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foxy-eva · 2 years

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Harbinger of Hope

Summary: When a strange girl appears in Spencer’s life and claims to be his half-sister, he is confronted with the demons of his past and turns to his wife for comfort

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a hopeful ending

Please read the CW, this story contains potentially triggering topics!

Content Warnings: (16+ for heavy themes) mentions of William Reid, implied csa/child abuse, Spencer shows PTSD symptoms (nightmares, flashbacks), crying, mentions of therapy

Word count: 4.9k

Masterlist

Despite all the uncertainties I had to face in my life, the past three years had taught me that I could always be sure of one thing: no matter what happened, my wife would be waiting for me at home with open arms. When I saw her warm eyes and the curve of her lips once I stepped through our front door, I knew that things would be okay.

When I came home from work that day, I immediately sensed that something was different. My wife stepped around the corner to greet me but instead of the warmth she usually radiated, the only thing I could read from her expression was concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Before she answered me, her eyes fell to the floor. I followed her sight, noticing a pair of small red converse shoes that definitely didn’t belong to any of us sitting right before me.

“Spencer, there is someone here who would like to talk to you,” she said, the tone in her voice impossible for me to interpret.

I raised my eyebrows at her, confused as to why she was being so secretive and careful with the words she chose. Before I could ask her who it was, she motioned for me to come to the living room with her.

A young woman was sitting on the couch, fidgeting nervously with the seam of her shirt. She got up when she saw me entering the room, lifting one hand to awkwardly wave at me. I was sure that I had never seen her before.

“Hi…Spencer,” she muttered.

In an instant, the alarms in my body went off. Considering the field of work I was in, my wife should have been smarter than to let a complete stranger into our house.

With more harshness than intended I snarled, “Who are you? What do you want?”

The girl seemed shocked at the tone in my voice, staring at me with widened eyes and parted lips, hesitant to say anything.

I felt my wife’s hand making contact with my arm, gently squeezing it until I looked at her.

“She’s your sister.”

Nothing about what I heard made any sense to me and I huffed in response, “I don’t have a sister.”

The young woman seemed to have found her voice again and explained, “You do. Well, half-sister actually. William Reid is my father… our father.”

I was skeptical. She seemed to notice that, turning to her purse to pull out a small folder. Stepping closer, she handed it over to me. I hesitated to take it, so my wife reached for it instead. She opened it and took out a document, handing it to me. It was a birth certificate.

“I assumed you would want to have proof that I really am who I claim to be,” the girl stated.

She was right to assume that. I looked over the document several times in an attempt to wrap my head around the information I gathered with the paper in my hands. Her name was Hannah Reid, she had turned eighteen a few weeks ago, making her almost half my age. She was born in Las Vegas, her mother was Samantha Reid and William Reid was her father. Our father.

A part of me had always wondered if he had started another family after leaving my mom and me.

My wife took the document from my hands, suggesting, “Why don’t we all sit down.”

I complied, moving with her until we were seated on the couch. She handed me the folder to look at the rest of what was in there. There were photographs showing the girl sitting in front of me at different ages together with my father and a woman I assumed to be her mother.

Placing the folder on the coffee table, I looked at the young woman once more. Her hair was darker than mine and fell over her shoulders in loose curls. The golden sprinkles in her eyes were similar to the ones I found when I looked into the mirror.

Despite my memory of him being slightly blurred, I could still see the resemblance of my father in her facial features. This girl - Hannah - was telling the truth. She was my half-sister.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here,” I mumbled.

Instead of answering me, she said, “He talks about you. A lot. I think he is very proud of you.”

“I don’t give a fuck what he thinks about me!”

Hearing her words made something inside of me snap, having me jump up from my place on the couch. Hannah stared up at me in shock, clearly overwhelmed with my reaction. My wife grabbed my wrist to pull me back down into a seating position, wrapping her hand around mine when I found my place beside her once more.

When my eyes found Hannah’s again, her shocked expression had morphed into something different. Her features had softened, as if she had seen something familiar in my reaction. I felt my insides twisting at the thought that we might have more in common than just shared DNA.

“I couldn’t stay there anymore, so I dropped out of highschool and left. You’re my only family, Spencer. I didn’t know where else to go,” she told me with a slight shaking in her voice, implicitly confirming my previous thought.

She ran away from home in hopes to find the family our father couldn’t be for her with me instead. I took a deep breath, attempting to contain the chaos breaking out inside me.

“What about your mother?” I heard my wife’s voice.

“I told her that I couldn’t stay under the same roof with him. She said that if that’s the case, my father is not the one who has to move out,” Hannah’s voice broke at the last word as her lip started trembling. She bit down on it before she completely lost her composure. I wished I was able to do the same, but I felt any rational thought quickly being drowned by my inner turmoil.

She moved a little closer, looking directly at me as she whispered, “Our father… he is not a good man.”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

This time my wife couldn’t hinder me from getting up and walking away. I shut the bedroom door behind me, ignoring her calls for me to come back. I reached the bed right when the dizziness overcame me, the softness of the mattress cushioning the heavy fall of my body.

The metallic taste in my mouth right then was the same I tasted as a little boy at night, biting the insides of my cheeks too hard to distract me from the man who wasn’t supposed to hurt me. The thought that history had repeated itself when my sister was born was too much for me to handle.

Old habits die hard. Innocent souls die easily.

Deep down I knew that she deserved a different reaction from me. She was looking for someone to comfort her, only to find a man who was even more broken than she was.

My wife sounded further away than she actually was when I heard her calling out my name. It was only a matter of time for her to come after me, I knew that. But in that moment, I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.

“Leave me alone,” I breathed. “Please.”

She should have been smarter than to touch me then. When her palm made contact with my arm, my whole body flinched, having her retract right away.

With my face still buried in the pillow, I begged her, “Please, I need some space.”

“Okay,” she whispered, “but I will be back in a bit.”

There was no way for me to tell how much time had passed when I finally felt like the chaos inside me had simmered down a bit and the memories I still wished to be repressed were safely locked in the back of my mind for now.

My hands ran through what I assumed to be an already disheveled mess of hair as I sat up at the edge of the bed. I took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to ground myself when I heard footsteps coming closer. Looking up, I found my wife smiling softly at me.

“Hey,” she breathed as she sat down beside me. “Is it okay if I touch you now?”

I nodded, already yearning for her comforting touch. Her palm glided over my back and I leaned closer until my head rested on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We both knew that setbacks were inevitable when you started working on this with a therapist.”

She was right, we had talked about it a while ago. I just hadn’t expected it to hit me so hard after feeling fine for months.

“Yeah I just didn’t think one of those setbacks would come in the form of my… my sister.”

It was the first time that I actually said that out loud. My sister. Hannah was my sister, a family member I didn’t know I had. I wondered if I could have prevented her from harm had I known about her existence earlier. That was when I realized something.

“She was looking for protection from her mother, the woman who was supposed to love her the most, only to be rejected by her. And now I’m doing the same.”

“You don’t have to. You have a choice,” my wife reminded me.

I sat back up straight to look at her. She was still smiling at me, patiently waiting for me to man-up enough to make the right decision. I just wasn’t sure that I could.

“I don’t think I can help her…,” I confessed.

Her fingertips met my cheeks, wiping away already dried tears. I leaned into her touch, listening to her when she said, “I hope you know that I will support you no matter how you decide to handle this. I just need you to keep in mind that however you react to her will have a huge impact on her life. I don’t want you to regret this later on.”

I got up from the bed, my wife moving with me, looking at me wide-eyed when I finally decided, “I need to talk to her.”

“She left thirty minutes ago. She told me she was staying at a motel and left the information on the kitchen counter. I think she was hoping you’d come find her. Do you want me to come with you?”

“Thank you, but I think I need to do this alone.”

My wife pulled me into a tight hug before her lips captured mine in a chaste kiss and reminded me, “I’m only a phone call away.”

The drive to Hannah’s motel wasn’t long enough to sort through all of my thoughts. I stood in front of her motel room door for minutes, contemplating whether I actually wanted to do this. I felt nervous about how she would react to me and maybe even more than that, I was uncertain how I would react to her.

Her presence was a reminder of the pain I once felt but that wasn’t her fault. She was the wrong person to blame.

Three firm knocks against the wooden door announced my visit. She swung the door open a moment later, staring at me like a deer caught in headlights.

Just like she did earlier, I lifted my hand to motion an odd wave, accompanied by a timid, “Hi.”

“Hi Spencer. Come in,” she said as she stepped aside to let me enter the room.

The place looked a little chaotic with clothes and cosmetics randomly placed on basically every surface. My eyes fell to the book on her nightstand.

“What are you reading?” I wanted to know.

“It’s just a collection of sappy love poems of writers long gone.”

Her statement made me smile. “You like reading poetry?”

“Yeah, I do. It reminds me that there is more to life than what I have seen. More for me to explore, something different for me to feel,” she explained while her eyes dropped to the floor.

“I know exactly what you mean. And you’re right, there always is more for us to explore.” I paused as I tried to find the right words to continue.

She found the words before I could, snickering, “You mean like, how to be a brother?”

I joined her in her laughter, “Yeah you must know I’m really new to this brother-thing, but I am willing to learn.”

“That’s okay. I haven’t been anyone’s sister before either.”

Her reaction sparked a warmth in my chest, a feeling I could only describe as hope spreading within me.

“Hannah, I need you to know, my reaction earlier… was not about you-”

“It was about him. I figured, ”she interrupted me before I had to say anything neither of us wanted to hear.

There was no need for us to speak the words to tell each other our stories. It was a silent understanding I hadn’t experienced with anyone before. Not even with Morgan.

I decided to address the inevitable, “So, what was your plan when you came here?”

“I don’t really know. I hoped that you could help me get on my feet.”

I wanted to make sure that I got what she was saying. “So, it’s money you need?”

She looked offended when she heard my words. “What? No! That’s not what I meant. It’s not a lot but I have a bit saved up and I’m planning on getting a job as soon as possible. It’s just really hard being all by myself. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

I stepped a little closer to her, just close enough so I could see those eyes that resembled mine almost perfectly. “It’s a good thing that you’re not alone anymore.”

“Yeah?” She giggled, “You think you could get me a job at the FBI then?”

“You would have to finish school first.”

She nodded and smiled as she said, “It’s on my bucket list. Right next to getting to know my big bro.”

Her choice of words made me laugh, having her chime in with me instantly.

After a few moments I offered, “You know, we have a guest bedroom that’s actually much nicer than this room. You could stay there for a little while until we have figured this out.”

“I would really like that. Thank you.”

There was a comfortable silence between the two of us on the car ride to my house. It was odd to me how someone I had just met suddenly felt so familiar to me.

When we got back my wife had already prepared the guest bedroom to welcome Hannah into our house – and into our lives.

I was sure I would be able to find rest inside my wife’s embrace that night. She held me tight against her chest and the sound of her heartbeat became a pacemaker for my own, finally slowing down at last. But just when I drifted off to sleep, I was reminded that those brief moments of relief never lasted long enough for me.

Demons were most powerful at night after all. Carefully they put leeches on my chest to suck my corrupted soul right out of me.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.

My own voice echoed inside my head until it morphed into the sound of my father’s whispers.

It’s just a dream. Go back to sleep, Spencer.

“It’s just a dream. Wake up, Spencer,” I cooed when I noticed my husband’s sleeping body starting to shake.

My fingertips met his cheeks, wiping away saline droplets falling from closed lashes.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

His eyes shot open and before I could react to his panicked state, he pushed me away and jumped up from bed, running to the bathroom and shutting the door. I was right behind him, my hand meeting the wood right when I heard him lock it from the other side.

“Please, don’t shut me out,” I mumbled against the door.

I pressed the side of my face against the wood, hoping I could somehow share my warmth with him through the barrier. The dulled sounds of broken sobs went directly into my body, letting me flinch, feeling as if his pain would somehow etch into my bones. My heart shattered at the thought of him sitting alone on the cold tiles.

Rattling on the doorknob, I pleaded, “Spencer, please…”

To my surprise, he opened the door. Despite his height he seemed so small with his shoulders hanging low and his whole body shaking.

“Make it stop,” he whimpered and my heart broke some more.

Tears were streaming down his face and my hands instinctively reached for his cheeks to catch them. Before I made contact, I hesitated.

“Is it okay to touch you?”

He nodded, letting my palms rub over his face until I was only spreading the wetness instead of getting rid of it. I wrapped my arms around his neck instead, feeling him leaning his weight against me. His body felt heavy against my own but I knew it was nothing compared to the crushing weight he felt on his shoulders that moment.

Burying his face into the crook of my neck, his sobs became erratic and uncontrolled and his hands gripped the fabric of my shirt in an attempt to find support. It wasn’t enough, though, no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t keep him upright.

I gently guided him to the floor instead.

With my arms wrapped securely around his body, he leaned against me as we sat on the ground together. Without a second thought I started to softly cradle him, swaying from side to side ever so slightly. His fingers were still gripping my shirt hard while my fingertips gently danced over his back. He was used to the harshness of life but I was here to show him something else.

Spencer deserved softness.

“I’m here, I got you,” I whispered as I placed a kiss into his unruly curls.

He cowered inside my embrace, his long arms and legs bent and folded to the point where it was impossible to recognize the grown man he was. Right then I wasn’t comforting my husband, no. I was holding the scared little boy he once was in my arms, longing for someone to protect him from the chaos of the world.

“You’re safe with me. It’s okay.”

Like a mantra I kept repeating it, hoping that it somehow would imprint into his mind to form a new truth. It was understandable that he was skeptical, scared of getting hurt again. But I wouldn’t let that happen. No matter how long it would take, I would sit with him like this until my love would finally spill over into his heart to heal his wounds.

The trembling of his body got worse, his chest was heaving as he was struggling to get enough oxygen into his lungs. When I wanted to lean back slightly to let him get more air, he held onto me, making it impossible for me to move away.

“Don’t leave me,” he breathed.

“I won’t, I promise. I’m here.”

Slowly but surely my husband’s breathing slowed down and there were only a few broken sobs left to wreck through his body. He was still pressed against my chest and I didn’t dare to loosen my arms wrapped around him. I wanted to keep him in place, close to my heart where nothing could harm him.

“My love,” I purred, “I hope you know if I could take your pain away, I would.”

A quiet hum was all the response I got but it was enough. He heard what I was saying and maybe he would even believe it someday. As he started to stir inside my embrace, I noticed how he let go of the fabric of my shirt, wiping over his eyes instead. He sat up and leaned against the wall behind us, not yet daring to look at me.

With a raspy and trembling voice he sounded a lot like what I imagined him as a little boy when he asked, “Do you still love me?”

Shifting my position, I turned to face him, my palm meeting his cheeks to encourage him to look at me. Even with the dim lighting of the lamp on my nightstand I could clearly make out the dark circles under his eyes and the red rims where his tears had spilled over his lashes.

“Yes of course,” I cooed, “I love you more than anything.”

His sight fell from mine once more as he removed my hand from his face with his own. He let my fingertips linger in his palm, though, allowing me to stay physically connected with him anyway.

“Even though you didn’t know how broken I was when we got together?”

What I would have given in that moment to be able to show him what I saw in him. I took both of his hands in mine, giving them a gentle squeeze as I told him, “You are so much more than what happened to you. This doesn’t define you. Spencer, you are not damaged goods.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

It was not the first time he said something like that but that didn’t change the fact that it still stung every time I heard those words.

“Yes, you do. What you don’t deserve are all the atrocities you had to endure.”

His eyes found mine again and I couldn’t hold back the gasp as I saw a dark glimmer in them. It wasn’t my intention but my words had caused his pain to shift into something else. He got up from the place on the floor in one swift motion, starting to walk up and down our bedroom. That was when I saw it.

Anger.

He ran his hands through his hair, pacing up and down, clearly unable to control his emotions. I got up from the floor, watching his every move.

Without looking at me, he starting yelling, “I just don’t understand why I can’t pull myself together and just fucking get over it!”

Rage.

“Healing isn’t linear, Spencer.”

Before I could grasp what was happening, Spencer groaned, took the three books from his nightstand and threw them across the room until they smashed into the wall opposite from where I stood and tumbled to the floor.

Fury.

I slowly walked over to him, reaching out my hand in an attempt to make contact. When he realized what I was doing, he flinched away from me, hissing, “Don’t!”

The tone in his voice made me wince and I took one step back to give him more space. With parted lips and a heaving chest he tried to get back his composure. When he sat down on the edge of the bed, I stepped closer once more.

With his face buried into his hands, I heard him muttering, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Shame.

Crouching down before him, I reached out my fingers. He welcomed my touch this time. I found his hands and pulled them from his face until he would look at me, unable to conceal the guilt visible in his expression.

“I’m not scared of you because I know you would never hurt me. I would be angry too if all of this had happened to me. It’s okay to feel this way.”

“I just want it to stop hurting so much,” He whimpered as saline droplets started to stream down his face again.

Without letting go of his hands, I sat on the bed beside him, promising, “And I will be by your side, no matter how long it will take for you to get there.”

For the first time in what felt forever, a timid smile appeared on Spencer’s face. He brought my hands to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses on each of my fingertips, only to be interrupted by a quiet knock against our bedroom door.

It seemed like only then he remembered that we had a guest sleeping in the room just a few feet away from ours. I got up to open the door, finding Hannah staring at me with concern clearly visible in her expression.

“Is everything okay? I heard yelling and-,” her eyes fell to the scattered books on the floor just mere inches away from my feet, “-well, that apparently.”

“We’re fine. Go back to sleep, Hannah,” I told her.

She didn’t buy it, instead tilting her head until she could spot her brother sitting on the bed.

“Spencer…,” she whispered, having him look up at her.

There was no way I could have stopped her from entering the bedroom to walk over to him. Spencer didn’t seem to mind. She stopped in her tracks when he got up from the bed, faking his best smile to try not to upset her.

She saw right through him.

“I don’t want to be the reason you feel this way,” she mumbled.

Spencer’s smile dropped and I stepped closer to the both of them.

“You’re not the reason-”

“-but I’m the reminder,” she interrupted her brother. When he didn’t find the right words to respond to that, she added, “I think I should go back to the motel.”

“Don’t leave,” Spencer breathed, “please.”

Hannah couldn’t conceal the trembling in her voice when she asked, “Why not? I have brought you nothing but pain.”

“That’s not true,” he countered. “When I came to see you in your motel room, I realized something. Yes, you’re a reminder of a time I would rather forget. But much more than that, you remind me of something else.”

He paused, looked out of the window and I followed his sight, finding the darkness of the night slowly vanishing as dawn crept closer.

“Hope.”

He turned his head and looked at her once more, explaining, “You didn’t bring me pain, Hannah. No, this pain was already here. You brought me hope. Hope that there is more for me to explore, to feel.”

The girl was clearly overwhelmed with the situation, unable to find a response to what my husband just told her. I knew her expression very well, having seen it in Spencer countless times before.

“Would you like a hug, Hannah?” I offered.

She nodded and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer to provide a little bit of the comfort she so clearly yearned for but Spencer couldn’t fully give her. Yet.

When she was ready to let go of me I suggested, “Why don’t we all go back to bed and try to get some more sleep?”

“Okay,” she mumbled as she left our bedroom, “Good night.”

Spencer followed my advice as well, crawling into our bed and pulling the comforter over his body. I joined him just seconds later, pressing my chest into his back and placing a soft kiss right below his ear. He turned around to face me, wrapping me into his arms, pulling me closer until I nestled my face into the crook of his neck.

His lips met the top of my head while he let his fingertips dance over my back. One of my hands slipped under the hem of his shirt to make contact with his skin, my palm gliding over his back without a barrier until I slowly started drifting off to sleep.

“You are amazing and I love you,” Spencer whispered but I was already too far gone to answer him.

The morning sun woke me before my alarm could and I stretched my arms out, searching for the warmth of my husband. His side of the bed was empty. My eyes shot open, remembering last night’s events. I got up from bed and called out his name, realizing he wasn’t in the bathroom either.

Barefoot and only in my pajamas, I stormed out of the bedroom until I heard his familiar voice from the kitchen. When I walked in I found him preparing coffee and Hannah leaning against the counter with an empty mug in her hand.

My husband turned to me, seemingly unfazed from last night’s events. Not only that, he looked happy. He walked over to me to place a soft kiss on my lips, whispering against them, “Good morning, my love.”

“Ew, get a room!” Hannah giggled.

Spencer glanced at her with a raised eyebrow and she added, “Just kidding. You guys are cute.”

She poured herself some coffee and added even more sugar than Spencer usually did.

“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking coffee?” I snickered.

“Hey! I’m eighteen, I’m a grown-up,” she countered.

“Actually, the brain isn’t fully developed until age 25,” Spencer said matter-of-factly but added in a much sweeter tone, “so it would be totally okay if you didn’t feel like being an adult all the time.”

“That does sound nice, actually. I’m still gonna drink this coffee, though.”

When Spencer started rambling about the developmental stages of the brain, I went back to the bedroom to get dressed for the day. Once I came back to the kitchen, their conversation had shifted.

I heard Hannah hinting at something they must have talked about when Spencer came to her motel room.

“Remember when you said that you were willing to learn how to be a big brother?”

Spencer nodded, “Of course.”

She turned and pointed at the chessboard we had left on the dining table after our last game. “How about you start by teaching me that?”

“Chess? Yeah, I would really like that.”

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ohworm-writes · 3 years

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#01 - Tape One | series masterlist

⮞ Beta Reader - @jschllatt ! thank you so much for proofreading this for me !

⮞ Pairing - Monster!Technoblade x Monster-Hunter!Reader ⮞ Summary - A sleepless night and a hazy mind aren’t the smartest thing to bring along on a solo mission that could end in your demise, but what’s the worst that could happen? ⮞ Rating - Mature (SFW) ⮞ Warnings - cursing , weapons ( hatchet, crossbow, gun ) , slight anxiety ⮞ Word Count - 2.8k ⮞ Taglist - Open! Send an Ask or DM to be added

Time is a finicky thing. It's a social construct created by humans as a desperate grasp at something they can control. Of course, they can't control the sun or the stars. That would be insane, would it not? Humans were the people who gave time meaning. If not for them, we would only see it as darkness and light, not the hours we've put between them. How was it they made up such an important idea, something key to their everyday lives, that only they as a race use? Humans are the only ones who use time, their actions simply affect everything else.

Take canines, for example. Their genetics tell them when they are to hunt, to mate, to kill. They don't depend on the hours or the days, that itself is a foolish thing to them. Why would they need to know it? They know that once the sun has set; the hunt is on. With humans around, they have disrupted the balance of it. These once feared predators depend on the hand of a human to feast. They depend on an electronic clock to sate their pangs of hunger.

Looking at it, how would humans be without time? Would the world crumble? Would everything they had once known to be true turn out to simply be a lie? Mayhaps-but that is the beauty of it all. The beauty of chaos, the beauty of the world closing its curtains in the final act. And when the crowd asks for an encore, who would the world be to deny their wishes?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock-

The tick of the clock snaps you back to reality like whiplash, your previous thoughts fleeting from your mind in an instant. Your eyes are blurry, everything around you set in a foggy haze. Even aside from daydreaming, everything felt fuzzy. The clock didn’t help with it, the constant noise only setting you on edge more than you already were.

How long had it been? Hours, maybe? A few minutes? You couldn’t tell, and frankly, you couldn’t care either. Letting out a small sigh, you pinch the skin between your brows, slumping over as you try to ground yourself. You open your eyes after a moment, the blurriness from before subsiding for the most part. Now, you found yourself met with the sight of several manila folders and post-it notes scattered across the mattress you found yourself on.

Ah, yes- so that’s why you had been up at such an ungodly hour. Your mission. The suicide mission they had assigned you to. Good gods above, how long had you been awake for? Taking in the organized chaos that was your bed currently, it made you grimace. How many files did they have on a single monster? Sure, you wanted to be prepared, but this was absurd.

However, that apparent thought had never crossed your mind in the previous hours, evidence being the bags forming under your eyes and the overall stiffness of your body. Taking the folder that had found itself on your lap, you flipped it open, reading over the open page.

“Upon a prior expedition, Piglins seem to be tame around those wearing gold items. Whether it be armor or simple jewelry, they seem to be passive towards those wearing the metal. One scout found themselves near the beasts, but said creatures left him alone upon seeing the gold wedding ring around his finger.”

You squint your eyes, trying to make sense of the next sentence. Was that a Y, or a T? Gods above, you were exhausted. Letting the folder drop back onto your lap, you bring your palms up to your eyes, rubbing harshly to keep a hold of your consciousness. You’d be able to look at the files whilst on the road. Sleep was more important right now if you wanted to survive until the next day.

Knowing the casino’s fellow patrons, they’d probably get a kick out of seeing you leave all drowsy and such. Hell, that wouldn’t come close to how entertaining it would be to them if you didn’t return. With a groan and a sigh, you begin gathering all the files. Paper-clipping a few together here, stapling a few there until the process was complete. Looking at the files stacked together, you really were in over your head. The number of files was making your head dizzy, not counting how sleep-deprived you were in the current moment.

Placing the folders in a neat stack on the floor beside your bed, you finally let your body relax. Your back falls against the mattress, sinking into it almost instantly. It was nowhere near comfortable on a normal day. The mattress was hard, firm, and wildly uncomfortable, but now? You might as well have been sleeping on a cloud. Before your hazy mind could even process it, you were out like a light, left to your own devices in the world of unconsciousness.

05:30 in the morning. Who in their right mind decides that the crack of dawn is an appropriate time to wake up? Quackity, apparently, because that’s exactly the person who was pounding relentlessly on your door. The loud and sudden noise is enough to make you jolt upright in your bed. Your foggy mind can’t even process what is happening, much less when he speaks.

“It’s 05:30! Get up! You leave in the next hour, c’mon! You’ll be burning daylight before you know it, so get your ass ‘outta bed!” His shrill voice is enough to get you to peek your eyes open, immediately met with the darkness of the room. With the warm sheets you found yourself in, the comforting dimness of the room, you almost fall back asleep then and there. Almost being our keyword here, because you wouldn’t want to make Quackity mad, now would you?

With a groan, you’re able to kick the sheets off of the bed, successfully leaving you out in the open as the cool air of the room sets across your warm body. It sends a shiver running through you, effectively allowing goosebumps to settle across your skin. The feeling is unpleasant, but that’s the point of it. With minimal effort, you sit yourself up in the bed, immediately regretting your actions.

Your muscles are tight, making every turn and twist of your body painful. A silent scream rips through your throat as you stretch your arms above your head, only to turn into a satisfied groan as your muscles relax. One would have thought that the richest hotel in the city would at least have comfortable beds, but apparently not. No, instead, you were better off sleeping on the carpet, which you could proudly admit was comfier than your own mattress.

Looking out the small prison-like window your room provided, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. The sky, a blur of dark blues and purples sprinkled with stars, was your only greeting. You could see the lighter hues begin to peek over the horizon from where you sat. A masterpiece from your window, who would have thought?

Aside from the awe-inducing view, you yourself felt far from it. You had a lot to do in the span of an hour. A short time span, but it was feasible. With hurried motions, you’re able to dress in form-fitting attire; something not too tight, but at the same time not too loose. It was important to wear such clothing in these times. Something too tight could leave you breathless, in this case, vulnerable. If it were to be too loose, it could get caught on something or weigh you down. That shouldn’t have to explain why that would be unfortunate.

Style aside, you now had to tackle the process that was your files. The ones you had obtained were a copy. They’d never give you the original without a backup in store. That would simply be foolish. Instead, you’d been given a clean copy of said files, all neatly tucked into their respective folders. Of course, that neatness had been your doing alone.

You made quick use of your time, neatly tucking the folders and files alike into your bag. The bag itself was less of a bag and more of a backpack, however, it served both uses. The fabric was weatherproof, as you liked it. It was strong, not even a tear could be seen over it. It had lasted you all your time here so far. Hopefully, it would survive the rest of the way.

With your bag fully prepared with your files, clothes, and things of the like, you set out for the armory. Swinging open your door rather roughly, you make your way down the halls, turning here and there and speeding down a flight of steps or two. Checking a clock on the wall as you amble down the halls, you see that you have just under 20 minutes before Quackity is on your ass. Perfect.

With a final descent into the basement of the building, you reach the armory. The place itself is impressive, with one wall lined up entirely with weapons. Guns, crossbows, blades; any weapon of destruction that you wanted was here. The rest of the open room stayed reserved for a shooting range. Was it the smartest option that it was indoors? Maybe not, but would you rather be shooting outside where beasts of unknown origins could hear you? Hell no.

The man running the armory shoots you a look as you enter. Some could interpret it as a glare, but to you, it was nothing short of a hopeful wish for your demise. Unfortunate maybe, but you couldn’t be one to judge. Politely, you offer a wave. Nothing flashy or energetic, simply the bare minimum.

You don’t look to see if he responds in any way, as you probably wouldn’t be met with anything. Instead, you turn your attention to the wall. They really had any weapon you could need here, didn’t they? Every single one was in pristine condition, that you could see at least.

You would have never touched a weapon in the old world, that you knew as fact. Why would you if you didn’t have a reason to? Why so much as place a finger upon something that could cause harm, when you could put your efforts into something else? Those thoughts, ones that you used to have, have been long forgotten as of now.

Taking a moment to admire them, you reach for a sleek, black crossbow. Weighing it in your hands, you press the stock against your shoulder and take a step behind you towards the range. It feels nice in your hands, not too heavy nor light. You take one arrow from the attached quiver, loading it with a quick move of your hand. Turning around, you kneel down and peer through the scope at the hay targets 15 yards away from your current position.

You hover your finger above the trigger, lining up your sights with the yellow center of the target. At that moment, nothing else matters. Not the man behind the counter, giving you shady looks as he watches you with an unimpressed look. Not that mission, the simple task that weighed your life in its hands like a god. Nothing. The only thing that mattered now was you and the target.

You steady the crossbow, using your other hand to hold it up. If you missed this, how could you survive in the field? Your eyes arrow in on the small, yellow circle in the center of the target. It wouldn’t be too hard to hit it, considering there was no wind nor monsters chasing you at the moment. You wanted to hit the minuscule black dot in the center.

With a sharp breath in, you fire. The arrow fires, flying through the arrow and straight towards the target. The man behind the counter raises an eyebrow, watching the arrow as it rips into the target. He lets out an annoyed huff, already heading under the counter to get a full quiver for you. Bullseye.

You smile to yourself softly, the good feeling of accomplishment flowing through you. Letting the weapon rest against your side, you turn back to the wall. With your primary weapon figured out, now you needed a melee and possibly a secondary weapon as well.

You choose something less flashy for your secondary, simple G17. The pistol isn’t your favorite, but it’d be better to have it than nothing. You had one when you first started out, the damn thing jamming too many times for your liking. Granted, you didn’t have sufficient ammo for the gun, but you’d rather it worked in life-threatening situations than not.

Now all you needed was a melee weapon. Easier said than done, seeing the sheer amount of different options at your disposal. You didn’t need something flashy, nor did you want it. You let out a quiet laugh as you look over some of the more… unusual options. Good gods, as much as you wanted it, you didn’t need a damn sword with you.

Looking back to the more tactical options, something catches your eye. A steel hatchet, an awfully beautiful one at that. The dark metal shines against the flickering lights of the armory, the edge of the blade reflecting your own features. You grip the handle, prying it off the wall, and hold it tightly. It was a lot lighter than you’d thought, feeling at home as you curled your fingers around it.

It was on the smaller side, but that only added to it. Gracefully, you toss it from one hand to the other, feeling the difference between the two. You’d wield it in your dominant hand, but it’s worth the effort to try with both. With a nod to yourself, you grab all three weapons and head to the man behind the counter.

He’s just as unamused as he looked when you first entered, scrunching up his nose as you place the weaponry on the concrete counter, the items clinking together in the process. He ducks under your line of sight, grumbling to himself. Within a few seconds, he pops back up, all the supplies you’d need in his arms.

A quiver, hatchet cover, ammo; anything you’d need for however long the mission would be. His tone is bored as he asks for payment, sliding your things across the counter with his hand held out. Reaching into one pocket of your bag, you pull out four poker chips, a mocking smile on either red or blue side.

His eyes widen as you drop them into his palm, staring at them with confusion. His voice almost hints at that of anger as he speaks up, voice gravelly. “I said two, not four. Are you an idiot?” His eyes are dark when they look into your own. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, grabbing your things and clipping them to your bag. “Consider it my thanks, Phineas.”

His mouth is agape as you leave, lifting your hand up as a ‘farewell’ while you head out the door. As your footsteps fall heavy against the floor, you contemplate your prior decision. Chips were the casino’s idea of money. You received chips if you did particularly excellent work on something, which was rare for most. Four chips for your safety didn’t seem like too far of a stretch. One would pay the world for their life, would they not?

Your steps echo down the halls as you make your way towards the main door, anxiety bubbling up. Gods, you were going to die on this mission, weren’t you? A solo mission against one of the most powerful beasts you had ever read about? You might as well have been writing your will then and there. The carpet of the lobby muffles your steps, leaving you to listen with no distraction to your racing mind.

Was this the last time you would step foot in the casino? You squeeze your eyes tightly, stopping in your tracks right in front of the door, letting out a groan. Fuck, you were overthinking this. Even if you didn’t make it to tomorrow, at least you made it this far, right? With a little pep talk to yourself, you push open one of the glass doors and step out into the darkness that lays outside of the casino.

“Oi.”

The voice makes you wince involuntarily. Turning to your left, you see the familiar mop of jet black hair leaning up against one of the casino’s walls. Your hands find themselves at your bag’s straps, pulling them tightly against you as you meet his gaze.

“Quackity.” Your voice comes out small, not something that you liked. His breath comes out in a puff, the cold temperature of the morning making the sight visible. Like a dragon, you think in the back of your mind. The childish thought is tossed aside as he pushes off of the wall, watching as he rubs his hands together and making his way past you. He stops at your side, not looking over at you. No, he just looks ahead as the sun rises behind you.

“Come back, won’t you?”

⮞ Previous Tape ⮞⮞⮞ ⮞ Next Tape

⮞ Technoblade Route Taglist - @cutiebear45 @kiki-is-the-name @hololizard @sunshinebutnotrainbows @valkyrieidunn @dominickle @err0rnan0 @lacunaanonymoused @ura-writes @jaciahbabes @mega-trash-cringe

⮞ Author’s Note - After long last, another tape! I went through quite the rough patch with this one. It took me a long time to finally find some inspiration, but this is evidence enough that I did somehow. I’m hoping to update next Sunday, possibly earlier, but we’ll have to see what my mind deems fit.

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songbirdsingingthings · 4 years

Text

Midnight Revelations - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

WARNINGS: Fluff, Swearing (It’s Bakugou, so, that’s kinda a given)

Requested by @luluwiie :

Given your gift for writing, I'm honestly utterly surprised your box is not already full :o but this is my chance ! Kuhuhu * robbing hands *

May I request a Todoroki or Bakugo one shot (Just choose whether you feel more inspired with one, another or both) where they are just sharing some moments with reader, and like, they enjoy their time with Reader and when they come back to their dorms, alone in their bedroom, they just realize how much they care for Reader? Like, more than their close friend and partner in crimes ? Like, more in a pining way? I just love emotional epiphanies 😳❤

Tysm if you do this ! CANT WAIT TO READ YOU MORE ❤❤

- Luluv

A/N: YOU’RE LITERALLY THE SWEETEST ❤❤❤. I had a lot of fun writing this one since Bakugou is such an interesting character, so I hope you enjoy!! (Also, the song “True Love” by P!NK was playing nonstop in my head while writing this.)

Word Count: 1.9K

If it was within his control, Katsuki Bakugou would be fast asleep in his own bed by now. It made sense to him - the sky was completely dark making the stars clearly visible and it was already past 10:30 p.m., so why on earth was he awake? The short and simplest answer yielded the same result; you. How you had wedged yourself in between him and his strict sleep schedule, Bakugou had no idea, so here he was, sat with a grimace on his face as you tried to work out the last math problem on the long homework sheet Ectoplasm had assigned.

“Wait, so when it’s a hyperbola, it’s a²- b² = c²?” You ask, glancing in between the blonde-haired boy sat next to you and the sheet full of conic section equations. Bakugou just looked at you with a mixture of a tired and dumbfounded expression.

“No, idiot, it’s a²+ b² = c² because the standard form uses subtraction. It’s the other way around for ellipses.” He explains gruffly, taking your mechanical pencil and writing down the equation roughly. However, due to the sheer force of his hand on the poor little pencil, the led snapped off. You laughed a little at the outburst that followed shortly after.

“Bakugou, don’t press so hard, the lead is thinner.” You say, taking the pencil from his hand gingerly. He simply scoffs in return.

“Yeah, well, normal pencils don’t do that. Get better ones next time.” He hurumphs, leaning back in his chair and letting his head hang off the back. He remains like this for a few minutes while you scribble down the rest of your equations, ultimately coming to a solution.

“Okay, I think I got it! Is it… (y+5)²/9 - (x - 4)²/25?” With a hesitant voice and a hopeful expression, you push the homework sheet in front of Bakugou to hopefully gain his approval. You wince as he scans your work carefully, raising his eyebrows on certain occasions. Finally, he sets the paper down and slides it back over to you. “Well?” You ask, a little exasperated.

“Yeah, that’s the correct answer.” With a sigh of relief you slumped back into your chair with a smile on your face. However, that only lasted for a few seconds. “Wait, then what the hell were those facial expressions when you were looking at it?” You ask, taking the math sheet and putting it in a folder that was then shoved into your school bag.

“Your handwriting is shit.” Is all Bakugou had to say as he stood up and stretched his arms out. You roll your eyes and glance at the clock.

“Damn, it’s already 11:15.” You murmur, letting one of your hands card through your hair, massaging your head and releasing the tension that was built up by doing several pages of pre-calc. “Thanks, by the way. You didn’t need to stay this late to help me out, so I really appreciate it.” You say, expressing your gratitude to the blonde. Bakugou rubs his eyes before slinging his bag over his shoulder, letting his blazer stay unbuttoned and his tie loose around his neck. You had to admit, his somewhat disheveled look did look quite attractive on him, but if you told him that he would either never let you hear the end of it or get pissed off for commenting on his fashion. He already got enough of that from his parents, apparently.

“Yeah, I didn’t, and now thanks to you I’m gonna be tired as hell in the morning.” He complains, opening the door to your dorm to exit.

“You know, a cold compress does wonders for eyebags.” You say, a mischievous grin on your face. He narrows his eyes and flips you off. “I enjoyed spending time with you too, Bakugou!” And with that, the door to your dorm was closed.

Katsuki felt like a zombie by the time he got to his own dorm. He didn’t even bother putting his school bag on his desk or arranging his shoes by the door like he usually does. Instead, he just let the brown shoulder bag slump onto the floor as he fumbled to get his shoes off. Why the hell had you made him stay for so long? He finished all of his homework hours before you did, and still, he had to remain stationed at that wooden low table as he had to keep himself busy while you plugged away at your own work. After about an hour, looking through his phone got incredibly boring so he moved on to looking around your room, taking in all of the things that made it up. Of course, he wasn’t doing this to try to get to know you more, he already knew all he needed to… right? But as his eyes raked over the photos and decor of your room, the more glimpses he got into your personal life, so he stopped immediately.

Bakugou did make an effort to change his clothes. Peeling his blazer from his arms and hanging it up haphazardly in his closet along with his white button up. He tugged on a random black shirt and swapped his uniform pants for pajama ones and finally, finally, clambered into his bed. And, although he tried hard to make his brain shut off and just let him enter a dreamless sleep, his mind began to wander. He blamed his delirious nature for letting his neurons take him from place to place, situation to situation, until they finally projected an image of you into his head. It was a simple display of you and a recent one, too. Just Y/N L/N, sat at the little wooden table with her head perched on one of her hands with a stupid mechanical pencil in her hand. Did her hair always kind of frame her face like that? He wondered, scrunching his closed eyes. It didn’t look as horrible today, he supposed. Bakugou let his eyes flutter open, only to see that his digital clock read a clear 12:04 a.m. in electric red. He sighed and let his gaze fall on the ceiling right above him. Why was he thinking of you this late in the evening? And, to his surprise, he realized that he felt much more at home in your dorm room than he did right now, in his own space.

“What the hell…” He muttered, turning on his bedside lamp. His room was shed in a soft light, illuminating only the nearest furniture and himself. If he wasn’t able to go asleep, he sure as hell wouldn’t let this time go to waste. Picking up the book on his shelf that he was most recently into, he flipped through the pages to find his place and started reading again. He would never admit it, but Pride and Prejudice was turning out to be a much better read than expected. Bakugou found the main heroine to be much more likeable than any others he had read about. Her charisma and wit satisfied him where other characters were lacking, and the way she refused to be phased by an arrogant and sometimes brash guy who pushed her buttons constantly… He let the book fall to the ground without so much of a care as realizations flooded his brain. You put up with him. Whenever he was acting rude or was teasing you without relent, you would just simply roll your eyes and fire back. He put up with you, too. All your unreasonable habits, like staying up way too late, he was still by your side. Why?

“I…” Katsuki forced himself to look into the mirror. He saw his reflection to be way out of the norm. His eyes were wide, his posture was perfect, and his cheeks were red. “I like her.” He let the words flow freely from his mouth. With one more glance to the clock by his bedside, he grabbed a hoodie and shoved his head through it while opening his door and heading straight to yours. He knew from all of the prior knowledge on you stored in his brain and the light that shown beneath your door that you were, in fact, still awake. With three soft knocks, your door swung open to reveal you. Clad in soft looking pajama shorts and a flimsy top, your hair was a mess and your eyes were drooping. Bakugou never thought you could look so beautiful.

“Bakugou, it’s way past your bedtime.” You quip, your voice mimicking a doting parent. Bakugou shoved his way past you into your room and began to lightly pace. Your once joking smile fell into a confused frown, your eyes starting to swim with concern. “Seriously, Katsuki, what’s up? You’ve never stayed up this late except for that one time I insisted you did because a once in a lifetime meteor shower was on full display. I mean, you complained about it of course, but I knew you actually liked it because your eyes-”

“Just, shut it!” The blonde finally says. You pull back slightly, surprised at his words. “You write your twos and sevens weird, some of your habits tend to be unproductive, and sometimes I just can not stand you, but I like you.” The two of you are silent for a moment before you take a step towards him.

“You have feelings for me?” You ask, your voice soft like velvet and your eyes twinkling. Despite all of his reservations, his hard exterior and the sneer he always wore melted.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” You shook your head and took another step forward.

“Don’t answer it like you're confirming that I correctly solved a math problem. Answer it like you love me.” Bakugou’s cheeks flamed at your sudden confidence, but he took a step forward so that your bodies were almost touching.

“I love you Y/N.” And with that, a wide grin spread across your face. Your arms wrapped themselves around the blonde’s neck and you leaned into him, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss. It was slow in pace but fierce in passion as he grew more comfortable, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you closer so that you were flush against his chest. Breathless and red in the face, Bakugou finally pulls back to see your ecstatic face. “Oi, what’s with the face?” He says, flustered.

“Nothing,” you say, going into your bathroom with a little towelette. He raises his eyebrows. “I told you before, a cold compress works wonders for the inevitable eye bags that you will have in the morning, and this is the perfect size.” He huffs in amusement and plucks the towelette from your hands. “Plus, you’ll have to return it to me. It gives you another excuse to hang out with me.” Bakugou finally earns a little confidence and his trademarked smirk spreads across his face.

“I don’t need an excuse to hang out with you. You’ll need my help again on the homework.”

“Always the charmer,” you quip, walking with him so that he was standing in the hallway and you in the doorway. “See ya tomorrow,” you smile, pecking him on the lips.

“See ya, Y/N.” His blush was still prevalent, but his eyebrows narrowed and a scowl replaced the smirk. “And throw out those mechanical pencils, they’re absolute shit.”

“Anything for you, Lover!” You joke, closing the door. Lover, he thinks. He can get used to a nickname like that.

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

tea parties | dad!mitch rapp

word count; 14,990

summary; emma rapp loves her dad, and she admires the badass CIA agent that he’s trying to suppress his feelings for, so she does a little meddling.

notes; this is a dad mitch fic, featuring the little girl I made up so long ago, and she is a little miss emma rapp. I adore her, she’s fantastic, and you’re going to love her too.

warnings; reference to injury, reference to death, reference to PTSD.

Mitch’s feet were taking slow and steady steps along the corridor, as a pair of irrationally matched footsteps skipped, walked and jumped along beside him, a small hand wrapped tightly around his own as the nerves in his stomach went haywire over the briefing he had up ahead of him, and the hope that it was nothing too dangerous. He knew he never got called in to talk to Irene unless he was going away to do something big, but he was hoping it wasn't the kind of assignment that made him wonder whether he’d be returning on his own two feet, or in a body bag.

Crouching down before the elevator doors, the room he needed to be in only a few metres away, he faced the little girl before him, tucking some of the small wisps of hair away behind her ear, fishing around in his pocket for one of the glittery snap-clips he made an effort to always have on him, and internally cheering in victory when he found one.

Sliding it into her hair to keep the shorter pieces out of her face, he brushed the tip of his finger along the bridge of a familiar nose, one she’d inherited from him, and grinning when her face scrunched up in distaste at the ticklish feeling the action gave her.

“You gonna’ be good for me?”

“I’ll be on my bestest behaviour, daddy, I promise.” She adjusted the bag on her arm, pulling it down for only a second and placing it on the floor, unzipping the little backpack to root through it, before pulling out the item so wanted, brandishing it to him proudly. A plastic ‘nerf’ gun, loaded with foam bullets as at least three dozen more sat loose and rolling around the bottom of the bag, bright orange foam to match the neon green plastic of the toy, and she waved it excitedly in his face. “Mr Stan say’d that he’d help me practice to shoot things.”

“How very exciting.” He teased sweetly, zipping the bag back up and pulling it onto her arms, letting her push her arms through the straps and hold onto the fake gun in her hands with both hands. “Do you know where Stan is?”

“In the gym.”

He nodded, licking over his lips, checking the time on his watch and hurrying himself along. “And how do you get to the gym?”

“Press the button with ‘three’ on and run all the way to the end of the corridor when the door opens.” He scooped her up, standing up to his full height, balancing his daughter on his hip and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She took his face in her hands, his face crushing a little when plastic pressed into one side, but she pulled his head forwards enough to press a kiss to his forehead, seemingly sensing his nerves and returning the gesture he always gave her when she had nightmares or fears. Tipping his head back up, he dropped her down, pushing the button for the elevator and waiting patiently. “How long is your meeting, daddy?”

“Not long, princess, I’ll be there to get you real soon. We’ll have ice cream tonight, yeah?”

She cheered, her hand held out to him and he tapped his palm against hers in a high five, ruffling her hair as the doors dinged open and he was able to push her instead gently, watching as she pushed the button for the right floor and waved to him as she disappeared from sight.

Mitch paused for a second once she was gone, choking down the fear about what may happen to his daughter, reminding himself that she was wandering around the CIA main building, and that his little girl owned the hearts of almost everyone in the building, so there wasn’t a soul that would let anything happen to him.

Spinning on his heel before he could change his mind and call the elevator back, and instead pacing the few large strides it took him to reach the meeting room, everyone else seemingly gathered, preparing themselves around the table, and he let out a huff at all of them, not even glancing up at the screens housing the powerpoints and presentations he was going to be seeing. Instead, he got himself a coffee, stirring the wooden stick aggressively through the shitty paper cup that did nothing to stop his hand getting burned if he held it too long, and picking up one of the pastries, squeezing it a little in his fingers to test the softness of it, before placing it into his mouth and holding it there with his teeth as he moved over to the seat reserved for him.

There was already a brown manilla folder laid out for him, his name on top, and he took the pastry from his mouth, tearing off a chunk and chewing it quickly, before taking a swig of his coffee to wash it down with, wincing when the cheap liquid burned his throat.

“Okay, Mitch, let's just jump right in.”

He looked up, huffing out as he did and wiping flaky crumbs from his shirt, before opening the first page of the folder and almost gagging at what he saw before him. Piles of bodies, all burned, the photograph clearly showing the smoke coming off of the stack of bodies, charred and fleshy, some dismembered and torn apart, battered and bruised, and he pushed the remainder of the croissant away from his as his stomach churned at the sight.

“Underground ring of paid fighters, human trafficking, drug empire, it’s all rolled into one. Goods are being traded for bets, every single person so far identified from this pile is a missing person, some going as far back as four years, and there were two more piles.” Turning over the following page, Mitch let out a low whistle as he ran his eyes over the list of names attached to people he’d already They’re working through people quickly, missing people coming up from all over the world, and he sighed out at the thought. “You’re going in undercover, obviously. We know that there must be a huge list of people adding to this web, with such a quick growth rate and being so well known, word of mouth is travelling fast in a criminal chain, and we need to know who the king-pins are. The next event is tomorrow night.”

“You need me to get kidnapped and put into the next fight by tomorrow night?”

Irene scowled at him, motioning for him to turn over the page, his eyes widened as he took in pictures of all the items that had been traded, everything from raw diamond extracts to people, kidnapped children holding the same worth as the deed rights to mansions, bile once again rising up in his throat, paternal possessiveness crawling in his chest and scratching to be released as he ran his fingers gently over the photograph of a young toddler whom he desperately wished was still alive and well.

Flipping over the next page, he was equally as shocked to find a new set of false identities to add to his collection placed neatly within the pockets of the folder. A passport, a driving licence, a rendered photo of the look he was going for as well as a basic list of everything his new personality would entail. Picking up the piece of plastic that allowed him to drive a car, he scoffed at the name. “How the fuck do I even pronounce this?”

“It’s Polish. You won’t be doing much talking, if any, you just need to listen and place bets. Observe, photograph, be discreet, and find out who our big bosses are here.”

“So, I’m not fighting?”

“In a gladiator-style ring, fighting to the death with opponents who have probably won a lot of matches already? No, Rapp, you’re not a fighter. You’re a buyer.” She insisted, already sounding fed up with him, and he sneered a little at her, before nodding.

“What am I supposed to take that’s of such high value?” She nodded to one of the interns beside her, a large cardboard box being lifted that he seemed to struggle to pick up, before he was tipping it out across the table, at least twenty neatly wrapped plastic packages spilling out before him, and he couldn't help the laugh that left his lips, before he was looking towards the other three boxes that she was gesturing to. “Where the fuck did you get that much cocaine?”

“Evidence lock up. A truly useful resource.”

He nodded a little, letting her run through the fact that he’d need to be at the runway for six sharp tomorrow morning, and that everything he needed would already be packed, an agent set to sort his outfit and help test him on everything he needed to know would fly over with him, but other than that, he was running solo. It was no more than a few days worth of work, tops, but he still didn’t like the idea of being away from his daughter for almost a week, and so he couldn't stop his moody huffing and puffing to himself once he’d left the room.

The journey to finding his daughter was short, and yet he was still equally as irritated when he arrived there, searching for the little girl that ever failed to brighten his day, peering into the room through the windows, and spotting her standing beside his mentor in front of the bullet-riddled targets, as promised, her toy gun in her hands as little orange pellets littering the floor.

Their focus wasn’t on the targets, however, it was a little further off, in the direction of the boxing bags and the sparring rings, but despite how much he craned his head, he couldn't see what they could, and so he was resigned to simply entering the room to actually find out. Pushing the button on the door to release the magnetic locking, the sounds of punching bags being battered, machines running and several voices in different areas field his ears, the room much cooler than the corridor, the air conditioning keeping it so, and a shiver ran down his spine.

The high-pitched cheering that he recognised as his daughter’s voice called out, and he followed the sound of it, making his way over to where the two people he recognised where standing, watching a lesson go down in the boxing ring, and his breath hitched, feeling as though his soul had physically left his body as his daughter stared up at you with rapt awe. For well over a year now, Mitch had cursed the slight trembles that went along his body and the butterflies that filled his stomach when you were around, because he had bigger responsibilities in his world than dealing with the fact that you somehow managed to render him back to being the same nervous wreck he was in high school as soon as a pretty girl walked past, the same Mitch he’d been in sophomore year before getting his braces off and growing out his buzzcut.

He was used to pretty girls in little clothing, from high school until now, Mitch has been on various sports teams, and while being a glorified killer for hire now was a little different to playing college lacrosse, he was used to cheerleaders and gymnasts and dancers surrounding him, tight yoga pants and sports bras and pretty eyes with a firm as and a smirk that made his legs weak. He was used to it, and yet somehow, you had more of an effect on him than the others. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that you were by far his superior in the field, or maybe that you were also a terrifying killer that turned him on in some sick way, or maybe it was his lover-boy paternal instinct that flared up every time, because much like everyone else, Emma had you wrapped around her little finger.

His daughter had spoken to you more than he had, his mind seeming to go blank every time he tried to talk to you, and so he often opted to just ignore you, a trait he was grateful that he could disguise behind the moody and darkened persona he’d built up. It was hard to keep that up, though, when he had to remind himself to close his mouth and stop staring at the way your body moves with grace and elegance in every single extremely well-executed move you used as you continued to take down the two other agents in the out-manned battle while barely breaking a sweat.

You were incredible. Talented and funny and sweet, while also managing to be brutal and vicious and always successful in a field, every characteristic you had made you perfectly suited for this job, and he was half-convinced Irene had just made you in a lab to work for the CIA.

The first time he’d met you, you were wearing a black tank top and some tight leggings, a look that vaguely reminded him of the Black Widow, and so he’d pegged you as CIA eye-candy, before ever getting a look at your file, and feeling all bt blown away as your record made his look like child's play, his work held up next to your own was the equivalent of holding up one of his daughter's drawings from the fridge door up beside the ‘Mona Lisa’ or ‘Starry Night’.

He was absolutely certain that you owned a little bit of his heart, even though he refused to acknowledge the jumps in his pulse when you caught his eye, or the way he wanted to reach out and hold your hand every time you got a little too close to him, because he was a grown-ass man, and a father at that, a would have been widower in addition, the little girl he had, having barely even reached the age of one when her mother had died on the holiday Mitch had taken her on to propose, never having gotten to see the event.

His heart had healed since then, he’d been forced to for his job and for the baby he loved more than anything, but having someone else around to project his feelings onto certainly hadn't hurt. He wasn’t the same man he had been five years ago, though. He was covered with scars and trauma, inside and out, with a chaotic and unpredictable job that many wouldn't understand and he was unable to disclose, and so finding someone else to be with was a hard task that he hadn't had any luck in.

He leaned up against the doorway, watching as his daughter cheered on, grunting a little as she threw her own fists in fake punches, before pulling out his phone for only a moment, taking a short video and catching the sweet moment to save forever, before calling out her name, and watching as her little head whipped around to give him her attention instead.

Little feet were dashing over to him, toy gun discarded with her bag as they leaned against the steps of leading up to the ring, and she launched herself up into the air, faithfully believing he would catch her, barely giving him time to swoop down and grab her, but he managed to. She was energetic and enthusiastic, a trait he recognised from himself, and he adjusted her in his arms, allowing her to crawl across his body like a climbing frame, until he had clambered up onto his shoulders, legs dangling down onto his chest as she held fistfuls of hair he needed or get cut, balancing carefully as he held onto her ankles, a giggle on her lips as he looked out from her new height.

“I’m bigger than everyone else now.”

“Yes, you are, Em. Are you ready to go?” She gave him a hum in reply, and he crossed the room to his mentor, who was now leaning with his arm folded on the edge of the ring and cheering everyone on, excitedly invested in the match that he was pointedly trying not to look at. Lifting her down from his shoulders, he crouched down to pick up the sparkly unicorn rucksack, putting the gun inside and handing it to her. “Go pick up all your bullets, princess, I’m not buying any more this month if you lose them all.”

“It’s not my fault I can’t find them in the street when we go out!” Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, and he tapped her nose with the tip of his finger gently.

“Shouldn’t shoot them out of the window then, should you?” She pouted, grumbling to herself as she made her way over to perform her cleanup duties, and he stood up to his full height, Stan facing him now. “Should only be gone about a week, not too bad, but I hate leaving Em for more than a few nights.”

“If you give me the number of your sitter, I can check in a few times with them.”

“I don’t have one anymore, she quit after the last one, saying Emma was too much for her’ with all the shit she does.” He frowned, remembering the summary that the nanny he’d had previously, saying that she was far too aggressive and imaginative, and that the girl never calmed down for even a second, and that she was simply too much for a person to handle.

He refused to dampen her spirit, and if nobody else would nurture her than he sure would, because whatever Emma wanted to be then that was her call, she didn’t need to be tamed. She was wild, and enthusiastic, and her mind never stopped working. She was an intelligent girl for her age, and Mitch kept intending to have her tested, but that came right behind getting a new nanny, which he still hadn't had time to do between trying to help her learn to read and write, find a good online school for her to attend, and keep up with his job to pay the bills.

Nobody said being a single dad was going to be easy.

“What about her grandparents?” Hurley mumbled, eyes flicking up to the sparring match taking place, before back to him, and Mitch felt his own face screw up.

“Katrina’s parents haven’t spoken to me since the funeral. They love her, and they send a letter once a year on her birthday that I’m collecting for when she’s old enough to understand them, but that can’t look at her without crying, and they can’t look at me.” Mitch shrugged, the pain of the event that had changed his life feeling nowhere near as aggressive as it once had, no longer ripping agony through his body like searing heat burning him from the inside out, but he still felt a little saddened at the thought of himself being the only family Emma ever had. “I have until tomorrow morning to find someone to look after her, and that doesn’t’ exactly inspire much confidence in my focus if I’m worried about the stranger caring for my baby girl.”

“I’ll do it.”

Mitch felt his breath hitch in his throat, a shadow falling over both of the men, before you were dropping down and feeding your legs through the elastic bands, leaning against them and reaching for your water bottle. You were panting front he exertion, skin shining a little from sweat, and somehow you still managed to look radiant, rendering Mitch barely able to catch his breath as you licked a stray drop of water from your lower lip and smiled at him.

“You need someone to look after Emma, right?”

“Uh, yeah.. that’s, um, yeah.”

“Well, I’m more than happy to do it.” You shrugged, and Stan clapped you on the shoulder, seeming satisfied with the solution, said little girl seeming to choose this moment to come back over, wrapping her arms around one of his legs as she rested a cheek against his thigh, and he dropped a hand down to brush through her hair comfortingly as she waited patiently. “I know your job, and I know your daughter. I’m good with kids, and I have a guest room, I’m more than happy to do it.”

You were staring at him expectantly, and everything within him seemed to go into panic mode, his eyes flicking between you, his daughter and Hurley. Emma was peering up at him, a sweet little face that was mostly confused, but totally happy to just wait for her dad to be ready, while you were narrowing your eyes a little as him as the time dragged on, his throat feeling dry, even drier when he noticed the scrutinising gaze Stan was giving him as he gaped like a fish. Swallowing thickly and licking over his lips, he fixed you with a smile, nodding his head and looking back down.

“What do you think, Em? You want to stay with (Y/N) for a few days while daddy goes away to fight some bad guys.”

She rubbed at her chin, making both you and Stan laugh at her gesture, before she was leaning in a little closer to you, voice coming out like a whisper. “Do you like spaghetti hoops?”

“I do.” You had whispered back, her face lighting up, the craze she’d been so attached to lately of the pasta circles in a tomato-y sauce seeming to seal the deal as she nodded rapidly. “Here, give me a minute to write down my number and address, and you can swing by later tonight, I’ll get everything set up when I get home.”

Mitch once again felt useless as he simply nodded, watching as you slipped out below the elastic ropes and found your bag, searching through for a pen, but not finding any paper. Instead, you pulled the cap off with your teeth, reaching for his arm and pushing up his sleeve, scrawling your number onto his skin, and tapping it with a triumphant sound when you were done.

“There! Just give me a text later, and I’ll send you my address, and we can sort everything out.”

He finally managed to find words, promising he would do so, giving you a simple thank you and mustering what he hoped was a smile and not a nervous grimace, before Emma was wrapping her hand in his, and pulling him towards the door, yelling her goodbyes over her shoulder as she reminded him that he had promised her ice cream.

The entire evening had felt like a blur to Mitch, like at some point he was going to wake up cursing himself for having a dream about getting your address and number all in one night, that he was going to see you outside of work for the first time in his life. It was a thrill, an adrenaline rush of fear and excitement all in one. Personal lives in the line of work you both shared were something to be kept sacred, protecting your secrets and guarding them to your chest, and to be so easily welcomed into yours meant you trusted him, but he wasn’t sure what he was ready to find. Would you be wearing a wedding band on your own time? Did you have pictures up with a boyfriend or girlfriend, or were you in fact, the opposite of everything he thought you to be.

He had absolutely no idea, his breath practically held in his throat as he rapped his knuckles against the door in a few swift knocks, hands place don his daughter’s shoulders as she rolled on the balls of her feet, far more laid back about it all, only having the excitement part of his fear and excitement bundle.

Swinging the door open, you somehow managed to look exactly the same and entirely different all in one. The usual tight ponytail you wore was gone, your hair falling freely around your shoulders, a ripple in it from where the elastic had held it, and your face was free of makeup or sweat and dirt, leaving you looking raw and natural, a softer edge to your appearance. You were clearly in your relaxing mode, he’d only ever seen you in one of two looks; business formal with pencil skirts and blazers and an officiality to your gaze that made him nervous or in gym gear as you kept your world-class abilities up to spec through rigorous training.

You were wearing a hoodie, and a pair of cycle shorts, socks that were reaching just over your knees covered half of your legs, and he cursed under his breath when you crouched over a little, the hem of you hoodie covering the shorts altogether and sending his mind spinning into a series of fantasies and wonderings that he absolutely could not get caught up in.

“Hey there, Emma.” She threw her arms around your neck, letting you hug her back a little as you fell down to your knees from the impact, struggling to wrap your arms around her and her beloved backpack before she was moving from your arms again, and peering around you into your apartment curiously, but never stepping over the threshold. He all but preened with pride as he watched his daughter look up at you, blinking sweetly as she waited to be invited inside instead of just barging into your house, the manners he’d been working on with her for almost a year clearly beginning to take effect. “You wanna’ come in and put your bag down? The couch is right through there.”

She buzzed past you the second you’d spoken the words, squealing with glee as she entered the new place she’d be exploring, and he managed to still his erratically beating heart, taming it down to a simple rhythm, and offering your hand to you to help you up from your crushed position to standing up again.

“Hey, Mitch.”

“Hey. I’m sorry about before, I just got caught off-guard that anyone would be willing to take her, you totally saved me on that, though.” He had practised the words in his head for the entire ride over here, his fingers flexing a little around the handles of the bag he held, filled with enough things to take care of Emma for a week. You only opened the door wider for him, inviting him inside, and he took a couple of steps forwards, the trained assassin in him immediately wanting to take in the environment, memorise everything in case he ever needed the knowledge. There was that one small part of him, however, that was searching for anything that might help him turn his feelings for you down, mute them a little, anything to make you seem a little less perfect in his eyes, but he couldn't find even a trace. “You, um, said you had a spare room? I can put Emma’s stuff away before I go, so you don’t have to unpack it.”

“Oh! Yeah, ‘course, my bad.” You took a step towards the living room, letting him call out to the young girl, who had already tipped out the contents of her toy bag onto the floor, and he cringed a little at the mess that had gathered up. “I wasn’t sure if she was scared of the dark, or anything, With a badass dad like you, I don’t imagine she’s scared of much, but kids are kids, right? I picked up a couple of night light things on my way home, and put them in the sockets around the house, in case she decided to get up in the night, or anything.”

“She’s a pretty heavy sleeper, she doesn't really wake up unless she has a nightmare, in which they’ll definitely help.”

Only a second later, Emma was barrelling into his side, knocking the breath from him as he staggered a little, her body practically bouncing as she weaved between his legs, and he scowled, shaking his he'd a little at her, but knowing he only had himself or blame for her sugar rush, having treated her to far more ice cream earlier than he should have.

It was a simple room - as guests rooms go, but Emma seemed to love it, unzipping her bag and ragging out her favourite blanket to spread over the bedsheets front he second that it had been released, a ‘Frozen’ blanket covering the white bedding in all the spots it reached, looking more like a misplace square in the middle of the large bed, and she star-fished across the centre of it as he busied himself with unpacking her clothes into the drawers, all the lower ones that she could reach, and making sure she could see where he’d put everything for her.

“I have a big bed now, like yours, daddy.” She was more than contented, and Mitch sat down beside her, watching as he rolled onto her stomach, before crawling over to take a seat in his lap, smiling up at you widely as you leaned against the wall and watched the two have their moment. “Do you have a big bed, too?”

“I have the biggest bed, ever! I could fit, like, seven Emma’s in it?”

She giggled as you stepped over, tickling at her sides a little, and he caught a whiff of the sweet shampoo you must’ve used only recently, the essence of coconuts and mangoes drifting into the air at your close proximity. “Only seven? Daddy’s bed could fit eight!”

“No way, that’s totally impossible!”

“It’s way possible!” She shouted, her voice echoing in his ear as he winced at the volume, but it didn’t dampen the smile on her face as he watched the two of you laugh together like it had been the funniest joke in the world. “Can I show you my dolls? I have to get them ready first, though.”

“Well, I will wait right here until they're ready, then!”

She squirmed in his arms, and he let her go, leaving just the two of you, and you took a seat beside him on the bed, bumping your shoulder to his for only as second, and it was still enough to make his heart skip a beat.

“She’ll be totally okay, Mitch. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to her, she’ll have a great time.” Your words soothed him a little, the familiar sense of feeling like his throat was closing up every time he had to leave the most precious thing in his life, but he felt a little more reassured by your voice and your statement.

“I know she will, I trust you.”

The words meant more to him than you knew, it was hard for him to trust people but for whatever reason it was, he trusted you with everything he had, before reaching for the bag, still a few items laying in it.

“This is her teddy, she’s going to insist she’s a big girl and doesn’t need it because she wants to impress you, but she can’t sleep without it. Also, I wrote down some stuff in this notebook for you, as well as the emergency numbers for her doctor, and such. If you need it, her allergies are in here too, and just some information you might need..” You took it from him, the teddy sitting in your lap as you flicked through the notebook, grinning a little as you settled on one page.

“Favourite pizza toppings; chicken and sweetcorn?”

He shrugged, grinning a little as heat flooded his cheeks, but you brushed your fingers over the pages, nibbling on your lower lip as you read some of the words he’d scribbled down, and his eyes were drawn into the action. You were talking, he could tell because your lips were moving, and he had to tear his eyes up from your mouth before you caught him staring, and when he managed to tune back in, he was grateful to hear you were just reading aloud, and weren’t saying anything important that he’d missed.

Emma was calling you through, claiming the doll show to be ready, and he couldn't help but be happy that she had settled in so quickly, making him all that much more confident and secure in leaving her here with you for the time he was away. He followed after you dumbly as you carried the notebook away, placing it on the kitchen counter as you passed by, before he could see his daughter, kneeling on the floor and positioning her toys, the row of dolls lined up along the edge of the coffee table.

“Em, I have to go now, are you going to come say goodbye?”

She turned to look at him, her smile falling away for only a moment, before a smaller one was taking its place guilt clawing at his insides as he watched her stand up and wobble her way over to him on shaky little legs, before lifting her arms up for him to lift her into his arms.

Her little arms wrapped around his neck, legs sealing to his waist as she buried her face into his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, short little puffs of breath washing over his skin, and Mitch buried his nose in his daughter's hair, hearing you leave the room to give them their space, a nation that he appreciated from you as he felt tears burn behind his eyes.

“Miss you ‘ready, daddy.”

Her words were muffled by the way she was positioned, a breathy laugh leaving him as he nodded, peppering the expanse of the side of her head and face that he could reach with little kisses. “I’m gonna’ miss you a whole bunch, princess, but I’ll be back real soon, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

“You’re going to be good, right?”

“The best, I swears it.” She pulled back, holding out one of her pinkies for him, and he adjusted her to rest her weight on the forearm wrapped under her legs, before linking his pinky with hers, and kissing their joined hands.

“That's my good girl, now you can go and play.”

She was happy to be let back down to the floor, and you reappeared, giving him a gentle smile before walking him the door, dread and anticipation filling him as he turned back to look at his little girl, waving when she looked up at him, pausing her playing.

“I’ll be as quick as I can, and thank you so much for doing this.”

“Any time, really, I don’t mind even one bit.” Your words were honest and true, making him feel a little reassured, before he could hear the scuffling of socks on the carpet as Emma appeared behind you, tugging on your hand before raising her arms a little, mailing when you picked her up. Balancing her on your hip, she rested her head on your shoulder, holding on with one hand and reaching out a flat palm towards him, wiggling her fingers the best way she knew how to.

It was far too domestic, the way the two of you already had a dynamic that was intimate and sweet, his breath getting caught in his lungs as he looked at the pair of you, his imagination spiralling to places he didn’t have time to go to right now, but he knew would creep up on him later when he was on the plane. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the top of his daughter's head, and suppressing the urge to look up and brush his lips to your own, settling for a simple nod, before swallowing thickly as he tried to force himself to move away from you both.

“I heard someone’s favourite pizza toppings were chicken and sweetcorn. How about we go inside and have a little look for some takeout places, yeah? You want pizza?”

You looked up at him for the approval, the distraction he was grateful for as his daughter’s wide eyes finally left him, because if she had stared for much longer he may have broken down entirely and stayed, but now it was easier. The spell was broken as he stepped away, mumbling a final goodbye to you both, before watching as the door closed, your smile and Emma’s wave to see him off, before he was able to release his breath, snap himself out of it, and walk away.

The second he’d landed, he was out of the plane and into the car, snatching up his bag and leaving the runway, encouraging the man sent to pick him up to speed up a little as he headed back towards the main building from the airport. He had to debrief, but it was a quick thing to accomplish, most of the work being documents online that could easily be completed and submitted as he wrote up a report of what happened, but more importantly, he’d have his daughter back by then.

The car seemed like it was only getting slower and slower, despite the fact that he knew it wasn’t, and as they finally pulled up into the parking lot, his stomach finally being able to unknot and relax as he saw his daughter, her hand linked through Stan’s as the man held a face like thunder - as usual - while Emma talked his ear off, uncaring of whether he wanted to hear the words or not.

From the moment he had the door open, he could hear her racing forward to meet him, and Mitch dropped down to his knees to catch his daughter’s body as she hurled herself into him, a collision that knocked the breath from his lungs, but he clung to her tightly. Little arms wrapped around his neck as he sealed his own around her little frame, one hand cupping the back of her head, smoothing her hair down as she gave him a tight hug, before pulling back and holding his face in her hands, scrunching up her face as she pressed a kiss to the end of his nose.

“You’re home!”

“I’m home, for a long time, too, I hope.” He glanced up at Stan, who was pulling out a cigarette from the box behind him, standing back from Emma now that he could smoke without her being too close, and lighting up the death stick in his mouth, making sure to blow the smoke up above his head, just in case. Looking down at his daughter, his brows furrowed at the sparkly blue and pink tutu around her waist, layers of netting sticking out with gems and sequins sewn along the waistline, it was a real eyesore, and exactly the kind of thing a child would adore. “I’ve never seen this one before, where did you get it?”

He picked his girl up, balancing her across his front as he stood up to his full height, and taking his bag with him. “(Y/N) bought it for me! I wanted to play princesses, but I didn't have my dresses. She let out a sigh, smoothing little hands over the netting to press it down, before it was popping up again a moment later, and she seemed satisfied with whatever actions she’d taken.

“And where is (Y/N)?”

Emma simply shrugged, choosing to busy herself with taking fistfuls of his hair and running her fingers through it before patting it down, and his attention moved to Stan, watching as he smoked quietly and watched the scene. “I took over looking after Emma this morning, she got a call in the middle of the night from Irene, a lead on her big case that she thought had gone cold last year. Popped back up, a sudden occurrence. She wasn’t going to go, but she had to, we both knew it.”

Mitch could only nod, knowing how hard you’d worked on that case, and how much it really did need to be closed, and his heart warmed at the fact you would give it all up to care for Emma, but he completely understood. It didn't stop the spark of disappointment that shot through him when he realised he wouldn’t get a chance to thank you personally, however, because he’d been particularly hoping that he would be functional enough to maybe try and string some words together, and ask if he could repay you by taking you out to dinner.

His confidence was already draining from him, the adrenaline and victory high he’d been on that had spurred the idea on the first place was melting away, and he sighed out a little, not knowing when the next time he’d get to see you would be.

“Shame, would’ve been nice to see her.” He cleared his throat as Hurley’s eyes narrowed on him for the comment, and he shrugged his free shoulder. “Thank her for looking after Em, check how it all went, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” The man didn’t seem to believe him, but he didn't comment on it, instead dropping the butt of the cig to the floor and stomping it out, before opening the back of his car with a click of his car keys, the bags he had dropped his daughter off with were sitting in the back. “Well she’s gone by now, but I have Emma’s stuff for you, now get in the car so I can take you both home. There’s a reason I didn’t have my own children, y’know.”

Mitch scowled at him, glancing at his daughter, who seemed to know exactly what he meant and was uncaring as she grinned wickedly at Stan, who glared back equally at the girl, before offering her a smile.

“C’mon, Emma, I’m not moving your car seat from the front, your dad can ride in the back.”

She clapped her hands with a loud squeal, before squirming from his arms and into Stan’s, letting him toss his bag in the back and slam the trunk shut, before clambering into the back seat as his superior started up the car.

It was two months before Mitch got to see you again, and he worried for you every single day because of it. Emma would not stop asking about you, she’d spent at least the entirety of the first month telling him about everything the two of you had gotten up to over your time spent together on repeat, until he felt like he could tell the stories himself.

Emma had decided that her latest obsessions had moved on from playing house to holding tea parties, her dollies no longer being her children but instead being her guests, and the backpack carrying plastic guns and princess crowns had been swapped out for a miniature briefcase with a portable tea set, one that flipped over to make a table for her to sit at. The entire set had cost him over a hundred dollars, and he was absolutely certain that he could have constructed himself a better one for ten dollars and a trip to target, but he didn’t have the time for that.

Emma had taken to setting up the table beside the ring, the boxing back, or the equipment that he was working on whenever he came to the gym, Irene beginning to get at him to find a new nanny so that no children were wandering around the building anymore, but he had seen her accept a fake plastic cup on multiple occasions, and even once caught her letting Emma label files with the label maker in her office, so he wasn’t taking the threat all that seriously.

Other agents had chipped in too, because they didn't have the willpower to resist a four-year-old with pigtails blinking up at them, wide-eyed with a pout as she holds a painted plastic teapot and an empty plastic mug to match. No matter how frequently her attention was taken away - a fact he was entirely grateful for, because he had no idea how to attend a ‘tea party’ - for a split second, her questions always came down to when you’d be back, and Mitch was beginning to lose his mind a little bit, running out of excuses.

He was pounding away on a punching bag, his daughter sitting beside him and singing a little tune to herself in the almost empty gym as she occasionally offered him ‘sips of tea’ from the empty cup, before Stan was bursting in through the doors with extreme force and speed, and Mitch’s stomach twisted at the idea that he was either about to get bollocked, or given an assignment.

Pulling up the edge of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, he placed a hand flat on the sandbag to bring it's swinging to a stop.

It wasn’t him that Stan was looking for, though, it was Emma. He offered the girl a smile, an expression reserved for her and her only, as she spun around to him, thrusting a teacup into his hand as he came to a stop and crouched before her. “I have a surprise for you, kiddo.”

“You do?” He nodded, and she squealed excitedly, pulling a doll away from one of the seats on the floor by its foot, tossing it to the side in a way that Mitch had certainly done with actual people, a smirk flicking at his lips as the slightly macabre thought of ‘like father, like daughter’ flickered across his mind, watching as she falsely filled Stan’s cup up with tea. “What is the surprise, Mr Stan?”

She sounded exasperated already, and both of them chuckled at her strained voice as she all but bounced on her feet. “Guess who’s back?”

Mitch felt his own heart skip a beat, licking over his lips and trying to control himself from jumping into the conversation, choosing instead to unwrap his hands of his boxing tape slowly, pretending like he wasn’t quite as invested in this news as he actually was. Stan confirmed Emma’s guess when she finally reached your name, coming third in her guesses behind Scooby-Doo and Princess Sofia, and he wasn’t sure when either of the fictional characters had gone missing, but apparently, in her mind, they were a dire missing person’s case.

He only had to wait around five minutes, before he caught glimpses of you going along, two interns following behind you, a whirl of beauty and grace, before you were entering the gym, dead set on making your way towards the lockers and showers.

He could see you more clearly now, anger on your face as blood and dirt covered you almost from head to toe, and you still managed to look beautiful. One of the junior agents following behind you was holding up a phone, microphone pointed towards you as you spoke, listing off every detail of the case that you possibly could, as the other held out a packet of antiseptic wipes and a plastic bag, each time you fingers plucked another one from the packet to scrub at your skin, the old one being collected.

With a black eye and a bust lip, he still thought that you looked beautiful, the stunning hair and makeup up-do that you must’ve had done was completely destroyed, but the silk gown hugging your body seemed almost intact, save for the blood spatters and dirt, and you ran your fingers through your hair, pulling out the clips holding it up and teasing the knots in the strands.

Every further look he took, you seemed more and more exhausted and battered, the bruises on your arms a chest obvious to him now, the scratches and cuts that were inflamed and red, poorly patched up with in the field medical supplies, a miss matching collection of band-aids and gauze, and Mitch almost had to cover his daughter's ears as he realised just how many curse words and language he wasn’t ready from her to hear yet were spilling from her mouth, but you beat him to it, mouth snapping shut.

You’d looked around now, noticing the three of them in the corner, and came to a full halt, a deep sigh leaving you as you met Emma’s eyes, his daughter staring up at you in awe and wonder. Lifting a hand, you waved your fingers at her in a sweet wave, dismissing the two agents who were quick to scurry away. You kicked off your heels, leaving them discarded on the floor as you unstrapped a gun from your thigh, dropping it and the holster to the floor, before holding your arms out to her.

“Princess, be careful! (Y/N) is-”

He cringed, words a little too late as he watched Emma barrel herself into you, almost knocked flat on your back as you caught her in your kneeled position, and he heard the breath forced from your lungs as a whine.

“Injured. She’s injured, Em, just like daddy sometimes is when he comes home. We have to be gentle, remember?” She simply nodded, pulling back a little with a soft apology under her breath, and you brushed her hair back, pinching her cheek and letting her take your hand as you stood back up. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve been waiting to see this little cutie again for months, anyway.” You brushed it off, but he could hear the tiredness in your voice and see the slight wobble as you studio up, swaying despite not moving and walking, and he worried a little more for you. Stan placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, wishing you a congratulations before following in the direction that the other agents had gone, and leaving the three of you alone in the room. Emma took her hand from yours, pulling off her trainers to place her tiny feet into your heels, trying to balance and shuffle forwards, and you reached a hand out to steady yourself on his shoulder, shaking your head clear a little bit. “I haven’t slept for, like, three days. I’m exhausted.”

“Well, you still look nice. Beautiful, really. You look great.”

You raised your brows at him for a second, looking down at yourself and taking it all in, before a soft laugh was leaving your lips. “I look a mess, but I do appreciate the confidence boost.”

He joined in with your laughs, his heart feeling completely full, and he swallowed thickly to try and choke down his anxiety. You both turned to watch Emma shuffle around, taking tiny steps as she found her rhythm in your heels, looking adorable as she carried around a teacup in one hand and two massively oversized heels in the other.

“Will you stay for tea with us?”

“Oh, Em, I think (Y/N) is probably a bit tired tonight, mayb-”

You squeezed his shoulder, his head cutting to turn to you, and you shook your head at him a little bit. “I would love to, Emmy. Did you make the tea yourself?”

She gasped, nodding excitedly as she abandoned her heels and dashed over to the table again, finding another cup and setting you a place, getting lost in her own world as she listed off the different kind of teas she ‘had’, the list sounding exactly like the aisles at Walmart she’d forced him to stand in for thirty minutes as she memorised them three days ago. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, totally. Why don’t you go shower up, and then when you get back, you can drive me home, because I’m pretty sure I’ll fall asleep behind the wheel if I drive.”

He grinned, ducking his head for only a second, before confirming that he would. “I won’t be long. Promise.”

The next few weeks felt like a slow slide turning into an avalanche, like he’d been slipping on his feet a little for the past few years and was no tumbling like a cartoon down a snowy mountainside, becoming an ever-growing snowball before the brick wall he was bound to hit into sooner or later.

He had been perfectly capable of keeping his feelings under wraps while you barely interacted, greeting one another in the corridor when he was able to pass with simple grunts and on syllable responses, but now you talked. He had somehow managed to make a friend of you, your smiling face every time he passed you by making him feel like he was heating up from the inside, fire bursting from his fingertips anytime, and he wondered if he looked as red in the face as he felt each time.

Mitch could now confirm that without a doubt, he was head over heels in love with you, and you had absolutely no idea. At this point, he didn’t really have anything left within himself to even chastise his heart for making this decision against logic and reason’s advisement, because you were absolutely everything he needed. He never had to lie to you about where he was, or what he was doing, and when he'd had a particularly rough day or assignment, you understood what he needed, sitting with him quietly and swapping the coffee that made him jittery out for a calming camomile tea. You loved his daughter, and she loved you, and you’d managed to support him along his single-fatherhood like nobody else had, making everything seem a little bit easier, because he had a friend to go through it with.

You were always willing to offer a helping hand, a comforting comment or a funny joke to cheer him up, and you’d never said no at the chance of seeing Emma. Said little girl had attached herself to you like a barnacle, wanting to spend as much time with you as she possibly could, and it was both a blessing and a curse for him. On the one hand, any time you were around, Emma didn’t want his mediocre guest skills, because as it had turned out, you were an excellent tea pastry guest. You had the popped up little pinky, and the small talk to match, and you’d even somehow found a set of saucers that match the pattern to give to her when her fifth birthday had passed by. The problem was, when you were sitting on the gym floor and drinking fake tea with his little girl, his concentration was anywhere but the sparring matches and boxing bags, and he often found himself on his back and pinned to the floor by recruits, or being smacked in the face by a bag that swung back at him with force.

His body and face were constantly littered with healing bruises, and there was no chance that Emma was ever going to take her sights off of you, because she had decided that you were her new role model, his chest aching at the thought that he couldn't provide a mother figure for his daughter, that she was growing up and scrabbling to learn front the women around her.

He thought it was adorable that she’d started wearing her dresses more, just so she could tuck her nerf gun into the waistband of her leggings in claims that she wanted to match the way wore your gun under your dress too, or the way she’d started trying to tie her own hair up in the same style you did, but she needed more.

She needed someone to teach her how to paint her nails when she was older and help her pick out an outfit for prom, and to teach her about the women’s side of things, because Mitch still didn’t understand the difference between pads with wings and the ones without, and at what age you’re supposed to move onto tampons, and why a skincare routine needed to be so intense, and what the fuck purple shampoo was, and he didn’t know what to do about it all.

Most of all, he was just glad to have someone back in his life that didn’t bark orders at him or rely on him. Emma was a handful, and he loved her with all of his heart, and Stan was a good enough friend but still a tough superior, and he hadn't had a friend of his own in years, and sometimes, when he finally got to sit down on his couch with a cold beer in hand after putting Emma to bed and having some time to himself, he let his mind wander.

He’d daydream about having someone with him, having you with him, having a friend to talk to. He was lonely in the nights, and when the bed felt cold, and when he never had anyone to share his thoughts with that Emma wasn’t old enough to understand. Being closed off had always helped him, because his number one priority always had been and always would be his daughter, he didn’t want anyone coming into his life that she may not like or that may hurt her, and yet Emma had chosen you all on her own. She had seen you, picked you out by hand and decided that you were everything she wanted to be when she grew up, and he couldn't blame her in the slightest, because he couldn't imagine a better role model.

All of thee thoughts seemed to come spilling over one day when he had intended to say a simple thank you, catching you just before you’d moved away to hit the showers, while Emma was still built giggling with Stan as he helped her fire her latest new child-friendly firearm addition at the newest targets, one of the interns moving around with a bullseye on his chest as she shot foam bullets at him.

“I just wanted to say thanks.”

“For what?” You were a little bit breathless and sweaty, and you were licking your lips on repeat as you tried to get them to stay wet after your intense workout, and his mind was short-circuiting a little bit.

“Everything. Lately.” He barely even paused for breath, before his mouth was continuing without his mind's approval. “I know you have no obligation to us, or to my Em, but she looks up to you, she adores you, and I think it’s good for her to have a mom-type role.” His eyes widened as you laughed a little, and he felt like he was choking on his own tongue as he tried to figure out how to backpedal from that statement. “Oh, God, not that you are her mom, y’know, just that she has a female role-model, because she needs it, I can’t imagine anyone better for her to want to aspire to be like than you, you're an incredible influence!”

With a hand on his arm, you cut off his rambling, and his ears were ringing with the pressure slamming about inside his head, the internal loop of his thoughts now just have become a loud screaming that accurately represented how he felt.

Your lips were pursed together now as you tried to hold in a grin, your thumb rubbing over his bicep in what he was sure was supposed to be a comforting motion but was actually just driving him more and more insane, the domesticity of the sweet actions meant he was definitely reading a little to far into them, but he didn’t care, because he was taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself down, matching the rise and fall of his shoulders with yours, until subconsciously, he was able to relax once again.

“I always kinda’ wanted a kid, but in this line of work, you don’t really get the chance to meet anyone, never mind meet anyone that wants kids themselves, so I’m glad she’s taken an attachment to me.” You seemed to panic a little at your own words there, his lips flicking up at the sides, in knowing he wasn’t the only one struggling with his words right now. “I’m not trying to steal your baby Mitch, I just love her to bits, and I’m more than happy spending time with her. She’s an amazing little girl, and you’ve done such a good job raising her. You are a fantastic father, Mitch.”

He took a moment to wonder if ‘heart eyes’ were a real thing, or whether there were little birds flying around his head, maybe a massive neon sign above him that simply read ‘I am so fucking in love with you that it hurts’, because that is how he felt, hearing you compliment his parenting abilities, his daughter and their family all in one. His voice felt hoarse as he tried to speak, coughing a little to clear it, but unable to tear his gaze away from yours as he spoke the raspy words, voice cracking a little; “Thank you.”

“I’m going to go wash up, alright?”

He could only nod, his eyes widening to the size of golf balls when your hand slipped up from his arm, across his shoulder and to his cheek, before your lips were pressing to the other, brushing smoothly over rough stubble in a soft peck, before turning away from him and disappearing before his very sight behind the set of double doors leading to the shower rooms. He knew his face was red this time, knew that he was absolutely shocked as he felt like he was going to combust at any moment, whilst also wanting nothing more than to let his weak knees give way so that he could collapse down into the cold floor until his instincts were no longer in overdrive.

Turning around, he was even more mortified to find Emma balanced on Hurley’s hip, watching with a grin as his mentor stared at him with a wide and knowing smirk.

“Daddy and (Y/N) sittin’ in a tree!”

He fixed his daughter with a stern look, taking a step over, and dread filled him when his boss chuckled, before taking a deep breath, and he already knew what was coming next, the two of them chanting the rhyme together;

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

People began to look over at them from the sheer volume of the combined voices, and he snatched his daughter away, scowling at his mentor as he did. He was an assassin, for fuck’s sake, he didn’t have to listen to this shit. Once he knew she wouldn't see it, Mitch was holding his finger up to flip off the older man, before ducking down to scoop up his daughter’s things, and fleeing from the gym before he had to listen to any more of Stan’s teasing, the now knowing for sure that Mitch had one very big weak spot.

That moment had been the result of over a month’s worth of teasing since, smirks in his direction anytime you were within Mitch’s general presence, and like some high school chain of gossip, Stan had passed the information onto Irene, who had told her IT guy and her personal assistant, and he wasn’t sure how many other people knew by now, but it had to be at least half of the people he ever interacted with. Which was a fair fucking amount.

Now, he really did feel like a high schooler with a crush all over again.

He was actively trying not to think about it, instead watching Emma colour in one of the tigers in her colouring book with a green crayon and blue stripes, red eyes that were a little bit haunting in his opinion, when the door knocked quietly and repetitively, and they both froze up a little. Emma was out of her chair like a dash, though, racing toward the front door before he could stop her, and Mitch felt his heart rise up in his throat as she reached for the handle, swinging it open to the unknown arrival and possible threat, before his breath was hitching in his throat.

He wasn’t sure if he was nervous, elated, confused, or a mixture of all three at seeing you standing on his doorstep. A pair of jeans and a baggy jumper, you hair sitting naturally instead of pulled back tightly once again, but this time you wore a little bit of makeup, and you looked softer than he’d ever seen you, possibly even passing for a simple civilian, covered from being a top-secret agent of the highest calibre for just one night.

“Uh, hi?”

He hated the way his word came out, wishing he’d managed to sound more welcoming, but instead he’d managed to sound on edge and crass, your brows furrowing a little as you looked at him, before shaking your head fondly. “This was Emmy’s doing, wasn’t it?”

“What is this, exactly?”

You opened your mouth to reply, before the girl he’d been trying to hold behind him damaged to break free, a high-pitched yell on her lips as she wrapped her arms around your legs, crushing her face into her stomach as she laughed excitedly. “You came! You really came over!”

You crouched down when she pulled away, a smile on your lips, but it didn’t reach your eyes, and Emma placed her hands on your shoulders when you were at her height. “You have been lying and keeping secrets, little missy!” You tickled at her sides lightly, and she crumpled into laughter, before you were continuing. “Your daddy did not invite me over for dinner, did he? You can’t just go around inviting people to dinner!”

“I didn’t lie! Or keep secrets, swearsies!” She stuck her pinky out in your direction, and you didn’t accept it immediately, making her sigh over-dramatically. “Daddy says surprises don’t count as lying if it’s a good surprise, and I know you’re his friend and playdates are always fun and I wanted to surprise him.”

He knew she was trying to whisper, but wasn’t doing an excellent job of it, and he felt his frown slipping away, instead smoothing a hand over her hair to draw her attention up to him. “You’d better go and set an extra place at the table, Em. Clear away your drawings, and later, me and you and going to talk about inviting people over to the house without my permission, okay?”

She frowned, her entire face screwing up with the motion, but she nodded nonetheless, and you shifted to show the tote bag that was tucked under your arm, before pulling out a green bottle, a fancy label on the front as you handed it over to her, Emma’s face lighting up as he dashed inside with the gift.

“Did you just give my daughter a bottle of wine?”

You gasped, standing up to your full height before him, shaking your head fervently. “Of course not! I gave her an old wine bottle filled up with sparkling grape soda so she can feel all grown up!”

“You did all that just for Emma’s impromptu dinner party?” You shuffled from foot to foot, nodding a little, and he felt his heart melt as an entirely new side of you shone through, a new you that was different to the confident and bold woman he knew while on duty, and leaving him with a slightly anxious sweetheart in an oversized jumper. “That’s fucking adorable, you know that, right?”

“I’m not adorable.” You mumbled, and he laughed, reaching out to pinch your cheek before you swatted it away, and the energy between you both felt completely different. He wasn’t nervous with the real you, he was only nervous with the work you. This side of you put him at ease, this side of you made him feel comfortable and relaxed, and he didn’t feel his heart try to burst out of his chest too hard when you smiled back at him this time. “Are you sure you want me here? I can go home, I should have known better, texted you beforehand to check, or something.”

“Do you mind eating dinosaur chicken nuggets and smiley face waffles?”

“That sounds amazing, actually.” He beamed, swinging the door open a little wider for you, and welcoming you into his home, your shoes being toed off by the door as you pulled the sleeves down over your hands, before spinning to him with a sudden intake of breath as he closed the door and remembered to put the highest locks on again. “I bought something for you, too.”

“Is it wine in a grape soda bottle?”

“You wish.” You teased presenting him with a bottle of wine, the cork still in it, and he took it from you, grinning as he looked it over, before meeting your curious gaze, and putting your nerves to rest.

“We can have it after Emma goes to bed, maybe?”

It was a bold move, and he knew it, but at this point, he didn’t have much of his dignity or pride left to lose, and it seemed to pay off as you leaned into him a little, letting out a light breath. “I’d love that.”

He placed the bottle of red down on the coffee table, leaving it there before he had a hand on your lower back, and was guiding you through to the kitchen where Emma was trying to work out which side of the plate the knife was supposed to go on, and which side was the fork.

As much as he admired and adored his daughter’s intentions, he really wished he known, because Mitch found himself dishing up the most un-sophisticated dinner ever, and standing in a slightly messy kitchen to match a slightly messy apartment, covered in children’s toys and carpets he hadn't vacuumed in almost two weeks, wearing sweatpants and a shirt with a hole in the arm that was faded from all the wear and tear it had seen over the years.

He did the best he could, though, because this was the kind of moment he never thought he’d get to have with you, and he busied himself with splitting up the meal, taking all the brontosaurus' and triceratops into your and his plates, because Emma only liked the t-rex’s and the pterodactyls, claiming they tasted different. Arranging them around the outside, he filled the middle with the number of smiley faces that she’d actually at, despite knowing she’d argue for more. Fishing out the ketchup, he squirted the sauce out, shaping it in a couple of hearts, before picking up her plate and placing it down in front of her, placing a kiss to the top of her head.

Your plate was next, the bottle of ketchup going down into the middle of the table as he sat down opposite you. As predicted, Emma complained about the quantities, before tucking in, constantly talking with her mouthful as she tried to add to the conversation. He drank sparkling grape soda from an old wine bottle with you both, and watched as Emma told you everything she could possibly think of that you may not already know, before offering to show off her bedroom to you after dinner.

He both hated and loved how naturally you bonded with his daughter, and how seeing you sitting across from him eating kids meals and having a biased thumb war with his five-year-old at the dinner table felt like something that was meant to be in his life, and definitely something he knew he could get used to. You helped clean up, standing by his side and washing the pots as he dried and put them away, much to your insistence as he told you you didn't have to, and Emma pinned up her blue and green demon-tiger on the fridge, before clearing away her crayons and going to clean her teeth.

You let her give you the ‘grand tour’ of her bedroom as he leaned in the doorway, trying not to think about how he’d very much like to give you the grand tour of his bedroom, and distracting himself by picking out the bedtime story he’d read to her once she was settled under the covers.

He found you again once the girl was asleep, flicking out the lights and finding you sitting on his couch, passing your time by quietly reading the book he’d had out on the coffee table, seemingly already further through it than he’d had the chance to get in over a week, but closing it up when he sat down beside you, two real wine glasses and a corkscrew in hand as he offered one to you.

You shifted as he sat down, resting your feet in his lap once he’d popped the cork out, whispering a quiet ‘thank you’ once your glass had been filled, and just like that, you were once again dragging him down into that hazy feeling he’d spent the entire night in, leaning his head on the cushion, and letting the first things that came to mind spill from his mouth. The conversation took off from there, starting as you conversed the book he had out, and moving to other books, before movies and TV shows, general likes and dislikes, learning one another slowly.

Everything you told him made him like you a little bit more, your quirks and sharp edges, a kind of devotion finding a place in his heart that he never thought he’d feel again as you continued on, before the topic had switched to the future. He spilled his fears, that he wanted Emma to do private elementary schooling, but to attend an actual middle and high school, to get the full experience like she deserved, but that he also just wanted to protect her from the entire world. He confessed that he constantly felt like he was failing, tearing up when he told you about how he was certain he couldn't give her as much as she deserved, leaning into your hand when you wiped away the tear that fell free, and you spilled your own wishes to him.

Everything before the trauma that had landed you in the CIA at a younger age than him, and that no relationship had ever worked out for you, because you could never get past the ‘so, what do you do for a living?’ stage, and could never move in with someone, plan dates, or make a future. You told him about how you still wanted the same little things all little girls wanted, a pretty wedding and a devoted spouse and a beautiful child to raise into the world and add to society, to leave a legacy behind in the form of a beautiful person who would live their own life, and that you worried you’d never get it.

By the end of the bottle, the two of you were more than tipsy, and he felt like he'd known you forever, his body pressed to yours, and an arm wrapped around you as your head leaned on his shoulder, deep sighs leaving you both.

“I’m sorry if tonight was a total fail.”

You shifted, just slightly, before raising a hand, weaving your fingers with his on the hand sitting over your shoulder. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s been.. a while since I last took a pretty woman out for dinner, and it isn’t supposed to be soda and chicken nuggets, and you shouldn’t wear sweatpants, that’s for sure.” You turned a little, pressing the rumble of your laugh into his shoulder, and he didn't even have enough inhibition to be embarrassed about his lack of filter.

“Tell you what, Mitch, if you want to take me out to dinner, then I will dress up all pretty to be on your arm. But, for the record, I am more than happy to spend a dinner date with you and Emma eating kid’s food, in sweatpants and hoodies.” He whined a little under his breath, before pulling back enough to look at you, and resting his forehead on your own.

“Do you have any idea how perfect you are?”

Your breath hitched a little from his words, and he twisted his head, enough to bump his nose with your own as he tasted your breath on his lips, licking over his own and working up the nerve to close his mouth in against your own, slot them together in a simple kiss.

He didn’t get the chance, before you were both jumping apart in slight shock when Emma’s bedroom door clicked open, the two of you watching the girl shuffle down the hall, rubbing at her eyes, entirely unaware of her surroundings as she moved into the bathroom, the door closing behind her. The atmosphere felt entirely shattered, his confidence shooting back down to the floor, the startle from his daughter sobering him up a little, now.

“I should go, it’s probably quite late.”

He only nodded, grabbing the empty bottle and the glasses, running them through to the kitchen and leaving them for himself to sort in the morning, before meeting you by the front door. You were tugging your shoes back on, your hood pulled up over your head to fight the cold that waited outside, and your bag on your arm again.

“I meant it, though. I had an amazing night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, pressing a kiss to his cheek again, this one lingering, you forehead bumping his temple as you pulled back, before you were waving to him and walking away toward the stairs, letting him watch until you were sealed within the box and taken from his sights, and he locked the front door once again.

When he turned, Emma was standing there, her thumb in her mouth as she stared up at him, and he reached down, plucking it from between her lips and wiping it off, crouching down before her.

“Do you love (Y/N)?” He all but choked on his breath, staring down at the little girl in shock, before she yawned again, covering her mouth and shrugging her shoulders. Lifting her arms up, she allowed Mitch to pick her up, flicking off the lights in the house as he went, heading away with a destination of her bedroom as her face settled into his neck. “I love (Y/N). She's my bestest friend.”

He placed her down onto the mattress delicately, the nightlight in her room casting a soft pink glow over her features, and he smiled sadly as he looked at her, little eyes fluttering shut as she snuggled back into her blankets. He could see so much of Katrina in her features, sure that they would only develop more as she grew older, but it no longer hurt to look at her like it did in the first year, and he no longer felt that same pang of pain in his heart at the flash of her face across his mind, just nostalgia that made his heart slow a little, for only a second, in memory of someone it had lost.

In addition, though, he could see so much of you in her personality. His little girl was brave, and confident, and would be truly unstoppable one day, and he loved it, stroking his fingers over her hair and smiling a little when she opened his eyes to peer at him curiously, still waiting for an answer from him.

“I do. I love her too, princess.” She smiled to herself like she’d been told the world’s biggest secret, tucking her face into her pillow some more as sleep began to come back to claim her. “She’s special. She’s like.. like-”

“A queen!”

He laughed a little at her words, finding the teddy bear that had fallen from the bed to the carpet and tucking it under her arm, raising a brow in question. “A queen?”

“I’m the princess.” She murmured, the nickname he gave her so fondly rolling from her lips. “That means you’re the king, and (Y/N) can be the queen.”

The stinging realisation that she was searching for another figure in anyone that she could find made him ache with freezing cold ice from head to toe, his eyes welling up a little bit as he tried to hold a brave face, kissing her forehead as he stood up, bidding her a goodnight as her breathing went shallow, and closing the door again behind him.

“Daddy, can you get married?”

Emma was holding up the last of her Haribo sweets on her finger, before chewing the gummy ring off, and he turned to look at her, raising his head from his work, before turning to glare at Stan as he snickered. “Did you set this up?”

“I did nothing!”

He peered at his daughter's iPad, another scene from ‘Frozen’ up on the screen as Anna and Hans’ voices barely reached his ears through the headphones she’d taken off, and he let out a deep sigh, Stan texting on his phone and ignoring them both, and Mitch placed down the pen for the work he was signing off on. “I want to get married, daddy.”

“One day, princess.”

“I want you to get married, too. Why can’t we have a wedding, daddy?” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, before giving his full attention to his daughter. He wasn’t sure how to answer, or what to say, but she was staring up at him hopefully as she nibbled on a gummy bear, the crown on her head tipping a little bit to the side, and he reached out to place it on her head properly again.

“We can have a wedding if you want to, baby.” He couldn't help it, but her little hands were clapping together excitedly and her face lit up, and he didn’t regret the choice at all. “Stan will officiate.”

“I will do no such thing!” The man insisted, but Emma ignored that, only getting more excited as her hands became fists while she cheered.

“Yay, Mr Stan!”

He glared at Mitch, who only smirked back at him, signing his name in confirmation at the bottom of the papers and finishing them off, the man growling under his breath but being unable to refuse, and Emma was leaping out of her chair, fishing out her other crown, and presenting it proudly.

“Royal crowns! Wedding crowns!”

She stamped her feet excitedly, clutching it to her chest as her entire body all but vibrated with excitement, and he was out of his chair in seconds, scooping her up happily and pressing kisses to her cheeks as the other crown fell away, her childish giggles filling the room as he spun her around.

“Right, right, c’mon then. I have a meeting in ten minutes, so if we’re having a royal wedding, we’re on a timer.”

Hurley let out a heaving sigh as he stood up, the door bursting open a second later as you all but fell through, a more formal outfit than usual on you, a pencil skirt and tight jumper, your eyes wide and phone clutched in hand. “What happened?”

“What?”

“The emergency! What happened?” Mitch looked over at Stan, your eyes following his, and you growled under your breath, picking up one of the croissants from the cart beside you and throwing it across the room at him. “You don’t just text people ‘quick, help, there is an emergency’ when there is no emergency, Stan!”

“There is an emergency! Someone has to marry Mitch!”

“Are you fu-” You cut yourself off, pinching the bridge of your nose, before walking over to them and covering Emma’s ears. “Are you fucking kidding me, Stan? I was in a debriefing.”

“I thought I was marrying Emma?” Mitch felt like he was talking to himself as he realised he'd been set up, Emma arranging him until he was facing you, her hands on your hips as she turned you to face him, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe again. Since your dinner a few weeks ago, neither of you had spoken about what had almost happened, slipping right back to being close friends, and he wasn’t sure whether or not to take that as a good sign.

He couldn't help but think about how odd this entire situation was, the child of the fiancée who had died was holding a fake marriage to someone else, someone she had seemed to have adopted as her own motherly figure, and he felt like it was all a little too weird to actually focus on for too long.

“Em, do you remember what we said about surprises?”

“Yes! You said surprises are okay!” She growled a little at him, her best wolf impression as she tried to get him to back down, and he returned it, watching as her face screwed up with anger and her arms crossed. “Surprises are okay if it makes everyone happy, that’s what you said, daddy!”

“Yes, but how do you know everyone is happy, Emma?”

“Because you love (Y/N)!” Mitch wanted the ground to open up and suck him in, possibly just let him never return, but then someone has to look after Emma, and he didn't even bother to cover her ears as he let a string of curses fall from his mouth, embarrassment flaring up warmth across his entire body, swelling in his chest all the way up to the tips of his ears in a suffocating heat as his head dropped. “It’s okay, daddy! (Y/N) loves you too! Mr Stan says so!”

He heard the dull thud of what sounded like a very solid punch being delivered to Stan, and he had been about to take the same action himself feeling a little bit better at knowing the man got a dig in for his sneaky actions.

“You have to get married and be happy, daddy.”

“Yeah, Rapp. You have to be happy. It’s an order.” He looked up at the man, a more genuine look on his face than any he had ever seen, and he gave in a little, finally managing to drag his eyes up to meet yours. You reached out, taking his hands in yours and pulling him in a little closer to you, as you winked at his daughter, and looked back up to him.

Stan cleared his throat, lifting Emma onto his hip, and she clutched two crowns excitedly in her hands. “We are gathered here today, to join Mitch Rapp and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) in the most epic royal wedding ever.” Emma giggled at his words, nodding in agreement. “Do you, Mitch Rapp, take (Y/N) to be your royally wedded wife?”

He turned, licking over his lips, seeing your little nod to him in a promise that it was okay, before Emma was staring up at him hopefully, and Stan was glaring at him like he’d be shot at dawn by a firing squad if he didn’t agree.

“Yes.”

“Fantastic. (Y/N), do you take Mitch Rapp to be your royally wedded husband?” You rolled your eyes, laughing a little, before nodding your head, and grinning when Emma cheered loudly.

“I do.”

“Emma, the wedding crowns?” He lifted her up, allowing her to place the green one into his hair and the blue one into your own, fixing them to her liking before Stan was pulling her back down to a regular level, and placing her down on the floor. “Would you like to say it?”

He honestly didn't think he could get any worse, or that he could be any more embarrassed than he already was, but then his daughter's next words came, and he thought he may actually throw up a little bit; “You may now kiss the queen!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You may now kiss the queen, Rapp.” Hurley growled at him, and he couldn't believe his mentor was teaming up against him with his own daughter.

“I can’t believe you’re encouraging this in my dau-”

He was cut off with the only action he hadn't been expecting at this moment, his eyes closing as he realized what was happening. Your mouth was pressed to his, a sweet and innocent kiss, pulled in by a handful of his shirt, and he sighed happily into your mouth. Your lips were playing with his delicately, pressing and pulling in soft motions, and he felt like he’d slammed into cloud nine. His hands slipped down to your hips, holding you close to him as he pressed back into you, returning the kiss with everything he had, and feeling like his heart was exploding within his chest.

It ended way too quickly for his liking, and he chased your lips for a second, pressing another quick peck to your mouth as you smiled at him, before he was opening his eyes, finding you looking just as bashful as he did, as Stan held his hand up for Emma to smash her palm again in a high-five.

Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him in closer, and your lips brushed against the shell of his ear, making a tremor travel along his spine. “I want to go somewhere hot for our honeymoon.”

He was on an all-time high, and he pulled back, catching your lips in a final sweet kiss. “How about for the wedding reception, we have dinner tonight?”

You hummed thoughtfully before a loving expression was finding itself on your face. “Am I dressing up or dressing down?”

He smoothed his hands around to your lower back, pulling you in a little closer. “How about you come over in the comfiest PJs you own, and when you get cold, I can still be a gentleman and give you my jumper?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

454 notes · View notes

thedevillionaire · 3 years

Text

The Twentieth

Okay. ~5,000 words of Underworldian stuff that happens. Well, primarily one thing, really, but not all at the same time. Sort of. Ask me anything, thank you so very much for reading, and...well, here we go.

--- This was not at all how he’d planned for the day of their anniversary to unfold.

In the back of his mind, in corners he’d quite deliberately not lingered for a moment longer than absolutely necessary, he’d known that trouble was possibly oncoming as early as the night before last, the descending fog of nascent illness as recognisable as it was unwelcome. But it had been…at least a year, perhaps close to two, since he’d last felt this way, and he was hoping that he was wrong, and that what were seeming like potential signs of bad news weren’t actually signs at all.

They were.

Cerberus sniffled.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He’d tried, he really had. Discounting those signs as unimportant even as he took precautions because of them, he’d risked nothing, pushed his luck with nothing. He’d even gone to bed several hours earlier than usual last night, and fallen asleep almost immediately on top of that. Unlike his bonded, who’d had a late night and come home at some uncertain hour from one of those social catch-up things she so enjoyed that he was…less inclined towards, even in times when he was feeling entirely well – not that he’d given that as the reason for his disinclination to participate, of course.

Hardly relevant, anyway.

And he’d slept soundly enough that he’d not woken to notice her join him – in fact, he’d been so sapped of energy that from the moment the warmth of the hearth and bedcovers enveloped him, he was out – which just made it all the more ominous that he’d woken feeling like he’d got no rest at all, bone-tired as if no respite had been granted, with a constant, dull headache that so far had refused to resolve, and yesterday’s mild discomfort at the back of his throat sharpening significantly into an active and intrusive concern.

Getting caught in that ridiculous downpour on the way here wouldn’t have helped matters either, he thought bitterly. Although brief, it had been intense, and sudden, and heavy, and though the mercy of Teleport could not have been a more welcome escape, the short time spent in headblurry indecision about whether or not he should utilise it had nonetheless been long enough that his coat had been soaked through. The refuge of the radiant heat of his Office was helping somewhat, at least, and most of his clothing had dried by now – though his hair, which he’d tied back with a loose bow of slender black velvet ribbon to keep errant strands from his face, was still noticeably and uncomfortably damp against his neck. Less so than had he left it unbound, but still…

If he’d ever regretted choosing to walk rather than taking the lazy option before – gods, the damn irony of thinking that the walk would possibly benefit him tonight, of all things – he was sure he’d not regretted it as much as he did right now.

He sniffled again.

Fuck.

---

Closing the folder of Requiem’s surprisingly competently done assignment, he sighed and added it to the small stack of completed works, vaguely wondering if he’d been too generous with the grading. Although he knew the content backwards and could in fact get away with paying very little serious attention, his mind was nevertheless, for the most part, almost entirely on other things.

This was supposed to be the night where, once respective regular mundanities and commitments were out of the way, he would take his beloved to indulge in whichever of the things she most loved to indulge in while on a Visit, utterly at her behest, and completely guilt-free for her with no mandated set goal to achieve, no limitations on immersion, no regulations at all; just an unscheduled and spontaneous trip to the mortal plane, a high-end cocktail bar all dress codes and decadence, and a veritable array of delicious, oblivious Takings there for her pleasure – ahh, darkling, a smorgasbord! – all eyes upon her because nobody, not in the Underworld and certainly no mortal, can compare, and despite his usual personal antipathy towards bothering with the mortal realm, he knew of certain excellences all the same, and he’d put his own preferences aside and simply present her with the glories and spoils she deserved, watch her dance from the shadows and delight in it.

Darkling, I will give you the world.

He’d had every intention of doing precisely that.

And it was also really starting to feel like he was definitely not going to…not going to let this happen, damn it. You’ll be fine, stop putting unnecessary emphasis on transient discomfort, it’s nothing, you know these things pass, just…

He sniffled again, more sharply this time, claimed another tissue and blew his nose, trying to disregard how doing so did nothing much to stop the continuing drip and irritation.

Just get on with it. Honestly. Vaporising the tissue, he took another sip of the honeyed tea that wasn’t doing nearly as much to counteract the sting in his throat as he’d hoped it would, and returned his attention to the job at hand. He noted with distaste as he opened the new folder that yet again it seemed that Hellion hadn’t bothered to proofread the simplest of…

Oh gods.

His breath caught, thoughts ceased, focus helplessly crumbling.

“Hh-hh…”

He rolled his eyes at the inevitability of it, and grabbed another tissue, and another, as the insistent need made itself unstoppably and urgently known.

“Hh-TSCHH-uu! *snff!* Huh-TSSCHH-uu!”

Therion, across the room and in the midst of cataloguing a stupidly confusing array of recently rediscovered and yet unsorted secondgen scrolls, glanced back over his shoulder at Cerberus briefly. “Gesundheit,” he commented offhand, not remotely surprised by this development. Given the constant sniffling that had been going on for the last couple of hours or so, he’d pretty much been expecting that to happen sooner or later. No matter how infrequently the Demon king may catch cold, symptoms were symptoms. Sounding like shit there, boss, he thought, but decided against voicing it.

Cerberus managed a quick thankyou before the demanding urge once again overtook him, and he inhaled deeply, desperately, the force of the sneeze almost doubling him over.

“hhh-AHHTSSCHHUU!”

Therion glanced over again. “You okay, man?”

Cerberus, with a strong sniffle, cleared his throat and made an incidental sound of dismissal. “Mm, fine,” he murmured, which he knew at this point was a complete lie, his head pounding. “Pardon me.” He blew his nose, sniffling again immediately. Ugh. “It’s, um…it’s nothing.”

He returned his attention to Hellion’s paper.

It was, however, no matter his assurance, becoming undeniably something.

Fuck.

---

The hours had somehow simultaneously dragged and flown by, some goals achieved, others – and, to be honest, the ones he’d most been counting on – unfortunately not so.

Cerberus sighed heavily, put aside the last of the assignments he’d reviewed, and, having had quite enough of honeyed tea for one day, poured himself a substantial glass of cognac from the decanter on his desk.

On the plus side, he’d got through a decent amount of the papers, all things considered. On the minus, though, his oncoming cold, rather than resolving into the insignificance he’d hoped for, had instead settled in undeniably, pouring into his head like cement, and he pressed the back of his hand firmly against his nose with enough force for pain to overtake irritation. He vaporised yet another bunch of used tissues, sniffling again, and tried to take his mind off Kia and what she might be thinking, expecting, dreaming, anticipating…

..and what he feared he was not going be able to deliver.

Acceptance of such, however, was still not something he was willing to entertain quite yet.

Damn it, it’s one night. Surely you can at least delay this ridiculousness for one more night. With a lengthy, determined sniffle and heavy exhalation, Cerberus, elbow on desk and hand against forehead, lost himself in a mix of annoyance and self-pity for a moment before an intense rising fury at the situation overtook it, and he frowned, sat up straighter, and drained the glass of cognac entirely.

Do. Better.

With a brief shake of his head, he rubbed his nose and opened the next assignment in the pile, read the name. Ah, Cenotaph, he noted with a slight satisfaction. Shouldn’t be dreadful. Although he nearly always…

His thoughts were jarringly interrupted by the intrusive ring of the telephone, and despite him dearly wishing he could palm this off to Therion, the phone was on the desk, and proximity demanded he be the one to answer. And to make matters worse – apparently that’s possible, and of course it is – he could feel the rising, inexorable need to sneeze again.

No. This is not happening. Just… The idea of being defeated by such a simple, base physical weakness infuriating, he sniffled with sharp determination, crushing a hand clutching a tissue against his nose, and answered the call.

“Demonics.”

Aera took a moment. “Cerbie? Okay, wow. What are you doing in Office?”

I…work here? Cerberus couldn’t quite parse what her intention was, what sort of answer she was expecting. Was that rhetorical, or…? “I don’t… What do you…” He sniffled again, his breath catching momentarily, but he fought the urge back once more, and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. “What?”

“‘Debodics’,” Aera said in mimicry of the congestion destroying his consonants, her tone flippant and biting at the same time.

Frowning in annoyance, his patience worn thin enough as it was, and in no mood to engage, Cerberus snarled a curt, “I’m fine,” and wiped his nose.

Aera scoffed. “You’re seriously going the denial route? Hate to break it to you, but you sure don’t sound fine.”

“Do you have a point?” Cerberus asked tersely, internally cursing his inability to comprehensively prove her wrong – not that she was necessarily wrong, but that was hardly the issue.

“Godssake, Cerbie, you’re such a…” Aera began, but recognised she was probably wasting her time and decided to just let it go. She knew his pattern with this sort of thing, and so she backed off a little – though by no means completely. “Okay, fine, alright, I could be wrong, maybe you’re not sick after all. So, you know, if you’ve been crying or punched in the face or something, go right ahead and clear that up for me.”

Cerberus, exasperated and increasingly distracted, just wanted an end to it all. “Damn it, Aera, can you please try to tear yourself away from the apparently fascinating state of my health for a moment and just tell me what the hell it is you want? *snf!* And you could be a bit more pleasant to me, you know,” he added pointedly. “It is my anniversary, after all.”

Aera gasped lightly in realisation, the date having escaped her notice completely. “Oh, shit, it is too! Ah, fuck, sorry, happy anniversary. But, no, anyway, this call does actually have a point. I think I might have left a scarf in your Office yesterday. Do you have it? It’s blue.”

You couldn’t have just asked that immediately? Cerberus glanced around the Office perfunctorily, not seeing anything of the kind. “N…” His breath caught again and he scrubbed his hand roughly under his nose, sniffling sharply, and took a moment before trusting himself enough to answer her. “No.”

“Really? What the hell have I done with it, then?” Aera wondered, partially to Cerberus but mostly to herself, before returning her attention to the conversation at hand. “Oh, and bless you.”

“What?” Cerberus frowned in confusion, his head clouded enough that he wasn’t entirely certain that he hadn’t missed or forgotten something that surely he ought not to have been able to miss or forget. “I…I didn’t sneeze.” It was…inescapably true that he needed to, but he’d not…

Aera chuckled briefly, quietly. “You will.”

She hung up.

The freedom afforded him by that disconnection, one staggered, desperate inhale was all it took. And in the moment, he didn’t even care that she’d been right. At this point he just wanted relief.

“hh-HH… Ahh-HEHTSSHhuu!”

“Gesundheit,” said Therion again, smiling grimly to himself. He usually minded his own business about this sort of thing – not that it came up much – and indeed still considered staying out of it altogether now. But he hadn’t known about the anniversary factor before, and playing substitute Leader for a few days was hardly the worst fate in the world, and if not tonight it was almost certainly going to come to that fate soon enough anyway, so…

He put the scrolls aside, walking over to stand opposite where Cerberus was seated at the desk. “Hey, man…”

“Huh-AHSSCHuu! *snf!*” Cerberus groaned. “Gods. Excuse me,” he murmured with a heavy sigh, his head and sinuses throbbing. He sniffled wetly, blew his nose, excused himself again, and looked up at Therion somewhat hazily. “Mm?”

Therion half-smiled, casual, non-committal. “Happy anniversary, dude. Didn’t mean to listen in or anything, just…you know. Overheard.”

A small smile of appreciative thanks crossing his face, Cerberus sniffled again and nodded in otherwise silent acknowledgement.

“Just a thought, though,” Therion continued. “If I had a choice between going home to my mad-hot bonded… How many years now, man?”

A heartbeat. An eternity.

“Twenty.”

“Fucking what?!” Therion stared at Cerberus as if he was out of his mind. “Fuck, man! Congrats and shit, but for real? If I had a choice between going home, like, immediately or staying in Office for a few more hours marking shit I could pretty easily get my Understudy to do, actually? I’d be out of here in a fucking microsecond. But, you know, you’re the boss, man. Do whatever. Just saying.” Reaching across the desk, he picked up Cenotaph’s paper and scanned its contents quickly. “I mean, this looks pretty good, I guess, but, you know, Kia probably looks better.” He grinned as Cerberus gave a dark smile in response, and paused only for a short time, but enough that the pause be noted. “Seriously. You know she’d spoil the fuck out of you.”

Cerberus sighed again, regret, bitterness and castigating self-reproach evident in his eyes beneath a haze of sickness he really could no longer deny. Yes, I know, of course I know, but... “The spoiling really was suppo… hh-HH…” He hastily took another few tissues from the box, burying his face in them just in time to catch another fierce sneeze he had no chance of stopping. “AHHTSCHUU! Goddamnit. Pardon me.” He wiped his nose, sniffling again immediately – disturbingly liquid, entirely ineffectual, and with a weariness behind it that he could not disguise. Looking back up at Therion, he returned to his point. “I’d really intended the providing of spoils to be my job tonight. And this…utter ridiculousness—” He made a vague gesture towards his face. “—was supposed to have improved, not worsened, damn it.”

With another heavy sigh, disappointment palpable, he capitulated. “I don’t suppose you keep any cold medication in Office, do you?”

“Sorry.” Therion shook his head. “Go the fuck home, man. I got this.”

Standing, Cerberus nodded briefly in reply, giving Therion a firm pat on the shoulder as he passed by. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and vanished.

---

And naturally half the damn Underworld seems to be here.

Well, he most certainly was not going to queue.

Ignoring the mixture of hushed mutterings and soft gasps from the others in the Healing centre – none of whom he recognised but it was evident from the expressions on the faces of the…many people staring at him that the reverse was not the case – Cerberus walked to the front of the line with only the most cursory of glances at those who he had no intention of waiting either for or behind, greeted Riviera at the front desk perfunctorily and, abruptly beyond caring to hear any more of the continuing intrusive sussurance, froze the entirety of the waiting room’s occupants under Stasis with a crisp wave of his hand.

Dear gods, shut up. I will set you all on fire and I won’t regret it for a second.

He sniffled strongly. “Aldiss, please,” he said to Riviera, who had already Mindsent the Healing Leader in anticipation of precisely that directive.

“On her way,” Riviera replied. She indicated the Stasis-held others. “Um, is that…are they…?”

“Entirely temporary, just expedient. I’ll undo it soon enough.”

Aldiss appeared beside Riviera at the desk, Mindsending her :Cover me for a bit. Room 5, burns, not serious, mostly dealt with already,: and Riviera duly vanished.

At a loss and clearly awaiting clarification, Aldiss turned her attention to Cerberus. “Alright, what are you doing here?”

Cerberus frowned. Why is everywhere I am apparently a surprise tonight? “I’m ill, obviously. Why else would I be here? I need cold medication.” He sniffled again, as if in emphasis, though not intentionally so, and wiped his nose.

“Again? Already?”

Again? There IS no again. I literally just got here. What the hell is going on? Cerberus briefly wondered if he could be hallucinating this entire sequence of events, so little of it seemed to make any coherent sense. “What do you mean ‘already’?” He winced as his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, which did little more than cause him a different kind of discomfort, a convulsive cough following in short order, his nose running again as a result. He sniffled sharply, repeatedly. Gods. For fuck’s sake. “Excuse me.”

“I’m not giving you anything more if you’ve taken the other lot already.”

“Damn it, Aldiss, do I sound like I’ve taken anything?!”

Aldiss did have to concede that point.

Thoroughly exasperated, Cerberus exhaled heavily in annoyance. “Why is everything always such an ordeal in this place?” And suddenly another strangeness occurred to him. “Wait – what other lot?

“The meds Kia picked up, obviously.”

“What?!” Cerberus, a fresh fear striking him – one he was entirely unprepared for, one that actually managed to distract him from his own discomforts for a moment – stared at Aldiss in unconcealed horror. “Kia’s unwell?!”

With a wry smile, Aldiss shook her head. “I swear I never personally get to experience it, but rumour has it you’re actually quite a clever man, Cerberus, so try and stay with me here, alright?” She looked at him with a certain sardonic encouragement. “The meds Kia picked up for you.”

Unfortunately, this didn’t make much more sense to him, if at all. “But what reason would…” He sniffled again. “Why would she do that?” He rubbed and wrinkled his nose against a building itch, took a tissue from the box on the desk, then another, and tried to stay focused.

Aldiss, in mildly amused bafflement that he could actually be this oblivious, stared at the Demon king as if he was a complete imbecile. “Because you’ve got a cold?”

Annoyance clearly evident despite the hitch in his breath, Cerberus frowned at her. “Yes, Aldiss, we’ve established that, but Ki…Kia doesn’t…” Ah, fuck. Bringing the tissues to his face as the itch became sharply definite, he turned away hurriedly. “Huh-ATSSCHH-uu!” He groaned, sniffling immediately, the force of the sneeze bringing to the fore anew the pulsing headache he’d almost, almostbeen able to forget, his breath still a little shaky as he excused himself. He claimed another tissue and wiped his nose, sniffling again, and took a moment before returning to his earlier point. “Kia doesn’t know about *snf!* this yet.”

“Yes, she most certainly does,” Aldiss countered. “What, you didn’t think she’d notice?”

“Well, of course she’d notice now, damn it, Aldiss,” said Cerberus in open irritation, “but I wasn’t nearly this…”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Cerberus. How long have you been together?”

“As it happens, it’s our twentieth anniversary tonight,” Cerberus replied, a bitter and rueful undertone unmissable despite increasing congestion, “which I am attempting not to completely ruin.” Another sharp sniffle. “Apparently a futile pursuit,” he muttered resentfully, and pressed the back of his hand against his nose in an attempt to see off a newly threatening, vibrantly insistent itch.

“Twenty years and you think she’d miss a thing? She knows you. She knows you really well. How do you not…”

“Ahh-HEHTSSHhuu!”

Aldiss sighed as Cerberus, thoroughly losing the battle, sneezed again, wetly and powerfully, and she passed him a handful of tissues as he murmured both an apology and a thankyou. Looking out at the significant number of people yet to be seen, she allowed him some necessary moments of recovery, then made her point. “Listen, I’m sorry you’ve managed to catch cold for your anniversary but you do have both medication and a devoted bonded waiting at home. Please go there. Kia’s probably wondering where the hell you are anyway, since – if I can I remind you – she knows you’re sick. Oh, and you can undo your…stopping people in time thing or whatever it is now, too, thank you very much.”

“As always, Aldiss, it’s been a delight.” Releasing his Stasis hold with a short wave, the murmurs and mutterings picking up precisely where they’d been cut off as if there had never been a break, Cerberus turned his gaze briefly upon his unbidden rapt audience, disregarded them all equally, internally cursed himself for having even bothered to come to this ridiculous place, inclined his head in crisp farewell, and promptly vanished.

---

Leaning back against the loungeroom wall in weary resignation upon his Teleported arrival home, Cerberus stopped still, his attentions resolutely redirected in an instant at the entirely unexpected sight of his beautiful lifebonded reclining languorously across the couch, dressed – or almost dressed, it could technically be said – in diaphanous babydoll chemise and finest lace lingerie, soft brunette darkestness falling silkenwild around her shoulders, a vision of breathtaking boudoir fantasy he was quite thoroughly unprepared for, and he paused for a moment to simply gaze at her, enchanted.

:Darkling, you are perfection.:

Kia looked up slowly, and with a sultry, indulgent smile, dropped her book onto the coffee table and stretched before sitting up just a little, beckoning him to join her with crooked finger and open invitation.

“Took your time, sweetheart,” she said, gently teasing, and opened the bottle of cognac, pouring a glass for them both. “I’d almost decided to start without you.”

“Love, I…” Cerberus began but was torn from his words unstoppably, unable to do anything about the sudden, desperate need overtaking him, and, expression crumpling and focus destroyed, he had no choice but to give in to it. “Huh-TSCHH-uu! Ah-HEHTSCHuu!” He pardoned himself with haste, groaning quietly.

“Aw, bless you, hon. Come here.” Kia repeated her beckoning motion. She regarded him a moment, frowning in puzzlement. “Where’s your coat?” She’d not seen him leave the house this morning, but she was entirely certain he’d have worn one.

“Hmm? Oh, um…” Cerberus sniffled, wiped his nose and glanced down at himself, not having given any particular thought to his outfit – his standard fine linen shirt, brocade waistcoat, tailored black pants – since leaving Office.

Which was, of course, where he’d left his coat.

“Got rained on. Earlier, that is, not… A while ago, anyhow.” He sniffled again and tried to focus. “In Office. The coat, I mean, not where the…rain was.” He sighed in exasperation as anger at the situation overtook tiredness again. “Honestly, it would be nice if I could at least form a damn sentence!” Gods, what the hell is wrong with you. Get your damn shit together. “Sorry, love. I, um…used Teleport after that, though, so I’ve not really been outside since.”

“Well, coat or not, you were supposed to have given up and come home ages ago.” Kia laughed gently. “You know, like a normal person. Why are you always so stubborn about this stuff?” She caressed his face affectionately as he sat beside her, curled an arm around the back of his neck, and kissed him with warm promise. :And don’t you even dare say a word about not wanting to give your cold to me,: she Mindsent preemptively. :Yes, I know, no, I don’t care, and there is no way I’m not kissing you on our twentieth anniversary.:

“Anyway,” she continued in satin murmur, tracing a finger along the angular contours of his jawline and kissing him again, “you know I’ll spoil you.” She looked at him directly then, sapphire eyes narrowing in challenge. “You do know that, right?”

“I…” He did, but between the desire not to need her to – at least not tonight – and rather for him to be, as he’d so very much intended, the one fulfilling any fantasies, and the desire to just try and forget failed plans and expectations and immerse in her…frankly stunning sanctuary, and his head was far too clouded to explain himself right now, and technically he had left Office early anyway so he wasn’t that late really, especially considering he hadn’t realised that he’d been expected, but what did any of this even matter when this goddess before him was so…very… He sniffled again, claiming a tissue and wiping his nose firmly, and wished he was at least a little more functional because she was so incredibly breathtaking, and that was all he could think about in the moment, really, aside from feeling like he was fairly sure he was going to sneeze again – which, when combined with the first and…infinitely preferable reason that he couldn’t think straight, provided a particularly strange contradiction in where his attentions were directed, and now he couldn’t with certainty remember exactly what she’d asked him anymore, and she was just…gods, she was everything, and his head was a mess and he…definitely had to…

He blinked rapidly, his breath hitching in escalating intensity, and turned from Kia to bury his face in crooked elbow. Gods, fuck, just…

“Huh-TSSCHH-uu! Ahh-HUHTSSHhuu!”

The force of the sneezes combined with the pounding throb of sinus-heavy headache to set the room spinning, but despite that had done very little to quiet the insistent irritation he just could not seem to escape tonight. Another staccato breath and fuck ano… hh-HH ..another and a Mindsent apology because he was entirely unable to voice one, doubling over in thrall to desperate demand, powerful, possessing. “Hhuh-AHTSCHUU! Huh…hh-TSSCHH-uu!”

“Oh, sweetheart, bless you.” Kia indicated the medications she’d collected on the table, though she wasn’t sure there was much point, his ability to focus entirely and…mesmerisingly hijacked. “You should probably…”

Cerberus, with a brief shake of his head, held up a finger in a gesture indicating that she had to wait a moment, the relentless need not done with him yet, and he inhaled deeply, unable to do a thing about it other than succumb once more, and he sneezed again – undeniable, absolute, violently ferocious. “Hh-hhAAAHTSSCHHUU! ..uhh…” A quiet groan and he pressed the back of his hand against his nose, sniffling fiercely, more than a little breathless. “Damn. Sorry.”

“Wow, bless you!” Kia said with softriveted, emphatic appraisal, and flashed him a wickedwarm grin. “Impressive. You should get a prize for that kind of effort.”

“Gods, love.” Smiling wryly despite himself, Cerberus managed a brief disbelieving laugh before having no choice but to give in to sharpburning sensation, his breath catching abrupt, deep, jagged, pleading. “hh-h-huh-TSCHH-uu! Huh-TSSCHH-uu! *snf!* Huh… huhhTSSCHHUU! For fuck’s sake! *SNFF!* Ugh, sorry.” Sniffling repeatedly, he excused himself again with clear irritation even as Kia offered him a tender blessing. He took a fresh multitude of tissues from the box and blew his nose, muttering under his breath that in any reasonable world he’d get to kill at least one person over this, and if…

“Oh, look!” announced Kia with cheery brightness, breaking into his thoughts and picking up one of the medication vials. “You win drugs.” She handed the vial to Cerberus with a kiss to his cheek, effectively short-circuiting his rising fury at the situation, and trailed a languid hand down the length of his arm, dropped her voice to a sultry purr. “I’ll even throw in the glamorous assistant.” She semi-curtseyed, winked in play.

With a soft laugh and a sigh both appreciative and self-effacing, Cerberus accepted and took the meds as proffered, curling an arm across Kia’s shoulders, drawing them closer together, and leant his head against hers, Mindsending a heartfelt, sincere :I adore you.:

“I’m so sorry, darkling.” He ran an index finger under his nose, sniffled quietly, exhaled with dismayed heaviness at the thought of having let his beloved down, in any way. “I really did mean to give you everything you desire tonight.” He sat back again; smiled at her, a little sadly. “And I truly do wish to bring you the world you deserve. All the worlds, come to that.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I know. And I know that you’re, like…literally able to do it, which still just amazes me and will forever, I swear, you’re incredible, but…really, you don’t need to be disappointed. See, I want you—” Shifting her position smoothly, Kia moved to sit on his lap, her legs astride his, and caressed his face in her hands, kissing him with passion burning. “Mmm. I want you—” Another kiss. “—to think for just a minute—” And another. “—from a different view.” Reaching behind his head, she untied the velvet ribbon constraining his hair, allowing it in release to cascade over his shoulders. She wove a gentle hand through freed midnight, tucked a few stray strands behind his ear. “If things were reversed, if I was the one who’d come home sick tonight, what would you have done?”

Cerberus chuckled wryly, softly, as he recognised her viewpoint. He didn’t pretend otherwise. “Anything you wanted, love, as always.”

Kia gave him a knowing smile. “Mm-hm.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him again, slower, deeper. “So, then, babe,” she purred, tracing a trail of kisses down his neck, shoulders, chest, “you should know that you are everything I desire, everything I dream of, and the only way you could ever let me down is to not be with me tonight, and now I am going to order you into the bedroom and you are going to do exactly what I say and that is pretty much what would have happened even with you in perfect health with your perfect plan, because you should know—” She broke off again, kissing him with a craving undeniable, abandoning speech for silksultry Mindsend.

:that all I want:

One hand now twining through his hair, the other first toying with then smoothly untying the topmost bows on her chemise, allowing it to fall away, and she pulled him closer to her again, deepening the kiss at his involuntary resulting moan.

:is…this.:

Another kiss and her hand reaching down, loosening clothing and caressing him to urgency, and he moaned again, curling one arm around her waist and another behind her head, holding her around him and returning her kiss with a fire straight from his soul, feeling her breath quickening, demanding, as she pushed back against him, heat rising. A soft growl, a gasp, a sharp inhalation as they joined together, and she met her beloved’s famed emerald gaze eye to eye, consummate, profligate, incendiary.

“Oh, and sweetheart? Tonight I am going to make you wish you caught cold more often.”

---

#inopportune timing mm-hm count on it #snzfic #my writing #my OCs #cerberus #cerbia #cerberus and kia #and she's absolutely right 😉#bit of a slow burn but we get there #supernatural soap opera

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anywaymurder · 2 years

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Stinky Studies

Chapter 14

They find a short haired, tattooed human man with a terrible smell, who introduces himself as Ellis. He was apparently sent here by L to check out what had happened in the archives, and was forced to hide in the toilets for a day and a half when he stumbled upon the snakes. While he heads down a trap door in order to take a quick bath (at their suggestion), the party quickly checks out the other rooms. Upstairs they find an overturned study, with loose papers everywhere, and three huge snake eggs amidst the mess. Annori tries to convince the party to help her carry the eggs outside, if not to hatch them herself then at least to set them free in the forest, but they’re big and heavy and nobody seems to feel for the little creatures as much as she does. So she settles for making them a cozy nest out of the carpet and some papers instead. Downstairs from the main chamber, they find the sleeping quarters of the man who was killed by the snakes (who was apparently called Edwin). The kitchen has been completely cleared out. Ara mentions that snake testicles are a swamp elf delicacy, and briefly considers harvesting some. As they return to the main chamber and wait for Ellis’ return, Kevin presents Annori with a little origami snake he made out of some loose papers from the upstairs office.

Some time passes, and it’s starting to look like Ellis isn’t coming back. So the group descends down the trap door and finds a second office, undisturbed by the snakes. On the desk, there’s an open file discussing Notsk. It details how he had been receiving a suspicious amount of letters from Feirenwald recently, and how his shipments weren’t being inspected as closely. Maybe he’d bribed the harbor master? There’s also a big stack of files about different murders, both recent and long passed, seemingly in an attempt to find some connection. Scanning the folders doesn’t yield much specific information, but Kevin does find a book that tells him more about the Fable. Apparently, ‘the Fable’ isn’t so much a single person, as it is multiple people passing along the same title.

Next, they enter a corridor that looks much more well-made than the rest of the archives so far. There’s a head carved into the wall where the corridor ends, in the same style as the statues they found at the beginning, and there’s several empty alcoves along the walls. Upon closer inspection by Kevin, the head whispers a riddle. Once answered, the wall turns to reveal a crossroads. Ara, using his keen senses and his tracking skills, determines the direction Ellis went by licking the dust on the floor. Halfway down this dark corridor they run into a slightly cleaner Ellis, saying he got a little lost along the way. They turn back together, and Ellis puts the files from the desk into his bag. Exiting the archives, Nori offers the starving Ellis some trail mix, which he gladly accepts. After a bit of a nightly hike they arrive back in Coldvale, where they promptly remember the severed hand that’s still in Nori’s bag, freaking out poor Ellis even more. They escort him back to the Syndicate hideout, where Ellis explains to L what had happened to him. Upon asking if all the snakes are now taken care of, the group hesitates, but Nori blurts out that there are in fact still eggs around. She quickly covers up that revelation, hoping people won’t go back to kill the creatures. L invites them to return the next day to further discuss ‘their’ investigation, and the group heads back to the Blue Dragon tavern. The barmaid immediately recognizes Ara and Raiden and asks them if they’ll behave this time. Raiden quickly eases her worries with some smooth words and a gold piece, and continues to buy dinner for the party. Ara asks if they have snake testicles, which they don’t, but the barmaid tells him she’ll look into it.

<< previous chapter | all chapters | next chapter >>

#anyway murder #session summary #dungeons and dragons #raiden #ara #annori #kevin

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2313 Warnings: none

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 5 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Buzzing. There was constant buzzing in your ear, a combination of all the sounds around you blurring into an indiscernible mix you forced yourself to focus on. The steady drone is too slow for the quickened bounce of your leg shaking against the floor of the Uber that’s bringing you to your destination much faster than you expected. Your stomach is twisted in painful knots that sear deeper as you see the illuminated sign of Metro-General Hospital.

The way you’re feeling makes you want to head left through the emergency room doors but instead you charge ahead towards the main entrance. After giving your name you move to the side and await instructions from the security guard.

The buzzing hasn’t stopped though you quickly realize the pulsating vibrations were coming from your phone inside your bag. Quickly checking it you saw a text from Bucky wishing you good luck on the interview. You smiled seeing his name, feeling a moment of relief.

There was a shift in the air after you opened up to him the night before about why social work meant so much to you. Bucky had a much clearer understanding of you, commending the drive you had to come so far even with the obstacles you faced. You exchanged numbers before he left, acknowledging that Bucky was no longer just your neighbor but someone you considered a new friend.

The security guard hands you a visitor ID and gives you instructions to get to Ms. Rodriguez’s office from the elevator. Smoothing out your blouse you gave a friendly smile to the fellow passengers that entered as the doors opened to almost every floor on the journey up.

Two right turns and then a left at the nurses’ station until you found the corridor with blue doors. You rang the bell that buzzed a second later and pushed open the now unlocked door to enter an open room. A woman sits at a desk in front, gesturing for you to sit down on the row of chairs behind you as she continues her phone conversation.

Her desk is covered in a stack of thick manila folders, with one file open in front of her that she references on the call. You try not to eavesdrop despite being right there so you move your head slowly to observe the rest of the room. Cubicle walls divide a few other desks beside her. The walls are lined with tall file cabinets and a large potted Ficus drinks up the sunshine in the corner.

At the back of the room is a door that unexpectedly swings open, having been pulled so hard it seemed like it could have come off the hinges. A tall slim girl is scowling as her boots stomp down the hallway. She’s dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket as dark as her loose, uncombed hair. A woman steps out from the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Follow protocol Ms. Jones and we’ll get him.”

The girl turned around scoffing, “We’ll get him faster if I throw his ass through a wall.”

“Jessica,” she warned, flaring her eyes at the girl in a silent challenge.

It only took a moment for you to realize the woman was Ms. Rodriguez and suddenly your stomach began flipping again.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” she asked and you nodded, standing up to greet her with a handshake and a smile.

She asked you to follow her into her office, watching her thick braid sway as she walked ahead of you, holding the door open for you to enter. Her office wasn’t very big, or maybe it only felt that way since it was surrounded by even more large file cabinets.

“I apologize for that,” she began, “Jessica thinks using her fists might yield more results. This is a tough field, tell me what you wish to get out of it.”

Having recounted the full story with Bucky you were emotionally prepared to discuss all aspects of why you wanted to go into this field and it was clear to Ms. Rodriguez that you wanted to make a difference in the lives of those you were advocating for.

Her fingers twirled the large silver cross around her neck as she stared at you, your nerves rising under her silent gaze. Her face eventually relaxed into a smile and the weight was lifted from your shoulders as she welcomed you aboard as an intern. You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face but when she began talking hours and scheduling it quickly dropped. You explained working full time and the hope you had for fulfilling your internship hours in the evenings.

“The issue is that some patients require our help to connect them with outside organizations to provide services and it’s unfortunate but most places stop answering their phones before 5 o’clock. There is a lot you can learn from us here but I would expect some daytime hours, otherwise this internship does not benefit you and I don’t mean to be frank but I can’t have you waste my time.”

Her straightforwardness made you feel nauseous but you understood. Your goal was so close, 1200 hours away until completion. You weren’t going to let it slip away.

“Thank you Ms. Rodriguez. I would love the opportunity to still do my internship here with you. If you’ll allow me the opportunity to speak with my employer, perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

This may be another obstacle in the road but you were going to get through it, somehow, someway.

The following day you woke up earlier than usual despite your lack of sleep. You almost texted Bucky at night, asking him to play anything in hopes the sound of his music would help drown out the anxieties in your mind. Instead you tossed and turned all night, unable to shut off your brain.

You didn’t want to text him anyway, knowing he would ask how the interview went. You avoided Steve and Wanda’s texts as well, seeking refuge at The Grind House but instead of doing research papers you worked on several plans. If you couldn’t make Stark Industries work with your internship then you’d have to find another job, or two, or three if need be.

You would make this happen no matter what but that didn’t ease the pit in your stomach; the familiar sense of dread that weighed you down uncomfortably like sandbags on your shoulders. Optimism and fear were fighting for dominance in your mind and for now you gave in to all the fears and worries. There would be no telling what path you would travel next, not until you spoke with Maria.

Steve wasn’t in yet so you were thankful to not have to run into him in the morning. The clicking of your heels against the tile floor echoed throughout the empty lobby. You couldn’t help but tap your foot, impatiently waiting for the elevator to arrive. Lost in thought you didn’t hear the footsteps of a person come up beside you. It wasn’t until you entered the elevator and were surprised to see someone else walk in.

Dressed in a sharp three-piece navy suit with a deep red tie stood Tony Stark. A perfectly trimmed goatee framed his smile as he took off his tinted sunglasses.

“G-good morning Mr. Stark,” you nervously greeted.

“Morning miss….” The word slithered on his tongue, dragging out the sound as he combed through the information of his brain to remember your last name. “Y/L/N!”

“You know who I am?” You didn’t mean to sound so pathetic but the words blurted out before you were able to stop them.

“That’s right kiddo. I know everybody that works for me,” he boasted.

He pressed his lips together forming a tight line, and he checked around the elevator as if you weren’t the only people there.

Tony leaned in closer to you, whispering, “Actually, that’s a lie. There’s one guy up in legal whose name I can’t ever remember. Is it Gary? Glenn? Gene? Geor– you know what, never mind. I know his face. That stays between us, okay?”

You nodded your head, but couldn’t help the odd chuckle that fell from your lips.

“So, are you angry?”

Your posture straightened, tensing up after his question caught you off guard.

“Before. The tapping?” He tapped his foot to mimic your earlier actions. “Pepper does that when she’s angry, usually at me.”

“Oh, no I… I’m just eager to speak with Maria about something.”

The elevator doors opened and Tony gestured for you to step out first.

“Might be a little difficult, she won’t be back for at least a few months.”

Worry settled on your face as Tony explained he asked Maria to head Stark International and begin overseeing their newest office in Australia.

“I had no idea…” you trailed off, wondering what this means not only for your internship but your job. “I’m her assistant…”

“That’s on me,” Tony said, raising his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, this was a real last minute decision. I know Maria thinks highly of you so if you’d like we can arrange for you to join her down unda,” he said with an accent.

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout. “I’m sorry. I can’t go there. I…I....” your voice trailed off as your lip began to tremble, feeling yourself plummet deeper and deeper into a pit of fear and uncertainty.

Tony noticed the panic on your face and the short gulps of breath you were taking. He guided you to the nearest chair and asked you to focus on taking long, deep breaths and blowing out steadily.

“You still have a job here if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said softly.

Tony’s eyes were full of compassion and based on everything you knew from Mr. Lee he made you feel comfortable enough to want to open up to him. With a deep sigh you explained your situation, from needing this job to afford an apartment up until the internship hours you were hoping to discuss with Maria, all the while still ensuring he knew how grateful you were for the job you had.

Tony pondered for a bit before the elevator opened and a few employees shuffled in, greeting him with surprise.

“Follow me,” he asked of you, following him to his grand corner office with floor to ceiling windows showcasing a beautiful view of the golden sunrise.

You took a seat on the soft leather chair in front of the sleek obsidian desk. His office was decorated with oversized black and white photos of old planes and cars, a few personalized touches and a small wet bar off to the side and yet everything seemed sterile. Maybe it was the way his own chair squeaked as he sat, like it was still being broken in.

Your fingers twiddled in your lap as you anxiously waited for Tony to break the silence. He gazed at you for a little longer, nodding slightly and quirking his head as if he was having a silent conversation with himself.

“Stan told me you were a good kid but I wish he knew about your background. I would’ve put you on my team a long time ago.”

Your head twitched, taken aback. “Your team?”

“Me, Pep, a few others. We’re in the beginning stages of building a nonprofit organization, The September Foundation. I want it to change lives; develop after school STEM programs, fund student research, the whole shebang.”

The tendency you had of not shutting your mouth when you should have continued as you questioned why he thought you were appropriate for this.

“You want to help people, same as I and being part of this doesn’t look so bad on a resume.”

“My hours…”

“...can be flexible,” he finished. “We’ll work out the details but the job is yours.”

Tears of joy flooded your eyes but you held them back, closing your lids with relief as things were finally coming together.

“Thank you Mr. Stark, thank you so much!”

You shook his hand enthusiastically and turned on your heel with a smile. You nearly made it to the door before realizing you had no idea what to do now especially with Maria no longer there.

An awkward bubble of laughter came up as you asked, “What should I be doing today Mr. Stark?”

“Please, call me Tony,” he flashed a bright smile. “Greg or Graham or whatever his name is will finalize the legal paperwork in the next few days. Use those days to brainstorm. Tell me what communities you think we need to be in, what would benefit most, what would draw kids in. On Monday you’ll meet with everyone else to go over ideas.”

With a renewed sense of spirit you went to your desk, first to write Maria a congratulatory email on her new position and then to call Ms. Rodriguez about the internship, afterwards you went straight to work.

“Steve!” you shouted before the elevator doors finished opening, running as best as you could in heels towards him. “I have so much to tell you! I got the internship! I have a new job here! I’m– ahhhhh!”

Steve wrapped you in a firm hug as your excited ramblings turned into squeals of joy.

“We have to celebrate!” you beamed. “I’ll call Wanda and Sam and…”

You stopped to think about Bucky. He was new in your life and yet somehow the idea of celebrating without him felt wrong.

Later that night you knocked on his door, sporting a wide smile that spread across your face. It stretched even wider when he opened the door and blessed you with a sparkling grin.

Opening your mouth you said the first words that came to mind, “Will you go out with me?”

PART 7

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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maos2013 · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Review

Ok, I could’ve sworn I was tagged by @aleksandrachaev but now the notification has disappeared? Idk what the hellsite is up to by making me think I have notifications, but I’m going to do this anyway 😂 😂 . I haven’t looked too closely at my stats and everything in a while, so this will be fun!

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

77. But please don’t ask about the number of WIPs I have 😅

2. what’s your total AO3 word count?

208,442. Huh. I thought it would be more? Oh well!

3. how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Three. One random one shot for each ER and T100. The rest are all AoS!

Actually, wait. Since Kat says (and I agree whole heartedly!) that Black Widow is it’s own fandom, then make that 4! I wrote a one shot of an alternate end credit scene for that movie!

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos? (I’m not including the ones I have cowritten)

Everything’s Changing 372 Kudos- Talk about a wild idea I had watching a movie from the 90s. Anywayyyy. Philinda and Philindaisy moments. Lots of fluff. (which if you know me, you know I do more angst these days. 😂)

We’ve Come a Long Way from Where We Began 265 kudos - Aww! The first thing I ever wrote! Lots of May and Daisy moments and they work t reunite their team. (But also I now refuse to read this because I can see how much my writing has improved since then, and now I get mad at previous me 😂)

A Bad *Axe* Birthday 177 Kudos- May gives Daisy an axe for her birthday, and teaches her to throw it. Because to quote Rosa Diaz from B99 “What kind of woman doesn’t have an axe?”

I Took You for Granted 150 Kudos- TBH, I’m surprised this one was this high? It’s not one of the better things I’ve written tbh. But it’s May and Daisy, in season 7, and God knows they needed more scenes together, so maybe that’s why this one is on the list.

What Did We Do To Deserve This 137 Kudos- Oooooooh. *sigh* Early season 5 Philinda feels for when I still had hope for my OTP.

5. do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Ummmm YES! You kind person took the time to leave me a comment! I will let you know my appreciation for that! No comment is too big or too small! You can literally comment a <3 and I will respond because you made my day! That said, I usually respond like once a month to all the comments that have been building up in my inbox

6. what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

*cackles* Ummmm. I have several, but I think the angstiest would be The Unimaginable. Poor May just lost everyone in this fic.

OR! the pieces of my heart are missing you because I just kill all of my favorites.

OR! the moon and the stars are nothing without you because Philindaaaa feeeeels

I’m Lost Without Her and Stay Alive, That Would Be Enough are runners up!

7. do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope. Not creative enough for that 😂 😂

8. have you ever received hate on a fic?

I don’t think so? Only hate for making people feel too many feels 😂 😂 😂

But to the person who once commented “Bestie I hate to break it to you but this ^ is not therapy” on one of my angst fics, please know that even though I don’t know who you are, I love you and think about this comment everyday.

9. do you write smut? if so what kind?

Yes, but not lately. And it usually has feelings involved. No plots usually, but feelings yes.

10. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I doubt I am even known enough for someone to bother 😂

11. have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but that would be awesome!

12. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah! Lean On Me with @shadowcass! Set during season 7 of AoS- Instead of MaYo going to Afterlife, it’s May & Daisy!

13. what’s your all time favorite ship?

Philindaaaaaaa. I have way too many feels about those two.

14. what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Anything that’s in my old laptop. I got a new computer about 6 months ago, and any of my WIPs that somehow didn’t transfer over will probably never be finished. 😔

15. what are your writing strengths?

Angst! Also fluff (if I’m in the right mood). Sometimes humor! (again, depends on the mood.)

16. what are your writing weaknesses?

Feels I think? Sometimes I just write and then I go back to read it later and the dialogue in the feels particularly cringey. Also, I have a habit of using my southern slang in random places if I’m writing while tired, so I try to double check that. 😂

17. what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Personally, I’ve only done it a couple of times, and for very short sentences or phrases because I don’t want to accidentally say something wrong and make a mess of things! I sadly only speak English with a few words of Spanish and Italian thrown in for funsies. Still waiting on a fic where I can randomly throw in a word or two in Italian.

18. what was the first fandom you wrote for?

Agents of Shield I believe! Unless you count the poorly written story I practically copied from an episode of Desperate Housewives that I was probably way too young to be watching. I wrote with gel pen on some loose leaf paper and then put into a pronged folder. I was maybe... 12? Mayyyyybe 13?

19. what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

It’s like choosing my favorite child! (Not that I have children, but I do have 4 pets and I can easily tell you who my favorite pet is. 😂)

Hands down, I think my favorite has to be It’s Only a Matter of Time. I wrote a spec fic before the AoS finale where the team splits up across time, and I sobbed so hard while writing it!

Also I really really like The Unimaginable listed above with the angsty ending!

I’m tagging @tessathetesla @samanthaswishes @herosofmarvelanddc @brutashaphilindaandsylkieohmy if you guys want to do this!

#tag games #fanfic

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Text

Romantic epiphanies are dope

At what point, though, had she decided that it was Jake of all people who would disrupt her calendar so completely, while also fulfilling the dreams she didn’t dare write down on it?

After all, if 11-year-old Amy had been asked to create a binder on her future husband - Jake would have not even been mentioned in the footnotes. If she could’ve wished for a partner back then, she definitely wouldn’t have specified that he had to be dorky and clumsy, constantly making bad jokes, living on a diet that would send any other person to the hospital for malnutrition, obsessed with action movies and cop heroics, spending his free time and money on the most useless things anyone could think of, and pranking and bothering her to his heart’s content.

-*-*-*-

On the evening of their engagement, Amy wonders about her own romantic epiphanies and what made her decide that Jake was the person she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

Read it on AO3

“What about you?”

The scene at Shaw’s bar had settled down a bit after the united ring of the squad had broken down into their own little groups as they always did. Gina was busy admiring Terry’s biceps from a corner booth, phone in hand as always, while he played a game of darts with Jake, who was shooting glances over to Amy every few seconds as if they had been apart for months again instead of just a few minutes. Charles was extolling the virtues of some new restaurant to Captain Holt, who definitely looked like he was preparing to leave ever since he’d stepped foot into the bar. Hitchcock and Scully were… well, somewhere, either asleep or eating, probably.

And Rosa was sliding onto the barstool next to Amy, a cocktail glass - Moscow Mule, her favourite, Amy had learned after literally a year of sleuthing - in her hand and a curious glint in her eye that didn’t quite fit the usually stoic face.

“Hmm~?” Amy gave her a quizzical look - she was not yet anywhere on her scale of drunkenness, still holding the beer she’d used to cheer during today’s round of toasts. She didn’t want to get drunk tonight - she wanted to remember it all, forever. The little diamonds of her wonderful new ring were shining just perfectly against the dark brown bottle.

“What about you, Santiago. When was your romantic epiphany? Knowing that you’ll say yes if he asks?” Rosa raised an eyebrow and schooled a more appropriate, serious look on her face. “Because let’s be honest, as sweet as Jake is, his’ was pretty lame. You do cross word puzzles like, every night.”

“Oh, I see.” Amy gave the label on her beer a good scratching, peeling off the edges slightly. “I guess-” she started, but nothing else came.

While Rosa usually enjoyed drinking in silence far more than anything, right now she was on the level of inebriated where she would actually let loose enough to, ugh, chat . And she wanted to chat with Amy, of all people. Well, she supposed, maybe that wasn’t quite so strange, considering she was one of her best friends. Actually, her best friend. Girl-wise, next to Jake. It was still a struggle to admit to herself that these two absolute dorks were far more than just co-workers to her, sometimes even more than just simple friends.

But Amy was still silent, staring at her drink as if it held the answer to everything (which it definitely didn’t if it turned her into Spacey Amy on drink 1).

“It’s fine if you don't have one, you know. S’not always like the movies.”

“No no, it’s just- it’s kinda-” The beer’s label was peeling some more, and the bottle was almost empty after another sip.

It was just kinda… the fact that Amy had always been split down two very different sides concerning marriage.

On the one hand, it had never really occurred to her. Her life plan, hanging proudly over her bed while she was living alone, now replaced by a movie poster of Jake’s that was luckily not Die Hard and the plan relegated to her little office corner, made no mention of it. She had plans for her career - many of them - and actually a few goals for her private life as well, to maintain a healthy work-life-balance as one should. But marriage? There had never been a date set on her wall for that. It was too risky, she’d reasoned even as a teen while drawing up her first plan. Unpredictable, since it involved a whole other person, and relationships couldn’t be planned and dated down to the day, which she hated to think about, and she wouldn’t have much time to date anyway if she was gearing up to be the youngest female Captain in NYPD history. And, if she was completely honest, it was sometimes too scary to think about as well - she knew she was a difficult person to be around, in some ways. Definitely difficult to handle as a romantic partner. What if she couldn't find a man willing to put in that work? And then see the dates on her calendar pass by, alone, or crying from heartbreak? No, marriage was not on her life plan at all, she’d decided at the ripe age of eleven in her pink and off-white bedroom while writing down all the big moments of her life to come.

On the other hand, it had always been an obvious yes. Having a husband, having a family - she could imagine nothing else, growing up with all her siblings, with her parents still being obviously in love with each other after all these years, with her tias and tios and abuelas and abuelos all around her. What would life even be like without that kind of family? Without people over at her place every holiday, without someone trusted by her side tag-teaming all the tasks and duties of everyday life, without that little group of people that she knew would always be there, would always be loving and caring for her the way she loved and cared for them. It was unimaginable. She’d seen the endlessly romantic scenes in films and read about them in her books, and while she was not easily impressed or swayed even as a teenager, she was definitely... expecting some of that in her own life. She wanted the romantic moments, the flashbacks to tell her children and grandchildren about, the beautiful proposal, the perfectly-planned wedding, the photo album of years and years together, of all the milestones a couple could have. Yes, marriage was definitely on her life plan, tucked into the back of her mind and ever present.

At what point, though, had she decided that it was Jake of all people who would disrupt her calendar so completely, while also fulfilling the dreams she didn’t dare write down on it?

Then again, that wasn’t Jake anymore - maybe it had been during their first few years as only co-workers, but he was constantly changing, growing up step by step, maybe a bit later than others, but definitely growing. He was always willing to learn, as much as he’d moan about it all. He was willing to get better, spurned on by competition, maybe, or by the desire to be the best -anything- he could be, not just best detective, but he was willing no matter the reason.

And then again, that wasn’t all that Jake had really been, ever - maybe on the outside, to the unknown onlooker, but not to those who really spent time with him. As careless as he was with his own health, he was always caring for everyone else in his own subtle and not so subtle ways. As ridiculous as his jokes and pranks were, he also knew exactly when they were not appropriate anymore, and he could lend a hand or a sympathetic shoulder just as seriously as he could stand guard for you if you needed a moment alone in the evidence lock-up. As much as he would boast about himself and throw jabs at everyone else, he would also turn into the ultimate hype-man for everyone on the squad at the mere mention of one of them failing or stumbling.

And if Amy had been given the chance to write a wishlist for the man she wanted to spend her life with at any point of her planning - that kindness, compassion and support would’ve definitely been on the top of it.

She realised she still hadn’t answered Rosa. Luckily, Diaz was exactly the kind of person who knew how to hold onto a weighted silence and give her all the time she needed without interrupting her. She simply sipped her heavy-on-the-vodka-please drink and waited.

“I don’t think I-” Amy started up again, realising that her beer bottle was now completely label-less, a small heap of paper on the bar counter next to her. “I don’t think it was one big moment, to be honest. I think it was a lot of little ones.”

“Like what, buying folders together to get his desk straightened out? The moment when he actually used a five-syllable-word right? The day he finally stopped mixing gummy bears with red vines and calling it ‘sugar bolognese’?”

“I know you’re making fun of it, but those were all milestones in their own way, okay?” Amy shot Rosa a little glare, which proved to be extremely ineffective against the other Latina’s taunting grin.

“But they weren’t the moments?” Rosa continued to poke her, turning her voice several octaves higher for the last words. “Where Jake turned into the knight in shining armour baby-Amy definitely used to draw into her diary?”

No, they weren’t. Sure, Amy was proud of Jake for all of them. But they weren’t the moments where she’d realised that this was it, that this person was her person. That there would never be anyone who loved her the way he did, and that she could never feel for anyone else what she felt for him.

She tried to think of something romantic, something big to throw back into Rosa’s face, make her stop the jokes and understand. Make her see that it wasn’t about the grand gestures or the perfect match that made Jake her one and only, as cheesy as that sounded.

They’d had many big moments, that was for sure.

When he went in front of the whole precinct here at Shaw’s to cryptically talk about how much just six days with her meant to him. When she knocked on his door to say screw light and breezy and his eyes lit up as if she’d just taken the weight of the world off of his shoulders. When he sat at the back of an ambulance, a bullet wound from her in his leg and the memory of Figgis’ gun still on his temple, and none of that seemed to matter because they were back in sync and he’d get to finally go back home with her. When he forfeited a bet, lost a collar and gave up his entire apartment for her happiness. When she was knee-deep in files at the precinct long after her working hours and her phone rang, an unknown number on the screen, and when she picked it up she heard his voice so far away and metallic and realised that he must’ve broken several rules and put himself into danger just to get a phone into prison to talk to her. When he spun an entire Halloween heist around today to get her to win it, all so he could give her that soft scared smile as she turned and saw him down on one knee.

Rosa knew about all of these. She’d witnessed them, or heard her drunkenly ramble about them during their weekly get-togethers. And they were all big moments, good moments, special moments she would re-tell to everyone who wanted to hear about her and Jake and their story.

But they weren’t all of it. They were the big plot points in their shared book of life, that was for sure. But they weren’t the kind of quotes she’d underline, the ones she’d write little notes into the margins for. The ones that made her love this book more than any other story she’d ever read.

Yet when she thought about those definitely underlined quotes that came up in her mind now, they all seemed so… trivial, compared to what you’d expect about romantic epiphanies.

Like the time she picked him up at the airport coming back from prison, when he leant back in his seat and took a deep, almost inappropriate sniff of her stupid little pinetree air freshener, telling her how unreal it seemed that someone could miss a smell like that, but that he’d longed for it for weeks now. That it wasn’t pinetree to him anymore, it was the comfort of Amy’s car, and their morning drive to the precinct when he was too tired to get into his Mustang, and Amy picking him up after a few hours too long working on a case, all wrapped up in one scent that he never realised he could miss. He was sniffing an air freshener, with his uneven beard scratching all over it, red eyes from an early flight and maybe a few tears they’d shed at the pick up area, and Amy was sure her heart could never ache as much for anyone else as it did for the tired man sitting in her passenger seat.

Or the time she’d come home from work on his first day off after they’d moved in together, expecting to see her prim and proper apartment turned into a slouchfest the way his old place had been. Only to realise that nothing had changed - safe for the take out containers next to the sink, which had enough left in it that they could share it for dinner. Only to realise that he had actually done all of the laundry, and folded all her socks and underwear exactly right, and even folded the fitted sheets properly, and put it all into the closet in the system she’d developed but never actually written down, because it came to her like second nature. Only to realise that meant that he’d watched her, every time she’d done it, to learn it all perfectly so he could do it for her. And she looked at him as he jumped up from the couch to heat the take out for her as she changed out of her work clothes, and realised that she never wanted to share her home with anyone else.

Or the time he’d first been invited to the big Santiago summer get together, and she’d stressed over it just as much he did, making information binders on her family and their quirks and their habits and what he could say and what he should absolutely not say. But when the party finally came, and he’d squeezed her hand so nervously stepping into the living room, he managed to remember every single brother’s, sister-in-law’s, niece’s and nephew’s name, made extra time for her abuela Claudia’s stories and waited for her tia Maria to translate everything someone yelled in Spanish for him, sat down at exactly the place on the table that would’ve secretly been reserved for him as a test, and slipped into dinner conversations and children’s games down at the lake as if he’d always been there, always been a part of her family. She watched him running from her nephews’ water guns and secretly rolling his eyes at her while talking to her brother David and offering his arm to her abuela Sofia on a walk the way he would usually offer it to her, and she realised that it fit so well because he should have always been there, that this spot in her family had always waited for him.

Or the time she’d started her period while staying over at his place for the first time ever, waking up to stained sheets and cramps and the rushing feeling of pure embarrassment, telling him she was so, so sorry and would buy him new sheets and probably better get home so she could deal with this and not bother him for the rest of the weekend despite the plans they’d made. And he’d simply gotten out of bed, rummaged through a cabinet in his bathroom and returned with painkillers, a hot water bottle, and a box of pads and tampons he’d bought after an awkward day at the academy when Rosa had lectured him about always being prepared for anything his fellow detectives could need. And he’d parked her on the sofa after she’d changed into one of his boxers, and the washing machine was already cleaning the sheets and her underwear, and he said be right back and returned from the bodega on the corner with ice cream and salt & vinegar chips and her favourite chocolate. And she looked at him as he sat down on the other side of the couch, remote already in hand to see what they could binge-watch this weekend, acting as if nothing was wrong and she hadn’t just completely inconvenienced him and weirded him out with her problems, and she realised that she hadn’t. That they’d been together barely a month and a half, and he was already so comfortable having her around that he was prepared for anything. That she could lay it all on him, without the fear of being embarrassed or rebuked as she had been with any other man in her life before him.

Or the time she cancelled what was meant to be their second date ever (after that awkward, chaotic, yet happy-ending first one) because she’d gotten sick. When he showed up that evening at her door, she’d been worried he hadn’t gotten her text (she was too stuffed up to speak properly on the phone, she’d realised when calling in sick to work). But he was wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants instead of a date outfit, and carried a grocery store bag and a drug store bag, and then he made her take a bath with one of those cold-remedy bath salt sachets he’d found, and cooked her his mom’s sickly-soup (with store-bought matzoh balls, he had to admit, he never quite got those right), and let her pick any movie she wanted to watch while they ate their soup wrapped up under one blanket so she could steal all of his body heat. He’d been to her place as her boyfriend only twice before, but she realised as she snuggled into his arms under the blanket and blew her nose into one of the extra-soft tissues he’d bought that she’d felt so wrong being sick and alone at her home, that she’d subconsciously hoped he could be there to rub the vapo-rub on her back before she went to sleep that night, and that nothing felt more right than him already whistling in the kitchen when she woke up feeling slightly better the next morning.

They were all these little moments, these facets of life that barely even mattered to outsiders, that happened and re-happened several times a year. But they did matter, and they came into her mind every time her mom warned her on the phone not to be ‘too hasty’, every time her non-work friends asked her if she was really sure she was talking about ‘Peralta, the guy you used to moan about so much’, every time someone made a joke to Jake and her about her being ‘above his pay-grade’ or them being ‘an odd couple if they ever saw one’. It was these little moments that mattered so much more to her than any grand romantic gesture could, and that manifested in her mind that Jake was it, and always had been.

The bottle of beer in her hand was still label-less, but she noticed that it was also empty. She didn’t know when she’d transitioned into Spacey Amy, but looking up at Rosa’s face, seeing Gina next to her who’d apparently walked up at some point, she realised that she’d been talking, not thinking all of this.

“Daaaamn, girl.” Gina replied, but her voice was quiet, not even close to the usual mocking tone she’d take on for Amy. Rosa next to her was silent, blinking hard, and if she didn’t know her any better Amy would’ve almost believed she was fighting back a few tears. Which was ridiculous, because this was Rosa, and she’d only had six drinks, which brought her barely close to the emotional level she needed to even think about crying. Rosa’s drunk-scale started a lot later than Amy’s did.

Amy swept away a little tear from her own cheek while grinning awkwardly down at her bottle.

“Good thing that was one drink Spacey Amy and not two drink Loud Amy, huh?” She tried to joke, but Rosa only shook her head.

“Santiago, shit like that, you should shout from the fucking rooftops. Or at least into your fiancé’s stupid grinning face. Damn, I’m genuinely so happy for you two dorks, you’re so perfect. Don’t ever quote me on that, though.” Rosa had at least reached the swearing stage of drunkenness, the one where she’d wrap genuine emotion in as many rude words as possible to make it seem like she still didn’t care as much as she did.

Amy looked over at Jake and caught him looking away just as quickly. He’d been watching her again. He often did when he thought she wouldn’t notice, she’d realised that early on in their relationship. They’d be watching a movie, or hunched over case files, or simply hanging out at her kitchen counter nibbling on take away leftovers and discussing their day, and she’d look up and notice him almost flinching away. On the rare occasions that she woke up after him - once in a blue moon, when the night had been far longer than she’d planned, like tomorrow, probably - she would roll to the side and meet with his eyes, half-closed and shining and definitely, completely focussed on nothing but her.

It was almost unsettling to be the centre of someone’s attention like that, but in a good way. In a way that made her heart skip a beat, because she’d never expected to be anyone’s point of focus like this, ever.

Maybe, besides all the little moments and epiphanies, that had actually been the point of no return for her, love-wise - when she realised just what she was to Jake. Everything, he’d told her not just once during his more romantic moments, whispering in her ear and pressing a kiss to her temple. You’re everything to me, Ames, and sometimes I think you’re even a bit more than that.

“Hey.” She heard his voice next to her as he walked up from the long-forgotten dart board, where Gina was quick to jump in and challenge Terry to another round to see him flex his shoulders.

“Hey yourself.” She grinned back, one drink Amy still on the clock.

“Thought I should come over here to tell you something really important.”

“Oh, sure.” The serious tone in his voice made her steel herself almost as a reflex. “What is it?”

“I realised I’m absolutely, crazy in love with you. Is that okay?”

And there was this grin, this stupid wide grin she knew so well, that always looked a bit different when it was directed towards her than anyone else. Amy couldn’t help but laugh as she softly punched his arm.

“Yeah, you know.” She looked at the ring on her finger as she stroked over the space she’d only just hit. “I think that’s pretty okay.”

He leant down for a kiss, and they could both hear a gagging sound from the side.

“Knock it off, Diaz.” Jake shot Rosa a fake-angry look. “You’re not allowed to make fun of us today.”

“Alright, alright. I don’t need to watch it, though.” Rosa stood up from her bar stool, only to punch Jake into the other arm, definitely stronger than Amy just had. He grinned at her nonetheless, knowing full well that was as close and emotional as a tight hug would be from his old friend.

“Better take your fiancée home before she turns into two drink Amy, though. Think you’ve got some stuff to say that shouldn’t be heard from the whole bar.” She grinned again before walking off to beat both Gina and Terry at darts.

Jake followed her with his eyes before smiling back at Amy.

“My fiancée.” He repeated, and she could see how strange the word still felt in his mouth, strange and new and absolutely joyful.

“Your future wife.” She smiled back, and it didn’t sound strange at all. It sounded perfectly right. Because it had always, always been.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #fanfic #my writing #my Q needs no more vowels

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