#How to track a cell phone number

[formulakracing]

“well that’s too bad” — k.r.

pairing -> kimi räikkönen x dcc!reader

word count -> {typed this one on my phone}

warnings -> banter, lots of flirting, some sexual innuendos, kimi being protective, the grid being a bunch of goofballs/down bad, some cursing, light pda

a/n -> this is a request based off of this ask! anon, i love you and thank you for sending in an ask so that i could write about one of my favorite drivers (can we also talk about long hair kimi like…) i hope y’all enjoy!

"who is that?"

a blonde peers around the garage, cocking his head as the figure strolls toward the row of paddocks. licking his lips, he folds his arms across his chest.

"i don't know, but whoever she is, she's gorgeous. absolutely stunning."

the object of sebastian vettel’s desire brings a phone to her ear, her plush lips parting, brow furrowing. whatever she was doing, she was deeply invested, as she stopped dead in her tracks to make the call.

the fellow drivers gather around the blonde, almost gawking. there was no doubt this woman was absolutely ethereal, the gentle rays of the morning sun accentuating her features. a pair of low rise jeans hung from her hips, a white long sleeve clinging to her torso. a luxurious purse hung from her shoulder, the bag accessorized with all sorts of trinkets and a bow.

the most striking aspect of her outfit was the pair of cowboy boots on her feet, the black leather worn from years of wear.

an interesting choice, especially in monaco, but it suited her.

she was regal, carrying herself with an aura that exuded dominance and grace. and to sebastian’s delight, she started to make her way in the direction of the red bull garage.

was she single? there sure wasn’t a ring on that left hand. but she could have opted to leave it at home, where it was protected from the public eye.

it was a gamble really.

and sebastian was more than willing to take his chances.

"do you think i could get her number?"

"you? please. you wouldn't stand a chance."

"come on nico," lewis hamilton, british driver for mercedes scoffs, rolling his eyes, "and you think you could?"

“well, i guess we could ask her if she’s ever been to paris—“

"you guys really know how to make me chuckle," another voice cuts in, his spanish accent seeping into every word, "a woman of that caliber? she probably wouldn't even look in your direction—"

"hi boys!" a chirp rings out through the red bull garage, "i'm looking for my husband. i tried calling his cell but i couldn't reach him. do y’all know where he is?"

her voice was sickeningly sweet, thick with the twang of an accent.

not just any ordinary accent.

an american accent, a drawl that sebastian only heard from one region of that country.

the south.

clearing your throat, you survey the array of men milling about in the garage. you recognize them all in an instant, as your husband had dotingly shown you photos over the years. before you stood fernando alonso, sebastian vettel, lewis hamilton, nico rosberg, and daniel ricciardo. an elite group of drivers, but they did not compare to the man you were searching for.

it wasn't even close.

you were looking for a finnish man, fair in complexion with fluffy, golden locks of hair. a hue that reminded you of sunlight pouring through the leaves of a forest. he was shorter in stature, but muscular, with piercing, icy blue eyes.

well, piercing to some, but to you, they were beautiful, brimmed with nothing but adoration and joy. often, you would gush to him about how his eyes were like the summer sky. he detested this, grumbling how they weren’t that special, but you could always make out a boyish grin, his dimples making an appearance.

taking a step back, sebastian studies you, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. as you give your name to nico, a bell rings in his head. he couldn’t quite place a finger on it, but it sounded familiar.

almost like he had heard it before. mentioned a few times, actually.

“who’s your husband?” fernando puckers his lips, placing his hands on his hips, “is he an engineer? a mechanic? part of the media?”

“he’s a driver.”

“a driver?” lewis’ eyes widen, “are you sure? we would remember one of our own bringing a woman like you around the—“

“will you all stop pestering my wife?”

a rumble from behind you earns a flinch from the drivers. swiveling on your heel, you feel your mouth curl into a dazzling grin.

“sugar! i’ve been looking all over for you! this place is a maze.”

sebastian can’t help but feel his mouth fall open as kimi räikkönen scoops you up into his embrace, squeezing you tightly against his chest. giggles erupt, bouncing off the walls as he peppers your face with kisses, a giddy squeal rising in your throat as he murmurs sweet nothings into your ear.

shaking his head, lewis almost can’t believe what he’s seeing, “you have got to be shitting me.”

“you’re telling me!” nico mutters, glaring at sebastian, he arches a brow, “is this the woman he’s been rambling about for months on end?”

“she is,” daniel clears his throat, finally finding his voice, “you guys didn’t put that together the second she started to speak? you can tell that woman has lived in texas all of her life. she’s wearing cowboy boots for fuck’s sake. you guys really amaze me sometimes.”

“well sorry we’re not all detectives like you!” fernando pouts, throwing his hands in the air, “we were all under the impression that—“

“the impression that i was just some helpless little bunny makin’ her way through?”

your snarky words cut through, sending a ripple of shock throughout the boys. their heads turn, pairs of eyes falling on you.

clicking your tongue, you raise a hand, pointing at sebastian, ��y’all know it’s rude to stare, right? i could feel you watching me from a mile away.”

kimi wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, “why didn’t any of you let me know she was here?”

“they thought i was single,” you can’t help but feel a smirk begin to grow as the boys stutter, scrambling to find some sort of response that wouldn’t set kimi off any further.

“well that’s too bad,” finding your hand, kimi intertwines your fingers together, “because you’re my wife. you guys hear that? she’s mine. off. limits.”

“heard you loud and clear,” fernando flashes the finnish driver a thumbs up, “my apologies, kimi.”

“don’t apologize to me,” kimi snorts, “apologize to her.”

as the boys hang their heads, you can’t help but feel a chuckle tumble out as they start speaking in unison, like some schoolboys being chastised.

“we’re sorry.”

“that’s better,” tugging on your hand, kimi motions his head in the direction of his own garage, “come on, my love. let’s go.”

peering over your shoulder, you shoot the group one last wink, scrunching your nose slightly. giving them all a wave, you blow a kiss.

“it was nice to meet y’all! but if you’ll excuse me, i would like to be with my husband. hopefully you’ll all fare better on the track than how you court women. bye now!”

and as you walk away, kimi brings your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the gentle skin.

“i love you.”

linking your elbow with his, you lay your head on his shoulder, your heart cozy with bliss.

“and i love you, ice man.”

and for the rest of the day, the ice man would bear a radiant smile.

a sort of grin the rest of the grid had never seen before.

and that was all thanks to his cheerleader.

his wonderful, talented, smoke show of a cheerleader.

the one who happened to be not just any cheerleader, but his wife as well.

and if anyone wanted you?

well, that was too damn bad.

[norrisainz33]

photograph pt2. || op81

summary: after losing touch with your childhood best friend, oscar piastri, you finally find your way back to each other.

pairing: oscar piastri x best friend!reader

warnings: slightly angsty to start but happy ending YAY!

word count: 2,165

masterlist | pt. 1

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

the envelope sat unopened on your kitchen counter for exactly 2 days and 14 hours and 15 minutes. not that you had been counting just how long that letter had been mocking you from its place on your marble counter.

the letter had arrived in the usual pile of bills and junk mail and at first thats what you had thought it was but with the sleek white envelope with the mclaren logo printed in the corner and your name handwritten on the back... you figured it was anything but junk mail. and you couldn't quite shake the feeling that you recognized the sharp messy handwriting on the envelope from all those birthday cards you had gotten from oscar as a kid.

you shouldn’t have been totally surprised. melbourne was hosting the grand prix again and oscar was racing in it again. of course they were doing some kind of nostalgia campaign, pulling at local connections and grassroots beginnings sorta deal. you just hadn’t expected you to be one of the local connections. though one of your friends had warned you that some pictures of you and oscar karting as kids had been going viral and you were sure the mclaren social media team had seen it.

even with that said, the envelope stayed sealed and you couldn't bring yourself to open it.

you weren’t totally sure why. maybe because part of you didn’t want to believe he remembered and wanted to believe that you were just another name on a list, another childhood tie to help pad a story for the cameras by the social media team. or maybe you were just scared... really scared of seeing him again and realizing too much had changed. scared of realizing that he hadn’t missed you at all.

it’s four days before the race when your phone buzzes with a number you didn't have saved.

you almost don’t answer but seeing the monaco country code in front of the cell number caused curiosity to win.

“hello?”

there was a pause that caused you to almost hang up the phone and then: “so… you’re ignoring mclaren and me now?”

your heart nearly stopped and you momentarily forget how to breath. you know that voice. you’d know it in your sleep.

“oscar?”

he chuckles awkwardly. “right, yeah, hi.”

you don’t say anything right away. too many memories come rushing back all at once - karting tracks and late-night talks, sunburned grins and tear-stained goodbyes.

“i didn’t think you’d call,” you finally manage to get out after entirely too long.

“yeah, well,” he says, his voice quieter now. “mclaren told me you hadn’t responded back to our invite and i just… well.. i just wanted to make sure you got it and that my mom had your address right.”

“I got it, yeah. nicole does have my address right.” you say. “i don't know - i wasn’t sure if I should go.”

another pause. this time from his end. “why wouldn’t you come?”

you laugh bitterly. “because we haven’t talked in years, oscar. and now, out of nowhere, you send me an invite like nothing ever changed and theres nothing a little weird about it?”

“I didn’t send it to pretend nothing changed,” he counters. “I sent it because everything did change and I never stopped wishing it hadn’t. and i'm sorry that it took the mclaren pr team shoving an old photo of us in my face, that has apparently gone viral, for me to grow a pair and reach back out but here i am.”

oscar had stunned you into silence.

“i’m not asking for anything,” he almost whispered. “but it just... it would mean a lot to see you there.”

you don’t promise anything but you don’t hang up either and that’s how you know you’ve already made your decision.

the australian grand prix weekend arrives faster than you’re ready for.

you don’t remember the last time you felt this anxious. the city is buzzing with that unique energy only a race weekend can bring - the sound of cars testing engines in the distance, the people walking in and out of pit garages, the rush of adrenaline that clings to the air. you’re surrounded by it all but none of it feels as real as the invitation sitting in your pocket the one you’d finally decided to accept. the one from oscar.

you’re not sure what you expected when you finally set foot in the mclaren hospitality suite after the whirlwind of mclaren team members ushering you through various levels of the paddock. you had thought you might feel out of place. maybe even invisible. but the second you step inside, a voice you haven’t heard in forever slices through the noise of the crowd.

“y/n/n!”

it’s him. there’s no mistaking that voice.

you turn and there he is, oscar piastri, standing in the flesh like he’s never left. he's a bit taller now and his hair a little more styled but those eyes — the same familiar brown ones that always seemed to see right through you — still hold that quiet intensity you remember so well.

he’s staring at you, mouth open like he can’t quite believe you’re standing there in front of him. you can’t help but smile. for a moment, you forget about the space and time that’s stretched between you, and you’re just here. here with him. here with oscar - your oscar.

oscar takes a reluctant step forward, and then another.

“you came, y/n.” his voice is a little breathless like he’s just caught up with his own surprise.

“yeah, I did,” you reply trying to hide the nervous excitement bubbling inside you. it’s so familiar to hear him say your name yet it feels different now like you’re both stepping into an unfamiliar place, even though everything around you is the same.

you take in his face again, the way his smile is both shy and relieved. it’s still that goofy grin you remember but now it’s edged with years of experiences you’ve only seen through a screen or in photos.

“guess you’re doing well, huh?” you say gesturing to the mclaren garage around you. the fact that he’s here, that he’s made it this far, makes something in your chest swell with pride even though you’ve been away from it all for so long, you’re reminded of why you always believed in him.

“yeah, I guess so,” oscar chuckled rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s... still weird though.. coming back here - you know? it feels like everything’s changed but also like nothing’s changed at all.” he shrugged clearly feeling a little awkward. “so what’s it been? four years?” he asked, looking at you sheepishly. “I mean, I think I’ve sent you like... what, two messages in all that time?”

“something like that,” you say with a laugh but it’s a hollow one. it’s easy to brush off but underneath it all, you both know. the distance between you is far more than the years on paper.

oscar shifts on his feet and adjusts his team shirt. he’s no longer that wide-eyed kid who left melbourne chasing a dream. he’s the man who made it.

“listen,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. “I owe you an apology. for... everything. for not keeping in touch. for letting things drift between us. I was an idiot and I’m really genuinely sorry.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, y/n/n. I didn’t mean for things to end up like this. when i left i got so caught up in everything and I never stopped to think about you. about us.“

you take a slow breath. “It’s not all your fault,” you say quietly. “I should’ve said something too. the phone definitely goes both ways osc.”

oscar let out a heavy sigh. “maybe but I should’ve been the one to fix it. i was the one who left and the one who should've done something about it. and I didn’t... I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it.”

your heart beats a little faster at his words. your mind flashes back to all the unspoken moments between you two — the laughs, the stares, the quiet understanding that never needed words, the love that had always simmered under the surface.

“and you never stopped caring for me?” you ask before you can stop yourself, your face instantly turning red.

oscar’s gaze locks onto yours, and for the first time, there’s no hesitation. “never. and honestly not only did i never stopped caring, i've also never stopped loving you. I’ve loved you for so long, y/n. i was too afraid to admit it. afraid of losing you even more than I already had.”

a lump forms in your throat. it feels like the world has paused for just a moment like it’s finally giving you both the chance to say everything you couldn’t before.

“i'm not that person anymore,” oscar adds his voice a little more vulnerable now. “i've changed and i’ve grown up and if you’re willing to give me a chance to prove that... I’d do anything to fix what I broke.”

you didn’t expect him to be this open or this honest and you sure as hell didn’t expect him to feel the same way you’d always felt.

for a moment, you’re speechless. all you can do is look at him. the boy who left, the man who came back, and somehow... it feels like maybe you’ve been waiting for him this whole time.

“oscar,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “we were both just scared and maybe we don’t need to be anymore.”

he smiles a little unsure but full of hope. “so you’ll give me a chance?”

you hesitate, your pulse quickening as you nod. “yeah. i think I will.”

oscar steps a little closer with his hand outstretched. you don’t hesitate this time. you take it and your fingers intertwine like they used to.

and for the first time in years, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there’s a future for both of you — together.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thank you soooo very much for reading!! i appreciate the feedback on the first part xx

tag list from pt1: @raweceekk @silverstcness @littlegrapejuice @il0vereadingstuff @ladywhistledownx

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Bright Lights (Chapter 3)

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, post-divorce healing, Pitt Fest is a warning of its own, medical inaccuracies.

Pairings: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Word count:  5,410 words

Universe: The Pitt

Reader gender: Female

Tagged: @questionably-intelligent69 , @dizzybee03 , @virgomillie , @mrsjosephmazzello , @sus-styles , @moonshooter , @hagarsays @that-sarcastic-writer , @ddrawers96 , @pear-1206 , @nerdgirljen , @penbridgertonn & @emma8895eb

Part 3 of 4

Previous | Next

6:30pm

As time ticks on, second by second, minute by minute. Frankie can’t help but worry. The uncomfortable plastic of the cheap hospital cafeteria chair digging into her thighs served as a reminder. A reminder of what she had experienced. Pitt Fest had been an incalculable disaster. The whistle of flying bullets had been hard to shut out, as she continued to relive each decision and choice she made. With each passing moment, more found their way here. Family members, friends and the like always with the same burning questions; Are their loved one’s safe? Are they counted amongst the wounded or had they been the unlucky ones?

Frankie couldn’t leave, not yet. She couldn’t return to House 42 empty-handed and without the small sliver of information on the whereabouts of her missing friend and colleague. Guilt gnawed away at her. No-one gets left behind but in less than a second, someone did. The click of heels against the linoleum tiles caught her attention, dragging her out of her depressive thoughts; Frankie lifted her gaze to see two figures approaching where they all waited.

The sight of two staff members had been enough to silence the chatter; all eyes had fallen upon these two women ready to listen as a younger woman approached them. Frankie wasn’t close enough to hear her words but still watched on, noting the pile of papers in their hands. The interaction was brief, but the young woman’s body language spoke volumes, worry and panic overpowering all other emotions, as she was the same boat as all the rest that gathered all around. 

Her eyes tracked them as they crossed into the centre of the cafeteria, where they could be heard easily by everyone.

“Hello? Can I have your attention, please? My name is Kiara Alfaro. I’m an emergency-department social worker.” Frankie was almost certain that she had seen her before; she had never found an opportunity to meet the resident day shift social worker. She only really knew her night shift colleague; he was a right scream but had spoken highly of Kiara praising her calm nature and how she could get almost anyone to open up to her. 

“This is Lupe Perez, one of our ward clerks.” As she continued to speak, Kiara introduced her colleague, the ward clerks were all hardworking, taking the brunt of the frustration of the waiting patients. Each word was loudly and clearly projected to ensure that they were understood by all who listened on.

“I know you all want information about your friends and family. In order to help you, we have a QR Code you can scan for our patient-identification website.” This was the beginning of the next stage with handling the mass casualty. 

“Cell phones are down, but you can log onto the hospital guest WI-FI. That information is on these papers we’ll distribute around the room.” It was understandable that phone lines would be jammed up, with the sheer number of people trying to reach out to their loved ones. Frankie’s phone had already logged into the Wi-Fi network as soon as she had entered the hospital grounds. This was a good sign; it would give people something to focus on.

“Once you log on, send us the name and birth date of whomever you’re concerned about.” She quickly tried to recall the necessary information; did she know her friend’s exact date of birth? The day and month were easy, but the year that might take a moment. As she thought back to her friend’s last birthday, how old had she been? With access to the Internet, she could shoot a message to Captain Valentino, who had direct access to the personnel files, but that would be a last resort.

“If you could tell us what they were wearing, upload photos, pictures of tattoos, piercings, anything to help identify would be useful.” Frankie had been the unofficial photographer of the tent; she had been the one to step up and take more than a few photographs and selfies through the day. Mostly for Instagram and her own personal collection, but a few for the Department to show their involvement as part of the PR and the monthly newsletter; not that many people actually opened that email when it dropped into their inbox. The next one might be an exception.

Frankie had been the one to take her to her first tattoo appointment, so she had photos of it. It had been a special moment since she knew the meaning behind the chosen design. Jake had been the one to help her shape into reality. He had drawn it for her, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to be there as he had class on the date that had been chosen. Frankie couldn’t help but wonder at the sweet relationship that her friend had with the young man. She had wished that she had something when she had grown up.

“If we get a match, we’ll let you know. We’re setting up phone chargers, water, snacks. And if anyone needs to change clothes, we’ve got paper scrubs coming.” Her hands had been covered in blood, that had long since dried, but it didn’t seem overly important to find a bathroom and wash it away as she made her way to the Cafeteria.

“Give us some time. We’re doing everything we can to help get you the information you need.”  Frankie took a second before moving, as a crowd formed around the two tables where the papers had been placed. As she took a seat once more, with the newly acquired document, she began to follow the instructions. Her fingers danced across her phone keyboard as a WhatsApp message popped up on her screen. Another swiftly followed; House 42 was reaching out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------7pm

“Fuck” The very word was stuck on repeat; Dana could not let Robby see this. Not now, when his attention needed to remain focused. The house of cards could not fall apart at this most crucial of junctions. As more patients flooded into the department, as much as worry was seeping through the cracks in her armour, Dana could not let Robby see the bloodied garment.

The split second decision had to be made, as she placed the jacket and thoughts of its owner aside. Using the moment of a patient being transferred up to surgery as a barrier to try to hide how shameful she felt. She watched where it landed, in the corner of an empty bay. Not that it won’t be unoccupied for long. Her tricky mind conjured countless scenarios, imagining the almost listless ways a mass casualty event could injure someone. Hope was a thin thread that she placed her bets on; Dana knew her. They punched, kicked and spit at her on the job, but still she had kept coming back for more.

She couldn’t say the same anymore; it was getting harder to reflect on the good times, without the awful moments overpowering the rest. Today was the latest in a long line of violence that had pushed over the edge into thoughts of if she was going to come back. If this was all really worth it. There wasn’t even enough time to take a breath between incoming patients. Once the panic subsided, Dana could ponder what came next only after they had attended to all critically unwell patients.

With the stream of gurneys and wheelchairs, the patients had blurred without the coloured wristbands to identify them. Dana wandered would she had missed Robby’s ex-wife in the crush? She had been a close friend in another life. She couldn’t recall the last time that she had met up for coffee and a catch up. Aside from a few brief moments at Central, before another call come in over the airwaves, summoning back to work.

Dana tried to think back to the last time that they had been in the same room. Silence had reigned for months. Robby might not have shouted from the rooftops, but Dana had seen the more subtle signs. Firstly, it had been the ring protector falling by the wayside, then his wedding band vanished from his golden chain, but finally it had been the growing closeness between himself and Heather. It might have a brief few months, but a bond had formed. It had its share of ups and downs, but the damage wasn’t as visible.

The tether had fizzled away; it had been what they both had needed in the moment. Passing affection and physical attraction hadn’t been enough to develop into a more permanent and lasting connection. Princess and Perlah had noted the changes. Quick gossip followed, its impact lessened only by awareness that one relationship ended to begin another.

Black lines that hadn’t been there before floated up to the surface of Dana’s thoughts. A tattoo? She had never questioned the fresh addition, wondering which design had you chosen? Robby had a few, but you had been a blank canvas. 

With her thoughts misaligned, Dana needed to stay calm in the storm’s eye. This was what the department required her to be, even in the hours past the end of her shift. The one who led them through the push, over the edge, straight into no-man’s-land. As the mask slipped back into place, she couldn’t help but frown at the sight of the few heavily armed SWAT teams roaming around the halls. They hadn’t been there a few minutes ago?

This abrupt development put her further on guard. This was far from good news.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------The department was rushed off its feet as soon as one patient would be taken up to surgery or the ICU floor, two additional patients had taken their place. It was never ending; Frank Langdon and Cassie McKay were working in a familiar rhythm formed in the past two years that they had worked solidly side by side. In that time, they had gotten used to the speed that each other worked at, but they had also gotten to know one another on a more professional basis, but tidbits of their personal lives would slip through the gaps now and then. McKay’s centred more around her son Harrison, whereas Langdon tended to ebb and flow with the emotional state of his marriage.

Frank was more aware of the fallout of Robby’s marriage, but Cassie had only met the ex-wife in passing. The connection to Dr Robinavitch fell at the wayside; to McKay, she was just another paramedic who preferred to work nights. On the rare occasion that Cassie was rotated in to cover a night shift, this had been where they crossed paths for the first time. She had seemed nice enough, quiet, but there had been an underlying playfulness that came to the surface whenever Dr Abbot was around. 

There was a story, a history between the pair of them, not that anyone dared to comment on the exact nature of their connection when she had brought it up. It wasn’t worth antagonising Abbot, so Cassie let it go. Never given it much thought, as it had been nearly eight months since her last night shift, Frank hadn’t been as lucky. His last night was less than a week prior; it had been far from an easy shift to boot.

Cassie watched as the next patient was wheeled in, an unconscious female, dressed in what looked like the standard issue trousers worn by paramedics, topped with a once white shirt coated in dirt and blood. Paramedics had been at the Festival in an official capacity, yet her patient seemed familiar, but many crew passed through those doors on a nearly hourly basis. 

“Shit, you know who that is, right?” The sound of Langdon’s voice floated in as he made his way over whilst McKay was midway through her assessment. Cassie shook her head as she continued on, focused on carrying out the basic steps of a complete neurological exam considering her presentation. “Should I?”

“That’s Robby’s ex-wife” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

7:30pm

Frustration was bubbling up within Trinity swiftly returned to the yellow zone. With no attending trailing behind, they were on their own. This was not the outcome that she had been hoping for when she had gone searching for an attending.

“I tried. No attendings available,” she announced as she approached Dr Mel King, who remained at the patient’s bedside, still working on the unconscious man. Trinity moved through, trying to find her next interesting case, whilst keeping an eye out for any available attending. 

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, as she surveyed each patient that she passed by; nothing immediately stood out. One gurney caught her eye; as she made her approach, Trinity slipped on a fresh pair of sterile gloves ready to make her assessment.

“All right” As Trinity slipped effortlessly into doctor mode, as her gaze dropped to the open wounds upon the young man’s legs that Nurse Donnie was cleaning with large pieces of gauze. 

“Okay, those look pretty superficial.” Santos commented as she took in what she could see; the wounds on his leg might be large but were shallow. 

“Might’ve been fragments from a ricochet off the ground.” Donnie replied, as he had been the one tending to the wounds; she listened to his assessment as her mind turned over the information as she worked out the possible next steps.

“Lost a lot of blood, but you’re gonna be okay, bro.” As she carefully lifted up the heavily stained remains of what once had been a trouser leg to inspect the wound for herself. The ease of his interaction spoke of a familiarity with her patient that she had not noticed until this point. Did Donnie know this young man? Trinity was left wondering the possibilities as her mind raced.

“It’s not bad. Just put me back in the wheelchair.” The young man answered; this was not even an option as Santos knew what the outcome might be if they allowed their patient to get out of the bed before his legs were bandaged up. She could not risk his wounds opening further and him bleeding out.

“No, no, stay in bed with your leg up.” She said, before continuing on speaking as she cautioned him bluntly. “We don’t want you oozing to death.” As she left the bedside to see what the other doctors had landed as Javedi helped move another gurney through the department into the yellow zone.

“Samira, what you got?” Trinity loudly asked; waiting patiently for Dr Mohan to answer.

“Opiate OD needs observation after Narcan.” For Santos, that was far too pedestrian, too ordinary and, to put it plainly, boring. Not for her. This was what came with festivals; drugs and overdoses were a dime a dozen but there were more interesting patients than this. There was nothing to learn, no interesting procedures to practise or carry out solo. “Ugh, boring. No, thank you.” Trinity swiftly replied before moving on as she turned her back and walked back toward Mel.

“Mel, how’s Ganja Grayson?” She called out, inquiring about the status of the patient with a newly christened nickname. The man was a true hippie as she walked the few meters back over to the bay. 

“Um, we can put him in pink whilst he waits for ICU.” She listened to the words of her senior doctor, as the man’s condition had continued to worsen since falling unconscious; without the typical methods of investigations available, there was little they could actually do in the here and now. He needed a CT scan, but it would be hours before he could be sent up for one.

“Okay. One second.” Santos curiously watched on as Whitaker moved closer to the patient with a probe that had been plugged into his phone. Yet Samira beat her to the punch, speaking first. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking the retina.” Trinity patiently watched the back-and-forth exchange, as it seemed that Huckleberry was chasing a cause. He was thinking creatively to find a solution to help Mr Grayson.

“For detachment?” Samira continued on, adding a potential diagnosis to the pile, but Whitaker responded with his own reasoning. As he used the phone screen to measure the distance from one end of the optic nerve to the other. With the swipe of a finger on a touchscreen. “For Intracranial pressure by measuring the optic nerve sheath, which is—holy shit—10 millimeters”  He quickly pulled away with the news of this recent development.

What Huckleberry had uncovered was wild. As Victoria Javedi spoke up, running through the encyclopaedic amount of medical knowledge that was rushing through her mind, much like they all did with each fresh case.

 “What’s normal? 5?” She asked, knowing the answer from the countless neurology seminar and skills labs that they had all attended whilst studying. As they memorised a plethora of textbooks with case studies and long lists of symptoms and treatments outlined in great detail.

“Yeah, 5” Whitaker replied, as the answer unfolded, as Mel was the one to offer up what was the most likely conclusion. “It’s an Intracranial bleed. ”One had they all had swiftly come to with the discovery of the expansion of his optic nerve, it was practically doubled in size! This was becoming a wildly more interesting case than the OD.

“The pressure’s been building up.” Trinity had turned her to listen as Mel continued on with her explanation of Mr Grayson’s condition. “There’s no blown pupil.”

“Yeah, not yet. Trinity replied, knowing that as soon as the pressure reached a critical level, then his pupil would likely blow. But if he keeps bleeding in his skull, he’s going to die.” This was not the moment to sugar coat what was going to occur if they just stood around and did nothing. This man was inching closer and closer to the edge with every passing second.

“Yeah, he needs a one-inch, uh, burr hole in his—with a cranial drill.” Mel spoke through what was needed, stuttering over words as she started to move away from the patient. “I’m just gonna see if neurosurgery’s here.”

“We don’t have time to wait for Neuro.” Trinity watched as Dr Samira Mohan stepped up to the plate, taking over the case. Santos might have a rough around the edge approach to medicine, her bedside manner might need tweaking, but she did not wish to risk her internship on her very first day. For intern to attempt burr holes without the supervision of an attending that was a Grey’s Anatomy level of madness that would quickly hand a one-way ticket to the psych ward. No, thank you. However, she was more than happy to assist if Mohan was taking the lead.

Mohan had rushed off to collect the supplies that she needed, returning the bay once she had what was required to start the procedure. “I got Betadine and a 10cc syringe.” Announcing each step as she continued on. Whitaker had been the one to speak up, asking a basic but necessary question. His tone wavering as he worked through his jumbled up thoughts. “Should we intubate, hyperventilate?”

“Mannitol decreases ICP.” Victoria answered; Trinity was still mentally referring to her as Crash. The nickname was not going anywhere fast. Once she had handed one, she rarely would change it unless continually pushed too. She would count on one hand the number of times that she had altered one of her famous nicknames. Javedi’s reply was factually accurate, as Trinity recalled the effects of Mannitol on the intercranial pressure and the outcome of this situation if the drug was delivered.

However, before anyone could blink; Samira had picked up an IO drill and made her first burr hole, drilling into the side of Mr Grayson’s head to relieve the pressure.

“Holy shit! What the hell?” All at once, the three of them responded in tandem in equal parts shock and horror at what they had just witnessed. An unconventional use of an IO drill to carry out a neurological procedure to administer burr holes and reduce the built up intercranial pressure. This day couldn’t get any wilder. Samira had proven to be more resourceful and more impressive than Trinity’s earlier impression; she wasn’t as stiff as she had initially appeared to be.

“Relieving Intracranial pressure so he doesn’t die.” Samira replied as used the first 10cc syringe, drawing back as Whitaker cut in with his next question. “With an IO drill?” Samira shrugged back, this was the best option that was to hand. Trinity chose this moment to speak up; now that she wouldn’t the first one to attempt such a out of left field procedure, there was no way that she wouldn’t let the opportunity slid by. “That’s sick. I get the next one.”

“Long as it’s not on me.” Trinity wanted to burst out laughing at the patient in the next bay’s words, as normally there wouldn’t be the chance for this kind of interaction. His words might still be more slurred as he slowly recovered from the effects of the overdose, but the meaning was crystal clear.

“What the fuck?” Dr Emery Walsh exclaimed as she leaned over to see Dr Mohan seated at the patient’s side, already performing the procedure. Mohan had caught her gaze briefly before returning to continuing to drain blood. “Draining the ICH with an EZ-IO.” The atmosphere grew tense in the presence of Dr Walsh, the no nonsense trauma surgeon.

“40 cc’s out so far.” Confused by the sight of the unsupervised unconventional procedure being carried out, night shift charge nurse Bridget approached Mohan for an explanation. “Like she said, what the fuck?”

“There was a case report in the 2022 Journal of Emergency Medicine.” Trinity focused on her task of preparing for the intubation, still heard most of Mohan’s explanation. “Patient survive?” The back and forth was not important as she continued on as Samira confidentially spoke through her reasoning for her actions. “Went home neurologically intact.”

Whitaker squeezed his way, with the screen showing the most recent data from the scan. “The optic sheath is back to normal.” 

This was all good news as Victoria noticed that Mr Grayson had began to move. “Starting purposely movements.” Santos slid up with the intubation tube, prepared, ready to step in.

���Ready to intubate.” She announced as Mel then added in her orders as they proceeded forward. “Propofol, Rock, and Mannitol.” There was a rush that came when completing a successful procedure for the first time; she might’ve had a minor role, but still it was still such a head rush.

“I’ll let neurosurgery know. We’ll get him up ASAP.” Emery Walsh was clearly unimpressed with their reckless abandon with the rules, with the standard of care, but she would inform neurosurgery of this latest development as this patient moved further up the list. As she began to walk away, Walsh reach her walkie talkie ready to reach out to Neurosurgery primary lead.

“Incredible save.” Those words, as soon as they were spoken, caused her to turn her head and mutter in response.. “If he lives.” Trinity had made quick of work of inserting the intubation tube and working it past the vocal cords in the moments that followed as they got Mr Grayson ready to head up for surgery.

“I’m in.” She declared, as Whitaker bagged the end and check to see if everything was in the right place. “Uh, end-tidal looks good.” Everything was coming up as a success, as a win. The nursing staff stepped in, ready to get the last jobs ticked off; this was where they stepped off the case.

“Okay, OR team can take it from here.” Bridget said as she effortlessly moved around the head of the bed, mentally running through the checklist that was required before any patient headed up to the OR.

“We need to check on the others.” Mel added as she moved away; Trinity added her two cents in the mix, never missing a beat, as she used a nickname before heading back towards her patient with the leg wound. Knowing the effect that it had on Victoria, knowing that it rubbed her up the wrong way. “I should get back to Pink. Stay Strong Crash.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------Trinity turned her head, noting Mel across the way, standing in front of where some supplies sat on top of a movable station. As she checked with Mel on her thoughts as her patient’s bandage was now sodden, heavy as he had bled through the layers that Donnie had wrapped tightly round. “He bled through his Kerlix.”

It was almost as if she could see the cog turning as Mel shuttered over the words as she considered, then rejected, the possibilities until she landed the right option. “Um…elastic—elastic pressure dressing-yep.” 

“Okay, got it.” She nodded and got to work retrieving her correct type of bandage from the tray with the bandages that sat neatly on top of the station. Plucking exactly what was required to re-bandage the small holes on his lower leg.

“All right. Got a better bandage, and we’re gonna elevate your leg.” Trinity announced as she made her way back over to where her patient was still laying. She places the supplies on the bed, picking up the scissors and begins cutting off the blood soaked old one.

“Do you know what’s happening with my girlfriend? Her name is Leah. She was shot in the chest.” She can understand the worry in his voice, as it trembles when he mentions her name. However, all incoming patients had been assigned a number. Names were not a necessity during a mass casualty event and his girlfriend would have been rushed off to the Red zone if she sustained a gunshot wound to the chest. 

“I’m sorry. We have a ton of patients, and they are only marked by numbers.” Santos tried her best to be as sympathetic as possible as she continued on with her explanation. Her eyes darting between his and the wound as she worked on.

“Robby and Dana were working on her—they were doing CPR.” Now this piece of information that he had freely offered caught her attention. Much like the bloody paramedic jacket had, her mind still would wander back to the name stitched into the fabric. She wanted to chase that hypothetic thread till it was completely unravelled.

“How do you know Robby and Dana?” Santos was curious to find out as she asked, to know more about the people that she would be working alongside for the duration of this rotation.

“Robby and my mom were together for a couple of years, and I would—I would come, and I’d hang out here.” This was the definition of a juicy gossip; Dr Robinavitch seemed like a closed book. With no way to breakthrough that thick protective shell, that doubled as his professional mask. There was more to the man than just the doctor. She noticed his face twist as pain washed over him, as she disinfected and cleaned the wound site.

“Well, I’m sure if they’re helping her, then she’s in great hands.” Her words only meant to reassure his deepening worry. Even with the knowledge gained from this single shift, their combined strength was evident, a force to be reckoned with. “Can you check for me, please?” It was hard not to feel sorry for him; considering all that he had in this one day. “Sure, Of course. Just after I finish this.” She nodded as she agreed to help him out with one small task.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

8pm

The florescent lights, albeit harsh under normal conditions, were a drop in the ocean on his list of concerns. Dr Jack Abbot, sharp-eyed, thrived in these conditions. A mass casualty was similar enough to working under the threat of a war zone.

This was where he did his best work, where his skills were truly put to the test. He could not ignore the call to action that came over the airwaves, as he listened to his police scanner that sat at his side as he had wound down for the day. All in the knowledge of what this day meant to Robby, an anniversary that no-one who worked through the heights of the pandemic would ever simply put aside. It was locked away, compartmentalised with all the other bad days. Each under lock and key, he was chipping away one at a time with his therapist.

Holding true to his promise to her, his wife and the memory of their life together. The ring on his finger was well-loved, but time had worn away the last restoration. A trip to the jeweller would be scheduled tomorrow, in between shifts. Each wave of new patients, of scared victims, drew him further into his element. With a cool and level head, Jack worked seamlessly with the tight team within the Red zone. Each was a cog in a machine fighting to save each patient from the jaws of death. Mourning each loss in the few seconds between that patient and the next being wheeled in.

Each would be remembered long after this voluntary shift had concluded. His gaze was trained upon his next patient; despite that, it would wander over to Robby now and then. His demeanour had shifted, there was anger that usually lingered far beneath the surface bubbling up. He was burst soon rather than later, but Jake and his fatally injured girlfriend had become the linchpin.

As soon as he had noticed that gurney being pushed through the doors, Jack had clocked the heartbreak upon the kid’s face, knowing that it would be mirrored on Robby’s. He had fought tooth and nail to keep her alive; it was a fruitless, uphill battle. One that he could never get in front of, as the wound to heart was just too severe. He had seen many in the heart of battle, presenting much the same way Jack knew what the outcome would be.

With all the time in the world, there still would be slim chances of coming back from a shot to the heart. Each new unit of blood was a cause of concern; two had been the agreed upon limit, but Robby had quickly reached for another and then the next. That limit had been reached and doubled. He could glean the depths of desperation as clear as day as Robby clutched at every available straw. Holding on the vaguest string of hope, fighting for Leah, for Jake.

There was no happy ending, not this go around. No last-minute miracle solution would be found, this was bare bones reality, not some half-baked medical dramas that his wife had loved, the ones which he sat through season after season for each smile, the laughter and tears that she had circled through. Whilst he pointed out the medical mistakes and inaccuracies. She had once joked that she could turn into a drinking game and be easily under the table by the halfway mark of a single episode. God, he missed her.

His mind would wander in the moments between the screams, but never for long enough for Jack to vanish into the what-ifs. He needed to be in the here and now as the darkness crept closer. It was where he felt most comfortable, out of the light of day. Away from his most painful memories, as they always returned.

The same could be said about Robby; had his own heartbreak manifested as he tirelessly worked on Leah? Had he envisioned his ex-wife beneath his blooded gloved finger tips as he fought to get the girl’s heart to beat once again. Had her image flickered, replacing the young woman for less than a second before switching back. He might hesitate for a split second if she had been wheeled into his care, but thankfully she hadn’t.

Heading up to Neuro ICU

The familiar vocal tones of Dr Frank Langdon could be heard as he moved his latest patient up to the Neuro section of the ICU floor up on the level six. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught a sight of the gurney as he made his way back into the heart of the red zone; No, it couldn’t be her lying there. Jack was in no position to chase after Langdon as he disappeared into the elevator shaft.

------------------------------------

If anyone wishes to tagged in any of the Pitt x Reader content, please reply or message me    

[kiss-inthekitchen]

same sky | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a late night phone call with Spencer. unruly amounts of fluff. no gender identifiers in this one. apologies to residents of las vegas, i did insult your city's aesthetics. i had to do it. for the plot

word count: 2k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3 by the same name. it's the second in a series of fics i've updated from my vault of oldies :) this one's for the girlies who liked the banter in no vacancy <3 oops! all banter

“I miss you,” you say into your cell phone, standing on the back porch and gazing out at the sky. It’s late, but you can’t sleep. Spencer has been gone on a case for the better part of a week, and you don’t sleep as well without him. 

“I miss you, too. But I’ll be home soon,” Spencer replies, keeping his voice low.  

“Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“Where are you right now?” Even though you aren’t in danger of waking anyone up, you find yourself mirroring Spencer's tone. 

“Best guess, somewhere over New Mexico.” They’ve been in the air about an hour, and given their trajectory, he’s pretty sure he’s right. Spencer is seated at the edge of the couch, his back against the arm of it and a blanket thrown over his legs, barely covering his mismatching-socked feet. 

“How come you’re still up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. Somehow, he can feel you smiling across the line. It makes him smile, too. He doesn’t ask why you’re awake when it’s even later where you are; he knows already. "What are you doing?”

“Looking up at the stars.”

“You know, you won’t be able to see me up here.”

“Ha ha.”

“Here, I’ll open the shade on the plane window. At least we can share the same view.”

“Hm. Almost like we’re together,” you hum. 

His heart aches. It’s only been a few days and he still can’t stand it. “Almost.”

For a minute, neither of you speak, looking out at the sky from two different time zones.

“When I wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be here, right?” 

“Mmhm. Maybe even before that,” he responds, a low, soothing hum in your ear.

“Should I stay up until you get here?” you already know what he'll say, but you kinda like the idea of it anyway.

“No, no, it’s at least another four hours. Don’t worry about it. When you wake up, I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You’d intended to let him go after just a quick call once you realized that the rest of the team were resting not too far from him, but you don’t want to hang up. He doesn’t make any moves to do so either, wanting to hear your voice as much as you want to hear his. “So, how was Tucson?”

“Oh, you know. Hot. Desert-y. Lots of murder.”

“Less murder now.” 

“Yeah.” 

His voice sounds strained. He doesn’t like indulging in a sense of accomplishment after closing a case, doesn’t ever feel like he’s done enough. He shows up too late and does too little, and then he gets to leave while the families of the victims have to pick up the pieces. You understand why he doesn’t like to think about the work that way, but you’ve tried to remind him that the good he does is incalculable; how many lives saved, how many tragedies avoided. It’s all you can do. 

You pivot a little, not wanting him to get too caught up. “I remember, when I first moved to Virginia, I was so shocked at how green everything was. I swore I’d never seen that much green in my life.”

“I had a similar experience,” he says, fondly, aware of your tactics. 

“Oh, I can only imagine. I’ve been to Vegas. It’s icky.”

“Icky?” he asks, laughing at your word choice. 

“I mean, no offense, but… it’s kinda ugly.”

“Wow, okay, insult my hometown, why don’t you.”

You laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Always am.”

“Well, statistically, you actually have a seventy-two percent chance of being right, which is still impressive, but hardly a flawless track record.”

“Spencer Reid coming in hot with the stats. I love when you talk numbers to me.” 

“I don’t think we’d have gotten very far if you didn’t.” 

“But I think I should be right more often than that.” 

“Are you asking me to fudge the numbers?” he asks with put-upon shock. 

“I’m just saying, maybe you’ve got it wrong.” 

“Oh, so you dare to challenge the accuracy of my eidetic memory? Or is it the statistics that you think I’ve calculated incorrectly?” 

“This is affecting my score, isn’t it?” 

“I’ll have to factor it in. You understand.” 

You giggle, and Spencer starts to feel some warmth come back into him after too many days of stress, doubt, and destruction. He hadn’t been able to talk to you nearly as much as he wanted. And it was hard to talk to you on certain cases, to allow you to make him feel lighter when reality was so dark. When he felt so much weight on his shoulders, when he should be focusing on the profile and apprehending the unsub and… sometimes he just didn’t feel like he deserved to have that weight lifted by you, even for a little while. 

“Spence?” 

“Will you go inside?” he asks, his tone full of something like reverence for you. “Please?”

“If you insist,” you sigh, already opening the door. 

“I do. I do insist, very forcefully.” 

“I’m already inside with the door locked.” 

“Man, I’m good.” 

“Mmhm.”

“Going to bed?”

“Yeah. Will you talk to me for a few more minutes?” you ask, sliding under the covers. Spencer hears the slip of fabric as you pull them up over your shoulders, and it sharpens the ache he feels to be home with you already. 

“I’ll talk to you for the rest of the night, if you want me to.” 

“No, I don’t wanna keep you awake, too.” 

“I probably won’t get much sleep regardless.” 

“I don’t condone that,” you say, your frown evident in your voice. 

“Noted,” he replies, though he sounds apologetic. 

Four hours feels an eternity too long to wait. You miss Spencer, and you hate how tired he sounds. You want to fix things for him. You want to run your fingers through his hair til he falls asleep and you want to make sure his dreams are peaceful when he does. 

“What do you wanna do when you’re back?” you ask, hoping that planning for it will make the time go faster. 

“Oh, I’m taking a shower and getting right into bed. And you can’t make me get up.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m serious. Don’t ask me to do a single other thing cause I won’t do it.” 

You laugh. “For the whole day?” 

“Probably. And you better not go anywhere either. We could both use the rest.” 

“Okay, rest day all day.” 

“We can order Thai though. So we’ll get up for that. But even then, it’s just to sit on the couch.” 

“Maybe the floor.” 

“I will also accept floor,” he concedes, and then it occurs to him that you might’ve been asking because you want to do something with him. “Is there something you wanted to do the next day though?” 

“Well... the saucer magnolias are blooming at the Smithsonian again.” 

“Say no more.” 

You sigh wistfully. “You’re my favorite boyfriend I’ve ever had.” 

“Well, I should hope so,” he says, smiling. “You’re my favorite, too.” 

“Aren’t I the only partner you’ve ever had?” 

“Ha ha. I had a girlfriend in college.” 

“Spencer, you were like sixteen in college.”

“I wasn’t sixteen the entire time,” you hear the eye roll in his voice, “I have three PhD’s, it took me a little while.” 

“Well, who is this girl? Do I need to beat her up?” you joke. 

“No,” he laughs. “You are my favorite, after all. She wasn’t very nice to me.” 

“Okay… so you told me not to beat her up but then gave a reason why I should?” 

“Please don’t beat up my ex-girlfriend. I do appreciate your violent impulses though.” 

“Mm, okay. As long as you know I could.” 

“Sure, angel. You’re very scary,” he placates. 

You let out a little gremlin laugh. 

“Oh, and you’re delirious,” he notes, an amused lilt to his tone. 

“Delirious because I miss you,” you sing, dragging out the ‘you’. 

“God, where did I even find a weirdo like you,” Spencer laughs. 

“I found you. You attracted me with your peculiar aura and soulful eyes. Trapped me in your… fucking what’s-it-called. Tractor beam.” 

“You know, the term tractor beam was actually coined by science fiction author E.E. Smith in 1931 as an updated version of his original term ‘attractor beam.’” 

“Hmm, yup. You caught me in that.” 

“Did you call my eyes soulful?” he asks, seemingly just processing that part. 

“Oh, you don’t like my adjective choice? Next you’ll have a problem with me calling your aura peculiar.” 

“I mean… I don’t know that I loved it.” 

“Here he goes fishing for compliments,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side and creating a bunch of shuffling noise on the line. Spencer wrinkles his nose, holding the phone a little farther from his ear until he hears you speaking again. “Okay, your eyes are big and brown and beautiful and they contain a standard unremarkable amount of soul, and your aura is also really regular. Regular Reid, that’s what they call ya.” 

He’s frowning, you can practically see it, but he’s also fighting off an amused smile. “Well, that one started off nice, at least.” 

“God! You’re so difficult. My boyfriend is sooo difficult. Why don’t you come home to me first and then I’ll come up with some more adequate compliments?” 

“I’m going to hold you to that.” 

The two of you talk for a little while longer, with you telling Spencer about the new coffee shop you’d tried out and how their lavender latte actually tastes like lavender, which is basically unheard of. Spencer tells you about the standoff between him and an all too curious roadrunner that he swears was trying to get into his motel room. Calling it a standoff is generous; the man got bullied by a bird. 

You try not to laugh and end up unsuccessful, with Spencer insisting that you were taking sides and he was well and truly in danger, which only makes it funnier. His voice pitches up even as he tries to keep his volume low, and you argue that his energy is just so attractive that even the local wildlife are drawn to him. 

“Don’t start,” he warns, overwhelming fondness in his voice. 

You make Spencer tell you something boring to calm yourself down from the image you’ve conjured of him being chased by a roadrunner, which, in your exhausted state, is even funnier than it should be. He claims to regret confiding in you with this, but he knows he’d do it again just to hear you laugh. 

Instead of telling you something boring, he recites some of the poems he’s memorized over the years. It works the way you’d intended, and you regret it when you have to stop him to tell him you’re falling asleep. He’s just a little smug about it. 

“So, you’ll be home in four hours?” you ask, the start of your goodbyes. 

“More like three now.”

“We made time go faster.” 

“We did.” 

“Will you try to get some sleep?”

“Fine. Only because you asked.”

You hum, victorious. “Goodnight. I love you.” 

“And I love you.” 

Hours later, just as the sun is beginning to change the hue of the sky from deep navy to a hazy cerulean glow, you feel your mattress shift underneath you. You’re barely awake, but still you register the scent of Spencer’s shower gel, fresh and sort of woodsy. 

Half asleep, you shift to accommodate him, and he slips an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around his torso and throw your leg over his hips, as close as you can possibly get without literally being on top of him. 

You sigh, deep and relieved, and Spencer’s heart stutters. 

“I missed this,” he chuckles, resting his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his arms tighter around you. You just hum in response, the last of your energy before you’re pulled back under. Within minutes, Spencer is asleep too, and the two of you sleep through sunrise and into the afternoon. 

[vitaminkyeom]

telephone || k.mg

“NOW IT'S TIME FOR ME TO RETURN THE FAVOUR”

PAIRING || Mingyu x Female Reader

GENRES || Horror, 911 Operator!Mingyu, Romance

SUMMARY ||  Working the night shift as a 911 operator was hard as it is and the last thing Mingyu needed was those calls from his ex-girlfriend. Whom he had not seen in years. For obvious reasons of her being dead.

Or, in which, Mingyu kept getting calls from his ex girlfriend claiming that she had murdered him.

SERIES MASTERLIST || till death do us part

WARNINGS || inaccurate 911 stuff, description of murdered body, horror, mention of murder and ghost

WORD COUNT || 3k

A/N || If you recognise this story, no you don't. but anyways this was one of my most favourite works even though i'm not that great at writing horror so i'm really glad i'm starting off with this story for the series. i've tried my best to make it as scary as i could (sorry but im a pussy) so yeah any feedback would be really helpful!

TAGLIST || @monamipencil @nonuify @black-swan-blog27 @hipsdofangirl @wonuilu @kibs-and-bits @unlikelysublimekryptonite @gyuguys @hanicore @alyssng @hyneyedfiz @weebotakuboy @aaniag @thepoopdokyeomtouched @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @sea-moon-star @hrts4hanniehae @athanasiasakura @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @asasilentreader @isabellah29 @mrswonwooo @nonononranghaee @hoichi02 @cheolsboo @dinossaurz @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tinkerbell460 @bluewbwerry @hoeforcheol @kawennote09 @iamawkwardandshy @winterbeartaehyungbestboy ​ @jjeongddol @k-drama-adict @mnstxmnbb @stervahaha @escoupseu @wonvsmile @mansaaay [if you want to be added to my taglist please fill in this form!]

“911, please state your emergency.”

Static. He waited for a minute more but there still wasn’t any sound coming from the other side.

Mingyu sighed exasperatedly, sure that this was another prank call. Halloween night was looming close which also meant teenagers found it funny to call the operators up at night to scare them.

But he was used to this. Which was funny because Mingyu was the biggest scaredy cat in his group and could not even watch Scooby Doo without whimpering at least once. But he took his responsibilities very seriously and there was no way he was going to let his fear come in the middle of his work.

He was about to hang up the call when he heard a sound. Immediately he jerked back the phone to his ear and strained them to hear anything, but all he could hear was a buzzing sound.

“Hello? How can I help-”

“Help.”

He inhaled sharply, the woman’s raspy voice very clear in the empty office. Mingyu was the only one serving night shift in his floor currently, and the only thing accompanying him was the soft beeping on the seven screens in front of him and the buzzing of the fluorescent tube lights above him.

“Ma'am, are you in a position to tell me what is happening?”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, noting down the number first and then quickly texting the other department to find out the location of the call.

“Pl-please help. Make him stop.” The woman whispered,  her ragged breath harsh against his ears.

“Make whom stop? Can you tell me who is near to you, ma’am?”

Mingyu felt an unnatural calmness settle into his bones, one that always came whenever he forced himself to calm down in such situations.

A message dinged on one of his screens indicating that they had traced the nearest cell tower of the cell phone.

“Officer Lee.” He said, already on the other line, talking to the nearest official he could see. “We have a 911 emergency of abuse.”

“Roger that. Address?”

“It's…” Mingyu’s voice trailed off on seeing the address. 

No way- How was that possible? There had to be some mistake right?

Because the address was of his house.

He cleared his throat, sure that the address was wrong since they tracked the nearest cell tower, and that could be kilometres away from the destination.

“Uh, the address shows my house. I… I think you need to be on the lookout for areas near my house.”

There was a pause, as though Seokmin seemed to be trying to process this information. Seokmin had been good friends with him, so Mingyu knew that even he found it odd, especially when his neighbourhood was a safe and nice one.

“On my way.”

“Ma’am,” Mingyu said, back to line one, “if you could tell me your name or your address, or even what is happening to you, I could help you out better.”

His eyes were trained to look at all the monitors at once, one monitoring the small dot that represented Seokmin heading towards the destination, another with a blank form about the caller and another one where he was rapidly typing what he was hearing, ready to call in other emergencies in case he heard something important.

“Help! Why don’t you help me? Please help!”

“Ma’am help is on the way, please calm down-”

He was interrupted by a loud pop as all the lights went out, the only source of light now being the soft glow of his computer screens. The room was now lit up eerily and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise up. Mingyu wasn’t very scared of the dark ever, but the growing sounds of gurgling and growling in the telephone line was causing shivers to travel down his spine.

“Mingyu…” The woman rasped, this time sounding like she had gargled razors, her screeching voice turning his blood to ice.

How did she know his name?

Goosebumps rose all over his skin as his breathing came out in sudden pants, feeling an icy invisible hand wrap around his neck. He sucked in a breath harshly and with a jolt, he realised how lonely he was, not a single soul on his floor whilst he was plunged in darkness.

Then the call cut off abruptly, and at the same time, the power surged back to life. 

Yet, the cold feeling hadn’t left Mingyu as though he could still hear the woman gargling in his ear.

“Mingyu?”

He jerked as the second line suddenly came to life, Seokmin’s voice clear through the landline.

“H-Hey. Did you find anything?” He tried his level best not to sound shaken, but it was hard because the more he tried to ignore wherever had just happened, the more the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.

“Nothing. We will be needing to get a more specific address. Your entire apartment seems safe to me. Is she still on the line?”

Mingyu exhaled harshly, rubbing his chest with his hand to calm down his heart that was beating too fast. He then realised how dry his throat had become, and quickly took a sip of water before continuing.

“No. She cut the call. I- uh, I don’t think she needs help anymore. She sounded alright at the end.” He said, wincing having to lie. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling of horror he had felt when he saw his own address flash on to the screen.

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we follow the protocol still-”

“She told me so herself.” Mingyu snapped, and Seokmin shut up, not saying anything more.

He sighed, rubbing his template, trying to forget what he had just heard. But it was like the noise had been ingrained into his brain. He could hear it even now, even though there were many other small sounds beside him.

But being a 911 operator, there was bound to be such horrors, right? He had heard some similar stories of ghost calls from his superiors. Maybe this was one of them?

“Well then…I suppose that’s it huh?” Seokmin cut the silence, causing Mingyu to flinch as he jumped out of his thoughts. “Are you calling it a night?”

Mingyu felt his heart leap to his throat.

Calling it a night? On any other day, he would have loved to crash on to his bed but all of a sudden going back to his house, the place where this lady claimed to be at, seemed like a distant nightmare, something which was waiting for him to tear him apart.

“Uh, n-no. I’ll continue my shift I think. Besides, Seungcheol won’t wake up if I call him now.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Seokmin asked, concern lacing his voice. “You sound…scared.”

“I’m fine.” Mingyu swallowed thickly, feeling a patch of sweat that had formed on his forehead as he tried rubbing his temples.

“We’ve dealt with these before, right?” Seokmin asked again, trying to sound bolder for his sake.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. We have. I’ll… hang up now.”

As soon as the phone went down, Mingyu buried his face in his hands, trying to forget the horrible sounds he had heard on the phone.

But the more he tried to forget them, the more he was convinced that they were no more voices in his head, but were coming from the room. It was almost like he could hear the noise coming from behind the door.

I’m probably just hearing things.

He got up and decided to get some fresh air. He walked to the door and paused, the sound still ringing in his ears. Clutching the door knob, he took in a deep breath and with his eyes screwed shut he turned it open, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead of his.

Silence greeted him as he slowly peeled his eyes open, looking around tentatively for anything that might jump on him out of the dark. 

Ding!

The sound of the elevator’s beep caused his heart to nearly stop, the sudden sound cutting through silent night that was almost engulfing him. He felt his entire body freeze as all he could do was watch the numbers on the screen of the lift increase until it reached his floor, limbs paralysed with fear. 

With another soft ding! the lift door began sliding open, and Mingyu found himself almost begging that he shouldn’t be greeted by someone, or something, once the lift door opened.

The dim blue light of the lift spilt out as Mingyu watched in terror, but to his relief only emptiness greeted him back. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror of the elevator. 

Mingyu looked deathly pale, his eyes tired and haggard like he had just seen a ghost. His cheeks were hollow and he felt his stomach lurch when his reflection wobbled, indicating that that the lift was about to close.

And then the lift shut close, leaving him alone with a pin drop silence that almost felt suffocating.

Weren’t there others who had night duty? Because there was no way he was all alone in the building, right?

The thought was enough to cause his stomach to lurch, and he swallowed thickly wondering if he should call someone to take his place.

But his house! Mingyu could feel goosebumps rising on his skin the second he thought of his house.

What if she- that thing was still lurking around his house? Or worse, was actually in his house.

The ringing of the telephone cut through the silence like a blade, causing him to jump a mile. His reflexes kicked in though, and clutching his painfully beating heart, Mingyu ran towards his computers to pick the emergency phone call.

“911. Please state your emergency-”

“Help.”

Mingyu froze, the familiar voice draining out all the blood from his cheeks again.

No way.

He wanted to cut the call, wanted to block out whatever this woman was about to beg for because her voice was like icy daggers to his skin, rekindling his fear like never before. Mingyu had never felt so terrified in his life before. 

“Please help… Mingyu.”

It was like her whispering his name had opened Pandora's box, and lots of emotions hit him at once. He couldn’t even question how she knew his name because that wasn’t what terrified him the most.

But it was the familiarity of the voice of the woman. A voice he used to hear almost every day before it was snuffed out of his life suddenly.

“Y/N.” He whispered, fear clutching his stomach as he felt his heart hammer in his chest.

In the empty office he could only hear his own ragged breathing and the slight buzzing sound coming from the phone.

But how was this possible?

Because you had died six months ago.

Or rather, you had been killed in his apartment. Murdered in cold blood even though it didn’t make sense because you were the sweetest and most caring person he had met in the world. 

At first, he had been charged with murder. Those two months of investigation had nearly driven him mad. It was hard as it is dealing with your death but constant poking of the police made it even worse.

Finally he was set free due to the lack of evidence. 

Even thinking about you made his head throb. 

“Help please.” You rasped again. “Help me-”

“Where are you?” He whispered urgently, not sure why he was even asking questions. Because this had to be some sort of sick joke, right? Or maybe- maybe he was hallucinating after all. Hallucinating that you had come back to life to get some sort of closure.

“In our apartment! Why aren’t you helping?” You sobbed on the other end of the line.

He felt his head spin. Whom was he even talking to? With each word your voice turned more and more raspy and he could feel the familiar fear returning.

“If you don’t help me he’ll-”

Mingyu heard you gasp, followed by a whimpering as he heard someone slap you.

“Y-Y/N?” He asked, though he truly didn’t want to know what had happened to you. Was the person you kept mentioning your real killer? Then… was this your ghost he was talking to?

“Stay away.” A male voice spoke into the telephone suddenly, causing him to nearly fall off his seat. The hair on his arms and necks stood up at the familiarity of the voice.

“Stay away." He repeated.

He could hear his own voice on the other side of the telephone line asking him to stay away and Mingyu felt his head spin at the thought.

The telephone nearly slipped from his sweaty hand as he tried taking in a deep breath to calm himself down.

"And- and who’s this-”

“Just stay away from us.” He heard his own voice command him, before the line disconnected finally.

“Who was that?”

Mingyu jumped from his seat, hands flying to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming, until his eyes landed on Seokmin.

“You- you scared me!” He hissed, rubbing his sweaty forehead while trying to calm his shaking body down. What had just happened?

No way he had been talking to himself, right? How was that even possible?

Seokmin raised an eyebrow, walking towards him and sitting down on a chair opposite to him?

“Did I scare you? Or that call did?”

Mingyu looked away.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, wiping his sweaty face with a tissue. The last thing he needed was Seokmin asking too many questions before he started questioning his own sanity.

“You’re not. You asked the caller whether she was Y/N.”

Mingyu shivered involuntarily at the memory, giving away his fear.

“It sounded like her.” He lied, not wanting to remember what had just happened. Maybe if he was nonchalant about it Seokmin would leave him alone.

“Are you sure? That call before was unusual, coming from your house.” Seokmin said, still concerned. “It's okay to be shaken up by this, you know.”

He exhaled out, trying to calm down his nerves as much as he could.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Pretty sure it was a prank. I mean,” He forced out a laugh, which sounded odd against the silence surrounding the two of them, “How can it even be Y/N? That makes no sense. I probably miss her a lot. That’s why I can hear her everywhere.”

“You should go home.” Seokmin cut him, patting him on the shoulder. “I think you need to rest a bit if you’re that stressed out. Sometimes, stress causes us to see and hear things that are not real. ”

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, feeling dread fill the pit of his stomach at the thought of going home, but with the way Seokmin was staring he knew he didn’t have an option. Or else he would need to explain how he heard his own voice speak to him and ask him to stay away.

Stay away.

Was that a warning, then? Was it a big mistake going back to his house?

But with the way Seokmin was staring at him, Mingyu had no other option but to get up slowly and pack up his things. His hands wobbled, causing him to nearly break his favourite mug, but he managed to force a smile and walk to the elevator, knees threatening to give out any second. 

Once inside the elevator, Mingyu chose to stare at his reflection’s nose, unable to meet its eyes. Something told him that seeing his reflection eye to eye would not be a good idea.

Please hurry up. Please open the door fast-

His heart jumped again as his phone rang suddenly, cutting the heavy cold silence which was accompanied by the occasional soft dings.

"Hello?” He whispered, wondering who was calling so late at night. It couldn’t have been Seokmin since he had his number saved, right?

“Why did you kill me?”

Mingyu froze, unable to breathe anymore. How did you-

“Y/N? How did you- Kill you- What are you talking about?” He panted, stumbling back to support his wobbly legs with the help of the wall of the lift.

All of a sudden the air felt cooler, and his clammy hands seemed to be unable to grip the hand bar of the lift. His eyes darted to the equally petrified reflection and a yelp escaped him, phone dropping to the ground.

Because standing right beside his reflection was you. You, looking just like how you had the day you were murdered. Except there was blood all over your dress and multiple stab marks on your chest and stomach.

You smiled at him sweetly. 

“Don’t you know? You killed me. Well, not exactly you. It was Mingyu. But he is you, you are him, right?”

His legs finally gave away as he pushed his back into the walls of the elevator, terror filling every single of his senses.

Helphelpelphelp-

He heard the lift ding as it reached the ground floor. Crawling to the buttons of the lift, he frantically pressed the open button, eyes not leaving your face as you grinned at him, baring your bloody and broken teeth.

Finally the door opened and Mingyu darted to crawl out but froze almost immediately, feeling his heart stop for real this time.

“No.” He sobbed, as he watched the real you walk towards him. Edging back, he felt his heart hammer painfully hard in his chest, every bit of rational thoughts leaving him as you stepped into the elevator.

You leaned towards him much to his terror, and Mingyu screwed his eyes shut as he finally accepted his fate. His breathing eased a bit but he could still feel how tense his entire body was, adrenaline rushing coursing throughout his body.

I don’t want to go.

“Now it’s time for me to return the favour.”

A/N: Please do tell me what you think about this story!! I worked really hard on it and I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it~ Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

© 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐌 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

[adalindofcabinsix]

that kind of love never dies (II)

summary: the one where jake realizes the complexity of a supposedly simple plan.

pairing: jake x mc

word count: 1.4K

warnings: tkolnd takes place after the events of episode 10; cover images found on pinterest; english is not my first language.

author’s note: i love this chapter. it was so much fun to write jake's first meeting with mc. the game left many unresolved questions and i will try to answer them based on the information we already have and a little imagination.

masterlist

Without any hesitation, he nodded. There was no point in lying now, not after everything they had done to get Hannah back. And, even if it bothered him a little, Barbara had won his trust.

“A penny for your thoughts.” The hacker asked, seeing the confusion in her eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“It's a long story.”

“I have time.” She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

Jake took a deep breath to calm himself. They definitely didn't have time. However, he knew he would need to do his best to make her trust him again.

“Long story short, an old alert from Nym-0s showed results yesterday saying that you bought a plane ticket to Switzerland. Since the airport was close to Duskwood, I thought I'd better investigate.”

“Have you been following me since New York?”

“Not exactly, I bought a nonstop flight from Tokyo to Zurich.”

“Why didn't you tell me who you were when we bumped into each other at the airport?”

He hated the fact that his tone was more hurt than angry. Jake opened his mouth to apologize, then closed it. Looking over her shoulder, he noticed the presence of a hooded figure standing in front of the open door of the chinese restaurant, hunching his shoulders against the pouring rain.

Barbara's cell phone immediately started ringing with a call. Frowning, she reached for the device inside her bag, and Jake didn't need to understand portuguese to know what was written on the screen.

“Unknown number?”

“Yes.” She lifted her head, meeting Jake's eyes.

“Great.” He said ironically, taking the cell phone from her hand and sliding his finger to the left to reject the call. “Come on, I'll explain everything to you on the road.”

“All right.” Barbara answered, allowing Jake to lead the way. “But if you're lying about who you are, I'll break your nose.”

“It's fair.”

The hacker kept walking , and she ran to keep up with him, dodging a puddle of water. Two minutes later, they stopped in front of a gray Mercedes-Benz crowned with a red convertible roof parked behind the Gates Hotel.

“Please tell me it’s not stolen.”

“It's not stolen!” Jake looked at her offended, opening the passenger door.

“Sorry! It's just that in my mind you were poor. Which, when you think about it, doesn't make sense, right? How would you do everything you do without money?”

“You are impossible, Barbara.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I can't be impossible, Jake, I exist.” She replied, rolling her eyes theatrically. “I think you meant that I'm unbelievable.”

“Get in the car straight away.” He ordered, but he was smiling, his eyes filled with something like pleasure.

“I have some questions.” Barbara announced when they stopped at a red light.

“Of course you have.” Jake smiled amusedly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Earlier, at the airport, was our meeting on purpose?”

“Yes. I couldn't risk my position by tracking you via cell phone so I had to be creative.”

“Something tells me you're the type to put trackers in people's favorite coat pockets.” She was surprised when he didn't deny it. “Seriously?” Barbara scoffed, rubbing her hands down her arms.

“That worked, didn't it?” He said, undoing his seat belt. “Here, you must be cold.”

Before Barbara could object, Jake took off the leather jacket he was wearing and handed it towards her.

“Thank you, Jake.” She accepted the offer, her cheeks blushing beautifully as she quickly looked away from the defined muscles that were marked by the white t-shirt.

“You're welcome.” He looked straight ahead again, covering his mouth with the back of his left hand to hide a smile of pure satisfaction.

He looked straight ahead again, covering his mouth with the back of his left hand to hide a smile of pure satisfaction.

“Were you in Tokyo this whole time?” Barbara questioned, placing the jacket over her shoulders.

“Tokyo, New Delhi, Manila... I needed to keep myself busy so I didn't think about you too much.”

“I'm unforgettable, aren't I?”

“Too unforgettable for your own good.” He agreed, replacing his belt and accelerating the car to get them moving again.

She sighed loudly.

“Yeah, I guess that explains why the FBI won't leave me alone.”

“What?”

“You have no idea why I'm here, do you?”

“Considering who I saw at the chinese restaurant, I think I might have an idea.”

“They sent some messages yesterday, inviting me to that same restaurant we talked about last time. The writing was very similar to yours, but it wasn't the same.”

“You knew it wasn't me and you came anyway?”

“We had an agreement, and as a future lawyer, I couldn't let them get away with this so easily.”

“What was your plan?” He waited for an answer, but Barbara just shrugged. “What? Didn't you have one?”

“We brazilians work better under pressure.”

Jake had to stop himself from giving her an irritated look.

“Well, at least this time the FBI is innocent.”

“What do you mean?”

“Old habits never die, right? I figured something was wrong when you didn't go directly to Duskwood, so I accessed the security cameras around the hotel and watched the footage from the past two days.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing too out of the ordinary, but there was one guy who caught my attention. I think I've seen him before. Anyway, I've run his face through facial recognition software and will have confirmation by the end of the night.” He met her eyes, his expression becoming serious. “Barbara, do you understand how…”

“Stupid to come here alone without knowing what I would face? Yes, the reality is starting to knock. In my defense, I would never imagine that someone from the outside could have access to our conversations.”

“Breaking into the FBI database is complicated, but not impossible. This guy was supposed to be looking for information about me and ended up finding you along the way. I'm sorry for bringing you into this.”

She made a nonchalant gesture, dismissing his apologies.

“You're only here because I was impulsive and played my role as a decoy very well, so I think we can say we're even.”

“I will always be in your debt.” Jake declared softly, weaving through traffic with ease.

The rest of the trip flew by, and the next thing he knew, he was parking near the Aurora's curb.

“What are we doing here?” Barbara looked at him uneasily, her voice sounding louder.

“I need to drop you off somewhere safe before I go back to get my gear from the hotel I'm staying at.”

“A bar is the last place I would think of, I have to admit.”

Jake snorted.

“As much as you approve, we only came here to get Jessica's address.”

“I thought you gathered information on all of us when Hannah was kidnapped.”

“I did, but Jessica moved out a few months after Richy got arrested. And since the FBI is monitoring activity around your friends' digital data, I'm forced to do this the hard way.”

“You mean... Talking?”

“Talking to Phil.”

She stifled a laugh.

“You can wait in the car if you want.”

“I'm not leaving you alone with this guy.” He rolled his eyes, stepping out into the drizzle that was decreasing with each second.

“In that case, why not go to Lilly or Dan?” Barbara commented, carefully slamming the car door. “I'm sure it would be less unpleasant for you.”

“I don't want others to know I'm in town.” Jake said, stopping beside her under the bar's canopy. “Not yet.”

“You're avoiding your sisters, aren't you?”

“It is complicated.”

“I know it's none of my business, but they'd be happy to hear from you. Especially Lilly.”

“Since when have you been Lilly's defender?”

“Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are.” Barbara laughed, brushing an invisible speck of dust off her dress. “How do I look?”

Jake analyzed her from head to toe for a few moments, seeing the way Barbara's hair fell over her arm in messy locks, how her smudged mascara highlighted the beauty of her light brown eyes, and how her dress, almost completely dry, outlined each centimeter of her body.

“Beautiful.”

“I'm serious, Jake!”

“Me too.” He smiled adoringly, intertwining his fingers with hers. “Come on, I don't want to prolong this any longer than necessary.”

taglist: @daniiiworlds; @labemquarts; @deinily

[listentoace]

The Cell

Listen here [08:23 NSFW]

You have been kidnapped and wake up in a small cell, maybe 12m²/130f². You see a few cameras on the ceiling, a toilet and shower in the corner, and a thick metal door locking you inside. But one thing stands out, which is a chair in front of a wall of 25 screens with a tube dangling from the ceiling above. You shift a little on your bed, noticing that you're fully naked and that your ankle is chained to the room center. You hear a loud "clank" sound and see the handle of the door moving. A tall man enters your dark cell, you can't fully see his face, but his wide grin sends shivers down your spine. "Hello there, little one.", he says as he walks up to you. Your heart is racing and you begin to sweat. "Let's get you in place, shall we?", he says, grabs you by your collar and drags you to the chair, the chain rattles and scratches over the concrete floor. As he sits you down, he immediately fastens your wrists and legs to the chair, making it impossible for you to move. You feel a nudge with knobs pushing against your pussy.

You notice another display, right above the 5x5 screen wall, which lights up and reads 163lbs. "Already a bit chubby, huh? Well, you'll soon be in heaven.", he says and pats your belly, causing the number on the display to jump around a little before it settles down at 163lbs again. His wide and warm hands glide over your body, pinching a few folds and rolls, before he pulls out his phone. Shortly after, you hear a humming noise and the tube lowers from the ceiling. He grabs it, straps it around your head and forces the tube into your mouth. The fit is tight enough that you won't be able to spill, yet not uncomfortable. The thick tube dangles in front of your face, blocking a little of your vision. Next, all the screens light up, shortly after displaying 25 different loops of captioned porn, with text reading from "good girls obey" to "your weight = your value", and even just single-word loops like "drink, drink, drink, ...". As you see this, your heart begins to race immediately, fearing the worst.

"You'll be sitting here for 14 hours a day from now on. You get a 5-minute break every hour to go to the bathroom. You'll be filmed and live streamed at all times, so feel free to say hi to the viewers.", he explains. There is a camera right in front of you, slightly below in front of you, one above you, one at a 45° angle, one at a 90° angle, and more in the cell's corners. You're already struggling to pay attention with all the porn in front of you. "You'll be unlocked automatically and a timer will appear on the ceiling display where you can currently see your weight. If you don't sit back down in time, the collar will start shocking you, just so you're warned.", he continues. You can feel your heart rate rise, it hasn't been this high in weeks, if not months. The porn you're forced to watch doesn't help and only makes your heart beat faster. "Good Girls get fat".

"You feel that nudge?", he asks and looks at you with a sinister grin. You nod, feeling the nudge against your pussy, which is already soaked. It stats to vibrate slowly, which you didn't see coming. It sends shivers down your spine and you already notice how your mind is starting to become blank. Your eyes constantly jump around between the screens, looking at cocks thrusting into pussies, cum shots, bouncing tits, jiggling asses, all at the same time on 25 screens. You're overwhelmed and don't know where to look. Everywhere are captions, heavily triggering you and making your pussy throb even more. "Well then, I guess you'll figure the rest out soon enough...", he finishes, gives your belly another pat, gropes your tits, and then just leaves the cell. Him leaving makes you panic slightly, but then the speakers turn on, playing some hypno track of fucking sounds, moaning, and several voices telling you to drink, give in, goon, get fatter, indulge, surrender, obey, serve, fatten, throb, grind, grow. You struggle not to lose the last bit of your mind, as you're bombarded by porn, captions, and the hypno audio track.

You hear a "ding" sound, and shortly after, a sweet, creamy liquid flows into your mouth. The second the sugar hits your tongue, the vibrator fires up, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "Drink, drink, drink, drink, ..." pops up everywhere on the screens, conveniently censoring all the cocks, pussies, tits, and butts. The hypno track tells you in echoing voices that "good girls drink up", "it tastes soooo good", and "every gulp makes you even wetter". You hate how good the shake tastes, actually offering a full, sweet flavor that makes you want to just keep drinking. Before you know it, you've downed your first liter, the ceiling display reads 165lbs. The shake stops and the vibrator slows down again. Little do you know that people online can spend their money to both turn on your vibrator or to force more calories down your throat.

Before you know it, half an hour has gone by. Your pussy drips, your thighs are sticky and the sweat is running down your skin. Your mind is completely empty now, your eyes jump between the many screens of porn, frustrated that 9/10 times the intimate areas are censored by captions but every time they're not, you feel a rush, as you see a pair of tits bouncing up and down while she's being fucked. You never know when the next "ding" comes, but as soon as it does, you feel immense pleasure and always get very close to cumming. Unfortunately, you can't manage to get over the edge, but that might be by design. Another half hour later, the porn pauses. At first you don't get why, but it seems to be your break. The metal restraints open, freeing your ankles and wrists. You look up to the ceiling display, which reads 168lbs.

The first thing you do once your hands are free is rubbing your pussy. You just need to cum, after being stimulated like this for an hour. But the second you touch your pussy, your collar gives you a mild shock. "No touching", echoes from the speakers. You try getting up from the chair to go to the toilet, your legs are shaky and weak. You can barely walk, but luckily there is a railing mounted to the wall to help you get there. This will especially come in handy once you're a couple hundred pounds heavier. After finishing, you see the timer ticking, "02:13", "02:12", "02:11", so you waddle back to the chair and sit down again, the restraints automatically fasten. This will be your life from now on.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Thank you very much for reading! Depending on how you like this, I might turn it into a much longer, full story, which I'll also be reading/recording audios for. To ensure my efforts are worth it, please write a comment or dm about whether or not you want more of this. Thank you very much!

[sapphicandgraphic]

Crash

Summary: An accident pulls you and Melissa further into each other’s orbit.

Chapter: 1/4

Melissa passed the crash on her way to school. By then, road cleanup services were removing shattered glass and twisted hunks of metal from the street. As traffic slowed and she maneuvered around the remains of the accident, she saw a bike that looked just like yours being loaded onto a tow truck. A sick feeling washed over her. She floored it the last few blocks of her commute, tires squealing as she turned into the parking lot of Abbott Elementary.

Classes hadn’t officially started back yet. Today was a designated teacher planning day at the end of winter break. Most of the staff would trickle in later, enjoying the relaxed pace of a morning with no students. But Melissa had left the house early. She wanted to grab a cup of coffee, gab with Barbara, ease into the new year. And alright, yeah, maybe she was also hoping to see you, swap a few family holiday horror stories (“trauma” as you preferred to call it), and make fun of whatever godawful healthy thing you brought in for breakfast. She didn’t usually trust school shrinks—any shrinks for that matter—but everybody knew she had a soft spot for you.

Melissa scanned the parking lot anxiously, praying to see your motorcycle tucked safely into its usual spot. You had been so protective of that stupid bike when you first got hired, she almost wrote you off as a ginzaloon gear-head. But once you realized how gah gah the kids went over it, you started parking right next to the playground—even occasionally caving to the demands of her excited second graders, revving the engine during recess as they cheered you on.

She had rolled her eyes at the time, but she didn’t mind the theatrics. She also didn’t mind the sight of your long legs straddling that leather seat. Had even indulged in a brief fantasy of what it would feel like to join you there, slipping her arms around your waist, nuzzling her face into the middle of your shoulders. That was before this morning, before she’d seen the mangled leftovers in the road. Before she decided she hated motorcycles.

Melissa locked her car and hustled into the school, past your ominously empty parking spot. As the school psychologist, you worked in a private office near the front of the building. It even had an en-suite bathroom, a fact which caught you major shit with the other faculty. Especially from Melissa, who had given you endless grief at the start of your first semester.

She pulled out her cell phone, trying not to panic as she made a beeline for your office. A dozen terrible images flashed through her mind. You crumpled on the side of the road; you being lifted into an ambulance; you lifeless on a cold slab in some distant part of the city. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

The redhead rounded the corner at breakneck speed in her high-heels, starting to dial your number with shaky hands. But the door to your office was slightly ajar and a dim light was spilling out into the hallway. She breathed an instant sigh of relief, calling your name as she booted her way into the room. “Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack—“

Melissa froze in her tracks. A bloody white t-shirt had been discarded on the coffee table, and your helmet sat on the little sofa beside your desk. Its visor was shattered and there were long, ugly scratches on the side. “Melissa?” Your voice sounded strange and faint from inside the bathroom.

She dropped her bags and sprang toward the door, jiggling the handle. “Open this door right now or I swear to god I’ll break it down.”

She heard the familiar huff of your laugh, cut short by a grunt of pain that made her heart clench. “Gimme a sec,” you said softly.

“Right. Now.” Patience had never been one of her virtues.

She shifted back and forth, willed herself to be calm. There was some shuffling, a few more agonizing seconds, and finally the click of the lock. Melissa pushed the door open carefully and you stepped back until your hips hit the sink.

Her hands were on you in an instant, insistent but soft, surveying the damage. You gripped the edge of the porcelain for support, blinking hard through an unpleasant wave of dizziness.

“You should see the other guy,” you said, hoping to ease the tension rolling off the other woman in waves. She ignored you, gently running her hands over your body as she made a thorough inventory of every bump, bruise, and bloody scrape. You swallowed thickly, unsure what to say. Finding yourself half-naked in front of Melissa Schemmenti had not been on this morning’s bingo card. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“I’ve been trying to put on a clean shirt for the past 10 minutes,” you explained lamely, gesturing to the oversized Abbott Elementary Field Day tee folded on the vanity. “But I’m moving a little slow.”

That was an understatement, especially now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off. The EMTs had diagnosed you with one or two cracked ribs, some gnarly abrasions, and plenty of bruising where your bike had slammed into the median. But mostly they had diagnosed you as lucky. Very, very lucky.

“What’s broken?” Her tone was clipped, still tight with fear.

“Nothing.”

She gave you a “cut-the-bullshit” look and you folded instantly.

“Maybe some cracked ribs,” you amended, trying to make this sound as breezy as possible. “It’s ok, really. It looks worse than it is.”

You sucked in a shallow breath as her fingers ghosted over the bandages on your side. Green eyes flashed up at you in outrage.

“It looks worse than it is?” she repeated softly. You shivered as she rested her hand on your hip. “Well, it looks pretty fucking bad. It looks like that tonto bike almost got you killed.”

You swallowed nervously, caught off guard by the absolute iciness of her voice. “It wasn’t my fault,” you tried to explain. “Actually, it was—“

“I don’t want to hear it!”

You flinched as she practically spat the words at you, splotches of red rising in the ivory column of her throat. Her legendary temper was something you’d seen in action plenty of times. But this went beyond angry.

“There’s no excuse for putting yourself in danger, capisce? It’s unacceptable to me!” She was shouting by now, eyes brimming, chest heaving.

You placed a tentative hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off and turned away, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was a gesture you’d seen her make only a handful of times—during the always-tense active shooter drills and, on one frightening occasion, when they’d briefly lost track of a student during a field trip. Seeing it now, and being the cause of it, made you feel miserable.

Melissa had barreled into your life about a year ago when you first started working at Abbott. You liked her immediately. Leather pants, mischievous smirk, loud as hell. She was all rough edges and no apologies. More than anything, she was complicated. Guarded but generous, tough but tender. A dozen fiery contradictions that made your heart race.

She teased you from the first moment she laid eyes on you—for being the new kid on the block, for being a “touchy-feely” therapist, for being a millennial. Rather than making you feel ostracized, the attention lit you up. At first you’d worked your ass off just to impress her, to earn her respect. Then you saw what a dedicated teacher she was. You started seeking her out for advice about some of the more troubled kids in your care, going for drinks with her on Fridays, getting her to open up to you. By the time she realized what was happening, you’d slipped straight past her defenses.

“Sorry,” Melissa said gruffly, wiping at her eye makeup. “I shouldn’t’a yelled.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you said, shifting off the sink and limping toward her. “Why don’t you head down to the teacher’s lounge and get a cup of coffee? I can clean up here and meet you in a bit, you don’t have to deal with all this.”

She looked up at you defiantly. For the first time, she noticed a cut near your hairline. There were small butterfly stitches pinching the skin together. All the fight went out of her at once.

“You think a little blood is gonna scare off a Schemmenti?” She reached up and cupped your jawline. Tender.

“I ain’t lettin’ you out of my sight,” Melissa added with a growl. Tough.

She took a moment to drink in the full miracle of you, alive and mostly in one piece. And what a piece it was. Her gaze drifted down to your sports bra, your low-slung riding pants, the band of your boxer-briefs just visible on your waist. Melissa shook her head, withdrawing her hand.

“Need some help gettin’ dressed?”

You blinked, refocusing on her with considerable effort.

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” you said.

Again you felt a little ripple of shyness, exposed and disheveled in front of Melissa who looked good enough to eat—as always. Thick red hair cascading over her shoulders, clothes that hugged her figure in all the right places, gold necklaces with pendants of the saints cradled in the valley of her creamy cleavage. She smirked, unfolding the fresh t-shirt and giving you an appreciative once-over.

“You been working out?” she asked.

You chuckled. “Glad someone finally noticed.”

Melissa pursed her full lips and tilted her head to the side. “Not bad.”

You knew this was just a game to her. She was a flirt by nature and she loved to make you squirm, make you blush. Still, your stomach twisted pleasantly at the compliment.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continued, noting your obviously pleased expression. “It’s a little dramatic as far as cries for attention go.”

“What do you mean?” you asked as Melissa guided your head carefully through the neck of the shirt, tucking a few flyaway strands of hair back into place. You shivered at the featherlight feel of her fingertips around the shell of your ear.

“Playin’ evil knievel,” she clarified. “Just for an excuse to take your top off in front of me.”

“Look who’s talking!��� you fired back. “For all I know, you hired that guy to run me off the road so you could get me alone in a state of undress.”

Melissa, who had been grinning at you from under her long eyelashes and fussing with the hem of your shirt, stilled. The smile slid off her face.

“What’d ya say?”

You frowned, backpedaling. “Sorry, bad joke—“

“No, not that part.” She waved her hand, gold bangles clattering. “The part about someone ran ya off the road? On purpose?”

You nodded your head.

Her voice dipped back into a decidedly frosty register. “And you’re just now tellin’ me this?”

“Well, I tried to mention it a second ago but then there was all the yelling,” you explained. “And you know how I feel about yelling.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “You feel that it ain’t productive,” she said, applying heavy air quotes around the last word.

“But I appreciate that it’s a cultural norm in many families,” you said. “I know Italian-American households—“

“Jesus fucking Christ!” she exploded. “Someone tried to fucking kill you! Do you appreciate that?”

You winced at the volume of the outburst, headache lurking in the base of your skull. “Yeah, I reported it to the cops who came to the scene, okay? They’re looking for the guy.“

Melissa placed a red lacquered fingernail under your chin.

“You’re never riding that death trap again, you hear me, kid?”

Her green eyes, challenging and possessive, bored into yours. You wondered what would happen if you defied her, told her no, refused outright. The only problem was…you so desperately wanted to give her exactly what she wanted. Not just today, but every day. Trying to please Melissa Schemmenti had become a kind of obsession, a thrill you chased at your own risk.

“Well you don’t have to worry,” you said, mouth suddenly dry. “The bike is totaled.”

She gripped your chin, intent on eliciting a promise. “I mean it.”

A shiver went through you at her low, commanding tone.

“Ok, ok,” you relented. “I’ll be a good girl, mommy.”

It was supposed to be a joke but the words came out as a desperate whine. You felt a flush of color rising in your cheeks as Melissa quirked an eyebrow at you—half scandalized, half delighted. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, the intercom crackled to life. The sudden noise made you both spring apart.

“All faculty please report to the assembly hall in 15 minutes.”

You hissed at the sudden movement, curling over slightly. Melissa’s hands shot out to steady you.

“You alright?” she asked. All traces of teasing laughter had vanished from her face. “What am I, an idiota? Of course you’re not alright. I should drive ya home!”

“No,” you said, waving the suggestion off wearily. “I don’t wanna be by myself all day. I’ll go crazy.”

“Look at youse,” she argued, concern clouding her eyes. “You can barely stand upright. Your helmet looks like it was in a blender, for chrissakes. You came this close to…to—“

She made a small choked noise, unable to finish the sentence. Her hand flew up to her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut, clearly trying to block out some unwanted mental image. You intertwined your fingers with hers carefully, sweetly, and brought her hand away from her face.

“Nothing happened,” you said evenly. “I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re fine.”

“Don’t use your therapy voice on me,” she warned, dabbing at her eyes again. She looked down at your hands loosely joined together and brushed a finger over the back of your knuckles. When she spoke she sounded uncertain, none of her usual cocksure confidence.

“You swear you’re alright to stay for the day? You won’t…make yourself worse?”

“I’m fine,” you repeated. “Just hurts when I…”

“Move? Breathe? Blink?” she guessed, tone sarcastic once more. “Am I gettin’ warmer?”

You winked. “You’re red hot.”

A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “And don’t you forget it, baby.”

Melissa considered you for a moment. She didn’t like the way the skin around your eyes was pinched, or the protective way you held yourself. But she also didn’t like the idea of you being on your own all day. Better to keep you close.

“Alright, alright,” she said. “You can stay, but on one condition—you don’t overdo it.”

You rolled your eyes. “We work in an elementary school, not the ThunderDome.”

“No jokes,” she insisted. “I mean it, say you swear.”

It was a rare display of vulnerability from Melissa, who walked through life making demands rather than requests. You schooled your face into a serious expression. Looping your little finger around hers, you brought your fist to your mouth.

“I pinky promise,” you said. “Seal it with a kiss?”

Her eyes flickered down to your lips and lingered for a fraction of a second too long. Even a year into this dangerous dance with Melissa, you weren’t quite sure where the line was, or what would happen if (when?) you found it, crossed it.

“Millennials,” she said, but her voice was husky. “What’s next, gonna ask me to join your polycule?”

Slowly, you both leaned in. You were close enough to smell her shampoo and the bright citrusy lotion she used on her face. It made you swoon. Her eyes closed as you both planted chaste kisses on your fists, faces only inches apart.

The tacky sound of Melissa’s lip gloss making contact with the inside of her own hand sent an unexpected jolt of arousal right to the pit of your stomach. Suddenly, you found yourself lost in a little fantasy, wondering what it would be like to pull her close, to drag your fingers through her hair, to feel the inside of her soft mouth with your tongue. A familiar and ferocious longing—one that you worked very hard to neutralize during working hours—seized you, painful and roaring and undeniable. A longing for more of Melissa, for whatever she would give you.

The other woman cleared her throat suddenly, breaking the spell.

“You ready, hon?” She was gazing at you cautiously, like you might break apart. You shook your head, hoping you didn’t look as strung out as you felt.

“Sorry,” you said. “Let’s head down to the auditorium.”

She smirked, looping an arm around your waist and helping you out of the bathroom. “I’ll say this for ya,” she said, flicking the lights out and closing the door behind her. “You sure know how to start the new year with a bang.”

Chapter 2

[sheerfreesia007]

Wrong Number

Pairing: Changbin x Reader

Word count: 2,665

Content warnings: Fluff, suggestive

Summary: While at the gym you mistakenly grab the hot buff weight lifter’s phone. Not knowing who he is, you're confused and bewildered by all the text messages and what they say. But what happens when his friends figure out that you’re watching the group chat? Will they blow his chances on a date with you?

Pabo: Fool

The sounds of the weights clinking together as they tapped with each movement of the gym patrons creates a steady background soundtrack for you as you walk out onto the gym floor. You had just finished teaching your latest yoga class and wanted to get a dumbbell workout in before heading home for the evening. Walking over to the rack of dumbbells you set your cell phone, water bottle and lanyard on the floor against the mirrors. You tapped your earbuds that you had already put into your ear and moved to the rack of weights before picking up two of them.

You moved to the side and set everything down before you began to warm up and stretch your muscles out. When you felt as if your muscles were properly primed to lift weights you began to run through your sets. Soon you got into a rhythm that kept you preoccupied and distracted with the stretch and burn of your muscles. You were so lost in your workout and the burn of it that you didn’t notice the buff stocky man setting down his things next to yours before moving over to the weights. 

When you caught his movements out of the corner of your eye you jolted in your place and he burst out in loud laughter at your shock. You laugh along with him as you tap your earbuds to turn off your music and set the weights down on the floor.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” he says as his laughter calms down and he grins at you.

“No worries, I got too lost in my workout.” you assure him with a dismissive wave your hand.

“I’ve seen you around the gym before, do you often lift weights at night?” he asked curiously as looked over the weights to choose which ones he wanted to work with tonight.

“Usually after my late yoga classes I’ll stay for an extra hour or two and lift weights.” you tell him and he nods his head with a raised eyebrow.

“You teach yoga?” he queries and you smile while nodding your head at him.

“Four days a week, Monday to Thursday. And twice a month on the weekends. Been trying to work as much as I can as an instructor so that I gain experience.” you explain to him easily. He nods his head at your words before tilting his head to the side before he begins to curl his arms up, lifting the dumbbells easily. Your eyes follow his movement and can’t help but admire his form and the physique of his body.

“What is the experience going to help you with?” he asks curiously and your eyes darted up to him in the mirror.

“I want to open my own yoga studio. I feel like having more experience as an instructor will help my studio gain more popularity.” you tell him and he nods his head in agreement.

“That’s a good way of thinking.” he says with an easy smile. “How far along are you in the process of setting up the studio?” he asked and you grinned excitedly. You loved talking about your plans to open a yoga studio and often had to pull yourself back from oversharing but as you stood near this man you didn’t feel like you normally did when you talked about your plans.

“Right now, I’ve been keeping track of all the commercial properties that I think would work for a studio. I’ve also started reaching out in the yoga community to see if any other instructors would be interested in joining my studio once I have set up. It’s still at least a year away from coming together but I’ve already got the back end of things set up with the bank and legalities.” you explained as you bounced slightly on your toes and he smiled happily at your actions.

“That’s good, what properties were you looking at?” he asked and you tilted your head at him curiously as your eyes squinted slightly. He laughed softly before ducking his head. “I’ve got a hand in commercial properties so I’m just curious if you’ve been looking at some of mine.” he reassured you and your eyes instantly widened at the connection you recognized in front of you.

“Oh, wow! Uh, well the bottom floor of the building on ninth and thirtieth.” you tell him and he frowns softly for a moment before nodding his head.

“Oh okay, that one isn’t mine but I know who owns it. One of my buddies does and maybe if I sweet talk him he’ll put it on the market at a discount.” he says sweetly and you let your mouth drop open slightly causing him to chuckle at you.

“No, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” you say in a gasp and he shakes his head easily as he grins at you.

“Nonsense, he’s been sitting on that property for months now. Gatekeeping it really the little shit.” he says knowingly. You watch as he sets his weights down and moves to his things before grabbing his phone and opens his contact list. “Give me your number so that I can text you after I talk to him about it.” he says almost commandingly and you feel your body flush with heat at his tone. You quickly curb your attraction to him before giving him your number. You watch as he sets his phone back down on the floor and you smile brightly at him as your eyes dart over the bright pink phone case.

“Thank you so much for the offer, but really don’t put yourself out because of me.” you gush out to him and he shakes his head at you as he grins lazily.

“It’s no trouble.” he reassures you. “Maybe once you get the studio up and running you can give me a few lessons.” he says in a lower tone as he leans closer to you. You flush brightly at his proximity and you quickly nod your head in agreement as you look up into his face.

“Of course, I’ll give you a whole month free before I charge you the discounted rate.” you tease him gently and he chuckles low in tone causing your stomach to twist with pleasure at the sound. He smirks at you and you grin brightly up at him as you both lean in closer to each other.

Just then there’s a loud bang and you jerk back from him and he grunts softly as one hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck. There’s a soft blush dusting his cheeks and you smile softly at him before you turn and bend over to grab your things.

“Thank you so much for your help with the property.” you gush to him once more and grin widely at him as you shake your phone at him. “And you’ve got great taste in phone cases.” his eyes focus on your phone in your hand before darting back down to see his identical phone case lying on the floor next to his things and he flushes even brighter.

“It was a dare from one of my buddies and I grew attached to the color.” he admits while ducking his head and you beam at him.

“Well I like it that we match.” you tell him softly and he whips his head up to stare at you hopefully. “Thank you again!” you say to him before rushing to the lockerroom to get changed and leave for the evening.

*-*-*-*

You don’t notice anything is amiss until you’re sleeping soundly in your bed and your phone buzzes loudly on your end table. Frowning you wonder who would be texting you so late at night. Rolling over in the bed you grab your phone and open it crying out loudly as you’re nearly blinded by how bright the phone is set to. Quickly turning the phone light down you swipe the notifications downward and see a whole slew of messages and phone calls, all ranging from bizarre to desperate.

You cock an eyebrow when you notice one text asking Is it hydrochloric acid or hyaluronic acid that burns the skin? Your eyes dart up to the contact name and see Pabo # 7 with a little fox emoji. Swiping that message away another one immediately pops up and your eyebrow raises even more at the message, Hydrochloric. Bernie now has a hole in his neck. Think we can start calling him Holey?

You’re utterly confused and baffled at the messages you just read but then you start to notice that the other messages on the phone have the same feeling and vibe to them, each message getting stranger and stranger with the questions and comments that are sent from each Pabo since there were seven of them. Sighing softly you realize that you had mistakenly grabbed the man’s phone that you had been talking to at the gym.

Swiping the phone open you’re surprised by how easy it is to open it, there’s no fingerprint scan or pin to put in for security. Frowning softly you vow to scold the man for that fact since anyone could get into his phone. You quickly bring up your contact and type out a text message to the man.

I’m so sorry for grabbing your phone by accident at the gym! Meet me at Three Bean Coffee House tomorrow morning at eight. We can swap the phones and I’ll buy you a coffee as an apology. You set the phone back down on your end table knowing that he won’t be able to answer your text because of the security lock you have on your phone. You then lay back down in your bed meaning to fall back asleep but then the phone starts to buzz wildly. Frowning once more you pick it up to glare at the screen again, but you can see the group chat that he has with Pabo # 1-7 is suddenly blowing up with activity and your curiosity peaks.

Binnie lost his phone because he was too busy checking out a hot yoga teacher! Comes the first message from Pabo # 1 and you chuckle softly at the words as all the others began to chime in. Are you really that surprised? Man can’t multitask on a good, forget it if he’s distracted by a pretty woman. Your hand raises to cover your mouth as you begin to laugh fully at his friends’ teasing, Pabo # 2 seemed especially quick with his teasing remarks. Is that why he never answered my acid question? You nod your head in response to that question as you roll your eyes. What did you want to know about acid? Pabo # 6 asks and you watch as the group chat derails into a conversation about what’s the best acid to use for different purposes.

Sorry hot yoga teacher for all the texts! I’m sure you’re probably trying to sleep. Finally comes a message from Pabo # 5 that brings the group chat back to their main point and you scoff softly at your new nickname from his friends. Hot yoga teacher, how flexible are you? Comes a question from Pabo # 3 that makes you roll your eyes almost violently as you scoff softly before a devious idea flits into your head. You quickly type out a response and hit send. Too flexible for you. And suddenly the group chat is bombarded with texts, you chuckle delighted at the chaos you just caused before silencing the phone and setting it back down on your end table. You quickly then fall back to sleep not bothering to check the phone again.

*-*-*-*

The next morning you’re up bright and early, already stretching out on your yoga mat before taking a shower and getting dressed in your workout outfit for the day. Today you’ve got a busy schedule of classes at the gym and you have to make it to Three Bean Coffee House to swap your phone with Binnie’s.

As you make the walk down to the coffee shop you can’t help the smile that graces your face, the group chat after you had dropped the bomb in it had been active until well into the early morning hours. Each of his friends try to entice you back into the group chat with corny pick up lines and promises to take care of you better than Binnie ever could. But they had assured you that they were teasing which had made your heart race with affection for them. They may be a little rowdy and chaotic but they seemed like good enough guys if they reassured you of their teasing.

Just as you opened the door to the coffee house you spotted him sitting at a table smack dab in the middle of the coffee house. There were a few other patrons in the place but not many since it was still early. You walk over to him and he looks up at you with a worried look on his face.

“I am so sorry for grabbing your phone yesterday! I didn’t mean to, honestly.” you quickly say to him and he smiles softly at you before waving his hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it. It was an easy mistake to make, we do match after all.” he says teasingly with a wink and you blush softly at his words. “I hope my friends didn’t completely mess up my chances at free yoga for a month did they?” he asked with a slight wince on his face. You chuckled amused as you shook your head at him.

“No but they certainly have some weird questions.” you tell him and he sighs deeply making you chuckle again. You hand him the phone and he hands yours over as well. “What kind of drink would you like, Binnie?” you ask and his head whips up to stare at you with wide eyes before his face flushes brightly at the nickname. He shyly tells you his order and you walk away to order and pay for it as he quickly swipes through his phone. “By the way you might want to put a pin on the phone or a fingerprint scan so that you have some sort of security.” you tell him sternly and he ducks his head before nodding in agreement.

“I can never remember my passwords so I’ll have to set up a fingerprint scan.” he admits and you tilt your head at him for a second before grinning widely at him as you remember what his friends had teased about him not being able to multitask. “I do apologize for my friends’ they can be a bit much sometimes.” he said softly and you burst out in laughter at his downplay of his friends.

“Just sometimes?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. “They’re all a bunch of chaotic idiots and they might owe me therapy.” you joke and he bursts out laughing.

“How about a nice dinner with me instead?” he offers hopefully and you grin at him as a blush coasts on to your cheeks.

“I would love that Binnie.” you coo softly at him and he ducks his head again. “But on one condition.” you follow up with and he looks up at you with a furrowed eyebrow. “I wanna be there when you knock some sense into your friends’ heads. Especially Pabo # 3.” Binnie stares at you with a horrified look on his face before he responds.

“Oh god, what did Hyunjin say?” he asks before going back to his phone scrolling through the group chat. You chuckle and reach across to place your hand over his phone and he looks up at you worriedly.

“Maybe after dinner I can show you how flexible I am thanks to yoga and you can brag about it to them.” you tell him sultrily and Binnie gulps loudly at your implication.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin

[bullet-prooflove]

Home: Russell Shaw x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

Nobody in Russell’s life knows about you, he makes sure of that. Not Colter, not Dory, especially not the Horizon Group, even though they’ve tried keeping tabs on him multiple times.

The address he gives is a PO Box and every single one of his cell phones a burner. Every single time he switches one out, he texts you the new number from the road. That’s how dedicated he is to your safety, to making sure you stay protected amidst the mess that is his life.

When he comes home tonight to the house the two of you share, he can’t help but smile when he sees the warm glow of the porch light.

It’s been a gruelling week, reacquainting with his brother, tracking down Doug, getting shot. He doesn’t think he’s slept more than a couple of hours in the past seven days and he feels the exhaustion deep down in his bones as he turns off the car engine.

You’re curled up on the couch with your laptop when he lets himself into the house, wearing his Pantera t-shirt and a pair of his boxer shirts, your hair tied up in a messy bun. It does a little something to him, seeing you wear his clothes, it always has.

The first time you slipped out of those motel sheets and into one of his t-shirts he’d known he was done being a lone wolf. He’d found a mate and Russell, well it turns out he mates for life.

“You’re injured aren’t you?” You say without looking up from your computer.

“No, of course not…” He says and your eyes flicker up to meet his with an expression he knows all too well. He sighs as he sets his luggage down alongside the door. “What gave it away?”

“Duffle bag was on the wrong shoulder.” You state as you set your laptop down on the coffee table and raise to your feet. “Let me see.”

“Ariel, its fine.” He tells you but his girl, she sees right through his bullshit. It’s one of the things he loves about you.

“Russ baby.” You say, your fingers trailing along the zipper of his jacket, dragging it down. “Who are you trying to kid here?”

He hisses through his teeth as you help him out of his jacket, struggling to remove his left arm out of the sleeve.

“You’re gonna be mad.” He says frankly as you toss his jacket over the back of his armchair.

“Why would I be mad-” You trail off as your gaze comes to rest on the skin coloured gauze that’s been looped around his bicep. “You got shot again?”

“Yea.” He sighs as you start to unknot the bandage, he feels the pressure loosen on his arm as you unwrap it carefully. “It’s a through and through. Colt sterilised it…”

“He did a pretty good job.” You say examining the bullet hole in your life partner before you begin to redress it. “The wound’s clean, there’s no signs of infection.”

This is not the first time you’ve played nurse to Russell and you both know it won’t be the last. He was fortunate to fall in love with someone who’d trained as a Medic with the Rangers before leaving the service and becoming a P.I. He’s lost count of the amount of times you’ve patched him up.  

“Yea well, our dad taught him well.” Russell grumbles as you carefully redress the injury.

“You wanna talk about that?” You ask him as you secure the bandage and Russ swallows hard against the ache in his chest.

His emotions on seeing Colter again are complicated. There’s a lot of shit there to unpack. The two of you don’t have secrets but he’d not ready to go into this just yet. He’s too tired, too emotional. He just wants to curl up in bed with the woman he loves and sleep for a week.

“Not yet.” He says, his good arm looping around your waist as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “I just want to be with you right now.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ynbabe]

Fake texts au- pt.5 bffs with the rookies+ Arthur's probléme

So this one is a little more text than messages but I didn't know how else to it so... ENJOY!

and as always do let me know if yall liked it!!

| Masterlist |

"Mate who is texting you that much ?" My brother asked incredulously, smirking down at me from where I was sitting down at the foot of his driver room bed, sprite still in hand.

"Hmm no one" I said but he snatched my phone from my hands, making me jump up and climb on his back to try and get my phone back.

"oooh Arthurs got a girlfriend" he teased trying to shake me off his back.

"Pute Charles, give me my phone!" I tried but he was stronger than me, "I'M TELLING ENZO!"

"Well I'm telling Enzo too 'cause 'I miss you, baby'" he read out Y/n's message, oh my god, why was she like this? "ooooh 'I love you' She loves you, Arthur!" I finally took the phone away from my brother.

"Who's Mon Probléme ?" he asked, why can't he just stay in his own business.

"It's Y/n-" his eyes widened,

"The one who cried when she met Max?" "Yes, her." "The one you said claimed a cell phone tower on a bet?" "Yup" "who-" "OH MY GOD YES CHARLES THAT Y/N THATS WHY SHE'S SAVED AS MON PROBLÉME."

"Your problem huh," he teased, raising his brows.

"oh my god please shut up" I tried defending myself and texted her but her texts back didn't help at all as I walked past my brother to finally leave the track after a long day and he looked over my shoulder to see the onslaught of couple-y messages.

"Charlie, are we leaving today or ?" "yeah yeah, honey, don't worry."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, "oh and I promised to drop her off, so just pull by the car park and we can pick her up."

"Merde Arthur, you just left your friend alone? In a car park? Maman raised you better than this."

"She said she was waiting on someone after we got McDonalds."

"You got McDonald's! Man, even I wanted some!" my brother complained as we walked to his car.

"Join us next time, it's my turn to pay anyways," I smiled at him as I called Y/n to ask where exactly she was but I didn't receive an answer.

"How are you so stingy, Arth- hey are you okay?" he looked at me with concern as he pulled out of his parking space.

"I don't know, she isn't picking up her phone." "Maybe her phone died?" "Most likely, she never charges it."

As we were driving, we saw someone heated on a call, we were about to pass them but I realised in the last moment that it was Y/n, I told Charles to stop the car and he pulled over to where she was standing.

As soon as she saw me through the cars' window, she cut the car and smiled and waved to us, getting into the back seat.

"Hi! Thanks for picking me up, Princie-" I felt my face warm up as Charles stared straight at me, oh he was going to have the time of his life after y/n left, "Oh and thank you, Charles, it's nice meeting you!"

"Nice to meet you too, Y/n, where do i need to drop you?" She smiled and gave him the address, "I'm staying at a friends place, much cheaper than a hotel."

His brother smiled at his friend and focused on the road but I looked back and saw her texting.

"I thought your phone was dead?" I asked making her look up from whomever she was texting.

"Yeah, it is, this is just another number,"

"oookay, we're here, Goodnight, Y/n."

"Thank you Charles, Night Princie!" I smiled at her as she walked into the apartment complex and pulled out my own phone Charles began to drive away.

"So.... Princie huh?"

"non Charles!" I yelled at him, throwing some tissue paper that was in the car forever.

"Okay. okay," he laughed, focusing on the road again.

[lambentplume]

Maui Fires & How to Support Relief Efforts

(Posted on 8/10/23) Hi, I'm Jae and my family is from Lāhainā. I watched my hometown burn down this week. The fires caused immeasurable loss in my community so I'd like to spread awareness of the situation as well as provide links to support local organizations directly assisting survivors. I'm pretty sure most of my following is Not local so I'm writing with intent to inform people outside the situation, but if you're reading this and happen to have family in the affected area that isn't accounted for, message me and I can send you the links to the missing persons tracking docs + more localized info!! If you'd like to skip down to how to help and follow community organizations, scroll to the bottom of the post after the image.

Earlier this week, Hurricane Dora passed south of the Hawaiian Islands, bringing strong wind gusts that caused property damage across the islands. On Tuesday August 8, high winds caused sparks to fly in the middle of Lāhainā town, knocking out power lines and immediately igniting drought-ridden grasses. The fire spread quickly and destroyed the entire center of town, the harbor, and multiple neighborhoods including Hawaiian Homes (housing specifically for Native Hawaiians), parts of Lahainaluna, basically all of Front Street, and low-income housing units. There is only one public road in and out of town, and after a very hectic evacuation period that road has been mostly closed off except to emergency responders, thus it is extremely difficult for anyone to leave town to get help. The nearest hospital is 20 miles away in Wailuku, and most grocery stores in town have burnt down.

As of Thursday, August 10, over 1,000 acres have been burned and 271 structures (including homes, schools, and other community gathering places) have been destroyed. Cell service is still extremely spotty, many of the surrounding neighborhoods deemed safe for evacuees are still without utilities. There are currently confirmed 53 deaths but that number is expected to increase as search-and-rescue efforts continue. Countless families have been displaced and many have lost the homes they lived in for generations. Places of deep historical significance have been reduced to ash, including the gravesites of Hawaiian royalty, the old Lāhainā courthouse where items of cultural significance were stored, and Na ‘Aikane o Maui Cultural Center. To add further context: Lāhainā has a population of about 13,000 residents. EVERYONE I know has been impacted in some way--at best forced to evacuate, at worst their house was burnt to the foundation, they cannot find a loved one, etc. I'm still trying to track down family members and it's been over two days. My neighbors down the street had homes last week and now many don't have ANYTHING. The hotels are taking in residents (tourists are also being STRONGLY urged to leave so that locals can recover). Without open access to the rest of the island, Lāhainā residents are now dependent on whatever people had in their homes already as well as disaster relief efforts coming in, but it's been difficult to organize and mobilize due to the location + conditions. People who have made it out are in shelters where no blankets or medicine were provided. Friends and acquaintances from neighbor islands are preparing aid to send over. Community response has been incredible, but the toll on the town has been immeasurable. My parents were desperately walking through town yesterday, my mom sounded absolutely hollow talking about it on the phone with me. It's horrifying. Below is a satellite map with data from the NASA Fire Information for Resource Management System showing the impacted areas from the past week; all of the red blotches were on fire at some point in the last three days.

Here are ways you can help:

If you have the means to donate:

Here are three donation sites verified by Maui Rapid Response, which also lists FAQs for people who are wondering about next steps.

Hawaiʻi Community Foundation - Maui Strong Fund accepts international credit cards. Maui United Way

Maui Mutual Aid Non-monetary ways to support:

If you know anyone who is planning to travel to ANY Hawaiian island, not just Maui, tell them to cancel their trip. Resources are extremely limited as is. Advocate for climate change mitigation efforts locally, wherever that is for you. The fire was exacerbated by drought conditions that have worsened due to climate change.

Lastly, remember that these are people's HOMES that burned, and Native Hawaiian cultural artifacts that have been lost. Stop thinking of Hawaiʻi (or any "tourist destination" location, really) as an "escape" or a "paradise." If that's the only way you recognized my home... I'm glad I got your attention somehow, but I would ask that you challenge that perspective and prioritize local and native voices. For transparency, I don't currently live in Lāhainā, I've been following efforts from Honolulu. My parents and brother have been updating me and I've been following friends and family who are doing immediate response work. I'm doing my best to find reliable and current sources, but if I need to update something, please let me know. If you're going to try to convince me that tourism is necessary for our recovery, news flash ***IT'S NOT***!

Thanks for reading.

[gurugirl]

an adorable bad boy | loveable!rogue!harry

This is part 1 of a Patreon series (all 10 parts have been posted on Patreon already). If you'd like more check out my Patreon! xoxo

A loveable rogue is someone who breaks the law for personal profit while being nice and charming, likely with a sad or dark past.

AU Premise: Harry has been in and out of jail for nearly a decade due to a string of bad luck and bad choices. But he's not a bad guy. Not really.

Summary: Harry's trying to keep on the straight and narrow now that he's out of jail but things have never come easy for him. And then he meets the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. Maybe things won't be so bad after all. If only she'd give him her number.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: Mentions of drugs and the sale of drugs, mentions of jail time

❊❊❊

Harry’s life sucked. Every time he tried to get on the right track, his past would come back to haunt him. He took responsibility for the things he did and he knew he deserved to have the book thrown at him. But he also knew where he came from didn’t make things easier for him. Starting at a young age he had to act like an adult and do things most people would never imagine needing to do just to get by.

Now, nearing 30, he was determined to get his shit together. If he had to step foot in another jail cell again he was going to just end it. He couldn’t handle another sentence that had him losing a job, his car, the place he was staying… Every time he got into trouble it was like he had to start over again. From scratch.

And he was always well-behaved once behind bars so he usually got out early on good behavior. But keeping out of trouble as a free man was nearly impossible. He’d be tossed out on the street once he was released but with no place to go and not a dime to his name, times were hard. He had to hustle for a dollar. And when he meant hustle, it usually involved something illegal.

Getting a job that paid well was a joke. No one wanted a convicted felon. No one would hire a man who had a criminal record. Why risk it? He sure as hell wouldn’t if he were in their shoes.

There was no program to help him reintegrate. No help for a safe spot to sleep. Shelters wouldn’t even allow him a safe haven due to his past. He had nothing. Incarceration meant drudging through, keeping his head down, and following directions. That was easy. But there was nothing easy about rebuilding his life over and over again once he was out from behind bars.

His sister wouldn’t answer his calls anymore. He’d drained that well dry. His mother had cut him off too. His cousin was a last resort, but that’s sort of how his life was these days. Everything was a last resort.

“Harry! My dude! You get out?”

He was leaning against a tall residential building in an alley with a cigarette in hand. The phone he was using was the one that he had when he got locked up, kept for him upon his release. The officer helping him fill out his release forms allowed him to charge his phone before they pushed him out the doors. How kind.

The wifi signal from the bookstore gave him access to his apps so he could make the phone call he was dreading.

“Yep. Glad to be out of there. How are you doing?” He figured he’d make some small talk before getting to the point. He didn’t want to be rude, after all.

Saul gave him the rundown of what had been going on with everyone. And then Harry learned he was engaged.

“Wow. Congrats, cousin. Proud of you. You guys living together?”

“Nah. Not until after the wedding. She’s a really good girl. Super sweet. Her whole family is. Just like, the nicest people I’ve ever met. But she doesn’t want to move in until we’re married since that looks bad to her parents,” Saul laughed. “They’re super conservative about stuff like that. They think she’s still a virgin.”

Harry humored him with a chortle through the phone and then sighed. The sun was going down. Small talk needed to come to a halt. He had to get this part over with.

“So, uh… hate to ask this but um, could you let me crash at your place for a few nights? I’ve got nowhere to go since I just got out and gonna be cold tonight. Otherwise, I’d just sleep in the park or something.”

Silence for a few uncomfortable seconds.

“Did you ask your sister? I mean I’m sure–“

“She hates me right now. Won’t take my calls. But man, look, it’s okay if you can’t. I get it.”

“You know what? Sure. You can stay here for a bit. I know shit’s hard. How you gettin’ here?”

Harry let out the breath he’d been holding in and leaned his head back into the building in relief, “Gonna walk. Literally have nothing to my name. Just my old cell phone, half charged, and this free wifi I’m using to call you. I can get there in like an hour.”

Saul told him he’d pick him up but Harry didn’t want to trouble him anymore than he had. It was already embarrassing asking for help. Plus a walk through the city would feel good. It’d been a while since he’d seen the hustle and bustle of daily life in the city.

It was late September. He was wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt with boots. At least he had a beanie on his head. His cousin lived in one of those “up-and-coming” neighborhoods. Gritty but recently gentrified. His flat was two floors up. A flimsy plastic call button for the residents hung outside the reinforced glass door that opened up to a small lobby with mailboxes in the wall to the left and just beyond that, old wooden stairs that led up to each apartment.

Saul was on floor three. Harry took the stairs two at a time and the door was already open with his smiling cousin waiting for him and then a warm embrace that made Harry feel like maybe he was going to be okay. Silly as it sounded. He hadn’t been hugged in over a year. Hadn’t felt safe and relaxed in over a year.

“Ordered some pizza from this fire spot. Should be here soon. Beer?”

Harry could cry. He hadn’t had pizza or beer in over a year either. There was a lot he hadn’t had in over a year.

“Uh, yeah. Thank you, man.”

Harry followed Saul into his tiny galley kitchen and leaned against the frame of the door as he watched his cousin pull a beer from the fridge, “And thank you for everything. For this. I really mean it. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get a job.”

Handing Harry his beer Saul laughed, “We’ll see. Alyssa and I might need help for the wedding next summer. Her dad wants to have the wedding at their place. They’ve got this nice house with a massive garden in the back. But they need people to help landscape and do some manual labor to get it ready. Might save us a little money if you could help. But that’s a ways off,” he waved his hand as he walked past Harry into the living room. “Don’t worry about it right now. I’ll figure out a way you can pay me back.”

. . .

A few nights turned into a few weeks. And Harry did find a job, but he’d need to save up for a while longer to be able to afford a place on his own. He figured, at least he could pay Saul for food and help pay some of the bills in the meantime.

Fortunately, the job he found paid pretty well. Unfortunately, it was illegal. It was what had gotten him thrown in jail in the first place.

Selling drugs. Mainly weed. Some shrooms, ecstasy, molly… party drugs.

He applied to 28 places. Twenty. Eight. Dishwasher, food prep, janitor, midnight stocker, busboy, fast food line cook… everything he could find from places that might take a chance on someone with a record. After a week of having Harry sleeping on his couch, Saul appeared to be getting frustrated. So, Harry did what he always did when he needed money (and who doesn’t need money?). He called Memo.

Memo always had a spot for Harry. And because he trusted Harry he gave him an advance.

The first thing Harry did with his money was buy some clothes for himself and groceries for the house. Getting rid of his supply was easy. He still had all his old contacts to sell to and with Harry’s natural charm, he was introduced to even more people who wanted some killer weed and Harry was their man.

Saul seemed to lighten up a bit when Harry began paying him cash for his part of the bills and to help cover some of the rent.

Being a drug dealer bought him time. Eventually, he’d find a better gig. He knew there were places that would hire felons, he just had to be patient. But in the meantime, doing shady shit to get by was necessary.

“So, I’m going out tonight. With Alyssa and a few others. Just going to Ray’s. You can join us if you want.”

Harry was sitting on the couch readying himself for another night in but maybe going out with his cousin for a few beers could be fun, “Anyone I know going?”

Saul shook his head, “Doubt it. It’ll be Alyssa, her little sister, and a few of our mutual friends.”

Harry figured it was better if the people that were going to be there didn’t know him. And besides, what better way to spend a Friday night as a single man? Sitting at Saul’s house was fine, but going out and meeting new people with a few beers in hand sounded a hell of a lot better.

Harry nodded, “Why not?”

. . .

Roy’s might have been an old hole in the wall, but it was a popular old hole in the wall. Harry could hear the music before they walked into the black brick building with the lighted, vintage metal sign that hung above the door.

The smell of stale cigarettes and beer hung in the dark space, a shiny lacquered bar that ran half the length of the room, high-top tables, two pool tables, and a few booths.

Alyssa nearly pummeled Saul, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek as she squealed.

“We’re just over here! Tony got us a big booth 'cause he got here early.” She pulled Saul along with her. Harry followed.

The group that came into view were two young men and two young women. He barely had a chance to take it all in before Alyssa pulled his arm, “Everyone! This is Harry, Saul’s cousin. The one we were telling you about.”

The one we were telling you about. Harry knew what that meant.

Harry smiled and nodded as he slid into the booth. It was long and easily accommodated all seven of them.

“I’m Kelin,” the man he sat next to held his hand out to Harry to shake. The one next to Kelin greeted Harry, “I’m Tony,” he turned and looked at the girl next to him, “And this is my girlfriend, Dasha.” Dasha smiled and waved at Harry.

Then as Alyssa moved into the opposite side of the booth with Saul at the end she hugged the girl next to Dasha, “And this is my little sister, Y/n.”

Some moments in time are unexplainable. Like moments when things feel like fate but you don’t believe in that sort of thing. Or like when someone is speaking a language you don’t know but you swear you understood everything they just said. Sometimes it was more like a riddle you couldn’t figure out all day only to wake up in the middle of the night from a dream with the answer.

The moment Y/n set her pretty gaze upon Harry was like that for him. Something inexplicable. Something enchanting. Almost mythical.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Harry spoke as he tried to tear his eyes from the angel called Y/n. He forced his pupils away to look at everyone else but his heart was already beginning to thump violently in his chest.

Drinks were ordered and conversation resumed to wherever it was left off before Saul and Harry’s arrival.

“So, we were discussing anything but the wedding!” Dasha laughed as Alyssa moaned exaggeratedly.

“I was only letting you guys know the theme!” Alyssa laughed.

“Girl, tonight is a night off. And the wedding isn’t for like another 8 months!”

Harry tried to focus on the conversation as he sipped his beer but he couldn’t help allowing his eyes the indulgence of Y/n’s pretty face. She had some kind of clear drink. A vodka soda maybe. And when Kelin started talking about the Halloween party he was throwing Y/n’s eyes met Harry’s again and he thought he was going to fall limp to the floor in a puddle at her feet.

He didn’t even know what her voice sounded like and he was already imagining waking up next to her in the morning and getting to see her disheveled hair and warm pajamas and soft, tired eyes. He had never had such a visceral reaction to anyone before. Ever.

Another round of drinks made its way to the table and Harry hardly spoke a word. Y/n only laughed a few times at what was being said but otherwise, she remained quiet as she sipped her drink.

He needed to talk to her. He needed to learn all about her. He wasn’t sure why it felt so important, so vital to him. But every time she looked at him his throat went dry and he searched her face for any sign that she might be feeling the same odd connection that he was feeling.

“I need a cigarette,” Y/n spoke as she looked at Alyssa, making Saul and Alyssa scoot out of the booth to let her out.

Harry tapped his fingers on the table as he watched her walk past before speaking up, “Yeah, me too.” He hopped up from the booth and jogged to catch up with his dream girl before she could push the door open.

“Allow me,” he grabbed the handle and opened the door for her.

“What a gentleman. Thank you,” she grinned teasingly at him and Harry felt his head swirl and his knees go weak. She smiled at him and he was sure he was in love at that moment.

“I try,” he chuckled as he followed her to the edge of the building before she pulled out her pack of cigarettes. Harry liked the same brand.

He pulled out his lighter and held it out as she put the filter between her lips. The flame lit the tip and then Harry put his own cigarette into his mouth and lit it.

“You have good taste,” Y/n gestured with her cigarette toward his and watched his mouth as he inhaled the smoke into his lungs.

“Guess we both do,” he blew the smoke out and it mixed with the smoke she blew out at the same time.

“Heard you recently got out of jail. Alyssa told me to keep my distance,” she laughed as she took another puff, her eyes on his.

“Yeah. Trying to keep on the straight and narrow now. Jail sucks,” he let his gaze wander over her lips and jawline and down to her neck, “I’m not that bad, though. You gonna get in trouble with your big sister for having a smoke with me?”

She snorted (which Harry found adorable and irresistible) and shook her head, “I’m an adult. She tries to act protective and tough but she knows better than to tell me what I can and can’t do. In fact,” she took a drag and lowered her gaze to Harry’s outfit and then back up to his eyes before exhaling, “When she tells me not to do something it just makes me want to do it more.”

Harry felt his face grow warm as he listened to her speak and couldn’t help the smile that took over his face, dimples winking awake in his cheeks.

“Oh shit,” she leaned into the brick and crossed an arm over her middle, one arm angled out with the cigarette propped between her two fingers, “You’ve got dimples.”

Harry ashed his stick, keeping the smile on his face, “I guess I do. Is it okay?”

Y/n laughed softly, the prettiest sound Harry had ever heard, and nodded, “Of course it’s okay. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable…” Harry repeated as he leaned his shoulder into the brick and faced Y/n, “Think I’m adorable?” He pulled his lips into his mouth, tamping his wide smile as he blushed. Yeah, he was blushing.

She reached her hand up to his shoulder-length hair to tug at a curl, “You are. Pretty curls, green eyes, dimples. I get why Alyssa didn’t want me to get mixed up with you. An adorable bad boy. Dangerous combo.”

Harry shook his head and looked down at her feet before winding his pupils up her frame to her face, “Bad boy? Nah, not really. Just made some stupid decisions.”

Y/n shrugged and pulled at her cigarette before blowing out the hot smoke, “Mmm….” She pursed her lips and squinted at him, “You’re definitely a bad boy. You kind of emanate that persona. And I bet you use those dimples to charm all the ladies.”

Harry chuckled and looked down again to give his retinas a break from her breathtaking beauty. When he looked back at her he shook his head slowly, “If anything you’re the charmer. Making me blush over here.”

She giggled and leaned her head back as she looked up into the sky. Harry was not going to be getting over her laugh. He knew he’d be dreaming about it too.

“I’m just honest is all. Not particularly charming I don’t think.”

Harry shook his head and pointed at her, “No. You are definitely charming. Sweeping me right off my feet.”

“Oh, I am? Falling for me already, Harry?” She smirked at him and turned her body to face his, mimicking his stance.

Was it too soon for him to fall for her? Yes. But Harry was never one to play by usual timelines. He grinned and licked his lips, “Be bad if I said I was?”

She puffed out a laugh, “Probably would be bad. You don’t even know me. I’m really not all that great. Lots of issues. Very unstable,” she laughed as she gestured at her head and then wrapped her lips around the filter to inhale.

“If that’s the case, then you’re just that much cuter,” Harry parted his lips to place the cigarette between them as he kept his eyes on hers.

She bit her lip and turned to look out into the street, “You gonna go to the Halloween party next week?”

Harry shook his head, “Probably not. Wasn’t invited. Don’t like to dress up for shit like that anyway.”

“Hmm… If you go I’ll go,” she turned to look at him and raised her brows.

Harry stitched his brows together and tilted his head, “Are you serious?”

She nodded, “Sure. Why not. Wasn’t planning on going either but I will if you do.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her and grinned, “Still wasn’t invited, though. We’ll see.”

Y/n tossed her butt down to the ground and stepped over the tip to crunch out the burning end, “Probably should get back in there. Alyssa’s gonna think we’ve run off together. That’d really get her going.”

Harry chuckled and followed suit with his own cigarette and nodded before following her back to the booth in the bar.

This time, as luck would have it, Harry scooted into his original spot and Y/n sat down next to him at the end.

“I wish you wouldn’t smoke,” Alyssa frowned at Y/n and Harry leaned forward to put his elbows on the table as he turned to look at Y/n’s profile. She was certainly stunning.

Y/n shook her head and looked at Dasha, “Will you pass my drink down?”

Harry looked down at his lukewarm beer and pushed himself into the seat, his back hitting the vinyl cushion behind him before turning his head to watch as Y/n drank from her glass.

Everyone at the table resumed their conversation but both Harry and Y/n were thinking about the way their thighs were pressed together and how warm it felt. How nice it was.

“You’re staring,” she whispered with a grin as she set her glass down on the table and turned slightly to see the limn of his outline in her peripheral.

He grinned as he leaned his shoulder into hers as he spoke quietly, “Can’t help it.”

Harry tried to be as subtle as possible with everyone around but his skin was tingling in delight any time she shifted to pick up her glass her thigh ran against the stretch of his jeans. He regretted that he couldn’t stare into her beautiful eyes but he loved her nearness. The smell of her perfume and her shampoo.

“So, Harry,” Tony spoke up, “What do you do for fun?”

Harry was caught off guard. He’d been far too focused on the girl next to him that he nearly forgot he might need to participate in a conversation.

He laughed and looked at Saul and then to Tony, “I like music a lot. Um… reading. I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“He used to be in a band. Plays guitar and sings. He can play almost any instrument actually,“ Saul chimed in.

Harry rolled his eyes when everyone began to ask questions. He didn’t enjoy talking about himself because then that wound up leading to discussing his time in jail. Thankfully no one brought it up, though he was sure everyone already knew anyway. Saul wasn’t exactly discreet.

When the bill was paid after everyone threw down some cash, Y/n slid out of the booth with Harry right behind her, “Can I have your number?” He spoke so only she could hear as he brushed his fingers against hers.

She stopped and turned toward him, a mischievous grin on her face, “I’ll give you my number if you come to the party next weekend.”

Everyone began to walk to the door and Y/n turned to leave but Harry wasn’t done. He felt his heart walloping in his chest as he hastened his steps after her, pulling at her hand as stealthily as possible, “I can’t just crash a party I wasn’t invited to.”

When they stepped outside Y/n moved to the side to let everyone walk past and she looked up at Harry, “If you don’t come then you don’t get my number. It’s up to you.”

Harry swallowed as he looked down at the pretty girl in amazement, “Fine. I’ll be there.”

She smiled sweetly and raised her hand to poke at his dimple, “I know you will.”

NEXT PART (link goes to Patreon)

I hope you enjoyed part 1! This is the only part I'll be posting on Tumblr. If you want more check out my Patreon 💕

General tags: @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @kelly-fushiguro345 @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @icumforbaldrry @harrrrystylesslut @straightontilmornin @elidoho @bananabk9756

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 1

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

A/N: I've been toying with this idea for a while, so... I have no idea how many parts this will be, but I am planning more than one, so stay tuned. Also. I'm sorry. Genre: Angst/Fluff / WC: 1,395 / Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Warnings: Kidnapping, canon-typical violence. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

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series masterlist | next part

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Bucky groans tiredly as he kicks his shoes off at the door. His muscles ached pleasantly from his run, but his lack of sleep made his body feel heavy. He calls out a quick “Girls, I’m home” to announce his presence as he drops his keys into the dish by the door, but when he doesn’t receive any sort of response from within the apartment, he frowns.

He had left for his run after you and Rebecca left for the park. His daughter jumping up and down at his feet while she excitedly told him all she planned to do (“Daddy, daddy!” She had said, “I’m gonna slide on the loopy slide, then I’m gonna do the monkey bars, and then I’m gonna swing as high as I can and jump off!” Bucky had laughed at her joy, only thinking to tell her to be careful.)

He tentatively walks through the apartment, calling out your name. “They should’ve been back by now,” he thinks to himself, pulling his phone out to check if you’d texted to let him know you’d be late coming home. You hadn’t. He quickly realizes he’s alone, and calls your cell as his heart rate picks up.

Bucky is incredibly aware that he is likely overreacting—and that you are more than capable of protecting yourself and your daughter—but you always check in with him when plans change. His phone rings… and rings… and rings… then he hears your voice.

“Hey! This is Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes. I’m sorry I missed your call; leave a message and your number. I’ll give you a call back when I can.”

Bucky clenches his jaw, an uncomfortable feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Something is wrong, but he just isn’t sure what.

He pulls his shoes back on, deciding to head to the Avenger’s Compound. It’s possible that if something came up, you’d head over without calling him. He doubted it, though. Biting his lip as he takes the stairs down as quickly as he can, he pulls up his contacts on his cell. He calls Natasha, Wanda, Sam, Steve; he asks if they had heard from you. They all say the same thing: No.

He calls you again. You still don’t answer. He’s never gotten to the Compound quicker.

—

“Woah, Buck. Calm down,” Steve says, trying to calm his best friend. “I’m sure everything is fine. Maybe she just left her phone at the park?”

“I checked the park!” Bucky yells, harsher than he means. He drags his hand over his face, taking a grounding breath. “I checked the park,” he says. Calmer. “I went there before I came here. They weren’t there, and I didn’t see her phone anywhere. I checked Becca’s favorite spots; I don’t think they’d go anywhere else.” He purses his lips, making eye contact with his friend.

“I have a bad feeling, Steve. Something happened.”

As if on cue, Natasha walks in the room to join the super soldiers.

“Tony’s been tracking her phone. Her cell connected to a tower in Germany approximately 20 minutes ago.”

“Germany?” Steve asks, eyebrows knitting together.

“Germany,” Natasha confirms, eyeing Bucky nervously.

Bucky turns Natasha’s words over carefully in his head, mouth silently forming the word “Germany.” He looks up at his best friend, then at your best friend, and purses his lips tightly together. He says nothing. Steve and Natasha share a look.

Silent Bucky is not a good sign.

Bucky let’s his body drop into a chair in the conference room Steve had pulled him into for privacy. He rests his elbows on his knees, lets his head fall into his hands. His worst fear, he realizes, is coming to fruition. He takes several deep, unsteady breaths before finally sitting up and facing his fellow Avengers.

“What else do we know?” He finally asks evenly.

—

“Mommy! Watch this!” Rebecca Barnes yells, making eye contact with you from the swings.

“I’m watching, baby,” you assure her. She smiles wide in response, and you can’t help but smile back.

Rebecca is only 4, but she thinks she’s older. She had watched the older kids jump from the swings and she was intent on copying them. If she could pump her legs enough to swing high, you wouldn’t let her, but she was unable to swing more than a couple feet without being pushed.

The little girl pumps her legs as hard as she can before she lets go of the swing’s chains and hops out. She lands unsteadily on her feet, but she manages to stay upright. She grins proudly, running up to you.

“Mommy! Did you see me? Did you see me?” She jumps up and down excitedly at your feet.

You smile proudly. “I did, you little daredevil!” You ruffle her hair.

You crouch down to Rebecca’s eye level, pushing a fly-away hair from her face.

“We need to go soon. We promised Daddy we’d have lunch with him, and you know how grumpy he gets when he doesn’t eat,” you tease.

Rebecca scrunches her face, putting her little hands on her hips like she’s seen you do. “He does get grumpy! Can I play a little longer, though?”

“Sure thing, sweet pea. But only 5 more minutes.”

She nods excitedly before running back to the swings, lying on her stomach to pretend to fly. You pull your phone out to double check the time before slipping it into your sports bra, a habit you developed to keep Becca from stealing it.

Five minutes pass and you call your daughter back to you. She pouts a little as she takes your hand, but when you remind her she has to go home to tell her dad about the park, she perks back up. The two of you begin your trek through the park back towards your apartment. Rebecca talks for most of it, pointing out flowers and bugs she sees, and boasting that she can count to 20 now.

The two of you are nearing the park’s entrance when you feel someone’s eyes on you. Cautiously, you start taking careful note of your surroundings, but you can’t pinpoint who or what has you uneasy. Clenching your jaw nervously, you scoop Rebecca into your arms, ignoring her protests. “Hush, baby,” you tell her softly, willing your legs to move faster.

You almost make it out of the park.

—

You wake up in what seems to be the back of some sort of aircraft, your head killing you. You raise a hand to the back of your head to find a tender bump. You groan. As you come to, memories of your morning at the park come racing back: watching Becca on the swings, walking home, the uneasy feeling in your gut.

You sit up straighter when you remember how uneasy you felt and slowly starting to put two and two together that you’d been kidnapped. In a panic, your eyes take in your surroundings in search of your daughter. You let out a breath of relief when you see her lying a couple feet to your right. You scramble over to her, pulling her into your arms. She’s unconscious still, but breathing. You check her for injury, and she seems relatively fine. There’s a spot of dried blood on her neck, though, and you think your captors must have drugged her.

Your captors. You hold your daughter tightly to your chest as you look around for any clues as to who took you. The taste of copper fills your mouth as you look, and you realize you’d been biting your cheek in your anxiety.

You spit the blood out of your mouth, grimacing at the sight of it.

Then you begin to catalogue what resources you might have to protect yourself and your daughter. You note that other than the bump on your head and the needle prick on Becca’s neck, the two of you have been left alone. That’s when you realize your phone is still in your bra. You glance around the aircraft, eyes settling on a camera in the corner.

You’re being watched.

You swallow, holding Becca closer to you, and decide not to pull out your phone. The longer your captors don’t know you have it, the more likely your phone can be tracked, and the more likely the Avengers—and more importantly, Bucky—can find you.

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ko-fi

[creepycranberry]

Cutting room floor

A/N: this is something I cut from a Walker thing I was working on because I decided to change directions and the character of the reader. This is what the thing ended up being and there will be a part two.

Warnings: talk of abuse and human experimentation, not finished or revised by any means I just didn’t know where to put this and figured I’d share it

John Walker x reader

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Bucky always played the news in the gym in the mornings, no one was allowed to change it. John normally combatted this with noise canceling headphones but they hadn’t charged properly the night before so he was stuck listening the the early morning newscasters talk about weather and the political climate of America.

“And in unexpected but fortunate news, we now have a long awaited update on the disappearance of a now widely known Georgian resident,” Johns caught off guard by your name, especially in this context. He stopped moving abruptly, stepping off of the treadmill and watching as your picture appeared next to a picture of the house your grandmother lived in when the both of you were in high school, “years after her disappearance, the case went cold. Now, some new evidence has come to light that suggests that...”

John stopped in his tracks, his eyes trained on the tv, a photocopy of a letter projected onto the screen.

“Authorities were not quite sure what this could mean, if it meant she was alive or not but we have now gotten confirmation that they have a strong lead,” John steps closer to the tv, Bucky and Yelena watch him as his face becomes set with intent as he watches the report. The screen switches to a sort of press conference, an agent of some kind presiding over a microphone, “Recovery teams have been sent into the facility to search and, hopefully, rescue. They’ve actually been in there for about an hour and things are looking up. We ask that the community, press, and netizens be patient-“

The tv cuts again but before the reporter can get another sentence out John is down the hall, phone to his ear.

•••

He called Olivia, she would understand, she could still talk him off a ledge if she really needed to. Some things transcend the deserved bitterness hidden behind civil conversation that was the normal with her recently.

“Your dad called me. He said he couldn’t reach you.” Olivia says as she answers the phone.

“I was calling Val so she could arrange flights for me.”John feels like there’s something stuck in his throat, speaking is hard, it stays hard no matter how long he talks or how much water he drinks.

“She asked for you. They told your dad that she- she remembered the house phone number. She called his house when she got out. She’s been missing for almost two decades and she remembered your house phone number.” Olivia’s voice is thick with something, something like tears and relief and something ugly, “call your dad back, John.”

The line drops and John’s left sitting there, his mind reeling.

————————

You sat in a holding cell. Not because you were in trouble, not because of anything you did. Just because you didn’t have anywhere else to go. John’s dad was supposed to be here to get you soon.

The government people asked you questions, they asked you questions for hours. Your voice hurt from saying ‘I don’t know’ over and over again. You felt like sisyphus but instead of pushing a rock up a hill you were continually one question away from release. They kept saying ‘just a few more questions’ or ‘just another minute of your time’. You didn’t understand why they didn’t get that you had no idea what was going on after the thirtieth question you couldn’t answer.

“Hey, kid.” A measured voice calls your attention at the door, it’s Mr. Walker, accompanied by one of the deputies.

“Where’s John?”

“He’ll be here, come on. We’ve gotta get you home.” Mr.Walker smiles, his hand behind you as he led you to the back of the station to avoid the press.

The car ride home is quiet. Mr.Walker was never the most talkative. Though that might have been supplemented by the previous state of his and John’s relationship.

Then you get to the house Mr.Walker hands you a towel and some different clothes, “you can hang out in John’s room. feel free to sit with me in the living room if you don’t want to be alone. You can also go outside if you’d like.”

You always liked Mr.Walkers accent, it was nice to listen to him talk. It reminded you of when you were little and your grandpa would read you bedtime stories.

“When will he get here?” You mumble.

“At the earliest, later tonight. At the latest really early in the morning. Are you hungry? I could get you a sandwich or-“

“I’m okay. Thank you.” You mutter, fiddling with the fabric of the clothes in your hands.

Mr.Walker retreats into the living room, leaving you to your thoughts.

The hot water feels like heaven as it runs down your back, softening sore limbs from years of nights sleeping on concrete floors.

You sit down in the bathtub, everything is dark, the lights are off so you don’t have to look at yourself. Your body is covered in scars, you look like an art project done by a toddler who gave up halfway through.

There were still injuries that were somewhat still there, faint scabbed lines that stretched across the plains of your skin.

Eventually you get out of the shower. You pull on a shirt you remember John wearing a good amount in high school, and a pair of shorts.

You remember the way to John’s room like it’s second nature. Just like you remember his phone number. The room looks the same, it sounds the same once the door clicks shut.

The room was small, it would have been cozy if there was any evidence of life.

You sit on the bed, your eyes combing over the walls. You tuck your knees up against your chest, drawing little circles on your calves. You lean to let yourself fall against the mattress, still tucked into fetal position.

You stare at the door listlessly, every second drawn out, milked for all it’s worth and then fleeting all too fast. the hours meld together, becoming less and less clear as your eyes become heavy, fluttering shut and then opening every other hour in anticipation. By the third time you woke up the room was engulfed by darkness, but you went back to sleep once more, feeling safe for the first time you could remember.

When John opens the door you’re still asleep, looking peaceful. He could almost just pretend that neither of you ever left if it weren’t for the faint but obvious scars on your arms and the obvious aging that comes from living another couple decades.

He closed the door behind him and turned on the bedside lamp, sitting on the bed beside you and waiting patiently for you to wake up, but You’re a light sleeper so from the moment the light turned on you’ve been half awake, aware in spite of your security.

You open your eyes slowly. For the first time in forever exhaustion felt nice. You let yourself relish it, the quiet heavy feeling that spreads warmth through your body.

“John?”

He jumps like his soul leaves his body, “holy fucking shit, sweetheart.”

You sit up and hold onto him for dear life, your arms firmly wrapped around his torso. You bury your face in his chest, hiding within him like he’s shelter.

He hesitates to hold you back, he feels like he might break you but his relief at seeing you alive wins out. He rubs your back as you both sway back and forth in the embrace.

“You’re okay?” He mumbles into your hair, fingers reaching up to pull lightly on the ends of it.

“I’m okay. I’m alive.” You assure him, pulling back slightly to see his face.

He’s lost all of his boyishness. There’s no more clean shaven, uneven teeth, grown out hair in him. He’s muscular, with facial hair and a sharp jawline that takes you by surprise.

John doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to say to you, what questions to ask or how to do anything other than hold you because you’re here. He gets another chance, he gets to make things up to you for thinking for all of the years you were gone that you’d been dead. He feels horrible for having such little faith and he knows it’s irrational and you wouldn’t blame him but the guilt feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of him.

“I- I’m sorry.” He mutters, pulling you back to him, “I’m sorry. I stopped looking, we thought- all of us just assumed-“

“That I was dead?”

He nods, remorse tracing his features, “after that first year when there was no sign of you, there’s a headstone, you have a grave.”

“There’s no body in it.” You murmur into his shoulder.

“I know. I just- I’m sorry I stopped looking. Especially now that I have resources and-“

“John, it’s been so long. I don’t blame you for needing closure and finding it and continuing your life.”

John sits, pensive, still with you against his chest.

“Where were you?” He asks softly.

“I um- I don’t know. A lab. One that was meant to be shut down years ago apparently. I don’t remember much, I remember the floor and a table. I was heavily sedated through most of it so I only remember pieces. I’m not meant to tell anyone about it. Some government scientists that went rogue I guess.” You explain, your hold on him loosening as you let your muscles relax.

“Did they do anything t-“

“Beatings, injections. Just another failed super serum trial. Nothing worked on me but I lived through more than the other patients did so they basically just kept me to see how much I could take.” You answer quickly.

John doesn’t pry, he’s so scared of scaring you, of pushing you too far.

“John?” You say his name and it damn near kills him to hear it on your lips again.

“Yeah?”

“Did you marry Olivia? Do you have kids? What’s your job?” You ask the questions in quick succession and it hits him like a brick just how much of his life you’ve not been there for.

“Uh, yeah. Married Olivia, we have a son, and we’re divorced.”

“Is Lemar married?” You ask, and the question is innocent enough but John feels so disoriented.

“No. Um, lemar passed away.”

“I-I’m sorry.” You stutter.

“It’s- it’s nothing you could help.” John shrugs.

He realizes just then that you are fully in his lap, it still feels like a mind fuck that you’re here at all.

[unholyhelbig]

oversight request if ur down! what if nat’s enemies captured ronnie? how would nat get her back? (i love seeing this darker side of nat… she’s hot asf when she’s mad 🥵) thx !!

Title: We Have Your Daughter [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When Veronica is taken from a friends house in the middle of the night, it's clear that reader and Natasha will stop at nothing to get her back and get revenge.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Gun use, kidnapping, use of gags & zipties, broken glass, threating statements, knife use, strangling, and horrible grammar.

[a/n: This one wasn't my favorite thing I've ever done, but I was way too far to scrap it. I might take a small break from Oversight oneshots so I can clense my pallet a bit!]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The phone buzzed against the mahogany table on Natasha’s side of the bed. You were in a haze of sleep, something so cloying that it was hard to distinguish what the noise was. There were four monotone vibrations and then a silence so thick that you nearly drifted back into unconsciousness. But then, it started again, louder this time, it seemed, as the phone fell from the nightstand and to the carpeted floor.

An alien blue light filled the room and you groaned softly against the side of Natasha’s neck. You’d ended up laying fully on top of her; legs tangled. Your hands were under her, holding her as close as possible. The rhythm of her heart picked up when she stirred from her own sleep.

She blinked a few times before reaching blindly to the carpeted floor and retrieving the phone. It had stopped ringing again, but soon amped back up. The number was unknown, which formed a small marble of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Natasha sat up carefully and you shifted to the side to give her more mobility. Both of you shared a frowned look of confusion. It was three in the morning, and a stranger was calling. That was enough to arise panic in anyone, but with your profession, it seemed to echo further than most.

“Romanoff,” Her frown deepened, then. You couldn’t hear much, just the warbled and panicked voice of another. “Wait, slow down.”

She flipped back the duvet and stood up, flicking on the bedside lamp. You winced at the sudden brightness but tracked her frantic movements all the same. She was pacing. It often helped Natasha think. All trace of sleep had left you both.

“No, no. We’ll be right there. Thank you.”

When Natasha hung up and her eyes met yours, any hope of a peaceful existence had been sucked from the room. The words ‘I’m sorry’ seemed to be on the tip of her tongue. But she didn’t’ say it. Instead, she threw the cell phone on the end of the bed and moved her hands through her messy russet locks.

“Natasha,” you said, almost viciously. “What happened?”

“That was Luke. Someone broke into the house. We should… get dressed. We need to get dressed and get over there.”

Her words were broken, causing you to rise despite the wave of nausea that overtook you. Unsteady on your feet, you closed the distance between and grasped onto her shoulders as if to stabilize you both. Natasha’s eyes threatened to boil over with tears, they were red-rimmed and oh, so broken.

At thirteen years old, you both had deemed Ronnie mature enough to start having sleepovers with the other kids in her class. Of course, you’d meet with the parents first, and give them all the emergency contact information. Never tightening the reigns there.

But the Jones family were trusted more than most. Ronnie and their daughter Dani had been close since diapers. You’d spent days by the pool together and even took a family vacation with them to Niagara Falls this past summer, despite how ‘lame’ Jessica’s son deemed it when they dawned the yellow plastic ponchos.

“Is she hurt? I know we told Luke and Jess to call us first if something like this happens but if she’s hurt we really should get over there right away and get to the hospital. Call an ambulance maybe? God, please tell me she’s not hurt.”

Natasha’s hand cupped your cheek, and she peered into your eyes. There was sadness behind her stare that was incomprehensible. You couldn’t stop your thoughts from rushing at you in all different directions. Her touch quieted the noise, if not for a moment.

“She’s not hurt,” Natasha frowned, backtracked. “I don’t know if she’s hurt. She’s just… gone.”

The man said his name was Grant. He didn’t give a last name, and Veronica did not ask for one. Grant would do just fine. He looked like a Grant; his eyes were beady and black, his hair combed in various directions with a generous amount of gel. He was trying to look effortless and cool.

Veronica thought he looked like he was trying too hard. Of course, she didn’t say that, but the fact remained the same. The gag that had been nestled tightly against her mouth tasted stale, like the way a thrift store smelled. Maybe it was the carpet in the trunk of the car that lodged itself into her lungs.

She was calm and collected; prepared for something like this. As much as her mothers had poked and prodded and huffed and puffed when she suggested she start to learn basic things (like how to get out of zipties, or what to do if you were trapped in the trunk of a car), they had yielded.

Really, her aunt Lena had Yielded. While she still was discouraged from the heavy-hitting stuff, she did know how to break free of most contained spaces. She could also throw a mean punch if she put her entire body weight into it. But she had been sleeping when Grant shattered the window, and groggy when he hit her temple with the blunt end of his pistol.

The selfish part of Veronica knew that her mothers were scared right now, and reveled in it, for only a brief moment. She’d let out a grunt from being jostled when the car hit a particularly bad speedbump. Her teeth bite down harder on the gag, releasing a sordid taste that did not settle her stomach.

Even at the age of six, which Veronica remembers in bits and pieces, she knew that something wasn’t right with her mother. It wasn’t wrong, either, but it put her on edge and kept her voice trapped in her chest like a music box without a key.

You’d come home smelling metallic, sometimes like the salt of the earth itself. It was much less palatable than the sweet coffee that often graced your collar. She used to inhale the familiarity of it, but had stopped when you’d begin to get bruises and deep red gashes against your skin.

It was something that you’d try to hide from her, from Aunt Darcy, but in the deepest moments of your sleep, the fabric of your shirt would lift and expose the camouflage markings on your ribs or the crack of flesh on your back that Veronica was certain hadn’t been there before.

Then there was Mama.

Natasha. Natalia. Romanoff.

She’d heard every variation of the title. The name was spoken with a certain type of urgency in some, fondness from you, and fear from most. It wasn’t until Veronica was eight and paid more attention to those around her that she realized Natasha was the source of the un-well scent on you.

“Your moms whack people,” Dani had told her one day as they played up in her room. Veronica was meant to stay the night but there had been a heated and insignificant argument about who got to marry Malibu Barbie.

She’d whined back, “They do not,”

“They do too! I heard the other mommies at the playground talking about it. They whack people and it makes everyone else afraid of them and you.”

“You’re lying!”

Veronica had felt the tears prickling at her eyes. Not because Dani’s words were too much, they were just the right amount of hurt. Deep down, Veronica knew that something was fucked up about her family. And while they tried to shield her, it never stopped people from talking.

She would get looks from the parents of her schoolmates. Once that reeked of worry, and sometimes pity. It fed her anger, stoked the coal fire that burned within her. She shouldn’t be angry at her moms, she knew it was unfair. But as she clenched the barbie in her little fist, anger was the only thing she could truly feel.

“They don’t hit people!”

“That’s not what whacked means, dummy.” Dani seemed to catch her bearings, lower her voice to keep her own mother from hearing the accusations. “People that are near your family are never seen again. That’s what Cassie’s mom said. People that are near your family die.”

How could that be true? Things were so different here. There were different smells and Dani’s family didn’t eat around the table like hers did. The house was smaller and cozier. There were pictures on the wall that were black and white and worn with age. But there was love here, just like there was love in Veronica’s house.

A house with love couldn’t be a house where her mothers… whacked people.

Natasha held her with so much warmth at night. She read her two stories if Veronica asked and would get her a glass of water in the middle of the night. Sometimes, on the way home from school, they’d stop for ice cream even though you had cautioned against it.

Someone who let her get extra chocolate sprinkles was not a killer.

But the thought lodged itself in Veronica’s head and refused to leave. She was unnaturally quiet on the ride home, having called you to pick her up early from the wall phone. She held back tears and pressed the plastic close to her face until it was numb.

Natasha had cooked steak and mashed potatoes. Usually, it was Veronica’s favorite, but she watched as the pink runoff seeped into the white mush and quelled the nausea in her stomach by taking little sips of water.

She pretended not to notice the wary look her mothers gave each other, but it was impossible to ignore the way you cleared your throat, palming the wine glass to give your hands something to do. “Baby, is something bothering you?”

The dam broke. Veronica hated when you took that tone with her because it made her cry each time, made all of the hidden emotions bubble up until her cheeks were red and she was a sniveling mess.

This time, she blinked them back and looked between both you and Natasha. She clenched her fork in her little hand and drew in a breath. These were big emotions for such a small girl and she didn’t quite know how to swallow them.

“Why is everyone afraid of you?”

Your hand tightened on the glass you were holding, just loose enough to save it from shattering. Natasha had been mid-chew, her stare moving frantically to you before she swallowed and used her napkin to wipe the edge of her mouth.

“Sweetheart, did someone tell you that?”

Veronica seemed to tremble, shrinking into herself. She had gotten so verbal over these last few years, and this was a side that you refused to let her fall back into. You set the glass down and reached across the table. You covered her hand with yours, despite her refusal to unfurl it. It helped to ground her, had since she was little.

“Dani said that people are scared of you, and that they die around you. I called her a liar, a dirty liar, but she kept telling me it was true.” She looked up with tears in her eyes. “That’s not true, right?”

The silence seemed to answer her question, but she stared at both of you. She wanted to hear it. She wanted you to look under the bed and slay all of the monsters that were intent on grabbing her ankles and pulling her down. Natasha looked down at her plate, almost shy. You gave her hand a squeeze.

“Baby, it’s complicated.” You started, her wild eyes moving to yours. You felt her grow tense. “Your Mama and I, we want to be honest with you no matter what. This family is complicated, but that will never change how much we love you.”

They’d abandoned the food and spent most of the night explaining what they could. She was still only eight years old, and they held back from her. Each year of her life, they revealed more, eased her into it. And if she asked a question, they never, ever, lied. They answered truthfully- even if it wasn’t an answer she didn’t’ want to hear.

Veronica’s muscles had become stiff. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been shoved inside of the trunk, but light was leaking through the edges. She’d drifted in and out of sleep, her legs burning. She wanted to break free of her binds and stretch them out. Grant tied a good knot.

It was no matter, she thought, because her mothers wouldn’t let her linger for long.

Glass and blood sprayed across the back patio. Someone had clearly wrapped their hand and shattered it with sheer force. They’d cut themselves at one point or another, but it didn’t’ seem to stop them from muscling their way into the Jones’s home.

Luke, in his hulking nature, reached into the highest cabinet and got his daughter a glass of water. She hadn’t touched the muffin that was set in front of her. Luke was nesting, trying to ply her with gifts to ease the horror of what had just happened.

You felt bad, having to dredge it up when the memory was still so fresh. She had the deer-in-headlights stare. Wide eyes flicked to you and Natasha. She opened her mouth and closed it in succession twice. She looked like a fish.

It wasn’t that you hated Dani, you didn’t. She was thirteen-year-old child, after all. But, you were admittedly wary about her after she had brought Veronica’s walls down when they were younger. Kids, you reminded yourself. They were innocent, but they were also mean when they wanted to be.

“I already told you, “She said, frowning down at her untouched muffin. “We were both asleep when we heard a loud crash. It didn’t wake up mom and dad. I wanted to call the cops, but Ronnie was against it. Why haven’t we called the cops?”

The silence in the room was palpable. You were studying the edges of the glass, the dried dark blood against the edges. It was better for you to focus on that, than the fact that Veronica wasn’t here. You would spiral, then. You’d think about all the places she could be, and none of them were particularly good.

“Fine. There was a man with a gun in the kitchen and he… aimed it at us. Ronnie wasn’t scared. I don’t know how, the look in his eye was determined. Horrifying. He said that he wasn’t going to hurt us, he just needed her and then he would leave.”

“And she just went?” Natasha urged; her voice strained with exhaustion.

“Yeah, yes. I didn’t try hard to stop her, he had a gun. A gun!”

“Okay, alright. Thank you, Dani.” Luke placed his hand on the small of her back. She crumbled into him, dwarfed by his sheer size. Jessica glared at her own reflection in the mirror above the sink. She had been deathly quiet.

Suddenly, Dani looked so tiny in his arms, hugging her close. Your heart seized and you frowned at the broken glass at your feet. Natasha willed herself to continue. “Dani, I’m incredibly sorry about this. About all of this; but we need to know what he looked like.”

“I don’t know, he was tall and had these blue eyes that were just unsettling. He was sort-of good looking.”

Jessica seemed to find herself at that moment, working her hand through her hair. It was damp and unkempt with sweat. “You both need to leave.”

“Jess,” Luke interjected.

“You need to leave!” She raised her voice, turning to face the group. She kept her palms on the counter to steady herself, refusing to look at Natasha, but clocking you with a deathly stare. “We’ve ignored so much. We’ve watched Veronica when the two of you leave on your business trips, and come back looking like you’ve been raised from the dead. We pretend not to notice the guns you carry even at the fucking beach! But this is not something we can ignore. Y/n, this is my home.”

Her chest was heaving with rage but there was immense sadness in her eyes. Dani’s fingers clenched at the fabric of her father’s shirt. Natasha’s hands were in her back pockets, her red-rimmed stare trained on the ground.

“I understand. Thank you for everything. We’ll uh, get someone to come by and fix the patio door. I apologize for all of the trouble.”

Natasha moved to follow you, her hand on your shoulder. You hadn’t realized you were trembling until her firm touch was there to quell it. Her words were said with a gentle authority. “I made a few calls. A patrol call will be positioned across the street for the next week. Longer, if you’d like. I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” Dani stood from the barstool. “There’s one more thing. The man, he had on this gaudy jacket and there was a patch on the pocket. It was red and there was a skull with these tentacles coming out of it. Totally villain coded.”

You frowned, diverting your stare to the small bug light at the corner of the door. It emitted a small buzzing sound that was barely noticeable. If you stared at it long enough, the tears that threatened to spill over would eventually go away.

“I hope you find her.”

Dani had said in a quiet voice. And you hoped beyond hope that you did too.

There was ugly green tile in the bathroom. Veronica had counted them twice over, and then to check her blurry math, she multiplied the length and the height until the numbers matched. She was bored and cramped in the off-white bathtub of a shitty motel.

For the first half-hour, she had her eyes on the water-stained ceiling. There was an abnormally large roach that crawled in circles. It had the whole ceiling, why did it confine itself to one spot? She’d made up a story; the brown little bug was training for a race. He was following the imaginary track.

He’d win, she decided, tugging softly on her binds. Even if though the horsefly can move up to 90 miles per hour. They’d learned that in class and it was one of those facts that she just couldn’t seem to forget.

Veronica could hear Grant on the other side of the wall. He had made an exasperated phone call and threw it down on the bed. He’d been oddly gentle and patient with her when he removed her from the trunk and subsequently locked her in the bathroom.

After living with a family of deadly criminals for the better part of her life, Veronica toyed with the idea that she was being held for ransom. Her mama, she didn’t hesitate when it came to stuff like this. Veronica had asked her once if that was easier.

They’d been jogging along a small path that cut through the woods around the property. Natasha was used to doing stuff like that alone, pacing herself and breathing in the crisp scents that nature had to offer.

It had shocked her when Ronnie asked to join, but she was quick to agree. She’d slowed to a brisk walk when the girl started to fight for air. Natasha may have pushed a little hard, but she was content to walk with her daughter, all the same.

The question had caught her off guard. “Ronnie, I don’t think your mother would appreciate me answering this.”

“You’re my mom too.” She stopped by a particularly large rock, placing both hands behind her head to stretch her chest out enough to ease her breathing. “Unless you’re afraid of her.”

“You’re baiting me.”

Veronica gave her a wolfish smile. Of course, Natasha wasn’t afraid of you. She wasn’t. You would sometimes get a deep look in your eyes that made her squirm in her seat. It was the mom look- the type of look that you seemed to inherit from the moment you first hold a baby against your chest. The need to protect was deep seeded.

Natasha felt it too, especially with the girl that goaded her right now. But she knew when not to push, and when to gently suggest something to you. Right now was a terse moment that blurred the line between something you’d be okay with, and something you’d initiate the silent treatment for. She sighed.

“Sometimes, there is more to suffering than the pain that’s inflicted. Does that make sense?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Waiting for the end is more tortuous than the act of ending itself. What I mean is, putting someone out of their misery is not only a mercy in some situations, but a necessary evil. I’m not a monster, Ronnie.”

She believed her in that moment. Natasha wasn’t a monster. Not to her. She could see how some of her charges would think differently, but this was the woman who would curl up in fuzzy pajamas and watch shitty romantic comedies with her, even shedding a few tears when the lead got the girl.

Veronica let out a long sigh and slumped further down into the bathtub. An uncomfortable and sluggish hit of pain moved through her legs and to the base of her back. First the trunk, and now this.

Her body stiffened when she heard the giggle of the door handle. Heels dug into old porcelain as she pushed herself up. Parts of Veronica’s stance was numbed entirely. Her shoulders were tight with tension, and a fine layer of dust was kicked up.

Grant clenched his jaw and unclenched it at the sight of her. He’d left her to her own devices for far too long. She watched carefully as he unscrewed the cap of a water bottle. The seal cracked and she relished in the sound, praying that it hadn’t been tampered with.

He knelt down against the side of the tub, pulling her gag from her mouth. She drew in a desperate and clear breath, clocking him with a glare. Sickeningly, he smiled at that. “You must be thirsty.”

She didn’t’ dignify him with an answer but allowed him to guide the water bottle to her lips. She gulped down more than half in a hungry fashion. Spare drops soaked into her collar and drip against her jaw. He pulled away and recapped it.

“I want you to know this isn’t personal. I’m not big on the whole ‘kidnap kids’ thing. I have a son of my own, and I wouldn’t ever want something to happen to him.” He paused and resituated himself into a more comfortable position. “This is business. I do what I’m told.”

Grant was trying to relate to her, make her feel some sort of sympathy for him. She wasn’t going to fall into his tactics. Instead, she glowered at him. “I hope he has a good mom. Because when mine find you, he’s going to need one.”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m counting on it.”

This time, you had made sure that the gun was fully loaded. You were all for showmanship, leaning into the nickname that those who roamed the streets had given you. Even those who didn’t, a woman at the laundromat or the waitress that had replaced you at the diner all knew you as Roulette.

Once upon a time, you couldn’t push past the shadow that Bucky Barnes had created. He was the Winter Soldier, Natasha’s immoveable force of nature. She’d command him with a solid hand and anyone on the other side of that wrath was doomed.

It was a reputation that was impossible to live up to, yet somehow, you had done it. Not only could you kill with such ruthless abandon, but you had found a family along the way. Bucky would never question Natasha’s orders. But the two of you made them together, and that brought a new type of fear.

When Leo Fitz had moved for the weapon tucked into the back of his neatly pressed pants, you made sure to move with a quickness that rivaled anyone else in the room. The tip of your revolver was pressed to his temple, his gloved hands raising in surrender.

Ophelia Sarkissian smiled. Blood dripped across her teeth from where Natasha had connected her fist with bone. She was slammed up against the back wall of her office now. Her mantle shook with the force of the hit, and dust rained down from the ceiling.

“That’s the problem with old buildings,” she said, a mix of sticky saliva and russet discharge. “The aesthetics are there, but you sacrifice the integrity of the room. Don’t you agree, Nat?”

“I’m not here to discuss architecture.”

Natasha reached into her own pocket, not releasing her hold on the leader of Hydra. The little organization of evil had gotten admittedly bigger than either of you thought was possible. They’d gotten more men, more property. But they were resigned to Hells Kitchen and that was simply not under Natasha’s jurisdiction. She never found it in herself to care, not until now.

Knives were Yelena’s weapon of choice, but Natasha still found joy in the subtle bout of fear that flashed momentarily across Ophelia’s serpent stare. Leo attempted to move, but stilled when you pulled the metal hammer back on the revolver. All you had to do was pull the trigger and there’d be a new mural in Ophelia’s office.

“Natasha, would you mind calling your dog off? Doctor Fitz is a brilliant scientist. It’s not any old brain she’s fixing to blow out.”

The side of the silver blade had found its way to the edge of Ophelia’s eye, not quite touching it, but she knew that the slightest movement would spear her iris. She stopped squirming under Natasha’s threats.

“Okay, okay! What is it that I can do for you lovely ladies?”

“What is it you can do for us?” Natasha’s voice was a thick and hollow growl. Any sign of mercy had escaped her, one hand clenching the woman’s throat, the other pressing the tip of the knife hard enough to break porcelain skin. “Sweetness, I think you know exactly what we want.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Natty. I have my fingers in a lot of cookie jars.”

“If you’re inclined to keep your right eye intact, I suggest that you lead us to our daughter. I have no trouble taking a woman’s sight.”

Ophelia laughed and it infuriated you. Rage and impatience made a dangerous cocktail. You had tolerated the woman and her lackies through dinner parties and the occasional get together. But that was the extent of your relationship.

Seven full years and she still viewed you as nothing more than Natasha’s pet waiting to be house trained. You’d long since left your probationary period. You’d married the woman who had an iron grip on the city and in turn, raised a competent daughter in your stead.

“I have no godly idea what you’re talking about. You think I’m stupid enough to steal from you? I wouldn’t take a wine glass, much less your daughter. I have some common sense. What led you to believe that I would?”

You hated to admit that you believed her, but you still refused to remove the gun from Fitz’s temple. “The symbol on the jacket of the man who took her. It was your insipid mass of tentacles.”

Fitz cleared his throat “Ma’am, it could be Ward.”

“Ward?” Natasha asked.

“I fired him months ago. He’s mostly harmless but would do anything to get into my good graces. I suppose it would be possible for him to pull a stunt like this. Last I heard, he was living at the Motel six off county.” Ophelia gritted her teeth “It’d be greatly appreciated if you both left before you do something you regret.”

Natasha mocked a pout, dragging the tip of the blade against the side of Ophelia’s face. A trail of pin-prink spots of blood rushed to the surface of her skin. “But you’d look so good with an eyepatch.”

Veronica had drifted into an incredibly fitful sleep. She could hear the world around her; the skittering legs of the bug that ran laps on the ceiling, the slow and steady drip of the sinks faucet, the football game that Grant had turned on to drown out her movements.

It was the unmistakable sound of woods splintering that had caught her attention. Ronnie forced herself to control her breathing, just like you had taught her. She clenched down on the sour tasting gag in her mouth, heart pounding violently in her chest.

The television had been turned off and Grant’s muffled voice seeped through the crack in the door. She knew that her mother’s preferred to work silently. They tried to shield her from everything and everyone that held a potential threat. But there were some things that Veronica wanted to see. Including the downfall of her captor.

She made a small noise against the back of her gag and slammed her heel on the puke-colored tub. The dull thumb was enough to halt the movement in the room. There was shattered glass, and an exclamation that could have only been from Natasha.

Grant had locked the bathroom door from the inside and closed it. There was a strong hit that rattled the weak wood. Her breathing picked up as another hit caused the door to bend like it wasn’t a solid force at all, but entirely breakable.

Finally, it gave way and you stumbled into the bathroom in a cloud of slivers and dust. None of that seemed to bother you, eyes darting directly to the tub that your daughter had been housed in for the last six hours.

Veronica was reduced to a bubbling mess of tears. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to see you, needed to see you. There was something so warm and safe about your touch and it cut through the cold bathroom air like nothing she had ever felt before.

“Oh baby,”

Your voice cracked as you dropped to your knees, making quick work of the gag. Veronica’s jaw ached when you removed it, tossing the cloth aside. You used the very knife that Natasha had used to threaten Ophelia with to cut the zip ties that had cut dark purple bruises into her wrists.

“Oh, my baby, I’m so sorry.”

She gripped you with a strength that reminded you of the first day you’d dropped her off at kindergarten. She’d cried then too, wetting the collar of your shirt with nervous tears. Veronica had clung to you and wicked her fingers into its fabric. It broke your heart to let her go then.

You’d had a meltdown in the driver’s seat of your car with all the other parents that had emotional attachment issues. It was where you met Jessica for the first time. She’d dropped Dani off. Her second child so it was easier this time. She brought you a beer and told you that everything would be okay.

“Mom,” she whispered, over and over again, gripping you to make sure you were real. She was much too old to carry, but you didn’t give a damn in this moment. You scooped her up like she was six years old again and she wrapped her legs around your waist without any protest.

You tucked her head into the small of your neck. “Keep your eyes closed, baby girl. You’re safe now.”

Veronica clenched her eyes shut and dug further into you. She tried to ignore the noises she heard in the single-bed motel room. The choking sounds that Grant let out as Natasha did what she did best with the electrical cord of a lamp.

She kept her eyes shut in the freezing stairwell, and even when the warm mist of an early-morning dew coated his skin. She waited until she could smell the familiar leather of her mother’s car, and even then, she held you in a vice grip that you weren’t willing to let go of anytime soon.

You’d taken your jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. She curled into herself in the backseat of the car. It only took a few more minutes for Natasha to exit through the same service door that you did. Her hair was disheveled, a long gash against the side of her arm that you were certain would need stitches later.

Black blood dripped from the wound and pooled from her fingertips in small splashes against the pavement. She didn’t’ seem to notice, her adrenaline screaming loud enough to quell any pain she would have felt.

Natasha gently urged you to the side before she climbed into the backseat wordlessly. Ronnie seemed to let out a long breath of relief. She launched herself into the woman’s arms. Natasha grunted at the force but squeezed her as tightly as she could, letting her cry.

“Mama, I’m so sorry.” Veronica sniffed “I shouldn’t have gone with him, but he was going to hurt Dani.”

“Do not apologize moy malen'kiy strelok.” She pressed a kiss to Veronica’s temple, fighting back tears. “Never apologize.”

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