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samkerrworshipper · 8 months

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narcotics | arsenal x reader

summary: reader has a drug problem.. her arsenal teammates help her to realise and overcome it

warnings: mentions of drugs use and abuse

this was so tough to write for me and hit home sooo fucking hard buttt also very fulfilling so i hope you enjoy

You’d never intended for it to get this bad.

Injury, surgery, recovery, drugs.

So many drugs.

That was what happened when you had major surgery, when you were an athlete, they showered you with every single kind of drug that they could, to distract from the pain and to try and start the recovery process as soon as possible. It was good, especially post surgery when you felt absolutely no pain, it was great, and it allowed you to be a lot more mobile after the operation than you would have been if you hadn't been medicated.

It was good, being pain free was so incredibly good.

That was all you could focus on, your whole recovery revolved around being pain free, tearing your tricep was a pain in the ass, but as far as football was regarded, you were hopeful to return to the pitch as soon as possible.

You didn’t need your arm to kick a football or play on the pitch, so the whole entire focus of your recovery was to make the pain bearable so you could return to the field as soon as possible.

For this reason, the doctors just kept refilling your scripts, handing you bottles and bottles upon pills, it was their job to get you back on the field to help Arsenal redeem themselves from the fall from the champions league.

You were back on the pitch in three weeks, which was almost psychotic considering that your tricep scars were still bandaged and covered in gauze.

It was procedural for you, you fell into a routine of relying on the drugs to get you through a game, to take off the edge of the pain that originated in your arm.

It was fine, it was good.

For months, the doctors filled the bottles for you, they kept filling them, past the point of where you medically needed them anymore, it was just routine for you, just a part of your day.

You woke up, and you took pills with your morning protein shake and breakfast, then you car pooled to London Colney with Beth and Viv. Once you arrived at training you ate a protein bar, which you consumed another set of pills with. Then typically as a team there would be a morning gym session, after gym there was lunch, where you would consume another set of pills. Then there was training, afterwards before recovery you inhaled another set of pills.

It didn’t really worry you, you needed the pills, they were the reason you were able to play, they were the only thing that was keeping you on the pitch.

It felt that way to you at least, even if you were months past the injury, it just felt like you needed them, that without them you would be hopeless.

So, even as the weeks passed by you continued your routine, but as every day passed by it was clear that your teammates were becoming more aware of your reliance, the concern and questions becoming far more frequent.

You insisted that you were fine, that it was the doctor's orders, even if the doctor had told you months ago that you needed to eventually wean yourself off the pills.

He was the same doctor though who continued to fill your scripts and hand you pills like they were candies.

Eventually you would stop, you would, some time, it was just something to get you through the day, something to make it easier for you to deal with everything that was happening in your life.

The first time the word addiction was thrown at you was in the most abnormal situation.

You were sitting in the locker rooms, early on a wednesday morning the likes of Katie, Jen, Beth and Alessia surrounding you as you all casually joked around.

It was all common conversation, trivial basic stuff, until Katie pivoted towards you, her whole body turning in your direction as she sent a question your way.

“Y/n, is there any history of addiction in your family?”

It’s spoken so casually, and for whatever reason you’re the only person in the group taking a double take over what she’d just asked you.

Everybody else was just kind of waiting for your answer, all eyes on you as they watched on carefully.

“No, why?”

Katie just nods her head, her eyes not leaving you and the curiosity in them.

“Just curious, Less and I were talking earlier about it, one of her cousins struggled with it majorly after having surgery, just interesting to think about, it’s just a really tough topic.”

It was blatantly obvious that there was an underlying message underneath her words, at the time though you had been completely oblivious to it.

“Yeah, well I couldn’t give any info on that, both of my parents were in the army and were as clean as whistles, my two brothers were the same, and as far as my aunts and uncles go I’m fairly certain they’ve never touched any drugs beyond paracetamol and tylenol.”

Your words are measured, calculated, trying to decrypt the overarching question lying beneath the surface of Katie’s random spiel.

“It’s definitely interesting to think about, considering how many surgeries our team has encountered in the last little while.”

Katie is digging around, for something, but you aren’t quite sure what.

“I’m not the one to ask about it, Viv and Beth are the ones who have been doing all the research.”

Katie seems to get the message that you don’t want to talk, but you can’t ignore the way she continues to look at you with a mixture of concern and annoyance whilst you tugged on your uniform and trainers.

When you thought her eyes had slipped from you, you turned into your locker, taking a sip of water before pulling two pills from your bag and slipping them past your lips as discreetly as you could.

You thought you were discreet, but when you turned back around to head out of the rooms and into the gym, and realised that all of your teammates' eyes were on you, you realised that this whole ordeal had become quite the spectacle.

You ignored the on looking eyes, especially those of Katie and Beth’s, which were practically burning holes through your body.

You avoided their eye contact, knowing that if you met their eyes it would give them a space to confront you, something which you were looking to avoid for as long as possible.

You somehow managed to make it into the gym without any further troubles, but when you did make it inside the gym you were met with some similar looks from your teammates and captains who were already occupying the space.

You got straight into your program, your mind reeling about how exactly your teammates had come to the point of pretty much accusing you of addiction.

You weren’t addicted.

You just needed the pills to take the edge off, there was nothing wrong with knowing your body's limit. Sure, you’d been told it was safest to start weaning off them after about a month on them, but you needed them, you needed them to be the same you, the old you, the pre-injury you.

You weren’t an addict, addicts were frantic and uncontrolled and definitely couldn’t play football.

The gym plan for you was fairly simple, a lot of tricep exercises and some upper body work that you finished off fairly quickly, within the hour you were heading back to the locker rooms, to grab your jumper and some pills before heading off to the lunch room to see what the chefs had cooked up today.

Kim, Leah, Katie, Viv, Beth and Jen were all sitting inside the rooms, the six of them hushedly talking between themselves. You did your best to ignore them, beelining straight towards your locker, throwing on your hoodie first before reaching into the pocket in your bag where you’d left the container early.

You felt around, confused for a few seconds when you didn’t immediately feel it.

You shoved your hand deep into the pocket, again your fingers touched nothing but the mesh of the inside pocket in your bag. At this stage, your hands begin to shake, you pull your hand out of the empty pocket, maybe you put them somewhere else.

You begin to rifle through your bag, searching incessantly for the one pill bottle that you need so desperately.

It’s not in your bag, three searches confirm that.

Maybe it’s fallen into your locker somewhere?

You pull out your things from the cube, searching desperately for your sweet relief.

This can’t seriously be happening, how the fuck could you have possibly lost them?

“Kid, what are you looking for?”

You ignore Beth’s question, continuing to toss your locker, even though it’s blatantly obvious that they aren’t hiding anywhere, they’re gone.

“Kid, what’s wrong?”

You pivot on your heel to address Beth, but your eyes are glued to Leah’s hands, or more so what Leah has resting in her hands.

The little orange bottle, the sacred fucking bottle.

“This whatcha looking for?”

You try your very hardest not to slip up, not to give it away too much, not when it’s very likely that whatever this is, it’s a test.

“Why have you got my pills?”

You decide to pivot with a question, it seems like the best decision.

“Why are you still on pills?”

Leah’s words are cut throat, they hit you hard.

“Because of my surgery.”

It’s an ominous answer, maybe it’ll save you from the vice captain's anger, maybe it won’t.

“You had surgery four months ago.”

Leah’s words, whilst they are a statement, hold questioning behind them.

“I don’t see how anything between my doctor and myself matters to you, he’s given me a script for medication, one that I use.”

It’s definitely the wrong thing to say, Leah looks offended, Kim looks like she’s about to kill you, Beth and Viv just look sad, Katie and Jen look like they don’t really know what to say.

“It’s not our fucking business? You should have been off pills three months ago, it’s my blood business to know when my teammates are continuing to take drugs way past the point of it being logical.”

Kim’s voice is angry, but not the kind of anger where it’s directed at you, it’s more the kind of angry where she clearly wants answers that you aren’t giving her.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, my doctors fill my scripts, beyond that it’s none of your business what I take and don’t take to get through sessions.”

Kim’s face scrunches up, Leah’s looks similar, it’s funny to you sometimes how similarly they captain.

“You haven’t had any complications, you should have been completely pain free months ago, why do you still need pills? Why do you need them so frequently? Don’t think that we all haven’t realised how often you are taking them, you’re going through them like a bag of candies, it’s not healthy.”

Kim’s right, it leaves you a little bit gobsmacked and takes you a little bit to recover from what she’s saying to you.

“I’m playing well, am I not? Beyond how I am playing on the pitch it’s none of your fucking business.”

When you think about it, swearing at Kim was possibly the stupidest thing you could have done, but you suppose there isn’t any coming back from it now.

“It’s not my fucking business? Beyond being your captain I give a shit about your health and mental wellbeing, so when I see one of my best mates and teammates looking like they are fucking addicted then I am allowed to ask questions, questions that you are going to answer or else we will be having a very different conversation, one that includes Jonas and the medical staff and I promise you that it will end with a very different result.”

Kim’s words hit you right in the chest, you force yourself to take a seat, looking at the six women and taking in the guilty look across both Viv, Katie, Beth and Jen’s faces.

“You guys fucking ratted on me, for nothing? I’m not fucking addicted, people who are addicted are frantic and stupid and fucking unhinged. Do you think if I had a pill addiction that I’d be able to play, do you think I’d be able to do half the things we do if I had an addiction, I just need them to get me through the day, to get me through the work outs.”

Your justification is weak, you know that, but you still believe in what you are saying, you don’t have a problem.

Kim’s face deflates, it looks like whatever she is about to say is going to be a lot more emotional and heavy then you are prepared for.

“Kid, you have a problem. How you manage to do it all baffles me, truly, you should not need pills to be getting you through the day, not when you are in recovery, not when your tricep is almost fully healed, Beth and Katie told me about it because they are genuinely worried, I am too. We’re all here for you, whatever you need.”

You shake your head, you don’t need help, you don’t need support, what you need is your fucking pills back.

“Can I have my fucking pills back?”

Leah shoves the bottle into her pocket, you know that you aren’t getting them back but it was worth a try.

“Are you fucking serious?”

It’s apparently Katie’s turn to be the bad cop.

“They fucking belong to me.”

Katie looks absolutely fuming, if it wasn’t for the whole situation you were in you would probably laugh about it.

“Not anymore they don’t, you’ve lost that fucking priviledge. This is how it’s going to go from now on. You’re going to move in with Beth and Viv for now, Lia’s searching your apartment as we speak, you’re done with pills, no more, you’re cut off. You’re going to get a fucking handle on your life and all of this shit or else you’ll be benched and sent to rehab or wherever Jonas thinks is the best place for you to sort out your fucking addiction, because that’s what this is. You can’t survive four hours without slipping some pills, that is seriously fucking concerning and all of us are so fucking worried about you. If you want to continue playing then there are going to be a whole set of rules and conditions because this can’t keep going, it’s unsafe.”

All the other women nod along with Katie’s words, you realised that you are definitely fucked.

“I’m a fucking adult, you guys have no right to be doing this to me, I don’t have a fucking problem.”

Katie rolls her eyes, standing up from her seat to walk over to you.

“Kid I am so sorry none of us realised earlier, maybe if we had it wouldn’t have been so bad, but you have to understand how bad it is, you should not be reliant on drugs that are prescribed to a person after a serious surgery, your attached. Not all addicts are frantic, you definitely aren’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that you have a problem and if you don’t stop it now, you never will. We all want to help you, however you need.”

You don’t really know what to do, everything Katie is saying hits you so hard, you can’t help but let tears fall, they’re wrong, you don’t have a problem, you need the pills, how are you supposed to be okay without them?

“Please, just give me the pills, I’ll do whatever you want, please, I need them, I’ll do anything please just give them back.”

Katie wraps you up in her arms, so tight that you worry about your ability to breathe, it makes everything stop for a few seconds, you forget about the pills, forget about how much internal pain you are struggling with.

“You know I can’t do that kid. How about we get you home? I don’t think you're in the mindset to train, Viv and Beth will leave with you, they’ll take you back to theirs whilst we finish up here for the day and then we’ll all have a chat about it later, okay?”

You pull yourself out of Katie’s arms, your face in a deep frown.

“You don’t understand, I fucking need them, I can’t live without them, what am I supposed to do without them? This is fucking crazy how am I supposed to play when you’re all forcing me to go cold turkey on the one thing that I rely on most.”

Katie’s hands move to your shoulders, planting themselves down firmly on you.

“No you don’t. It’s going to be a hard adjustment but it’s for the best. If we’re right and you are addicted, you’ll go through withdrawals, it’ll suck, but we’ll be here for you through it, we’re here to kick you in the ass but pick you up when you are hurting, we’re here for whatever you need.”

In a split second decision you lunge forward and directly at Leah, the blonde doesn’t expect it, and definitely doesn’t expect you to reach right for the pocket that you’d previously seen Leah push the pills in.

You don’t really know what your plans where for once you’d managed to obtain the bottle, but you knew one thing, you needed those pills and Leah was standing in the way of that.

Within seconds Jen and Kim’s arms were linked around yours, pulling your desperate form off of Leah.

“Please-Fuck please just give them to me, I’ll do whatever you need, please, I need them. I don’t need you guys, you guys don’t give a shit about me, I’m fine, I don’t want our help, just give me the drugs and leave me be, I’ll be fine, I’m always fine, I don’t need you guys. J-Just give me the pills and I’ll leave, I’ll never bother you guys again. ”

Kim managed to tug you completely away from Leah, whilst the older woman is significantly smaller than you, she was far stronger and you stood absolutely no chance against her.

You ragdolled in an attempt to make it harder for Kim, she replied to that by dragging your limp body up onto a seat, resting both of her hands on your soldiers just like Katie had, except for the fact that instead of Kim’s face being one of care and genuity, hers was stern and concerned.

“You don’t get to do this. You do not get to push us away because you want a fucking dose of drugs. We are family, family means so much more than some stupid object and the kid who worked her way here through the academy would have told me the exact same eight months ago. I know you have been through a lot, I know this injury has sucked, I know that you are going through a lot but you can’t push family away. We’re going to be here for you when you are at your biggest high and your lowest low, we are here through thick and thin. I can stand for you breaking down at ever minute of everyday if it means that we can help you, you can hurt us all as much as you want and we will continue to come back because whilst you might think that you are breaking us, you aren’t.”

Kim’s words just send tears running down your face and sobs coming out of your mouth.

Everything from the last hour is barreling directly at you, the realisation that maybe you aren’t as fine as you’ve been telling yourself, even if it feels wrong, you know what they are telling you makes sense, it hurts way more admitting that to yourself though.

Kim removes her arms from your shoulders, reaching for your torso and bringing you into another big hug, it’s suffocatingly painful and you swear that your skin prickles with the contact.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what you are sorry for, which probably makes the apology pointless, but it feels like it needs to be said, like you need to make some kind of attempt to recognise your wrongdoing.

“It’s okay kid, we’ve got you, it’s going to be okay, we’re all here for you, let’s get you back to Beth’s, hmm? I think you could do with a good nap and a proper feed. You’ve been working yourself to the bone, it’s time to let yourself rest. Take it from me, this whole routine you have for yourself, the over working, the pills, it’s only so long before you completely burn yourself out and trust a woman who’s been there, that is the last possible thing you could want, especially considering you are so young.”

Kim’s opinion and words are gospel to you, being another midfielder ever since you’d become a part of the arsenal senior team you hung onto every single word that she spoke, so having the Kim Little calling you family, it was something else completely.

“Please, just take me home.”

Kim nods, pulling back from you to reach into your locker to grab your bag before handing it over to Beth who gives you a little smile, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes though, that’s how you know that whatever is happening, it’s not good at all.

You try your hardest to wipe away the tears with the sleeve of your hoodie, but it’s a losing battle, the salty liquid continuing to flow freely down your cheeks.

Viv replaces Kim, her arm flinging itself over your shoulders and shielding you from the outside world.

Without much fuss the couple pulls you out of the locker rooms and as quickly as they can towards the car park and back to the same car you’d arrived in this morning, this time though it’s so much harder, it feels nearly impossible, especially knowing that instead of the normal routine that entails the couple dropping you back to your apartment, this time you are going back to theirs.

Normally, you’re very happy to participate in a dinner or game night with the duet, but you know what going back to Viv and Beth’s means, it means accountability, change, pain, things you aren’t really sure if you’re ready for.

Viv makes the decision to slide into the back seat with you, a constant comfort as you try to navigate exactly what has just happened.

The ride to Viv’s and Beth’s is a blur, Viv drags you out of the backseat and into the elevator, then into their apartment.

You're too lost to do much more than let Viv lead you to the couch dropping Myle into your lap, who is apparently more than happy to cuddle up under the blanket that Beth throws at you.

All you can think about is what your teammates had to say. About the nights where you’d doubled up on pills to mask the mental pain of all the pressure you were taking on of leading a midfield without Kim, about how you felt like you would cripple up and break if you went a day without your pills, about how for the last few months the highlights of your day has been the pills in the bottle instead of the people around you, about how you’ve been finding more happiness in drugs instead of the life you are living, about how your whole life revolves around pain meds which you didn’t even need anymore.

Addicted wasn’t a word you had ever used in a sentence with you and drugs before, but now, it’s all that you can think about.

Addiction.

It had never been a possibility for you, how could you be addicted? Nobody you knew had ever had problems with pills, you’d done countless injuries including pain meds and never had a problem. No injury you’d ever done had such a negative reception though, the fans were fuming, your teammates were stressed, you were pressured. You needed to recover, for the good of everybody, pain meds were the way to get through that so you’d taken them, to fix all of the problems.

That was the reasoning your brain was using, it wasn’t perfect, but it made enough sense.

Beth sat down next to you and you felt at peace enough to meet her eyes.

They were calmer than before, you felt similarly, calmer, less like you were at war with yourself.

“I was so stupid that I didn’t even realise, I thought I was doing fine, I was so fucking stupid.”

Beth takes a deep gulp of air before she says anything, it’s hard to watch somebody who you’ve come to care about so dearly look like they are struggling so heavily to communicate with you.

“You’re not stupid. It’s not your fault. A lot of people enabled this to keep happening and you couldn’t have known better, what matters most is we are here for you now, the sooner before the later.”

You nod along to Beth, bringing a asleep Myle up to your chest and clutching onto him, the puppy is so soft, a big contrast to how you feel at the moment.

“I didn’t want to let everyone down.”

Beth sighs an oh so familiar sigh, the same sigh you heard every single time someone out of the acl crew mentioned how they felt like they were a burden or a problem or like they were letting the team down.

“You could never let any of us down, not really, sure we’re all very worried about you, but shit happens, life fucking happens. Every single day we all struggle, every person on this world, life is a bitch and the worst part is that we have people holding us accountable for it every single day. Fans, social media, teammates, we don’t get a break, even when we need it the very most. As teammates, it's our job to love you no matter what anybody is saying, you are different to every single human on earth, you have different needs, you don’t have to try to be someone you aren’t, we love you best when you try not to. Do not think for a moment that you will ever disappoint us, sure we can be angry and annoyed and disappointed with your actions but never you directly. We all love you no matter what, just be whoever you need to, not who you think everyone needs you too.”

You don’t know what to say, so you chose to say silent for a few seconds, really observing what Beth has just said, the complete honesty behind her words.

“I want to do better for you guys Beth, I don’t want to be reliant on drugs that I don’t need, I just don’t know how to live without them.”

Beth nods, her eyes all glazed and watery.

“Then we’ll help you, we’ll do whatever is necessary to help you, just let us in, let us be there for you.”

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gaming-universe · 10 months

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How You Met || Call of Duty Preferences (1)

Authors Note: This is the first part of my Call of Duty preferences series. I had a lot of fun writing this one. So please enjoy!

Gifs by: @dustysalmon @codsona-moved @daniel-bruehl @une-femme-de-lettres @echo3one @wardencouslands @collinnmckinley @cssndra-cain

John Price

With the six months of recovery beginning to drive you insane, you felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders when Laswell called you in a few weeks early.

Her intel indicated that Al Qatala had planned an attack on Piccadilly Circus in London a few days from now, and she had no one else to call in on such short notice. When she had called, you thought that she might have wanted to meet for coffee, as the two of you usually did every week or so to escape the chaos of life. When she told you that she needed you for a mission, you jumped at the chance, anything to get you out of your stuffy house.

Informing her that you would be in London within twenty-four hours, you packed your bags and headed to the airport, where a plane was already waiting for you. Laswell had texted you all the information you needed for when you arrived in London. You would be met by the man she had put in charge of the entire operation, Captain John Price. You had heard of him in your many years of service, but you had never actually met him. But Laswell spoke highly of him, and you valued her trust in judgment.

As you stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac, your eyes landed on a black SUV parked alongside a maintenance road. Beside it stood a man: tall, arms folded across his chest, beanie on top of his head, with an impressive beard and mustache.

You recognized him from the file Laswell had sent you hours ago, and despite his seemingly warm clothing, Captain Price looked slightly cold in London's cool and overcast weather. He smiled kindly as you approached, stepping forward and extending his hand in greeting. "Lieutenant L/n, thank you for coming on such short notice..." Price spoke politely, taking your smaller hand in his larger calloused one and shaking it firmly.

You smiled up at him in return, goosebumps forming along your skin as a cool breeze blew by. You shivered, a small laugh leaving your lips as Price took your bags from your hands. "Not a problem, Captain..." you replied watching him intently as he placed your bags in the back of the car "Besides, I kind of owe Laswell for coffee last week".

Price chuckled, closing the car door and turning to face you fully. He grinned, "Let me guess, she paid for it?"

"She wouldn't let me, despite the many times I insisted. I think she still feels guilty about what happened in Mexico."

Price turned, kindly opening the passenger side door for you. "She told me about that..." he spoke lowly, looking you up and down carefully, examining your form with a slightly worried expression "...are you sure you're up for this?"

You scoffed, climbing inside the SUV with a small huff of effort. You eyed him cautiously, a stern expression that made Price freeze. "I have been cooped up in my own damn house for six months, attending mandated physical therapy for an injury that healed three months ago. I am fine. If you have any objections, you can speak to Laswell."

For a moment, your eyes met his, and you could see by his expression that he was thinking things over. Then, with a nod of his head, he closed your passenger door without hesitation.

Price took a moment to himself to release a long nervous sigh. As he walked to the driver's side, he couldn't stop thinking about how highly Laswell had spoken of you, and that you were the first person that came to her mind when he had asked for a trustworthy taskforce. He had read your file, and to say that he was impressed was an understatement. He was in awe.

You were exactly what he was looking for, and you were the exact person he needed in the fight against Al Qatala.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

This really wasn't how you wanted your first meeting with Taskforce 141 to go.

Your morning hadn't started off well. Firstly, your alarm didn't go off, and you arrived late to Laswell's briefing. All eyes landed on you as you entered the room, heat flushing to your cheeks as you mumbled a quiet apology under your breath. As Laswell introduced you to the others, you smiled awkwardly in greeting, praying to god that after your late arrival, your day would only get better from here.

But of course, life likes to play cruel tricks. Hours after your first briefing, you dropped an entire stack of files in the hallway, the contents scattering everywhere all over the floor. After that, you got lost several times on your way to your office, cursing yourself every time you asked someone for directions. And to top it all off, the final straw in your terrible, horrible, very bad day, was spilling coffee all over yourself in the mess.

You had been hiding in the women's bathroom for the past few hours, trying desperately to scrub the coffee stain out of your blouse with some wet paper towels, but to no avail. Frustrated with yourself, and the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment sitting uncomfortably in your chest, your eyes welled with tears. As you threw the paper towel in your hands into the bin by your side, you released a long and heavy sigh. As you stared into the mirror, taking in your disheveled appearance, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Y/n? Are you in there?..." a low voice asked from the corridor, "...it's Kyle, I saw you walk in here about two hours ago, and I wanted to make sure that you were alright."

You released a small huff, your shoulders slumping as your emotions finally spilled over. You remembered Kyle from this morning, Gaz, as Price had called him. He had been so kind to you this morning after your awkward late entry and had offered you a seat next to him during the briefing. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you sniffled and cleared your throat, and replied quietly, "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

The door creaked open slightly, and you watched as Kyle's arm squeezed through the crack in the door, a blue sweater clutched in his hand. "I uh, I have a jumper here if you want it. I saw what happened in the mess and thought you might want something to cover up that coffee stain."

A small feeling of gratefulness welled inside your chest as you approached the door, taking the sweater from his hand with a small 'thank you'. As you pulled the sweater over your head and placed your arms through the arm holes you opened the door and stepped back out into the corridor. You met Kyle's eyes with a grateful smile, "You didn't have to do that" You spoke softly, biting your lip as you folded your arms across your chest. He shrugged, leaning against the wall casually "It's fine, you looked kind of distressed, so I wanted to make sure you weren't having some sort of panic attack".

You laughed, "I was getting there, but that's unrelated for now" You replied, before groaning and burying your head in your hands. "Today has been the worst day of my life. I look like a fucking mess, and I've embarrassed myself too many times today."

Kyle chuckled, "Everyone has bad days Y/n, trust me. Yours isn't the worst I've seen."

"Oh really?" You questioned.

"I watched Soap fall flat on his face during a training exercise last week. He just laid there while we laughed."

You couldn't stop the loud laughter that left your lips, your hands instantly flying to your mouth as Kyle smirked. "Oh no..." you exclaimed "...that must have been awful."

"It was for him..." Kyle shrugged "but it was fucking hilarious."

The two of you continued to exchange funny stories, until Ghost appeared at the other end of the corridor, calling for the two of you as a mission had been assigned to the 141 by Shepherd. Kyle gave you a small smile, before motioning with his head for you to follow. "I'll tell you what, after this mission, I'll buy you an actual coffee. I know a nice place off base."

You smiled brightly, nodding your head in agreement. "I'll hold you to that, Garrick."

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

He had been staring at you from across the room since you had arrived.

You had no idea what was wrong with him, or what his apparent problem with you was, but you chose to focus on Price's briefing instead. It was very off-putting, especially since this was your first mission with Taskforce 141. Laswell had recruited you at Price's request. Impressed with your skills and your file, she agreed with him that you would be a perfect addition to the team, and that you would also bring a little balance and reason when needed.

Noticing your slight discomfort, Johnny or Soap' MacTavish moved to stand beside you, sending a warning glare towards his friend cautiously.

"Does he normally glare at every new person that works with you guys?" You whispered, looking up at Johnny beside you with a questioning expression. He shrugged, "Not usually, it's putting me off as well, don't worry. I'll talk to him once this is over."

"Don't you think I should? If I've done something I want to know what exactly is pissing him off."

Johnny hummed lowly in response, turning his attention back to Price. "Only if you want to. If I had to guess, it might be because he doesn't know you. He hasn't worked with you before, so he's trying to size you up." You bit your lip anxiously, releasing an uneasy sigh as you folded your arms across your chest. "No, I know what being sized up feels like. This is something different."

He was examining you from head to toe, trying to determine whether or not you have what it takes to become part of the task force. So maybe Johnny was right, maybe Ghost was sizing you up in his own way. And you weren't going to let him intimidate you, even though it was kind of working.

The second you entered the room, Simon froze. It wasn't something that usually happened, he wasn't always lost for words. He had read your file, thanks to Laswell and Price, and he was impressed by your skills. Seeing you in person, however, there was just something about you that made him feel...strange. It was a good kind of strange, something that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Once Price had finished his briefing, you watched as Ghost pushed away from his position on the wall, and immediately stalked out of the room. You turned to look at Price, who was already looking at you with a confused expression.

You sighed, "It's me, isn't it? I'm the problem?"

Price shrugged. "I don't know, but he'll warm up to you. He just needs some time."

Your gaze fell to the table as you sat quietly in thought. You hoped that this would all work out, especially since you and Ghost would be working together for the foreseeable future.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish

"Have you met either of them before?" Alejandro asked, the two of you jumping out of the truck and stepping onto the tarmac, watching as the large plane landed on the runway ahead.

You shrugged as you moved to stand in front of the truck, leaning against the bullbar. "I've worked with Ghost a few times. As for Sargeant MacTavish, this would be the first."

Alejandro chuckled, "I suppose you all work under Laswell, eh?"

"You suppose correctly, although it has been some time since I've worked with a familiar face" You replied, smirking teasingly as Alejandro turned to face you, an expression of mock hurt on his features. "Am I not good enough company!?" he shouted over the sound of the plane's engines, throwing his arms out in an exaggerated manner.

You laughed loudly in reply, "You know I love you!"

Alejandro smirked back at you, before turning back to face the now-lowered plane ramp. You watched from afar as two men descended the ramp, the skull mask clearly visible even from this distance. You watched as Alejandro and Ghost spoke with each other, while the younger, unfamiliar man watched them intently.

His gaze turned towards you and you smiled kindly in greeting.

John froze. He couldn't take his eyes off you. Simon had mentioned that they were going to work with an old colleague of his, but he didn't mention that you were absolutely gorgeous. Whatever Simon and Alejandro were talking about now fell on deaf ears as he watched you give him a small wave.

Wow, Simon has been holding out on me.

A sharp jab to the ribs from his left brought John out of his daze, turning his attention towards Simon who was already glaring at him. "She will eat you alive" He warned sternly, knowing John's exact train of thought.

"What are you saying exactly?" John challenged, eyeing the Lieutenant with a smirk.

A deep chuckle came from his right, John turning to see Alejandro shaking his head. "He means exactly that, my friend. She's fierce. I'm tempted to ask Laswell to permanently assign her to the Vaqueros."

"Good luck with that..." Simon snapped lightly "Price won't allow her to leave that easily-"

"Are you guys done deciding my life and career for me!?"

All three men turned their gaze to see you standing a few feet away, arms folded over your chest and a knowing smirk on your lips.

They all froze, eyes wide as you approached. Eyeing them individually, you motioned with your head towards the truck behind you. "We have something more important than my life to discuss. You know better than that, Simon". John watched on in shock as Simon's gaze lowered to the ground, mumbling a quick 'sorry' under his breath as he moved to walk past you, heading towards the truck without another word. Alejandro followed, keeping his gaze downward as he too walked back to the truck.

As you rolled your eyes, your attention turned to him, John's entire body tensing. "You must be Sargeant MacTavish..." You spoke politely, extending your hand in greeting, "I'm Y/n."

"So I've heard..." He replied, taking your hand in his "...but please, call me Johnny." The smile that formed on your face took his breath away, the mischievous glint in your eyes doing something to him that he couldn't quite understand.

"Well, Johnny. Just so you know, I make my own decisions around here. The sooner you learn that, we'll get along just fine."

As you turned and walked away, joining Simon and Alejandro back at the truck, John released a long breath and mumbled lowly. "Oh fuck, I'm in so much trouble."

Alex Keller

Throughout the entire briefing, Alex couldn't keep his eyes off you.

Farah had informed him that Captain Price was sending one of his best man, or rather, woman, to help their effort against Al Qatala in Al Mazrah. Farah had been excited about your arrival. You had been with Price when Farah was rescued, and ever since then, she has considered you to be a sister.

She trusts you with her life, and that was good enough for Alex.

He watched you speak with Farah about the next move for her forces, and how you expertly dealt with the situation when Farah protested about laying low.

"If we lay low now, we lose the advantage-"

"And if we attack, there's a chance that they will be waiting for us" you countered, looking between her and himself with a calm ease. With your gaze moving back to Farah, you continued "You attacked two huge targets before I got here. If you attack a third, there is a chance that they are already anticipating us."

"But we have them right where we want them-"

"That may be so, Farah, but you're not listening to me..." You began again, a clear look of exasperation on your features.

Alex could see that you were very tired, and despite obviously being at the end of your tether, you still managed to remain calm. He had to do something.

"She's right, Farah..." Alex interjected, eyeing her with a warning glare, "she came here to help us, so maybe we should listen to her."

The grateful look on your features caused a strange feeling to form in his chest, your tired eyes conveying a small 'thank you' as you turned back to face Farah. She released a long sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She met your gaze with a small nod.

"Alright, you have a point. Come find me if Price or Laswell call" She spoke lowly, leaving the room with her head lowered.

Your eyes moved to focus on Alex once more, sighing heavily as you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Thanks for stepping in there, you didn't have to."

Alex chuckled. "You did have a good point, and you were right. Another attack would have been too risky." He watched you nod in agreement, sighing once again as you rubbed your eyes, stifling a yawn.

Alex found a small grin forming on his lips as he moved to stand up from his seat. "Long flight?" he asked, moving around the table to stand beside you. You nodded again "From one warzone to another..." you chuckled, "I'm a bit exhausted, yes. But I'll manage-"

"No offense, Lieutenant, but you're not going to be much help if you're sleep-deprived" Alex spoke plainly, finding himself enjoying the sound of your loud laughter, as it echoed throughout the room. "Good point, I won't argue with a few hours of sleep" you answered, giving him a genuine though tired smile before leaving the room, and heading for your quarters.

Alex watched you leave and found himself muttering a low 'shit' under his breath, before exiting the room and walking down the opposite end of the hallway.

Alejandro Vargas

Yes, the cartel was becoming more versatile, but why Laswell was choosing to assign a DEA agent to his command was beyond him.

Laswell spoke very highly of you and promised that you would be perfect for the job. That didn't mean that he had to like you. He watched you from across the room as you spoke to Rudy. He was smiling down at you, and you were smiling up at him. You were getting along with all of his men, and it was pissing him off.

His men adored you, and Rudy adored you. And he...who was he kidding, you were fucking gorgeous.

There was no way that he would admit it out loud, he couldn't. He could see you looking at him from the corner of your eye, the glare on your expression causing his jaw to clench. You were doing something to him, and he hadn't spoken a single word to you yet.

You held Alejandro's gaze, watching as his jaw clenched, and noticing how his shoulders tensed. Since you stepped off that plane, you've felt like he hated your guts. It was an uncomfortable feeling, your stomach twisting uneasily as you refused to be the first one to look away.

"Please tell me that he isn't going to look at me like that the entire time I'm here" You muttered lowly, as Rudy followed your line of sight.

You saw movement in your peripherals, as Rudy moved closer to your side. "He won't. I'll make sure of it" he spoke lowly, his tone directed to his friend across the room. Feeling slightly relieved as Alejandro dropped his gaze to the floor, you sighed and turned to face the man beside you.

Rudy was already staring at you, a small grimace on his features as he huffed. "I'm sorry about him, he's usually more welcoming than this" he apologized, moving to stand in front of you and blocking your view of Alejandro. You shrugged your shoulders, pressing your lips together in a thin line, "I'm guessing I'm not what you guys were expecting?" You asked awkwardly, almost afraid to know the answer.

Rudy chuckled softly, meeting your nervous gaze with a kind smile. "He was expecting Laswell to send someone we knew, someone like Ghost or Soap. Hell, we didn't even know that Laswell had contacts in the DEA."

"She doesn't, I'm the only one..." You answered, grinning as Rudy's eyes widened in shock "...I used to work for her, but I got hurt on a mission and was honorably discharged. She helped me get a job with the DEA, and I owed her a favor."

Rudy nodded, an impressed look on his face. You could just see Alejandro over Rudy's shoulder, his glare softer this time, but still menacing nonetheless.

You felt your chest tighten, as you held his gaze once more, a feeling that made your heart skip a beat. Why? You had no idea. You weren't going to let this man get the better of you, no matter how dangerously attractive he was.

Rudolfo Para

Stepping off the plane, you took a deep breath in and sighed heavily. While the air in Mexico was humid, it was much better than the stuffy air on board the cargo plane.

Once down the ramp, and after you had stepped onto the tarmac, you were met by Alejandro. "Thank you for coming on such short notice..." He spoke kindly, leading you towards the awaiting truck only a few feet away, "if Hassan is moving as fast as Laswell claims, we're going to need all the help we can get."

"I'm happy to help. Besides, having me with you will help if he manages to cross the border" You replied, looking over at Alejandro with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. He chuckled lowly "Hopefully we will catch him before it comes to that."

As you approached the truck, you noticed a man standing beside the passenger door, arms folded over his chest as he watched the two of you approach. When his eyes met yours, you noticed that his entire demeanor changed. His eyes widened as he stood up straight, brushing invisible lint from his clothes as both you and Alejandro stopped in front of him.

"Y/n, I would like you to meet my best man, Rudolfo Para" Alejandro introduced, the two of you shaking hands.

Smiling innocently, you looked up at Rudolfo with a kind expression. "Nice to meet you, Rudolfo."

"Please, call me Rudy..." He spoke happily, a small nervous laugh escaping him as he pulled his hand away "...we appreciate you coming out here to help us."

"Not a problem, Rudy. I've been tracking Hassan for months, there's no way that I would miss this" You answered, your smile widening before you climbed inside the awaiting truck.

When the truck door closed, Rudy released a long, shaky breath. His eyes met Alejandro's, who was already smirking knowingly at him. His best friend knew him too well and could read him like an open book, the bright flushed redness to his cheeks aside.

"I know that look..." Alejandro teased, his smirk growing wider and more menacing "...though I can't blame you, she's gorgeous-"

"That's enough out of you" Rudy snapped, punching his friend's shoulder as Alejandro laughed darkly.

"Oh come on, don't deny it-"

"I'm not denying anything-"

"You were like a deer in headlights" Alejandro chuckled, mocking Rudy with an exaggerated wide-eyed expression.

With an embarrassed groan, Rudy clambered into the passenger side of the truck all the while trying to hide his bright red face from you. As Alejandro sat in the driver's seat, you cleared your throat awkwardly from the back seat.

"Hey boys, if you're going to talk about someone...make sure they don't speak the same language."

Rudy felt his heart stop.

Phillip Graves

You couldn't take your eyes off him.

In all your years of working with Laswell and being part of Taskforce 141, you had never heard of Shadow Company or Phillip Graves. The fact that they were brought in by General Shepherd made you suspicious enough, but the man did save your life via an airstrike on your mission to find Hassan, so maybe he wasn't all that bad. As a bonus, he was incredibly attractive.

You watched Graves interrogate Hassan before it was decided by Shepherd and Laswell that he had to be let go. Your jaw clenched as Shepherd gave the order, before Graves closed the laptop on the hood of the truck to your side. You heard him swear under his breath, his jaw clenching in annoyance as he turned to watch Ghost and Soap release Hassan.

"We were so fucking close" he growled, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at Hassan's retreating figure. You nodded, sighing heavily as you shrugged. "We'll get another chance..." You spoke plainly, turning your head toward him "I don't know when that will be, but I'm hoping we do."

Graves huffed a short laugh, his eyes meeting yours as he pressed his lips together in a line. "Oh we will, he's not getting off that easy" he spoke matter-of-factly, moving closer to you and staring down at you "Though I'm a bit pissed that we went through all that trouble for nothing."

"That is sometimes the job..." You laughed "Not everything goes to plan."

Graves nodded, giving you a kind smile. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the only noise being that of the desert at night, and the voices of Ghost and Soap only a few feet away.

As heat crept onto your cheeks, you cleared your throat awkwardly. "I uh, I don't think we've actually met in person..." You spoke lightly, "I'm Y/n."

"Phillip Graves..." the man beside you replied, smirking down at you with a playful expression, "I'm glad that I can finally put a face to a name. Especially one I rescued."

It was your turn to laugh, "I appreciate it, really. Though I think an airstrike is pretty extravagant."

"Oh, I don't call in an airstrike for just anyone..." Phillip shrugged, "but I figured I should make a good first impression."

You blushed a bright red as you laughed, shaking your head at his bold and flirtatious tone. It made your stomach backflip and your heart skip a beat. Maybe it was his accent, or maybe it was the way he was practically undressing you with his eyes.

There was an immediate tension forming between the two of you, one that caused your breathing to stutter, and your legs to-

"Oi! You two, let's go!" Ghost called out to the two of you, forcing both you and Phillip out of your bubble of sexual tension. Clearing your throat, you avoided Phillips's eyes as you immediately turned on your heel, making a beeling for your two teammates.

Phillip watched you walk away and muttered under his breath. "Fuck, this is going to be difficult."

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coolemmasulivan2 · 2 months

Text

Rewinding Us | 3

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: You and Mason built a love story over five years, but after an accident, your memories are wiped away, including any feelings for your constant bickering "rival". Can you remember your love story with Mason, or will you have to start all over?

Word count: 3826

You can read part 1 here, part 2 here and part 4 here

I slip and wonder who I'd be If I never found you and you never found me Well, I don't wanna see

The hospital waiting room was a clean expanse of white, the walls gleaming as if freshly painted. Mason sat on the edge of a blue chair, his leg bouncing nervously. A heavy silence pressed down on him, broken only by the soft voices of nurses and a few others just like him, waiting for their loved ones.

He was alone. The others were already on the plane, on their way home. Charlotte had promised to catch the next flight out as soon as she landed in London, but until then, he was alone and in fear.

His mind raced back to the villa. He ran after you, but you'd always been surprisingly fast, a burst of unexpected energy that often caught him off guard. He remembered the times when you would run away from him, with laughter echoing through the house, often triggered by a harmless joke or the sudden appearance of an unwelcome spider.

The car had appeared out of nowhere. It was as if the world had slowed down. He remembered the shock that froze him in place, the desperate shout that tore from his throat.

Now, alone in the white room, the weight of everything pressed down on him. He should have been faster. He should have protected you.

A voice cut through the room, bringing him back to the present. “Family of Miss Y/l/n?” The doctor, a man with tired eyes, stood in the doorway.

Mason jumped to his feet, his voice hoarse. “How is she? Is she okay?”

The doctor adjusted his glasses. “Miss Y/l/n has sustained multiple injuries, primarily to her leg and arm. She’s currently in surgery to stabilize her condition.”

Relief washed over Mason. “Will she be okay?” His voice trembled slightly.

The doctor nodded. “We’re optimistic about her recovery. The injuries are serious, but she’s young and strong.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Ahm-- Not long ago, she was involved in a car accident. A drunk driver hit her car and she lost her memory. Can this…?"

"We’ve conducted tests, and thankfully, this accident hasn’t caused any further brain damage.” Mason's heart pounded in his chest. A wave of gratitude washed over Mason. The doctor continued: “We’ll keep you updated on her condition. Someone will inform you as soon as she’s out of surgery.”

Mason nodded and managed a weak smile. “Thank you!”

It was a sunny afternoon, and the air was thick with the sweet scent of jasmine. You and Mason were attending a friend's wedding, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air.

You never used to care about catching the bridal bouquet, but your friends teased you and something sparked inside you. With a burst of unexpected agility, you managed to catch the delicate bouquet of flowers. Cheers erupted from the crowd, but your eyes locked onto Mason's, his expression a mix of amusement as his friends made fun of him.

"Well, well, well!" His friend Toby teased him. "Looks like someone's future is looking bright."

Mason grinned, taking a sip of his champagne. You walked through him, the bouquet clutched triumphantly in your hands, a smirk playing on your lips.

"I think I need a ring on my finger, Mount!" You teased, leaning in to kiss his lips.

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. "About that…" he began, his voice trailing off as he reached into his pocket. Your heart pounded in anticipation. "I haven't picked out the perfect one yet." He pulled his hand and it was… empty. "But I promise, it's coming."

Relief washed over you, mixed with a touch of disappointment. You hit his chest playfully. "Don't tease me like that, you idiot!"

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist. "I couldn't resist." He said, his voice soft. "But seriously, I can't wait to make you my wife." He pecked. A blush crept up your cheeks. You'd talked about marriage before, but hearing him say it so openly, with such conviction, made your heart flutter. You leaned into his embrace, feeling safe and loved.

"Don't say that to our moms," you teased, burying your face in his neck to hide your blush. "They'll probably start organizing the wedding the next day."

He chuckled, tightening his arm around you. "Who do you think is helping me find the ring?" He murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You pulled back to look at him, a playful glare in your eyes. "Stop it. You're trying to embarrass me."

"I'm always trying to embarrass you," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You playfully punched his arm, but couldn't hide the smile that spread across your face. "I can't wait to marry you."

Your eyes felt heavy, refusing to open against the bright light. Your body was a battlefield of pain, and every muscle hurt. A desperate need to call out, to reach for someone, filled you, but your throat was parched.

With a huge effort, you forced your eyelids open. The room was a blur of white, the silence broken only by the steady beep of a machine. Fear and cold ran through your consciousness. You wanted to sleep, to escape the pain and confusion, but a primal instinct to survive kept you tethered to the waking world.

Your eyelids grew heavy once more. With a resigned sigh, you surrendered to sleep, hoping to find peace in the silent depths of your unconsciousness.

"The guy wasn't being friendly with you. He wanted to get in your pants." Mason said, standing before you and Declan.

You were shaking, not from the cold but from anger. Declan sensed it and placed a comforting hand on your back.

"Mase, come on!" Declan said, giving him a warning look.

Mason ran a hand through his hair. "It's true. The guy had his hands practically inside her dress."

That was it. You stood up, your voice trembling. "And what does that matter to you? You're not my boyfriend, we're not even friends, so stop pretending and don't interfere in my life."

Declan gently pulled you away from his best friend. "We're just worried about you! The guy didn't look friendly and the bruise on your wrist confirms that."

You rolled your eyes. "I had everything under control until Mount decided to step in and ruin everything."

Mason let out a frustrated sigh. "I saved you!"

"I don't need you to save me." You retorted.

"Good!" Mason shouted, with his hands in the air. "I don't intend to do it again."

You slowly opened your eyes, and as your vision adjusted, you gazed through the window on your left, realizing it was dark outside. You could hear the soft murmur of voices from the hallway, however, what truly caught you off guard was the fact that you were no longer alone.

Mason was sound asleep in the cosy armchair beside your bed. His hand was propped against his head, holding it up, while his unkempt hair suggested that he had been running his hands through it too many times.

You took another sweeping glance around the room and spotted a plastic cup filled with water. Carefully, you reached out, stretching your arm to grasp it. As your fingers nearly touched the cup, it slipped and tumbled to the ground.

The noise woke Mason up from his nap, and his heart instantly started beating faster, afraid that something had happened. But when he saw that you were awake, he let out a sigh of relief. He stood up and approached your bed.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry for the words to come out. Mason realised and picked up the cup from the floor, throwing it in the trash. "I'll get you another cup. I'll be right back."

He quickly exited the room, only to return a few minutes later with a cup of water in his hand and a doctor right behind him.

"Miss Y/l/n, good to see you awake." The doctor began, his voice laced with professional concern. "How are you feeling? Any pain?” With your throat dry, still no words seemed to want to escape.

Mason stepped in to help when he saw your silent plea. “Here!” He said softly, pressing the cup into your hands. With weak hands, you brought it to your lips and took small sips of the cool water.

After a brief but intense check-up by the doctor, you were left alone with Mason.

Being alone with Mason felt weird. A depth of unspoken words and unanswered questions hung heavy in the air. If only you hadn't run from him, from that kiss, you wouldn't be in the hospital. But it had all been too much.

Mason pulled the armchair closer and sat down. His hand found yours, and a gentle squeeze was all the comfort you needed. "The others landed in London, but Charlotte's already on her way back!" He said, his voice low. You nodded, taking another sip of water. His eyes held worry. "Are you really okay? Do you need anything?"

You shook your head. “I’m fine." You whispered. The moment your gazes met, the weight of his worry seemed to lift. Your eyes drifted to your intertwined hands, his long fingers tracing gentle patterns on your palm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes held yours. No more words were needed. “How could I?” He began. "You had no memory of us! Saw me as nothing more than the guy you despised." His gaze fell to the floor. “I thought maybe you’d be better off without me, without the chaos of my life. You never complained, but I could see the stress it had on you. Dealing with the media, the fans—it’s a heavy burden. I wanted to give you a chance at a normal life.”

You looked up at the ceiling, your voice rising slightly. “That was not your choice to make!”

"I know." He whispered, his voice barely audible. "I just wanted to protect you."

A heavy silence settled between you. You squeezed his hand back. "I appreciate it. Believe me, I do." You said softly. "But If I didn't like the life we had I would have told you."

Mason emerged from the kitchen, a saviour with a pizza box in one hand and a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "Pizza break?" He offered, his voice filled with amusement.

"What about your diet?"

Mason shrugged. "I will put in more effort during the next training session." You collapsed onto the sofa, relief washing over you. As you devoured your slice, the cheesy goodness melting in your mouth, Mason leaned in, brushing a stray piece of cheese from your lip with his thumb.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this!" He said, his voice soft.. You looked up at him, your heart full. The house, once empty, was slowly transforming into a home.

"Me neither." You replied, your voice filled with happiness. "It feels surreal."

Mason smiled. "Surreal in a good way, right?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely!" You took another bite of pizza, savouring the moment. As you finished the last slice, Mason stretched out beside you, his arm draped casually over your shoulder. "I can't wait to make more memories here." You said, your voice filled with joy.

Mason turned his head and looked at you, his eyes soft with affection. Slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against your lips. You closed your eyes as his lips met yours, a gentle and sweet kiss.

Charlotte entered the room, her eyes red and swollen. Mason followed close behind. You were lost in a drugged sleep, oblivious to the storm of emotions in your best friend.

She sank into the chair beside your bed, her hand immediately reaching out to caress your hair. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "Oh my God, why does this always happen to her?" She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "First the drunk driver, and now this!"

Mason leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "It's been a rough year, that's for sure!" He muttered, his voice barely audible.

Charlotte's gaze snapped to him. Her eyes, filled with concern, held him captive. "Are you okay?"

He offered a weak smile. "I'm fine. Just worried about her."

She knew him too well. "Don't lie to me, Mason." She said softly. "I can see right through you."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's been a hell of…" He admitted, his voice raw. "What time is it, anyway?"

Charlotte stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She's going to be okay, Mason. We'll wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her safe." A small smile tugged at her lips as she tried to lighten the mood.

Mason chuckled. He pulled her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. "I guess we have no choice!"

You finally returned to London after spending four days in the hospital. You flew back with Mason and Charlotte, and because your parents were worried about you, you spent the weekend with them.

"Are you going to fly back, or will you catch a ride with Mason?" Your Mom asked you.

Thinking it through, everything was clear now. Living in Manchester, having a big house you couldn't afford with your salary, the lifestyle, the constant attention from people on the street - it was all Mason's.

"Um, Mason said I could go with him." You replied your voice barely a whisper.

Your mom's face lit up with a delighted and conspiratorial grin. Since you told her what happened at the villa, she'd been on an overdrive of matchmaking, talking about how happy she was and about what a good couple you used to be.

"That means you're re-" She began, her voice dripping with excitement.

You cut her off, burying your face in your Dad's shoulder. "That doesn't mean anything!" You protested. Your Dad slyly winked at your Mom across the sofa. "It's just easier and cheaper to go with him. so stop organising our wedding in that little head of yours."

Your Mom's lips curved into a knowing smile. "That's already planned!" She muttered under her breath.

You raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "Did you say something?"

She shook her head, a playful glint in her eye. "Me? No, not at all. Just focus on the show."

Monday morning had the sky in soft hues of pink and gold as Mason pulled up to your parents' house. The familiar sight of the old brick house brought him a wave of nostalgia. He stepped out of the car, a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of the morning.

Your mom was waiting for him at the door, her face lightened with a warm smile. "It's so good to see you, Mason!" She exclaimed, pulling him into a hug.

"It's great to see you too." He replied, returning the embrace. Their relationship had always been easy, even during the wild times of your on-and-off hating relationship. "It's good to be back."

Your mom led him inside, the house filled with the comforting aroma of coffee. In the kitchen, your dad was holding his special mug, the one you had made him when you were a kid. "I see some things never change." Mason commented, a smile playing on his lips.

Your dad looked up, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Mason!" He exclaimed, standing up to offer a hearty handshake. "Welcome back, boy."

"Did you have breakfast, Mason?" Your mom asked him.

"Yes, thanks!" He replied, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. It wasn't surprising when your mom told him that you were still in bed. You'd always been a non-moring person.

"Why don't you go wake her up?" Your mom suggested.

Mason's heart skipped a beat. "Me?" He stuttered, blushing. "I-I don't think that's a good idea."

Your mom chuckled. "Oh, come on! You've got to win her back, don't you?" She teased. With a gentle push, she directed him towards your room. "Go on, then. Start by waking her up."

"But that's a terrible first step!" He muttered.

Mason hesitated, his mind and heart racing. He knew the best way to wake you up was with soft kisses, but that seemed like a recipe for disaster at this early hour and he would surely get slapped.

The door was slightly open and the sunlight streamed through it. Mason's hand hovered over the handle, his heart pounding in his chest. Before he could knock, the door swung open, revealing you, already dressed and with the luggage in hand.

Surprise flickered across your face. "Mason? What are you doing here?"

He took a moment to drink in your appearance. He didn't know how, but every day you became more breathtaking. "Uh, your mom asked me to wake you up." He stammered, his voice catching in his throat. "But I see you're already awake."

You quickly shut the bedroom door, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, I had… a nightmare." You explained, clearing your throat. The way you averted your eyes told him the nightmare was about him, but he chose to stay silent, afraid it would cause an argument.

"Let me help you with your suitcase." He offered, trying to change the subject.

"I don't ne--" You hesitated, torn between your pride and being grateful for his help. Finally, you gave in. "Thanks!" You mumbled, handing him the suitcase.

After having breakfast, you and Mason left for a four-hour drive back to Manchester. With the open road stretching before you, the quiet was overwhelming. Your heart was racing. What were you supposed to do for four hours trapped in a car with Mason, alone?

The radio was on and its soft hum filled the car. Traffic was surprisingly light for a Monday. Your eyes wandered around the spacious interior of the car. It was very clean but there were two Starbucks cups, that he had brought. One for you and one for him. A business card from a car dealership, house keys, and a pair of earrings.

Mason must have noticed your curious gaze. "You left those here last time you drove it." He explained.

"I drove this?" You asked him, astonishment filling your tone. The image of yourself behind the wheel of the gigantic car was absurd.

Mason chuckled. "A few times, actually." You stared at him, disbelief written all over my face. "Why so surprised?"

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "I don't imagine myself driving a car like this." You confessed.

"Well, you weren't exactly a natural." He teased. "But hey, we all start somewhere."

Your mouth opened, pretending you were offended. "I'm an amazing driver, Mount!" Mason laughed and you couldn't help but smile. "I just… I like my mini Cooper."

"I know, I know."

An unexpected calm settled over the car. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence. Lost in the calm of the road and the melody of the radio, you found yourself enjoying the ride.

But the desire to break the silence surprised you. Five years was a long time, and curiosity was killing you. I wanted to know what his life had been like, to understand what kind of relationship we had.

"How's Manchester United treating you?" You asked, breaking the silence.

Mason glanced at you, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. He'd clearly been lost in his own thoughts, and your question seemed to jolt him back to reality.

"Oh, yeah, it's been amazing." He replied, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "They've welcomed me with open arms. It feels like a family." His eyes held a warmth that was unfamiliar yet comforting. "It was a big change, but everything fell into place. I'm very happy."

You nodded, your heart pounding. It was now or never. "And… I went with you?"

He placed his hand on his leg, resisting the urge to place it on yours, a habit of his. "Yeah." He said, his voice low. "You asked for a transfer and moved with me. Didn't even hesitate."

"So the house where I've been living is ours?" You asked. Mason nodded, his expression serious. "And where have you been living?" A wave of questions formed in your mind, each one more pressing than the last.

"I rented a place." Mason replied. "Luke and Anouska have two houses for rent, and one was empty."

"Oh." You murmured, still processing the information. "Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize." he said quickly. "I chose not to tell you the truth, so it's my fault." A comfortable silence settled between you as Mason seemed to be waiting for you to continue. "We have a long drive ahead. Ask me whatever you want."

"Good, because I have a lot of questions." You admitted.

He chuckled. "Bring it on."

"How long have we been together?"

"Five years."

"Who made the first move?"

"You did!" His answer was quick.

You raised an eyebrow. "Don't lie to me, Mount! I remember the first kiss. The prank. I confronted you about it."

Mason burst out laughing, his laughter infectious. "Oh, shit, yeah!" He admitted between chuckles. "I forgot about that."

This felt right, natural. "Okay, so… how did you know you didn't hate me anymore?"

"I never hated you--" He began.

"You know what I mean."

Mason hesitated, his eyes darting away from you. "I think… I think I always had a crush on you." He finally managed to say. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to process his words. "When we first met, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. But you were with that guy, and… I didn't know how to approach you, so I acted like a jerk." You swallowed hard, trying to comprehend the man sitting beside you. "The prank… when they made me kiss you, something clicked. It wasn't just a crush anymore." You hadn't realised, but he had pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. His hand found yours, and his gentle touch sent shivers down your spine. "After that, I knew I had to make you fall for me. I couldn't let you slip away. I couldn't waste any more time when I had the love of my life right in front of me."

His eyes held a vulnerability you'd never seen before. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. His gaze locked onto yours. Slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against your lips.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Then, his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. As your lips moved together, a wave of emotions washed over you. Love, hope, and a sense of coming home all at once.

#mason mount #mason mount fluff #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #mm7 #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #football imagine #footballer imagine #Rewinding Us

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futfemfantasies · 8 months

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The one \\ alanna kennedy x reader

Nothing but pure Alanna fluff with the mention of an injury (no details)

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

Picking up an ankle injury in your last game was a blessing and a curse. A blessing as the physios, doctors and Jonas allowed you to stay in Manchester for your recovery period with the occasional drop in to the training facility. It also meant you get to spend 5 weeks with your fellow Australian teammate and love of your life, Alanna. As soon as you said the Arsenal team allowed you to stay in Manchester, the blonde was out the door and driving 3 hours to pick you up.

Hobbling around your room to put clothes in a duffle bag took longer than expected. You feel strong arms circle around your waist and soft kisses on peppering your neck. After recovering from you mini heart attack, you turn and hug Alanna tightly. 6 weeks apart is too long. You look up at Alanna's lips and waste no time smashing your lips on her as her hands grip your waist.

"As much as I love doing that my love, let's get you packed so we can go home"

Home.

With your contract is expiring at the end of the season, you've had several teams from various leagues reach out. One club stood out over all the Barcelona's and Gotham FC's. Manchester City. It's a no brainer and since mentioning it to Alanna, she;s been calling Manchester home and London a holiday. A decision has to be made by the end of the month and as you look into Alanna's eyes, you know your decision.

"Go sit your cute butt on the bed while I pack the rest of your bag"

You hobble over to the bed and rest against the headboard as Alanna put pillow under your moon boot. Seeing Alanna dance around your room sparks something in you.

"Lani?"

"Hmm?" Alanna turns to see you pat the small space on the bed next to you. She sits down and you hold her hands.

"I've made up my mind. I'm moving to Manchester baby"

"You're kidding? Baby that's amazing news" Alanna hugs you tightly and kisses all over your face, making you giggle with happiness.

"Let's get you packed so we can go to our home together"

After a few more outfits get packed, Alanna helps you down the stairs and into her car. Zooming down the street, Alanna's hand holds yours and you sigh in content of how perfect this is going to be. Alanna pulls up to the apartment complex carpark and she quickly gets your bags out, before helping you out of the car. She holds your hand through the short elevator ride and then you both arrive at the familiar apartment door.

"Home sweet home baby girl"

3 weeks in to your recovery and you have just finished your stretches and mobility exercises so you decide to watch a romance movie to pass the time until Alanna comes home. Halfway through, Alanna comes home and flops on top of you (mindful of the ankle). She leans up and pucks her lips, silently asking for a kiss. You bend slightly and give her multiple before Alanna cups your cheeks with her big hands and stares at you ever so softly and lovingly.

"You're the one. You're the one I want everything with, good, bad and everything in between"

Your eyes are brimming with tears as you take in what Alanna had just said.

"You're it for me Lani. You're stuck with me for good"

"There's no one else I'd rather be stuck with my girl"

#woso imagines #woso soccer #alanna kennedy x reader #womens soccer #woso x reader #matildas #auswnt #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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roadbuddyltd · 6 months

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Expanding Horizons: Enhanced Services by Car Recovery Companies in London

When thinking of car recovery, the classic image of a tow truck often springs to mind, ready to rescue a stranded vehicle. However, contemporary car recovery companies in London offer far more than just towing services. These companies have adapted to provide an array of additional services that go beyond the traditional tow truck, ensuring that drivers in the bustling city are well-prepared to handle various emergencies. This evolution is prominently displayed in services like Car Recovery London, which adopts a holistic approach to vehicle assistance.

Here's a glimpse of the additional services offered by Car Recovery Companies in London:

24-Hour Mobile Tyre Fitting Service:

In recent years, one of the most notable additional services is the 24-hour mobile tyre fitting service. Punctured or damaged tyres are common occurrences on London's busy roads, and waiting for a tow truck for hours can be exasperating. Car recovery companies now provide the convenience of mobile tyre fitting, dispatching professionals equipped with the necessary tools and expertise directly to your location. This service not only saves time but also spares drivers the hassle of changing a tyre themselves on a bustling street.

Jump Start Assistance:

The stop-and-go nature of driving in London can take a toll on a car's battery. In such instances, discovering your car's battery drained and the engine refusing to start can be a major setback. London car recovery companies now offer jump start assistance, delivering the necessary service to get you back on the road. This service proves invaluable, especially during the cold winter months when batteries tend to struggle more.

Fuel Delivery:

Running out of fuel in the heart of a busy city like London can be a daunting experience. Acknowledging this challenge, car recovery companies now extend fuel delivery services. Should you find yourself with an empty tank, a swift call to these companies can spare you the inconvenience of trekking to a fuel station or waiting for someone to bring you fuel.

Lockout Solutions:

Accidentally locking your keys inside the car can be a frustrating mishap, particularly when time is of the essence. London car recovery service providers also offer lockout solutions, swiftly reuniting you with your vehicle without causing any damage.

Comprehensive Assistance:

These supplementary services provided by London car recovery companies instill a sense of security in drivers, knowing that assistance is readily available, regardless of the circumstance. These companies now offer solutions for a wide spectrum of scenarios drivers may encounter in the bustling streets of the city, evolving from mere tow truck services to comprehensive automotive assistance providers.

In a city where time is of the essence, having access to these additional services through car recovery companies ensures that drivers can confidently navigate unexpected challenges with ease. Beyond the conventional tow truck, these companies have become dependable allies for London drivers, offering solutions that keep the city's traffic flowing smoothly and its drivers on the move.

#24 hour mobile tyre #mobile tyre fitting services #Car Recovery London #Car Recovery

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breakdownltd · 2 years

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Car Breakdown Services: Prompt, Affordable, and Convenient Assistance"

A car breakdown can be an unexpected and frustrating experience, but fortunately, there are car breakdown recovery services available to help you get back on the road. These services are designed to provide prompt assistance to drivers who have experienced mechanical or electrical failures while driving. In this article, we will discuss the various benefits of car breakdown recovery services.

Prompt Assistance

One of the primary benefits of car breakdown services is that they offer prompt assistance to drivers in need. The services are available 24/7 and can be contacted via phone or online. They will come to your location and assess the situation before providing the necessary support. This is particularly beneficial if you are stranded in an unfamiliar area and are unsure of what to do next.

Affordable

Car breakdown recovery services are also designed to be an affordable solution for drivers who may not have the financial resources to pay for expensive repairs. They will assess the issue and provide a quote before beginning any work, so you can be confident that you won't be hit with any unexpected charges. This transparency means that you can make informed decisions about your vehicle's repair, ensuring that you receive the best possible service at an affordable price.

Convenience

Car breakdown recovery services are a convenient option for drivers who experience vehicle breakdowns. With a variety of services available, drivers can choose the one that best suits their needs. For example, some services offer roadside assistance, while others provide towing services to a garage for repairs. This flexibility means that drivers can get the assistance they need, no matter what the situation.

Safety

Another important benefit of car breakdown recovery services is that they prioritize the safety of the driver and their passengers. The professionals who provide these services are trained to handle a variety of breakdowns, including those that may pose a risk to the driver's safety. This ensures that drivers can rely on the assistance of professionals who will take the necessary precautions to keep them safe.

Peace of Mind

Car breakdown recovery services also provide drivers with peace of mind. Knowing that there is a reliable and trustworthy service available to assist them in the event of a breakdown can alleviate the stress and anxiety associated with vehicle breakdowns. This peace of mind can be particularly valuable for drivers who rely on their vehicles for work or other essential activities.

Choosing a Car Breakdown Recovery Service

When choosing a car breakdown recovery service, it is essential to consider the reliability and reputation of the provider. You should look for a service with a track record of prompt and professional assistance, as well as positive reviews from other drivers. Additionally, it is important to consider the range of services offered and the response time of the provider.

In conclusion, car recovery services London are a valuable resource for drivers who experience vehicle breakdowns. They offer prompt, affordable, and convenient assistance to get drivers back on the road as soon as possible. When choosing a service, it is important to consider the reputation and reliability of the provider, as well as the range of services offered. With the right car breakdown recovery service, drivers can have peace of mind knowing that they are prepared for any unexpected breakdowns.

Source & Reference: https://sites.google.com/view/breakdown-ltd/car-breakdown-services-prompt-affordable-and-convenient-assistance

#car recovery near me #Car Breakdown recovery Service London #car recovery service #car recovery london #car breakdown service #car breakdown recovery

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eyra · 1 year

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I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness, but I am dying to ask: What did Remus think the first time he saw Sirius in Beneath a Big Blue Sky??

today is your lucky day. I've mentioned a few times that I've dabbled in the possibility of one day writing more bits and pieces in the Beneath a Big Blue Sky world. whether or not this will ever all see the light of day I'm not sure, but since you asked, I'll share a little snippet of Remus and Sirius meeting for the first time - from Remus's point of view.

enjoy 🐑🐑 x

“Mr Lupin, is it?”

Christ.

Remus nods slowly, shaking the other boy's hand. "If you like," he mutters. If I must be, he thinks. What a mess. What an absolute pain in the arse. "Two strong lads," Lyall had asked the agency for, and Remus knows because he was in the next room listening, and still smarting over the fact that his old dad wanted to hire help anyway. "We'll be reet," Remus had insisted, shaking out his left arm in proof that his shoulder was mostly healed, which it was. They would've managed: he still had his other arm, and all the ewes looked in good health so far, and bringing in two strangers to help run the season seemed like a fine waste of money to Remus and something they'd not done since he'd turned fifteen and proven that he was good and capable of handling just as much work as Lyall during the lambs, and he'd felt all kinds of embarrassed when Lyall had implied that this year he might need some help. As if he were now a problem to be solved, or somehow less of a man this year than he was last year, and certainly less than he ought to be.

But if they must get help - if Lyall must hire someone for a few months - then at the very least Remus had hoped that the workers who arrived would be up to the job. A couple of veterinary students, or something; someone who knew their way around a sheep, and it hadn't seemed too big an ask. As it is, the two boys standing dumbly in front of him on the station platform look less suited to farm work and more like they should be standing in a shop window somewhere, with their brand new boots and spotless, neatly-pressed cream trousers. Cream trousers, and all.

Remus remembers, one night in the late winter not long after the accident, being laid up in his bed in front of the fuzzy little television Hope had insisted on setting up in his room to keep him occupied during his recovery. It had a remote held together with Sellotape and a funny round aerial which didn't quite pick up the Freeview signal, and he'd been mindlessly flicking through the scant channels when he'd happened upon some reality programme or other; something about a load of toffs titting about London with daft haircuts and those cream trousers, and he wonders now if the two boys standing in front of him have seen the show, or realise how ridiculous they look.

Or at least, one of them looks ridiculous. The lanky one with the glasses and the palm that's far too smooth to have seen any real work in its life. He's still beaming down at Remus with a sort of manic smile, which sets Remus's teeth on edge - man looks insane - and then Remus lets his eyes slip away to the shorter boy standing next to him. And he's something else altogether. He's all cheekbones and soft, shoulder-length hair, the colour of Whitby jet, and it's tucked on the one side back behind his ear and then there's one pretty strand hanging loosely over his brow, and he's watching Remus uncertainly and when they make eye contact - when the noise of the four-by-four across the car park fades away to static, and the train on the platform huffs out a great cloud of smoke that Remus doesn't see - Remus feels his cheeks grow hot under his tan and something funny happens in his throat, and he thinks to himself: "Wow," and then, straightaway: "That’s bloody inconvenient."

They drive back to the farm in silence, mostly, and Remus swallows three times before asking the boy in the back seat for his name. Sirius, as it turns out; the dog star, and Remus suddenly recalls a night a decade ago when they'd been up on the fell and the air had been balmy and close and Lily had been reading out of that funny old book about the constellations. "What's that one?" Remus had muttered, pointing at a cluster of stars somewhere over the top paddock. Lily had yawned, and flicked over a few more pages. "Canis Major," she'd said around another yawn, and then: "That bright one's called Sirius, it says here," and Remus had squinted up at it, and frowned, and thought it was pretty good, as stars go.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

#ask #big blue sky #my writing

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queenshelby · 9 months

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An Illicit Affair

Part Six: The Hospital Visit

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

When you arrived at hospital an hour later, you rushed straight to the ER department, heart pounding against your chest. Your eyes frantically darted around the bustling area as you searched for Max's name on the monitor.

"Y/N!" Lucy yelled out behind you, catching your attention. You turned around to face her, meeting her concerned gaze. "He is in the recovery room," she said simply, pointing toward the door across the hall.

"What happened?" you asked Lucy, worry clouding your features.

"Apparently, he was drunk driving and totaled his car," Lucy answered grimly, her expression darkening. "His injuries aren't life-threatening, but he needs two surgeries to fix his fractured arm," she added sympathetically. "We performed one already but, due to the alcohol in his blood, the anesthesia was tricky," she explained and, of course, you understood what she was talking about.

"Drunk driving?" you echoed in disbelief, your heart sinking. "Why would he do such a thing?" you wondered aloud, frustration simmering within you.

"I don't know, Y/N," Lucy sighed, shaking her head sadly. "Maybe he wanted to escape his problems, maybe he was upset about," she ventured, watching the emotions flicker across your face.

"Have his parents been called?" you asked, following her into the recovery room which is where only medical staff was allowed.

"Yes, they took the next flight to London. Hopefully they are here within the hour," Lucy confirmed, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Let's go check on him," she suggested, gently pulling you along.

As you entered the recovery room, you spotted Max lying still on the hospital bed, connected to various machines bleeping rhythmically. He looked paler than usual, and his normally lively blue eyes were half-closed, reflecting pain and exhaustion. The sight of him there made your heart ache, and your chest tightened, remembering the good times you spent together.

"Hey Max," Lucy spoke up, approaching the bedside.

"How are you doing?" you joined in, trying to mask the concern in your voice.

Max opened his eyes, blinking several times to adjust to the bright lights overhead. When he recognized you, he winced uncomfortably, his cheeks reddening.

"I feel sick," he murmured hoarsely, closing his eyes tightly.

"It's okay, Max," Lucy reassured him soothingly, reaching out to squeeze his hand gently. "You are going to be fine," she smiled warmly.

"You should rest," you chimed in, swallowing the lump lodged in your throat and, since he was still drowsy, he did not object. "While we will wait for your parents to arrive," you added, flashing him a small smile.

After checking on Max, you left the recovery room with Lucy. The two of you walked side by side, silently exchanging troubled expressions and it was not long indeed before Cillian and Danielle arrived at the ER.

Your pulse quickened, and your mouth suddenly felt dry when you caught sight of Cillian striding confidently towards you, his intense blue eyes piercing your soul.

"Y/N," he greeted warmly but with his brows furrowing in concern. "How is Max? Is he okay?" he asked, casting a glance at Lucy as well who was dressed in a white coat.

"He will be fine," you reassured him, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. "He had surgery and is currently recovering from the anesthesia," you explained, hoping your voice sounded composed.

Cillian's gaze locked onto yours, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. "I didn't expect to find you here," he admitted, his forehead creasing in confusion.

"Well, I do work here now," you clarified, offering a polite smile. "And I was called in because Max still had me listed as his emergency contact," you added, avoiding eye contact with Cillian.

"Well, that's probably because he trusts you. He hasn't quite been the same since things ended between you," Danielle said warmly with tears pooling up in the corner of her eyes and her comment made Cillian inhale uncomfortably. "He probably still loves you, you know, and I am really not surprised by that. You are a very kind and empathetic young woman," she added softly, stepping closer to you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder while Cillian let out an audible choke.

"Danielle, please," he warned, squinting at her sharply, his jaw clenching visibly. "These comments might make Y/N uncomfortable. You should give her some space," Cillian suggested, turning his attention back to you.

"It's fine Cillian," you assured him, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Thank you, Danielle. I appreciate it," you respond, smiling politely to ease the tension in the air. "Let's focus on Max's recovery now, shall we?" you suggest, addressing Cillian directly.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, and you could almost sense the electricity crackling between you. Cillian cleared his throat, seemingly shaken by his wife's words. "Of course," he agreed, nodding stiffly. "Can you point us to Max's room?" he asked, his voice strained and, after checking with the nurse to see whether Max had been transferred yet, you and Lucy took them upstairs to the room where Max would be staying for the next two days.

"Follow me," you directed, leading Cillian and Danielle to the elevator and Cillian thanked you quietly, his gaze never leaving your face. His intense blue eyes seemed to penetrate your soul, making your heart race and your palms sweat.

You stopped outside the room, and the four of you exchanged uneasy glances. Lucy reached out to touch your arm, giving you a gentle squeeze in solidarity.

"I'll leave you alone," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I do have to talk to you later, alright?" she then smiled.

Lucy gave you a knowing look before slipping away, leaving you alone with Cillian and Danielle. You stood in silence, the heavy tension hanging thick in the air. Cillian eyed you warily, his blue eyes shining with unspoken questions. He shifted uncomfortably, his hands balling into fists. "Are you sure he's going be okay?" he asked, his voice cracking, sounding much smaller than usual while Danielle approached her son's bed. His concern for Max tugged at your heartstrings, making you wish that the situation was different.

"Yes, but he will need another surgery and physiotherapy," you informed Cillian honestly, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "And his recovery will take some time," you added, glancing at Danielle whose gaze drifted to the floor as if lost in thought.

The couple exchanged a meaningful look, their faces grave with worry. "Thank you for everything, Y/N," Danielle addressed you formally, her voice tight with emotion before stroking Max's hair gently while Cillian retained his distance, giving his wife and son some space.

"Mum, I'm sorry," Max muttered weakly, tears pooled in his eyes while Danielle leaned down close to his face, their noses nearly touching.

"It's okay, baby," she whispered, her voice quivering slightly. "Just get better," she added, squeezing his hand tenderly.

"I will, Mum," Max vowed earnestly, sniffling loudly and you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the fact that he did what he did and was likely going to get away with it.

Thus, you cleared your throat, breaking the emotional exchange. "I have to go now," you announced abruptly before pulling a pen and paper from your bag and writing down your phone number before handing it to Cillian.

"Call me if you need anything," you told him just before Max addressed you, his voice weak and raspy.

"Wait," he murmured sincerely. "Please don't leave. We need you here," Max pleaded, his voice frail and wobbly like a child asking for candy.

"I am sure you are going to be fine, Max!" you told him sincerely, glancing at Cillian briefly before he looked towards his wife who was still holding his hand. Danielle nodded softly in agreement, a hint of relief washing over her face. She gazed at you appreciatively, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Thanks Y/N," Cillian acknowledged, his voice rough and gravelly.

He accepted the piece of paper you handed him, carefully folding it and tucking it into his pocket.

You could see him hesitate for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he struggled to gather his thoughts. "Y/N," he finally said, taking a hesitant step towards you and you paused, nodding nervously.

"I...uhm...never mind," Cillian sighed, his voice laced with resignation you stood frozen, your heart hammering wildly against your chest, desperate answers forming within you.

Was it possible that he shared your feelings? Did he secretly wish for the same thing? Or was his comment merely a coincidence?

"I will see you soon. Take care," you eventually addressed them both before hurrying out of the room, feeling the intensity of Cillian's gaze burning a hole in your back.

Once you were safely inside the hallway, you exhaled deeply, a wave of relief washing over you. You rubbed your temples, feeling a dull headache coming on because of the stress.

"Hey, are you feeling alright?" Lucy appeared beside you, her brows knitted with concern as you followed her into the nearby empty staff-room.

"Yes," you responded. You needed to cool down, catch your breath. The intense encounter with Cillian had left you feeling shaken and confused. "I think I just need some water," you lied, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

Lucy arched an eyebrow, her gaze piercing through you like a sharp arrow. "Yeah right," she chuckled sardonically, leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest. "Now, do you want to tell me what is going on between you and Cillian fucking Murphy?" she challenged, narrowing her eyes suspiciously and, immediately, you felt a feeling of panic and embarrassment surge through your body.

You knew that she was onto you. You couldn't hide it any longer. The truth was right there, staring you in the face, daring you to deny it.

"Well, you remember who I told you about the guy I met at the jazz club?"

you hesitated, running your fingers through your hair nervously.

"Yes, the married guy who you haven't shut up about for the past six weeks,"

Lucy grumbled sarcastically, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"It was Cillian," you revealed reluctantly, your voice dropping to a whisper.

"Oh my God," Lucy gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "No wonder you acted so weird afterwards," she stated. "You slept with your boyfriend's father?"

Lucy blurted out, her eyes popping wide open in astonishment. Her tone was incredulous, her shock unmistakable.

"Shhh!" you hissed loudly, scanning the room nervously. No one else was there, but you didn't want anyone to overhear. Lucy, however, remained unfazed.

"So, that's what this all has been about!" she cried triumphantly, her eyes gleaming with delight. "I knew there was more to it. You are actually in love with your boyfriend's famous father," she went on to say causing you to shake your head.

"Well firstly, Max's isn't my boyfriend anymore. And secondly, I am not in love with Cillian. We just had really good sex,"

you retorted hastily, crossing your arms defensively. "Besides, it was a one-time thing. I've learned my lesson from that mistake," you insisted firmly, watching Lucy's face transform into a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

"Alright, if you say so," she conceded reluctantly, tapping her foot impatiently. "But I think you're lying to yourself," she added, arching an eyebrow skeptically before a nurse entered the room and you had to abandon your conversation.

Lucy waved goodbye and disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

As you sat there however, mulling over your feelings, your phone buzzed with a text message. It was Cillian and you stared at the screen, rereading the message twice, three times, your heartbeat accelerating with every word.

He wanted to meet on Wednesday to discuss what happened between you both and, immediately, an overwhelming sense of dread washed over you. Your palms sweated, and your chest constricted as if someone had tied a noose around your neck.

"Where?" you replied cautiously, typing back a response to Cillian without thinking twice.

"I am staying at the Westin, can you meet me there?" Cillian replied promptly, his message cutting through the haze of your anxious thoughts. You read his response several times, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum knowing very well that meeting at his hotel would not be a good a idea.

"What about Danielle?" you typed back apprehensively, biting your lip as you waited for his reply.

"We spoke to the surgeon. She is taking Max back to Dublin that day and I am staying until Sunday for work," Cillian replied. His message was short yet impactful, causing you to pause and think about how you should respond.

You stared at your phone, contemplating your options. A part of you wanted to cancel the meeting, to avoid further complications and drama. However, you also felt drawn to Cillian, eager to understand his intentions and explore the connection between you. After moments of indecision, you decided to go ahead with the planned meeting. It wouldn't hurt to talk, would it?

"I can meet you at 8 o'clock," you sent back to Cillian via text.

"See you then," he replied instantly, and you set the phone aside, letting out a slow sigh. You weren't sure why you agreed to meet him again. Maybe you wanted closure, or perhaps you desired to relive the intoxicating sensation of being close to him once more. But what did he want?

Was it guilt that brought him to seek you out? Or was it something deeper, something that lay hidden beneath the surface? You were aware this could turn into a dangerous game, and yet, you could not resist the temptation. You were curious, drawn to him like a moth to flames - even though you knew full well that you risked getting burned.

To be continued...

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dragonnan · 4 months

Text

Nightmare

May 15

This one was published back in 2021. While it isn't a dreaming type of nightmare, I think it still qualifies.

Please let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged :)

He could have taken the helicopter but, quite frankly, he had needed the drive in order to structure what he would say to them. Though, even as he pulled the sleek vehicle into the drive; gravel snapping and popping beneath the narrow tyres, he was no more prepared than he'd been when he'd left London. After turning off the engine he hung back for a beat – hands gripped around the wheel.

Whatever gods exist please let them not be home...

The house door opened and Mycroft swallowed – eyes closing for just a moment.

Before they could step out into the yard, however, Mycroft schooled his face and exited his car; feet settling onto the dusty drive. He should have changed into something more fitting; his polished black shoes were going to be scuffed beyond recovery.

“It's been three days; we've heard nothing – not even from that assistant of yours...” Words trailed away as Mycroft neared the door – those keen grey eyes taking in his features. Then, finally, his mother swallowed. “I'll go fetch your father.”

He followed inside. The trappings of the holiday still bedecked the walls and tucked in corners – red and green and things that glittered. The ghost of that wretched holiday nearly enough to spin his gut. Had it really been just three days? Having hung back in the sitting room, surrounded by the ruin of Christmas, Mycroft waited until he heard the back door open and shut – until he heard the tread of work boots cross the floor and the hiss of the tap as his father washed up at the sink. He'd been out in his workshop, then.

When he eventually made his way into the kitchen, his mother was setting the kettle to boil. There was a rum cake on the table – a holdover from their broken celebrations. Mycroft was quite certain he would never again deign to eat another slice of rum cake.

He felt caught in a current – his limbs disconnected from the floor below as he watched his parents carry out familiar movements cast in the die of decades – repeated and worn into the shape of the spaces around him until the very molecules in the air had been carved to fit their steps. It was nearly a head-rush that would have staggered him had he not been clinging with one hand on the door jam – that sensation of events playing themselves out to infinity. That sickening slip of déjà vu that wanted him to carry out his own predetermined patterns. He had taken these steps before... sat at the table, unburdened dire news which would fracture their family with regards to the youngest of them... that pall of death that had followed Sherlock from the very first time Mycroft had forced air into his stilled lungs in a filthy doss house. Seventeen years old and ODed on a tainted dose of cocaine from a disreputable dealer. Had he been the one, then, to stay that boney specter – to demand favor that would, eventually, demand its due?

Was this to be the payment demanded? To stand to the side while the blade of the guillotine fell?

Or was he the one required to let slip the rope from his fingers?

“Mycroft?”

His father's voice and proximity sent a rush of inhaled air through Mycroft's nose – head jerking back a fraction until his dark musings returned him to the room he'd fled. The tea was ready and Mummy stood next to the table while his father was less than a foot away – concern on both of their faces.

He stiffened his shoulders and walked to the executioner's block.

Once sat, he took his cup in hand and even sipped the warmth – his body so cold that it felt like a blaze sliding down his throat. He was aware that he was handling this all very badly.

His mother, likely sensing the impasse holding his teeth together, finally spoke to life the fear wrapping them all.

“Sherlock will not be allowed to go free.”

Mycroft's eyes fluttered shut, then, and he shook his head.

“No.”

“But you did not travel for over an hour to tell us that. We knew there would be a punishment of some sort. It's worse than that. Isn't it.” Her own tea remained untouched. At the edge of his vision, Mycroft watched his father take hold of his mother's hand. When had their home ever been so silent?

“He is to be held in solitary until the week's end. He is to have no visitors; myself included. On Friday, Sherlock will be escorted to my private airfield. There he will board a jet, to be taken to a location, deemed by M16 to be of high-value, which I am not at liberty to disclose... even to you. Such is the nature of this mission that, upon successful completion, Sherlock's debts will be forgiven and his slate wiped clean.”

Throughout this Mycroft kept his eyes fixed on his cup – watching the surface steam as it dissipated above the rim. When he finished, he considered another sip before noting the tremor in his hands that were held gathered in his lap. He breathed, measured in a count of eight, until they stilled.

Mummy, however, dithered with the cup in her free hand – the porcelain skidding on the old tabletop. Her voice, when it came, was stripped to a jerking hush. “Will he...?” Whatever remained of her question locked up tight behind her throat and when Mycroft lifted his head it was to watch a tear seep down one pale cheek.

But, then, he knew what it was she was asking. And maybe his silence, in reply, was more than enough answer because she turned into Siger's embrace and, with shaking shoulders, began to weep.

Some time later, Mycroft was halfway through his third cigarette, while overlooking the back garden. The burning fag jutted from between two fingers where they rested on the black metal gate. How recently he stood in this very place.

It had grown quite chilly, the past several nights; dipping down as low as six degrees. There was even the chance of snow flurries in the morning.

Finishing the cigarette, Mycroft tapped the ash tip against the fence before tucking the butt in his pocket. It struck him, then, that he would never steal away for a smoke with his brother ever again.

He didn't remember when he moved. He only knew that he came to himself as he was pounding his fists against one of the rough stone posts that stood on either side of the gate. The blood in his ears was pumping so loudly that he could not hear what tore from his throat – could only feel it in the vibration of his vocal chords. In truth he would have remained lost in his rage far longer had not arms wrapped around him from behind. In that moment Mycroft knew his father's embrace.

He sagged, then, in those strong arms. Stronger than the older man appeared to anyone who didn't know him. He held his oldest child as Mycroft tipped his face down into his spread hands and began to sob. Rough, jagged pieces of glass that left behind bleeding wounds where they ripped through his chest.

How long they stood there was lost to time. Mycroft only knew that at some point his father had laid an arm across his shoulders and was guiding him inside with soft words while Mycroft had all he could do to place one foot before the other in a mostly straight path.

When next he was logging events it was to blink owlishly at the stout mug of something steaming and alcoholic resting on the coffee table, before him. He lifted it and took a sip. Ah – father's special hot toddy spiced with cardamom. He had taken several sips before finally taking in more of the room. His eyebrows lowered when he noticed that the only other person in the room was his father – the older man sitting in his favorite chair next to the fireplace. His face was haggard and eyes rimmed red. At Mycroft's glance, Siger tipped his head towards the hall.

“She's lying down. It was... it's too much. We almost lost him, so recently, and now...” his throat bobbed and he subsided – long fingers twisting together. Mycroft held the warm mug in his hands – his fingertips tapping against the rim. Only then did he feel the sting rising in his knuckles. Blood filled every crease – though it was obvious the injuries had been cleaned and treated with a topical ointment. His eyes closed and he felt the flash of burn from his dried out stare. He was aware of losing time repeatedly and, were he not so emotionally flattened, it would have been troubling.

He held the mug in his hands until it cooled – setting it aside once he finally noticed the absence of heat.

“I've failed him.”

The words whispered free before his mind had fully formed them. Yet, the moment they were voiced he knew the truth of them. He had failed. The only mission in his life which truly mattered and he had failed... abysmally.

And his brother would pay for that failure. And there was nothing he could do to repair this.

He expected no response from his father – what was there to say? He was aware of Siger looking towards the low flames in the fireplace. His eyes were wet.

And so they remained; each trapped in their own misery.

An hour later his father stood, approaching to rest a hand against his cheek, for a moment, before going off to bed.

He had only intended to deliver his news before returning home but Mycroft found he scarcely had the energy remaining to slip his shoes from his feet before curling on his side.

He was asleep before he even finished the mental note to call Anthea in the morning.

The following day was possibly worse than the evening which had preceded it. His mother was, by turns, furious and horribly silent. Even his father, normally a stoic man, had a tremble in his jaw and more than once wiped beneath his eyes. It was a journey through hell as Mycroft forewent breakfast in his urgency to flee.

There were six additional texts from John as well as two voicemails. Certainly no point in perusing them – it was readily apparent what the man had to say and Mycroft deleted them without bothering to listen. He had no answers for him and the ones he could have provided would be a disservice to his brother's friend. There were too few things he could do for Sherlock. This, at the least, was a mercy he could offer.

There were many affairs he had to put into order. As it was they were not entirely new – having been established the last time Sherlock had confronted a madman. The difference, of course, was that Mycroft's involvement, back then, was to provide the greatest assurance of his brother's survival. Now...

It struck him, all at once, in a sort of breathless fashion so strongly that he was forced to pull to the side of the road. His hands clasped on the steering wheel and he felt a wild pounding through his chest and it was some outer observation of himself that recognized panic. That part of him, though, was incapable of offering more and even his sense of time was wiped away until he finally, eventually, came back to himself layered in sweat that felt icy against his temples. His mouth was tacky and dry so he opened his door to walk around back to the boot where he had a cooler among other supplies. The water almost hurt when he first swallowed – his throat was so parched. In short order, however, he'd emptied it and screwed the cap back onto the depleted bottle – tossing it into the cooler before retrieving a second and taking it back to the driver's seat.

It was an additional ten minutes before Mycroft felt confident to drive. But as he pulled out onto the roadway it was with a hum of determination that had begun to build from the moment Sherlock had pulled the trigger to end Magnussen's miserable life. He would not allow Sherlock to face this alone. Not while blood still pumped though his veins. No, he may not be able to alter this fate. However, he still had the autonomy his position afforded.

Even if it meant walking with his brother into the flames.

His uncle would have accused him of excessive drama. Rudy, though, had long viewed sentiment as little more than a tool for manipulation. And, in that moment, Mycroft found he didn't care one whit what Rudy Vernet thought.

He needed to contact Anthea again – an adjustment to protocols which had been previously established. She would not thank him, once she became aware of his intentions. However, she would, he hoped, understand. There was no other way.

In three days he would watch his brother board a private jet.

An hour later, Mycroft would take a temporary leave – boarding a commercial flight under an alias known only to Anthea.

He was quite certain he would never see London again.

He found no regret in this choice. In fact, for the first time since Christmas, he felt peace.

He only had one last task to accomplish – something he had promised his brother before Sherlock was locked away in a private cell. Contact dialed on his mobile, Mycroft was unsurprised when it was picked up scarcely after a single ring.

“Mycroft – what the hell is going on? Where is Sherlock...?”

“John. My apologies. Sherlock has been detained and I'm afraid he has not been allowed contact. However I...” he licked his lips; suddenly aware of a dangerous tremble which he forced aside before it could slip into his speech, “I was able to procure... a moment.”

“Moment? What...”

“To say goodbye. John.” Not fully silent, on the other end, Mycroft was able to note the sudden deep breaths. One last mercy, perhaps. “As recompense for the shooting, Sherlock is to avail himself to MI6 as a field operative. It was deemed a far better fate than to waste away in a cell.”

The breathing caught as John composed himself. When his voice returned it was subdued.

“How long?”

Mycroft rubbed his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Indefinitely.”

He had no trouble imaging John's eyes shuttering closed. “I see.”

They disconnected shortly afterward.

As grayed hills gave way to London streets, Mycroft pulled the tatters of self back around his shoulders. This was for the best. After 6 months, John Watson would receive a substantial deposit into his bank account – more than enough to see to his child's upbringing and education. He would know only that Sherlock had arranged for the funds via his trust. He would wonder – likely assume, correctly, that Sherlock was no longer alive. He would mourn and he would move on. After all, he had done so, once before.

As to Mary; Mycroft would have her under watch. Anthea would see it through personally. Should the former assassin ever show any indication of returning to her former life... should she ever present a danger to John or their child... it would be handled. His parents...

And here Mycroft faltered in his manic plans.

And not only his parents. He had responsibilities that only he, and very few others, were aware existed.

He... he could not do as he desperately wished.

There was only a vast emptiness of winter pale hills beyond the windscreen. The promised flurries had begun to fall shortly after five that morning – the roadway gilded with sparking flakes that frosted the browned grass and clung to the branches of trees. As the flakes began to thicken, building into a proper snow, Mycroft switched on the fog lights in spite of the fact he shared the road with no other vehicles.

Before the weight of it all could drag him beneath the rising waves, Mycroft mentally took hold of himself. He had allowed emotion to wrest control of his faculties. He had... indulged a fantasy. But that was all it would ever be. It was over now. It was all over, now.

It was time to move forward.

His parents would never forgive him. This, though, was something he had been prepared to face. And it wouldn't be the first child he had taken from them.

Before his maudlin thoughts could overtake him, yet again, Mycroft dialed a number on his mobile once again. There was no sound of a ring and only moments passed before he heard the click of a connection. “Anthea. I need you to make arrangements. It's for John Watson... and Sherlock.” He licked his lips; moving into a lane that would take him into the city and on to Whitehall. He remembered, with sudden and breathtaking vibrancy, a tiny face with watery blue eyes, peering up at him from the folds of the blanket cradled in Mummy's arms. And he knew, as well, that he gave himself away with the tremble that broke in his voice.

“It's time to say goodbye.”

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