#and then getting my Mail after that made them so cold they were fumbling

[marvelingjules]

It’s not gonna be above 53 degrees here for the next week, and it’s gonna rain from tomorrow through Tuesday. I love the rain and don’t mind the cold but even I’m pretty chilly after spending a couple minutes outside for one reason or another.

Wonder if I can convince my mom to make potato dumpling soup for the weekly family dinner….

[anlian-aishang]

Everyone deserves to be mailed lingerie then stripped free from it, and by everyone, Erwin means his wife specifically.

// tags: erwin smith x reader, smut, allusions to masturbation, reader is briefly lifted, modern AU, fem!reader // word count: 1300

Without him here, there was no need to bite back your smile. A pure, shameless grin - a laugh even - as you took in what was before your eyes: pristine white box, black ribbons bowed over the corners, and silver cursive you were too hasty to read. 

Chills seized your fingers as they worked on untying and unwrapping. Lid fell to the floor, beneath: transparent wrapping paper, folded perfectly. Tiny card rested square atop it:

For you. Hope to see it soon. From Sydney, E.S.

You rolled your eyes even as your face started to burn. Fumbling now, you dug through the box, tissue paper crinkling. You wondered if there was a more delicate texture in the world. There was, and it was the gift within. Panties so soft, next to nothingness. So thin, he would tear right through them. At the thought, a wave of heat, a heat that somehow made you shiver.

Instinctively, you shouldered off your robe. Straight there in your foyer, a naughty silhouette projected onto your curtains, stepping out of silk dress and into white lace. 

From all those miles away, Erwin had picked a perfect fit. That vision, you supposed, had landed him this executive position - the one that bought you this house, the one that pulled him away from it - business trip after business trip. 

You bunched the stretch of fabric in your hands and startled, already damp. “Damn it,” you cursed to yourself, ten days too many. 

Matters into your own hands. It was what he would want.

// // // 

Clean sheets. Mirror on the ceiling. A few favorites lined up. Nothing on but your new gift. Everything was right.

But about that. Narrowing your gaze, the mirror’s reflection above you gave a disapproving shake of her head. You had undressed yourself with self-loving intentions plenty of times, but something about this outfit, it demanded a partner. One did not light their own birthday candles, did not massage their own back. This underwear carried similar sentiment. 

Blue lilies he would deflower, dainty lace his large hands would trace. Yes, it was perfect on you. But it would be even more perfect to have him take it off of you. 

Your filming session had stopped before it started, but you supposed some stills would do. 3 PM. His work phone.

Yeah, that’ll do. The couple shared a near simultaneous thought as you sent the photos and he received them. 

Got your present. Have a sneak peek. I’ll express my thanks when you get home.

Index and thumb pressed to his temples. Home never felt so far away.

More to that gift, but won’t get there until flight 613’s arrival.

Over halfway through this trip, back sooner than you think. 

Had you the presence of mind, you would have noticed that 613 did not match the ticket stub on the fridge. Erwin figured that the package had made for a good-enough distraction. Indeed, though you daydreamed of his return for hours, you jumped at the sound of his key sheathed into the lock.

“What the-!?”

A satisfied smirk on the man otherwise proper. Immaculate smile, except for the lip bite. Proud posture, heart racing beneath. Pants ironed, ignoring the bulge at his middle - an impossible task. To everyone else, Erwin was objective perfection. You were the only one close enough to see his flaws, to find the beauty in them, to love him even more because of them. 

“Happy to see you, too,” he teased. 

“Yeah?” Sauntering closer, pupils dilated, a predator longing to be prey. Lotioned hand explored his slacks until landing a habitual hold of a familiar length, “I can tell.”

His briefcase hit the floor with a thud, but you did not startle, not even when calloused hands cupped the backs of your thighs and hoisted you to the countertop. Cold granite met your lower half - its ice shooting through your veins. A brief whimper as your nipples rapidly hardened, Erwin was quick to take them - warm them - in his mouth.

Shaky sighs as you labored to reach your arms over his shoulders, to knot your fingers at his undercut. The sudden onset of stimulation brought a singsong to your voice, one that turned his belts and briefs unbearably tight. “So eager,” you cooed. “Seems to me like you just wanted an excuse to come home.”

You knew: he was too smart to be this naive, to mail you lingerie without expecting you to put it on, take a picture, and text it to his work phone immediately.

“That,” Erwin offered, “or you just wanted an excuse to bring me home.”

He knew: you were too devious to play so innocent, to send him that photo without expecting him to cancel his meetings, book a flight, and get home just as immediately - faster than you could say, back so soon?

“But…” you rolled your head back, relishing. As you propped yourself further up the counter, you feigned consideration, “you worked so hard for-”

“-for times like these.” Erwin growled. Sturdy hands strove for delicacy, running fingers in your hair as he insisted, “If I can’t please my wife, I might as well quit.”

Your only response was a stammer. The husk in his voice made intoxicating contrast with the slick of his responses. Uttering filth like it was nothing, your eyes rolled back, is this a dream?

No, not even your unconscious could come up with this, how his knuckles hooked exactly where your hips became curves, sliding down symmetrically and simultaneously with sadistic slow. The singe of his exhales on your torso, drawing shudders he subdued as he held you in his arms. The marks he decorated your neck with, saliva and swears stuck to your skin. Erwin had given you many memorable experiences, but this was some other, “E’Erwin…”

“You have no idea,” he hissed, “how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

Your eyes widened, lips parted at the idea - the realization - of how he had spent his lone hotel nights: dreaming of this very scene, his return, and how you would look in these panties. 

“Even better than I imagined,” sighs landed upon your ear. Two fingers to your middle, finding your folds despite the fabric. With each back and forth, your arousal continued to spill, soaking his touch. “So adorable…” between licks of his digits clean, his groan flirted with a whine, “irresistible.”

Ventures away always seemed to fog his memory. His tongue rejoiced when reunited with yours, though the taste was far from foreign. The milk to his coffee, the sugar to his tea, the sweetener to the hardships of life. He forgot all else in the presence of you.  

Words threaded with kisses, “How do you do it, hm?” Lovemark on your jawline, “Tell me your secrets.”

Nails dug into his nape, “You know them already.” 

Yes, he knew, but he still had to find out - find out what was inside those flowery panties, explore how exactly the garment matched with your crevices, discover the scent of French lace and you. Selfish was his stare as he tugged down and down, licking his lips as he watched the clear string fall from your cunt, along your thighs, all the way to your ankles where he let them hang. 

My god, Erwin swore, she waited for me. So wet, so sensitive, he could tell, that had to be the case. Insatiable, in this context or others, was his desire to have his theories confirmed.

“If I were a betting man, and I am-” Erwin asserted, “I’ll bet you’ve been waiting for this all week.”

You thrust your hands in his hair, nails curled, beckoning him forward, “I shouldn’t have to tell you,” you chastised with a selfish pull of his locks, “get down here and taste for yourself.”

// masterlist //

[cinebration]

None Like You (Geralt x Reader) [Request]

hi! can you do a geralt one shot with fem reader where she's a princess and they start falling for each other? tysm! — Request by anon

Warnings: blood

Gif Source: frodo-sam

Your mother had raised you to believe you were someone of importance, but life on the farm had said otherwise. You toiled just like everyone else, bleeding and sweating. You were soiled, not spoiled. Yet your mother insisted you were a princess and told you outrageous bedtime stories to lull you to sleep in your youth.

You should have paid better attention.

When King Henselt’s only son died, leaving only a marriage and no heirs, you woke one morning to the pounding of a mailed fist on the door. Your mother answered and then hurried into your room, fluttering about like a mad woman.

“It’s time,” she cried, shoving you into your best dress and raking her fingers through your hair.

“For what?”

“To be someone.”

Then she bundled you out the door into the arms of a military escort carrying the Kaedwan sigil on their shields and tunics: a red-horned unicorn on a yellow field.

It took you the whole day to finally coax information out of your escort regarding the whole ordeal. When they told you what you were, you nearly fell out of your saddle in disbelief.

The king must be desperate, you thought as you tried to fall asleep beside the campfire.

Then the night turned bloody.

~~

Something crunched underfoot to your right. You huddled deeper in the hollowed tree, clutching the steel in your hands. The edges had sliced open your palms, but you didn’t care. It afforded you some protection, even if the creature had snapped the blade it came from like a twig.

Tensing, you waited for the sound to draw nearer, coiling to spring. It was just like killing chickens, you told yourself. One neat slice to the throat.

You leapt out of the hollow, slashing up and across.

The witcher caught your wrist easily, flinging the steel out of your hand. Stifling a cry, you cradled the injured hand to your chest, backed away from him. His eerie yellow eyes tracked you as you pressed yourself against the tree trunk, searching for an escape.

“What happened?” His voice rasped like feet dragged over gravel.

“Death,” you whispered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the massacre. “Some…thing.”

“It’s dead now.”

You fixed him with a wary glance. “Truly?”

He grunted.

You nearly sank to your knees in relief. Pressing a hand to your mouth, you felt the cuts in your hand spasm. Fresh blood wept from the slashes, trickling down your arms. The witcher swept his gaze over you, eyeing the wounds. You fumbled with the hem of your dress, trying to rip the dirty fabric into strips.

“Did you fight it?” The surprise in the witcher’s voice drew your ear.

You wheezed. “I slashed it, yes, but fight? No.”

Rummaging around in the leaves on the forest floor, the witcher retrieved the broken steel, examined it. He swore.

Unease coiled within you. “What is it?”

“Come here.”

You hesitated. The witcher rolled his eyes and strode over to you, grabbing you by the wrist. His touch was firm but not tight, much to your surprise. You followed after him, feeling a little dizzy as he led you over to the road. A horse stood idly there, kind eyes inquisitive. It didn’t shy away as you drew near despite the smell of blood.

“Good horse,” you murmured, appraising it.

The witcher fumbled through a saddlebag, searching for something. At last he pulled out a vial and took your hands, tearing off the strips to get to your wounds. He poured the grey contents of the vial out before you could protest.

You nearly screamed, the pain in your hands was so excruciating. Lighting shot up your arms as the vial’s contents fizzed on your palms and in your wounds.

“To prevent the venom from killing you,” the witcher explained.

“If the pain doesn’t kill me first,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

A smirk tugged on the witcher’s lips, followed quickly by a frown. “What were you doing traveling with those soldiers?”

You hesitated again. What had you heard about witchers? That they fought for coin and hunted monsters. You had no coin, but neither did you know where you were or how to get home.

“King Henselt sent them,” you confided slowly. “They believe I am his bastard daughter.”

“A princess.”

You elected to ignore the mild groan in the man’s voice. “Can you take me home? The farm, not Aed Carraigh.”

His yellow eyes fixed on you again, white eyebrows beetling together. “You don’t want to go to the castle?”

“Is it safe? As safe as home?”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then take me home,” you insisted. “I’m no princess.”

~~

The witcher smelled. You couldn’t ignore it, not with your face pressed into his back. He wasn’t made for traveling with someone sitting behind him. You could feel it in the tension of his shoulders and back, as though he couldn’t relax beneath the touch of your arms. You did your best to relax your own tense grasp.

You had run nigh over a mile before collapsing in the hollowed tree trunk. The horse covered the distance easily, passing by the smoldering, bloody encampment you had settled down in the night before. You watched it pass, glimpsing the heaps of bodies scattered about.

It took several hours to draw near home. Joy fluttered in your chest as you approached.

You crested the ridge overlooking home and went still, horror rolling through you. The farm house was ash and rubble, still smoking. The animals had been let from their pens, taken for livestock by whatever had rolled through the farm.

“Bandits,” the witcher noted.

Fighting nausea, you wandered down to the burnt house, searching in the ruins. The ash burned your hands and legs, but you sifted through it, yanking aside a crumbling beam.

Beneath lay your mother. What was left of her.

You retched off to the side, stumbling through the ash. You stood bent at the waist for an eternity before you felt the witcher watching you. Turning to face him, you wiped the sick from your chin. “I can’t stay here.”

He frowned.

Your mother had raised a practical woman, fantastic fantasies about your lineage aside. It was all you could think to do as you stood in the ashes of your dead life. One foot in front of the other.

“I have no money,” you confessed, “but if King Henselt sent for me, he can pay you to ensure my arrival.”

The witcher considered it. At last he growled and nodded.

~~

It would take four days to reach Aed Carraigh. The horse—named Roach, you learned—could only manage that distance in a shorter time if not burdened with two riders.

You sat close to the campfire, warming yourself in the flames, shaking not from cold but from fear as the night closed in around you. The night held terrors untold, but until the night before, you had never seen them in the flesh. Knowing they lingered out in the dark set your teeth on edge.

“I’m sorry to burden you,” you told the witcher, the silence too much to bear. You watched the horse warily for signs of attack, knowing the animal was likely to hear or sense it before you.

“Why don’t you want to be a princess?”

Taken aback by the unexpected question, you shrugged. “Why would I want to be one?”

“Riches. A comfortable life.”

“I had a comfortable life with riches untold. They just weren’t gold.”

“Gold is necessary.”

“Gold means nothing if your life is miserable.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The witcher averted his gaze, surprising you. Frowning, you rubbed at your arms, trying to make the hair on your arms stand down. His averted face gave you the opportunity to study his features. They were rough and worn, his brow creased from excessive glowering. He was all hard edges, a larger man than even the largest farmer you had seen. He appeared both comfortable and uncomfortable in his own skin, or perhaps your presence was upsetting him.

“Am I keeping you from work?”

“Are you always so concerned for witchers?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Yet there you sit.”

You bit your tongue, surprised by the sting of his barb. Something flickered across his stern features as you ducked your head. “Then tell me where to go and I will get there myself.”

“The road is dangerous.”

“Being a woman is dangerous.”

He almost smiled in surprise. You could see it dancing on his lips.

“So tell me where to go,” you insisted. “Then I can leave your remarkable hair.”

His eyebrows twitched. The silence stretched between you both for a minute, the fire crackling in the quiet. At last, he said, “I will take you.”

You almost gave away your relief with a sharp exhale.

~~

Though the witcher was a man of few words, you found you were able to read more from his face and the set of his shoulders than from anything he said. His silences were full of information, though you couldn’t be sure of what exactly. You merely knew that he radiated safety as much as he did danger.

“Do you know many princesses?” you asked him.

He grunted.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I know one or two,” he said. “But none like you.”

You frowned, glancing down at your soiled dress. “Yes, I suppose I’m nothing like one. The people will be overjoyed with a farmer’s daughter.” You snorted.

“I think they could use one.”

Frowning, you glanced up at him. He didn’t quite smile, but the glower on his face had shifted into something softer.

“Well, when I am princess,” you said, “I will remember at least one person believes me suited for the job. That’s all that matters.”

A faint smile touched the witcher’s lips. You matched it with a slow smile of your own.

[cacoetheswriting]

a saturday ritual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild swearing, a single parent home, mentions of death (death of a parent & a significant other), mentions of alcohol consumption, and a lil pining, but mainly just FLUFF Word Count: 5.6k Request: anonymous: “I love your Spencer Reid fics! I was wondering if you could write something with Spencer and a single mom reader?? Thanks”

A/N: a very brief summary: spencer is infatuated by his new neighbour, a single mom to a five year old boy who likes to wreak havoc in their shared corridor. also, this one turned out to be a lot A LOT longer than i initially thought it would be but honestly i had so much fun writing this fic, it really could have gone on foreverrrrr ENJOY and as always let me know what you think ! 

-

For about a week after you moved into the apartment across from his, Spencer wondered what would be an acceptable excuse to go introduce himself.

Having been away on a case those first couple of days, he missed the initial opportunity. Later, his colleagues told him that was enough of a justification. Much later. Too late. Now the moment has passed, and he wondered whether pretending he needed salt or sugar was a good enough pretext. Lame.

He's caught glimpses of you out in the shared hall returning from the grocery store, or by the post box downstairs collecting your mail. Glimpses. Passing fleeting seconds. Never enough time to say hello, however enough to notice you were really beautiful.

Also enough to notice the little boy constantly tugging at your clothes. From what he could see, the resemblance was uncanny. The boy was your son no doubt. And given that Spencer hasn’t seen another adult around, he came to a conclusion you were a single mom.

It was now Saturday morning. Saturday. A day he usually spent grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. And this weekend began no differently.

With a cup of coffee, he sat at his desk and began working away when an odd droning sound caught his attention. Buzzing. Yet it wasn’t mechanical, no. The peculiar hum echoing outside seemed more manmade. Childlike.

Yes, the brunette doctor deducted, the buzzing sounds he was currently hearing were most definitely airplane noises made by a kid.

At first, he decided to pay no attention to what was going on outside his door. He felt bad enough for not going to introduce himself, so he wasn't about to become the mean man from across the hall who gave out about playing children.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he proceeded to bury his head in the papers scattered across his desk. The sound wasn’t too loud meaning it wasn't a big distraction. He could continue to get his work done despite the clatter.

It was then he heard your voice for the first time. The melodic tone drew him in even more than the buzzing echo. 

Dropping his pen, he instantly got to his feet and ambled towards the front door - now was his chance. 

His hand hovered over the knob, but before he got a chance to do anything, he heard a slam. The noises stopped. Silence once again filled the hall outside.

The hazel-eyed doctor felt slightly foolish. He didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish by springing up so fast. Even if he managed to catch you, what was he going to say? I heard your voice, and wanted to see you. Stupid. You would think he's absolutely clinically insane. I heard you out here, and wanted to finally introduce myself. Better. Although still a little weird.

With a sigh, he sunk back in his seat and continued with his usual Saturday routine. Hoping he would get another chance.

Sunday he heard the buzzing again. Only this time he was walking up the stairs, returning from a late afternoon stroll. 

Once he reached his floor he came face to face with the source of the airplane noises currently echoing throughout the building.

Spencer thought the young boy couldn't be more than five. He was wearing a jumper that was clearly too big on him. Probably one of yours, Spencer thought. Arms spread out by his side, the oversized garment covering his hands in full, the kid ran circles up and down the corridor. A wide grin on his face. The hoodie dragging on the floor collecting dustballs.

Mixed with the noises was the sound of your laughter, coming from inside your apartment. The honey-like harmony was like music to Spencer's ears. A small smile crept up on his features; what the hell was going on with him? How could he possibly feel an attraction to someone he’s never met, held a conversation with.

The boy stopped abruptly when he noticed Spencer. His arms fell, and he ran into your apartment. Vanished as if he’d seen a ghost. Although, he must have been waiting, looking out for when the coast was clear again, because as soon as Spencer closed his own door the buzzing resumed.

It continued on for hours.

Having spent time with JJ’s boys, Spencer was no stranger to the amount of energy little kids possessed. Often when playing he would be the one to grow tired first. He would be the one that needed a break while they continued to wreak havoc. Therefore the noises didn't bother him. He went about his evening, subconsciously listening out for your voice.

The next few days were quiet.

Not like he spent a lot of time at home anyway. Between his classes and his unpredictable work hours with the FBI, he only went back to his apartment to sleep. And that was usually really late at night.

Thursday evening, after a surprisingly short day, he was fumbling through his bag in search for his key when the sudden urge to go and finally say hello came over him. He knocked on your door and instantly heard shuffling inside. There was no turning back now.

Soon you were standing in front of him. Subtly, he looked you up and down. His grip on the strap of his bag tightening. Wow, you were even more beautiful than the glimpses he caught. 

That came off rather stalker-ish, he took a mental note.

“Hello. Can I help you?” You asked while leaning against the frame, one hand holding the door so not let the brunette stranger see inside.

“Hi, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He introduced himself, examining your face for any sort of reaction. Completely blank. “Can I help you?” You repeated. The brunette doctor was slightly taken aback by your cold shoulder. He pursed his lips into a thin smile. “No. I just wanted to introduce myself and say that if you needed anything-” “Thanks.” You cut him off and closed the door in his face.

Spencer took a step back. That definitely didn’t go as he thought it would. He rationalised your behaviour as a response to his tardiness with regards to greeting you and your son in the building. Although he still couldn’t believe you were so, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Glancing one last time at your door, he unlocked his own and stepped inside. At least now he could say he tried introducing himself. He tried being the friendly neighbour.

Saturday arrived once again in the blink of an eye. This particular morning, the hazel-eyed doctor had an abundance of papers to grade. He made himself comfortable and got to work.

Unlike last week, when the airplane noises didn't bother him, today he found them to be quite irritating. He would reread the same sentences at least twice before he even began to understand them. Not ideal.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy curls and let out a deep sigh. He really needed to concentrate, but he also didn't want to be a dick about it. Possibly making the already tense situation even worse.

Quickly, and rather impulsively, he gathered his things. He put on his shoes, threw his bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the hall.

This time the little boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the corridor. In his hands he gripped two toy planes, flying them around in the air. The boy looked up at Spencer and smiled, but continued to play. Spencer smiled back while locking his door, and proceeded to make his way down the stairs.

Yes. He felt good about his decision to work somewhere else for the day.

That evening, as he was about to reheat some leftovers, there was a knock on the door. It was faint. So faint in fact he wasn't sure if he heard it at first. For a split second he hesitated, his attention now focused solely on the door. Another knock. Louder this time. He hurried over and opened it to greet the mysterious guest.

You.

Dressed in an oversized band t-shirt, one Spencer didn't recognise, and a pair of biker shorts - all covered in spatters of colourful paint. Your hair was up in a bun with loose strands escaping by your face. Spencer also noticed a yellow paint smudge on your left cheek, and white speckles on your forehead. Despite the dishevelled attire, you looked considerably more relaxed than the day he went to introduce himself.

“I guess I should start off by apologising.” You began in that melodic tone he first heard last week. “When you came by, I was really rude. I'm not usually like that, I swear. It’s just I have a lot on my plate right now. Benny’s grandparents, from his dad’s side, are giving me grief for moving so far away from them. Even though it’s only an extra twenty minute drive. But you know, they are Benny’s grandparents and I love them. They’re family. Anyway, minutes before you knocked I was on the phone with them, again about the same thing, and the conversation put me in a foul mood. Which really isn’t an excuse for the way I acted towards you so, yeah, inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

The hazel-eyed doctor couldn't help but lightly smirk. He’s never met anyone that rambled nearly as much as him. He’s learned more about you in the last ten seconds than he did the whole time you lived across from him.

“Okay. Okay, you’re smiling. That’s a good sign, right?” You brought your hands to your face, gently pressing your fingertips to the corners of your mouth as if to cover the embarrassment you were no doubtly feeling right now. “Because I did actually come here to invite you over for pizza. A truly lame attempt to try show you that I am in fact a good person and not that bitch you met.”

“I love pizza.” Spencer simply stated causing a sigh of relief to escape your lips.

“Great. That’s great.” A warm expression graced your facial features. “Oh, I’m Y/N by the way.” You were about to reach out your hand when you noticed the colourful paint covering your fingers. “Mom life.” You joked, cheeks flushing a soft pink, and let your arms fell back down to your side.

You patiently waited for Spencer to grab his keys and phone before making your way across the hall.

Your apartment was slightly larger than his, two bedrooms, and the decor also couldn’t have been more different to his own. Colourful, vibrant, homey. Those would be the words he’d use to describe what he was witnessing.

In the middle of the living space stood a dark green couch. Draped over it were numerous blankets, hiding underneath them were mismatched throw pillows. On the coffee table lay a stack of books, surrounded by children’s toys. The wall behind the television was decorated from corner to corner with various sized frames. Inside those frames were different movie posters, photos, random prints, and what he speculated was some of Benny’s artwork.

He was in awe as to how fast you managed to make this place feel like your own.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna quickly wash my hands to try get this pesky paint off, and then we can order food.” With that you disappeared leaving Spencer alone to examine the rest of your place.

His attention was caught by a not so white bedsheet, opposite end of the living space. It was covered in paint. On top of the sheet, stood an old pickle jar that was filled with water. It held numerous brushes. Next to it was a plastic box with tubes of acrylic paint with every colour a person could possibly dream of.

Spencer took a couple of steps towards the bedsheet. He didn't want to seem nosey, he just wanted to get a better look at the currently drying canvases. A distinct pitter of small feet caused him to stand up straight, frozen, as if he was caught doing something illegal.

“A-are, are you the pizza guy?” Benny asked curiously, tilting his little head to one side.

“No uhm, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He explained. “Your mom invited me.” That felt like an important thing to add.

Benny sized him up. His eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a serious pout, nose scrunched. He crossed his little arms as if he was daring Spencer. It was rather silly, this five year old trying to intimidate a grown man, and yet the brunette doctor began to feel nervous. He didn't understand why. He was usually really good with kids.

“Benny, bunny, quit trying to scare our guest.” You returned, grabbing your sons attention and breaking the odd charade. Benny’s gaze traveled to you. “Go do a little clean up of your toys please. I saw those planes your pops bought you in the bathtub. That’s not their place, is it?” Benny shook his head and ran off with a loud chuckle.

You glanced at Spencer and shot him a kind smile.

“Sorry about that. He gets the whole intimidation thing after his dad.” “That’s okay.” Spencer replied. You could tell he was being nice, just like he could tell Benny’s dad was a touchy subject. Spencer wasn’t about to make it worse. It wasn’t his place. And you didn't know him well enough yet to spill the secrets of your past relationship. Therefore, the two of you stood completely still for an awkward second just looking at one another.

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked, breaking the silence. “We have orange juice, water, or mom juice.” “Mom juice?” Spencer raised an intrigued brow. “Wine.” You explained giggling. Spencer nodded his head with a smile. “I’ll have some mom juice then.” “Good choice.”

As he sat down on the couch, you receded into the kitchen, returning shortly with two plastic cups in hand. “I forgot to ask which you’d prefer, red or white, so I brought a glass of each. Whatever you won’t have, I’ll drink.” You reached out your hands. Spencer took the cup with red wine, his fingers brushing gently against yours in the process. Spark. No, he thought. He was imagining things.

Unknown to the brunette doctor, you felt it too. The blood rushed to your face for a split second as you nervously cleared your throat before taking a sip of your wine.

“You have to forgive the plastic cups. One of Benny’s latest favourite activities is pretending to be an airplane and breaking everything in sight, so I locked all my nicer glassware away.” You explained while elegantly plopping down next to Spencer. “Plastic cups are nice. It’s like a picnic.” God, how dumb. He mentally smacked himself. Idiot.

However, your light giggle indicated you didn’t seem to mind. Your eyes widened a little, and he could have sworn they were glistening. “Well thank you Spencer. You’re the first person to say something nice rather than commenting on my parenting style.”

It was the first time you said his name out loud. And in that melodic tone of yours, it echoed inside his brain like a song. Leaving a permanent mark.

“My mom thinks I need to discipline him more, but no-one ever said it would be this hard alone.” You babbled on, completely oblivious to the silent commotion currently going on inside Spencer’s mind. “Benny’s dad was the bad cop per se, I’m no good at it. My son can cause all the trouble in the world, and still all it would take is for him to look up at me with those bunny eyes and all is good again. Probably because he has his dad’s eyes...” You stopped yourself, and chewed down on your bottom lip.

“Sorry.” You fluttered your lashes at the man sitting next to you. “I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Spencer brought the cup to the brim of his mouth and chuckled. “Don’t be. I’ve been told the exact same thing.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve barely squeezed in four full sentences these last fifteen minutes, while I just go on and on and on.”

“Give it time. I guarantee you’ll be sick of me by the end of the night, and I will never get invited over for pizza again.”

Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his forearm. The air hitched in Spencer’s throat as his eyes briefly traveled down to where you were gently grasping. “Consider this your weekly invite.” You said in a silvery tone and proceeded to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Spencer’s Saturday routine was richer by one more item. Perhaps the most important item on the list. Pizza at the apartment across from his.

Truthfully, it was his favourite time of the week. 

During those weekly visits, Spencer quickly learned a lot about you. Where you grew up, any likes and dislikes, hobbies, facts about your family. He learned that you used to teach art at a high school; a job you loved but ultimately decided to leave after you became a single parent. Now, you work at an art gallery only a few blocks from here.

Spencer evened out the scale by sharing his own stories and fables. You were quite surprised to hear about the numerous doctorates he possessed, the work he did, some of the shit he went through, and honestly just how smart he actually was.

Each time you met, you each discovered something new about one another. Something that made you seem even more interesting in the other persons eyes. 

Although, an unspoken agreement was in place, the topic of Benny’s dad was off limits. For now.

When Benny got comfortable having Spencer around, the weekly pizza routine evolved into other activities involving you and your son. Movie nights. Walks to the park. Playground visits. Home-cooked dinners at yours. Puzzle afternoons at his. Spencer taught Benny and you magic tricks, while you taught Spencer how to paint.

Soon enough you were exchanging keys and before either of you even realised, six months passed.

Spencer spent Saturday morning preparing class materials for the week ahead, as usual. Through the thin walls he could hear unmistakable airplane noises and patter of feet running up and down the corridor. He smiled to himself. The echo was a pleasant reminder it was only a few hours until he would see you for pizza.

See during these last few months, Spencer fell head over heels for you. He fell hard. The ever present smile on circling your already perfect features when he was around, your honey-like laughter, your lavender scent, the way you were with Benny, the way you always watched the hazel-eyed doctor with such great interest whenever he broke out into an obscure fact.

The more time he spent with you, the more his love grew.

Spencer knew that he could never act on it. If he was a selfish man perhaps, but he wasn’t. He would never put his own needs ahead of your friendship as it wasn’t just you and him in this scenario. He had to consider Benny. What if the relationship went south and he was just another man to break both of your hearts? No. He’d never act on his feelings. There was way too much at stake.

Though he still considered himself lucky. Having a place in your life, being your friend. That’s lucky.

“Right on time as always.” You beamed as Spencer stumbled inside, closing your apartment door behind him. He ambled towards the coach and sat in his now usual spot - the left corner, with you in the right.

“Where’s Benny?” He asked, looking around for the little monster. “Benny is tucked away in his bed. He kindly requested a slice of pizza to be brought to him once it arrives so it’s really just you and me tonight. Hope that’s still okay with you.” “I mean, yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Spencer teased, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Odd, the brunette doctor thought. You always had a witty comeback. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

“I’m sure you could tell me how many pizza nights we had exactly, so I took the liberty of ordering our food already.” You said with a small smile.

“Thirty-two pizza nights.” Spencer stated simply. You furrowed your brows. “That doesn't right.” “Taking into account every Saturday we spent together, plus pizza on your birthday, Memorial Day, and the other few evenings we didn't feel like cooking, it adds up to thirty-two.”

“Holy shit. Maybe we should start ordering salads.” Spencer chuckled at your response. “Pizza is a lot better.” He pointed out and you couldn't argue with that logic.

Food arrived shortly after. You briskly took two slices over to Benny on a plastic plate, checking up on him in the process. While you were gone Spencer chose a movie. One that you would both equally enjoy.

You sat down again, only this time you sat beside him in what is usually Benny’s spot. Shoulder to shoulder. Spencer froze completely. Thinking if he’d move even an inch, it would scare you off and you’d shift away. You reached for a blanket and draped it over the two of you before glancing up at the hazel-eyed doctor.

“Is this okay?” Contrary to the usual melodic tone of your voice, the question came out quite croaky. Nervous. He met your gaze, losing himself completely in the colour of your eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

He’s thought about kissing you before and always managed to fight the urge. Although, in all the time the two of you spent together he was never situated this close to you. Your face was a mere few inches away from his. Oh fuck. 

The moment lasted only about half a second, but to Spencer it felt like time stood still. Honestly, if you hadn’t turned away to start the movie, he probably would have lost the inner battle. He wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. He would have kissed you. Maybe he was a selfish man after all.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Spencer also turned his attention to the tv. Without breaking your eyes from the screen ahead, you handed him a slice of pizza which he took gratefully. The two of you ate in silence. Enjoying the movie, but mainly each other’s presence.

The brunette man couldn't place the exact moment you cuddled yourself up to him. One minute he peeked to ask you a question about something that now seemed unimportant and you were just there, your head resting against his chest.

A smile circled his lips. He could definitely get used to this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m completely lost.” You mumbled. “And that says a lot considering I’ve seen this movie before. I didn’t understand it then, I still don’t understand it now.”

“If you've seen this before, why did you let me choose it?” Spencer asked. You tilted to look up at him. “Because I thought you’d be able to explain it to me. You know, using that big genius brain of yours.”

Spencer chuckled. He lifted his hand and began to gently caress the top of your head. “What if I tell you my theory and it ruins the movie for you?” He asked, but you waved your hand dismissing his question. “What if you tell me and it improves the movie?”

“That’s a fair point I guess. Okay.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as he began to explain. “The movie seems confusing because it’s actually reverse order storytelling. It kind of works its way from the end to the beginning through a series of flashbacks and flash-forwards. Therefore, as you’re watching, you get a view into Lenny’s diminishing state of mind.”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure you haven't seen ‘Memento’ before?”

He raised his hands palms up. “I swear this is my first time.” He pledged, corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. “Hmm...” “I’m just extremely observant. Plus you know I love puzzles, and this movie is like one giant puzzle.” He continued. 

“Let’s pretend I believe you Spencer.” You said squinting at him, before turning back to look at the tv. The brunette man smirked under his breath. His hand once again tangling itself in your hair.

The sound of a delicate tiptoe approaching the living room caused you to sit up and reach for the remote. Although to Spencer’s surprise you didn't move away from him. Instead, you leaned your body into his side so that if you wanted, you could place your head back on his shoulder.

“Mommy.” Benny muttered. With a little hoist from you, he scrambled into your lap. “Mommy.” “What’s up bunny? Mommy was just finishing a movie, and then I would have come check on you.”

Benny shook his head. He gripped onto the collar of your t-shirt with one hand, the other travelled to your face. He pushed himself into you, angling your head so that he could whisper something in your ear.

Spencer watched as the smile on your face widened at whatever it was Benny said. The young boy pulled away, and waited for your response. “I don’t know kiddo. Would you like me to ask him?” Benny nodded, also now grinning.

“Spencer?” You turned to address the brunette man. “What is your opinion on pillow forts?” He saw the sparkle in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile. “I love pillow forts.”

Within the hour, the living space was completely transformed into a squashy soft kingdom. Benny joyfully screamed that this was the best pillow fort ever as he crawled inside, teddybear in hand.

You nudged Spencer’s arm before staring up at him. “Thank you.” Your eyes locked as your hand slid into his with ease. Fingers instantly intertwining together like magnets. 

“We haven't done this since his dad passed. I’ve suggested it many many times, but he uhm, Benny never wanted to.” Pause. The expression on your face dulled. Mouth quivering as you spoke. “Ehm, his dad was a pilot hence my little guys obsession with planes. He died really suddenly nineteen months ago. Benny was so so small. And I don’t really know how much he remembers of his dad, I mean I tell him stories all the time and so do his grandparents, it’s just hard to tell sometimes if uhm... Pillow forts were like their thing, so after his dad I think they were too painful for Benny.”

Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You were both now standing toe to toe, facing each other fully.

“I guess Benny just needed to feel ready again. Happy even. So what I’m trying to say is, Spencer, thank you. Truly. Thank you for brining joy back into his life.” You hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Thank you for brining joy back into both of our lives.” 

It meant a lot to Spencer that you finally felt comfortable enough to share more details about Benny’s dad. He never wanted to replace the man, he wouldn't dream of it. All he really wanted since the day he met you was to make you a little bit happier, and to hear he was succeeding warmed his heart.

You immediately noticed how his face lit up ever so slightly. A miniature smile circled your lips. “I just hope we didn't obscure your life too much these last few months.”

Using his free hand, he placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Gently caressing your cheek with his thumb in the process. “Are you kidding? There is nothing I would rather be doing. I love spending time with you guys.”

Your eyes sparked with admiration.

“I love our pizza nights, overanalysing different movies with you, listening to Benny’s rendition of ‘In Summer’ from ‘Frozen’. Heck, I love that I now know what ‘Frozen’ is.” You chuckled as he carried on. “I love painting with you, and how you tell me I’ve gotten a lot better at it even though we both know that’s not true. I love that you get a long with my friends. I love that I can take you and Benny over to JJ’s for playdates. Surprisingly, I love playdates. I love how you let me read to Benny when you’re cooking. I love that he loves when I read to him. And of course I love your cooking.”

Tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy. The man standing in front of you was saying all of the right things, and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. You couldn't really tell. The intense emotions circling through your mind right now made it hard to think.

Spencer continued. Now that he started, he couldn't stop. He wanted you to know all of these things. He wanted you to know how he felt. 

“I love when we go grocery shopping all together, and how you give out to me for my bad diet habits. I love how that always makes Benny laugh. I love how you framed a photo of the three of us and hung it up on your wall, don’t think I didn't notice. I love building lego sets with Benny. I love how the two of you call me when I’m away on a case to make sure I’m okay and tell me about your day. I love the sound of your voice. I love... I love Benny.”

He paused for a split second.

“And I especially love you.”

Tiny salty droplets trailed down your cheeks as you fluttered your lashes. “You love me?” You asked quietly. Spencer nodded his head. “I do. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You didn't say anything. 

Spencer thought he was done for when you let go of his hand. He thought he ruined it. His nose twitched. His stomach dropped. He was about to apologise, say that if you didn't feel the same way it was definitely more than okay. He just wanted you in his life. But he didn't get a chance too.

Instead, your hand was now holding his face. Your lips attached themselves to his in one breath. He instantly noted how they were softer than he could have ever possibly imagined.

You tasted like coconut chapstick. Like bliss, delight. Instinctively, Spencer’s arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you as close as humanely possible. He could feel your heart beating in rhythm with his. As your hand tangled itself in his curly hair, he wished this moment could last forever.

When you pulled away breathless, your cheeks were flushed pink. You briefly bit down on your bottom lip before once again meeting Spencer’s inviting gaze - his arm still holding you in a tight embrace. 

“Tell me again.” You whispered. Spencer’s lips circled into a warm smile. “I love you.” He declared. You slowly traced along his jawline with your fingertips. A bright bream circling your features. “I love you too Spencer.”

The second those words filled the air, he picked you up by the waist and spun you around. A carefree shriek slipped out from your mouth. He set you down and gently grabbing your face, he hauled you in for another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you all of those things.” He muttered against your lips. His stubble grazing your chin.“How long I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” You giggled.

“Maybe one day you can enlighten me, but I think now we better crawl into that fort as it is way too quiet in there. Suspiciously quiet.” 

Spencer laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” The two of you broke apart. Hand in hand, you joined Benny inside the pillow kingdom. 

The boy was tangled up in a fuzzy blanket, slowly drifting asleep. He cuddled himself up to you the second your back hit the ground. You kissed the top of his head before turning to Spencer.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” You asked quietly.

“It’s okay.” He effortlessly squeezed his arm behind your neck. This allowed you to snuggle in closer and rest against him. “We can just lay here.” “What a perfect plan.”

The smile on your face caused Spencer's heart to skip a beat. He placed a kiss to your temple feeling 100% content.

It was Saturday morning. Saturday. A day Spencer used to spend grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. Now, thanks to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, his Saturdays looked much different.

Gradually, you stirred next to him. Eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Mhmm, good morning.” “Good morning beautiful.”

“How much time do you think we have?” You asked while stretching. “I would say,” Spencer glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “, about five minutes.” He looked down at you and began slowly leaning in. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. “Let’s make ‘em count.”

A clatter of fast approaching feet caused you to halt right as your lips were about to touch. Spencer groaned knocking his head back against the wooden headboard. 

“Your calculations were a little off Dr. Reid.” You teased sitting up as he ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He looked at you once again with the kindest smile. You loved that smile. 

“My apologies Mrs. Reid.” He pecked your lips just as the door flew open, your kids bursting through.

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​

[ashiemochi]

aphrotitty - 57 (ii)☢

✠ Aphrotitty ↳ Don’t do anything stupid ↳↳ does something stupid

~~ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ~~ genre: fluff, a slice of life, angst, gore at some point, smut/suggestive themes ~~ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

☢ Minor Warning: descriptions of zombies/gore, though it's only like one sentence.

prev -> next

The corridor was filled with faint clicking of heels as the lone woman made her way out to the rooftop. With her insides still as jittery as her hands, So Ah believed she deserved a little break from socialising for the past few hours – especially that piano show she put on.

It was nerve-wracking, to say the least, but a sense of accomplishment filled her up and made a small smile appear on her face.

So Ah could only imagine the look on her therapist’s face the next time she sees him.

Releasing out a sigh at the fresh air, soft cinnamons took in the glistening sight of the city from above. It looked peaceful from up there and a feeling of nostalgia hit her now pounding heart. So Ah’s eyes trailed down to her shaking hands before setting them onto the cold railing, barely an attempt to soothe them down.

She closed her eyes briefly to go to the safe place in her head but a voice jolted her, sending explosive butterflies to her stomach.

“Didn’t know you could play the piano.”

So Ah looked over her shoulder, eyes widening just a tad in surprise as Leon slowly made his way to her, holding onto a gentle grin on his lips. Her cheeks flushed in an instant.

“Leon.” She only uttered, not expecting him to be around here – well, her siblings told her that Leon was around but; “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited, or did you forget that?” Leon teased lightly, joining her next to the railings and she huffed out a chuckle.

“I meant, what are you doing here on the roof? Too stuffy inside?” She guessed out loud, now visibly pleased with the company.

His company.

Leon tilted his head only for a second, looking down at the city, “Something of the sort – I wanted to talk to you, which by the way,” He gazed at her with an impressed but curious smile, “Since when did you learn to play the piano?”

So Ah giggled a little, settling down to a soft smile for him, “My therapist recommended it for me when I hit an art block.”

Leon’s grin fell, his brows furrowing a bit more than usual, “Therapist?”

She sighed; Leon was bound to find out anyway. Ever since that horrible incident, she’s been having nightmares almost every night. The zombies ripping flesh apart with their rotten teeth and the gut-wrenching sounds of people being eaten alive – it was all traumatizing to experience.

“Before I went back to Seoul, I had to undergo several lab tests just to make sure the virus wasn’t going to go corrupt – or whatever Chris had said.” So Ah began, staring down at her fumbling hands on the railings.

“About a week after I left, I got an e-mail from Chris telling me the plaga in me was neutralized by the G-Virus antibody but due to the prolonged exposure, I gained some sort of... Regenerative abilities.”

Leon tried to meet her gaze but her hair acted as a curtain, she continued, “I can’t get hurt or sick and I hate it. I guess it felt like a punch in the gut to own something like that after all the damage it caused – the lives it took...”

She frowned deeply at her hands – at the virus, “Yet here it is... I don’t deserve it.”

Leon silently took in her words before So Ah blinked away her tears – which she didn’t know were there in the first place – when the warmth of his big hand enveloped her cold one and she looked up at him.

Leon held an empathetic look on his face, the kind that showed compassion and awareness.

“Listen, I can’t imagine what it feels like to hold onto the same virus that caused that outbreak but,” Leon’s grasp on her hand tightened gently when she scoffed to get her attention back on him as he gazed her down, “You’ve saved lives. Families. There are people out there who owe it to you.”

“They’re scared of me.” She muttered, returning her eyes back down to avoid his warm ones.

Leon exhaled when the girl wasn’t convinced and he pulled her hand towards him, the other moving up to push away her bangs from her face with a tender smile.

“I’m not.” Leon grinned cheekily when her irises blinked up at him, “Never was. Never will.”

“Unless you’re angry about something.” Leon continued, facing the view again but his hand stayed on hers, thumb lightly dancing across her knuckles.

So Ah forced out a breath in disbelief, “Angry? Since when was I ever angry with you?”

He shook his head, chuckling himself, “No, not with me. Remember when you stood between me and Sonny?”

“Yeah?” She winced visibly at the memory – ah, it sucked to relive it in her mind.

“It’s cute that you tried to protect me and all, but you do know you’re like a foot shorter than me, right?” Leon gave her a teasing smile when her cheeks reddened, laughing when she smacked his chest with her other hand.

“Hey, I saved your ass back then!” So Ah exclaimed, trying to defend her dignity, “Short or not, you gotta admit my plan was smart.”

“You’re telling me you thought of that plan?”

“Well, not completely, but it worked, didn’t it?” She pouted and Leon only chuckled, releasing her hand to pat her head.

“Yeah, yeah, smart and gorgeous – nothing new from the Hans.” He winked at her as she mumbled incoherent nothingness, pushing his hand away to fix her hair but Leon caught her hand mid-air in his, holding onto it lovingly.

“You’re a dick.” So Ah muttered, too shy to speak up as she looked back at the city and he laughed lightly, nodding as he followed suit.

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

The lovers stood in comfortable silence, gazing at the city from afar and she finally understood the nostalgic feeling.

Closing her eyes, she was back in his safe space on the mountain. Instead of a colourful sunset, it was a sparkly night, the sky filled with shimmering dots; all twinkling chaotically. The metropolis was alive tonight with the city lights being as bright as they possibly can and sometimes, she’d catch a series of zooming vehicles of different shapes and sizes.

Her heart fluttered as the human embodiment of a heater stood near, silently and involuntarily offering his warmth. She smiled softly but it fell when Leon looked down at her all of the sudden, sending her face into a blushing mess and she snapped her head back forward.

His snickers didn’t go unheard.

“You know... I was thinking,” Leon hummed, tilting his head at her with an equally tilted grin, “How about that steak house?”

So Ah blinked at him, half-surprised and half-flustered, “The buffet wasn’t enough?” Then a wave of concern washed over her, “Did you not eat?”

“No, no.” He laughed, shaking his head, “Your brother managed to snag a whole dish for us – I meant tomorrow; are you free?”

She giggled a bit before thinking it over, “Well, I have to head to the BSAA for the usual check-up but I’ve got nothing at night.”

“Then it's settled.” Leon grinned toothily, one that made her butterflies chitter in giddy, “I’ll pick you up around... Seven? Is that good?”

She hummed out a happy sound, smiling widely as she leaned her head on his shoulder for more warmth, arms touching as she sighed out, “Seven’s perfect.”

✠

✠

✠

“Oh, you look nice tonight, by the way.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, though I prefer that blue suit you wore at Matthew’s party.”

“Thanks for your valuable insight.”

Sarcasm.

“No problem!”

Not sarcasm.

[miracleonice87]

Cape Cod Confessions - Kevin Hayes

a/n: this one hit me outta nowhere and I blame my Philly loves @broadstbroskis and @princessphilly for enabling me 😉😘 (jk you know I adore you.) writing this one actually made writing feel fun again. I'm grateful for that. also hey, I'm writing for Kevin Hayes now! keep that in mind for the next prompt list lol.

warnings: I think just swearing. also heads up, this is an OC. I like them and I ain't sorry.

word count: 4.4K+

_____

The familiar scene in the yard of Kate’s parents’ summer home on Cape Cod would normally fill her with contentment and peace, as all her family and closest, lifelong friends were gathered together in celebration. Her brother was marrying his college sweetheart in twenty-four hours, and Kate had every reason to be happy.

Today, though, after not being part of such an occasion for many months due to work obligations back in Seattle, Kate felt strange pangs of guilt and discomfort. Days like today made her wonder why she had ever left Boston in the first place.

And seeing her childhood best friend Kevin manning the grill, his nieces and nephews hanging from his long limbs as he promised them he would play with them as soon as the food was finished, made her wonder why she had ever left him in the first place.

How she had ever left him in the first place.

Kate was still lost in her own thoughts when, from across the lawn, she heard a shrill scream, followed by an ecstatic, “Auntie Kate!”

Her goddaughter Neila’s voice was unmistakable, and Kate set her purse on the grass just in time to catch Neila on her running jump, all the way from her Uncle Kevin straight into Kate’s arms. Pure joy flooded Kate’s soul as she caught Neila, giggling, and held the little girl to her chest.

“My beautiful Nene!” Kate exclaimed, kissing her cheek. “I missed you!”

Neila pulled back, pushing her hair away from her face. “I missed you, too,” she said sincerely before throwing her arms around Kate’s neck again.

A moment later, Neila wriggled out of Kate’s hold and turned toward the crowd of family and friends on the patio.

“Auntie Kate is here!” Neila announced, eliciting chuckles from the adults. Except for one — Kevin, whose eyes had already been glued to Kate since his niece’s initial squeal upon discovering her arrival. He’d turned his back on the grill to find his niece holding onto Kate’s hands and hopping backwards in an effort to pull her to join the party on the patio.

Kevin looked on as Kate threw her head back in laughter, and he felt the sort of distinct happiness that he only found when Kate was near. He couldn’t stop staring, mesmerized by how radiant she looked in her lilac sundress, with her curls thrown over her shoulders… that is, he couldn’t stop staring until his brother clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Steaks are gonna burn, Kev,” Jimmy said loudly in order to bring Kevin back down to earth. Kevin simply nodded and turned back to the grill. Jimmy’s eyes traveled to where Kate stood reuniting with her immediate family, and a soft smile found his lips.

“She looks beautiful, no?” Jimmy spoke into Kevin’s ear, more softly this time. He was always more than willing to publicly embarrass his little brother when it came to an array of subjects. But Kate wasn’t one of them. Jimmy wouldn’t dare.

Kevin only nodded, again. Jimmy squeezed his shoulder, then scooped up his little son in his arms and headed to see his old friend.

Kate’s parents, her older brother Patrick, and his fiancée Joelle had just finished taking turns greeting her with hugs when, over her brother’s shoulder, she spotted Jimmy carrying Beau.

“Baby Beau!” Kate gasped, holding out her hands as Beau smiled and reached out for her. “Who let you get this big?!” she questioned as she took him in her arms. He simply giggled and laid his head on her shoulder.

“Hello, Kathleen Paige,” Jimmy greeted, using her full name as he had for Kate’s entire life, no matter how much she had hated the Irish moniker as a young kid.

“Hi, J,” she replied fondly, leaning in so that he could wrap her in a hug and plant a kiss to her forehead. “Your boy is getting way too big,” she told him, tickling Beau’s belly and making him laugh.

“Tell me about it,” Jimmy said. “How are you? You look great.”

Kate glanced downward, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Thanks. I’m okay,” she replied uncharacteristically dryly, switching Beau to her other arm. “It’s good to be home,” she added without elaboration.

Jimmy nodded in understanding.

“It’s good to have you home,” he agreed, then tilted his head toward the house. “Kristen’s inside. She can’t wait to see you.”

Kate beamed at the mention of Jimmy’s wife, one of her closest friends for years now.

“I can’t wait, either,” she said, just as Beau reached back toward his dad, making them both laugh. “Here, take your mini me. I’m gonna go finish my rounds,” she told him as her eyes flickered in search of the younger Hayes brother.

Jimmy retrieved his son and smirked down at her, his own eyes dancing.

“You do that,” he encouraged, teasing in his tone.

Kate rolled her eyes, but, just as Jimmy had anticipated, she headed straight toward the barbecue next, passing at least a dozen other people who had been waiting to see her.

“Hey, grill master,” she said, her hand gently coming to rest on Kevin’s back.

Her touch took him by surprise, and he nearly fumbled the tongs in his hands as he turned to greet her, his tall frame towering over hers.

“Hey, Katie girl,” he spoke, and Kate realized just how much she had missed that voice speaking those very words. She could only grin like an idiot.

Kevin pulled Kate in, his arms crushing her against his chest, and she hugged his waist as she felt his heartbeat against her ear.

“Missed you,” she said simply.

“Missed you, too, Kate,” Kevin said, his voice rumbling against her cheek. She pulled back to look up at him with a relieved sigh as he grinned at her.

And in that moment, she finally felt some of the contentment and peace she’d been searching for.

_____

Hours later, after the cookout lunch and the rehearsal dinner, when the attention-commanding nieces and nephews had long been put to bed, Kevin found Kate where he’d always found her on summer nights at the Cape — down at the boathouse, her feet dangling above the water, her short stature prohibiting them from actually being submerged.

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” he found himself saying — immediately followed by an internal monologue of, God, Kevin, why are you so fucking lame?

Despite his pathetic attempt at humor, Kate still smiled up at him.

“I knew you’d find me eventually,” she replied, letting her gaze drift back across the water.

Kevin hummed in response as he set down the pair of beers he’d brought and took a seat on the dock beside her.

“I’m surprised you’re not with the girls,” Kevin said. “They’re up there poppin’ bottles in the kitchen.”

She laughed softly at the thought. “Nah, just needed some time to think,” she told him.

Kevin nodded, knowing not to press any further if Kate wasn’t feeling forthcoming.

“Well, I come bearing beers,” he said, offering her one of the bottles.

With a grateful sigh, she murmured a “thank you,” and accepted the cold beverage. And that was just another item that fell somewhere in the middle of the long list of reasons why Kevin adored her — because she never needed champagne or an apple martini or a Mai Tai. A beer that matched his always suited her just fine.

Kevin was smiling at the thought, and when Kate caught him, he quickly saved face by lifting his bottle in the air.

“A toast,” he announced. “To Pat and Joelle.”

She nodded, lifting her beer toward his. “To Pat and Joelle,” she echoed, clinking the neck of her bottle against his. “Cheers.”

Kate took a long pull, looking back across the cape, and after a few silent moments, Kevin casually reached for her ankles and swept her legs atop his lap, his free hand resting on her shin. It certainly wasn’t anything unusual — anyone who knew Kate and Kevin and their relationship knew that they had always been affectionate with one another. (So much so, in fact, that on many occasions, Jimmy had muttered, “Jesus Christ, just fuck already.”) But it had been so long since he had initiated such a gesture that Kate would have been lying if she said her breath didn’t catch in her throat a little.

She sniffed and made work of picking at the label on her bottle, trying to act as cool and collected as possible.

“You look great, Katie,” Kevin eventually piped up, interrupting the silence and making Kate feel somehow more nervous and more at ease all at once. She tucked her chin to her chest with a breathy chuckle. “I mean it,” he added earnestly. “I should’ve said it before, but… anyway, just wanted to tell you now.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, and Kevin had to remind himself to breathe as she shot him her famous pursed-lipped smile, pushed to one side of her mouth.

“Thanks, Kev,” Kate said softly. “You do, too.”

“How’s work?” he asked, assuming that he’d be posing a simple, run-of-the-mill question, one that might lighten the mood and give his heart rate a chance to slow a bit.

But Kate snorted, lowering her bottle from her lips after a swig. “What work?” she asked cynically.

Kevin’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

She cleared her throat, turning to face the full moon instead of him. “The magazine shut down,” she finally admitted. “It’s been almost a month now, I guess.”

And for once in his life, Kevin was speechless.

Kate had started working for the small, independently-owned Pacific Northwest tourism magazine five years ago — the publication was the whole reason she’d moved to Seattle in the first place. She was so proud of her photography that was featured in each issue, and so was Kevin — though Kate didn’t know it, he had subscribed to the magazine after her first photo was featured in an issue early in her time on staff. And since the monthly magazines were mailed to his place in Philly and not in Dorchester, he realized that he would have had no way of knowing about the shutdown if it weren’t for Kate directly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kevin asked gently, concern evident in his tone.

She shrugged. “Not something I really felt like talking about this weekend,” she replied, rubbing her hands along her upper arms to warm them from the cool ocean breeze. “Not necessarily something I was all that proud of.”

Kevin’s heart sank. “But it isn’t your fault, Kate,” he said, squeezing her calves. “You didn’t have any control over the magazine going under.”

She heaved a sigh. “I know, but…” she began, tipping her head back wearily, “it just feels like everything’s crashing down around me in Seattle. Half a dozen of my friends have moved away in the last year, my freelance clients are dwindling seemingly by the day because everybody and their mother think they can be their own photographer, and now the magazine’s gone. It just feels like I’m failing at everything, Kev. Failing at life.”

“Hey,” Kevin said firmly — immediately. He nudged her chin with his thumb so that she was looking straight at him, those sea blue eyes of his suddenly the only thing she could focus on, as all of her self-doubt was washed away, even before he continued to speak. “You are not failing. You’re 28 years old. This is just a part of growing up, Kate,” he assured. “This shit happens to everyone. Remember when I got shipped to Winnipeg and then to Philly so quick? I went through the same shit. I felt like nobody wanted me, like I couldn’t do anything right. But it got better. It always does, Katie. Especially for people with as good a heart as you.”

Kate sniffled, wiping at a lone stray tear with her knuckle.

“Thanks, Kev,” she said softly, followed by a few more quiet sniffles. “You’re the best. Reasons why I love you,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Kevin’s brows lifted and his eyes widened as he looked at her, wondering if he’d just heard her correctly.

As with the physical touch, it had always been this way with Kate and Kevin when it came to their long-simmering feelings for one another. One of them would slip up and say some shit like “I love you” or “you’re so hot” or “come home with me,” and then try to play it off or walk it back, while the other person was left reeling, unsure of whether or not the other had truly meant what they’d said.

“I mean, you know, like I—”

“I love you, too, Kate,” Kevin said without hesitation, not walking anything back, interrupting Kate’s hopeless stuttering.

She glanced at him, taking a few chugging sips of her beer, and shook her head.

“No, you don’t,” she asserted flatly. “You’ve had a lot to drink. So have I. It’s a wedding weekend and we’re—”

“No, Kate,” Kevin insisted. “I mean it. I-I love you.”

And Kate suddenly felt really dizzy, like, really dizzy, and not because of the alcohol or the day she’d spent in the sweltering July sun. Dizzy like her best friend since diapers had just fully admitted that he love loved her in a manner far more sincere and more convincing than all those other times before.

“I… I gotta go to bed, Kev. Big day tomorrow,” Kate said abruptly. She drew a deep breath, swung her legs out from beneath Kevin’s hold, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pushing herself up from the dock and heading for the steps. “‘Night.”

_____

“You did what?!” Jimmy asked on the golf course the next morning, coughing as he nearly choked, not because of his cigar smoke, but due to pure shock upon hearing his brother’s declaration.

“I told her I loved her,” Kevin said. “And she told me I was just drunk, and I told her I wasn’t, and then she went back to the house.”

“I think I need to lie down,” said Keith Yandle, Kate and Kevin’s mutual lifelong family friend, as he dramatically took a seat in the golf cart.

Jimmy stood slack-jawed in front of Kevin, waiting for more.

“And?!” he finally prompted.

Kevin shrugged. “And I haven’t talked to her all morning,” he said, earning groans from Jimmy, Keith, and Noel Acciari, another longtime member of the crew. “But I don’t regret it. And I’m bringing it up again tonight.”

“At her brother’s wedding? What, are you nuts?” Jimmy accused.

“No, that’s perfect,” Keith bellowed. “You know how girls get about weddings. All gooey and shit. Just get her a couple drinks at the reception. She’ll cop to loving your sorry ass, too. We all know she does. This has only been about three decades in the making.”

Kevin hated to admit it, but Keith was right, and he knew that Jimmy knew it, too, as Jimmy stood with his hands on his hips, sighing as he exhaled cigar smoke.

“Alright, fine,” Jimmy said, putting his hands up and rounding the golf cart to take the driver’s seat. “That’s not your worst idea ever, Yands. And you know what, Kev? I’m proud of ya. I wasn’t sure ya had it in ya.”

Kevin let out a singular chuckle and adjusted his golf hat.

“Neither was I.”

_____

“He said what?!” Kristen said loudly from the makeup chair as Kevin’s sister Justine squealed in the hair chair next to Kate’s.

“He told me he loved me,” Kate replied incredulously, still not convinced that last night was anything more than some fever dream. “Like, actually loved me. And I didn’t say it back. Because I’m an asshole.”

“No, you’re not,” Kristen assured firmly as Justine waved Kate off. “He caught you off guard, that’s all. You’ll have plenty of time this weekend to make it up to him,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Justine flung out an arm and squeezed Kate’s elbow.

“Wait, are you gonna say it back?” she asked in a sharp whisper.

Kate just pursed her lips, smiling crookedly.

_____

“Jesus fuck,” Kevin muttered as Kate walked into the narthex of the church to be lined up for the walk down the aisle. Noel elbowed him in the ribs.

“We’re in a church, bud,” Noel muttered. “You’re gonna get struck down, and I’m gonna be standing next to you when it happens.”

Kevin barely heard him as he watched Kate approach her brother, who let out a “wow” at her appearance and pulled her in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Wow was putting it lightly. Her hair was left long and curled, save for a few pieces pinned back from her face, and she donned an elegant, v-neck, pale blue bridesmaid dress that appeared to have been designed just for her. Her makeup, though simple, was flawless, accentuating her strong features, making her hazel eyes, in particular, impossible not to notice.

Kevin had never seen Kate look more stunning in all his life. And that was saying something.

Kate turned toward the groomsmen next, her eyes immediately locking with Kevin’s, despite Jimmy’s wolf whistle and Noel’s “damn, Katie.”

She shot them both an eyeroll before refocusing on Kevin.

“Hi,” she said dumbly.

“Hi,” Kevin repeated. “You look beautiful, Kate. Perfect.”

There was that pushed-to-one-side, pouted-lip smile that made Kevin’s pulse race.

“Thanks, Kev,” she replied. “You look really handsome.”

Kevin gave her a grateful smile, then took a step closer to her.

“Can we talk later?” he asked, softly enough that he hoped no one else could hear and then subsequently give him shit for asking such a middle school question. His breath against her ear sent shivers through Kate, and his low tone made her mouth go dry.

She nodded, looking up at him doe-eyed and unable to form a single word. He nodded, too, and before she knew it, he was reaching for her hand, brushing a soft kiss against the top of it, and giving it a quick squeeze.

Kate didn’t have a chance to overanalyze his actions because the wedding planner quickly marched through the group, announcing that Patrick and his groomsmen needed to make their way to the altar for the start of the ceremony. Kate stepped forward to pull her older brother in for one last hug and a few whispered sentiments, then she smiled shyly at Kevin, smoothing her hand over his lapel as she passed, unaware of the knowing smile that Jimmy and Kristen shared watching the two of them.

_____

Back at her parents’ house for the reception, Kate was well on her way to a hangover for her flight back to Seattle tomorrow. Naturally, she’d been seated next to Kevin at the head table, and though the two of them hadn’t yet found time for an actual conversation, they each knew it was coming, which only increased the number of trips they’d both already made to the open bar.

After the meal, Pat and Joelle were invited to the dance floor in the middle of the yard, beneath twinkling string lights and the glow of the moon, and the strains of “Marry Me” by Train came over the sound system, filling the salty air with the peaceful guitar melody.

Kate’s jaw dropped just slightly, but enough for Kevin to take notice.

“That asshole,” she whispered.

Kevin held back a laugh at her reaction to this significant, romantic moment in her brother’s life.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“This is my wedding song,” she told Kevin incredulously, putting her hand to her chest. “I’ve said that since I was, like, in middle school. He knows that.”

Kevin wasn’t sure if it was the drinks or how breathtaking Kate looked or the feelings he’d long been pushing down finally bubbling over, now that he had let his little confession slip last night, but he suddenly heard himself say, “We can use it, too. Nobody’ll remember by then.”

Kate stiffened in her chair and snapped her head toward him.

“What?” it was her turn to whisper.

“Oh, come on, Kate,” Kevin said, sipping his whiskey casually. “Let’s not kid ourselves. That’ll be us up there someday.”

And there was that goddamn smile of hers again — Kevin knew she was trying so hard not to pull a full-on, megawatt grin, which was fine by him because he was perfectly happy with this version. Preferred it, actually.

She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“Don’t hold your breath, Kev,” Kate replied lightheartedly. But her tone was… less than convincing, some might say. Even less convincing was the way she almost imperceptibly leaned closer toward Kevin, whose arm rested loosely around the back of her chair.

And at that, Kevin smiled into his glass.

_____

Somehow, even in the midst of her own brother’s lively wedding reception, Kate still found her way to the boathouse. Kevin hadn’t even bothered to look for her elsewhere — once he noticed that she’d disappeared from the dance floor, he grabbed two Boston Lagers from the bar and headed for the dock.

She smirked when she heard his footsteps.

“Want some company?” he asked on his way down the wooden steps.

“Only if it’s you,” she replied, the flirtation evident in her tone.

Kevin smiled, pleased with that answer, and took his familiar spot next to her.

“Nice day, huh?” he asked, again pulling her legs across his lap before nudging the second beer into her hand.

“Really was,” Kate replied, clinking her bottle against Kevin’s for yet another toast.

They sat wordlessly for a few minutes, staring out at the water, listening to the laughs and chatter and music from the party up in the yard.

Eventually, Kevin cleared his throat, drawing Kate’s attention.

“Listen, Kate, about last night,” he began, but Kate’s anxiety spurred her to interrupt.

“No, it’s okay, Kev,” she said, shaking her head quickly. “You don’t have to explain—”

“No, I do,” Kevin insisted. “I-I don’t know if you’re getting it.”

She frowned. “Getting what?”

Kevin opened his mouth, looking into her eyes, then closed it again with a humorless chuckle.

“I meant it,” he finally said. “I said I loved you. And I meant it.”

Kate couldn’t break from his gaze despite the flipping sensation in her stomach, and despite the warmth creeping up her neck. The intensity of his stare was foreign to her — she was so used to happy, joking, jovial Kev, who never took anything too seriously. Even his earlier comment about their supposed future wedding reception had been tinged with sarcasm.

There was no ounce of him that was kidding now. That much Kate could see.

“You’re perfect for me, Kate,” Kevin continued. “You always have been.”

She blinked, tucking her loose waves behind her ear.

“Kev, I—”

“Wait, wait,” he laughed to himself, shaking his head before taking a long pull from his beer. “Listen, you gotta let me finish, because it took me this long to get this far. Okay?”

She nodded. He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on hers.

“I love you, Kate,” Kevin said. “I love you in the worst way. The most real way. Not just some fleeting, fling-type shit. I mean, I want it all with you. Everything. The whole fuckin’ thing. Ring, wedding, babies in little ‘13’ jerseys. Nice house, a dog. Picket fuckin’ fence. I want what our parents have. And our siblings. You’re the only person I wanna share that with. Ever.”

Kate was crying now, blissfully unfazed that her mascara tears might stain her pretty makeup. Though, they didn’t, because before they could, Kevin’s thumbs had wiped them away, and after rubbing his fingers together, he smoothed his thumbs along her cheekbones.

“And I’ve always known it,” he continued. “But it took you going away and coming back for me to work up the balls to say it.”

Kate hadn’t flinched this whole time, Kevin noticed. In fact, her eyes grew brighter and her soft smile a bit more noticeable with each word he had spoken. But she had yet to utter a word. He studied her in anticipation.

“You gotta say something, Katie girl,” he said nervously. “I’m dyin’ here.”

But there was little left for her to say, she realized, and so instead, she leaned in, cupped Kevin’s neatly-bearded cheeks in her hands, and kissed him like she had never kissed a single soul before. And Kevin kissed her back, his relief evident in his tender touch, in the way he exhaled softly against her mouth.

As soon as Kate pulled her lips from his, hers curled into a breathless smile, and she leaned her forehead against his.

“I love you, too, Kevin Hayes,” she whispered, her fingers combing through the hair at the back of his head. “I’ve loved you since forever.”

“Be with me,” Kevin blurted, as if he actually needed to. “Like, officially. I wanna do this with you.”

She nuzzled her nose against his and circled her arms around his neck.

“Oh, we’re doin’ this,” Kate told him, beaming. She pressed a kiss between his brows and whispered, “Can’t get rid of me now.”

_____

Three summers later, in her parents’ yard on the Cape, Kate twirled around the dance floor to “Marry Me” by Train with a tall, reddish-brown-haired, blue-eyed boy from Dorchester, the very one she had loved since she was a little girl, long before she even fully understood what love was.

But now, Kate knew exactly what love was, because she knew Kevin.

Her newly dubbed husband leaned down to speak softly into her ear as her song continued to play.

“Remember that night we finally got together, when Pat and Joelle had their first dance here?” Kevin asked. “And I told you, ‘someday it’ll be us up there,’ and you told me not to hold my breath?”

Kate hid her face in his chest and felt her face warm, chuckling bashfully. Her recoiling only caused Kevin to hold her tighter and press a kiss to the top of her head. His thumb and forefinger found her chin and angled her face toward his.

“I’m glad I held my breath, Katie girl,” he said, his voice low.

Kate nodded, her eyes damp with unfallen tears. “I’m glad you did, too, Kev,” she said.

[xxxsweetdreamzxxx]

warnings/tags: dom!wonho sub!reader, fluff, smut, fanfic; cursing, railing, unprotected sex, hook up, size kink, other types of filth

summary: your first encounter with your new nextdoor neighbor turns steamy

word count: 2k

===============================

Had this dream and decided that Wonho was a good fit to replace the rando my mind made up. Didn't require much editing, so this is straight from my messed up subconscious. Hope you enjoy!! ;>

and yes, I am a certified Wonho simp. (′ꈍᴗꈍ‵)

===============================

You glanced up past the tops of the skyscrapers of Manhattan at the gray sky and sighed, pulling your coat tighter around you in the cool air. Seeing the older structure that was your apartment building in front of you, waves of relief washed through you. Getting excited to head inside and warm up a little, you thought: 'Another day of work over, time to relax.' But as you neared the entrance, you heard a voice behind you. 

"Goddamn." A man muttered under his breath. "What's your name?" He said a little louder so you could hear, his tone indicating obvious interest. 

Fighting back a sigh and without looking his way, you replied: "Sorry, I'm not interested."

Despite wanting to desperately go inside, you turned and headed back the way you came, thankful he didn't follow. You figured it wasn't a good idea for him to know where you lived. Once out of sight of your building, you decided it was probably safe to head back.

Approaching your building for the second time, you could see no one stood outside the building, so you entered. Heading up one flight of stairs onto the second floor, you made your way into the hallway and to the second door, reaching into your pocket for your keys. Unlocking your apartment door, you went in and closed the door behind you. 

Glancing around, you could see your bed in the corner, the small two-person couch against the opposite wall, and the kitchenette near the door that consisted of only a mini fridge and tiny stovetop. The wall furthest from the door had a window with it's curtains drawn to the sides, letting natural light in. A door along the wall with the couch lead to your bathroom. You didn't mind living in a one room apartment much, its location was amazing - and something you cared more about then the square footage. 

Setting your keys down on top of the mini fridge, you changed into some more comfortable shorts before moving towards the couch, reaching for the remote that was on the armrest as you sat down. Flipping on the TV situated across from you, you turned on the show you were watching last night before bed. Taking place in the 1920s or so, it was about some rich influential family and their daily lives. Of course, more drama filled than it would've been in reality. One of the younger couples in the family had been slowly growing closer, and you were just waiting for them to hook up. You secretly hoped today's episode would deliver. 

To your delight, it didn't take long for the episode to go where you wanted, with the couple locking themselves in a bedroom late at night and climbing onto their canopy bed. The girl's soft moans made you turn down the volume and pray to god that no one could hear anything through your thin apartment walls. It began to pour outside your window, thankfully drowning out some of the noises coming from your TV. You curled yourself up in a ball and watched the semi-pornographic scene play out, feeling satisfied in the direction the show was going.

You were so wrapped up in the show that it took a second for you to process that the sound you heard was a knock at your door. 

"Fuck." you hissed under your breath, scrambling to pause the show on a frame that wasn't too suspicious. 

You left the remote on the seat you'd been sitting on and hurried over to the door, which didn't have a peep hole so there was no way to see the person on the other side. 

"Yes?" You question through the door. 

A man's voice answered. "Sorry to bother you, but I forgot the key to my apartment nextdoor and got caught in the rain on the way back from work. I don't have anything out here to dry off with and my roommate doesn't get back until a few hours from now. Could I please borrow a towel?" 

He sounded familiar somehow, you felt like you'd heard his voice recently but couldn't place where. He did sound desperate...

You opened the door. The poor guy was drenched and shivering, and looked at you in embarrassment. His expression then seemed to turn to recognition of some kind. Even though the way he carried himself seemed sweet and innocent, he was tall and you could tell that under layers of winter clothing was nothing but muscle. Despite feeling a little uneasy being alone with such a large man, you beckoned him to come inside. 

You took in his appearance further as he hesitated a bit before doing so. His wet dark hair was plastered flat across his forehead, his equally dark eyes looked tired. His red cheeks and nose stood out against his pale skin, and you wondered how long he'd been out in the cold. Even in such a disheveled state, his perfect visuals made you feel flushed in the face. He was prettier than any man - no, person - you'd met before.

"I- I'm y/n by the way." You wanted to slap yourself for stuttering. "You can stay here until your roommate gets back, I'd hate for you to be standing in the hallway the whole time." 

"I'm Hoseok," The man replied, "and I can't thank you enough." He smiled gratefully at you, making your heart skip a beat. 

You averted your gaze to quickly duck into the bathroom, getting him a towel. You gave it to him and showed him where he could sit on your couch, the seat next to where you'd been sitting before.  You could notice he was still shivering after sitting down. 

"Would you like some hot tea to warm you up?" You asked. 

He gave you another grateful smile. "Yes." 

You headed over to the kitchenette to heat up some water, pulling out two mugs for your tea. You continued the conversation, talking about work, the weather, city life, etc. until before long you'd finished making the tea and headed back to the couch to keep talking, sitting down next to him. 

You learned he was a mailman of all things, and funnily enough he delivered mail to the building you both lived in. He'd moved in with his roommate only recently, an old friend from high school. You'd met the roommate a few times, out in the hallway and such. You had no idea a second person had moved in.

Then there was a pause in the conversation, and his eyes drifted over to the TV. He noticed that it was on, but paused. 

"What you watching?" He asked in a teasing tone. 

"Oh, ummm," you trailed off, "It's nothing."

"Can I see?" He teased further, a slight smirk on his lips. "Its nothing bad is it?" 

"No, I just forgot to turn it off." You say quickly. 

At that, you went to grab the remote where it lay, on the opposite side of you than he was. A bit surprised by your quick motions, he tried to reach over you to grab it and press play, curiosity overtaking him. Trying to reach that far caused him to lean over quite a bit, too much. Nearly collapsing on top of you, the weight of his body pushed you down onto the couch underneath him. You yelp in surprise. 

Completely engulfed in his shadow, you look up at him, who seems equally surprised by the awkward position he got you both into. He held himself up with his arms on either side of you, but didn't climb off. You can see blush across his cheeks, your own face feeling hot. Something in his previously sweet and tired eyes changes, and his eyes move down to your lips. 

The next thing you know, your lips are crashing against his, and he pulls you into an upright position, placing you on his lap. He runs his fingers through your hair; neither of you stopping to take a breath. You can feel your panties already starting to get damp, clinging to your clit. Moaning softly against his lips, you began to grind your hips against his, feeling a growing bulge underneath you. Seeing this as an invitation, he swiftly picks you up and starts moving you across the room in the direction of your bed. 

Without unlocking his lips from yours, he splayed you out across your bedsheets beneath him. The feeling of being trapped under him only makes you wetter. He begins to grind his hips in rhythm with yours, the fabric of your shorts and his pants brushing against each other. His hands begin to feel you up, finding every curve on your body through your clothes. He then takes them down to the waistband of your shorts, wasting no time in using it to pull them off, along with your panties. 

He then tugs impatiently at your shirt, and you help him to remove it before placing your hands on his belt, fumbling with the clasp. He tugs his shirt over his head before helping you to remove his belt and then his pants. You use your own hands to explore his abdomen, feeling his hard abs between your fingertips. He definitely worked out a ton.  

You then felt his erection brush against your inner thigh, more apparent through the much thinner fabric of his boxers. Although, you wanted to feel it without the boxers. Your hands drifted lower, letting him know to remove them. He did so without hesitation, groaning in satisfaction now that his cock was freed from any restrictive fabric. The pace of your kisses slowed down a little as he spread your legs a bit more, then teased your folds with his tip. The contact with your dripping pussy caused you to moan louder than before. 

He moved his lips onto your neck, marking you as you waited for his next move - which apparently was slamming into you hard like a truck. You sharply sucked in a breath and unintentionally clenched your walls around his dick, causing him to moan against your neck. Tears rolled down your cheeks, caused by momentary pain. Relaxing a bit, you tried your best to match your thrusts with his again. He pushed in forcefully until he was balls deep. He was so large, he filled you up completely. 

Seeing your sweat and tears, he looks into your eyes with slight concern and speaks for the first time in minutes. "You okay?" 

"Mhmhmm." Is all you can reply. In reality you were much better than okay. 

He presses his lips back onto yours before pulling out and ramming back into you aggressively several times, causing lewd noises to escape you both. Feeling his orgasm approaching he pulls out quickly,  leaving you a sweaty mess. Only seconds later hot strings of cum splash against your inner thighs, spilling onto the bedsheets. Squirming a little at the tenseness there, you begin to move your hand down but he pins it to the bed, making you whine. 

"So needy." He comments before using his own fingers to rub fast circles on your clit. 

You arch your back - somehow him doing that feels better than you could ever make it feel. It doesn't take long before a feeling near your tummy begins to build up, your hips grinding a little faster. Before you can remove your lips from his to warn him, you release onto his hand, your nerves relaxing as you ride out your orgasm beneath him. He pauses to lick you off of his fingers, causing you to blush. 

"Fuck, you taste so good." 

After finishing every last bit, he lies down next to you onto the bed, snuggling you up against him. All of the sudden it seems he's gone back to his sweet and innocent self, despite what just occurred. Your kisses become softer until you eventually stop, he wraps his arms around you, and you bury your head into his chest. After a while, he speaks out in a soft and quiet voice. 

"So, what was it you were watching?"

You smile bashfully. "It was a sex scene in a show I've been watching."

He chuckles and pulls you closer. "You're so cute y/n."

[reawritesthings]

Harry H request…

"I'm not leaving you here." "I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep."

Where you left during a fight because it all became too much and he comes and finds you to give you reassurance

Underground Carparks. | Harry Holland

Everything was now turning into bullets. Each word that left Harry’s lips just came like a unexpected eruption. It wasn’t as brutal, but you’ve never seen Harry get this angry. It was as if the waves drowned the sand, and the moon attacked the sun.

“I can’t believe you are forbidden me to go out with my friends.” Harry growled, arms crossed with that childish smug look on his face mirroring your rage.

You haven’t seen Harry properly since he came back with Tom. He was already on the road, and you never stopped him. You knew that Harry would get opportunities to become what he always wanted even if that left you at home, working a job that never really suited you.

“I haven’t seen you in months, Harry. I just want to spend some time with my boyfriend. Is that so hard?” You sniffled, the tears having no control as they hit your trembling hands.

“We have the the weekend.” Harry muttered. He didn’t know why you were being so difficult, almost banning him from seeing his friends.

“I’m not even a priority anymore, am i?” You stammered, eyes rested on the floorboard instead of Harry’s raging eyes. You didn’t, couldn’t even look at him. You were scared that the look in his eye would answer your question.

“Stop being so clingy.” Harry grumbled. “God you are just so annoying sometimes. This is why you have no friends.”

And that’s when your tired eyes met his mediocre eyes. The blackness inside his eyes was something that you would see in a horror movie, an imagery that Harry would describe when he explained certain aspect of films.

You didn’t know that you would actually see a vision like that, right inside your shared home. Without saying a word, you just snatched the keys in your hand winching at the coldness of the metal as you opened the door.

You were waiting for Harry to stop you, to tell you that he was sorry but only silence filled the room.

“Have fun…” You croaked, heading out of the house unsure where your destination is.

-

It had been exactly an hour since you left Harry. He was in a constant battle of his ignorance and selfishness to even bother to answer the calls on his phone.

He knew that they were from Tom asking him where he was but, he couldn’t face his brother. Not when he just saw his light fade into the distance. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t stop you, it was the boldness he seemingly got from spending time with actors.

He looked up to them, far to much that he was acting like a dick. Harry’s eyes flicked to the door when a loud knock evoked his daydream.

“Y/N?”

Tom snorted. “It’s me. I was worried about you.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I just had a fight with Y/N. I think I fucked up.”

Tom furrowed his brows, pulling his brother into a hug, “What happened?”

“I said some things that I shouldn’t and she just walked out and I didn’t even stop her.” Harry mumbled. “I didn’t stop her.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

Harry shook his head, “She won’t even answer if I call her.”

“You don’t know unless you try.” Tom said with a assuring smile. “I’m sure she is someone local like a parking lot.”

“Parking lot? Why there?” Harry said, rubbing his temple as you went straight to voice mail.

“I tend to go someone isolated. It helps me think.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow as he remembered a small memory of the two of you spending the night in Sainsbury’s car park, admiring the stars.

“You are a fucking genius.” Harry shouted, and ran out of the house. He knew exactly where you were.

-

Harry arrived at the car park. He was frantically searching for a small yellow car that you loved so much. Harry didn’t see the obsession but he was warming up to the love the car as much as you did.

“Where are you?” Harry whispered to himself, pulling the curls from his head as he was thinking of the worst. “C’mon sweets. Where you hidin?”

Harry ran across the lot, searching for you. He tried inside the store but you weren’t there and he reckoned he would try the DVD section but you weren’t there either. He had only one other place where you would go.

Tunnel Carpark.

“Y/N?” He shouted. “You here?”

You perked your head up when you heard Harry’s voice. You didn’t say anything and stayed low.

“Honk if you are here.”

You debated, and having the thought of another round physically drained you but, it was getting quite cold in here.

Out of coldness, and knowing that Harry had his pink hoodie you honked the car and saw Harry race towards you.

“Babe. Fuck. Thank god you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” You firmly said. “Why aren’t you with your friends?”

“They aren’t important right now. You are and I’m so sorry, sweets.” Harry gently said. “I shouldn’t of had said those things and I’m sorry for being an awful boyfriend.”

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, Harry.” You sniffled. “You’ll always put me second when I always put your first.”

“I know. I know and I was just so wrapped up in the Hollywood life that I just didn’t feel like I was back in Kingston.”

“I can’t keep doing this, Harry. I’m tired of it.” You were being truthfully.

You owed it to yourself.

“Please. I can’t even imagine what you are going to say next.” Harry whispered. “Please.”

“Can we just talk tomorrow… I just want to be alone.” You fumbled with the loose keychains that were attached to your keys.

“I’m not leaving you here, Y/N. I made a promise that I would love you forever and I intend to keep it. I know you don’t want to see me but, I can’t leave you in bloody Sainsbury underground carpark. I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

You went silence for a moment, and unlocked the car door, “We both can sit in silent. Just, as much as I’m hurt…I do want you here.”

“Always.” Harry promised, getting into the car. “Want my hoodie? It’s kinda chilly?”

“Yes. But, after that we stay in silence.” You raised an eyebrow, looking over at Harry. He already took his jumper off and handed it to you.

“Anything you say sweets,” He gingerly smiled, and rested his back against the seat. “Completely silence.”

“Starting now.”

It had only been five minutes, and Harry couldn’t the silence, “I think I just saw a fox.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Soft Epilogue

Prompt: Hear ye, hear ye, I humbly request from the fanfic goddess, a merlin fanfic of epic fluff proportions!! Lol I love your writing, can I request an Ace!Merlin and Ace!Arthur platonic love life bond?

Thanks for the request, babe! it seems fitting that on my birthday I get to upload a fic about ace qprs

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur qpr, implied morgwen 

Warnings: none my dudes

Word Count: 1807

In the end, there’s no big celebrations.

Oh, Camelot has a feast to end all feasts, but that’s not the point.

 There’s no big rushing into each other at the end of a hard-won fight, Arthur looking all stupidly heroic with his hair all sweaty or Merlin rippling with otherworldly power that makes men want to fall to their knees.

 There’s no kiss after years and years of pining finally being deforested—get it?

 “Shut up, Merlin.”

 “What, that was a good one!”

 “Merlin!”

 —alright fine, there’s no big kiss, there’s no music that swells romantically in the background—

 “Though not for lack of trying on your part, I’m sure.”

 “Will you shut up, you prat, and let me talk?”

 “It’s a wonder you ever stop talking.”

 —okay, look.

 It’s simple.

 It’s the end of a fight. Everyone’s exhausted. There are heavy pants and the scrape of steel on steel from the trodden corners of the battlefield, as soldier after soldier, knight after knight, falls to the ground in a heap. Some get back up. Some don’t.

 Arthur’s fingers fumble on the pommel of his sword. Huh. He needs to redo the grip on the left side. It’s fraying. His fingers are too clumsy. They won’t hold the damn thing properly. The chain mail keeps snagging where it’s come loose. He really needs to fix the grip.

 The sword sings quietly as it slides home, back into the sheath, away, away. His breath leaves him in a rush and he looks up, looking around, counting.

 Leon stands, already directing the survivors to start taking care of those they lost. He catches his king’s eye and nods. Once. Arthur nods back.

 Gwaine pushes his hair out of his eyes and makes a joke. It’s what he does best. As the desperate chuckles start up again, Arthur’s mouth quirks up in a smile. Gwaine catches it.

 Elyan strips the last of the shrapnel from someone’s wound and hauls them to their feet, a man of the people until his last. Arthur watches, paralyzed by the weight of the crown on his shoulders, as Elyan helps in ways he can’t.

 Percival stands. Shadows Arthur as they start to move through the field. The weight is a little easier to bear now, as his breath starts to sink back into his chest.

 Lancelot turns, smiles. Says ‘it’s good to see you,’ as if they’re just mates, running into each other after a long hard day. As if he’s about to buy Arthur a drink at the tavern and talk about the harvest, the new work from the blacksmith siblings, how much he misses looking up at the moon. Arthur just claps him on the shoulder.

 Everyone’s here. Except—

 “Arthur?”

 So there’s no dramatic turn, no big flourish. Time doesn’t slow to a standstill as they rush into each other’s arms. The bards would be so bored, there’s no dramatic confessions, no infamous realizations, no murmured apologies through the hurried meeting of lips. What would they have to sing about?

 Well, perhaps they could sing about this.

 Arthur turns, sees Merlin standing there. He smiles. Merlin smiles back. There’s a little cut on Merlin’s shoulder. Barely enough to graze through the tunic, but enough to draw blood. Arthur frowns, stalks forward, gently tips Merlin’s head to the side so he can have a look.

 “I’m fine, you prat.”

 “You’ve managed to injure yourself.”

 “Wasn’t me!”

 “Given how clumsy you are, I’d be surprised.”

 Arthur presses gently over the cut. It’s nothing more than a scratch, should close by the end of the day. And yet Merlin just rolls his eyes and lays his hand over it. A moment of golden light later and it’s like nothing ever happened.

 “There. Happy now?”

 “Mm.”

 Merlin sighs and moves his head back. Arthur doesn’t. For a moment, their foreheads rest together.

  Thank the heavens you didn’t die, I would’ve dragged you back here myself.

  Just so you could kill me?

  Obviously.

 That’s all. Don’t look so disappointed, there needn’t be more.

 Oh, alright.

 The ride back to Camelot is slow. There’s work to be done along the way, after all. There are people to tend to, knights to bury and mourn, families to tell. There are knights that return to Camelot only for their hands to shake too much, their eyes to go too glassy. These knights leave with the highest honors Arthur can give them, thanked sincerely for their service and the knowledge that the people will forever be in their debt.

 There are preparations to be made, hugs to give. Gwen throws herself into Elyan’s arms, Lancelot’s arms, Merlin’s arms, Arthur’s arms. Gaius isn’t far behind. Each of them breathes in the scent of the other. Home.

 “So you missed me?”

 “Of course I missed you!”

 “I’ve got your favorite waiting, Merlin.”

 “Thanks, Gaius.”

 “Oi! Why don’t I get a hug?”

 “Oh, fine, come here.”

 Arthur looks up to the top of the steps to see Morgana. No longer is she the intimidating figure cut from Camelot’s noble cloth, dressed up like Uther’s legacy, no. Just a simple dress, one of Gwen’s, her hair down around her shoulders in limp curls. If Arthur were someone else, he’d say she’d never looked better.

 “Don’t tell her that.”

 “I don’t need to, she knows.”

 “Merlin!”

 “What? She’s your sister.”

 She smiles, a little dimmer, a little warier, as she descends the steps and holds out her arms. Arthur doesn’t hesitate.

 His sister is here, finally recovered from her long fight with the magic Morgause wove through that horrid bracelet. Morgana hugs him back, tighter than they can imagine.

 “I’m glad to see you,” Arthur mumbles into her shoulder.

 “I’m happy you’re back.”

 Merlin joins them a moment later and Morgana pulls him in too, laughing at Arthur’s affronted face when Merlin squawks and his elbow digs unceremoniously into his ribs.

 “It hurt, you idiot.”

 “She pulled me!”

 “If you weighed more than a beanpole maybe that would help.”

 “My weight is just fine, thank you very much.”

 The feast is glorious. Food and wine flow freely out of the castle into the city below. The people dance, sing, yell, live. The city comes alive with the sound of its people. And that’s the end of the story.

 They won.

 They’re safe.

 They’re with the people they love.

 “You can’t just leave it there, Merlin.”

 “What happened to wanting to keep your privacy?”

 “Just—get on with it.”

 “Fine, you prat.”

 It’s not entirely over. There are still nights where Merlin wakes up and his fingers tingle so much it feels like they’re about to fall off. Nights where he swears he hears a low rumbling voice in the back of his mind, feels giant hands on strings grafted to his arms. Nights where he still feels like Destiny’s puppet, strung along without a second thought.

 There are still nights where Arthur can’t stop hearing the singing of steel and the weight of a sword in his hands. Nights when he can’t stop seeing Uther’s face, hearing his voice, seeing Morgana dead and twisted, broken on the ground. Nights when the flames rise high as knights—his knights—slaughter innocent people as part of a meaningless war.

 There are still nights when they think they can hear each other screaming.

 But Arthur is always there to roll over and wrap his arms tighter around Merlin. He’s here, he’s right here, and he’s warm, and nothing, nothing can take something away from Arthur once he’s decided it’s his. Merlin jolts awake to a cold nose pressed in the crook of his neck, sleepy declarations of ‘mine, my Merlin, go away, leave my Merlin alone, he’s mine, you can’t have him.’ Or it will be to tender words, gentle hands shaking him away, whispered promises of ‘you’re here, it’s alright, I’ll keep you safe, you did it.’

 And Merlin is always there when Arthur clenches the pillow so hard he looks like he’s going to break his fingers, there to gentle them away and pull him close, tuck his head under his chin and say ‘it’s over now, it’s safe now, they’re all safe, they’re all safe.’ Arthur wakes up to rough tunics, slim fingers woven through his own, the warmth of someone else who won’t ever leave. Or just the weight of an arm or leg thrown across his middle. It’s just enough to wake him up and realize that there is someone who, even in sleep, wants to hold him close.

 In the morning, Merlin will wake before Arthur does. The morning will ruffle along the edge of the curtains and he’ll shiver, hiding a little further under the covers. Arthur will hold him closer, unwilling to give up his heat source just yet. Some days, Merlin will let him, falling back asleep with his fingers carding through Arthur’s hair.

 But on most days, he carefully separates himself and tucks Arthur back up, pulling on his clothes and moving to get their breakfast set up. His fingers will brush a vase and a bouquet of flowers will bloom, one of the side effects of training with Morgana. He’ll smile and pick one out to give to Gwen.

 Arthur will wake slowly, first reaching out to feel where Merlin’s gone, then sitting up to spot him at the window, or the table, or right next to him, comb in hand. He’ll grumble, saying Merlin gets up too quickly, only for Merlin to laugh and pull him up to eat.

 The sun will rise through the curtains as they eat, get dressed, and leave to go about their days. The door will close softly behind them, waiting to open again once the day is over.

 There’s no furious declarations of love, no gritting of teeth as they fight to make the world change. Just slow, steady, constant. A touch of a hand here, a brush here. A knowing look or a quick jab. Nothing rough, just soft.

 They deserve a soft epilogue.

 “Hmm. Should’ve known you’d get all sappy.”

 “You like me sappy.”

 “I think I should go see Gaius, my teeth are starting to hurt.”

 “You love it.”

 “…maybe.”

 “Did Arthur Pendragon just admit I was right?”

 “Shut up.”

 “He did! He definitely did!”

 “Shut up, Merlin.”

 Morgana just rolls her eyes and wraps her arms around Gwen to watch the two of them bicker.

 “He’s right, though,” Gwen murmurs after a moment, leaning back to look up at her, “they do deserve a soft epilogue.”

 Morgana smiles. “I think we all do.”

 She’s right and she should say it.

[rogershoe]

Lights, Camera, Action

Part One

Masterlist

Summary: You’re a production assistant on the set of Cursed. The night before your first day at work, you opened your laptop to shockingly realise you’d be working with Daniel Sharman (and a plethora of other amazing actors), someone you’d been watching on screen since you were a teenager. You kept your expectations low, the PAs rarely got to interact with the talent…what was your chance?

Word Count: 2.5k

Tag list: @sxperncturalimpala67​ @mrsaaronkeener​ @tinygardensoul @disasterday @5am-cigarette​ @lancelotapricot​ @demoiselle-en-detresse00​ @slytherlight​ @18somethingpsyche @ceruleanmusings​ @glxctt​ @cavillxhenry​ @lovelyapplessss​ @hereagainsstuff​ @linkpk88​ @aliceperdida​ @weeping-redemption​ @magicalsaladnacho​

(I’m so sorry, tumblr isn’t letting me properly tag some of these accounts ;(

Warnings: Age gap between reader and Daniel, slow burn? (Don’t know if that should be a warning haha)

Notes: I didn’t specify the reader’s age since I wasn’t sure what you guys would be comfortable with ;) Plzz lmk what the maximum age gap is that you all would be okay with or I’ll just decide on one myself haha (also lmk if you’d like to be in the tag list!!). This is my first Daniel x reader fic so plz leave ideas and suggestions! (I myself am not actually sure where exactly this fic is going lmao). Tysm for reading!!

p.s Huey Kerrigan is the actual name of one of the second assistant directors of Cursed :)

Sunday, January 6th 2019

10:16 pm

You opened your laptop nervously, your leg bouncing against your couch. It was your last night as a jobless woman and that both excited and scared you. You opened your email, scanning your mail quickly before your eyes landed on “Call Sheet”. You clicked on the email and saw that there were two documents attached. The second was labelled “Cast List”. Your eyes widened when you realised you would be finding out who you were working with tonight. Not tomorrow. Not at work. Tonight.

You forgot about the call sheet and quickly clicked on the one about the cast. As your eyes scanned the list, you gasped audibly as a name caught your attention.

“Daniel Sharman”

Daniel Sharman? The Daniel Sharman? The one you had been practically in love with when you were 17? (Not anymore of course).

Your heart beat faster as you scanned the rest of the list….”Katherine Langford”…….”Gustaf Skarsgard”..those were the only other two names you recognised so far. Now you couldn’t wait to get to work. You were even more eager but also increasingly anxious to wake up tomorrow. Would you even get to see the actors? If you did, would you be able to meet them? You had so many questions but no one to answer them. Trying to push all of the increasingly complicated thoughts out of your mind, you closed your laptop and got up off the couch to head into your room. You lived alone in your flat, full of piles of DVDs in a corner, two worn out but comfy couches, and your greatest purchase to this day….a large flat screen TV. You wouldn’t call your flat small, it was just…cozy. You looked around at the space admiringly before entering your bedroom and closing the door behind you

Monday, January 7th 2019

4:15 am

You woke up with a jolt, breathing heavily. You looked around for your phone grabbing it and swiping across the screen to turn your alarm off. You closed your eyes and laid down, breathing deeply.

The day was finally here. Your first day on set. You had to admit that by now most of the excitedness had been replaced with anxious thoughts. You attempted to ignore them as you opened your phone again to check your messages etc. Nope, nothing interesting.

At 4:25 you finally decided to muster up all the strength you had to pull yourself out of bed. You had to be at work by 5:30 meaning you should leave around 5:10.

You sat at the edge of your bed, rubbing your eyes. You hoped you wouldn’t fall asleep on set….you wouldn’t be surprised if you did.

You got up and walked into your bathroom. You looked into the mirror and immediately looked away. Waking up at 4:00 had only made your eye bags more prominent. Your hair was disheveled and eyes crusty. You tried not to look at yourself again until after you were dressed. You freshened up, washed your face, brushed your teeth etc before going back in your room to wear your clothes.

You had had an outfit ready since last week. They had told you to wear comfortable clothing and comfortable shoes. The most comfortable thing you had were sweatpants but you knew they didn’t mean those so instead you settled for a pair of your most comfortable jeans and a plain black t-shirt.

You changed and then went to your dresser. After some concealer, mascara, and tinted lip balm..you looked a bit more presentable. You could’ve gone completely barefaced but it was your first day and you wanted to look good.

The nerves could’ve killed you at this point. It was exactly 5:05 when you grabbed the call sheet you had printed this morning, your phone, your keys, and headed out of your apartment. You rode down the elevator and arrived at your car, a second hand red Fiat. 

You fumbled with your keys before pressing a button and unlocking your car. You sat in the front seat and started the engine,

5:28 am

You pulled into the parking lot of the studio and parked your car in the “crew” area. You hoped this wasn’t the director’s spot or anyone else’s for that matter. As a production assistant, you were right at the bottom of the film crew ladder and answerable to any and everyone on set. Although that thought scared you, you were completely new so hopefully they would cut you some slack.

A week ago when you had gotten a call from the second assistant director (AD), he had told you to come into the building and find him. From there he would tell you what to do.

You walked around to the back of the building where there were six or seven people walking around with headsets, setting up chairs and tables. There were also several trailers set up in the parking lot, no doubt some for the actors.  You nervously went up to one of them,

“Hi, where could I find the second assistant director?” you asked

“You’re new?” he replied ignoring your question.

“Yeah” you said smiling slightly

“PA I’m guessing?” he said and you nodded

“He’s in the studio, ask any of the crew inside, they’ll know” he said and smiled, opening a chair.

“Thanks” you said and quickly walked inside through the back door.

Inside it was exactly like what you had imagined. People bustling around, many sporting walkie talkies and headsets. Some held papers, some were talking to each other. You stood in a hallway lined with grey walls. As you walked through the halls you came upon what you guessed was the main studio. It was huge, you could barely see the roof through all of the lighting fixtures. There were multiple props on set but you could tell that the set hadn’t been completely set up yet. This wasn’t the only studio though of course. Judging by the size of the building, there were probably multiple sets. You were in awe for a few moments before realising you had to find the AD. You went up to someone who was setting up water bottles on a long white table.

“Hey, would you happen to know where the second AD is?” you asked

She looked over her shoulder, her short blonde hair tied into a small bun at the back of her head,

“Yeah he’s right over there”, she pointed towards a man who was holding a clipboard and also wore a headset. He had black hair and glasses and looked to be about in his 40s.

You smiled gratefully at her before turning around and walking towards the man. He was looking at his clipboard intently, chewing on his black pen. Your heart beat faster, you hoped he was the right guy. You walked up to him, keeping your distance..not wanting to disturb his thought process.

“Hi I’m Y/N’ you said quickly, waiting for his response. It didn’t come. After a few seconds he looked up at you and put his pen in his pocket.

“PA right?” he asked unconcerned.

“Yes” you said letting out a breath, at least he remembered you.

“I’m Huey Kerrigan”, he suddenly started past you, towards the hallway. You followed him not knowing what else to do. He pointed at the large white table the girl was setting bottles of water on,

“This is the snacks table, you’ll have to set it up in the morning and also restock it throughout the day”

“Got it” you said quickly, not wanting to seem like you were ignoring him

He walked in front of you passing through the hallway and swerving around the many other members of the crew. He walked through the back door you had just passed through a few minutes ago into the cool fresh air. You took a deep breath and followed him to what looked like a charging station beside the tall concrete walls of the studio.

“These are the batteries, aka hot and cold bricks” he pointed to two crates and a table on which there were multiple charging batteries. The “station” was covered by a large white canopy.

“Hot bricks are charged batteries and you must have one on you the entire time in case a crew member needs it. They’ll give you their dead battery aka a cold brick and you bring it here to charge” you were silent for a few seconds trying to process what he had just told you.

“Got it?” he asked

“Yeah…got it” you stuttered smiling nervously

He continued walking and took you right to where all the trailers were parked.

“This is the basecamp,” he said, waving his hand towards all the trailers.

“All the actors’ trailers, the hair and makeup trailers, they’re all here”

You felt a jolt of excitement before remembering to reply, “Okay, cool”

He nodded and continued walking throughout the several trailers, there had to be at least forty. You also scanned your eyes over the area, hoping to maybe get a glimpse of the actors or their trailers.

As if he read your mind he said, “The talent isn’t here yet. They arrive around 6:20 am, get their hair and makeup done and start shooting around 8:30 am….of course this all depends on the day”

You nodded, making sure he saw you.

For the next 20 minutes he showed you around the basecamp and exactly where the makeup and hair trailers were. He also told you about how you never talked to the talent unless you had something to tell them, they had to be somewhere, or if they talked to you. You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed, you weren’t surprised but had still hoped you’d get a small chance to maybe have a chat with the actors.

When you went back inside you saw that the studio had completely transformed. There was one set which looked to be a room with three or four beds and wooden features. Another set opposite that was of what looked to be a marble room with shelves and a white bed. It all looked so realistic that if you were in the set area you wouldn’t have even realized you were in a studio.

“We’re shooting a scene today from episode three, these sets” he waved towards the area, “are from scenes taking place in an abbey”

He stuck a hand down his pocket, wiggling his fingers about before removing it holding a crumpled paper.

“This is the main cast in these scenes,” he said, handing it to me. I nodded quickly grabbing and unfolding the sheet.

Main cast list for abbey scenes

Katherine Langford

Peter Mullen

Daniel Sharman

Shalom Brune-Franklin

Emily Coates

Sophie Harkness

Caroline Lee Johnson

Gabriel Akuwudike

Your heart leapt inside of you when you realised you’d get to see all these actors today.

 “You’re green so you won’t be needing the list today” he continued and you looked up from the paper, “but in a few days, you will”

You guessed green meant someone who was new.

He walked further into the studio, to the large snacks table and handed you four bottles of water. “You first task” he said smiling, “take these to the grips over there”. He pointed to four men on ladders adjusting the lighting above the wooden room set.

“Okay sure” you said grinning, happy you could start working.

“And then go over to the team of PAs and ask what else you can help with”

Before you could reply, he abruptly walked away and out of your sight. You took a deep breath and walked over to the set where the “grips” were. The set was amazing, the sheer detail of the beds and the door and the walls and the small trunks at the end of each bed were unbelievable. You took a few seconds to admire it before trotting over to the three men and one girl. You looked at your watch, it was 6:11 am.

“Yeah, just screw it a bit tighter” one guy said squinting at the light fixture from the ground.

A man on the ladder moved his hand, adjusting the light bulb.

“Hey, I got you guys some water” you said, hopeful they heard you

The girl grabbed the four bottles from you without a word handing one to the man beside her and putting the other two on the ground next to the ladder which the two men were currently on. She wore glasses and had long brown hair held back by a hairband.

“Thanks” she said glancing quickly at you and then getting back to work.

You smiled slightly, remembering that you really were on the very last rung of the ladder of crew members.

You walked away from the set and towards the snacks table, thinking of what to do next. You decided that you should go get a hot brick since that was something Huey said you should have on you at all times. After that you could come back inside and find the rest of the PAs.

You headed outside, having to be careful and not bump into anyone in the hallway. The fresh air was welcome after the several people brushing past you inside. You walked over to the canopy covered area to get a “hot brick”. You knelt down placing one knee on the ground to steady yourself. Before looking through the crate, you decided to tie your hair up since you saw that almost everyone on set had their hair somehow kept away from their face. As you were pulling your hair back, you saw a black car pull into the parking lot, a few spaces away from the crew parking. Your heart beat a bit faster as you tied your hair tie around your hair. Could it be…?

Although you knew getting starstruck was the worst thing that could happen to you as a PA, you couldn’t help but stay there as you tightened your hair, not wanting to remove your eyes from the car. It pulled into a parking space and you saw a man step out. As he locked the car and started walking towards the basecamp you realised it was exactly who you thought it was. 

Daniel fucking Sharman.

 Now your heart was beating fast, threatening to leap out of your chest. He was wearing a grey shirt, jeans and sunglasses and was walking towards one of the trailers, probably his. He was far from you but still, his eye caught yours as he turned his head towards the battery station. Your cheeks heated up and you looked away quickly, mentally slapping yourself. You had practically been ogling your eyes at him..and he had seen you. You knew he knew that you were looking at him. After a few seconds, you pulled yourself together, looked back in his direction and saw that he was entering his trailer his head facing forward again…the the door closed behind him and you let out a deep breath. 

You scolded yourself..you couldn’t get this starstruck whenever you saw him or any of the other actors..they were human after all not some sort of gods. You turned towards the crates and grabbed a charged battery, putting it into your jeans’ back pocket. Although you tried to convince yourself that he didn’t have any effect on you, you couldn’t help but be delighted about your luck that you would be working with him out of all the other actors in the world.

Plz plz plzzz comment how you liked this first part! I need some feedback 😂😭

Part two

[recollins]

On Three (Spencer Reid x Reader)

You’re strapped to a bomb and Spencer stays with you until they can get it defused.  Pairing: Spencer x Neutral Reader Words: 5,383 Content: Angst Warnings: Bombs/explosives  A/N: I know exactly nothing about actually defusing bombs. I did as thorough of a Google search as I could but don’t hold it against me if this isn’t totally accurate.  Masterlist

--

This is the last time I ever stop and offer to help someone after I clock out, you think bitterly, cursing the engrained manners you’d been brought up with. Man, if you got the chance, you’d make sure your parents never heard the end of it. Yeah, they had a point – being polite definitely had gotten you somewhere in life, but this is not where you’d ever wanted to end up.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Shane sighed, tightening the strap on the vest he’d just wrestled onto you. Your vision was still swimming from the hit to the head he’d given you, but fear had you blinking away the blurring and struggling to sit up.

“Then let me go,” you croaked, voice still raw from screaming as he’d dragged you through the halls of the office you both worked at. Shane tsk’d and gave a placating pat to your cheek. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, [y/n], we are,” he agreed, sitting back on his haunches to study his handwork. “And this is what friends do. Help each other out.”

“Friends don’t blow each other up!” you snapped, and instantly the fear was bubbling in your chest again. Fresh tears started to fall as you look at him desperately, reigning in the panic to try and appeal to the human side of him you prayed was buried underneath the heaping pile of batshit crazy. “Please. I’ll – I’ll give you whatever you want. I have some money saved up, I can withdraw it –“

“Don’t insult me. I don’t want money,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed to his feet. “I want all of you sons of bitches to pay for thinking you could fire me. Fire me. I hold this damn company together. And you see? Now it’s all gonna fall apart. Literally.”

The cold, heartless edge to his words set your stomach churning, and the sharp glint in his eye confirmed what you’d been fearing: he wasn’t letting you go.

“I didn’t fire you, Shane. What did I ever do to you?” you whispered, dropping your head back against the railing he’d chained you to. Shane simply shrugged, scooping up the duffel bag at your side and stepping over your legs as he slung it over his shoulder.

“You screwed me over, and then you stripped me of my job. Been here ten years, [y/n], and that’s what you’re gonna do to me?”

“Shane I didn’t do that. I - I’m just the secretary! I just transfer the calls and order takeout!”

“Now you can add bomb-holder to that embarrassingly short resume. For the brief time it’ll matter.” As you met his eyes, honestly not believing he could be this sadistic this effortlessly, he leaned down and hit a button on the front of the vest and instantly it started ticking. The sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it. Shane gave your shoulder one last squeeze before he started off into the shadows. “Like I said, [y/n], I’m sorry.”

You sat in petrified silence for several long, tense moments after you heard the door close down the hall. Completely alone now, desolate fear and despair began to rise up, crash over you like waves breaking relentlessly over the unsuspecting sand. With each pass they grew stronger, colder, threatening to drag you down into the dark depths they rose from.

No, no. You couldn’t let yourself sink right now. Deep breath, [y/n]. Come on. Okay, granted, you were just the secretary for a small insurance agency, and you had no idea how to diffuse a freaking bomb, but you had to do something. There was no way you were just sitting here letting yourself be a victim.

Desperately, your shaking hands tore at the vest, careful not to disturb the mechanism on front. From this angle you couldn’t see if there was a timer, couldn’t see the wires to even begin to pretend like you knew what to do if you found them… maybe the straps? Your fumbling fingers felt around your sides, and there! There was the buckle! For several moments you tried to pull it free, but it wouldn’t budge. Another few moments went to trying to twist yourself around just to see…

Your heart sunk. Shane had tampered with the buckle, managing to secure a padlock through it that, of course, connected to the chains that held you in place. You and the vest were all tied together in a pretty metallic bow. Fucking fantastic. The guy couldn’t figure out how to properly fill out his damn timecard, but he could apparently MacGyver a homemade bomb vest to you.  

Okay, new plan: the vest wasn’t coming off of you, so you’d have to come off the railing with it. You could do that. Right? Experimentally you moved to the chains. Shane had connected you to the obnoxiously solid railing that lined the walkway above the first floor, looping it around your upper arms so tight you couldn’t lift them up. You tried shimming your shoulders to work them up, but with how he’d attached the chain to the vest, all you were doing was wearing yourself out.

Fine, new new plan: you’d just fucking rip yourself either out of the vest or off the rails. You couldn’t really get your feet under you for leverage, but damn if you didn’t throw yourself forward, praying the bars would bend, or the straps of the vest would break, or you’d knock loose a secret key he’d left stashed on your body he’d forgotten about…

Nothing. You weren’t budging. Seriously, couldn’t you catch a break and find a loose railing you could snap off? Maybe the lock could jimmy loose if you tugged enough, or maybe you’d find a way to untangle yourself, get free… something! Couldn’t you catch a fucking break? I mean come on, you paid your taxes! You’d switched to a reusable water bottle instead of plastic ones! You made so many donations to the zoo last year you’d earned a membership –

You stilled at the thought and slumped back against the rails, ragged breath catching in your heaving chest. Your membership. You wouldn’t get to use your membership. Out of all the things running through your mind, that’s what finally broke you. God, that membership had been something you’d been working for, something that you’d been building up to all last year. As dumb as it was, you were really looking forward to using it. You got free admission all year long, you got a free meal with every visit, you got a cool little badge you’d pinned proudly to the visor in your car…

Now it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. You would be dead before you got your official membership card in the mail. You were going to die on the floor of this godforsaken call center, chained to a fucking indestructible fence, in a jerry-rigged bomb vest, completely alone. Your sobs echoed around the empty building painfully loud, bouncing back as if they were mocking your last moments, nearly drowning out the click of a door down the hall.

Wait. Door.

DOOR.

“H-hello?” you called, voice pathetically small in the wake of your still-echoing cries. You saw a figure coming around the corner to your right and your heart leapt up. Had Shane come back?! “Shane? Is that you?”

The man that stepped into the dim light of the walkway was definitely not Shane. He crept slowly down the hall, gun held in front of him, making a slow progression towards you as he studied the surroundings. It was dark enough you were probably no more than a lump on the ground,

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, and I’m with the FBI,” he called to you, and instantly you struggled to sit up straighter. FBI? How the hell – “Are you alright?”

“Um, no,” you admitted, and as he started to close in on you, you realized he had no idea what he was walking towards. “Wait! No, stop, you – you should stay back. It’s a bomb.”

Dr. Reid paused just ten feet from you; the light from the lower level was just enough you could make out his features. He was admittedly handsome: short, tousled brown hair, a chiseled face with full lips and a killer jawline, all packed onto a tall, lean frame… in any other setting you’d be blushing and smiling and desperately trying to see if he was interested in drinks Friday night.

Right now, you were so relieved to see a friendly face, have someone there with you, all you could do was stare up at him as tears ran down your face.

“Is anyone else with you?” Dr. Reid asked, squinting further down the hall as he started towards you again. Had he not heard the thing about the bomb!?

“No. I’m alone,” you whispered. “Shane – he, uh, he put this on me. He went out the way you came in. Everyone else was gone for the night.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, relaxing his stance as he reached up to his vest to say quickly, “Morgan I’ve got a hostage strapped to a bomb on the second floor. We need bomb squad.”

As he tucked his gun into the holster on his hip you sniffed and repeated,

“You should get back. I – it’s been ticking for a while now. I don’t know how long it’ll be until it just –“ you cut off as another sob caught in your throat. Instead of listening to you, though, Dr. Reid closed the distance between you and sunk down onto a knee at your side.

“The bomb squad is on their way, and we’ll have you out of this soon,” he said softly. You looked up at him, tear-filled eyes flicking between his own, unable to understand why he wasn’t running the opposite direction. I mean, yeah, he was an FBI agent, but it was just the two of you. No one would know if he just turned tail and ran; you wouldn’t even hold a grudge at this point.

“If they’re on the way, you don’t need to stay. You’re in danger here with me, Dr. Reid,” you reminded again, trying to urge him to go. There was no point in letting both of you die. Dr. Reid studied you for a few moments and then asked,

“What’s your name?”

“[y/n],” you whispered; he smiled and rested a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You can call me Spencer, okay? And I’m not going anywhere, [y/n]. I’ll stay with you until the bomb squad gets you free, okay?” when you continued to look up him uncomprehending, he added softly, “I wouldn’t want to be strapped to a bomb all by myself, and I have a feeling you don’t want to be either.”

“No,” you admitted, another tear rolling down your cheek. “Thank you.”

Spencer quirked a smile, hand coming off your shoulder to tug a flashlight out of his pocket. He shone it on the vest as he tenderly poked and prodded the contraption Shane had activated.

After several moments of quiet investigation over the entire setup, Spencer sat back on his haunches, lips pressed together. Instantly you shifted under the chains as you struggled to sit up a little more. 

“How bad is it?” you asked softly; Spencer shifted and folded his legs underneath him to sit in front of you.

“There’s no timing mechanism I can find, so I can’t say how long we’ve got,” he admitted, lips turning up into an apologetic smile. “Bomb squad should be here in a few minutes, though. We’ve just got to wait.”

“And what if it goes off before they get here?” you pressed, the knot of worry in your chest forcing the words before you could stop them. You were really trying not to be so negative, but could he blame you?

Spencer simply shrugged and said,

“We’ll deal with it if we get there.”

Despite the situation you let out a snort that dissolved into shaky giggles, rolling your eyes up; you caught a wry smile from the FBI agent in front of you. 

“Sorry. That’s not funny. None of this is. I shouldn’t laugh at that,” you snickered, shaking your head. Spencer gave a toothy smile and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Laughter’s a completely normal reaction under intensely stressful situations. It enhances your intake of oxygen-rich air, stimulates your heart, lungs and muscles, and increases the endorphins that are released by your brain.”

Huh, cute and smart. Okay, for your last moments, you’d gotten pretty lucky. To your surprise, Spencer gave you an apologetic smile and ducked his head.  

“I’m sorry. Facts and statistics are a passion of mine and I know they’re not comforting to others like they are to me.”

“No, I liked that,” you assured quickly. “I like learning new things, and I’m not exactly doing anything else right now.”

This time is was his turn to laugh, which got another giggle out of you. As you both fell quiet again he cleared his throat. 

“You asked if I was Shane. Is that who did this?” you nodded quickly. “Shane Michaels, right?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“My team and I, we’re the Behavior Analysis Unit within the FBI. Our job is to profile criminals in order to catch them. Shane Michaels was on the short list of suspects -”

“Wait. Were you... this is tied to the bombing at the truck driving academy, isn’t it?” you asked slowly, brow furrowing; Spencer nodded, watching you piece it together. “I’m a secretary here. We do commercial insurance for truckers mostly, Shane’s one of the sales agents. He... oh, god.”

The realization of what you’d just fallen into the middle of hit you hard enough to take your breath away. You squeezed your eyes shut, nausea and fear ebbing into your stomach, making you physically ill. A timid hand reached out and rested on your knee, getting your eyes to open. 

“[y/n]?” Spencer coaxed, ducking down a hint to catch your eye. 

“He uh... Shane had lost a lot of commission off of them but our agency refused to let him drop the company unless they wanted to. Or...”

“Or they were no longer in business,” Spencer finished, and you nodded as you swallowed hard. He saw the look on your face and you asked softly, 

“Why’d he do this to me? I - we were friends, I thought. We’d worked here for years together. I know our boss was firing him for losing us money, but I was always nice to him. Why me?”

Spencer sighed, eyes dropping down for a moment like he was considering if he should answer you. His hand was still on your knee, and you managed to shift your arms enough to rest your fingers on top of his own to get his attention. When he lifted his gaze again, his expression softened. He could tell right now you wanted answers more than anything. 

“Shane’s a classic narcissist. For him, the attempt at firing him was more than just the loss of a job. It was a direct blow to his ego, and he couldn’t let that go. Bombing the trucking company was just rage, just an outlet for his immediate anger. This agency was his main target all along. I don’t think he was specifically after you, I think you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I helped him do his stupid timecard every day,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I ordered him extra egg rolls with lunch. I - god. Instead of just walking past him tonight I stopped to help him carry his bags. I thought he was just cleaning out his desk, and then...” your eyes opened, more tears rolling down your cheeks. Spencer’s face was soft, gentle, filled with a deep understanding that somehow made you feel even less alone. He truly knew the terror you were in, the sadness, the confusion... “I should’ve just gone home. Just walked past him, driven straight home, heated up my leftovers.”

Spencer hmm’d and raised his brows. 

“What’s for dinner?”

He was trying to take your mind off it all. Distract you. Keep the panic at bay as best he could when there was a chunk of explosives resting on your chest. 

“This weird meatball casserole thing,” you started, the face you pulled unable to be helped at the memory of it. He laughed at the look and you explained, “I’m not the best cook, but I wanted to be creative. It’s... well, if I’m in a pinch I could probably use it to fix holes in my drywall.”

The honest, toothy smile he gave you got another unexpected giggle from you. 

“I’m not that great of a cook either,” he admitted. “Usually I resort to take-out. I’m not adventurous enough to try my own creations.”

Now you were both giggling, the sound thankfully drowning out the incessant ticking for a few moments. When he met your eyes again, you found yourself admitting,

“Usually I do take-out too. I’ve been trying to save up money, though, so I’ve been getting ingredients on sale and then pretending I know what to do with them.” Spencer made a face and you nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s about how well it’s working out.”

“What are you saving for?” he asked, tipping his head to the side when he caught the instant embarrassment that lit up your face. “If it’s personal you don’t need to answer -”

“No, no. It’s... I like animals. A lot,” you admitted, clearing your throat. “I just earned a membership to the zoo, and... they have this program where you can sponsor an animal. Ever since I was little I really wanted to do something like that. I don’t make a ton here, so it’s been a slow process, but I almost have enough.”

To your surprise there was genuine intrigue on his face, and he studied you with what almost looked like admiration. Seriously, if you could get the eminent death device off of you, you’d really need to find out if he ever got some free time away from bombs and weird animal-obsessed insurance secretaries. 

“I think that’s really neat,” he admitted, without a doubt pulling a blush out of you. “What animal do you want to sponsor?”

You gave a shrug of your shoulders and explained, “I can’t decide. Actually, I was gonna go to the zoo this weekend to look at them all. But now I...”

You cleared your throat and fell silent; the ticking seemed to get even louder just to mock you. Spencer’s hand, still on your knee, gave a gentle squeeze. You hadn’t noticed your lip was trembling until you tried to speak and only a whimper came out.

“We’ll get you out of here,” he promised, the assurance in his voice soothing the tight ache in your chest. You went to answer and without warning, the steady ticking of the bomb stopped. 

You actually gasped, going completely still, eyes flicking between Spencer’s own startled gaze and the vest. The unearthly silence you’d plunged into brought on a wave of hope, and then loud, frenzied beeping began. 

“What that? What’s happening?” you gasped, hands flying to the contraption on your chest in panic. Spencer was on his knees instantly, catching both your wrists in one of his hands while he leaned closer to study the vest. 

“I don’t know - [y/n], hold still. Take a deep breath, okay? Let me look,” he instructed, voice gentle but commanding, putting the brakes on your alarm as you struggled to suck in a ragged breath. He was mumbling under his breath, soft brown eyes flicking over the vest, lips finally pressing together as he lifted his gaze to you. 

“Please tell me,” you begged him; when he still didn’t answer, you managed to twist one of your hands over in his to squeeze his wrist. “Please.” 

“The display is flashing red,” he described, leaning back a hint. “Nothing else has changed, but -”

“But this isn’t good,” you finished, fresh tears forming. Fast beeping? Flashing? It had to be about ready to go off. “Spencer, you need to leave. This is gonna go off and you’re -”

Spencer let go of your wrists, and before you could miss his warmth, his hand took firm hold of one of yours. He sunk a little lower in front of you to meet your gaze with a resolute, unwavering stare. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you.” 

You clung to his hand, managing a nod, sucking in another shaking breath. You really didn’t want him to get hurt, but... you really didn’t want to be alone. Maybe that was selfish. I mean, this guy could die because of you, but the thought of having to sit through this alone was almost more frightening than the bomb. 

Almost. 

Spencer has his phone out a moment later, and he popped it onto speaker as it rang. Not a moment later it picked up and the person on the other end instantly said,

“Squads three minutes out, kid - what’s that beepin’?” 

“It just started doing that,” Spencer rushed. “And it’s -”

“You’re still in there? Reid, Hotch told you to evacuate -”

Spencer’s eyes flicked to you and then back to the vest a heartbeat later; you caught sight of the headset he’d radioed in on earlier. He’d been told to leave, and he was still with you?

“Morgan, it went from ticking to beeping, and now it’s flashing red. I need you to walk me through what to do.”

“What?! No, kid, just wait for the squad. Do you know how dangerous -”

“I don’t think we have time for the squad,” he admitted, and instinctively your hand tightened on his. He met your eyes instantly and said softly to you, “Morgan’s studied how to defuse bombs and he’s the best chance we’ve got right now.”

“Spencer he’s right, you need to leave,” you begged, guilt and fear swirling inside of you. You tried to pull your hand free and his own tightened. “Just go. Why are you staying? You don’t even know me and this is gonna kill you -”

“It’s my job to protect those who need it,” he told you firmly, voice low with resolve. “I told you I’m staying, and I meant it. We’re going to figure this out together and you’re going to go to the zoo and find which animal you’re sponsoring. Okay?”

All you could manage was a whimper; Spencer squeezed your hand as he pressed, 

“Okay, [y/n]?”

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding and sucking in a shaking breath. Morgan gave a heavy sigh through the phone. 

“We’re really doin’ this... okay. Kid, do you see any wires?”

“Just two, both feeding into the right side of the display. It looks like they attach to the explosive packs.”

“Okay. This is really important. [y/n],” he said, and your eyes fell to the phone on the floor between you and Spencer. “Do you know if there was a remote detonator, or a manual switch?” 

“He - he pressed a button before he left,” you said quickly.

“Can you show Reid where it was?” 

“Um, I couldn’t see, really, but...” you shut your eyes and tried to picture where his hand had been. “Is... is there something on the upper right side?” 

“Yes, two buttons. Morgan, one’s yellow, one’s black.”

“Alright. [y/n], do you know if he pushed the top or bottom one?”

“I don’t, I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. Morgan instantly said, 

“Ay, that’s okay, sunshine. Kid, yellow one’s on top, right?” Spencer made a noise of confirmation. “Okay. We only got one shot at this. You sure you’re good doin’ it?”

Spencer met your eyes again, giving a small smile as his hold tightened around your hand. 

“I am. Tell me what to do.”

“You’re gonna press that yellow button down and yank that top wire out. As soon as it’s out, you do the same thing with the bottom button and bottom wire.”

“That’s it?” Spencer asked in surprise. 

“It’s a direct connection trigger,” he said quickly. “Disrupt the connector with the signals and it shuts itself off. As long as he matched the position of the wires with the buttons that’s all it takes.”

You hated to ask, but you needed to. 

“What if he didn’t match them up?”

Spencer pressed his lips together; you already knew the answer before Morgan said softly, 

“It won’t really matter past that.”

“Right,” you whispered; Spencer went to pull his hand free and you instantly tightened your hold. “I - I can press the buttons for you. Just - please don’t let go.”

Spencer gave you a soft smile and nodded. “I won’t. Here -” he shifted hands briefly and then positioned your free one against the pack, putting your pointer finger on the top button and your middle finger on the bottom button. “Alright. On the count of three.”

“On three,” you agreed. Spencer’s fingers entangled with yours in your lap as his own free hand came up to the wires.

“One,” he said softly. You took a deep breath. “Two...”

You and Spencer locked eyes, giving each other small smiles as you whispered together, 

“Three.”

--

“Miss [y/l/n]?” one of the officers asked, pausing at the back of the ambulance where you were sitting. You glanced up from watching the paramedic wipe off the handful of superficial wounds along your arm as he said, “there’s someone that wanted to speak with you, if that’s okay.”

Your brow furrowed, but you nodded and sat up a bit. The paramedic, taking her cue, murmured something about checking on you in a few minutes before excusing herself into the back of the ambulance, giving you as much privacy as she could. 

Curiously, you looked around the busy parking lot; it was packed with police cars, the SWAT van the bomb squad had (now unnecessarily) shown up in, and a handful of black SUV’s. As the bomb squad had escorted you out of the building, you’d locked eye with Shane in the back of one. 

The fury on his face seeing you being let out of the vest was something you’d hold onto for a long, long time. His plans had been ruined, all thanks to you - and the handsome FBI agent that came around the corner of the ambulance. You were genuinely surprised to see him - moments after you’d pulled the wires out, the bomb squad had rushed the scene. Spencer as practically swept out of the way, and you’d assumed he and his team had left. 

Admittedly, you were really glad he was still here. Like, really glad. With all the life-or-death peril out of the way, you hadn’t stopped thinking about all Spencer had done. He’d stayed with you, against orders, and comforted you with a ticking bomb on your chest. And, instead of taking off when it was getting ready to detonate, he put his life on the line to take a chance at saving yours. 

You weren’t a romantic, but come on this was kismet. You couldn’t deny it. 

Spencer’s full lips pulled into a wide, honest smile as he took in the sight of you.  You couldn’t help but smile back, butterflies fluttering in your chest as he stepped closer. 

“I’m glad they got the vest off with no problem,” he told you; free of his own vest he’d been clad in, you couldn’t help take in his outfit. A fitted, dark sweater vest over a dark plaid shirt, and a dark tie pulling it all together. His dress pants fit him illegally well, and the converse peeking out from under them confirmed your suspicions from earlier: he was undoubtedly attractive.. 

“Yeah, a few scrapes on the way out, but I’m in one piece so I’m not complaining,” you joked, and to your surprise he stepped forward. He was as close to you now as he had been earlier, but this was different. This was Spencer standing crowded up against your legs, leaning over you, hand coming out to take yours. 

His fingers curled around yours for just a heartbeat as he lifted your arm, turning it over gently to study the marks. The butterflies surged at his touch, and when he lowered your arm and went to pull away, you quickly grabbed hold of his hand. Spencer’s smile faltered into an unexpected shy turn of his lips as you said softly, 

“I can’t thank you enough for what you did. You didn’t have to stay, and you risked your life for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said gently, smile quirking a little more; his hand gave a squeeze and he didn’t try to pull away. The feeling of his fingers tangled with yours was a comfort you had never experienced before. Maybe it was because of the whole held-your-hand-through-a-near-death-experience thing, but Spencer was comforting. 

He was a shimmer of warmth against the cold night, a breath of calm in the chaos of the last few hours. He was the boat navigating the waves, keeping you afloat, guiding you to the safety you’d been desperate to reach. 

In that next breath, you felt the air shift between you and Spencer, a new intensity sparking between the two of you. His soft caramel eyes held you in an unwavering gaze; his fingers intertwined with yours and his grip tightened as he shifted minutely closer. 

Normally, you weren’t one to be bold, but hell. After being strapped to a bomb, what was so hard about taking a chance?

“I’d like to try,” you said softly, eyes flicking between his as you slowly leaned forward, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted to. Instead, Spencer shifted impossibly closer and you took your chance, leaning up and pressing your lips softly to his. 

Instantly he kissed you back with a power you hadn’t expected from him. Your lips brushed slowly against one another as his free hand came up, cupping your cheek to hold you in place. Your own hand rested against his chest and he stepped into your touch.

His hand slowly slid back into your hair to pull you against him, silently asking to deepen the kiss. Your tongue swept against his lower lip and his mouth parted instantly, his own tongue darting out and brushing your own. His soft, almost imperceptible moan wasn’t lost on you and you swallowed the noise hungrily. 

A horn honked across the parking lot and the two of you jumped back, staring at each other in surprise before dissolving into giggles. You felt your face turn six shades of scarlet as Spencer glanced back towards the black SUV now flashing its lights at the two of you.

“I, uh, I think it’s time to go,” he chuckled, clearing his throat as he finally stepped back and pulled his hand from yours. He was still smiling, though, and he peeked up at you hopefully as he asked, “but um, I don’t live too far from here. And if you wanted, maybe you and I could, you know...”

An idea popped into your head and reached back into the ambulance, grabbing a pen off the clipboard you’d used to fill out some paperwork. You took Spencer’s hand - reveling in the feel of it briefly - and scribbled your number on the back of it. 

“If you’re not busy this weekend, I wouldn’t mind some company at the zoo,” you teased, enjoying the grin that took over his face as he nodded quickly. “You and your FBI profiling skills can help me find the animal I want to sponsor.”

“I’d really like that,” he said as he gave you a wide, honest grin, tongue pushing against his teeth as he ducked his head. 

Okay, okay. So maybe your parents might’ve had a point. Turns out being polite had gotten you exactly where you wanted to be - on a date with the sweet, undeniably handsome Dr. Spencer Reid. 

Next time, though, you could really do without the explosives.

[yellowocaballero]

He’s Just Not That Into You: Web!Jon and Martin ficlet

Another ficlet written in the same universe as The Convention on Chronographer Lane/The Monster at the End of This Book. As before, you don’t need to have read that to read this. These ficlets are being written as character studies so I get a good handle on the uniqueness of the characters in this AU before I actually write something longer. Which is why they’re...like this. 

Very slight content warning for internalized fatphobia and Jon being interpreted as being a creep again. Reverse content warning for Martin’s tasty pasta. 

EDIT 2/4/2021: With the release of Sucker’s Bet, which this story was a kind of pilot study for, this story is no longer canon. However, you can still consider it a 15 page summary of that entire story. I’m sad I couldn’t keep the ‘join my spider cult’ thing but we all make sacrifices. 

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat.

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta.

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window. 

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex. 

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat. 

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta. 

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time. 

***

Martin had never really bothered to learn how to cook, but now that he was unemployed he had plenty of time. 

Now that he was unemployed, he had plenty of time for lots of things. He was finally taking up knitting again. Lots of seasons of Jane the Virgin to catch up on. His severance package from the Institute had been pretty good, not to mention the check Rosie had slipped him with a wink that she had worryingly called ‘Hazard Pay’, but this was London and even Martin could only make the money stretch so far. He spent eight hours of his day looking for jobs, touting his five year experience as a librarian and six month experience as an Archival assistant. But there was only so far you could go without a degree, and the market was shit, and really wouldn’t it just be so much easier to list a master’s in library science from some huge, anonymous university…

But Martin had the feeling that line of thought was what had put him on Jon’s radar in the first place. 

***

A week later Martin was halfway through a comforting Gilmore Girls rewatch when he heard a knock on his door. He had been fastidiously avoiding answering knocks on the door ever since Jon had pulled his first Jehovah’s Witness impression, but he had ordered a replacement washing machine part and it was arriving that day. He put his knitting down and got up, peering through the eyehole - hair not nearly long enough to be Jon, great - and opened the door. 

“Hullo,” the man said in a thick Cockney accent, not looking up from his clipboard, “I got a package here for Mr. Blackwood?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Martin held out his hands to take the little screen and sign for the package. After a second of clumsy fumbling, the man passed the package and the screen over, and Martin boredly scribbled his name. “Thanks, mate -”

But the man was gone, and Martin had realized belatedly that the man had slipped past Martin to enter his flat. He easily slid the cap off, letting his tightly curled hair cascade down to his shoulders, and propped his hands on his hips as he spun in a circle, admiring Martin’s extraordinarily boring and cramped flat. 

“Really love what you’ve done with the place!” Jonathan Sims said loudly. “Your sense of interior design is really impeccable, Martin, truly. A man’s home is his castle! Oh, is that vintage chintz? So cute.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Look at this ceramic kitten!” Jon was already in front of his mantle, carefully scrutinizing his little row of ceramic figures. They were fifty pence at the charity shops and Martin found them precious and charming, okay? “Your place has so much personality. My flat has personality too, but I’m afraid that personality just screams a propensity towards arson, so it’s much less impressive. How old is that couch, from the 70s? Very grandmother. Is it inherited?”

Yes. “No,” Martin said, resisting the urge to throttle the man as he dumped his washing machine part on the end table, “and please get out of my flat. I’ve said explicitly I don’t want you where I live -”

“Really, Martin, I’m hardly a vampire,” Jon said, having the gall to look offended as he cradled a little meowing ceramic kitten in his hand. “If I needed permission to enter dwellings I’d never go anywhere.” He paused a beat, something seeming to occur to him. “But I get a lot of permission from many different people of a variety of genders to enter their homes for sex, which I am very good at.” He paused again. “I really am very thirsty. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a spot of tea…?”

Because Martin was British, he made the tea. But he resented every second of it. 

Jon hadn’t started stalking him immediately after he and his weirdo friends had murdered Martin’s boss, but it was pretty close. He had probably thought a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the ordeal of finding out that your boss’ boss was an immortal apocalypse cultist or whatever and that your boss was actually just a plant from a different and somehow creepier apocalypse cult inserted into your workplace to assassinate his boss. He had probably thought that a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the fact that Jonathan Sims - prickly, rude, pretentious Head Archivist with a heart of gold - was an elaborate fabrication, and that the man whom Martin had been falling for had never truly existed at all. 

A week had not been enough time. 

He didn’t even know Jon’s real name. 

“So what is your real name, anyway?” They were, unfortunately, sitting at Martin’s rinky-dink kitchen table, complete with little pock-marked burn scars in the wood and a wobbly leg. Martin had a magazine rolled up and jammed under the leg, which he was uncomfortably aware of as Jon lounged in his hard little wooden chair as if it was a thousand dollar gaming chair. The fake UPS uniform helped make him look like something other than a movie star, but it was hard to disguise the sharp and haughty features and the cold grey eyes. He had kept the ceramic cat, placing it in front of him with its little plainative face turned towards Martin. 

“What makes you think it’s not Jonathan Sims?” Jon asked archly, sipping at his PG Tips out of a chipped black mug. He made a faint face. “Sorry, is there cream for this? I hate black tea.”

“You always take your tea black,” Martin said automatically. Jon stared at him until he got it. “Of course. Right.” 

By the time he got back to the table with the sugar and cream Jon was going through his mail, with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “Bill, bill, overdue bill. You’re hurting for money, aren’t you? You know, I might know someone who’s hiring -”

“If you’re about to say a giant spider that’s going to lay eggs in my stomach and then burst out of my skin and transform me into a spider person, I have to pass.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Jon blatantly lied. “I just don’t think you’re hearing me out. Has anybody ever told you that you’re very unwilling to listen to new ideas?”

“When the new idea is joining a spider cult, then yes. Actually, no, because nobody’s ever asked me that before I met you.”

Jon didn’t seem to pick up on Martin’s extraordinarily pained expression, or maybe he just didn’t care. He leaned in instead, easily dropping a grotesque amount of sugar cubes into his tea. “Just consider it. Let the idea percolate in your mind. There’s a lot of benefits. No more worrying about money. No more putting in all that work to manipulate people. It’d be as easy as breathing for you. Anybody you want to like you likes you, and anybody you hate has their life ruined in days.” Something glinted with light in Jon’s grey eyes, like a spotlight shining off a raincloud. “Anybody you want to fall in love with you does so instantly. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“All for the low, low price of selling my soul to a giant spider god,” Martin said sarcastically. Jon nodded fastidiously, as if it really was a low price. “Seriously, Jon? I have no interest in any of this. I don’t even know why you’ve singled me out to stalk. I don’t - I don’t like manipulating people, it’s not some kind of hobby -”

“Liar. You love manipulating people.” Jon sipped his tea, as if bored. “Honestly, Martin, we’re all friends here. I won’t judge. You don’t need to virtue signal. We both love manipulating people, getting what we want, putting on personas. We like to control how people see us, no matter what that perception is. You believe that ends justify the means, I believe that good means result in good ends. We’ve very similar.” Something strange entered Jon’s expression, almost entirely hidden by the tea, and for the first time Martin wondered if this was an expression Jon hadn’t meant for him to see. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who is exactly like me. We should work together. You’re so well suited for the Mother. You’d be a treasured son. Valued, celebrated, loved. Everything you always wanted, you can have.”

Silence stretched between them. Martin let Jon think that he was thinking it over, staring into his own cup of Earl Grey and letting the slowly wafting steam fog up his glasses. Jon sipped his tea again, still posed casually yet attractively. In a brief yet stupid spurt of nostalgia Martin found himself missing the man he thought Jonathan Sims had been. 

Stupid. Loving Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, had been as real as crushing on a love interest in a dating sim. Instead, Martin leaned in, and Jon leaned in to match him. Martin locked eyes with him, as sincerely as he possibly could. No lies, no artifice. “Stop projecting your insecurity about your own bad decisions on me,” Martin enunciated clearly, and Jon’s eyes widened in shock. “and get out of my house.”

He did, eventually. Maybe that was one of a million surprising things about Jonathan Sims, or whatever his real name was: Martin could always get him to do what he wanted eventually. 

***

Martin did not spend time thinking about Jonathan Sims, mostly because he had the feeling that this was what Jonathan Sims wanted. 

Instead, he frantically piled more and more projects and work into his free time. Ever since he was seventeen, Martin had always held down at least three jobs. His life was a never-ending rotation of a six am to three pm shift at Papa John’s, then a three pm to ten pm shift at Panera, and then stumbling home to stuff a ready meal in the microwave before doing it all over again only to work his third weekend job on the weekends. It had gotten to the point where he had paid the unemployed downstairs neighbor living on disability cheques to feed and occasionally take care of Mum because he hadn’t had time to do it himself. Martin could have have just dropped a job and scraped by on two so he could take care of Mum himself, but - well, it wasn’t hurting anybody. His neighbor had needed the cheques, right?

In comparison, the Institute had been an absolute dream. Work from nine to five, every day, then come home and crash. There had been benefits, insurance. It probably said something that even after discovering that both of his bosses had been cultists to Lovecraftian horrors who wanted to end the world or whatever, it was still the best job he ever had. He even missed it, sometimes - missed listening to Sasha and Tim joke around, missed the repetitive work, missed harmlessly and shallowly crushing on his persnickety boss who sometimes flashed a smile at him that made his heart melt. 

Fucker had known exactly what he was doing. 

That was what got Martin, even now. What had been the point? Jon had been there to infiltrate Elias’ plans for a Head Archivist, or so Sasha had confusingly explained after the fact. The skeptic, pissy act was to show himself off as an ideal candidate: willfully ignorant, psychologically vulnerable, and utterly isolated from everyone. What was the point of...of...seducing Martin?

The thought made Martin want to die. Imagine living a life where you woke up in the morning and thought to yourself, ‘Today I’m going to seduce the ugly, fat, high school dropout in my extensive long con to save/destroy the world’. It was like he was a movie star in a heist film or something, only cruel and pointless. 

Was it just to make fun of him? Martin had thought it was. But as he...interacted with Jon more and more, he got the sense that his fascination with Martin was genuine. He genuinely saw something of himself in Martin. 

Unless that was a lie too, and he just needed something from Martin. Unless Jon knew that Martin knew that he was conning him, and that there was another reason -

Martin had the terrible sense that Jon lived his life like this, always guessing and second guessing and triple guessing. It sounded...very tiring. 

He didn’t know how to explain any of this to Tim. They got together every so often for drinks - actually, Tim texted him asking to hang out, playing it all cool as if he went out and got drinks with tons of buddies all the time but was doing Martin a favor. Martin had the sense that he was hiding a deep and pervasive loneliness, but these days whenever Martin went down too deep a spiral of teasing out motivations he felt like Jon, so he quickly cut it out. 

“What’s there to get?” Tim said, throwing back his pint. “He’s an asshole who pretended to be our friend for months, and he turned out to be a total creep who leads a spider cult. You know, as happens sometimes!”

Sometimes Martin got the sense that Tim was a little bitter about what happened at the Archives. He didn’t really have a good thread on why yet, but he had the sense it was because Tim had ‘adopted’ Jon as his friend very intensely and that made him react badly to the perceived betrayal - no! No psychoanalyzing! Not today! 

“It do be like that sometimes,” Martin said wisely, peeling away the label at his shitty beer. The bar was crowded, noisy, and dim, and it was hard to hear Tim over the noise. “I don’t know, though. If that was all there was to it, he wouldn’t be showing up at my house all the time…”

“Wait, what?”

Martin explained in short order, trying not to feel embarrassed about it. Tim seemed to grow increasingly furious, and Martin found himself trailing off uncertainly near the end. 

“He’s doing the same thing to Sasha,” Tim said lowly. “Fucking freak.”

“Wait, what? He’s been bothering Sasha?” Jesus, that really was creepy. Come to think of it, Martin hadn’t seen Sasha around lately - she used to come get drinks with them right after they all got fired, but the last three invites she had begged off and said that she was ‘dealing with a lot right now’ and that she was ‘really swamped’. Martin was pretty sure that she was also unemployed, so he didn’t really know what she was swamped with, but it wasn’t any of his business. Maybe she was depressed. “Like, is he also trying to recruit her into the spider cult, or…?”

Weirdly, Martin felt a weird pang of disappointment at that. He had thought that what he and Jon had was special. 

Ha ha. As if. 

“I don’t know!” Tim cried, frustrated. He was gripping his pint glass tightly, as if he wished he was wrapping his fingers around Jon’s very slim and attractive neck instead. “First he keeps bothering Sasha, and now he keeps breaking into your house and flirting with you -”

“What!” Martin squeaked. “He’s not -”

“He’s a predator,” Tim said finally, as if he was a judge delivering a verdict. “Fucking freak. Martin, next time he drops by, I want you to call me immediately. I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“I’m a grown man, I can kick his ass by myself,” Martin said lamely, fully aware that he had never kicked an ass in his life and never would. 

“Don’t let that bully intimidate you,” Tim lectured, like the overbearing big brother Martin had always kind of secretly wanted. “He’s just a grifter, spider cult or not. Seriously, Martin, next time he bothers you call me. I have more than a few things I want to say to the bastard.”

It was heartwarming, almost. “You haven’t seen him since he killed Elias, right?”

Tim looked away, scowling. “Nope. Dunno why, if he’s hassling you two. I’m the only one with some serious questions I need to ask him, and he hasn’t even - whatever.” He looked back at Martin, forcing a great big smile. “Really, if he wants a hottie, why isn’t he knocking on my door, right? Like, come on, I’m single and ready to -”

“How’s the job hunt going, Tim!”

“I’m trying to get back into publishing, what do you think! Kill me!”

Martin liked Tim. If you had asked him four months ago if they were really friends, he would have smiled and deflected, because he was pretty sure that Tim was just that friendly to everybody. Martin always felt insecure with friendly and nice people, because he never knew if they were being friendly to him because they liked him and considered him a friend, or if they were just like that with everyone. 

But they still got drinks when they didn’t have to, and the expression of tight and barely controlled rage that flashed through his face when he thought that Sasha and Martin were in danger from Jon was real. Maybe they really were friends. 

Maybe there was something deeply buried and long since repressed in Tim that was destroying him slowly from the inside. Maybe Martin and Sasha had that too, that rot: the way Sasha would carelessly invade privacy to hack inside people’s private files without even thinking about it, the way that Martin would almost instinctively balance impression management with playing down to expectations with always dissecting people in a ruthless search for a weak point without even thinking about it. 

Maybe they were all bad people, every one of them. It felt sometimes as if Martin had a corrupt and diseased heart, that infected parts of his body with a sick necrosis. He hurt people when he didn’t want to; he said things he didn’t mean. There was something rotten and evil in Martin, and sometimes it felt as if he couldn’t help but pass it along from person to person.

Man hands on misery to man, Phillip Larkin said, it deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself. 

Well, Martin had the second part down. He was still working on the first. 

***

But Martin was right to worry, because when he woke up at seven the next morning to shamble into his living room, he flipped the light switch to see Jonathan Sims sitting on his grandma couch flipping through his meager collection of books. 

“You don’t read very much, do you?” Jon said.

“How did you get into my house.”

“Told the landlord I was the exterminator and needed to get in to spray for bugs.” Jon tossed the book on the battered coffee table - 1984 - and reclined on the sofa. “You really do have quite a bit of spiders, though. Want me to take care of that? Do you want more spiders? I can get you as many spiders as you like.”

The way he sat was purposeful, the way one of his black boots with a low heel was propped on the coffee table, the way his dark and closely cut trousers were slightly splayed, his tight black turtleneck highlighting his figure was slightly hidden by a fine white silk jacket. The small part of Martin’s mind that used to work at a dry-cleaners inanely wondered how difficult that jacket was to keep clean. Most of Martin’s mind was occupied realizing that Tim was right, and that Jon was flirting with him. 

“What do I have to say to get you to leave my house,” Martin said, instead of asking why, why, why, why. He knew why - spider cult purposes - but why -

“Lots of poetry collections, though,” Jon said, and Martin knew that he had caught him looking. He had a little half-smile: half encouraging, half shy. “You have great taste. I’m a Yeats fan too.”

Sure. “Name one Yeats poem.”

“The Stolen Child,” Jon said instantly.

Martin narrowed his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

Jon was silent. 

“Thought so.” Martin pointed at his door. “Out.”

There it was, a brief explosion, so quick that Martin might have thought he imagined it: grinding teeth, sloping eyebrows, a scowl. A flash of irritation: here one second, gone the next. “I like your poetry, though,” Jon attacked, a different angle. “Your imagery is very vivid.”

What the fuck. “You went through my diary?” Martin screeched. 

“Yes?” Jon looked slightly flummoxed. “I was doing research. People like it when you display interest in their hobbies.”

“I am making coffee,” Martin said, voice strangled, “and I am making breakfast. And if you refuse to leave, you are not saying a single word until I’ve had caffeine.”

And then Martin refused to acknowledge Jon any more. Martin quickly realized that Jon hated this very much, used to being the center of attention wherever he was, and it was an extremely effective method of making him throw himself into a kitchen chair and sulk as the coffee pot sputtered out a cup. Martin focused himself on heating up the pan and cracking a few eggs into a bowl, whisking it absentmindedly as he clenched his mobile. 

He should call Tim. He had never known Jon to get violent, but that didn’t mean anything. The guy was...he was…

He glanced back at Jon, who had his arms crossed and was frowning down at the stained wood of the kitchen table. He didn’t seem to know Martin was looking, and it occurred to Martin for the first time that this might be the authentic Jon: tired and frustrated and uncertain what he was doing wrong. 

The eggs sizzled on the frying pan, and Martin pushed them around with a spatula. “What do you like on your eggs?”

Jon looked up, surprised, before rearranging his expression into something cool and distant. “Surprise me.”

Martin served them cheesy with herbs, just for that. When Jon took a bite he looked surprised, as if he had been expecting something spiteful and received only something good in exchange. 

When he put a cup of Early Grey in front of him, with sugar congealing on the bottom and rosy brown from the cream, he looked surprised again too.

“You’re excellent at reading people,” Jon said, carefully directly after Martin had a sip of his coffee. “Mother would -”

“Do you want to make a bargain?” Martin asked. 

That caught Jon’s attention. He smiled winningly, leaning in, hair carefully arranged to fall over one shoulder in a painfully attractive way. “I could be convinced.”

“If you knock on my door at a reasonable hour, then I will let you in and we can talk or whatever. I’ll make us tea. I don’t care.”

Jon’s grin only widened, and when Martin felt a foot brush his leg he had to fight the urge to jump a foot in the air. “What’ll I do in exchange?”

“You let up on the sales pitch,” Martin said severely, and physically moved his chair further away from Jon. “And you stop lying to me. And for christ’s sake, stop pretending you’re into me.”

 Jon blinked, expression falling in shock. 

He scrambled to paste something back on, but it was as if he couldn’t decide. Martin saw him half-cycle through different expressions, different appearances: abashed, eager, flirtatious. It was as if he was frantically guessing which Jon would work best to convince Martin to do what he wanted, but he just couldn’t decide. 

Finally, he weakly asked, “What makes you think I’m not into you?”

Martin couldn’t help it: he scoffed bitterly. “Guess someone like you was never asked out as a joke in secondary. Nobody would honestly find me attractive. Everything you do is calculated, Jon, and I’m not vain enough to think the flirting is an exception. It’s obvious.”

“I’m not obvious,” Jon said, physically fighting to keep his expression from twisting into anger. It was...obvious. He eventually forced his expression into something wide-eyed and sincere, reaching out a hand to place on Martin’s arm. It was warm, but it settled oddly on Martin’s skin. Something about it didn’t feel like a human arm. “That’s just your low-self esteem talking, love. When I look at you, I see -”

“A sucker?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed his. His hand was still on Martin’s arm. Martin didn’t know why he hadn’t shaken it off. “I see someone very kind,” Jon said, almost lamely. “I like that in a man.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin shook his hand off - disgusted with Jon, disgusted with himself. Someone like Jon - attractive, confident, smooth - could never understand how it felt. He didn’t know why he expected him to. “I don’t know why you aren’t leaving me or Sasha alone, or why you’re trying to recruit us both into your spider cult -”

“I’m trying to recruit Sasha into my vigilante superhero team, actually.”

“Whatever. Point is, if I can’t get rid of you, I don’t want our conversations to be exhausting. These...games you’re always playing,” Martin waved his hand demonstratively as he chugged coffee with the other, “are tiring. Maybe - maybe you and I are similar, Jon. But the difference between us is that I find these games tiring. I don’t like doing it. I - what I want is a relationship where there’s no games. Where I can just be me and the other person can just be them. Don’t you want that too?”

Jon stared at him, eyes wide, almost shocked, almost hesitant, almost hopeful. 

Finally, he said, “I only trust three people.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” Martin, who trusted nobody, said exasperatedly. What did it say, that the leader of the spider cult trusted more people than Martin did? “I’m just asking you not to lie to me.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Jon said, before pausing a beat. “I’d trust you if you joined my spider cult.”

“You’re shit out of luck, then. And you’re not going to convince me.” Martin took another sip of his coffee, hiding his trembling hands. “Because you can’t lie to me, Jon. Face it: I’m almost as good as you are.” He smiled wryly. “As good as someone can get without supernatural powers, anyway.”

Jon stared at him, just stared, and Martin let the moment linger in silence as he cut into his eggs. Finally, he said, “You’ll tolerate my presence if I agree to drop the act.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure how to drop the act,” Jon admitted, somewhat embarrassed, as if he was admitting to not knowing how to tie his shoes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Do your best. You must have been normal at one point.”

“When I was normal,” Jon said, “nobody tolerated me at all.”

The shocking honesty made Martin almost gag on his coffee. Jon’s eyes widened again, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said, as if he had never meant to say it. As if nobody had ever heard it at all. 

“Now that we’re actually getting somewhere,” Martin said, tactfully not touching that barrel of worms - er, spiders - with a two meter pole. “Can you please tell me your real name? Unless it was, like, wiped from your mind by your spider mom? Is this like one of those cult things were they rename you for indoctrination purposes?” Something terrible occurred to him. “Is every guy in your cult named John and every woman named Annabelle? It was just a fake name you gave to Elias, right? Right?”

Jon - whoever he was - stared at Martin, completely and utterly dumbfounded. 

Then he laughed, long and hard, hoarse and wheezing and breathy, and Martin knew that this, at least, was real. 

***

Martin: I think I’ve taken care of the Jon thing

Martin: Probably

Martin: The guy’s kinda hopeless

Tim: ya sash said that hes cool

Tim: apparently shes a vigilante now? or smth? Idk

Martin: Yeah that seems about right

Martin: At least she’s living her best life?

Tim: ya good for her honestly

Tim: ….so does Spider-Man KNOW how to use all eight of those arms ifyaknowwhatimean

Martin: WE! ARE! JUST! FRIENDS!

***

“ - so then after my father passed tragically of brain cancer, I was raised by my emotionally distant and disaffected Gran. I think she’s the one who taught me that if I ever want anything in life, I have to secure it for myself. I’ve been very independent ever since I was a child, and although my social skills have always been naturally lacking I’ve worked to compensate for that by studying the art of social interaction. I guess you could call it somewhat of a special interest of mine, I like to sit in coffeeshops with my sister Annabelle and study passerby -”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you know forty percent of Britons own pets? I think it reveals interesting things about the human psychology. The domestication of dogs has always been fascinating, of course. Did you know that all dogs are descended directly from the grey wolf? There were other wolf species at the time, but they’ve long since gone extinct.”

“Wow.”

“I know! The evolution of what we today determine as dog breeds were only created in the Victorian era. I’m sure Jonah would have had some thoughts on that, if I hadn’t fed him to my mother. Actually, few people know this, but our modern conceptualization of the wolf pack hierarchy has been thoroughly debunked. Alphas and omegas only exist in captive populations. Tell that to the werewolves, huh! Actually, I organize the weekly Avatar poker games - you can come if you’re interested, great way to make some money - and I actually did tell that to the werewolves, and they were not very happy with me -”

“Jon? I can’t hear the movie.”

“Right, right.” Jon passed Martin the popcorn. “So what’s this one about?”

Martin scooped up a handful of the popcorn without shame, feeding it in a steady stream into his mouth. “About a guy who gets turned into a fly.”

“That’s fun,” Jon said warmly. “I turned a guy into a fly once. He got stuck in a spider-web immediately and everything, it was quite entertaining.” At Martin’s horrified look, he quickly followed it up with, “Gerry had found out that he was illegally evicting tenants who were undergoing cancer treatment, asking for rent before it was due and physically intimidating the tenants and everything. He also stole one thousand dollars worth of goods from Whole Foods and everything, which is quite funny if you think about it -”

“How does someone steal a thousand dollars with of stuff from Whole Foods? It’s a grocery store.”

“I know, right!” Jon threw up his hands, accidentally sending some pieces of popcorn flying. “The rich are the true parasites, Martin! I’m speaking as an insect person!”

“Word.” 

Martin ate more popcorn, and noticed Jon carefully brush his crossed legs against Martin’s knee. 

Well, he was trying. He’d stop pretending to like Martin eventually. 

They’d get there. ;

[iam93percentstardust]

hey! i hope you’re having an amazing day. this is just me popping in your inbox to say that’s youre one of my favourite writers and you got me really interested in winteriron (honestly one of the cutest ships) are there any fics/authors ii could reccomend?

Hi there! Thank you so much! I love this ship so much, they’ve got such potential for both fluff and angst. They really are one of my favorite ships to write and I’m glad I was able to write so much for them this year. I certainly do have plenty of recs for you, starting with my favorite authors:

@riotwritesthings: started writing last year, I highly recommend just about everything Riot writes but especially Road Hazards, Melt into Me (Your Words are My Own), and When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it)

@hddnone: so many stories and all so good! Has nearly 100 Winteriron works on ao3 and you will not regret reading any of them, though fair warning that some of them are Team Cap Critical. Especially recommend Honey Pot, You’ve Got Mail, and A Bit(e) of Danger

@monobuu: mostly an artist but sometimes writes stories as well. i recommend Ravioli, Invincible Summer, and Meet the Fam

@tisfan and @27dragons: can’t make a Winteriron rec list without including the both of them. They work together a lot but you should definitely take a look at their own stuff as well. I recommend Safe and (the) Sound, Kiss Me Thru the Phone, and Stark, Naked

@ad1thi: currently taking a bit of a hiatus and working on non-Marvel works but I love everything Adi writes, particularly her entire Bollywood but Make it Gay series, which isn’t always Winteriron but wonderful nonetheless. I recommend the Greek Gods AU, 1000 Lives (For You), and we’re connected

@the-winter-writer: lots of smut and all absolutely fantastic! I like Precious Treasure, Winter Wings, and Instinct

@rayshippouuchiha: definitely an iconic writer for this fandom. Really great if you’re looking for genderbends. Writes a lot of absolutely incredible fics and not just for Winteriron but my personal favorites are The (Not So) Great Pretender, Fearful Symmetry, and The Mistletoe Kiss Polka

Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar): once again very iconic. you’ve probably read at least one of their works even if didn’t know. I recommend Shameless, Today’s Forecast, and Practice Makes Perfect

@lovelyirony: mostly writes ficlets here on tumblr and a multishipper (I don’t know why I’m saying that like it’s a bad thing, I’m a multishipper), also a fan of Sharon Carter and that’s the thing that made me follow her so you know

@amethystinawrites: I only recently started working their works but I’m loving everything I’ve come across so far. I recommend Tech Support and I Won’t Hold My Breath

AvocadoLove: also writes a lot of Stony and Stuckony, which I love a lot, but for their Winteriron works, I recommend Amalgam and Dead Man’s Switch

Dracusfyre: another one I’m new to. I literally just started reading their works today so I don’t have any recs for them yet but one of my friends loves them so I’m going to go with you should definitely take a look at their works

Eirlyssa: has some anti-Team Cap works so keep an eye out for that if that’s not your thing but writes very good Winteriron. I recommend Guide Me Home (Guide My Heart) and Always (I’ll Be There)

@imposter-human: one of the first MCU blogs I ever followed! I recommend childhood memories, speak my language, and lost in translation

As for specific works I like:

Four Strings and Second Chances by Vashoth

It was reluctance to let one of his finest inventions ever out of his grasp that made him take a couple days over a week to send the arm to Pepper’s office. But all things considered, Tony figured that sending finest prosthetic that had ever come into existence--literally grasping an olive branch--was one of the classiest gifts he’d ever given. He’d included a note and everything. ‘Barnes,

Can help with installation. Or not. Up to you. --Stark'

Who is the Mechanic? by @akira-of-the-twilight

The Asset watched as his handlers brought in a stranger—a man with a metal object stuck to his chest that was hooked to a car battery.

The handlers shoved the man onto the stool where many who had operated on the Asset’s arm in the past had sat before.

“Asset,” one handler said, “meet the Mechanic. He will be responsible for the upkeep of your arm. Should anything malfunction, kill him.”

The Asset eyed the Mechanic. The Mechanic was glassy-eyed and unresponsive.

He’d probably be dead in a week.

The Fix by SleepsWithCoyotes

Right, because Tony...Tony fixes things. He remembers thinking that, not for the first time.

Paths are Made by Walking by @potrix-the-queerschlaeger

The road to recovery is long, winding and a different one for every person walking it. Bucky chooses to help himself the only way he knows how; by doing what he does best.

Or, alternatively; the one in which Tony is a mess and accidentally kick-starts Bucky’s protective mother hen instincts.

The Evidence by StrivingArtist

Didn’t notice. Right. Sure. Two brilliant minds, two super spies, and a god didn’t notice when the chattiest man they knew stopped making sound. They just seemed happier than before. Brighter and more cheerful than before. They just seemed like they were more comfortable with him around when he was stone silent.

Fuck it.

He knew they noticed.

And he knew they liked him better this way.

Shadowed Hearts and Winter Souls by NotEvenCloseToStraight

The mid-1800s and Antonio Carbonell Stark is caught in a scandal with his lover. Desperate for a chance to escape the trouble and his own broken heart, Tony accepts a proposal from a mysterious Russian heiress and flees the country.

Natalia Romanova is in trouble of her own and has enough secrets to make Tony's head spin but somehow they settle into a fake marriage and calm day-to-day together, and everything works... until her half brother comes home and their life is disrupted again.

James is somber and silent, brutal and nearly broken and scarred, a soldier of the resistance. His heart is cold and gaze like ice, but his hands are hot and lips are warm and Tony finds himself ignoring the blood on James's palms and the shadows in his soldier’s eyes, and falling in love.

When danger lands at their doorstep, Natalia and Tony have to pack up and leave, running away in the middle of the night and leaving their men behind.

The distance between Tony and James gets longer every day, and Natalia has been keeping a secret for that can’t be hidden much longer. With no place to call home and a thousand miles between them and the men they love, what are Tony and Natalia supposed to do?

Puppy Love by Reioka

Bucky is learning to become a person again. When some guy starts crying all over Natasha's dog, he decides he's doing better than he originally thought.

Describe Your Perfect Date by ali_aliska

After getting turned down by Bucky, Tony decides it’s time to move on from his massive crush. He tries online dating—Pepper’s idea, not his—but the only thing worse than getting rejected is getting rejected and finding out your soulmate-level match is Clint Barton, all in the same day.

Clint, of course, does not let opportunities like this go to waste, but he’s driving Tony nuts for a good cause, he swears.

Bucky’s just trying to do the right thing and fails spectacularly, but it all works out in the end.

Rocket Science by marsmaywonder and orbingarrow

Sleep-deprived and under-caffeinated, grad student Tony falls asleep in a conveniently empty classroom and wakes up in the middle of Bruce’s Physics 101 course. After seeing a groggy Tony fumble a simple question, actual-student Bucky offers to tutor him. In a moment of “oh no; he’s cute” panic, Tony takes him up on it. Now, in addition to his already complicated life, Tony has to figure out the answer to the incredibly messy question: “How do you look like you’re failing the class, when you literally wrote the book?”

What’s Good for the Goose by Taste_is_Sweet

For this nonny prompt at the Imagine Tony and Bucky comm on Tumblr:

"A soulmate AU where an immortal goose shows up one day to lead you to your soulmate, the challenge is surviving the goose." (Full prompt in notes.)

We all have soulmates, and every soulmate pair shares an animal guide. The Guide is there to lead you to your One True Love, and they represent the aspects of the psyche that you both share. They appear when you're about to meet your soulmate, and often materialize in moments of great personal crisis, offering hope and support. There are stories upon stories about how someone's Guide appeared to lead them to their One True, or how the barest glimpse of their Guide eased their hearts and gave them hope in the midst of despair. The newly-rescued almost always attribute their Guide with giving them the strength and courage to hang on.

Animal Guides are ephemeral, ethereal, and elusive. They are, most often, no more than a warm presence or flicker out of the corner of one's eye. They are incarnate symbols of perseverance, optimism and hope. Foretellers of happiness, and the grand destiny of love.

Except for geese. Geese are assholes.

and so, we unfold by TheKitteh

Senbazuru. Thousand Cranes.

An ancient Japanese legend that promises anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by the gods. Some stories believe you are granted happiness and eternal good luck, instead of just one wish, such as long life or recovery from illness or injury.

Bucky’s not big on believing in any legends, not after all that has happened. He just wants to create something for a change, not destroy.

He needs to prove himself that he can be trusted to handle something delicate. He doesn’t need a promise of a wish come true. He just,- needs to do this for himself.

He doesn’t need noticing how sad, tired Stark looks. Doesn’t need to want to do something for the man, when he can barely do anything for himself. --- Tony simply goes through days and motions. He deals with the Avengers, with R&;D, with the rewritten Accords. All of it, it’s nothing new really. He just wants to get things done.

What’s new is seeing Barnes hunched over the coffee table, one step away from ripping a glossy magazine apart in the middle of the night.

And why the hell Barnes keeps looking at him during the days after like he’s a puzzle to be solved?

Welcome to the Winteriron fandom! We’ve got a lot of incredible authors and artists both and this is just the tip of the iceberg!

[bffsoobin]

yeonjun x reader

requested by: @yeonjuncore (made this hurt extra special for you 😌)

tw//this is angsty!! cheating, swearing, mentions of sexual acts (no actual smut), etc!

⇒ twelve: “Don’t touch me. Your skin is poison.” 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

A nearby car rumbled down the street, severing the delicate silence you had cultivated within your apartment. As it revved up the hill, you glanced out the window lethargically, not bothering to remove yourself from the sunken comfort of your sofa. The muted television flashed in its variance of bold colors but offered no relief from the barrage going on inside your own mind. 

You really should have known better. Should have seen the fallout coming a mile away, should have stopped fooling around with Yeonjun the first night you’d drunkenly made out in the dimly lit corner of a college bar, but you didn’t. Maybe you should have stopped it the first time he pushed his hand into your underwear while your roommate slept, or the first time you’d gone to return a set of movies he’d given you and ended up falling asleep in his bed. Instead, you’d let yourself become intoxicated by him and shatter the only friendship you’d ever cherished. It’d now been a week since your best friend and roommate had officially moved out, but the confrontation still bounced around your conscience like an annoyingly catchy pop song. 

“I can’t fucking believe you!” She had seethed, storming through the apartment with fervor. “All this time, you’ve been fucking around with Yeonjun behind my back? I love him!” Tears had tracked down your face, unable to come up with any other response. You’d already tried apologizing even though you knew it was a lost cause. Helplessly, you watched her gather up as many of her belongings as she could find in one swoop. Her footsteps rattled the photos on the wall and side tables, shaking your bones in sync. 

“Why did you do this to me?” The question hung above you like an interrogation light, burning into your eyes as she finally looked at you for the first time in days. 

“I...I don’t know,” you had muttered, offering the shaky words with a tearful glance. Your best friend’s face, normally soft and round and full of love, stood stoic and sharp- completely unforgiving. You couldn’t blame her. 

“Please,” she breathed, looking down at the ground as if to contain herself. You could see her lips shaking with the force of keeping in her sobs. “N-never speak to me again. And if that fucker comes here, tell him to lose my number. I trust you’ll get him the message once you’re done having his dick down your throat.” She shoved past you, rolling a suitcase she’d used on many joint vacations behind her on the wooden floors. Every thump of the wheel over a panel made you flinch. Once she had reached the door, she glanced at the table where you’d set down your keys every day after work. Upon the table was a simple photo of the two of you, cozied up at your high school graduation. She grasped the simple wooden frame between her fingers staring down at the photo with a wry smile on her lips. For a moment, you thought she would take the picture with her. The thought made you dizzy, a naïve part of your heart hoping that she would take it as a token of possible redemption for the years-long bond. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Her voice was nasally from the crying, but still so familiar that despite the situation, you looked up at her earnestly. “Fuck you.” The photo dropped the the floor, bouncing off the floor with a harsh thud you were sure the neighbors downstairs heard loud and clear. You both stared at it, the plain backing facing the ceiling. In a millisecond, she slammed the heel of her sneaker into the back of the photo, shattering the delicate glass covering underneath the force. She had disappeared out the door not a second later.

The picture still laid in its exact same spot, face down next to the door that hadn’t been opened since she walked out. A few shards of glass had scattered dangerously into the living room, but you knew how to step over them all by now. In fact, nothing had really been touched since she left. The drawers in the kitchen and living room were still hanging wide open, gaping with the evidence of all the things she had taken away with her. You were living off of lukewarm hot pockets and bottled water, supplemented with the swigs of red wine you’d been saving for a party that will never happen. Sleeping in your room was no longer in the cards, as you would have to pass by the painfully empty room that she used to inhabit in neutral tones with splashes of color in the decor- a dichotomy that you never hesitated to tease her for. Your phone laid out of reach, cold and dead and nothing but a weight in your hand when you did pick it up. 

Everything was half-full, missing a piece that you hadn’t lived without for years.

A loud succession of knocks threw you out of your stupor, bringing your thoughts to a halting stop they hadn’t in days. You had no idea who was bothering you, as the sweet older neighbor who was collecting your mail knew to simply leave it outside for you to grab at the wee hours of the night. 

‘Who is it?” Foolishly, your heart raced with the hope that she had come back to allow you to patch things up. 

“Jesus,” a familiar voice scoffed. “It’s me, Y/N.” Yeonjun. You imagined him posted on the other side of the door, one arm leaning him against the sturdy frame while the other knocked at the door. Glossy black hair falling into his eyes as he tried to catch a glimpse of you through the peephole. Slowly, you shuffled over to the door, skillfully avoiding a stray piece of glass, and unlocked the deadbolt. Yeonjun sighed in relief and mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch. The door was only open about a foot before he was pushing himself inside, wrapping both muscular arms around your shoulders. He buried his pointed nose into your neck, and the usually affectionate gesture made your stomach twist. 

“God, don’t you ever answer your phone? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.” He held you at an arm’s length, frowning at your obviously unwashed hair and stained clothing. 

“It’s off.” 

“It’s off? Why the hell is it off? Someone might need you- shit, is that glass?” Yeonjun’s eyes widened at the shards you’d come to coexist with, dropping his hands from your arms to squat and examine the pieces further. Exhausted already, you plopped back into your couch indent with a sigh. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Because I was worried about you,” his eyes softened as he set down the few pieces of glass he’d recovered. His warm hands cradled your knees, the touch burning through the fabric of your sweats. “Because I knew that once she left, you’d be a mess. Because I know you aren’t taking care of yourself. Because-” he plopped himself down on the couch next to you, leaving no room between the two of you. A careful hand lifted, pushing strands of your greasy hair behind your ear with a delicacy you craved. “Because I love you.” 

Your stomach lurched. Yeonjun loves you. Part of you knew that. You love him too. Or maybe you used to. Now the thought of him caused a tsunami of emotion, mixing the best moments of your life with the single worst. You loved each other, but what had it cost you? 

“Yeonjun, I- I don’t,” your voice shattered, pricking even your own eardrums as your chest heaved with a cry you’d repressed for a while. For as long as you’d been grieving the loss of your best friend, you’d never cried over the Yeonjun of it all. Deep down, you knew you’d always had real feelings for him. 

The first time your best friend introduced you to him, you felt the kind of magic that you thought only existed in movies. As the good best friend you once were, you tried to keep your distance and let your feelings simmer down. And then the night your friend fell sick even though the three of you had plans came around, and at her insistence, you and Yeonjun went together. In the dark, pulsing club you were hypnotized by how well he moved his hips and made an off-brand joke about wanting to feel them against yours. By the end of the night you were littered with hickeys and walking with a limp you had to play off for two days. 

And for a while, you thought that was really all you’d be- drunk fumbles and hookups shrouded in mystery and shame- and then he’d taken you on a full fledged date. Pizza, beer, a slightly tipsy visit to an arcade; the whole nine yards of charming, and with no sex attached. That’s when you knew you craved more than just the feeling of his skin against yours. You had come to crave the experience of Yeonjun, the way he spoke and laughed and checked up on you after your hardest days at work. 

Now, he cooed, cradling you to his broad chest with a reassuring hand on the back of your neck. The feeling of his skin made you repulsed, accumulating all of the times he’d laid a hand on you to work against your friend. All the times you’d let him touch you, knowing the likely consequences. You shrunk away from him, putting as much distance between the two of you as the couch would allow. 

“Please don’t touch me,” you pleaded, hands shaking. He scrunched his aggravatingly perfect brows as you crossed your arms over yourself. 

“Y/N, what do you mean? Are you hurt, is there something I can-” 

“Stop, please,” you sigh, eyes wandering to the worn fluffy socks adorning your feet. There was an annoying thread that had been rubbing between your toes all day, and you could see it peeking out just enough now that you could try to pull it and maybe you would feel a little bit less uncomfortable in your own skin-

“Y/N?” Yeonjun ventured, trying to wade through whatever emotion you were presenting to him at the moment.

“Just please don’t touch me, Yeonjun. Your skin is poison. It’s poison and I got a taste of it and it fucked up the single best friendship I’d ever had. Your stupid fucking touch,” you hissed, watching him physically recoil. “It’s everything I have ever wanted, and I crave it all the fucking time. And you got me so addicted with all of our little secret touches that I didn’t realize the havoc they would bring into the world where you weren’t touching me because, fuck, I don’t know. I helped you cheat on my best friend? And for a while I didn’t feel bad about it, I was just too god damn busy thinking about your hands, and your mouth, and all of the touches. So please stop touching me.” 

Stunned, Yeonjun sat the stillest you’d ever seen him on your couch. You were broken, and he had done the damage. While part of him wanted to blame it all on you, he knew that he’d ultimately been the one to stick his hands in your normal life and, well, poision it. 

“I’m sorry.” His hand hovered awkwardly just inches away from you, longing to console you. 

“‘Sokay. Just...leave? I’ll shoot you a text when I’m back up and running.” 

With great hesitation, Yeonjun slid off the couch. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he hovered, waiting to see if you had anything else in you. If you had been able to muster the courage, you would have seen the tears rolling down his full cheeks. 

With one hand on the door, Yeonjun finally spotted the photo from which the glass shards had come, and he picked it up warily. The last of the pieces scattered on the flooring, and he resisted the urge to clean them up. He knew that you’d get to it eventually. He steadied the frame back on the table and cleared his throat in lieu of a painful goodbye. The knob twisted noisily under his hand as he tried not to look back on your beat-down form. 

“Yeonjun,” your voice waivered but kept him silent enough to hear a pin drop. “In case you were wondering- I love you too.” 

[akindofmagictoo]

20 first lines tag game

this comes from @zmlorenz and also I think @amillionwips — thank you both!

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). see if there are any patterns. choose your favourite opening line. then tag others. 

(I will tag @writingbyjillian @pamsdrabbles @sleepyowlwrites and anyone who wants to play!) 

Hurricane 

Tempest stilled her bouncing leg, eyeing her sleeping husband. Had she woken him? She took a careful breath and didn’t let it go until he snored and rolled over, pulling the covers tighter around himself. Still she waited. One breath. Two breaths. When he still didn’t move, she stood up and grabbed her coat and sword belt, not even bothering to put them on. Because she had to leave, and she had to leave today. 

Theo x Aella Little Mermaid AU

Water closed over his head, tugged at his clothes. Tugged him down… down… 

He wanted to cry out for help, but the water filled up his mouth before he could make a sound. Cold stole into his limbs, heavy and dark, weighing him down. 

His chest ached, searching for air. Deep, cold darkness wrapped around him. Dragging, pressing, pulling down.

Down… down… down… 

When he’d hit the water, he’d panicked. That was gone now. All he felt was the cold, the deep dark cold.

a random post-canon Theo x Aella oneshot 

Thunder rumbled overhead, blending into the drumming of the rain on the roof. Aella tucked her blanket more tightly around herself, but it did no good. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t keep her mind off the locked front door, Alanna’s instruction to stay inside. It felt too much like other locked doors. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back there again and—

No. Sitting in this bed alone with her thoughts would do no good.

a post-canon Theo x Aella oneshot (sort of the former version of the one above)

“Read the mermaid one again.” Aella snuggled against Theo, pressed up between him and the arm of the big old armchair. 

a Theo x Aella modern AU 

Even with a map on his phone, Theo was impressed he’d made it to the small cafe on the main street. True, it was the main street, but his new house wasn’t, and directions weren’t his forte. Given how recently he’d moved, it was at least understandable. 

The cafe was small, but its list of drink options was larger than he’d expected. But it included several types of tea, so he ordered a familiar English Breakfast and sat down at the nearest table.

post-canon oneshot of the Hurricane women play ‘theatre’ 

“So, who’s up next?” Aria stretched out in her hammock. “As much as I enjoyed being the defence lawyer, I think it’s someone else’s turn.” 

“I’ll play the accused. I want to try my daring escape again,” Aella volunteered, sitting up. 

Theo grinned. “Because you got caught last time?” 

a crossover royalty AU with another project (Labyrinth) 

(this isn’t the first line, but it’s the first lines where Theo appears. also, you would be correct if you assume that the Spanish princess is not Aella. that is the complication.) 

“Spain confirmed the marriage alliance,” said Jared. “We still have to confirm it one last time, though.” 

Theo glanced up at his dad. “Hardly surprising, really. They offered it, after all.” 

Jared nodded. “Are you still alright with this? We can turn them down now, if you want.” 

“My calendar is free,” said Theo, straight-faced. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve got my eye on someone else or whatever. Just as long as I’m not expected to actually have a romantic relationship with the Spanish princess.” 

the below are all fanfictions. [ps my AO3 is @/ sidebysidewithafriend go check it out if any of these fics interest you] 

Shadow and Cottontail (Harry Potter: Marauders (OC insert)) 

(this is co-written, I’m posting the first part that I wrote) 

“Is there mail today?” Kai Lupin jumped the last step down to the dining room. This was the same question she’d been asking for five days, but she asked anyway. 

Her mother Hope was about to answer when an owl swooped through the open window, a parchment envelope clutched in its beak. 

“I think the answer is yes,” said Remus, descending the stairs behind her with a little more care than she’d taken. Kai rolled her eyes and crossed the room to see what the envelope contained.

Hope was already taking it from the owl. “It’s from Hogwarts,” Hope said, and Kai’s heart leapt, only to be dashed by her mother’s next words. “But there’s only one envelope. It’s addressed to you, Kai.” 

Told You You’d Kill It (Harry Potter: Romione) 

“Ugh.” Ron shoved his books to one side and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all different directions. Hermione hid a smile as Ron drew his hands inside his jumper sleeves.

Through a yawn, he continued, “I’m done. I’m so tired.” Probably from his basketball training, but schoolwork was also a struggle for him, she knew. And they’d been studying in the library for several hours now. No wonder he was exhausted.

Thank You For Saving My Cat (Harry Potter: Jily) 

Lily pushed herself up to a sitting position and breathed a small sigh of relief. At least she was out. She turned back to the house, watching the orange flames that danced over the structure with her heart in her throat. Was it her imagination, or were they growing smaller?

Most of her stuff could be replaced. But she hoped nonetheless that she wouldn’t have to.

Then she remembered the one thing she’d left behind and couldn’t replace. Crookshanks. She stumbled to her feet. Legs shaking under her, she ran to the nearest firefighter and grabbed their sleeve. The firefighter gear covered its occupant’s face, but the voice sounded male. “Are you alright?” He took her arm gently, steadying her.

3AM (Harry Potter: Wolfstar) 

The beeping of the fire alarm filtered into Sirius’s sleeping brain, burrowing in until he couldn’t help but wake up. At which point he groaned and wrapped his pillow around his head, trying to block out the noise.

But this was a fire alarm, so really he had to get up. Grudgingly, he removed the pillow from his head and fumbled for his phone to check the time. The light from the screen was blinding in the darkness of his dorm room, but after a moment his eyes adjusted to see that it was 3:07 AM.

Give Him Back to Me (The Great Library: Wolfe x Santi) 

Day 1

“Nic?” Wolfe half-rose from the bed at the sound of knocking, leaving his Codex open beside him. Something was off, though. Nic wouldn’t knock. He had a key. Besides, Nic was away in Belgium, training a new company. He wasn’t due back for another day or two, and that was assuming everything went to plan.

Nevertheless, when the knock came again he got to his feet and headed for the door.

Death Is Not Fair (Shadowhunters: (very angsty) Malec) 

It wasn’t fair. Then again, life wasn’t fair.

And neither was death.

It shouldn’t have happened. It should have been a simple mission. The scans and all the reports had said there was just one demon in the area. It was a larger, stronger demon, and would’ve put up a good fight, but it was still practically nothing to a Shadowhunter like Alec.

Untitled (Shadowhunters: Sizzy) (unfinished and un-posted) 

Izzy was swearing off dating. She’d kind of thought about it before, but hearing about the amount of drama in Jace’s love life right now cemented the idea firmly in her mind. No more dating. Between that and the mess Alec had gone through a couple of months ago, she wasn’t sure she wanted any part of that. Not to mention that of all the boys she’d dated, none of the relationships had really been right. Did she believe in The One? She wasn’t sure. But none of her boyfriends had been it, that was for sure. So no more dating for her. She was here to study forensic chemistry, after all, and surely it was better to concentrate on that.

Moving Day (Riordanverse: Blitzstone) 

Last? signed Hearth. 

Blitz brushed a speck of dust from the shoulder of his shirt, studying Hearth’s face. He knew exactly how many boxes were left to move, and it was more than zero, but the elf was looking paler than usual. If that was possible. As he watched, Hearth swayed a little and put a hand on the wall for support. “No. But I’ll get the rest. You need a break.”

Untitled quarantine AU (Riordanverse: Percabeth) (unfinished and un-posted)

“Thanks for letting me stay over to finish this project,” said Annabeth, setting the last piece on the model Coliseum she’d made. They’d done most of it last night, and she was just adding the finishing touches now. Although that had been before school had been shut down; they’d been notified the night before, but since she was here she’d been determined to finish it.  

Untitled (The Hobbit) (I have a “better version of Tauriel’s arc” thing in the works, and this is an accompanying oneshot of how the Durins died in this version) (un-posted) 

“Where is he? It looks empty. I think Azog has fled.” Fili glanced around nervously, his breath steaming in the icy air. 

“I don’t think so,” said Thorin. 

Footsteps sounded on the ice, echoing in all directions. It was impossible to know their source. 

“We’ve got company,” Thorin growled. 

Kili readied his sword. 

This was practically everyday for them at this point. Every motion of his sword, every footstep, every bit of it was familiar. Fili hardly had to think. His sword flashed in the faint light. Droplets of blood and crystals of ice spattered his exposed skin, hot and cold. He was at home here; he might not have been on the ice before, but with a sword in his hand and Kili and Thorin at his back, he was content.

this is VERY long. if you read to here, thank you! and maybe consider reading some of them in full on my AO3? 

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Read chapter twenty-three

Title: Prove it

Words: 6800

Warnings: Talks of pregnancy, mentions of vomit

Summary: A friend. A foe?

ST Rambles: I look pretty good for a dead bitch.

Okay. In all seriousness. In the five weeks that I have not updated, it has been chaos. School is absolutely kicking my ass this semester and I am not afraid to say it. Maternal-Newborn is a hell I would not wish on my worst enemy. With this said, I know any further updates will be sporadic, BUT - and I say this to snuff out any doubt on the matter - I will never, EVER, abandon this story. However it ends, rest assured that it will, in fact, do just that.

I thank you all for your patience and encouragement. This story is something I care deeply about and it just floors me that others do as well. I love interacting with you all, either on here or tumblr or TikTok (if you've made one and I haven't seen it, please tag me! My fyp does not work in my favor lol).

Be kind. Don't forget to be a person. All you can do is try your best.

[MASTERLIST] | BANNER/@elmidol

Good afternoon,

I can only hope this correspondence finds you safe and well.

The Board of Physicians sympathizes during this time of displacement and potential grieving. There are countless variables to be considered during uncertain times like these, but those of your safety and well-being are of the utmost importance. In an effort to convey the depth of our understanding, a unanimous vote has approved the decision to extend the dates of the trial by seven days. Upon receiving this official communication, you should plan to arrive on Canto Bight a minimum of two days prior to the morning of the initial hearing. An updated outline has been attached at the end of this e-mail for reference and sent to all pertinent parties.

Per the initial correspondence, Commander Ren is to receive a new provider prior to the trial’s start date. This objective has been met with the solemn barrier of the diminished population of approved nurses and physicians which resulted from the recent tragedy of Starkiller Base. There have been additional unforeseen circumstances also working to lengthen and altogether halt this approval process. Rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to ensure the trial proceedings occur in an organized and professional manner.

The emergent provider shortage, along with the unknown – and likely diminished – amount of surveillance retained from Starkiller Base prior to its destruction, has laid the foundation for the discussion of potential and probable employment during your time on Canto Bight. The discussions surrounding this issue are in their infancies. Should it be that you are to assume a care position during your trial, you will receive a further updated and in-depth itinerary. This would include the dates, times, and location you would be expected to work; this information would be accompanied by any specific limitations regarding your scope of practice while on trial.

Though you are encouraged to reach out to discuss any questions or concerns you may have pertaining to these new developments, the current agenda is to be followed with strict compliance. Should there be any changes, as stated previously, I will communicate these to you in a timely and conscious manner.

Respectfully,

Karmen Zag, Esq.,

Head of Communications,

The Board of Physicians

“Yeah, well, you can go fuck yourself Karmen Zag. Stupid ass name anyway.”

Not that anyone could hear you, nor that anyone would care, you could not help the petty jab. Karmen Zag, the faceless mouthpiece of the institution actively seeking your death, had little to do with anything. Karmen Zag was not the one who had carved initials into your body; that person was elusive to you now. Karmen Zag was not the one who kept you from sleep; that person was dead, killed by the trembling hands of the very survivor they’d created. Karmen Zag was not the one you were currently hiding from; that person, achingly kind and too ignorant to know different, still came to pick you up from shift every night.

Cramped in the corner of a supply room, you sat with your knees tucked to your chest and your datapad resting on your thighs, eyeing the vent at the bottom of the door to spy Mason’s tapping foot. In the seven days since waking up in the medbay, six days since returning to work to help with the increased patient population – or, at least that’s what you were telling yourself – you had found yourself with a desperate need to distance yourself from Mason. He was unaware of all that was haunting you, nescient to the fact he was at the epicenter of the majority of it. To see him was to remember the choice you’d made, to hate yourself for regretting it, to be morally ripped in half by the unwavering war in the back of your mind.

The first three days he would always sneak up on you, flurries of white lies leaving while you fumbled away from him and into the nearest room. I’m on call tonight was your favorite. No, you weren’t, though you had been staying in the on-call rooms to hide the fact that you no longer held a residence on this ship. No matter if you had not received official word on your employment status, you felt an unease when thinking of returning to Kylo Ren’s quarters. It felt too broken, like you’d be a stranger somewhere you’d once considered a home.

Eventually, Mason being an inherent creature of habit, you’d picked up on his timing. On the fourth day you’d decided to stake him out, finding he would spend exactly ten minutes waiting, send a message to your commlink, spend another five toying with his own as he waited for a response, eventually asking whoever was nearest to tell you to call him. You never did. It was despicable, watching his hope falter as the days passed and you were never there to leave with him; wretched, but that did not make it any less necessary.

So long as you were away from Mason, you couldn’t hurt him. If you could create a rift between the two of you so great as to discourage any further interaction, you could save him from all the suffering that came along with being associated with you. On the other hand, you couldn’t deny the comfort you felt in deferring any conversation with him. Avoidance may not be a healthy coping mechanism, but all the ones you’d learned of in school were useless to your set of circumstances; there was no talking this through, no way to speak of Snoke or Kylo or Robbie without getting someone else hurt. You were trapped in your own, sole company; whoever you had become recently, you were barely tolerant of them, let alone fond. It was growing increasingly difficult to recognize your own reflection. At some point you figured you might stop looking altogether.

Zag’s update had been present in your inbox ever since returning to work; with each read through – which, now, you’d have read a hundred times – you felt time pass by. Each night you spent time tucked away here, the cold tile permeating the scrub pants you now wore; the uniform you’d had on when you arrived back on the Finalizer had been too tattered to reuse. Not that you wanted to wear it; in those tattered, bloodied threads lay the obvious truth of how entirely you had failed at the only assignment you had ever been trusted with.

Trusted. The thought made you shiver. Yes. Trusted. Past tense. In every sense it could be. Thus, folded into yourself, away from prying eyes or well-meaning friends, you scrolled aimlessly up and down the message. Though its existence annoyed you, knowing full well that there was no empathy or genuine concern behind the decision to delay the trial, it also brought you ease to know this portion of your life was almost over. Again you were embracing the possibility of your death, only this time rooted in hatred for yourself, not Kylo Ren.

“Alright, well, can you tell her-,”

“Tell her to call you. Got it. Do every night.” One of your coworkers had grown exasperated with Mason – or was it with you? Either way, peeking through the vent slats, you spied Mason’s legs drag out of view. It made your heart fall, feeling more disgusted with yourself each day; it was this confusing combination of feeling a pull to run after him, to apologize to him with every breath you had left, only for that initial urgency to be swallowed by the knowledge that the action would be futile.

With tired eyes, not having gotten more than two hours of unbroken sleep since the sixteen you’d woken from, you looked to your left wrist. It was a routine gesture, pointless in the fact you had not worn the watch since finding it on your bedside table. Much like your uniform, only agonizingly amplified, the sight of the gadget inspired a hollowness in your chest. It remained in a pillowcase, hidden atop the bed you’d claimed. Each night you toyed with it, thumbed at the lifeless screen and wondered if it would ever offer another flicker; each night you caught the hazy reflection of two unfamiliar eyes, finding only the remnants of shattered promises staring back at you.

A sigh crept into your lungs when you stood, arms stretching and hands smoothing back your hair before going to activate the door. It hissed open without your indication; before you could question how, two hands pushed you out of the way and sent you flying face first into the storage shelves. Nose first, actually; the collision rang through your ears, pain throbbing in prominence as you stumbled for stability, arms widespread and eyes pinched shut.

“Oh! You have to be kidding!” Copper crept down your upper lip, cascading over your sharp tongue, foggy eyes opening to blood-stained fingers. “Watch where you’re going, jeez!”

Away from you sounded the door as it shut, but that wasn’t the sound that alarmed you. Across the room, near the sink – at least you hoped it was near the sink – came the horrendous retching that could only indicate vomit. The longer you listened, though, all the while blindly searching for a package of gauze, you found it wasn’t vomit, but an attempt towards it; echoes of dry heaves wracked the room, vomit absent even as the stranger continued in their effort toward expulsion.

A spill of winces left you, a grimace following suit when you tipped your head back, blood draining down your throat. You found a box of gauze squares and tore it open, peeling away a layer and rolling it into a cone before pushing it into one nostril. Vessels pounded against the material, injury soaking into it as you caught your breath.

“I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice said, groggy and breathless. “The refresher was occupied, and the occupancy indicator wasn’t on.” She took another breath, gasping back spit. “I figured the sink in here would do.”

Another person you’d been avoiding. Talia. Sick. As she would be, of course. It was something you’d fought thoughts on; it was too confusing, too unnerving to put the pieces you’d been offered together. Hux had left her room, had been so distraught. Talia had seized and ended up in the medbay. Armitage. Stars, how that word haunted you in the way it left her paling lips. She’d been so disoriented, so scared. Glassy eyes and green pallor. And the person she’d asked for was Armitage.

With these thoughts, dizzying as they had become, came the image of the very thing that tied them all together: that square-cut, printed, glossy ultrasound picture. Between nightmares of Robbie and desperately trying to find any amount of sleep, you saw it clear in your head, remembered how you’d lost your ability to stand when you first considered the reality of it. It all made sense clinically; the symptoms, the tangible evidence showing a yolk sac, the patient identifiers framing the monochrome image.

But, when you remembered running into Hux, remembered the ghost in his eyes and felt the rather unsettling demeanor – one not marked with errant hatred – he’d met you with, it all started to blur. Jumble. Your mind rejecting the thought that Talia and Hux-

Talia mewled, your eyes opening to find white knuckles outfitting a vise grip over the sink’s metal edge. The fluorescent lights lining the ceiling made it all too easy to see how sick she really was. Tears glinted down her cheeks, her hair dull in its tousled bun, a string of spit straying from her bottom lip; there was a suggestion of green just below the surface of her skin, exhaustion evident in the lavender drapes below her eyes.

A shaky breath left her before she rested against the sink, elbows bent and fingers rolling over her temples. For a moment there was a deafening silence, one that strangled you and emphasized the throbbing in your nose when you stopped breathing. It dissipated when Talia groaned, her head drooping and stance shifting.

“At least shift is done, right?” She sounded like she was talking to anyone. She didn’t know it was you. She didn’t know you knew.

Swallowing, dropping your hand from your face, you tried to think of anything to say. But nothing would come. And, considering how little time you had left to know her – execution or not – you saw no point in frivolous small talk.

“How far along are you?” It was a low rasp; frail in its existence yet bludgeoning the quiet that had preceded it.

She didn’t look up, but you knew she recognized your voice; her every muscle stalled, hair even stilling as your words sank into her. It was the first thing you’d said to her since she’d seized. In her silent shock it dawned on you that it had not been long since you’d been in a situation similar to this; the two of you, a pitting silence, a mess – obvious and blaring – surrounding you.

Only this mess was not something that could be cleaned. This mess existed outside all you had once thought to consider. Though this room was less gruesome in appearance, it held that same suffocated dread, carried with it the reminder that everything could change without a moment’s notice. Watching the color return to her cheeks, absentmindedly brushing your fingertips across the raised marks atop your thigh, it hit you how true that fact was.

A small sound – a swallow – filled the room, a sigh to accompany it. “Six weeks. I think, at least. Maybe more.” She stood then, crossing her arms and leaning against the sink. A wall stood between you and her, invisible yet so entirely present. “No one knows.” Her jaw fluttered at its hinge. The wall was for her; a façade, a crutch. She was scared.

The door lit cool shivers down your back, hands digging into your pockets, a weak attempt at a smile pulling at your face. “Congratulations,” you offered first, forgetting the circumstances before seeing her eyes fall to the floor. “Or not, I guess.”

She kept her eyes down. “I’m not showing, and I’ve been good about sneaking away to throw up, so…”

“Last week,” you said, her stare coming back to you, “after Starkiller. I fainted after arriving back here, and after I woke up,” I washed the Commander of the First Order’s hair and cried to his comatose body about how my life is falling apart, “I just had to know you were okay, so I visited you.”

“I don’t remember seeing you. I actually… How did you even know I had been admitted to the medbay?”

“You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.” You chewed your cheek, recounting any of those 48 hours made your pulse jump. “You weren’t well off when I found you, before they took you to the medbay, so I wouldn’t expect you to remember me being there.”

Her brow dipped for half a second, a crack creeping into that wall. “I didn’t know you found me. It’s difficult for me to even recall most of that day.” Her shoulders dropped, stature less rigid now. “Thank you, though.”

You nodded, not entirely sure why she felt it necessary to thank you. “Yeah. So, you were sleeping and I saw the tests ordered on your board. And then I found your ultrasound on the floor.”

Her eyes were so distant, pupils housing a familiar ghost. “It must have fallen when I was sleeping.” Her lips parted with the whisper, egregious loneliness overwhelming the thought.

It felt like the floor would fall out at any second, the interaction so fragile. Watching her with intent, measuring her reactions, you charged ahead into territory you’d been afraid to enter for so long.

“Talia,” you started, buying more time to think on your phrasing. Her focus startled back from wherever her mind had taken her. “I mean, maybe this is ridiculous, and maybe I’m so far off base in even suggesting it…”

Her arms dropped when a hand reached to tuck a collection of stray hair behind her ear, nose sniffing, teeth pulling at her bottom lip. She took her eyes from yours, breath picking up. That wall she stood behind was wearing.

You couldn’t stand beating around the bush any longer, sick of theorizing about it all. It fled out, no breath to separate any of it. “I’ll just say it: Hux was leaving your room when I came around. And he was being weird. So weird. I mean, he was being… would I say nice? Maybe just, less awful? He complimented me. And it was so weird, but I thought I would give him the benefit of the doubt because, you know, he’d just lost a lot of men. But then it was you in the room and I.. he was so distraught? That is barely the right word, but I mean? He just wasn’t General Hux. And then I found the ultrasound and remembered how you’d asked for ‘Armitage’ earlier when I’d found you, and-,”

A weep signaled the destruction of the wall she’d thrown up, hands clawing into her eyes and lungs heaving full of ragged, desperate air. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t tell him! He can’t- I don’t!” Sobs rolled off of her between each exclamation. “I haven’t told him. I don’t know how. I- he’s so evil! I can’t believe I ever slept with him!”

Seeing her come apart, feeling the guilt she did in every word she cried, you could only think to take her into your arms. In your hold you felt her shaking and the pain roll off of her in thick, grating waves. It was familiar, like she, too, had been existing alone; you had not noticed, so buried in your own avoidance that you had not thought to consider hers.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so- I’m so sorry! It makes me so mad that- ugh!”

“Hey, stop. Slow down,” you soothed, hugging her tighter. “You have nothing to apologize to me for. You’ve done nothing wrong, okay?”

“No, I have! I slept with my Master! And got pregnant! And he’s such a fucking jerk! He’s the whole reason you’re losing your career, you know? And I had sex with him! And I feel- felt real things for him!” A breath stuttered into her lungs. “I never meant for it to go any further than that first night, and then… fuck.”

It burned down to your marrow that you had the power to comfort her, knew everything she was feeling even if it wasn’t hatred that left you crying at night. She would be embraced in knowing you had also slept with your Master; it would minimize the guilt she now felt. To tell her you had fallen for Kylo Ren could help her know that she wasn’t alone.

Instead, feeling her tears accumulate on your sleeve, struggling to keep in your own, you kept quiet. She would not learn how you had burned so bright for your commander. It was selfish, but it was necessary. Self-preservation. She would be testifying against you, taking the stand right after Hux. Her not knowing would do no harm; it would keep her from having to consider or commit perjury. Talia now joined Mason, another soul to protect, another person you would lie to.

Several minutes passed before she stopped trembling, another few before the tears stopped staining your uniform. Humanity existed in these moments, and though you would hide how you knew the advice you would offer her, you knew she needed to hear it. A part of you did, too.

Moving your arms from her back and grasping both her shoulders, you locked eyes with her and forced her to see that you somehow understood her pain. “There is nothing to feel guilty about. Not that you slept with him, or that you got pregnant. Not that you felt things for him or that you still do.” Her eyes shut at that, a fresh streamlet dragging into her mouth. “You can still love him even if he has done awful things.”

“Gosh, how can you say that? He’s ruined your life,” she shuddered, grimacing before looking back up to you.

“I made the choice to take that blood. I had a choice,” your throat tightened, not knowing if you were reciting the words from their origin or from your dream, “I made the one I thought was the best at the time. Hux may be an ass in the way he has gone about the issue, but it’s not like he wouldn’t have reported me.”

She sobbed your name, confusion and hurt wrought in her features. “That blood saved that patient. You saved that patient. We both know that. You saved him and you’re suffering for it and I’m the one who wrote the incident report. He made me write it. Such a fucking bastard.”

Just like that, whatever weird internal truce you’d made with Hux disappeared. “Yeah, that is a dick thing to do, I will say that.”

She wiped at her cheeks, shaking her head. “I should have lied on that report.”

“And gotten both of us in trouble? That isn’t a solution.”

“If I had, you would be less alone in this. And I wouldn’t have to testify against you.” Talia’s eyes shot to the ceiling and back, frustration hot on her breath. “It’s just so-,”

“Unfair. I know. I have… I’ve beaten myself up about it too much not to know that.” This conversation was too similar to those you’ve held inwardly. It was becoming repetitive to keep sulking over something you could not change. But Talia, if she wanted, could change her situation. “We went through the same program, got the same schooling, I know you know your options here.”

She chewed her cheek, shaking her head. A long drag of breath found its way into her chest, releasing when your hands fell to your sides. “This is where you find out how stupid I am.”

It pulled at your heart to hear how hard she was being on herself. “You aren’t stupid. And if you are? Could’ve fooled me with your class rank and just general existence.”

A laugh, weak but not acrid. “Academics were easy. Career is easy. This life stuff? Messy. Complicated. I feel like no matter what I do, it will blow up in my face.” That earlier distance glazed over her stare, a glimmer of yearning present in the way her eyebrows pinched. “And what I want…think I want? I’m not sure it’s even possible.”

“What do you want?”

Talia shut her eyes, capitulation and indignance set in her features, jaw flexed. “I haven’t spoken to him since that night,” she whispered. “He watched me fill out that report. I was sobbing in front of him and he said nothing.” A hand smoothed over her hair and clutched into her bun, lips quivering for a moment. “I didn’t even know until last week. I woke up for a few minutes and they started talking about all that had happened – fainting and seizures and blood tests – and they immediately wheeled me down to have an ultrasound to confirm the hCG results and urinalysis.”

She paused, growing in distance the more she shared. “Was it just your electrolytes that caused the seizure?”

“Yeah. Yes.” She blinked back to the present. “Belkar actually said I was severely dehydrated and that my metabolic panel reflected that.” Talia was dancing between two timeframes; gentleness framed her face when revisiting that of the past. Something so delicate in her stare; adoration cusping on hope. “I always told myself I would never have children. It scared me seeing how sick they could become when we had our unit on pediatrics. I’d never wanted to feel so helpless as the parents I saw during clinical.”

It almost winded you to watch a single tear slip down her cheek, allowing her silence during her pause before she looked up at you, desperation drowning her eyes. She couldn’t find – or, maybe, did not want to believe – the words that overwhelmed her. “What changed?” You knew, but she needed to hear it for herself.

Her lips had become puffy, teeth pulling at the bottom one. She reached into the front pocket of her scrub dress, pulling from it that square print, only now with rolled, worn corners. “I know it’s early and there are so many things that can go wrong and I know I had been drinking before I knew, but…” A swallow bobbed her throat, a fond smile forming when she toyed with the scan. “When they handed this to me? Something just, I don’t know, came into view.”

A surge of immense pain coiled into you. In her reverie you saw yourself, realized how fortunate her situation was; she had something she wanted and even though it was complicated, she had a choice in the matter.

Again, her mind had wandered, distraction framing her tone; her brows pinched together for a second, a question sparking from her memories. “Have you ever wanted something so much, and maybe you didn’t fully understand it, but you just knew? For whatever reason, this was the thing you would do everything in your power to make possible? To have what you want, no matter how daunting or nonsensical it seemed?”

“Yeah,” you choked out, coughing against the new strain on your throat, “I think so.” Talia had that ability, though, and it cracked against your skull how helpless you were to go after what you wanted.

“You said that I could still love him if he’s done awful things,” she quoted, her attention returning to you. “I don’t love him. I don’t think I really know him that well. But…” She shook her head, shoulders shrugging and a puff of breath leaving her nose. “I miss him. It’s so dumb, but the bastard is nice to be around when he isn’t buried in politics. When he’s just a person. When he isn’t the General. When he’s just—” another smile, similar to her earlier one “—Armitage.”

“That has to be the strangest part of this whole thing.” A small laugh bubbled past your lips. It had been so long since the last one. “Armitage.”

“It was very odd at first. But I’m not going to cry out General, oh please General! when I’m cumming, so I got over it.”

Dumbfounded, all you could do was gawk at her candor. It warmed you, though, feeling like that first night you’d hung out with her. A good memory. Her cheeks pinked in your silence and the sight pulled you straight into a ruckus of laughter, tears – born in pain, falling from humor – and lightheartedness. It was short lived, but Talia joined in your fit; abashed giggles leaving her smile-tight face.

“I mean, I feel like it would be weirder if you were sleeping with Commander Ren.” Talia jabbed at your shoulder. “Calling him… Kylo? That just feels downright wrong.”

Instantaneously, your high fizzling into nothing before her, you found yourself right where you were when you’d said your first goodbye. Ky. It wilted your heart, shrouded whatever glimpse of happiness you’d just caught. Talia was too lost in the joke to notice you’d backed away from her, face turned so she couldn’t see the suffering rise to the surface.

“Ha, yeah. Wrong. So, so wrong.” You cleared your throat, brushing past the weak attempt at nonchalance, ready to be off this subject. “So you miss him? You miss… Armitage? Yeah, no. I’m gonna stick to Hux, if that’s alright?”

A final laugh lit from her chest, Talia waving you off. “That’s fine, of course. And yeah. I miss him.” Her brow furrowed. “Do you think it could work? Me and him, and—” she gestured down to her abdomen, placing the scan back in her pocket “—this?”

This was none of your business, and you doubted anything you could say would help her, but there was genuine curiosity in her voice. There was respect in how she wanted your insight into something so intimate and personal.

A sigh preceded your reply, unsure if you were speaking to her or yourself. “I think… Just as you said earlier: no matter if its daunting or nonsensical or even completely impossible – if you want it and you are willing to do everything in your power to get it?”

Hope lit behind her eyes, bloomed in her chest at the suggestion. “It could work.”

Struggle hid behind a mask of hope. Of course she did not know how it pained you to offer words that would never exist for yourself, and it wasn’t fair to ruin her moment of clarity with the bitter bite of ill-placed jealousy. There was no part of you that envied her condition, but instead what it entailed; you coveted her ability to choose the life she wanted.

Talia shook her head free, a giggle warm on her breath. “We should get out of here. Night shift is gonna run us off soon. You have the time?”

“Uh, not readily available. But I’m sure it’s way past shift change.” You started toward the door.

“Hey, I noticed you’ve been staying in the on-call rooms?”

“Oh.” It surprised you that she’d noticed. The knowledge warmed you to your core, both from embarrassment and appreciation. “Yeah, I know you guys have been swamped down here with all the fallout from Starkiller, so I just thought I’d stay near to help out.”

She tsked, your name a mocked plead. “You are Starkiller fallout. You need to rest. Especially now that you can. I got an update from Zag about the trial. You’ve got, what? Three or four days before Canto Bight? Seven until the initial hearing?”

She’d done the same math you’d gone over at length. Hearing it from someone else’s mouth made it that much more real. Frightening. “I know. I do, I know. But what’s wrong with spending them here?”

“You know as much as I do that working constantly drains the absolute soul from you. Even just working these past three days I have been dying for my time off.”

“Yeah, but you have a reason to be tired.”

“I’m pregnant. You survived a planet exploding all the while keeping the Commander of the First Order alive. Are you forgetting that?”

Talia, I wish I could forget all of it. “No, I’m just-,”

“And I know you’ve been blowing off that McCarty guy. He’s a physician, right?”

Maybe you’d been less discreet in your efforts toward avoidance than you thought. It felt like being caught; this web of lies was becoming a strain, less of a benefit, a hinderance rather than protection. “He’s… Mason doesn’t know what he’s asking for, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Talia strode to your side, stern eyes on your own. “Look,” a breath softened her demeanor, “whatever happened on Starkiller, whatever you saw or felt – it’s affecting you. I don’t know what it is, and I’m not asking you to tell me – though, you can tell me anything – but at some point it becomes a choice to remain stagnant in grief.”

“Hey!” Talia had always been blunt, but her audacity now clawed at your patience.

“Okay, sorry, yes that was very harsh,” she placed a firm hand on your shoulder, “but you are the one who made me realize that. Here. Now.”

Tears threatened but remained stuck in your throat. “Like you said, I’m alone in this. I have to be.”

“The way I see it, you aren’t-,”

“Talia, I am.”

“You aren’t. Me being here and that physician coming here every night is proof of that.” You met her with silence. She shrugged. “You could have left me to deal with my issues alone, but you saw me and knew I couldn’t.” More silence on your part, her stare flicking between your eyes. “I see you. You can’t deal with this alone. I won’t let you.”

You fought to hide them, but one by one fell the tears you had not permitted before. For so long it seemed you had been shielding others from hurt, ensuring a safety they were not aware they needed. Talia was offering that to you, now. Rejection was the first instinct to kick in, feelings of doubt and thoughts of I do not deserve this blaring in urgency.

But then she spoke, naming what you had been too scared to confront. “Choose to not be alone. It doesn’t make you a bad person,” her hand left you, overwhelming assurance in her smile, “You’ve been strong for long enough, for so many others. Let someone be strong for you for once.”

The next breath you took was a million times lighter than any you’d had since seeing Kylo those days ago. She really did see you, more than she could ever know. It was imperfect, of course; you weren’t sure anyone would ever be fully aware of how much pain you were in, there was so much you could never share. It was her offer that brought you solace; it may be superficial for you, but Talia was in your corner, and she believed, knew, that it meant something. In her eyes, pooled with intensity, you heard her loud and clear: that oath, born in blood, was renewed here and now, its strength indelible even in silence.

“Now,” she activated the door, its hiss shivering down your spine, “I think Mason would love it if you caught up with him.” The two of you stepped into the hall, already beginning to part paths. “I’d invite you to stay with me but I, uh…”

“You’ll be otherwise predisposed?”

“…We’ll see,” rose bloomed in her cheeks, “I don’t think I’ll tell him. Not tonight. Not yet.”

“Ah,” you sighed, a yawn slipping past.

“Get some sleep! And maybe just… get some, you know?”

The joke registered too late, her paces halfway down the hall before you called out, “Oh. Oh. No, I’m not with- we aren’t anything more than friends.” Not sure if she even heard you, she waved behind her before turning a corner. Well. That’ll need clarifying.

Heat flared in your cheeks, several pairs of eyes weighing on your shoulders at the outburst. Would there ever be a day when you were not embarrassing yourself on this unit? Given this would be the last shift before going to Canto Bight, probably not. Eyes tracking your steps, deciding to surprise Mason instead of call him, you found your way to the on-call room where your entire world was set up; remnants of a past one, at least.

In it you gathered your belongings – a pair of back up scrubs, a toiletries bag, and the lifeless watch. There was a hesitance before placing the device with the other items. Six nights you had spent staring at its blank face, resenting the stranger you’d come to see. Glancing your face before placing it in the bag, you did a double-take. In the most minute details, barely there, you found a familiarity in the eyes you met; they were less dull, something like life or light peeking through the surface.

You dropped the gadget into your pocket, gathered your uniform into the bag, and took a final glance at the shelter you’d sought amidst a storm that had nearly consumed you. Even though nothing had truly mended, there was comfort in the absence of solitude; in the face of probable death, the explicit knowledge that you were not alone made it less daunting. Less impossible.

A final breath brought the door to a close, footsteps leading you into the vast expanse of the Finalizer. The change in air was nice, lungs welcoming the difference and cluing you into the fact you still had a gauze square shoved up your nose. It took a tug to pull it from its place, a sting pinching at the sudden release of pressure.

“Shit,” you hissed, feeling a new stream of warmth trickle past your lips. Two fingers pressed to your mouth, testing for a mirage but coming back with the real thing, red creaks splintering into the ridges of your fingerprint. Without thinking you wiped it down your scrub top, forgetting you were no longer clothed in camouflaging black, but instead unforgiving grey. “Fuck!”

“Wasn’t this how I left you here the last time?”

The airlock must have snapped, lungs solid, muscles frozen. Tension seized your ribcage, pulse plummeting, blood bounding against tuned ears. Every bit of moisture abandoned your mouth. Every bodily process you could think of stopped.

There was no modulation, each word raw, bare, and clear as the last time you had heard their founder. At least, the last time you’d heard it while awake. It was less haunted now, filled not with insidious rage but rather bone-chilling earnest.

“I suppose not, given it’s your blood tonight.”

He drew nearer, boots heavy and steps paced to perfection, the rhythm of his stride an echo of your heart. Kylo Ren was less than three paces from you and all you could do was endure the sensation of a singular ruby droplet following the line of your artery, dragging past your clavicle, and ghosting the skin over your sternum. The crimson trail began to dry, steps no longer sounding when you forced yourself to look up.

Chaos tore into the base of your spine, every nerve ending firing at the sight of his bare face, no helmet to veil the visage you had memorized. The black strip rested in prominence, striking through his features; in it you found a curious attraction, finding it fit him. The wound was less severe now, healing with time. He wore no helmet, but that by no means meant there was no mask keeping him at a distance only he knew the measure of.

“Where have you been, officer?” Cyanosis was a likely reality, breath still evading you as each word fell in baritone; petrified pupils not knowing where to focus. “Your services finally required, and yet you were nowhere to be found.”

Nothing. No words. No sound. No thoughts. Barren in every aspect of cognizance, you remained silent and still, only knowing to perceive him for what he was: superior.

A twitch at his brow, a narrowing of his eyes. Studying. Testing. “How unfortunate; starved for words when they would actually count.” His injury moved fluidly against his words, a beauty in the way it ebbed with each syllable.

A ping sounded at your waist, commlink buzzing in your pocket.

Languid, Kylo’s eyes dipped toward the sound. “You should get that,” he drawled, eyes twitching before conquering yours once more, “could be important.”

His tone haunted you, demeanor too suggestive. You swallowed against a dry throat, locked in his stare, knuckles brushing your watch when you took out your commlink. It trembled in your grip, shocked muscles heavy with weakness. His concentration had become adamant, palpable, an eyebrow prompting your attention to whatever message had triggered the alarm.

Concerning the defendant,

In the week since the previous correspondence, it has come to be that the defendant is to partake in nursing practice during her time on Canto Bight. This allows the Board of Physicians ease in collecting surveillance imperative to their final judgement.

Commander Ren’s decision to bar the defendant from external practice has been nullified as to not contradict this process.

In permitting the defendant’s practice while on trial, the objective to obtain a new provider has been benched. Due to this, the defendant shall remain assigned to her current Master while residing on Canto Bight…

At last, breath flourished your lungs, an inadvertent gasp thrusting a glutton of oxygen into your airway. Crazed eyes darted over the message for any sign of a mistake that would prove it to be falsified; the only thing you could find was finality, a document containing the proposed schedule attached at the end of the message.

A buzz washed through your brain, overstimulated by the information, everything around you suddenly all too close and bright. Jaw bound shut but still trembling, eyes low and unfocused, a familiar pressure flicked just under your chin. The Force tipped your face upward, pupils strict in their position, passing first over a tense jaw and landing at last on the challenge that lay behind Kylo Ren’s glare.

“I’ll see you on Canto Bight, officer.” A serpentine smirk slithered along his lips, one stride bringing him so his face was hidden, shoulder linked with yours, and fingers jut out to graze at the hidden permanence atop your left thigh. His voice, an onslaught of emptiness, a cold threat, suffocated all that surrounded you. “You wanted to give me more? Prove it.”