Watching him make googly eyes at you while you cut the wedding cake has Ghiaccio gagging and Melone lamenting about how he wishes he could find love like that.

Night brings you to a private plane ride to somewhere out of the country with Prosciutto on your arm, riling you up by whispering all the things he can’t wait to do to you on your honeymoon. Tonight, you might become a member of the mile-high club.

Melone is over the moon that he’s found someone to marry — but surprisingly, he prefers a short and private ceremony. There’s just so much he wants to do with you and well, he doesn’t really want to deal with the whims of other people. He’ll relent a bit and wear a proper tux for you... though don’t expect to be wearing your own wedding outfit for long once he sees you in it.

Everyone is well-aware of what Melone wants to do with you and have been privy to his unending affections for you more than once, so they’re more than happy to scatter once the ceremony is over, leaving a very happy Melone carrying you bridal-style to the limo waiting outside. 

Thank god for partitions, because Melone can’t even wait until the car takes off to get his head between your legs. He’s incredibly in love with you and he wants to show it the way he knows best — physical affection and sex. 

There’s a lot of touching and kissing and fucking all night until the two of you are worn out, and that’s when Melone gets mushy. He reads you a private set of vows he wrote while he strokes your hair. Despite everything, Melone is quite the romantic and enjoys the cooldown of the day’s activities almost as much as the day itself. Almost.

Ghiaccio will not behave if you have a big wedding. There are just too many things that could go wrong — it’s not that he doesn’t want one, but he knows he won’t be able to control himself if something happens. Instead, the two of you opt for a very private ceremony and a more public reception, inviting only a few friends along with Ghia’s teammates. The ceremony is officiated by Risotto with Melone acting as a witness, and Ghiaccio refuses to let the men hear his vows. He has no inside voice, so they hear anyways and pretend not to.

Though he struggles with saying it out loud, he thinks you look perfect in your wedding outfit. He’s convinced that someone from above was looking out for him when they sent you, although god forbid Ghiaccio ever say that out loud.

He relaxes at the reception when things don’t have to be so mushy, but he does get rather smug and rub it in everyone’s faces that he’s married now. You can only smile and laugh, running your hands through his curls and watching him blush. It’s a perfect night.

Ghiaccio slows down that night, making sure to worship every inch of your body in a show of how thankful he is that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. There’s nothing in this world he wants more than to protect you, and getting married is his way of showing that he means it. 

[milfgritty]

i’ll be good pt. eight | j. hughes & t. zegras

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ word count: 2k

having a crush on one person was confusing enough. now throw in one of their teammates and you weren’t sure where that left you anymore.

⇢ posted: 05.07.19 . | . masterlist prev. | next.

He lost track of time after you hung up.

When he made the decision to call you, he was sure he was doing the right thing. Breaking up with you, he needed to do it. But hearing your voice, the panic and confusion clear as day when he actually went through with it…

No, he shook his head, stop that. You already broke up with her. It’s too late.

He couldn’t take it back, not now. No matter how much he wanted to, how much he didn’t want to do it in the first place.

It was better this way. He didn’t know what he was thinking in the first place. Asking you out when he knew you liked Jack was a mistake.

We almost kissed.

Letting out a shaky breath, he ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to overhear Spencer cornering Jack earlier, but he hid to listen anyway. He was going to leave it alone, get home and changed for your date tonight, and then he heard Spencer’s guess. Jack’s silence confirming it.

It was easy to duck around the corner, listen to Jack telling Spence everything.

We almost kissed.

She pulled away right before.

He tried reasoning with himself that you didn’t kiss Jack. But the fact that you never told him?

He knew you actually forgetting about Jack was too good to be true. He could fool himself with every date, every kiss, every smile, but he knew. It was dumb to think you would actually like him back, fall head over heels for him like he did with you.

Like you did with Jack.

Fuck, he should’ve just left you alone.

He rubbed at his eyes, roughly wiping away the water clouding his vision. He didn’t have to look in the mirror to tell they were red and bloodshot.

He didn’t even know who to blame anymore. The bitterness settling inside him wasn’t aimed at you, not entirely. But he couldn’t help but think, wonder what he had done wrong. Was he really not enough? Why couldn’t you just move on from Hughes?

It all came back to him, all came back to Jack.

Why couldn’t Jack just let him have the girl for once? Why couldn’t he just—

Exhaling slowly, he stopped his train of thought. There was no use continuing down that path. This entire thing was on all of you. You and him would have never worked out, there was just too much shit.

He sighed, rubbing his hands down his face tiredly. Hair messy from his hands, he collapsed onto his bed. Lying in bed, limbs sprawled out, he closed his eyes. All he wanted was to not feel like shit and for this goddamn headache to go away.

His door creaked open, drawing a groan from him. He shoved his pillow over his face with a frown.

“Go away,” his words came out muffled but still audible.

Whoever it was listened, the sound of the door clicking closed a second later.

“As much as I’d like to, we actually need to talk.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Hughes,” he shot up, flinging the pillow away. His brows knitted together at the sight of his teammate standing uncertainly in front of his bed. Jack was the absolute last person he wanted to see right now—hell, the last person he wanted to see ever.

He watched warily as Hughes wheeled his desk chair over. Sitting down, he leaned forward and fidgeted his fingers.

“Y/N called me, told me you broke up with her,” Jack began, gaze drifting between him and his twiddling fingers.

He let out of a scoff, dropping back down with his arm thrown over his eyes. He’d be damned if he let Hughes see that he was crying. “Of course you know,” he muttered under his breath.

Jack ignored him, continuing on. “She’s really fucked up right now, man.”

His words made something in him snap. Flinging himself back up, he glared at his teammate.

“Stay the hell out of it, Hughes,” he spit at him, furious that he had the audacity to tell him that like he didn’t know. Of course he knew, of course he was aware that he made you cry and feel like shit and everything else. Didn’t the jackass—no pun intended—see that it tore him up inside to break up with you?

“Besides, I thought you would be happy. She’s single and now you’re free to make another move on her,” he finished, voice bitter. Shifting, he pulled himself back to lean against the wall.

Jack reeled back in shock, mouth dropping open. “I—you,” he stuttered. He breathed out a defeated sigh, slumping down. “How’d you find out?” he asked quietly.

Biting the inside of his cheeks, he debated whether or not to tell him or just demand that he left him alone already.

“You told me earlier when you spilled everything to Spencer,” he said. He was still a little hurt that Spencer didn’t tell him, but he couldn’t really find it in him to blame the guy. He wouldn’t want to get caught up in whatever the hell drama this shit was either.

Jack swallowed and looked away. “Oh.”

He let out a snort, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Yea. Oh.”

“Is that why you broke things off with her then? Cause Trev, we didn’t actually—she pulled away before anything–“

“No,” he cut him off, shaking his head. “It was part of the reason, but not like you’d think.” He left Jack in silence for a bit, letting him stew in his answer before he continued quietly.

“But it was because of you.”

“Wait, what?”

He opened his eyes to watch Jack’s confused face. His head lulled to the side as he blinked, trying to clear away his lingering pain before elaborating.

“When I asked Y/N out,” he started lowly, his voice carrying a hint of sadness, “I wasn’t expecting her to say yes. It was old news to everyone but you that she was practically in love with you. But then she said yes,” his lips turned up in a small smile at the memory. “I thought that meant that I finally had my chance. That she would get over you and choose me. And it seemed like it was working. She started looking at me like how she used to look at you. I thought—I thought that her feelings for you were gone.

And then you found out about us. Things seemed like they were the same, but… there was a shift. She was distant for a bit before things went back to the same. I ignored it, man. I liked—still like–” he chucked bitterly “–her so much that I let it slide. I didn’t want to think about what it meant. And then she was my Y/N again. I thought everything was okay, let myself believe that she was finally over you.” He couldn’t help the dark laugh that left him. “But then you almost kissed her.”

He saw Jack open his mouth and rushed on, shaking his head sadly. “Yea, she pulled away. But how long did it take for her to?”

Jack’s silence and guilty expression confirmed it.

“She’s not over you,” he whispered, “And I was an idiot to think that I could change that. She always liked you more than me and I was just standing in the way. So go ahead Hughes, shoot your shot or whatever the fuck. I’m out of the equation now.”

Once he finished talking, he slouched back against the wall. When did he get so tired? Seconds ticked by as he waited for Jack to respond. He was about to lay back down when he finally started speaking.

“You’re a dumbass alright, Zegras,” Jack told him.

He huffed out a laugh, smiling sarcastically at his teammate. “Glad we got that sorted.”

Jack rolled his eyes, so far it pained his own still pounding eyeballs. His eyebrow raised in surprise when Jack reared back before continuing angrily.

“No, dipshit,” he forcibly said, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re a dumbass for thinking that Y/N doesn’t care about you as much as she does me. Hell, as much as you or me do her. You didn’t hear her when she called me, barely able to hold it together.”

At this point, Jack had propelled himself up, standing and wildly gesturing.

“Trust me, Trevor. If she didn’t really fucking like you, she wouldn’t have been damn near sobbing on the phone. She wouldn’t have been barely able to string together words to tell me happened, desperate for someone to comfort her. Even if I wasn’t the one she called after you broke her heart—because that’s what you did, jackass—it was pretty obvious that she was really into you. Every fucking day I wished I was you, man. The way she looked at you, it made it nearly impossible to be around the two of you together. I guarantee that if you hadn’t broken up with her, she would’ve told you she loved you in probably another month. She was never the one who acted on their feelings between me and her. I’m the dick that couldn’t stay away and she was ready to cut me out of her life for it. For you. So don’t give me that ‘she liked you more’ bullshit. You just threw away everything you had with her because you were insecure.”

“You’re right; I am insecure,” he shot forward, staring Jack in the eye intensely. “I was scared that I was gonna fuck everything up and send her running to you. And look; that’s just what I did.”

He deflated quickly after he said that, falling back into his pillows. “Only one of us could be lucky enough to have her and when I did, I was terrified of her realizing that I wasn’t worth it. Realizing that you were better for her. So I did it first, to save both of us from going down that road,” his voice started out strong enough but got quieter as he continued. By the end, it was barely a whisper, choked up as tears sprung back to his eyes.

He tried rubbing them away discreetly, unsure if it worked but grateful that Jack refrained from saying anything. Instead, his teammate remained quiet, walking the small distance to sit on his bed by his feet.

Shoulders hunched forward, he spoke.

“You’re right,” Jack said, turning his head to look at him. “But what are we supposed to do? I don’t even think she knows who she likes more anymore. We can’t make her choose again, Trev.”

“No, we can’t,” he agreed lowly, brushing his hair back.

Trapped in their thoughts, they lapsed back into silence. For once, it didn’t feel like Jack was enemy, just another poor asshole trapped in the same situation as him. One neither of them knew how to fix.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, raising his gaze to meet Jack’s.

Jack let go of his bottom lip, ceasing his gnawing on it. He shrugged helplessly, just as lost as he was.

“I don’t know,” exhaustion lined his features. He was sure his expression mirrored his teammates.

Throwing his head back, he winced when it hit the wall with a thud. “When did all of this get so out of control and depressing?” he joked, their self-deprecating laughter mingling together.

“Probably when I tried to kiss your girlfriend,” Jack snorted, looking over at him.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Hughes. Who even does that?” he halfheartedly ranted in return, lifting his foot up to kick him in the side.

Jack barked out a laugh, swatting his foot away. “Yea. I feel pretty shitty about that,” he screwed up his face, shooting him an apologetic grin.

Scoffing, he gave him a ‘no shit’ look. “You should, dickhead.” Jack retaliated with a light slap to the leg. He couldn’t help but feel that sense of comradery come back after so long.

And look, all it took was them trying to figure out how to fix the shitty mess they somehow managed to get themselves into this time.

[morkeus]

captain, Na Jaemin | n. jaemin

Na Jaemin | 1.2K In which basketball player Jaemin is your boyfriend who needs a little more reassurance.

a/n: so this is was inspired by the song Team by Noah Cyrus and MAX. @crescentjaems posted the following blurb which made me swoon and thus led to this happening. hope it’s not too shabby bdhbcjehbf

“[8:56 pm] basketball player!jaemin giving you his jacket with his name and jersey # on the back before his big game. when his team wins, he immediately jumps into the crowd and runs towards you, tugging you to him by the collar of his jacket and kissing you”

- @crescentjaems​

[PM 8:56]

Dating Jaemin was a dream come true. He was the type of guy every girl wanted to spend the rest of their life with – charismatic, athletic, had a good sense of humour, owned a smile that could light up the entire world, a complete gentleman and showered you with endless love. Jaemin had every girl and guy on campus wrapped around his finger but he still remained grounded, sending a smile to everyone he saw. Despite how busy Jaemin was with his extra-curricular activities, he still took time out of his busy schedule to volunteer and spend time with you. Even your parents adored Jaemin and envied your relationship with him.

But that was the thing about Jaemin. He appeared so perfect in front of everyone else and it seemed as if he had everything sorted out. However, as much as you were enamoured by him, there was one thing about Jaemin that caused disagreements between the two of you – his intense insecurity. You swore that Jaemin was your soulmate and that you could never love another as much but he felt insecure more often than others and it made you wonder what you were doing wrong to make him feel that way. Whenever he spotted you smiling to anyone of the opposite gender, he would grow silent and appear dejected for the rest of the week. You could not find it within yourself to get upset with him because he never ever voiced out his displeasure and you knew that he only felt that way because he loved you so much.

On campus, Jaemin would always make an effort to show everyone that the both of you belonged with each other – keeping his arm wrapped around your shoulders when you walked in the hallways and stealing kisses whenever he had the opportunity to.

“Hey love, you’re coming for my game tomorrow right?” Jaemin whispered, resting his chin on your head. The both of you were cuddling on the couch watching The Little Mermaid. It was a tradition that the both of you started ever since Jaemin joined the school basketball team. The night before each important match, you would crash his house and watch The Little Mermaid, hoping the ease his nerves.

“Of course, Nana, I will never miss your matches for anything in the world,” you replied, turning around to kiss his cheek as you stared into his eyes. Jaemin’s eyes always held so much adoration for you and you were pretty sure your eyes mirrored the love in his own.

“But we’re playing against Jeno’s school. Will you be there to support him instead?” Jaemin asked, his voice uncertain. Jeno was one of your and Jaemin’s childhood friends but he attended a different school. Jaemin never really explicitly voiced out his insecurity but the look in his eyes revealed the genuine fear that there was a chance you did not love him as much as he hoped.

“How many times do I have to convince you that I’ll always be on your team?” Jaemin loved you so much and you felt the same so you had to take the opportunity to reassure him, “Whenever you’re winning, I’ll give you strength. I’ll cheer your name ‘cause I’ll always be on your team.”

After you had reassured Jaemin, the both of you returned to watching the movie with your hearts full of love.

“Wait, love. I know you’ll be there for me and only me but I wanted to give you this. Y-you don’t have to wear it to the game. It w-would be nice if you did… I guess,” Jaemin stood in front of you holding his basketball jacket up. He looked so shy and bashful you wanted to squeal. His varsity jacket had a large “13” printed on the back and anyone from around here would have known that the jacket belonged to star player Na Jaemin.

Kissing him on the cheek, you greeted him goodbye and made your way home.

He appeared to be this unbeatable, confident and suave boy to everyone else. Sure, he was all that but he was also human. Jaemin had lapses of insecurity and sometimes, he let it get the better of him. However, that only made you love him even more. He was someone with so much love to give and he definitely deserved to receive the same amount of love, if not more in return. You had the privilege of being the one he trusted, the one who proved to be a constant, loving him for who he was. With your patience and acceptance of his flaws, Jaemin let his guard down, revealing his vulnerability and so much more. Jaemin was a complete paradox - such a complex being with so many layers yet so simple, only wanting to love and be loved.

[PM 3:45]

Being Jaemin’s girlfriend meant that you attended all his games and cheered him on. Basketball was not something you personally fancied but the way Jaemin lead team huddles and directed his team members had you hooked. Throughout the entire game, your gaze was transfixed on the boy as he zig-zagged between the opposing team. Jaemin’s agility and speed left you speechless.

You sat between the rest of your schoolmates by the bleachers wearing Jaemin’s jacket, announcing to the world that you were there to support the star player. Whenever he successfully threw the ball through the hoop, Jaemin would search the crowd for you flashing you a bright smile. When he first laid his eyes on you that morning, it took him a moment before he realised that you wore his jacket. At that moment, the grin that spread across his face made the stares from everyone else worth it.

The two teams were tied and time was passing too quickly. Either team needed one more win to claim the champion title for the season. Everyone watched with bated breath, hanging off the edge of their seats. Knowing how much the game meant to Jaemin, you muttered a prayer under your breath.

“Just one more minute! Will any team be able to claim the champion title today?” the organisers got the crowds screaming in anticipation.

As the seconds went by, the crowd started cheering louder, hoping for their school to win.

To the untrained eye, Jaemin appeared completely calm and collected. However, you knew the boy inside out and from the slight twitch of his eyebrows, you could tell that he was frustrated.

To make things even more stressful, the organisers started to count down, “10!”

“9!”

“8!”

“7- OH! Captain Na Jaemin scores once again bringing his team the champion title!”

Everyone, including fans of the opposing team, stood up to applaud the athletes. The boys on the court immediately approached Jaemin to hug him but he gently pushed them away.

Jaemin ran towards you at full speed, ignoring his teammates. Jumping over the barricade separating the bleachers and the court, he appeared right in front of you.

Despite him panting and his fringe sticking to his forehead due to the sweat, he looked ethereal to you. Everyone else faded into the background. Staring into his bright eyes with pride and adoration, you congratulated him, “Good job Captain, you playe-”

Before you could complete your sentence, Jaemin tugged you to him by the collar of his jacket, kissing you on the lips.

Pulling away from your lips albeit reluctantly, he rested his forehead on yours whispering, “Nice jacket you’ve got there, love.”

At that moment, you swore you would never let Jaemin go.

[elliotwit]

🌼💼🐢

🌼  HAPPINESS HEADCANON

Whilst Mirage might like you to think that he’s at his happiest when he’s in front of an adoring crowd, soaking up the attention and glory that he’s earned from his prowess in the Games, the reality is quite different.

Truthfully, Elliott is most content when he’s back home. Back in the tiny house he grew up in – or, to be more specific, in his mother’s workshop that she’d renovated one of the rooms into.

It had come to him as a shock, that after chasing his dreams across various star systems – basking in the cheers of his admirers, the empty praise and hollerings of encouragement – that he’d found that it was back where he’d all started, that he feels most at peace.

Although he’s known for running his mouth faster than he can keep up with it, he falls into a comfortable silence when working his mother, two pairs of skilled hands turning over complex pieces of equipment, making adjustments, comparing blueprints. Sure, his HoloPilot tech works great in the Ring as it is, but as Farah Witt always reminded him growing up, there’s always room for improvement.

Maybe it’s the familiarity of it all, maybe it’s just being glad to be home after so long away from the person he’s closest to. Or maybe it’s just having the chance to watch her, the odd stray strand of hair falling loose from its bun and over her face, deep in concentration. She chews her thumbnail when she thinks, a habit Elliott picked up of his own. And sometimes she catches Elliott watching, looking up and smiling gently.

Maybe it’s just getting to see her happy that makes these moments so very special.

(It helps, really, that this was a space that just the two of them shared throughout his childhood. None of his brothers had shown much interest in their mother’s work, only really set foot in here when trying to hunt her down in search of food or to complain or simply looking for her attention. For there’s a notable change in them both once they leave the room, crossing the threshold to the rest of the house. Just for a moment: a slight stiffening of the spine, a pressing of the lips, a breath held – and then it’s gone, his mother gliding on, calling after Elliott whether he wanted pork chops for dinner. Elliott tries to follow her lead, mirror that strength, lets his shoulders relax as if nothing ever happened. He never quite manages to capture the ease with which she manages it, but he does try.)

💼  WORK HEADCANON

Technically, Elliott has two jobs, having used his winnings from the Games to purchase the old bar he’d worked at for several years: Paradise Lounge.

Elliott didn’t just become a Legend because of the popularity of the Mirage persona, but also because he’s damn good at what he does. He’s physically very fit and an excellent shot, favouring the Wingman pistol most of all. Despite the fact he’s been competing for several seasons now, so people know to be on the lookout for his decoys, they still fall for his illusionary tactics given his talent for strategical thinking regarding their deployment.

One of Mirage’s main downfalls is that he often takes risks, to the detriment of his team, if a chance to seize glory arises. He’s very aware of the fact that the Games are being spectated by millions, and feels he has a reputation to live up to. That said, he remains a team player at the end of the day, and his ability to cloak himself in invisibility and run away from a difficult situation might look cowardly, but in reality has saved his team countless times when he’s been able to return and revive his teammates once danger has passed.

During the offseason, he returns to work at the bar although ‘work’ is perhaps too strong a word for it. He’s found the decoys prove extremely useful in performing all the tasks he dislikes doing: which is to say, nearly all of them aside from flirting with patrons. All the same, he is a fantastic host, and Paradise Lounge remains one of the most popular spots in Solace, with most of its clientele made up of people hoping to catch sight of the infamous owner, Mirage.

🐢  MENTAL HEALTH HEADCANON

Elliott shoulders many demons, a fact of which he is very acutely aware of whilst simultaneously refusing to deal with any of them.

He suffers from Generalised Anxiety Disorder, on top of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. His anxiety is something he has grown up with, as a consequence of feeling like he has to ‘perform’ in order to live up to others: and still ultimately failing in his attempts to do so. He developed a stammer and a tendency to stumble over his words during childhood, which his older brothers teased him relentlessly over. Whilst at heart, it was nothing malicious, children will be children, and Elliott was an easy target being not only the youngest child, but also the son who was the most attached to their mother, as well as the only one to shun enlisting in the military.

All three of Elliott’s brothers have been declared MIA during the events of the Frontier War, and whilst he tries to cling desperately to the notion that ‘missing in action’ does not mean dead, he knows deep down that they aren’t coming home. His brothers were not the only casualties of the war: he lost many friends and acquaintances, which has lead to him developing a deep fear of becoming intimately attached to a person: despite the fact that true intimacy with another being is his greatest desire

Elliott also has unipolar depression, as a result of the difficulties that have surrounded growing up during wartime, as well as his varying insecurities. He is incredibly hard on himself and his performance in the Games, despite his popularity. When he finds himself alone in the Ring, the rest of his team having fallen, he lapses into one of his most-despised habits: talking to himself, which he’ll quickly and irritably beat himself up for doing so. He can be very critical of his own performance when not in the company of other people, a vast contrast to his typical braggart bravado when he first steps foot in the Ring.

His multitude of issues and unwillingness to deal with them have led to him developing a multitude of poorly-formed coping mechanisms rather than face his demons. Humour and self-deprecation are two of his most infamous methods of avoiding confronting his problems, but defaults to deflecting and escaping when all else fails. This is a constant source of frustration for the people in his life that he lets close enough to care, with most eventually giving up on trying to chip away at the barrier of denial he has put up around himself given how adamant he is to maintain it.

For Elliott, it’s Mirage that people are drawn to, not the person behind the facade. It would be very difficult to convince him of the reality that the aspects of himself he’s most insecure about are often the things he’s most adored by his audience for – as well as the people who manage to grow close to him.

[swiftletinthecloud]

Mission Impossible x The White Queen Modern AU Crossover Title: Unfinished Business Notes: I do not own any aspects of Mission Impossible or The White Queen.  I’m sure you can’t own dead historical British royalties either.  All copyrights go to their respective companies and entities. All OCs, thoughts, and musings, when not quoted, are mine. Character Deaths Warning FF.net :: AO3 :: Chapter 1/1

They found her in a quaint little town in Flanders, living in a restored windmill above her dance studio.  She had been out of the intelligence game for nearly a year now, ever since she had left Ethan Hunt and the IMF in an abandoned parking lot in London.  She was starting to live again instead of just surviving, because that was all she was doing the last few years of her career, fighting to survive as she infiltrated the Syndicate.  She didn’t know what she felt, except for maybe a little resentment that her simple life was coming to an end, when she spotted Benji Dunn, William Brandt, and Luther Stickell by the entrance as she dismissed her last class for the day.

“Ilsa, it’s been a while,” Benji greeted her when it was just the four of them.

She nodded at her unexpected visitors.  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” she asked frankly.

“Ethan needs your help,” said Brandt without preamble.

She remained silent, only raising an eyebrow at his statement.

“What Brandt is trying to say is that Solomon Lane has managed to escape and we lost contact with Ethan,” elaborated Benji.  “We want you to join our team and help us find them.  All your years undercover with them means that you're the only person we have who knows Lane and the Syndicate best.”

When she hesitated to provide them with an answer, Stickell stepped forward menacingly.  His tall frame towered over her as he crossed his bulging arms.  “Consider it you returning our favor for London.”  His tone left no room for argument.  

--

She had already made up her mind to help Ethan without Stickell’s insistence.  While she had no romantic feelings for the man -- she had sworn never to fall in love again after the last time -- she saw a kindred spirit in Ethan, and if he needed her help, she didn't mind lending it.

She wrapped up her quiet life in Flanders with such an ease that left her feeling bereaved and despondent.  She had no close defining connection to anyone even after living there for nearly a year, and her absence was explained away with a flimsy excuse with no one the wiser.  The windmill was hers so she didn't have to worry about paying rent or anything like that while she was away.  She only had to lock up her living quarters and leave the lower levels open for her business partner and fellow dance instructor to keep their studio running.  Maggie was happy enough to take over all her classes.

Less than twenty-four hours after the three stooges showed up at her door, her bags were packed and she was on a plane back to her old life of espionage and danger.  “Why are we heading to Venezuela?” she asked.

“Last place we had contact with Ethan,” said Stickell.  The laptop in front of him continued to run its facial recognition software, searching for Ethan and Lane.  There was another face on the screen, a man with long, wavy, dark hair down to around his neck and a tall, crooked nose, smirking without a care in the world.

“What exactly happened?” she asked.

The three of IMF agents traded a look, likely silently electing Benji as the designated spokesman since he was the most familiar with her from their last run-in.

“MI6 took custody of Lane after we caught him since he was one of yours.  Last week, one of his men, Richard Neville, nicknamed the Kingmaker” -- Benji tapped on the photo of the third man on Stickell’s laptop screen -- “broke into a secure MI6 site and freed Lane.  Neville was also former MI6.  His specialty was toppling rival regimes in South America in favor for whoever MI6 and later Lane backed; hence his nickname.  

We believed they’re held up somewhere in Venezuela, the Kingmaker’s newest stronghold.  MI6 sent a team of their best after Lane and Neville, but Ethan refused to stand by.  Lane’s personal for him.  Ethan went after them and we lost contact with him three days ago.  MI6 also lost contact with their three agents as well so unfortunately, we’re going in blind.”

“I’ve only heard of the Kingmaker in passing when I was with MI6 and then undercover in the Syndicate,” she said.  “But I’ve never made contact with him.  If it’s information you want from me, I won’t be able to provide any.”

Brandt took a sip from his coffee mug.  “You were undercover in the Syndicate for years.  Surely you can do better than that.”

“My priority was Lane, not the Kingmaker.”

“Regardless,” interrupted Benji, “we’ll need you backing us when we run into Lane and Neville.  Since we’re missing Ethan, I thought your complementary skill sets might do.  Although, you’re former MI6, and that seemed to be the recurring theme.”  His face twisted up in thought.

She sat back in her seat and crossed her legs.  Her hands tightened around the coffee mug she was holding.  “I don’t have to be here,” she said through clenched teeth.

“All right, all right!”  Benji held up his hands in surrender.  “No more snarky remarks from me.  Can’t promise you anything about those two.”  He jerked his thumbs in Brandt and Stickell’s directions.  

Ping!  The sound from Stickell’s laptop stopped the bantering faster than a speeding bullet.  “Got him!”

----

Less than twenty-four hours ago, one of MI6 most secure buildings was breached, and one of their most notorious prisoners was freed.  Since then, it had been one shitstorm after another, and he was pulled right into the middle of it all.  He and his team were sent after Solomon Lane and Richard Neville when it became apparent that his one-time teammate was behind Lane’s escape.  With the tally of former-MI6-agents-turned-rogue up to two, there was a general sense of paranoia in the agency that was not unwarranted.  There must be at least one more traitor in their midst.  How else could Neville have breached their security so easily?

They landed on a private airstrip in Venezuela a few hours after Lane and Neville, hot on the fugitives’ trail.  He was not entirely surprised to see IMF agent Ethan Hunt waiting for them when they landed.  He had expected the American to come running as soon as news of Lane’s escape broke, knowing it was a personal case for Hunt.

“Ahh, Ethan Hunt,” Edward greeted as he shook the American’s hand.  He could see the slightly raised arch of Hunt’s brows behind his tinted aviator sunglasses.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me, Agent York,” said Hunt.

He shrugged at Hunt’s statement.  “I figured we’d run into you on this little hunt for Lane sooner or later, given your history.  Richard Gloucester, George Clarence.”  He gestured at his teammates to finish the introduction, though he was sure that Hunt had already looked into them.

Hunt nodded as he took off his sunglasses and hung them from the collar of his shirt.  “Lane and Neville are hunkering down in Neville’s sea-side fortress about twenty miles from here,” he informed them.

“MI6 has a safe house not too far away.  We regroup there and figure out a plan of attack,” said Edward as he got into the driver’s seat of a nearby black sedan prepped for his team.  “You need a ride?”

Hunt gestured at an inconspicuous used motorcycle parked a couple vehicles away.  “I'm good.  Just lead the way.”

The drive to their safe house was quiet aside from the clicking sound from George's phone.  “Anything to share with the group, George?” asked Edward as he glanced in the rear view mirror at his unusually quiet teammate.

Richard in the passenger seat beside him also turned around to look at George at Edward’s question.

“No, no, nothing to share,” said George as he stowed the device away in his pants pocket.  At the insistent stare of Edward and Richard, George ran a hand through his hair and sighed.  “Izzy’s wondering when I'd be home.  The baby’s due any day now, and I'd promised I would be there.  And I still plan to, but this mission has been an unexpected obstacle.”

While neither Richard nor Edward had ever met the Mrs. Clarence, they admired George’s ability to keep some resemblance of a normal family life outside of work.  In their profession, it wasn’t always possible to do so.  Edward had found the love of his life in his first partner, mixing business and pleasure, and they’d had a wonderful decade-long partnership marred only by her untimely and premature her death.  Since then, he’d sworn off love forever and was enjoying the casual hookups that bachelorhood afforded him.  Richard, on the other hand, had always kept mum about his love life, though George had mentioned in passing once that there was something between Richard and some estranged daughter of a former teammate the two had had before Edward had joined them.

A sad half smile found its way onto Edward’s face as the car lapsed back into silence.

--

They had decided on a silent and stealthy attack on Neville’s fortress.  Somehow, their plan went down in smithereens.  He was knocked out from behind once they had infiltrated the stronghold.  Edward woke up in front of Lane and Neville, completely relieved of all his weapons and bound to a wooden chair.  Hunt and Richard were in a similar state on either side of him.

Once his ears stopped ringing and his vision cleared, he saw red when he noticed George standing beside Neville.  “Traitor!” he growled as he struggled against his bonds.

“It's nothing personal, man,” George said with a shrug.  “I'm getting out of this life, and our pensions are not going to provide my baby with a comfortable life.”

“You sold us out for chump change!?”  Edward continued to struggle against the ropes holding him back from strangling George himself.

“Hardly,” said Neville as he handed George a silver colored metal case.

“I can't believe you,” Richard spoke for the first time.  Edward couldn't imagine what his teammate must be feeling.  While he had only been working with Richard and George for the past four years, the other two had been partnered for nearly a decade.

“How do you know you won't be stabbed in back by them.”  Richard jerked his head at Lane and Neville.

“You know why, Dickon,” said George.  “Besides, Neville’s hardly going to kill the father of his future grandchild.”

Edward froze in shock.  He was getting whiplash from all the information he was learning about his teammate.  It seemed he had never really known George at all.  And what did George mean when he said Richard knew why Neville wouldn't betray George?

Edward watched in muted anger and distress as George walked away from them all with his briefcase of money in hand.  “Cheers, mates.  I've got an appointment that I can't miss.”

Edward would have remained in a daze if Richard hadn't chosen the moment when George disappeared to smash the wooden chair he was bound to over Neville’s head.  Somehow, during the confrontation, Richard had freed himself and had taken the opportunity presented with George’s departure to attack.

Bang!  Bang!  Richard’s body was still tremoring from the impact of the bullets as he tumbled onto Neville.

“NOO!”

Neville carelessly pushed the lifeless body off of him and stood up.  Brushing wooden chips and blood off his clothes, he glared at Lane.  “Really?  You could have hit me.”

“Would you rather he was still beating you with a chair?” asked Lane nasally.

Edward couldn't take his eyes off of Richard’s body even as Lane turned the gun in his hand towards Edward.  His heart hurt and his mind blanked.  He had lost two brothers in one day; one dead and the other stabbed him in the back.

“Let's get rid of these two and be done with it,” said Lane.

----

As he observed the scene playing out in front of him, Ethan tried to subtly twist and fray the ropes binding his arms in place.  He didn't know how Gloucester had freed himself so easily, but Ethan took advantage of the distraction from the other man’s attack to try and wiggle from his own bond.  He had managed to twist his arms around so that his palms were facing up, and he could hear the cracking of the wooden arm rests from his flexing efforts.

Bang! Bang!  

Ethan unconsciously flinched at the sound.  He watched as Gloucester’s body fell and as Lane turned his gun on York.  Before Lane could kill the man, the ceiling above them shattered, raining broken glasses down on them.  

Four armed figures in black tactical gears rappelled down from above, like avenging angels from heaven.  One of them, a woman, sliced Lane’s arm as she came down hard on him, forcing him to drop his gun.  In rapid motions, a dagger from each of her hand slammed into either side of Lane’s head.  She twisted the daggers into his head for good measure before pulling them free.  Even before Lane’s body had hit the ground, she had spun around and sliced through the ropes binding Ethan and York with her offending daggers.  

Another figure, Brandt, had already managed to take out Neville during his descent.  The resounding crash from the glass ceiling shattering had brought Neville’s men to the study.  A storm of bullets flew into the room.  Brandt and Luther fired continuously towards the entrance, providing cover fire as Ilsa and Benji cut through the rest of the ropes binding Ethan and York.  

Ilsa pressed a gun into his hands once he was freed, and from the corner of his eyes, Ethan could see Benji did the same to York.  They wordlessly crouched low for cover and spread out on either side of the entrance.

At his signal, Brandt and Luther ceased fire.  The sound of bullet casings clattering to the floor stopped resonating in the air and the smoke from the shooting began to clear.  

Creak.  Creak.

Ethan held up his hand, signaling his people to hold their position.

The black barrel of a gun appeared through the study door.  Then a hand and slowly a body followed.  Another man followed the first.

Ethan leaned out from behind the desk he was using as cover and started shooting.  The rest of his team followed suit.  Neville’s men didn't stand a chance.

Finally, the fire fight stopped.  Ilsa, Brandt, and Luther left to clear the rest of the fortress.  At the same time, York, Benji, and Ethan doubled check the pulses of the bodies littering the study and its entrance.

“Rest of the compound’s cleared,” said Luther when he returned with Brandt and Ilsa.  “We need to call in the clean up crew, though.”

Ethan nodded a thanks towards his IMF teammates.  He knew they had always had his back.  He repeated his thanks to Ilsa. “Thank you.”  He had not expect to see her again after London...he wondered if she still remembered her offer for them to run away together…

“My pleasure,” she replied with a shrug.

----

It was over.  He knelt beside Richard’s body, uncaring of the broken glass shards cutting into his pants and then his hands as he brushed them off Richard to turn his brother-in-arm’s body over.  He placed a hand over Richard’s unmoving chest, willing the lifeless heart beneath to start pumping again, but it was too late.  It was too late.

He was unaware of any sound or time as he knelt beside Richard.

“My pleasure.”

Her voice broke through the bubble he was in. -- No, it wasn't possible.  He had lost her four years ago. -- But, that was her voice, without a doubt!  He would know it anywhere.  He had heard it full of command, sorrow, anguish, and joy.  He remembered the way she would whispered his name and her love for him like a treasured secret, the way she would screamed his name in ecstasy.  Her beautiful laughter had plagued his memory every day, like a siren calling to him again and again.

He thought his mind was playing tricks on him when he turned to look at her.  That couldn't be her.  The woman in front of him was a little thinner than the woman he remembered.  Her hair was the color of the earth, dark brown with a touch of chestnut red, not the golden rays of sunlight that he remembered.

But those eyes..those deep blue eyes…

He wasn't even aware that he had stood up and gravitated towards her.  “Elizabeth?”  His voice broken on the last syllable.

She turned towards him at the sound of her name...her name.  Her hand fell from Hunt’s.  Her face paled as if she'd seen a ghost.  She blinked as if she couldn't believe her eyes.  “Ed--Edward?  You're -- you're alive?”

She took a step towards him and hesitantly placed her hand on his chest over his heart.  He could feel the warmth of her palm through his shirt, kissing his skin.

“Atlee said that you were dead, kil--killed in action.  He sent me undercover right afterward.  I couldn't even attend your funeral--if there ever was one.”  Her voice was hoarse and disbelieving.

He cupped her cheek, wiping the tears at the corner of her eye with his thumb.  “Atlee told me you were killed in action.  I accessed your file and it said the same thing.”  The former Chief of Secret Intelligence Service had lied to them and used them.

“For my undercover assignment,” she explained.  “I became Ilsa Faust to infiltrate the Syndicate.  You're alive,” she repeated again as she let out a teary laugh.

--

The subsequent events seemed inconsequential to Edward now that he had Elizabeth again.  A CIA team stationed nearby was called in to clean up the mess in Neville’s fortress.  Ethan Hunt and the rest of his team bid Edward and Elizabeth farewell as the IMF agents headed back to the States, their business with Lane over.  The bodies of Richard, Lane, and Neville were brought back to London.  He attended Richard’s memorial ceremony and didn't say anything about George to MI6 because Edward understood George’s willingness to do anything and everything for the people he loved now that he was reunited with Elizabeth.

He turned in his resignation papers and followed the love of his life to a quiet, little town in Flanders, secretly surprise and pleased that she'd remembered their once wistful dream of a quiet life together there.  

----

Ever since they found each other again, she and Edward were rarely out of each other's sight.  When they finally returned to her safe, little, remodeled windmill, they spent the next two days rekindling their love and relearning each other’s bodies.  She hummed in content as Edward made it his personal mission to show her that he hadn't forgotten a single thing about her body.

It had long since past midnight when Edward stretched, his back cracking a little as he sat up from her bed.  She took the opportunity to admire his naked back, tracing the scars on it with her fingers.  There were a few new ones she noted.

Edward scratched his head and rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “We are not young any more,” he began.

She let out a small chuckle as her fingers continued to dance along his back.   “Have I worn you out?”

“We are not those two people who met on the side of the road,” he continued.  “They are gone.”

Edward was looking back at her but she couldn't look at him any more.  Her eyes found the opposite corner of the room instead.  Her mind blanked and her heart became overwhelmed with pain and panic.  Did he no longer love her and was only interested in one last shag?  Her hand fell from his back as if it was hot. “Then what remains?”

Her hand didn't move far before it was caught between his.  “What remains,” he stressed, pausing and waiting for her to look at him again before he continued, “is my love for you.  You were what sustained me...and when I thought you dead…”  He stopped, unable to finish the thought.

“You were and are my home, Elizabeth.”

She smiled at him, unshed tears in her eyes.

He brought her hand that he was still holding up to his lips, giving it a lingering kiss.  Their hands remained intertwine and she pulled them to her to kiss the back of Edward’s hand as he laid back down next to her.  

He finally let go of her hand to put his arms around her and draw her close.  She let out a small sigh as she laid on his chest, his heart thumping lively under her watchful ear.  She felt him giving her another kiss on her head.

“You, lovely Elizabeth, are the love of my life.”

“And you are mine.”

-----

Author’s notes:  Sorry if the plot and execution were less than stellar.  I wrote everything just to set up the last scene.  Anyway, hope you enjoyed it.  Would appreciate any reblog, like, review, comment, etc.  Thank you.