#I’m pinning this so I remember to update it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I am tireddddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Professor Smith dresses you in a set of pajamas; white with blue stripes. They’re not your size, you assume they might be his. You’re not sure. You’re too woozy to think about much more than your throbbing hand. 

He lays you in the hotel bed as you shake uncontrollably. You’re freezing cold but he keeps touching your forehead and saying you’re burning up. How can that be when you can’t get warm? 

Your lashes flutter between glimpses of him pacing and sitting on the edge of the bed. When all is dark, you see his shadow beside you. His breathing suggests he’s asleep but you can’t tell. He’s up again as a halo of light shines around you. The lamp limns his figure as he pets your cheek. 

“Sweetheart, shh, you’re alright,” he coos, “no need to cry.” 

You’re crying? Why? You can’t remember. Your mind is a bubble of fractured thoughts and vague scenes. You can’t make scene of much between the visions of this man. 

“Fever’s broke,” he lays a wet cloth over your brow. “Very good. We’ll be off in the morning, won’t we?” 

“Mom?” You murmur in confusion. 

“Mm, let’s take one step at a time before all that, yes?” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Back to sleep.” 

He shuts off the light and you’re cast into grim blackness. His weight jostles the bed and you feel him spread out next to you. The bed is more than large enough for you both. 

“Professor,” you croak weakly. “What’s...” 

“In the morning,” he girds. 

You accept it, “sorry.” 

“Never be sorry,” he reaches over to squeeze your arm lightly.  

You lay in silence. Your eyes close on their own. You are completely drained. You sink down into a solid void that suffocates away all light and life. When you awake again, you’re alone. You might think it was all a dream if it wasn’t for the bright hotel walls. 

You remain as you are. You don’t have the energy to get up. You lift your hand and look at the bandage wrapped around it. It feels better and your fingers aren’t swollen. You bend them. It still hurts. 

The door opens and you drop your arm. You squeak at the pain. 

“Sweetheart, is all well?” Raymond rushes over, a tray in his hand. “I was only meaning to fetch some of the complimentary breakfast before we depart.” 

You blink and shake your head, “fine. I’m... fine.” 

“I hope you like coffee--” 

“Coffee?” You whimper and close your eyes. “Coffee...” you mutter. “I went to get coffee and...” 

“Yes, that fiend meant to attack you. You see, I did not come without purpose. How could I sit back and see you neglected?” 

“You don’t... I don’t know... you.” 

“Hush, hush, you must be hungry,” he insists. “It is good to eat. You are weak from the infection still. You must take care--” 

“My mom--” you look at him. 

He sucks in air and his jaw tenses. He steels himself and his fingers twitch. “Yes, a woman who allows her own daughter be abused.” 

“She... she couldn’t stop him--” 

“She should not bring the beast home with her,” he snips. “Please, you would not survive in such an environment.” 

“Why... would you come here?” 

He exhales and his eye bats, as if he can’t control it. “Why wouldn’t I after what I witnessed? Then you would not answer. I had half a suspicion you were dead.” 

“I’m sorry, I... didn’t mean to worry you but... it’s not your problem.” 

He hums and set the tray on the night stand. He offers a cup of coffee, “are you so used to being forgotten that you cannot accept kindness?” 

“No, it isn’t... I’m sorry.” 

“And the apologies. No need for it. I am not admonishing you. I am merely offering advice.” He takes your good hand and makes you take the cup. “There is much more you need to learn than accounting, I gather.” 

You frown and look at the dark coffee. 

“If you prefer milk or sugar, I grabbed some of each,” he explains and gestures to the tray. “Of course, you shouldn’t drink that in bed else you might stain the sheets.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you push the blankets back and move carefully. 

The pajamas brush against your stomach and you look down. You’re reminded of the day before. Naked in the tub. In front of him. You’ve never been so exposed before. You slump your shoulders and go to the table and sit. 

You look down at your burnt hand and bring up to examine the bandage again, “thank you...” you raise it higher. 

“Certainly. And who wouldn’t see to the festering infection? Are you not concerned that not even your own mother cared for that matter?” 

“Can we not talk about her?” You sniffle and rest your hand in your lap. “You should take me home.” 

“Home? That is no home. Now, you should eat. Keep your strength up so you can heal properly.” He girds. 

You nod and take a cautious sip of coffee. You’re still reeling, maybe even slightly delirious. You set the cup down again and lift your chin. You look at his neck, not his face. 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Why...” He echoes as he sits across from you. 

“Why help me?” 

He takes a packet of sanitizing wipes and uses them to clean the cutlery. You watch his diligent work. Everything he does is precise and purposeful. And cleanly. He seems to detest the thought of dirtiness and yet you can only feel like filth next to him. 

“Well, it should be a question, should it? It is humane. Decent. So, I shouldn’t need to name the reason for it.” He lays down each piece before he sets to claiming a muffin, then a scoop of the scrambled eggs, and strips of bacon with sausage too. “Though if you insist, I will give one. Firstly, let us underline that point. What you need, what you want, I would be more than willing to supply, but then, circle around to your query; why should I help you?” 

He takes the rest of the cutlery and wipes it then hands it to you. He makes you up a plate as he continues, “you, sweetheart, have great potential. I’ve seen it. And that would be spoiled all for a poor foundation. Now that is not your own doing, mind you, you cannot help where you come from, and more admirably,” he sets the plate before you, “you were fighting against it and so I only thought to lower the ladder for you.” 

You blink and focus on the food. You’re not very hungry. You feel slightly queasy but you would hate to be ungrateful. All these questions already make you feel so.  

“Thank you,” you croak and make yourself look at him. “Really...” 

You don’t know how to say it. You already feel pathetic and you don’t need to sink further. No one’s ever been that concerned about you. No one ever tried to help you. Most people just laughed, called you names, or pushed you down themselves. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself very much, eh? I have the means to help. It would be selfish not to. A sort of passing the torch. I wasn’t born to wealth myself, or peace. Life can be a war on its own,” he gives a gentle smile beneath his thick beard. “Oh, and I did take some clothing from your home before our flight. I was able to use the hotel laundry. It should suffice, though I hardly trust their cleaning staff.” 

“Yes, sir,” you answer. 

“Raymond, please,” he corrects you. 

📓

Professor Smith, or Raymond as he insists, drives you across the city. He turns in the car at the rental place then leads you into the train station a block away. He’s patient, not hurrying you, and he pays for your ticket and his. You feel guilty for the expense. 

As you sit and wait on the platform, you fidget. You chew your lip and curl your fingers, the burn stinging beneath the bandages. 

“Are you well?” He checks in. He does every now and then. 

“Um, yes...” you look at the tracks, “I’ve never been on a train.” 

“A first, very exciting,” he muses. 

You nod and let your eyes wander. You’re nervous but too much to ask what makes you so. He moves so his leg is against yours. 

“Your hand?” He prompts. 

“It’s feeling better,” you assure.” 

“Very well.” He sits back and puffs out through his nose, “we will go to my home. You can recover there and when you feel up to it, we will go over your last assignment and see you through the course--” 

“Professor-- Raymond,” you sputter as you face him. “You don’t have to do all this.” 

“I am not a man who does things he doesn’t wish to,” he replies. “I’ve explained myself enough. It is unacceptable to me to let you return to where I found you. I couldn’t allow you in such an unsafe circumstance. Especially after what I witnessed.” 

“It-- he just yelled, that’s all.” You murmur. 

“Is that all? He had nothing to do with this?” He points to your hand. 

You shrink and shake your head. He clucks. 

“You are honest and so you are a poor liar. What I saw was more than yelling, sweetheart. You will not convince me otherwise. I know, this is a peculiar situation, but it is your way out,” he says, “tell me, you never thought of it.” 

Your lack of response is enough of one. Your eyes are hot, and your mouth is dry. Your leg jiggles restlessly. 

A lull rises as the chatter of others rolls through the platform. Soon, you hear the whine of metal on metal, and a bright beam shines from the tunnel. The train speeds through and grinds to a stop.  

You follow Raymond’s every move. When he stands, you stand. As he grabs his bag, you go to do the same but he has it in hand first. He gestures you ahead of him. You reluctantly approach the train. 

“The second from the front,” he instructs from behind. “I’ve our tickets.” 

You follow his direction. You’re good at that. As a professor, he’s just as good at giving orders. As you approach the waiting attendant, he reaches around to hand over the tickets. The woman in her uniform tears of the ends and hands them back. 

You step onto the small metal footstool and then climb the stairs of the train car. You pause as he puts your bags into the netted caddy near the front. He urges you on with another point and recites the seat numbers. You find them and stare at the row. 

“Would you like window or aisle?” He tucks away the tickets. 

“Mm, what do you like?” You ask. 

“Please, have the window. You did say it’s your first,” he insists. 

You duck your head and sit. He lowers himself next to you and slips a bottle from inside his jacket. He pops the cap open and offers it quietly. You glance over at the sanitizer. You don’t want to be rude so you put your unbandaged hand out. He dollops it into your palm, then his own, and puts it away. 

He rubs his palms together and you sanitize around your bandage and your uninjured hand. You sit back and look out at the platform. He’s a very stringent man but you might only think so because you’re used to no rules at all. He’s thorough too. He seems to think of everything.  

You look at him but think better of asking what you want to. He catches your glance before you can turn back. He shifts toward you, leaning on the outer armrest. 

“Go on,” he urges, “you can say whatever you need.” 

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” 

“Please,” he opens his hand encouragingly. 

You drop your eyes and wet your lips. You’re going to sound so dumb. “Do you really think I could... I could do something? Like you? Like... like... accounting?” 

He chuckles softly. It’s not mocking or mean. It’s soothing. 

“I do believe so,” he says. “You needn’t fret. Let yourself time to heal, then all that will come after.” 

You sniff and sit back. You don’t know if you agree with him, but you’ll try. That’s all you can do. It’s what you should do after he’s gone to all this effort. 

[scattergoriesofevil]

Burrow’s End party names

Episode 1: Stupendous Stoats

Episode 2: Mystical Mustelids

Episode 3: Excellent Ermines

Episode 4: Wondrous Weasels

Episode 5: Vicious Varmits

Episode 6: Preternatural Predators

Episode 7: Invasive Investigators

Episode 8: UnCommon Carnivores

Episode 9: Little Guys

Episode 10: Stupendous Stoats

Aabria you did such a good job!

[brainrotdotorg]

OMFG AND CENTAURWORLD!? I'm exploding, your tastes are exquisite and I am kissing your knuckles like a gentleman - HM Anon

Tee hee we have extremely good taste I am curtsying like a lady

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You" - EREN X READER, REVERSE ISEKAI - Part 2

okay okay I'll post more...

reader/eren

post canon, reverse isekai, memory loss

currently rated T

word count: 1147 [updated June 27]

<- PART 1 | PART 3 ->

*********

“Who the hell are you?”

You’re pinned to the bed below Eren. One of his hands is firmly against your wrist to keep you from moving (although it’s obvious to him that you don’t have the strength to fight against his hold, even if you tried). 

He stares down at you, his heart hammering against his chest in a mix of anxiety and confusion.

How the hell do you know who he was, but he has no memory of you? Or this bed? Or this room? Or anything besides Mikasa’s blade against his throat and the tears lining her eyes. 

You’re trembling below him, clearly terrified, indicating that you’re equally clearly not a threat. 

Eren’s not sure what’s going on here, but he doesn’t want to do anything too rash and complicate things further. 

So he lets you go.

“Sorry.” He mumbles as he pulls away from you and sits on the edge of the bed.

Immediately you sit up and turn towards him. “Are you okay?” You ask, staring with eyes wide and clear concern splashed across your face.

For some reason, it causes Eren’s stomach to twist uncomfortably, even though he has no idea who you are. He says nothing.

“Did you have another nightmare?” You ask softly.

The way you say it indicates that this may be a common occurrence. So he lies: “Yes.” He answers. “Sorry. Guess it freaked me out a bit.”

You give him a comforting smile and, again, it causes his stomach to twist.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say softly. “You’re awake now, right? So everything’s okay.” You lean forward to kiss his cheek before pulling yourself out of bed. “Armin said we needed to be at the restaurant at one.”

“Armin?” Eren quickly asks.

You can’t help but laugh at the way Eren is looking at you. His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised, lips parted just slightly as he sucks in a breath. “Yeah, Armin.” You confirm. “And everyone else.”

“Who else?”

You sigh. “Eren, you really need to get better at remembering the plans we make.”

“Who’s going to be there?” Eren repeats, ignoring your comment.

You laugh as you stand so you can cross the room to finish putting on your makeup in front of the large mirror next to your dresser.

“Besides you, me, and Armin, Niccolo obviously. I’m still surprised he managed to plan the whole thing.” You joke as you start on your eyeliner. “Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, and Marco for sure because they’re reliable when it comes to making plans. Historia texted me yesterday and said Ymir didn’t want to come because apparently she and Reiner still aren’t over that fight they had last week. Oh my god speaking of that fight, did you know that they put it on pause to go get beers together at Maria’s? Literally just went ‘I hate you but we have to watch this game together so we’ll be friends for a night and then go back to our bullshit’. Honestly, I commend them for being able to do that.” You laugh. “Anyway, if Historia is set on coming, Ymir will still show up and we can see that drama unfold in real-time. Sasha will be there for the food, Pieck will be there for the booze, Porco will be there for the Pieck being there for the booze. Obviously Jean’s going to be there and you better behave. Connie, duh! And Mikasa finally flew back into town so she’ll-”

“Mikasa’s going to be there?” There’s something to the way he says it. This strange… hope in his tone. It leaves you confused.

“Yes?” You answer. Or maybe you’re asking, you aren’t too sure. “Didn’t she call you to talk about it literally last night?” He’s still staring at you but you shrug and turn back to the mirror. “Now get your perfectly sculpted ass out of bed so you can get ready or we’ll be late.”

Without saying another word, Eren stands up and leaves the bedroom.

If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought he hesitated at the door, glancing around the apartment because he wasn’t sure of the layout.

But you and Eren had been living there together for over a year.

So it wouldn’t make sense for him to be confused.

It wouldn’t make sense at all…

***

Eren fumbled his way through getting ready. He tried his best not to talk to you because talking to you was… confusing.

Anytime you were too close to him or your eyes met in a specific way, his stomach would erupt into butterflies as his heart felt like it began beating ten times faster.

It was a purely physical reaction to your closeness and it was- it was… odd. 

To say the least.

It felt like his head and his body had different ideas of who you were. 

In his head: you were a stranger. Someone who’s name he could barely remember (and had almost forgotten several times). You were confusing, potentially dangerous, but obviously some sort of key to figuring out what was going on; which became especially apparent as you rattled off the names of almost everyone he knew.

In his body: you were everything. You were someone he felt an intense desire to touch. To feel. To be around. His body pulled him towards you at every opportunity it got, sometimes even to the point that he had to physically stop himself from reaching out to take your hand, grabbing you by the wrist- kissing you. And every time it happened he could recall what it would feel like to follow through with those movements. Somehow he knew the warmth of your lips on his, your body flush against him, your fingers curled into his palm- fitting so perfectly, like your hand was meant to be there. Instinct. His reaction to your presence was pure instinct.

And he had no idea what to make of that.

But when you’d told him that the two of you were meant to be somewhere and rattled off names of people he knew (and not in the way that he “knew” you, these were people he actually knew), he hoped that talking to them would clear things up.

So, he spent the morning playing the part. Doing what you told him to. Following you around the strange apartment that the two of you, apparently, called home.

He didn’t want to alert suspicion, not yet.

Especially when you said Mikasa’s name and his stomach sank.

“There.” You said with a smile as you finished knotting his tie and pulled it perfectly tight against his neck. Your hands moved to his shoulders, flattening out his dress shirt. 

                           Who were you?

    Who were you?

                                                                            Who were you?

It’s all Eren could think as you smiled up at him and his whole body felt like it was on fire.

[httpknjoon]

(re)starting over again | kth; 14

plot | Your four-year relationship with Taehyung was going well and strong. Until he was involved in a car accident, resulting to him losing some memories. By some, it means everything that happened five years ago. Things he remember? His friends, his bakeshop, and his ex girlfriend from the past. With that, you tried to keep up, restarting over again.

words | 4.9K+

genres | fluff, angst, amnesia au

pairing | taehyung x reader, hoseok x reader

note | *cue that tiktok sound* okay, guys. we're back. did you miss us? hi! I'm back with my monthly update 💀 I already outlined everything. there are six chapters left in this series (not including the drabbles). thank you so much for patiently staying around. i appreciate y'all a lot. let me know your thoughts, enjoy reading!

main masterlist | series masterlist

When did texting someone become so hard?

It has been exactly three days since Taehyung got to talk to you again. He offered to drive you home after your date failed to show up. You said yes. You two had a friendly conversation in his car. Like you were old friends, which you were. But were you? It’s complicated. For the first time in years, he heard your laugh and saw you smile just like in the photos he saw when cleaning up at your shared house. He remembered you waving at him with a soft smile on your lips before getting into your apartment building.

You also said you never changed your number and you would reach out. But he wants to update you about the small celebration the bakery will have later next week. He tried typing something but later erased it before he could even finish the first word. He doesn’t know what to type or how to begin a conversation. So he just typed a single character and hit the send button.

It was past six in the evening. You were already in your PJs after a long day at work. Treating yourself with dumplings and beef fried rice from the nearest Chinese restaurant in your area, you let yourself indulge while your favorite sitcom plays on your TV screen.

“You’re not easy-going, but you’re passionate, and that’s good. And when you get upset about the little things, I think that I’m pretty good about making you feel better about that. And that’s good too. So, they can say that you’re high maintenance, but it’s okay because I like…maintaining you.”

You found yourself pursing your lips when your favorite character said that line. It was one of the quotes that stays in the back of your head almost every time. You were about to reach for the remote control to play it back again. But your phone, which you set into silent mode an hour ago, vibrated. Your eyebrows shoot up as you read who sent you a message.

From Jung Hoseok

Hi, YN. I really regret missing our date last time. Would you be willing to give me another chance with a cup of coffee this Friday? I know a great cafe around the city 🙂

The day after he failed to show up at the restaurant, you woke up to a text message from Hoseok apologizing again. You reassured him that you understood and he promised to make it up to you. You didn’t really expect anything from that and thought that he would just pass by like your past dates that Martha set up. So seeing him reaching out again was unexpected.

You smiled as you typed a reply.

To Jung Hoseok

Will there be tea? I don’t drink coffee.

You see those three dots immediately popping in, indicating that he’s typing. So you quickly typed in a follow-up message.

To Jung Hoseok

Just kidding! I’m okay with Friday. Around 5 PM?

He was quick to reply,

From Jung Hoseok

Okay. Should I pick you up?

You thought you would just feel pressured if he picked you up at your home. So you just offered an alternative.

To Jung Hoseok

We can just meet there :) Just send me the cafe’s location.

From Jung Hoseok

[location pin] 

To Jung Hoseok

Thank you! See you this Friday then.

From Jung Hoseok

See you, YN!

That’s a date for Friday, which is a few days from now. Even though he reached out again, you thought of keeping your expectations low. Because it helps avoid disappointment. You probably learned after your last dates with those guys you met before.

You continued playing the episode you were watching. Not even five minutes later, your phone vibrated again. You thought Hoseok forgot something. But immediately after reading the contact name, you froze staring at your screen.

From Aaa Love

👋

Of course, you quickly recognized who it was. Suddenly, you felt a sense of nostalgia in your head after seeing that name for a long time. Years after keeping this contact hidden on your list, you totally forgot that you never changed his contact name even after the accident. You cannot even remember when you hid his name in your list. Maybe it was one of those nights you were drunk with friends and made some decisions.

Before replying, you renamed the contact.

To Kim Taehyung

Hi, Tae 🙂

While waiting for his reply, you recalled that night. You remembered feeling good entering your apartment even though your date didn’t show up. When Jisoo asked you how it went through a video chat, you said that the date didn’t happen.

“Then, why do you look happy?” she asked that time.

That’s when you snapped out of your daze, “D-Do I?”

“Yeah, you’ve been smiling ever since we got on this call.”

“Oh…” your lips formed a thin line before speaking again. “I… I saw an old friend in the same restaurant.”

The last time you and Jisoo really talked about Taehyung was still the time she showed up unexpectedly after her wedding. You cried, she cried.

“Really? Who?”

“Taehyung.”

You wait for her reaction and you gradually see her eyes widen.

“What? What is he doing there? Did you talk?” she asked with surprise in her tone.

“Apparently, he’s doing some business here. And yes, we talked. He offered to drive me home.” you shared.

“And?”

“It was nice.”

Your simple and short answer had Jisoo simply staring at you through the screen. It was like she was studying you. You knew she had a lot to say in her head based on her quiet reaction. But then, she just said,

“Okay.”

From Kim Taehyung

Hello, YN. Just making sure I have the right number here haha

Taehyung finally replied. You let the episode play in the background as you tap on your screen,

To Kim Taehyung

I told you I didn’t change it!

From Kim Taehyung

I know, I’m sorry hehe

Just by the text, you can imagine him awkwardly laughing as he says that. Before you can reply, another text popped in.

From Kim Taehyung

Btw the celebration will be in the bakeshop. Next Saturday, 2 PM.

From Kim Taehyung

It’s a late lunch event with friends and family. We’re hoping you can come 😊

Reading that, a smile formed on your lips. With you working at school, you are usually free on weekends. 

To Kim Taehyung

Will do!

“Can you put dinosaurs in it?”

“Of course, bud. Anything you like.”

Taehyung softly ruffled Jihoon’s hair, who remained focused on coloring his activity book. The little kid’s birthday is coming up soon and the preparations for it had begun. Since Jimin would be the one making the multi-layered birthday Jurassic-themed cake, Taehyung offered to make the cupcakes. 

A couple of toys, specifically, dinosaurs, are all over the table that Jihoon and Taehyung occupy. And ever since he arrived at the shop this morning, the kid kept talking about his favorite animal. Being the best uncle that he is, Taehyung listens while being quietly amazed by how much Jihoon knows about dinosaurs. 

“Ashley just sent a copy of the contract in our e-mail earlier. She wants us to review it first before finalizing.” Jimin spoke while placing an apple juice box on the table.

Jihoon scoots a little to accommodate his father sitting next to him. He stayed busy with his crayons. 

“Have you read it?” Jimin asked.

Taehyung shakes his head, “I haven’t. I think I left my phone on silent while doing those lemon tarts.”

“Well, I think you should read it. They put something they probably forgot to mention before.” his friend noted.

His eyebrows draw together before reaching for his phone. Taehyung immediately clicked on the file sent to him from Ashley. He carefully read word by word written in the document. He thought everything was already mentioned in their online meeting days after he went to Incheon. Until he read one of the sections of the contract.

Staffing Arrangements

The bakery agrees to temporarily assign one of its capable bakers to work at the restaurant in Incheon for four weeks, beginning on the first day of offering the pastries on the menu of the restaurant. During this time, the assigned baker will head pastry production, equip training for restaurant staff, and guarantee regular quality control. The restaurant agrees to cover the entrusted baker's salary, expenses, and even housing if demanded.

After pausing for a few seconds, Taehyung scanned his eyes all over that part again. Just to make sure he understood it right. He looked back up to Jimin, who had his arms crossed over his chest while waiting for a reaction from him.

“So?”

“This means one of us had to stay here while the other had to manage around in Incheon.”

September is usually dry and warmer in Incheon.

After living in this part of the country for around two years now, you already got better at predicting the weather and climate. But today, your predictions were proven wrong when you had to stay under a waiting shed while the harsh raindrops poured continuously. You were too confident that you left your umbrella at home.

4:12 PM

You looked down at your phone. It has been almost thirty minutes since you stood in this shed, waiting for your usual bus to arrive. But you don’t know why there have only been two buses that passed by. You were unable to get on any of those since both were packed, considering the unexpected rainfall. You tried booking a cab but there’s nothing around your area at the moment. Your friend, Aileen already left earlier with her husband while Martha offered to drive you home but you live almost twenty minutes away from her. So, you kindly rejected her offer. Again, you were too confident that you would be able to ride the bus quickly.

Puffing your cheeks, you began dialing someone’s number. He answered after the second ring.

“Hey, Hoseok…” you greeted.

He was quick to reply, “Hi, are you on your way? I’m driving to the cafe.”

“Yeah, uhm, I’m kinda running late for our date tonight.” you chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Everything alright?” 

“Haha, yeah. Just waiting for a bus to stop by here the school. It’s raining like crazy today.” you mentioned.

“Yeah, it is… you know, I can pick you up if you want to.” he offered.

Your eyebrows lifted, “Really?”

“Of course, YN.”

“Okay, thank you so much!” you smiled, finally.

“No worries. I’m on my way.”

“Okay, take care,” you said before ending the call.

With your plans of getting ready pre-date at your home canceled, you sat on one of the benches in the shed and touched up yourself quickly. You reapplied your lipstick with your front camera as your mirror. You ran your hand through the stubborn flyaways of your hair before tying it into the easiest half-up, half-down hairstyle you know. You’re still in your usual work clothes, a statement T-shirt (with a friendly and maybe corny quote written on it and jeans. Originally, you would wear something cuter. But this one will do. Even though the cool breeze makes you wish you wore something warmer too.

And less than five minutes later, a black Audi stops right in front of the stop. Your legs bounced restlessly. The windows were tinted dark so you cannot really see who’s inside. But the door on the other side of the car opened and there, you recognized the man from the pictures on Martha’s phone. Almost like sunshine, his smile as he made his way to you made you smile too. Your fidgeting legs had already calmed down as he stopped in front of you.

“YN?” He asked since this was the first time you two really saw each other.

You nodded, “Hi. You’re Hoseok, right?”

Although you were at ease with his arrival, there was still an awkward tension between you two. But it tones down when you two chuckled.

“Yes, nice to meet you.” he smiled again. He quickly noticed you hugging yourself. “It’s cold. How about let’s get you inside?”

“Sounds good.” you agreed.

Joining him under his transparent umbrella, your shoulders brushed against each other, and you could feel his warmth beside you. He opened the car door for you while ensuring no raindrop would touch your skin. You mumbled a small ‘thank you’ when you finally got to sit inside. You watched as he made his way back to the driver’s side of the car.

“Are you okay? Everything’s fine?” he asked immediately.

“Yeah, thank you again for picking me up,” you replied. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied before reaching for something from the backseat. 

Your eyes widened when you saw what it was. It was like your eyes sparkled as he handed you the small bouquet of yellow tulips, tied with a matching gold ribbon. 

“I’m really sorry for missing our date last time.” he apologized, watching you appreciate the flowers.

It has been so long since you received flowers. You cannot even remember when was the last time. So you cannot help but feel this funny feeling in your stomach while you look at the flowers. Especially since yellow tulips are your favorite.

“You didn’t have to. I understand why,” you spoke, tilting your head in his direction. Your voice was small and soft.

“Still, you waited for me alone in that restaurant. I cancelled last minute… Do you love it?”

“Of course, I love yellow tulips!” you exclaimed before taking in its subtle scent.

“I’m glad. I may or may not have asked Martha for help with those.” he chuckled.

Hoseok began driving while you find it more comfortable being around him. He has this infectious smile that brings more warmth in this rainy weather. It probably helps when he’s with patients.

“How long have you been waiting there?” he asked, starting up a conversation.

“Oh, you know, like half an hour.” you sneered at yourself. You hear him gasp. You chuckled, “To be fair, it is a rainy day. I can usually find a ride easily. I just didn’t expect that it would rain today.”

“It’s usually sunny at this time of the year,” he noted.

“It is. I was already waiting for the bus when the rain poured,” you told him. 

“I thought you and Martha usually go home together?” he asked, looking from the road to you for a quick second.

“Sometimes. But I feel bad for making her drive past her house for like twenty minutes,” you revealed. 

You tried offering to pay for her gas but she declined. Although she constantly assured you that it’s fine, you feel like an inconvenience, especially after a busy day at work. You are very aware it’s a you problem. But it’s just the way it is.

You shifted in your seat, “How about you? Did you have work today?”

He nods, “Ah, yes. I got off my shift earlier this day. Then went home to see my dog before dropping her off at my sister’s.”

“Oh, you have a dog?”

“Yeah, a senior dog but Mickey’s still the family’s baby.” he chuckled. “We take turns with her. Some days, she’s with me. Or my sister’s or my parents’.”

“So, you’re originally from here in Incheon?” you asked, curious when he mentioned his family.

He shakes his head, “No, we moved here when I was in high school. I left during college. Then, came back when I began working. I like staying close to my family. And you?”

“No, I moved here from Seoul two years ago.” you shared.

“And what about your family? They stayed there?” he asked.

“Nope, I’m an only child. My parents died years ago– Please, don’t say you’re sorry. It’s fine, it’s been so long.” you chuckled when you saw how his expression changed. “But I do have my Aunty Belle. She’s around the city too. She looked after me until I left to study in SNU.”

“You went to SNU too?” Hoseok exclaimed.

You beamed, “Yes– Wait, we’re here?”

He laughed, “Yeah.”

Distracted, you didn’t notice the car arriving in front of the cafe Hoseok talked about. He told you to wait for him, leaving the car with the umbrella. He opened the car door for you and helped you with the umbrella. He does the same thing when opening the cafe’s front door for you. And when a bell clangs when the door opens, you get reminded of your favorite bakeshop back in Seoul.

“I’ll be having iced americano and a slice of carrot cake. How ‘bout you?” Hoseok turned to you as you two stood in front of the staff.

“I’ll have green tea and banana muffins,” you answered.

After ordering, you two sat on one of the empty pearly white tables and chairs near the glass window while waiting. It was a well-lit place. It has a minimalist and clean aesthetic. Hoseok sat across you, tapping his fingers along to the music playing in the background.

“So, what made you agree to do this blind date?” you asked him.

“Well, I’ve been single for the last three months and I never really tried blind dating before so I said yes when Martha told me about you,” he answered.

“Well, I hope she said nice things.” you two chuckled.

“Don't worry, she did.” He assured you. “How about you?”

“Martha had been setting me up for blind dates these past few months because I’ve been single ever since I came here in Incheon. The last dates I went to were unsuccessful so she promised that this one was gonna be great. So I agreed for the last time.” you told him.

“And so far, how is this one going?” he asked cheekily.

You pretended to think for a second, humming as you rubbed your chin. He laughed.

“It’s going great. You get plus points for my favorite flowers.” you smiled.

“Even though I didn't show up last time?”

He seemed really apologetic about that. He brought it up again for the nth time even though you already told him countless times that it’s okay.

You puffed, “Hoseok, it's fine. I really do understand. I used to work at a hospital, things can get a little spontaneous. No worries about it.”

A staff member came with your orders. She carefully placed your drinks and food on your table. You can feel your shoulders relaxing as you feel the warmth of the tea on your tongue when you take a sip from the cup.

“How was it?”

You smiled, “Nice. Perfect for a rainy day. How did you find this place? I don't think I ever reached this part of the city.”

“This is the only open cafe I see whenever I get off from my shift very late at night. I love their coffee here.” 

You nodded while taking a bite from the banana muffin you ordered. And you quickly recognized its difference from your usual banana muffin. You look at Hoseok who's enjoying his cake.

“How was it?” he asked, pointing his fork at your muffins.

“This feels a little dry and the texture’s a bit rough,” you whispered, not really wanting the nice lady at the cashier to hear you.

You don't want to be critical. But you just got used to having a soft and fluffy banana muffin or even bread with the right amount of sweetness in it.

He leaned a bit forward, mirroring you, “Really?” 

“Yeah, seems like it had a lot of flour,” you added before offering him one of the muffins.

You watched him take a bite and chew on it. After gulping it down, you wait for his opinion.

“It is dry.” he nods before putting the muffin down. “You seem to know a lot about bread. Do you bake?”

No, but I know someone who put his heart out and is a perfectionist in baking.

Instead of saying that, you shake your head.

“Oh, no. But I do love a lot of bread and pastries. I just know friends who bake back in Seoul.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We probably didn't get to discuss that in the meeting we had.” 

Taehyung, along with Jimin, sat at the same table since that morning. Jihoon’s mom already picked him up earlier and the shop was already sold out by 5 PM so they closed early. Now, they are just having a call with Ashley about the contract.

“So, it means that based here on the contract, you want one of us to stay there in Incheon to oversee the pastries.” Jimin clarified.

“Yes, we just want to make sure that the quality of the products will be the same as what you have there in Seoul. Also, we thought that it might be better for our crew members to personally learn about it from the baker himself.” Ashley explained through the call set in loudspeaker mode.

Jimin looked at Taehyung who nods with that. This time, Taehyung has a question.

“You said that there would be a salary?” 

“Yes. There would be a separate salary for the baker who will be staying here with us for four weeks. And since traveling from Seoul to Incheon can be a hassle, if you want to, we can also provide temporary accommodation with complete furniture. My husband runs a condominium business here so the accommodation would be on one of his buildings.”

Both of the men’s jaws dropped with that information. Their eyes were wide as they met each other's gaze. They definitely didn't expect that information from her. They were unaware of how rich she was. They just know that she runs a great restaurant in Incheon.

Jimin cleared his dry throat, “Okay, thank you for clarifying it. But we hope you can still wait before we sign the contract since me and my friend still have to talk about it.” 

“Sure, of course. Just reach out to us whatever your decision is.”

“Thank you. Have a great night.”

As soon as Jimin ended the call, the two exchanged looks.

“So?” Taehyung began.

Jimin shakes his head, “I can't. Jihoon just began going to school. You know what my co-parenting arrangements with his mom are.” 

Taehyung nods. After learning about Jihoon’s existence, Jimin wanted to make up for those years he missed. He was hands-on in everything that his son takes part in. He is also helping Jihoon’s mom in looking after him since she is currently working in a nine-to-five job.

“It's fine with me. I went on vacation there once. It's nice there. Plus, we can split the salary.” He commented. 

And he didn't really have any obligations here in Seoul. Unlike his best friend. It would be easier and better if he went. Jimin can manage the shop while taking care of Jihoon. Taehyung is flexible in working everywhere. 

“It would also be nice to stay in a new place.”

“No, but the living finances in Seoul are really more expensive than here.”

You don't sure how long has it been since you and Hoseok arrived here in the cafe. You already finished your tea while the ice on his drink has already melted. The only muffin left was half-eaten. The plate of his carrot cake was already on your after he let you finish it when he noticed that you liked it after giving you a taste.

“It is. That's also another reason why I came back here.” Hoseok exclaimed. “I can't stand living with another careless roommate again.”

You laughed when he referenced his bad roommate experience he told you earlier. Hoseok has been funny and nice ever since he picked you up today. He talked about Mickey, his life back in Seoul, and a little bit about his family.

“But you said you stayed in Seoul after graduating, right?” he recalled.

“Yes, I did.”

“How? Did you live alone?”

“At first, I became roommates with my best friend there, who’s also a nurse. That lasted for a couple of years... Then, I moved in with the guy I was dating at the time.” You told him.

“Like in his apartment?”

You shake your head, “We bought a house.”

His jaw dropped, “You bought a house? In Seoul?!”

“Yeah, we did some research and saved up for it starting from our first anniversary. Apparently, foreclosed properties are cheap there.” You shared it like a fact.

Taehyung was the first one to bring up the idea of living together a few weeks before your anniversary. After talking about it, you two did some research and went to a lot of open houses. Then, you found out about foreclosed properties. Taehyung and you looked in about four foreclosed houses before landing on the one you called home. 

“What happened to the house after you broke up?” He asked.

You purse your lips, “He's living in it. But we agreed to talk about it soon.”

How soon is soon though?

“So it was a good breakup?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” 

The last sentence was almost a whisper by the end. You cleared your throat as if something was stuck in it. It was your turn to ask.

“How about you? How was your last relationship?”

Hoseok leaned back on his chair, crossing his arm over his chest, “It was great for the most part. We’ve been together for only one year. I actually proposed to her.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together, “Really? What happened?”

“We had a lot of misunderstandings in the last months of our relationship. It can be about everything. But mostly, she gets mad whenever I have an emergency in the hospital and I understand that. So one day, we harshly broke up during a fight before I left for work.”

“So it's a bad breakup?” 

“Yeah, a bit bitter.” He sneered. “But at least I don't share any property with her.”

It was a teasing remark to lighten up the mood. You grimaced and rolled your eyes. He laughed.

“The lady was too kind to ask us to go,” you said as Hoseok drove.

The moment you and Hoseok realized that the rain had stopped and the sky was already dark, you two got up and left. Hoseok insisted on paying, even playfully threatening to throw your wallet away if you ever pulled it out of your pocket.

“I’m sure she doesn't mind. She gave us free cupcakes.” He replied, pointing to the box resting on your lap.

“Are you sure you don't want to take this?” you asked because he handed you the box as soon as the lady gave it.

“Yeah, just update me with your review about it. I'm interested to hear more about your thoughts.”

You bit your lip from hearing that, “Okay.”

After a few minutes of listening (and singing along) to songs that played in his stereo, you arrived in front of your building. Of course, Hoseok opened your door for you. He helped you with the bag you brought to school so you could carry the flowers and cupcakes.

“Should I help you to your apartment?” He asked while you slid your bag into your arm, struggling. 

You gave up, letting him take your bag and the cupcakes, “Okay. Come in.”

You opened the door to your building and led the way to the stairs. He assured you that he was okay as you kept on looking back at him. And when you unlocked your apartment, you turned around.

"Do you want to go inside? Water, juice, or anything to drink?” You offered before putting the things on the counter near your door.

He smiled, “It's fine, I can't stay for too long. My next shift is at nine. I just want to make sure you'll make it to your door without dropping any of those.”

You looked down at your watch, “Oh my god. It’s already past eight. You should go! I should've taken a cab.”

“YN, it's okay! It's still early.” he chuckled. “Plus, I had a really great time talking with you.”

Your stomach flutters, looking at him. You noticed the same smile you saw earlier.

“I hope this isn't the last time we'll go out.”

You nodded, “Of course. Martha did it right this time.”

“How about next weekend? Sunday?” he asked.

“Sure, I’ll be back from Seoul by then.” 

His eyebrows raised, “Really? I’m going to be in Seoul for a conference on Saturday. When are you coming there?”

“The same day! I’m going to visit some friends.”  

“Maybe we can go there in Seoul together? So you don't have to commute.” He offered.

“That sounds good!” You agreed before looking down at your watch again. “But I think you should go now. I know you still have to do stuff before going to work.”

“Okay. Let's just talk about it later.” 

“Okay. Thank you for the flowers and everything, Hoseok,” you state before leaning in to give a quick kiss on his cheek.

He smiles, “You're welcome, YN. Tonight was great.”

“Text me when you make it to the hospital. Drive safely! Good night.”  You said as he walked back.

“Good night, YN.” He waved before walking down the stairs.

You closed the door to your apartment before leaning your back on it, looking at the yellow tulips on the counter.

What a lovely night.

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[fairydustblossom]

tied to you

azriel x reader

summary: yours and azriels friendship is strained, but azriel can't seem to keep away from you

category: angst, mutual-pinning, fluff

word count: 3.5k

warnings: none i think lol

notes: hey y'all i know i disappeared for a bit i promise i will update losing control but i just hadn't felt any inspo and my brain kept coming up with different fic ideas lol, anyways wrote this one and i quite like it ◡̈ lmk what y'all think! and remember request are open! i won't necessarily get to them immediately but i will at some point!! enjoy!

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“Why don't you like me anymore?” a deep voice asked. You jumped in your seat, dropping the pen you were writing with, ink splashing all over your paper. You hadn’t heard the owner of the voice approach you, having been consumed by your work in the deep aisles of the library. 

At the sound of his voice, your inner alert senses started going off. Immediately you were overcome with the urge to flee, the same feeling you had often felt in his presence as of late. If you didn’t leave now, your heart would hurt. The longing within you would surface if you didn’t find a way out. However, you looked up, glancing at the intruder. The room you were in had darkened, the faeligths around you dimmed, as if the light was fighting to be seen. That was the power he had. To walk into a room and the sheer strength of his power bend the will of light, surrendering to the darkness he commanded. There he was, sitting across from you and you could feel yourself wanting to do the same. Wanting to succumb to him, give all of you to the darkness that was part of him and never surface again.

Fighting back the urge to roll your eyes, you met his unrelenting stare and sighed. This again. Recently, he had started noticing the distance you had put between you and him and he had started trying to catch your attention, to get you to speak to him, anything to get you to interact with him.

"Azriel you know I like you, we are family" you replied, glancing up at him for a breath only to continue your work.

His cheeks were slightly flushed. You hadn’t seen it, but he had winced when he startled you enough to ruin the paper you were writing on. He didn’t intend for his question to come out so bluntly. He already felt mortified at approaching you with this question, but he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help but notice how you never interacted with him anymore. Couldn’t help but notice how anytime he tried speaking with you, you would find a way to get out of the conversation. How you would leave a room when he walked in, and if you had to stay in the room, how you would simply ignore his existence. 

He remembered a time when you would smile at him every time he walked into a room. How you unabashedly talked to him, unphased by his quiet demeanor. How you would seek him out in meetings, at parties, during missions. How could he not notice the change? At first he thought you were maybe going through something and needed some space. But your behavior towards the rest of your family hadn’t changed, you had only changed your behavior towards him. Azriel couldn’t explain why it bothered him so much. It was eating him alive, not knowing what he did wrong. How had he managed to push away his dearest friend? 

He took you in, eyes narrowing at your response. He expected you to tell him honestly, to not so casually lie to his face, as if he didn’t know when you were being dishonest.

"You know Y/N, I’m used to being disliked,, and normally I wouldn’t care.. but... we used to be friends. At least I thought we were." Even though he tried, he couldn’t fully keep the bitterness from his words.

"We... we are friends Azriel" you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You could tell Azriel was irritated, but you refused to let him get to you. You had vowed to yourself to remain strong in your decision to keep your distance from Azriel. For years, you had longed for your friendship to grow into something more. For years you had been complacent, satisfied in having any part of him that you could. Pushing aside the feelings you harbored for the Shadowsinger, grateful that you could be such a close friend, never asking for more. 

He shook his head at your response, narrowing his eyes further and standing his ground. "No we aren't. I know how you treat your friends and you dont treat me like that anymore." 

You looked back down to your papers, opting not to respond. You knew Azriel and you knew anything you said he would counteract with his own reasoning. And the truth was that you had distanced yourself, and you didn't really consider Azriel a friend anymore. You had painfully said goodbye to that friendship that you cherished so dearly. It had taken you a long time to accept that Azriel would never be yours. You had finally come to terms with the fact that remaining friends was too painful. So you had decided to end the friendship.

No, you never had a conversation about it with him, but you didn’t think he would care. He never seemed to care. At least you thought that, until now.

Your  silence hurt him more than he expected. A feeling of dread was creeping up on him. At that moment, Azriel decided the most important thing in the world was to gain back your friendship. The loss of it suddenly unbearable. He could undoubtedly see the emptiness it had left in  his life. 

"Y/N, did I do something?" he managed to keep his voice steady but he was ready to drop to his knees and plead for your forgiveness, whatever he had done. 

You snapped your book shut and stood up looking down at him now.

"No Az, you haven't done anything. Really, I’ve just been busy" you shot him a tight smile, and turned around walking away from the conversation. 

Azriel stood up, about to follow you but the pit in his stomach, the feeling of rejection, and how easily you dismissed him, left him standing in place.

A few days later, Azriel had come back to the library. He had, at one point, seated himself  in the chair across from you. 

He was intent on getting you to acknowledge him. Even if it was only you asking him to go away. He figured you would say something about him there; however, you said nothing to him. You had only looked at him once, when you first realized he was there. The rest of the time, you just sat silently, working on whatever Rhys had asked of you. At first, his presence made your entire body tense up and it was hard to concentrate on your work, but refused to give in. You knew he was just trying to provoke you. Still, Azriel just sat there doing his own work. After a few hours of silence, realizing Azriel wasn’t going to bring up your strained friendship again, you were able to relax. His presence became comforting, something you had not felt in a long time.

Azriel’s calming presence had been one of the first things that drew you to him. He had never been a man of many words but you had always found solace in him. A consistent, safe space for you. 

You had mourned the loss of that space, and you were weary of letting yourself fall back into old habits, but you decided to indulge yourself. One time wouldn't ruin all the hard work you had put into coping with the distance. So you let yourself bask in his silence, your mind losing itself in your work. 

Azriel on the other hand couldn't really calm down. Joy filled him with being able to sit next to you. He kept wracking his brain for something to say but kept deciding against it. He was terrified of feeling what he had felt the other day, determined to  never  feel rejected by you again. He decided he would be content with just sitting next to you in silence. 

The intensity with which he  realized  how much he had missed the warmth you radiated, after getting it back today, took him by surprise. He mentally made plans to seek you out whenever he needed to do paperwork. If you let him sit next to you he would be happy with that. 

When you got to a good stopping point, you decided to leave. Everything in you begged you to stay longer, to talk to him, to touch him, but you fought against it. You would not let yourself go back to being at his disposal. 

Azriel continued showing up to the library whenever he needed to do work. His heart would quicken anytime he set his eyes on you, tucked away in your corner. He refrained from talking, fear seizing his heart that talking would break this delicate companionship. He also started showing up to training at the same time as you, even if the sweat glistening down your body made it impossible to actually train and he had to do two sessions a day. He felt consumed by thoughts of you, he craved you.  

When Azriel started showing up to your training hours, your heart sank to the pit of your stomach. You had purposely changed your schedule to avoid training with him, it had become unbearable. Now, you were back in the same predicament. Worry filled you, it felt like you were losing control of the situation and Azriel was slowly trickling back into every aspect of your life. But you couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in you every time you saw him, fully aware that what he seeked was your company. It also helped that he looked incredibly breathtaking while training. The sight of his shirtless torso one that you had missed. The tattoos that adorned his defined muscles, and the power he radiated while practicing his skills, made your knees want to buckle. 

He didn't really know if you found it annoying that he was forcing himself back into your life. You wouldn't let much show and he couldn’t decipher how you were feeling. He wasn't used to that. He used to be able to read you so easily, whatever you were feeling so plainly written on your face. The past weeks had felt like he was getting to know you all over again, like he had to earn those smiles back that so easily had come before. Azriel understood now that he had taken you for granted, and he was ready to do just about anything he could to get you back. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

At the end of the fourth week of this new silent dance between you and Azriel, you found yourself somehow sitting next to him in a circled booth at Ritas. Conversation flowed between your friends, but you stayed quiet, the feeling of Azriel’s body pressed against you overwhelming your thoughts. His muscular body radiated warmth and you could feel yourself leaning into him in your drunken state. You sat up straighter when you realized what you were doing, looking around the booth hoping none of your friends had noticed. They hadn’t, all too busy in their own worlds to notice anything. 

Azriel turned his gaze to look down at you, you seemed to be looking at everything but him. He took in how your exposed thigh was pressed against his covered one, and he thought for a fleeting second that he shouldn’t have worn pants tonight if it meant he would have been able to feel your bare skin against his. He had felt you sinking into him and then quickly sitting up and fought the urge to pull you into him again. He wanted you closer to him. He wanted you.

The alcohol running through him gave him the courage to bump you with his shoulder to get your attention. Your head turned to look at him and your eyes met his hazel ones. You were mesmerized. It seemed his eyes were glowing in the night club, specks of gold beckoning you in deeper. His shadows creeped up around you both as you continued to stare into each other's eyes. He leaned down, and your heart skipped a beat, for a brief second you thought he was going to kiss you. But instead of your lips, his lips brushed the side of your ear. You felt silly, why would he kiss you? Rather than shame filling you, heat creeped up, your breath hitching in your throat when you felt his own on your neck. 

“So, are you going to tell me why you stopped being my friend?” He asked against your ear, deep voice gruff with the drinking of the night. He leaned back and looked at you intently, waiting for your answer. 

"Come on Azzie, you know better than to ask questions like that" you replied with half shut lidded eyes and a shake of your head, a soft smile etched on your face.

His heart skipped a beat at the nickname you used to call him, only in private moments. And your smile. That soft barely there smile was the realest smile you had given him in months. He wanted more of it. He wanted that smile aimed at him every day. The fervor of his need left him breathless and it took everything in him not to grab your face and kiss you until all you could say was his name.

He licked his lips and said in a low voice, "You forget interrogation is part of my job description. I ask whatever I want, and I always get answers"

You couldn't fight off the heat creeping up your cheeks. His voice, gods, his voice did things to you. Especially when it was just meant for you to hear it. You let out a sigh, a deflated sigh. You recognized the need rising within you to have him. And every reminder that you never would made you feel heavy and defeated. 

"I don't understand why you wanna know so bad" you whispered, averting your gaze, only to be met by a thick cloud of shadows. 

"I care about you" he replied, his hand tentatively reaching up to turn your face back to him. He barely touched you, scared of spooking you, but when he did, he felt a spark shoot up his arm and he swore he could feel it crawling its way up to his chest. However, the slight frown on your face hinted to him that he had said the wrong thing. 

"Azriel, it's been months. I don't think you cared about me until this past month. And you and I both know the only reason you suddenly care is because Elain finally gave Lucien a chance and is not giving you any attention anymore."

The sharpness in your words took him aback and he looked away.  And the mention of Elain made his cheeks flush . His shadows scattered away form you and were mostly surrounding their master now. He felt embarrassed at how he had behaved the past year, knowing full well Elain had a mate. It was a sore subject, and he hadn’t expected you to throw it back in his face like that. But your words weren't exactly accurate. Yes, he had noticed the distance between you only recently, and some of that did have to do with not being around Elain as much anymore, but he had always cared for you. How could you think otherwise? 

He couldn't deny that something was drawing him to you more than ever and he didn't know what to say back to you. The lightness in your conversation, verging on the edge of flirtiness had dissipated. He could feel your unrelenting stare on the side of his face and could feel your annoyance growing  by the second. 

"I've always cared about you" he finally said, mustering the courage to look you in the eyes again. He forced himself to look at you and read the dislike you held for him on your face. The look you gave him now is what he had been wanting this past month. Every time he sat next to you, every time he invaded your space he wanted you to look at him this way, to prove that he wasn't making it up, to prove that he was right in thinking you didn't like him anymore. But now that he saw it, he felt small. He felt that he had done something to ruin the friendship he had grown to fiercely need in his life again. 

You couldn't fight the roll of your eyes and the scoff that came out of you at his words. The alcohol making you lose the grace with which you had handled Azriel the last few weeks. You stood up and walked away, the words "Not in the way I've cared about you" at the tip of your tongue. Trying to lose yourself in the crowd you quickly made your way through, fighting off the tears building up. The past month had just been too much. You had promised yourself that you would not be in this position again. That you wouldn't cry over Azriel again. 

You stepped out of Ritas into the cold fresh air and let out an exasperated laugh, tears falling from your eyes now. You felt a madness creeping up within you, the feeling of being trapped, always tied to Azriel  consuming you.

You leaned against a wall and looked up at the night sky, laughing at yourself.Only a few minutes had passed before you felt him coming near you. The look you shot him made him stop abruptly. Something in his chest broke at seeing you in such a state. Your makeup was smudged around your bloodshot eyes, tear marks running down your face. 

You had stopped crying and now you just stared at him with a deadpan look. Why were you crying? He was so confused. He furrowed his brows. Were you crying over him? 

He didn't know if it was the liquor running through his veins that gave him the boldness  to step closer to you, or if it was simply the need within him to feel your body pressed against his. The desire overtaking his body to be sharing each other's space. But he did know that he felt a pull towards you, an unstoppable force that would only subside once he could feel your breath against his lips. He just knew. 

Azriel analyzed your features, looking for any indication that he had misread the situation. The front of his body was fully pressed against yours now, your back pressed against the wall, drawing a small gasp from you. His hands came to cup your face, and his thumbs wiped away the remaining wetness on your cheeks. 

"Is this okay?" he whispered, barely audible.

You could only give a slight nod, hypnotized by his beauty, the feeling of his strong body against yours. Everything you had dreamed of for years. This couldn't be real, could it? You were afraid that if you spoke the moment would end. You took in every detail of his face, committing everything to memory, you had never been this close to him. You could see the furrow in his brows as he took you in, the freckles spread around his face, his beautiful nose nudging yours slightly, and his lips. His plump lips, gods his lips, once you set your eyes on them you couldn’t draw them away.

And then he leaned in, lips hovering over yours, you could feel them lightly grazing your own. You felt like you were melting, the wall and his body the only things holding you up. 

"Please kiss me Az" you heard yourself say, not even realizing you had started speaking until the words were coming out of your mouth. The desire you had kept locked up for so long seeping through. 

That was all Azriel needed to hear to do what he wanted to do. His lips met yours in a slow passionate kiss, he poured every once of care and affection he felt for you into it. He didn't rush it, he let himself feel every part of your mouth, taste every inch. His hands tightened their grip on your face. One hand tangling into your hair. How had he gone so long without ever tasting you? He felt that he couldn't stop now. He felt so complete.

And then it snapped. The bond he had been searching for his entire life. The pull that he felt toward you. And you felt it too. The feeling of being tied to Azriel, never letting you get too far, had been the bond. All at once, everything made sense and fell into place. You held him closer to you, neither of you stopping to catch your breath. You just kept kissing him, trying to figure out how to pour everything you were feeling down the bond. And then you felt his own feelings seeping through, the happiness he felt, the relief, and the heat that came with it indicating what this kiss was doing to him. 

You felt yourself giggling between kisses, the bond singing with joy in its full force. "You're my mate" you said, hand coming to hold his face in place, leaning your forehead against his while still looking into the pools of honey in his eyes. His cheeks were flushed and he couldn't, wouldn't, fight off the smile creeping up on him. ",and you're mine." He whispered

There would be a lot to talk about in the following days, but for now you just let yourself forget everything to enjoy the feeling of Azriel.

[perotovar]

tunnel vision — an "aint it sweet" oneshot

pairing: marcus pike x oc!vincent monet rating: E(18+) word count: 1.5k content: fluff, swearing, one (1) handjob, coming in pants, heavy kissing, neck kisses, they're both a couple'a cuties dividers by @/saradika-graphics beta:@kedsandtubesocks (ily)

summary: marcus has a new boyfriend in dc, and they're taking things slow. *written as a part of a loose-fit series following these two. this is the first part ♥

a/n: written as a part of @guiltyasdave 's kiss challenge. i was given the prompt "neck kisses". apologies for taking a million years to write this 🥲

masterlist | for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifs ♥

Marcus met Vincent two years after moving to DC.

He’d stayed single that whole time and took the time to heal from Teresa and his own mistakes in Texas. He knew now that trying to jump into a relationship was just a deflection from his own insecurities. Growing up with a Latina mother and a hard ass for a father set it in his mind that he had to be married with kids by a certain age. 

When that didn’t happen, he started to panic and latched onto someone he realized he didn’t even really like all that much. Thankfully, his parents gave him the space he needed to figure things out and left him alone. 

Vincent was a patron of a bar Marcus found himself frequenting after work. He wasn’t sure what Vincent did for work at first, but he was always there late. It made sense for Marcus to be there late, given his new position. He wasn’t sure who started talking to who first, but he does remember feeling… light.

Vincent had a warmth to him that Marcus was sorely lacking in his life. They’d meet twice a week and just talk.

Turns out, Vincent was a history professor at Georgetown University. He was… offensively handsome, with shoulder-length dreadlocks and smooth, dark skin. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and dressed sharply. Marcus found himself going lightheaded whenever the scent of Vincent’s cologne hit his nostrils. Vanilla and coconut, with a hint of something tangy. 

Marcus could listen to Vincent talk about pretty much anything, his voice low, measured, and a little quiet. He wasn’t sure how any of Vincent’s students got anything done. 

Marcus was always pretty straightforward about his desires, so during one of those conversations he asked Vincent out. Vincent graced Marcus with a pearly white smile and a shy chuckle. “I’d love to,” he breathed.

That was a few weeks ago now, and they’d just made their way back to Marcus’ apartment after their third date. 

“Vin,” Marcus moaned, tangling his fingers through the thick ropes of Vincent’s hair and gripping tightly. 

Vincent had him pinned to his couch in the living room, their hips rolling against each other. Vincent’s plump lips were latched onto Marcus’ neck, sucking and nipping languidly. Marcus loved kissing Vincent. It always left him breathless and felt like it was an event in and of itself. There was no rush to do anything, no pressure to continue to another “step”. 

“N-not too high,” he gasped, his cock twitching in his slacks. Vincent chuckled and released Marcus’ neck to give him a look that said ‘I know what I’m doing’. Marcus blushed high on his cheeks and shrugged a little. “I have a meeting in the morning, you know?”

“I’m offended,” Vincent scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes. “Thinking I’d jeopardize your professionalism like that.” He reached up to take off his glasses and set them down on the coffee table next to them. 

Marcus blinked, then laughed lightly, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Get back over here, you,” he smiled, patting Vincent’s bearded cheek.

When their lips touched this time, they fully melted into it. Marcus rolled his hips up against Vincent’s, wrapping his legs around his waist. Vincent made a low noise in his chest and kissed along Marcus’ jaw to the side of his neck he hadn’t touched yet.

Vincent left tender, wet kisses down the thick muscle, then blew softly against the sensitive skin. Marcus shivered and moaned weakly as his cock jumped in his pants again. He was harder than he ever had been in his life and was worried he’d make a fool of himself soon.

Vincent sat up on his knees a little and started unbuttoning Marcus’ dress shirt enough to move it and expose Marcus’ shoulder. He hummed in satisfaction when he saw the blush on Marcus’ cheeks went all the way down to his chest behind the white tank he was wearing underneath. 

Marcus made a weak sound when Vincent’s lips latched onto his neck again, this time lower and closer to where his shoulder started. “Vin,” he gasped, gripping onto Vincent’s broad shoulders and digging his nails in. 

“Yes?” Vincent smiled, voice muffled before he went back to lazily sucking and kissing Marcus’ skin. 

“I’m–” Marcus groaned, his hips rolling erratically. He was almost certain he was going to come if Vincent didn’t slow down.

“You okay?” Vincent chuckled, releasing Marcus’ neck to look at him closely. Marcus was flushed red with big, wet eyes. He nodded and bit his lip, not making eye contact with Vincent. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Vincent frowned.

“It’s nothing, I just… Just give me a minute?” He huffed sheepishly.

Vincent blinked and looked down between Marcus’ legs. He smirked when he saw the twitching bulge beyond the fabric of Marcus’ slacks. “Oh, baby,” Vincent grinned, rolling his own hard length against him teasingly.

“V-Vin, please, I’m–”

“I want you to. Please?” Vincent cupped Marcus’ face in one large hand, his thumb rubbing against his cheekbone tenderly.

Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he felt so exposed and also so safe. He knew Vincent wouldn’t judge him or tease him too harshly about coming in his pants like a teenager after some heavy kissing. 

He let out a deep breath and smiled shyly up at his handsome history professor. “Kiss me again?”

“Happily,” Vincent hummed, shutting his eyes gently as their lips connected again. 

They rocked together jerkily, the sounds of their heavy breathing and the creaking from Marcus’ hand-me-down couch filling the room. Vincent held Marcus close to his broad chest, strong arms enveloping him.

While Vincent took his time kissing and making Marcus feel like he was floating on air, apparently he was very different once he had a goal in mind. Marcus was making sounds he never thought he could make, the heat at the base of his spine overwhelming him. 

Vincent’s hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm, making Marcus’ heart pound and blood rush in his ears. “I’m– I think I’m gonna come, Vin,” he gasped, thighs trembling on either side of Vincent’s hips.

“C’mon, baby,” Vincent grinned, mouth latching onto Marcus’ neck again to push him over the edge.

��Oh, fuck,” Marcus whined, furrowing his brow in concentration. “Fuck!” He gasped as his cock twitched heavily in his pants, coming hard. He moaned as each wave wracked through his body, leaving him breathless.

Vincent hummed in satisfaction and rolled his hips with Marcus, prolonging everything just a little more for him. “Beautiful,” he whispered reverently. He sat up, looking down at Marcus’ spent body and the large wet spot at the front of his slacks. He chuckled at the sight, his own cock twitching in his jeans.

Marcus panted hard, coming down from his peak slowly. He gradually came back to Earth and blushed again when he saw Vincent’s warm brown eyes looking at him. “Stop,” he chuckled. “No one’s made me do that since Ashley in the 7th grade.”

Vincent smirked, chest puffing up in pride. “Well, consider me honored to be among such a prestigious group.”

Marcus rolled his eyes and gently pushed Vincent’s shoulder. “Your turn.” He crawled into Vincent’s lap, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck. He undid Vincent’s jeans and held his thick cock in his hand through the thin material of his briefs.

When Vincent moaned and bucked his hips, Marcus felt a rush of excitement down his spine. 

“S-shouldn’t be long,” Vincent chuckled, his cock throbbing in Marcus’ strong hand. Marcus hummed happily and latched his own mouth onto Vincent’s neck.

With Vincent’s cock now exposed, Marcus stroked him slowly, teasing the head with his thumb. Vincent breathed heavily, the heat from his cheeks and neck warming Marcus’ lips. Marcus pumped him gradually before he removed his hand to spit into his palm, and returned to his previous rhythm. 

Vincent moaned and shivered at the wetness along his length, lips parted obscenely as he watched Marcus’ hand. 

Marcus sucked hard against Vincent’s neck, nibbling on the thick muscle teasingly. “C’mon,” he encouraged, kissing up his neck to latch onto Vincent’s earlobe. He moaned around the earring there and sped up the fist between Vincent’s thighs.

“Shit,” Vincent breathed, nodding toward his cock. “M-Marcus, baby, I’m–” He smiled, resting his head on the back of the couch as he watched Marcus’ face.

Marcus blushed again and kissed him deeply as Vincent tensed, coming hard all over Marcus’ hand. He groaned into his mouth, hips bucking jerkily with his release. He giggled in the aftershocks, the dopamine rushing through his system as he held Marcus’ face in his hands.

Marcus’ heart pounded in his chest as they kissed languidly, both of them coming down from the moment.

They stayed like that for a while until they finally had to part to breathe. “We should do that again sometime,” Vincent flirted, nudging Marcus’ chin with the knuckle of his index finger.

Marcus laughed, cheeks warm and chest light. He couldn’t agree more.

[glittercake]

For Samtember Day 3: 'Costume' @samsseptember

“How long’s this going to take? Let me speak to Ayo.”

On his end of the line, Sam snorts, then does a quick scan of the workshop to see which Wakandan saw him smiling at his boyfriend this time. Okoye had already drawn an incredibly immature picture of Sam and Bucky and pinned it to the notice board in the palace foyer.

“Ayo doesn’t want to speak to you,” Sam says. He rotates his arm along with the hologram. It beeps a few times and records his biceps measurement, then moves to his chest. “Besides, it’s nice here. I ain’t in a rush.”

Bucky groans. Sam laughs again. “Yeah, you’re not. I’m dying over here.”

“Because you gotta work with Torres? Grow up, Buck.”

“He’s alright. No, I’m—”

“Before you say that, remember you’re calling on Wakandan tech, and if Aneka calls me Captain Lovey Pants one more time, I’m breaking up with you.”

This time, instead of complaining, Bucky cackles. It goes on for a few seconds. And yeah, Sam’s smiling again, all to himself.

“Stop,” he says fondly, listens to Bucky laughing on the other end. So maybe he lied. Maybe he could rush a little to get home. Maybe he misses this idiot just a little. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if they tossed this new suit through a speed cycle and threw him on a jet back home tonight.

“If you laugh, Captain, your chest expands and corrupts the reading,” Lerato tells him when she restarts the measurement. Again.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry ma’am.” Sam holds still, bites back a laugh. “You’re getting me in trouble, man. I gotta go.”

“Yeah, alright. Gotta get started on my dinner for one, anyway.”

“You’ll be fine, baby. I’ll send an update later.”

“Later, sweetheart.”

“Cheers, Buck.”

“Finally. My ears can not stand another second of that.” Ayo has come to check on the suit’s progress and gives Sam a sideways look.

Sam sighs. “Of course you heard.”

“It’s custom here to give the new leaders as much grief as possible—this is looking good. Any requests? James sent a list, but it went missing. Strange, hm?” A smirk plays around her mouth.

Sam smiles. Bucky is still very much banned from Wakanda despite his letter of apology. “Yeah, if it’s anything like his shopping lists, that’s a good thing. Uh. Just one request, really.”

Ayo fiddles with the inputs and projections and slides a few specs around. “I can not turn Redwing into an actual bird, Samuel. We talked about this.”

“That’s what you claim, yeah, and I’m gonna keep asking, but no, not that.”

She gives him a suspicious look. Probably because whatever is upgradable on this suit has been upgraded, it even has an unimaginable amount of secret pockets and he won’t admit it out loud but he’s using those for lube and condoms and gum and there is nothing the Kingdom of Wakanda can do about it.

“Alright, the suit’s a little loose in the back. That’s all.”

“In the back? Samuweli, uthetha ngantoni?”

“You know. Part of this gig is the image. I gotta look good.” He motions vaguely to his ass. “This just needs to be a little… tighter.”

Ayo stares at him, then blinks. “That old man has got you good, doesn’t he?”

“Hey, I see how you look at Aneka. Yesterday she mentioned peaches and what did you do last night—” Ayo groans, rolls her eyes. “—no, tell me what you did last night!”

Her mouth twitches, but she schools her expression, points at him. “Wena. You are on thin ice.”

“You baked her a whole peach pie, that’s what. You feel me?”

“She likes pie,” Ayo says with a soft little sparkle behind her eyes, regarding Sam for a moment before returning to the monitors. “Fine. Tighter in the back.” She fiddles with two of the measurements on the suit hologram, then presses Enter.

Sam gives her his best grin when the machine circles down to his hips. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Ayo gathers her spear and clipboard. “We are hosting a few Ghanaian warriors tomorrow night. They would love to meet you. Wear the new suit.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I guess ‘Captain Lovey Pants’ has a whole new meaning now, eh?” Sam groans, and Ayo throws her head back and laughs and then some on her way out of the workshop.

The scanner zips into motion, and within seconds, the material tightens around his glutes, squeezing.

“Uh, Lerato! Ayo? Not this tight!”

“Hm,” Lerato says, titling her head and peeking around at Sam’s behind, smiles then shrugs. “I don’t see the problem, Captain. Didn’t you say it’s all about the image?”

“Ugh, I did.” Sam regrets everything. These folks are relentless.

“Well,” Lerato says, a sneaky, mischievous look in her eyes. “This is quite the image.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 11 . Nothing More, Nothing Less (4)

a/n: double update this week because i got a perfect score on my all-or-nothing oral quiz last night hehe. also, this was supposed to be 2 installments only but I keep making things longer than when I first storyboarded lol

tags: feelings in progress, trying to break out from an abusive mentality, crying, fluff, remember that healing is not instant and takes time

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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Everyone dispersed to do their own thing when they got back home. Of course, they did this after they made sure that _____ was inside their room and properly resting.

The healer complied with everyone’s wishes, how could they not when Choi Han was practically guarding the door? However, they were starting to feel restless and bored. Back at their old home, they were never told to rest for this long.

It was the opposite actually.

Everyone back there wanted them to get back in action as soon as possible. It doesn’t matter how bad they feel, _____ is expected to get back to work after 5 hours max.

Knock

Knock 

“Cale-nim asked if you feel well enough to join him for dinner.”

Good thing Choi Han gave _____ an agenda before they die of restlessness.

“Please tell the young master I’ll join him.”

The swordmaster inspected the healer first before nodding. Looks like _____ passed Choi Han’s detector and is deemed well enough to have dinner in Cale’s room.

It was an invitation for dinner but the Medicus knows that its real purpose is so that Cale can have a serious chat with them.

_____ already knows their fault.

In Cale and everyone else’s eyes, they acted recklessly. It’s _____’s mistake that they didn’t inform Cale that could handle that much. Then in turn because of that miscommunication, some things were hindered and they lost manpower for a short while.

To put it another way, _____ hindered everyone’s work.

For that, they were sorry. They didn’t mean to be deadweight that had to be carried around.

_____ told themself that they’ll tell Cale they won’t repeat the same mistake when they have dinner.

…things didn’t go as planned.

When the healer tried to explain that they certainly could handle more than what they did in the Whipper Kingdom Cale only sighed. Then when they tried to say sorry Cale frowned.

That’s never a good sign.

But _____ can’t think of what else they did wrong.

It didn’t help that the children averaging 8 years old also have the same expression.

“You know that I’m trash right?”

“Huh? Uhm yes, I do.”

_____ knew the rumours that labelled Cale as trash, but they didn’t know why it mattered right now.

“Right and as you know someone trash is selfish.”

The healer has no idea where this is going. In the first place, Cale was far from selfish. He may be opportunistic and a little manipulative but everything he did was for the betterment of others.

“Because I’m selfish I don’t care whatever happens to other people. My priority will always be me and my people first.”

_____ still has no idea where this is going.

“That means you, you rascal.”

Cale poked _____’s forehead, straightening the lines of confusion that had formed.

“You’re one of my people. You have been since that day you agreed to leave the City of Life with me.

Meaning, you are my priority. Meaning, I will not tolerate such dangerous and self-sacrificial actions from you.”

On looked at Cale as if he had no right to talk but the redhead didn’t notice it.

“And so in the future, I hope you can promise to never do anything that will harm you again. I don’t need promises of you doing better, I just want to know that you won’t get hurt this severely from healing other people...”

Plop

Plop

Cale who had more to say stopped speaking.

How could he not when he saw _____’s tears?

The same _____ who had a neutral expression after almost dying.

The same _____ who just nodded and moved on after realizing their family had abandoned them.

The same _____ who still had a poker face despite shaking from their nightmares.

That same _____ is now crying.

And it looks like they didn’t even notice they were crying.

_____ only noticed their tears when they picked up the two kittens that had been pawing their arm. After they did, the two took it upon themself to paw away the tears streaming down their face.

It seemed to have the opposite effect though.

Not only did it not stop the healer’s tears it actually made them cry more.

_____ couldn't stop the tears from flowing no matter how hard they tried. After a few seconds of trying they gave up and asked Cale a question instead.

"Cale-sunbae are you never mad at me? You never yell or punish me even though I keep messing up and is essentially useless to your group of experts..." 

Cale feels as though he is gonna have a heart attack from all the surprises because of _____. 

Are they being serious? 

How could Cale get mad at them or think of them as useless when their abilities are so useful? 

Just the amount of money they've saved from using fewer potions because they have a great healer was already amazing. Then there's the ancient power that makes them a living detector. Because of that ability, everyone found it easier to navigate the plants and monsters inside the Forest of Darkness.

How could someone amazing be deemed useless?

This was certainly because of the trash that adopted them.

Cale is going to make sure he fucks them up sooner or later.

But for now, the young master is going to make sure _____ understands their worth.

“I don’t take in useless people. I only take in people that can pay for their meals.”

The redhead used his personal handkerchief to dry the healer's tears.

As he did _____ could feel that warm and fuzzy feeling they felt back at the Whipper Kingdom come back. However, they ignored it in favour of listening to Cale’s words.

“Remember, I personally asked you to join me, to join us. Have you ever seen me make the wrong judgement?”

Cale is definitely tooting his own horn.

But hey if it makes _____ understand.

And it looks like it did because _____ shook their head no. Then they stayed silent as they stared at Cale’s handkerchief. As if they were absorbing the weight of his words.

Cale deemed it enough for now. He knows that _____ will have a hard time reversing everything they’ve learned. It won't be easy, but Cale is willing to go at _____’s pace.

Later that night Choi Han knocked on Cale’s door to report something.

When the swordmaster entered the room the first thing he noticed was how none of the children were with Cale.

“They’re in _____’s room. They said something about making sure that _____ doesn’t cry again.”

Was Cale’s short answer when asked.

“_____-nim cried?”

Choi Han couldn’t believe it. Just what did his Cale-nim say to someone as expressionless as _____ that it made them cry…

“Check on them yourself if you don’t believe me.”

That’s exactly what Choi Han did after he finished his report.

Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t because he didn’t trust Cale’s words. It’s more because he wanted to see if the healer was doing better now.

The black-haired man knocked on the door and Raon answered by opening it using mana.

It’s dark in the room but Choi Han has no problems seeing everything. As he scans the room he sees the children averaging 8 years old lying down on _____’s bed. The two kittens are already asleep just like the healer, leaving the black dragon to be the only one awake.

Choi Han smiled at the sight. The children didn’t look any different aside from the fact they were sleeping on _____’s bed instead of Cale’s. At the same time, it looks like _____ themself is sleeping peacefully.

The swordmaster checked everything one more time to make sure he didn’t miss anything before closing the door to let the four get their well-deserved rest.

[igottatho]

Art for the algorithm - Issa cat and a Cathulu

And It’s time for an update on my friend and his family. If you need some more info on him and his family, check out my pinned post.

With our help, my friend has managed to secure a fan and battery, and now a solar panel for his family. The children have more comfort during the hottest parts of the day.

My friend has also acquired skin cream for the babies, who began developing rashes due to the heat and lack of clean water.

These things will help to alleviate some of this day-to-day suffering so that other long-term needs can be facilitated.

We have to remember that everything is closed for exit and entry, but the need does not lessen. Please donate if you’re able, and share if you’re not 🙏🏼 every little bit helps!!

I have had several people donate to me directly while I’m at the fair, in order to forego the fees associated with our campaign host. So, our actual amount collected is ~$120 higher than what you see at the link!

My friend is particular about sharing these updates because he wishes us to know his need is genuine and he is trustworthy. I believe that he and his family are human and deserving of help. I dislike that we are in the situation where a person in need must justify, let alone ask for such help in such times, but what are we to do about this? McCarthy once said “what would you do? even if you knew what to do, you wouldn’t know what to do.”

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You" - Reader/Eren reverse isekai - PART 3

word count: 1022, still rated T [updated June 27]

<- PART 2 | PART 4 ->

*********

“Eren’s acting weird today.” You tell Jean, an hour later and shortly after arriving at the restaurant. It was the soft opening of Niccolo’s bar, and he’d invited all of his friends to try out the menu and get day drunk.

To all of your friends, it seemed like the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

The bar was right in the middle of downtown, split into two levels with a more fancy dining area and a patio upstairs, and the casual bar in the lower level. Niccolo had been working for years to open it, and everyone was beyond excited that his dream had finally come true.

You wished you were more in the mood to celebrate. Unfortunately, all you could do was run your weird morning through your head as you thought about Eren.

About how he was being so… well--....

“He’s always weird.” Jean dismisses your comment with the casual wave of his hand as he takes another sip of his beer from where you’re both standing, leaning against the bar as you look out at the restaurant.

“I’m being serious.” You reply.

“So am I.” Jean shrugs.

When you don’t reply to the obvious ribbing from your friend (something that would normally get you caught up in at least five minutes of back-and-forth banter), he looks over at you. Jean clears his throat. “What happened?” He asks.

“I think he had another nightmare that really fucked him up he-” you sigh, “he totally forgot about today and the whole drive here he was just staring out the window, not saying a single thing. He’s been raving about the restaurant opening for months and now it’s like he completely forgot it was even happening. It’s just-... It’s reminding me of third year, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

You begin fiddling with the sleeve of your dress. “Remember that morning he had just... disappeared.”

It was back when most of your friend group was still in university. Back then, Eren and Armin were sharing a dorm and one night Eren vanished. All day, no one knew where he was. He’d left his phone, keys, and wallet at home and hadn’t told anyone he was going somewhere. He’d missed class, practice, and the plans the two of you had made to meet up for lunch.

You were ready to put in a missing persons report when that evening he just-… came back.

Around 7pm, he walked back into his dorm acting completely normally. He said he needed some time away from everyone and think about something, but as he said it he had this look in his eyes. A look that… you weren’t sure what to make of.

The same look he’d had only a few hours ago; after he released you from where he’d pinned you to your bed.

“Yeah...” Jean agreed as he swirled his drink in his glass and stared down at it in deep concentration.

“It’s just reminding me of that.” You say. “All morning he was so stiff and awkward. He said it was just a bad dream messing with his head but he-... he didn’t know who I was, Jean. He knew who Armin was though. And you. Sasha, Connie, Reiner, Annie, Mikasa, Marco, Ymir- literally everyone but me and I-”

Then Jean starts choking on his drink.

“Jean!” You exclaim as you move the drink from his hold and place it on the bar, patting his back with your other hand.

“It’s-” he manages before another cough, “It’s nothing!” Jean coughs again. “b-bye” He status as he pushes away from the bar, still trying to clear his throat. “Armin-”

You’re left there, alone at the table with only Jean’s beer for company. Completely confused as you watch him push through your group of friends in search of Armin.

You’re somehow left even more confused than ever.

And as you glance across the restaurant, Eren is nowhere to be seen.

***

Armin looked different than he had before.

Sure, he still had the same blonde hair and wide blue eyes; but the way he was looking at Eren reminded him of the little boy in Shiganshina, wishfully rattling off facts about the outside world.

There was life to him, Eren realized in an instant.

There was life.

“Eren,” Armin laughed. “You really are spacey today.”

“Sorry…” Eren mumbled, unable to look away from his best friend as he recalled the last time he’d seen him: when they’d sat together in a pool of blood and Armin had held him tightly, crying about how they were both irredeemable monsters.

“What’s that look for?” Armin asked him with another laugh.

“You’re… You’re here.” Is all Eren can manage to say. 

“Oh no.” Armin sighs. “Did you already get to the champagne? It’s barely even two in the afternoo-”

“Where’s Mikasa?” Eren suddenly asks. He hadn’t seen her yet.

He had seen plenty of other people he knew, which made him do a double take as he entered the restaurant and everyone greeted him like nothing was wrong.

Like hadn’t recently killed 80% of humanity and led to the deaths of plenty of the people in the large restaurant.

Like he was meant to just be here and some-... some party or something.

Honestly Eren wasn’t sure what the event was; but that wasn’t important, what was important was finding Mikasa. 

“Eren are you feeling alright?” Armin asks, pulling Eren out of his thoughts.

“Where are we, Armin?” He asks bluntly.

“Um… fourth and center street?”

“No. I mean-...” Eren looks away from the restaurant and back at Armin. He has to know what’s going on, right? “We said we’d-... you and I promised. We promised we’d meet in hell. Is that where we are? Are we... Armin, are we in hell?”

Armin’s eyes widened as the playful twinkle of life that had been in them before completely vanished. “Eren you-”

“Armin!” Suddenly Jean was at their sides, he grabbed Armin by the shoulders and shook him. “It’s Eren he’s- he’s-”

Armin finished the sentence for him as both of their eyes fell to their friend:

“Eren’s awake.”

[wisteriagoesvroom]

gax + corporate/law vibes + ‘The powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.’

gax?? gax!!

power (you make some points): a gax ficlet

rated m, ~1.2k words now also readable on ao3

author babble:

bear in mind i wrote this before i knew more about the Gax Lore i.e. karting together, actually being nice to each other blablabla. you could also just retrofit the vibes and hopefully they still work. anyways!

will throw this up on ao3 when i’m not sitting bleary eyed in an airport

————

If there was one thing that Max Verstappen wouldn’t tolerate, it was George Russell having the monopoly on good PowerPoint presentations. Max had won all four years of debate in College, as well as the dubious title of “most radical deployment of Google Slides templates” at his MBA, and he was not about to be usurped by the other guy in his department who actually knew how to use an animate transition.

“You missed an indent there.” Max says, pointing at the monitor. Yellow and red lights wink at them from the outside, as if to say: you’re both in your mid-twenties, quit wasting it on a computer screen at 11pm on a Wednesday, maybe?

Max is not staring, very determined not to look at his teammate’s facial expression. But George is almost certainly rolling his eyes right now.

“Was coming back to that, alright?” George huffs back. Max is very professional most of the time. But something about how wound up George is, how insanely pedantic he is about everything from semicolons to coffee cup placement for the Directors to taking insanely detailed minutes that nobody except Max reads after the meetings – well. What is it that Nietschze once said? We hate in others what we most identify with about ourselves. Or was that from Twitter? Max does not really use Twitter except to look at Bloomberg News updates and cat videos, so he does not know. And anyway Nietzsche never made a six figure salary.

“It would just be easier if you would let me do it.” Max says.

“Fuck right off, mate.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like me to.”

“Not now.”

“Just share the link to this. I’ll do it.”

“We agreed to take turns on this.”

“Yes, Russell. But sometimes, the rules are meant to be bent.”

George swivels his chair to Max, then. Fully attempts to pin him with his gaze, commencing an awkward stare-off that lasts way too many seconds and makes Max once again realise that George’s eyes remind him of the expensive fish tank he saw at the Partners’ sushi dinner once. Max doesn’t think those same fish were the ones they ended up eating. But he does remember that dinner because it was the one where the Partners had dangled the promise of a huge promotion if they could help carry the company merger across the line successfully. The problem is, there was only one spot.

George’s distracting aquatic orbitals aside, fortunately, Max (i) never backs down, and (ii) has been told that he has the dead-eyed emotional stare of a robot missing an empathy software upgrade sometimes.

And clearly, the powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.

Max leans back in his chair, stance all mock-relaxed. “Do you want to be out of here before midnight, or not?”

“We’re expensing the Ubers either way, so it doesn’t make a difference to me, mate.”

Fine. If George is so hyperfocused on The Tasks that he’s forgotten the fun part of being Questionably Close Coworkers, so be it.

Max deploys the nuclear option.

He sticks his leg out, nudging the toe of his Pradas onto George’s slacks. And strokes his foot halfway up to a sensitive point on George’s thigh. Max may even flutter his lashes a little.

To his credit, George does not react. Merely swings his eyes like a lamp to Max’s face again. His hand does, however, goes still on the mouse.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Max feigns. He knows that George hates, more than anything, anyone getting dirt on his precious Ralph Laurens. But at least he has his attention now. “Was hoping we could move onto the more fun part of the typical evening activities. Maybe.”

“We shouldn’t be doing that again anyway.”

“George.”

“What?”

“That is not what you said the last, hm, fourteen times that we have done this, eh?”

“Who’s counting?”

“I thought you were the most careful of rule followers and data analysis, knapperd.”

George is a human being, but Max is almost certain the other man shakes himself like he’s preening right now.

“Well. It’s what the team likes me for, and it’s what I’ll keep doing.”

“Oh yes. Surely we must keep in mind the team. And the shareholders. They are very important.”

“Quite.”

“But should we tell them that you like it so much, George. When I do this.” Max says. Rising up, fully crowding George in, hands gripping the cool handles of the computer chair. Leaning in to nibble the side of George’s neck.

George swallows. Max watches his throat move.

Next, Max mouths the words onto the side of George’s jaw, stubble prickling his mouth. “And this.”

The click of the mouse continues steadily as Max moves his mouth to the shell of George’s ear. “And let’s not forget. This.”

Max tilts George’s face up fully, then. George’s face is flushed, eyes sparkling, all surprise at the sudden change of pace, but eager, too.

When Max seals his lips over George’s, George groans, and his hands shoot up to Max’s waist immediately. It doesn’t feel quite like winning a deal or a pitch does for Max, but the completion comes pretty damn close.

Max sweeps his tongue into George’s mouth. George opens willingly, like he always does. In the back of Max’s logical brain, a warning sign blares that the computer chair may not be able to support the weight of them both – because they spend a lot of time pretending they don’t work out together at the gym but Max knows exactly what George’s deadlift PB is and it’s pretty damn high for a scrawny looking dude.

And despite the keening protest of said chair, the two of them are both lost to it now. Max jams one knee between George’s legs, George nibbles hungrily at Max’s lower lip, Max thrusts his hips all needy, and maybe if Max is nice about it George might suck him off under the table, and–

Outlook chimes again.

“Blasted piece of shit.” George says, breaking away. His hands go still at Max’s waist. “Why we’re using G-Suite and Microsoft Office at the same time I will never know.”

George squeezes his eyes shut, as if making himself stop this is causing him physical pain. Maybe it’s that or the workflow incompatibility when George tries to move his custom Excel-Trello gantts into a third party API.

And Max won’t lie. He kind of likes it when George gets so irritated about these things. When he cares a bit too much. Because what is Max but exactly like that, too.

“Hazards of a merger, I guess. But without that, I would never have met you, no?”

George makes a noise like he knows what Max means. The other man straightens his shirt collar, and Max runs a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, because George had made a passing comment at the bathroom sink once about it looking good.

Sleeping with the person competing for the same Chief of Staff position is possibly the worst decision he could’ve made, and Max once dyed his hair platinum blonde. But, they’re stuck here together. Hell is a slightly more tolerable place when Satan’s right hand man looks this good. And knows his coffee order without asking.

Besides. Max is not bothered. He knows that the promotion is his. This is just a minor plot inconvenience.

Later, they will expense the uber back to George’s place, where Max will put his mouth on George’s arse, and give him a practical demonstration of the three different ways he’s learned to elicit pleasure from the male prostate.

George will whimper and whine the whole way through it, and after they’re both sated, they’ll both roll over to check their emails, barely concealing their smiles. They will pretend that what’s happening between them could be as clean as their zero-email inboxes. As if their connection is not violently seeping through containment.

All in the name of team bonding. For the firm. Yes.

(Or this is what they tell themselves, to maintain the illusion, anyway.)

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Remember You Even When I Don't (8)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.5K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

-------

You’re working today. You hadn’t wanted to, but a local congresswoman you had requested an interview with months ago finally agreed to a conversation in her office, and Bradley wouldn’t let you pass it up. It was only for a few hours, but he finds himself missing you while you’re gone. 

This is the first time he had really been alone in the house for a long period of time since he got back from the hospital a month ago, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had tried to read a book, or get lost in a movie, but nothing had really kept his attention. He was laying on the couch, the news on the tv in the background, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He hadn’t fully dove into all that it contained, and he figured now was the time to do it, even if you weren’t here to answer any questions that he might have. 

It’s interesting, seeing himself this way. Groupchats where he was an active participant, talking about parties or plans he has no recollection of, or discussing flight schedules for the week. He swaps Star Wars and Harry Potter trivia with Fanboy and gym regimes with Hangman and sends music back and forth with Coyote.  

When he opens the text thread he has with you, the only one pinned to the top of his messages, his breath catches at the last message received. 

 I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.

It was sent the day of his accident, and he knew by the time stamp that it was sent after the crash. You must have texted that to him while you were waiting for news on his condition, and not for the first time, he feels both guilt and gratitude go through him; he’s so sorry that he’s hurt you like this, but he’s so glad he’s here now. 

He scrolls for a while, reading you rambling to him about your work day and bouncing ideas for articles off of him, jumping from one topic to the next while you know he’s in the air or teaching a class so he doesn’t have his phone on him. Based on his responses that come later on, he knows he never minded the almost nonsensical messages. Even now, he finds it adorable and enjoys reading through them. There are conversations about dinner and what true crime documentary the two of you were going to watch that weekend. 

There’s a little bit of everything in these messages between the two of you, but his brow furrows when he gets to a point about a week before his accident. 

I’m on my way home, he had texted you, You better be ready for me, Pumpkin. 

He scrolls further up, trying to find the beginning of the conversation that led to that, and he almost wishes he wouldn’t have. 

You had texted him earlier that morning, when he barely must have left the house to go to base, a picture of you. There was a playful smirk on your lips, and you had what looked to be the cap from his formal dress whites perched crooked on your head. That in and of itself wasn’t what made his breath hitch, though. It was the fact that you were still in bed, your arm draped over your chest where he could see everything but everything, you hanging onto only a single shred of decency. 

Fly well today, Lieutenant Commander. 

It had descended into a day full of teasing from there, each message dirtier than the one before. Descriptions of what you wanted him to do to you and him warning you of what he would do when he got his hands on you. He feels flushed all over, but he keeps scrolling up. He bypasses recipes you wanted his opinion on and a reminder of what the Hulu password was, and eventually finds more pictures. Some are more risque than others, but all of them make him feel like the temperature in the room rose by multiple degrees. 

There’s a tickle in his brain again, and he finds himself closing the messaging app and going to his photo albums. There’s a locked album there, and he knows, he just knows what it’s going to contain. 

He shouldn’t. He knows that he shouldn’t. It feels like a strange invasion of privacy. But he’s wracking his mind to try and remember what the code would be to get into it anyway, and he curses when he gets it wrong first once, then a second time. He enters your birthday on the third attempt and groans out loud when he’s immediately met with the filthiest images he’s ever seen. 

It’s a whole gallery of you, or the two of you together, and Bradley can’t stop himself from looking. He bites his lip as he takes in the photos, his mind so overrun with thoughts of how fucking stunning you are that he can barely think straight at all. 

He stops at one in particular, clicking to enlarge it, and loses all thoughts entirely. Neither of your faces are in it, but he doesn’t need to guess that it’s the two of you. You’re sitting back against his chest, his ankles hooked over your legs, forcing them wide for him. He can see your nails biting into his thighs, but it’s his own hand that draws his attention. With the hand that’s not taking the selfie style photo, his fingers are gliding through the wetness gathered between your legs. You shine against the dark wedding band on his left land, one that’s noticeably absent from his finger now. He’s practically panting as he stares. 

He’s so hypnotized by the way the two of you look together that he doesn’t hear the garage door open or the sound of you walking into the house. 

“Baby?” 

Your voice makes him jump so high that his phone goes flying out of his hand, a curse leaving his lips. He scrambles to pick it up when he sees you reaching for it as well, and your eyebrows are raised high as you look at him in surprise. 

“Hey,” his voice cracks, higher pitched than normal, and he blushes. Your eyebrows raise a little bit higher. “Hi, sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yup,” he nods, faking a cough so he could try to clear his throat, his face flushed. “Totally fine.” 

It’s not difficult to see how skeptical you are, and it’s hard for him to maintain eye contact with you and not let his eyes flicker down your body now that he has an idea of what rests underneath the smart dress you wore. 

You eye him suspiciously, “Are you sure?”  

He contemplates for a moment, trying to figure out a way to get himself out of this conversation, because the longer you looked at him like that the hotter he became under the collar. He took a deep breath, nodding again. 

“I was looking at messages and pictures,” he says all in one breath, not liking the idea of completely lying to you. He rationalized that a different version of the truth was okay, even as the pictures flashed in his mind again. “Trying to see if anything jogged my memory.” 

You search his eyes, and he tries his best to appear innocent, willing the hardening in his jeans to go down before you took notice. He suspected you already might have from the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Did it?” 

If he thought hard enough he swore he could almost feel you. Your back against his chest, how soft your inner thighs left. How warm your wetness felt against his fingers as he took you to the edge. 

“No,” he stutters out after a moment, shaking his head, his face burning, “nothing yet.” 

________

He finds himself rubbing his thumb against the fading tan line on his left ring finger, something he had seen you do time and time again. He hadn’t really wondered up until this point where his ring was, but ever since he saw the picture with it so clearly against your skin, he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

He’s helping you in the kitchen a few days later, mesmerized as always by how efficient and easy you made everything look. You roll your eyes when he comments on it.

“It’s cookies, Bradley. Nothing fancy.”

“But they’re from scratch. The dough isn’t pre-made. That’s fancy!” 

You laugh at him in response, shaking your head. You take the rings on your left hand off, sitting them beside the sink as you wash your hands before the two of you get started. It raises the subject back to the forefront of his mind. He had been desperate to ask you for the last few days, but hadn’t built up the courage to do it. But he can almost feel it on his finger now, can feel a ghost of your fingers as you slide it into place, and it’s suddenly more of a need to know. 

“Can I uh…can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“What happened to my wedding ring?” 

You pause from where you’re cracking an egg into the mixing bowl, your eyebrows raised high. You set it down gently, turning to face him. 

“Does it bother you…that I wear mine, still?” 

“No!” he insists, hating even the idea of you taking it off. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I promise. We just have never acknowledged mine? I know that I wear one - I remember wearing one, and I’ve seen it in pictures, too.” 

“You love your ring,” you tell him softly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you give him a small smile, though he can see the pain in your eyes, and shake your head. 

“You don’t fly with it on,” you explain, “you tried, at first, but you had been flying so long without anything on your hands that you couldn’t get used to it being there when you were operating the controls.” 

He thinks for a moment and the words come to him slowly. “You were the one who told me to start taking it off when I fly.” 

“I was.” 

“Why?”

Your lips quirk and you shrug. “I’m more worried about you flying safely than wearing your ring at all times. You keep it in one of the pockets of your flight suit when you go up in the air now.” 

Of course you were more worried for him. He should have expected nothing less from you and the way you effortlessly care for him. He can also picture that, he thinks. It’s easy to imagine not wanting to be separated from the physical reminder that he belongs to you, so even if he couldn’t wear it, he’d at least have it on him, in the inner chest pocket right above his heart. 

“So..” He doesn’t quite know how to ask his question, but you must read it on his face. 

You twist your own ring on your finger in the way you always seemed to do to center yourself. Pain flashed across your face and Bradley knew you were remembering, too. “They uh..they had to cut your flight suit off, before you went into surgery. You weren’t breathing and were bleeding…” you cut yourself off, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking the visual from your head. “But it was still in your pocket. So. I have it.” 

He sets down the bag of chocolate chips he had been holding and walks the few steps to where you’re standing at the counter. When he holds his arms open, you don’t hesitate to step into them. He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he breathes in your scent. 

“I’m so sorry I put you through that,” he whispers into the strands of your hair, and he feels the way you squeeze him in response. 

“You’re okay now,” you speak into his chest, and he thinks he might feel you press a kiss there, directly over the spot where that inner pocket of his flight suit would be, where he kept you when he had no other choice. 

The two of you stand there wrapped up together for a long moment. When you lift your head, your eyes are glassy, but you give him a smile and a small kiss to his lips. 

Later, after the cookies have been made and devoured, you join him on the back porch. You had taken to sitting on the swing together and when you sit beside him tonight, he sees you rolling something between your fingers. His breath catches when he sees exactly what it is. You’re staring at it too, your gaze intense and pondering. He doesn’t speak, not quite knowing what to say. Eventually, you break out of your haze and meet his eyes. 

“You don’t have to put it back on,” you tell him, holding your hand out to him. His wedding band sits on your palm, shining against your skin. For a moment he sees you in white standing right in front of him, wildflowers in your hair.  

His fingertips brush yours when he takes it from you, admiring the piece of jewelry he wasn’t aware that he missed until it was back in his possession. 

“But it’s yours. I want - I want you to have it.”

He rolls it between his fingers, contemplating for a moment. He swallows, suddenly overcome with emotion he hadn’t seen coming and that tingling that’s starting to become familiar to him. You had picked it out yourself and he knows when he looks, he’ll see an engraving of your initials beside his. He was always so proud to be able to wear this, knowing that it symbolized being with you, a small way of telling anyone who saw it that he was lucky enough to be your husband. 

But he wasn’t him - not yet, not completely. Everyday brought him closer to thinking that he could be, though.

“Pumpkin, I…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. 

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek and turning his head to meet your eyes. You didn’t look mad, or upset, and you’re giving him the gentlest, kindest look anyone ever had. But your eyes didn’t hold pity or sympathy either - just a trust and love that he’s still not sure what he could have ever done to deserve. “Whenever you’re ready. And if you never are-” 

“I will be,” he cut you off; he wanted nothing more than to be ready. “I just…I still have something to prove to myself.” 

You nod, and Bradley leans forward to kiss you softly. He leaves his forehead pressed against yours when he pulls away, relishing in the calm you brought him. 

“I’ll get there,” he says, “I promise.” 

—------

He’s spent time alone, but he hasn’t spent time away from you with other people. He’s hesitant to accept the invite from Mav to visit the hanger he had here. But planes and his godfather had been a staple of Bradley’s childhood, an influence on his whole life, really. He had been cleared to drive earlier in the week, so that Saturday, he leaves early. He’s anxious at the thought of being away from you but he knows that the him from before wouldn’t have said no to the invitation and he was so determined to get back to who that was. And he knows that you have a life outside of taking care of him, too. You’re getting brunch with Nat and Coyote’s wife later and he knows you’re excited, even if you hung onto him a little bit longer than a normal hug when he said goodbye. You had made him promise that he would call you if he needed anything and the whole way to the desert, his fingers twitched, wanting to call you just to hear your voice. 

Mav greets him with a large smile and a tight hug, “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Me too,” Bradley says. He means it, even if he does miss you already. He looks around the hanger, taking note of the few planes and motorcycles throughout the long stretch. It was a lot more than the collection he had when Bradley was 17. “What are we working on today?” 

Mav gives him his signature grin. “I want to show you something.” 

He follows him to the end of the hanger, where a large blue tarp is covering what can’t be anything but a plane. His godfather gestures to it. Bradley raises an eyebrow but walks up to it, grabbing hold of the tarp and yanking it back. Like he suspected, he’s greeted by a Cessna. It’s a classic 172 by the looks of it, a smaller four seater. It’s a sleek white in color with subtle burnt orange line work. Bradley whistles. It was beautiful in a way that only planes like this could be. 

“When’d you get this one?” 

Mav smirks, shaking his head. “I didn’t.” 

“What?” 

“Take a look at the other side.” He nods his head, urging Bradley forward. Confused and intrigued, he follows the instructions, walking around to the other side of the small plane. He gets what Mav was saying, then, and sucks in a breath. Right there emblazoned on the side, in an elegant script, was Pumpkin.

This wasn’t Mav’s plane; it was his. 

“You got her about six months ago,” he says softly when he joins him at his side. 

Bradley reaches up and runs his fingers over the name. It’s foggy, but he thinks he can remember now. He had always wanted to own his own plane since the first time his godfather took him up in one at 6 years old. It was always a pipedream, though. He was never in one place for long enough, and while he was generally good with saving money, it was a bigger purchase than he had ever made. But then the two of you got married and a permanent station here in California. Between both of your savings and what he still had of his parents life insurance, the funds were there. It was you who had made the suggestion of finally pulling the trigger, and it was him who had suggested a four seater instead of a two seater so that if the two of you ever had children, you could all fly together. You cried when he showed you the name he had painted on it. 

“Still needs some work done before she’s flyable. I thought maybe you’d want to work on it today.” 

An eager smile appears on his face and he nods, already peeling his jacket off and heading toward the toolbox. If Mav noticed that he didn’t need to instruct him on where it was, he didn’t comment on it. 

The two work in tandem for hours. It had only been six weeks since his accident, but he couldn’t recall a time since flight school that he had gone this long without being near a plane and it felt good doing so again. It’s easy, getting into the rhythm of twisting bolts and tinkering with the engine wires. He thinks it won’t be long until he can get this cleared to go in the air and he knows without a doubt that you’re going to be the first passenger. 

His phone buzzes in the early afternoon and he doesn’t hesitate to put down the wrench he was working with and dig it out of his jeans pocket. You had sent him a selfie earlier when you had gotten to brunch, sunglasses on and a bright smile on your face with a mimosa in your hand, and he hoped it was another picture. His eyebrows furrow when he sees it’s Phoenix calling him, instead. He picks up, bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Nat?” 

“Your wife got stung by a bee. We’re on our way to the hospital.” 

He can feel the dread as it settles over him. His heart beats faster in his chest. “What?” 

She sighs on the other line, and he can hear commotion in the background. “She’s severely allergic, Rooster. We sat outside at brunch and we didn’t even realize it happened at first. She didn’t have her epipen on her so we had to call an ambulance. She’s going to be fine, but you should get here anyway, okay?” 

He feels like he can barely breathe, like the room is closing in on him a little bit. Mav must notice the panic written all over him because he’s quick to come over and take the phone out of his hand, taking over the conversation. He can barely hear him over the roaring in his head. You were hurt. He knew you were extremely allergic to bees. That was something he had remembered. You were supposed to carry an epipen on you at all times. He can’t remember if you’d ever gotten stung when he was there. He can’t remember how bad it got if you ever were. But now you were in the back of an ambulance and on your way to a hospital and he could feel his fear all the way down to his bones. 

“Bradley, hey. Look at me.” 

Mav is in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders. He meets his eyes and tries to breathe, but all he can see is you, struggling to catch a breath and being loaded into the back of an ambulance. 

“I’ll drive, okay? Let’s go.” 

He follows him to the car, not really calculating anything other than the fact that he was almost an hour away from you and what if there was traffic and why didn’t you have your epipen on you? 

“She’s going to be okay.” 

“But-” 

“Phoenix said the paramedics administered epi as soon as they arrived, and it didn’t take them long to get to her. She was awake and was already breathing easier when they left for the hospital. Didn’t even need to use the sirens.” 

That doesn’t make him feel better. Not really. Knowing that trained professionals weren’t panicking must have meant that you were okay, but he knows how serious anaphylaxis is, too. 

He can’t reconcile everything that he’s feeling right now. He has never, ever felt like this before. The thought of something happening to you is scarier than any mission he had ever been on, any enemy he had encountered in the air. 

“Mav I can’t - I can’t lose her. I just got her.” 

“You aren’t going to.” 

Bradley doesn’t say anything, can’t think of a single thing to say, and instead buries his head in his hands from his spot in the passenger seat. You were going to be okay. You had to be okay. Because he may not remember everything about the two of you, but he did know for certain that if something ever happened to you, he would never, ever recover from it. 

He doesn’t wait for Mav once they get to the hospital, the older man opting to drop him off at the front before going to find parking. He’s practically sprinting as he goes through the emergency room doors and vaguely, he remembers you telling him about the time this happened before, when you took yourself to the hospital and ended up needing surgery. He can almost feel that panic now, and it makes what he’s already feeling worse. 

“Can I help-“

“I’m looking for my wife. She was brought in because of a bee sting-“

“Sir-“

“She’s really allergic and-“

“Sir!” The nurse behind the counter snaps, raising her voice over his to get through to him. “I need your wife’s name if I’m going to find her for you.”

Oh. Yes, he thinks, your name. They need your name. 

It’s the first time he’s said your full name, and your first and his last name feel so right coming off his tongue. But he can’t focus on that right now, giving all of his attention to the nurse who is typing so slowly. 

Before she can even hit enter, though, he hears his callsign echo behind him. He spins, heart racing with anxiety, and spots Nat making her way over to him. She gives the annoyed nurse a kind, charming smile as she grabs Bradley by the arm 

“Sorry about him, ma’am. I got him from here.”

She pulls him away without another word, heading toward the hallway off the packed waiting room. 

“Is she okay? Nat, is-“

“She’s fine, Rooster. Coming down from the adrenaline rush that the epinephrine gave her, but she’ll be okay.”

“What about-“

Nat stops in front of a closed door, lowering her voice. “Bradley. She’s okay.” 

He’s pushing past her before she even finishes, spotting you on the bed through the glass and half drawn curtain. You look so small amongst the crinkly white sheets, still in the clothes you wore to brunch. Your makeup is a bit smudged and your eyes are red and he hates to think that you were scared enough to start crying. You’re holding an oxygen mask in your hand at your side. 

“Hi baby.” Even your voice sounds more pitched. He’s quick to make it to your side. 

Your breathing is slightly elevated, and the heart monitor is beating a little bit faster than he thinks is normal. He grabs the hand holding the mask, placing it over your mouth to start providing you with the supplemental air again. You make a small sound of surprise, but take in a deep breath of it anyway before pushing his hand away. 

“I’m okay.”

But your hands are shaking and your eyes are wider than normal. The skin that he can see is splotchy with hives. 

He looks back at Nat, who is still hovering in the doorway, an eyebrow arched and a small smirk on her face. He ignores the look. “Can you grab a doctor?”

You protest from the bed, but Bradley doesn’t waiver. With a fond roll of her eyes, Nat disappears from view. 

“Bradley. Sweetheart.” You grip his wrist, trying to get him to focus on you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You’re in the emergency room because you went into anaphylactic shock. You are not fine.” 

“But I am,” you insist, smiling softly at him, even as your body trembles as it works to burn through the adrenaline that was injected into it, “medicine worked just fine.” 

The door slides open before he can respond, an attending doctor who looks like he’s been up for longer than is healthy and in wrinkled green scrubs introducing himself as he walks in.

“Is she okay?” Bradley demands immediately, and the tired man looks startled for a moment at how abrupt the question was. Bradley stares at him, his eyes wide and unblinking as he waits for the answer. His heart is still pounding in his chest. He feels you tangle one of your hands with one of his and he squeezes back when he feels the pressure from you. He knows you’re trying to reassure him. 

“And you are…?” 

“I’m her husband,” he answers easily, the words falling off his tongue like he had said them a thousand times before. You suck in a small breath and tighten your grip on his hand again. 

“Ah,” the doctor hums, flipping through the chart he’s holding. Bradley wonders if all non-military hospitals move this slowly or if it was just because of how anxious he is at this moment, but he really, really needs him to answer his question. 

“Is she okay?” he repeats. 

“Bradley,” you murmur, but he keeps his eyes trained on the man in the scrubs and white coat. 

“She responded well to the epinephrine that was administered by the paramedics who brought her in,” he finally says, looking up from the chart and taking a step toward your side. He stops when he sees that Bradley doesn’t move an inch. He sighs, switching direction to go to your other side instead. “How are you feeling Mrs. Bradshaw?”

You answer his questions as they come, Bradley paying rapt attention the whole time. Your throat doesn’t feel tight anymore. You aren’t lightheaded, but you do feel a little shortness of breath. You feel jittery - wired, almost. You’re both assured that it’s completely normal as the drug works its way out of your system. They can give you something to try and calm you down, and they want you to stay for a few hours to make sure you don’t go back into the allergic reaction once the epinephrine has worn off. The thought makes his blood run cold. 

“Should she stay overnight?” he asks, but the doctor shakes his head no. 

“The standard observation timeslot should be just fine, Mr. Bradshaw. But we’ll make sure you both know what to look out for when you leave.” 

He walks out without saying much else. Bradley feels you tug on his hand, his name leaving your lips in a whisper. He meets your gaze and he watches as your eyes soften even more. 

“Sit down, honey.” 

He listens to you, dragging the chair beside your bed as close as possible. He rests his elbows on the mattress beside you, holding your hand tightly between both of his. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your fingers and taking a deep breath. “I…this really scared me.” 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say softly, running your thumb over one of the hands holding yours, soothing the skin and helping his racing heart. Your touch is like magic to him, providing an almost instant calm that he desperately needed. Guilt curled in his stomach, knowing that even now, you’re the one helping him. 

“I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.” 

“We comfort each other, baby. That’s how this works.” 

“Why didn’t you have your epipen on you, Pumpkin? Don’t you normally carry it?” he asks quietly, a touch of urgency still in his tone. He couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if you were alone and this happened, with no one around to call 911. He could have lost you, all over a silly little bee sting, and he can’t wrap his mind around that. He just got you. He had had you, he knew. But he was just getting you back. 

“I switched bags this morning and forgot to take it out of the pocket of the old one, I guess. I haven’t had to use one since college. I forget about it, sometimes.” 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to rid himself of the worst case scenarios. He’s the one that normally reminds you to always have it on you, he thinks. He vaguely recalls having a spare in the glove compartment of the Bronco, and in the drawer in the kitchen and maybe one in the bedroom, too. 

Not for the first time, he curses his memory and the accident that took it from him. 

When he opens his eyes, his look is intense, “Never again, okay?” 

“Okay,” you say, but Bradley shakes his head. 

“No. Promise me. Please?”

Your lips part and you stare at him for a long moment. His gaze never waivers from yours. He needs you to listen to him. To hear him. 

“I promise,” you finally whisper. 

He rises from the chair, pressing a kiss to your lips. He keeps his forehead against yours, breathing you in. 

“Will you lay with me?” You ask quietly, shy in a way reminiscent of when you asked him to say I love you on the porch all those weeks ago. He hates that you felt you even needed to ask. 

With no hesitation, he maneuvered himself into the small bed beside you. He kisses your forehead once, twice, three times, holding you as tightly as he could. Your body still gave the occasional tremble but they had lessened now, your breaths coming a little bit easier, and he felt the tightness in his chest ease. 

“Sorry for being a mess,” he whispers into your hair. 

“Don’t,” you whisper back, and he feels you shake your head from where it’s tucked into his chest. “It means you care.”

The words are there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them, not yet or here. You deserve more than a frantic hospital room confession.

-------

Part Nine :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! We're nearing the end, but I think everyone is really going to like the next chapter. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

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[cosmowes]

Maximize Your Time

listen. if you’ll hear me out, i used to be such a procrastinator, it wasn’t even funny… i mean summative projects at 2am the day they’re due. doing homework while the teacher collected it. it was so bad.

now i’m done w/ assignments the week before they’re due. wanna know how? managing and maximizing my time.

walk everywhere with a purpose. everywhere. be the first to your classes, make it to your bus stop early, all of that. it makes you feel good, makes a good impression on people, and gives you more time.

work!! during!! lunch!! if you’re good at multitasking, do it! i usually read during lunch or listen to audiobooks, watch videos on topics giving me trouble, reread notes etc. it’s a good way to get in more practice.

keep all your assignment info AND assignments in one place. i have a folder for paper work and a notebook for assignment logs and stuff. so useful.

check ur work log DAILY. and keep it updated! if you’re a planner girlie that’s even better, but they never really worked for me lol.

keep a book, notebook etc on you. i have a mini notebook for jotting anything quick, and since my daily purse is pretty big i can fit that. if not, sticky notes or just your notes app will work.

find your unused time. when do you tend to do nothing? for me it’s on the bus. i’m working on using that as a time to catch up on reading or watch practice videos. i don’t mean when you’re unwinding or resting (cuz that’s doing something still), but other than that you can use all of your time.

one thing that helped me was remembering that the fun things i wanted to do would still be there after i was done working. your show is not leaving netflix because you left for 20 minutes.

but the work will be worth less if you put it off too long. it’ll be late and you’ll be penalized. or it’ll be bad because you rushed.

choose wisely. what’s expiring sooner?

images from pin - search red study aesthetic 📌

[togrowoldinv]

Dinner and a Show

Firefighter!Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Natasha calls you to the firehouse and puts on a show for you

Warnings: Kissing, grinding, pole dancing, allusions to more

Note: Woohoo more firefighter Nat! This is a part of my Burning Red AU. Follow my library blog @togrowoldinvlibrary for fic updates!

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

Natasha rests her cheek on your chest as you relax in bed together. Her soft red hair feels like heaven as you run your hand through it.

“Any plans for this weekend?” You break the comfortable silence the two of you were in.

She lifts her head and shifts to lean on her elbow and look down at you. Her hand comes to your cheek softly and her thumb rubs your cheek softly.

“I have to work,” she says with a small pout. You want to lean up and kiss it away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you assure her. “You go be a hero and we can see each other on Monday or Tuesday?”

“Sounds good, sweetheart. I have a shift in,” she breaks to look at her watch, “about thirty minutes. Damn, I have to get going.”

“Please don’t go,” you playfully beg her with a pout of your own.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she says. “I promise.”

She leaves you with a kiss. You watch as her perfect body floats out of the room.

The day drags by slowly and by the next morning all you can think about is Natasha. And it appears she’s thinking about you too as your phone rings.

“Hey sweetheart,” her raspy voice comes through the phone.

“Hi Natasha. How’s work going?”

“It’s pretty slow. Most of the crew is out today working at an event, but I’m manning the station,” Natasha explains.

“I see.”

“I miss you,” she blurts out. It hasn’t bern that long since you got together, but missing each other comes so naturally.

“I miss you too,” you say. “What time do you get off tonight? I actually think I can’t wait until Monday to see you.”

You swear you can hear her thinking on the other end of the line.

“Why don’t you come by for dinner? I’ll make you something here and we can eat together,” Natasha suggests.

“Is that allowed?”

“There’s no rule against it. See you at 6?” She asks.

“Sounds perfect,” you agree.

Remembering your first time at the firehouse, you take your time to get ready to see Natasha. You go casual with the outfit, but under your clothes you wear red lingerie that you know she loves.

When you get to the firehouse, she meets you at the door. She hugs you tightly.

“You look great,” you tell her.

“Mm, so do you,” she compliments. “Come with me.”

The smirk on her face should’ve been indication that you’re here for much more than just dinner, but you are too distracted by her in her uniform to notice her motives.

She stops walking before you get to the kitchen.

“So, I was thinking maybe I’d give you dinner and a show,” Natasha says. It’s then you notice her hand on the firefighter’s pole.

“Oh-“

“If you want, of course.”

“I want,” you blurt out maybe a little too quickly. “I want a lot.”

“Perfect. Sit down, baby,” she instructs you. You sit in the chair that she conveniently had in the room.

You watch on as Nat slips off her jacket. She went with a tank top and you try to memorize the shape of her muscles. Nat walks towards you and straddles your lap. She hovers over you, but doesn’t dare to touch you where you want her most. You try move your hands to her arms, but she stops you. She pins them to your sides.

“Be a good girl and don’t touch me, okay? Not until I’m done at least. Then maybe I will you let touch me,” Nat commands. You nod. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Okay, yes.”

She leaves your lap after a deep kiss to your lips. You watch as she waltzes to the pole. You had no idea she could do this, but by the way she expertly moves around it, she’s done this before.

She keeps eye contact with you as she slides down the pole and then takes off her shirt. She’s not wearing a bra. The way her breasts look as she moves onto the pole again threatens to make you audibly moan.

Nat ditches her pants along the way too and she’s wearing lacy underwear.

“Natasha,” you whine her name as she finishes her dance and moves towards you.

“Would you like to fuck me?” She asks. You look at her with wide eyes. Your face is hot from the way she looks at you.

“Yes please,” you say.

She settles on your lap once again, but this time she lets you touch her. Your hands go to her breasts and she moans. Her head dips back in pleasure as you lean forward and take her nipple into your mouth.

“Fuck baby, yes,” Natasha says. “Keep going.”

You switch breasts and she grinds herself against your thigh. You wish you could feel her wetness against you.

Suddenly, there’s a siren blaring throughout the firehouse.

“Shit,” Natasha says, but she doesn’t stop her grinding.

“Natasha,” you mumble against her chest. “The alarm.”

“I know, I know,” she says with a sigh.

She stands up abruptly and throws her clothes back on. You pout as she walks to kiss you goodbye.

“Don’t worry, baby. We’ll finish this later. Keep that lingerie on, please?”

“How did you-“

“I know things,” she says with a smirk. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You stand up and Natasha kisses you goodbye. She tries to linger but the sirens are calling her name.

She hops in the truck and drives off into the road. You are awestruck at her heroics once again.

You’re not going to forget what you saw today for a long time.

And you can’t wait for Natasha to get home tonight.