#my heart is getting like fatigued just typing this fuck man i give up

[maggotwithanf]

red fucking alert guys someone's flirting with my longtime crush by sending him editions of gay wwi poetry. i can't compete

[mockerycrow]

Hey want some angst? (I’m not sure if it is angst lol)

This has been haunting my head so now it shall haunt yours

So you know how ghosts whole family died?

Imagine reader being one of ghosts siblings but they didn’t die and just ran away in the military 

And years later reader and ghost across ways one day and while ghost is happy that their alive reader one the other hand wants NOTHING to do with him and this breaks ghosts heart so he becomes cold to reader but reader changes their mind and wants him to come back into their life and

(This is the part where my head cannon that ghost and Simon are mentally two different people)

While ghost hates reader Simons like “nooo that’s my sibling :(“

And ghost is like “well damn sounds like a you problem”

-🫠

NO BECAUSE LET ME ELABORATE…

You and Simon were the sole survivors—and of course, you didn’t know Simon survived, so you thought you were alone for so long. You ended up developing a harsh exterior, refusing anyone to get close.

You ended up joining the military—it was easy for you to get through everything mentally. Of course you cared for your teammates to an extent, but overall? No one knew you. No one knew what you liked to do, what your favorite color was, no one knew anything about your personal life—you were there to live on in the military. At least it gave you a purpose, right? So you kept training to keep yourself healthy and strong. You began to climb the ranks after a few years—rejecting any friends, any contacts, anything. The only person whose managed to stick around is Chief Laswell—it’s not like you can get rid of your superiors, right? She sits you down, and with you two is an unfamiliar man with military fatigues on, except his jacket is missing, so it’s just his dark green shirt, his camp pants and his boots.

“No way.” You refuse, crossing your arms.

“Why not?” Laswell questions, glancing at you and then at the man. She gestures to him. “This is Captain John Price, the leader of the 141. He’s reviewed your file and he thinks you’d be an excellent fit.”

You shake your head again. “I’ve heard of the 141 and I respect you guys and the work you do, but I wouldn’t be a good fit.”

Price presses his lips together. “Your file suggests you’re a loner, is that right?” You nod, your eyebrows furrowed. Price hums for a moment, looking at you. “We have a loner type in the task force, why don’t you just give it a try? A.. test run of sorts.” And for some reason, you agreed.

And that’s where you met Ghost—and you didn’t know it was Simon right away, but fuck, did he panic when he saw familiar eyes glaring back at him.

You changed a lot—and it wasn’t for the better.

[tobiosmilktea]

ahh omg requests are opened !! can i request atsumu, iwa, kenma, and tsukki angst to fluff kinda thing where they get into a big fight and the boys blow up on the reader but make up at the end? pls make me cry but also go “💘🥺”,, thank you so much !!!

- 🧋

kiss and make up with atsumu, iwaizumi, kenma, and tsukishima

— m. atsumu

being with atsumu,, it’s no surprise that you two occasionally get into a few arguments here and there

they honestly range from the tiniest little, insignificant things from what to get for dinner to whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza aka things most people probably wouldn’t even bat an eye at

you were used to it considering how atsumu is, but his personality is what you liked most about him with how he’s constantly having you on your feet —never knowing what he’ll do next

they’re quiet funny at the end of the day and that back and forth banter is just another way you two show how much you care about each other

with that being said, no matter what you two are arguing about, it’s always lighthearted and not so serious

that’s why it honestly took you by surprise how atsumu’s typically nonchalant and teasing nature whenever you guys “argue” over something was something you’ve never seen before

very rarely did you ever see this man get incredibly angry and you’ve even seen all of his games where things weren’t going right

and perhaps that’s where the root of this argument started in the first place

dating a famous division 1 volleyball player who is well loved and respected, it’s hard being able to spend the proper time with him when he’s constantly travelling or getting recognized whenever you two are out on a date

you weren’t exactly complaining about this problem to atsumu after he came back from a tiresome and strenuous day of practice as you knew that it was going to be like this when you two first met

if anything, it was just a concern you voiced out that you obviously weren’t expecting him to solve with a snap of his fingers

“and what the fuck do you want me to do about it, (y/n)?” he snapped at you, venom coated his words like tar

you looked at him with widened eyes as a mixture of confusion and utter offense melted upon your expression

atsumu was notorious for using foul language on a daily basis, but never had he ever swore at you and it’s safe to say you like to keep that same energy with him

you scoffed at him, still a bit dumbfounded, “i’m not expecting you to fix anything over night, i was just saying.”

“as if i already didn’t know how hard it is to find time to spend together.”

“so, are you just treating me like an idiot now?”

it was late, you were tired just as much as atsumu was and you certainly weren’t in the mood to argue with him anymore

before you could even let him answer, you walked away from him and entered your bedroom withy a slammed door

you hated going to bed angry, but there honestly wasn’t anymore moral within you to even continue whatever leftover conversation between you and atsumu

perhaps giving time for something this to simmer until the morning would be enough to make sure your fatigue wasn’t blurring your thoughts knowing how dangerous misunderstandings can be

a few minutes later, atsumu enters the room, eyes scanning over your figure beneath the sheets as your breathing subsided

he thought you were fast asleep, but your mind was still awake and racing with the worse case scenarios. it made it so much more difficult now that atsumu laid beside you

he would wrap his arms around you, “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have yelled at you.” whispering in a hushed, muffled voice. you could feel the way his lips pecked at you shoulder then up to your temple

you weren’t sure if he knew you were awake or not as you swore he could’ve heard your heart pounding

without uttering another word, you turn towards him, burying your head into the crook of his neck

you were just glad his warmth was still here

— i. hajime

you believe one of your biggest flexes within your relationship with iwa is that you two rarely argue or get into childish fights

sure, there were disagreements here and there, but most of them were minuscule decisions on what outfit to where that day or what restaurant you two wanted to eat at. most of which would be decided with a harmless game of rock, paper, scissors or nose goes lmao

other than constantly bickering with oikawa, iwaizumi isn’t really the type to get into shouting contests with you unlike with his best friend (most of which is started by oikawa anyway)

because of this, you weren’t really expecting to get into a fight with your boyfriend, and yet, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to him doing so

at the end of the day, you always ended up being the moderator of iwaizumi and oikawa’s loud back and forth banter if things got too rowdy

so never in a million years were you expecting oikawa to be taking your place at this very moment

poor dude doesn’t know what to do

he’s used to third wheeling you and iwa being all lovey dovey, but now that you two were in the midst of a midafternoon shouting contest, he’s completely dumbfounded

oikawa couldn’t help but feel bad for you as technically the whole reason why you and iwaizumi were arguing in the first place was because of him

long story short, iwa was sick and tired of oikawa flirting with you all the time despite only doing it to tease him

you were well aware of this as well, playing along with oikawa’s flirts just to tease your boyfriend

you didn’t see any harm in it as you made it very clear the moment you confessed to iwaizumi that you liked him and not his best friend (who you more or less saw as a brother over anything)

“listen, i’m sorry i was only playing around.” you apologize, throat already aching from the amount of stress you had already put on it

“if you were only playing around, then you wouldn’t be flirting with him everyday!” spat iwaizumi as he flickering a harsh look to oikawa who backed a good six feet away from you two (social distancing king lmao)

you honestly didn’t know what to say as a lump formed in your throat, rendering you speechless. granted, he had a point, but how couldn’t he overlook the way you only had eyes for him? the way you would “flirt” with oikawa they always tended to be backhanded, the way you would always kiss iwa after each of oikawa’s attempts to flirt, or how you would constantly remind him how much you loved him

it hurt slightly knowing how it was all overlooked by harmless teases

regardless,, it had to stop

before you could  apologize once more and say you’ll stop, iwaizumi huffs, “just say that you wanted him the entire time and not me.” before walking away entirely

your eyes widened, turning over towards a distanced oikawa who had the same look of surprise before motioning a hand towards your boyfriend, “well, go after him!”

with missing a beat, you ran down the block to catch up to iwaizumi, spreading your arms and throwing it around him as you bury your face into his back

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have done that.” your voice muffled into his uniform shirt, “i only like you, iwa, you have to believe me.”

your hands that were firmly clasped together to prevent him from breaking out of your embrace was slowly pulled apart by iwaizumi, feeling his entire body turn to face towards you

“idiot,” he muses with that same embrace

— k. kenma

i don’t think argument are common between you and kenma

he’s probably too preoccupied with playing video games or sleeping to even bother starting a fight over mindless disagreements

you were glad that you didn’t have to deal with such burdens of fighting with your significant other, but at the same time, you believed that small disagreements in relationships showed just how much you cared for the other

it showed how they were looking out for you if you were to ever make a terrible decision, and yet kenma would only bat an eye at you and shrug whenever you ask him for advice

in the end, you’d end up fucking something up or get hurt

or whenever you’d ask your boyfriend what he thinks about a specific outfit, he barely spare your a glance before uttering the words, “yeah, looks great babe.”

it sounded almost crazy to say, but sometimes you wished for you and kenma to get into arguments sometimes

not ones so serious it would lead to a significant gap within your relationship, but rather the ones the led for you guys to communicate more

besides, it’s not like you guys communicate a lot in the first place

you first brought up this concern when you came over to his apartment to which he was (surprise surprise) still playing video games

you didn’t mind about his hobbies as that’s what he liked most, but sometimes you just wished he would give you the proper attention for once

“hey,” you’d call out to him in the dark room, shaking a plastic bag in your hand in the hopes it would capture his attention, “i bought takoyaki!”

and to your low expectations, kenma simply hums as he clicks rapidly at his keyboard

your brows furrow as you pondered to yourself, what will get his attention?

“i also brought my boyfriend with me!” you lied just to see if his expression would even change

and what do ya know, it doesn’t. it’s the same focused deadpan on his computer screen, “no you didn’t, your boyfriends right here?”

you were at the end of your rope

“then why doesn’t my boyfriend come over here and act like it?” you hissed, “last time i checked, boyfriends get excited whenever they see their significant other and not over genshin characters.”

now that was a bite to kenma’s ego as he finally pulled his eyes away from the screen and towards you. “what?” he says, confused.

“do you even like me anymore?”

kenma scoffs almost dumbfounded, “of course i do, how could you say that?”

“because i experience it everyday, kenma.” you confess, fighting to keep your heavy gaze onto your boyfriend as he approaches you. “every time i come by i always see you at your desk in front of your computer. you never greet me first and unless i verbally say something, you probably won’t even notice that i’m here.” you voice broke slightly

“i-i’m sorry, (y/n)—”

“do you ever stop and think of the fact that the only times we see each other if from me visiting you? if i were just to stop one day i’d figure we wouldn’t even have a relationship in the first place.” you sigh as you shook your head, “you probably wouldn’t even notice, anyway.”

almost immediately does kenma wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace, almost as if he feared that you would disappear if he were to let go in the slightest

he places a kiss on your forehead before resting his own against yours, “i don’t ever want to hear those words come from you every again, (y/n). i’m so so sorry, i’ll promise to be better.”

you melted within his embrace, feigning a smile from appearing as you quickly give him a peck before remembering that the bag of food you bought was still in your hand

“let’s start by eating before the food gets cold.”

— t. kei

unlike the rest of the previously mentioned boys, arguments are pretty common between you and tsukishima considering his nature

he’s constantly teasing and making fun of you, but all of which were just jokes not meant to be taken seriously and you were well aware of this too

it’s probably the main reason why tsuki found himself so enamored with you as you constantly matched his energy 

you two were shockingly similar with your humor and your smugness, but the main differences between the two of you was you academics

it’s not surprise how tsukishima is always at the top of his class while you’re always at the bottom of it

considering this, the majority of your dates during the week with him are usually study dates or normal dates that end with the two of  you either at the library or each other’s houses studying material for the following day’s test

it was clear that in order to date each other, you both had to have patience

you weren’t exactly the fastest learner and you easily got distracted with things around you that you’re honestly surprised that tsukishima’s nonexistent patience was still up and active

besides, he loved you. he had to understand your difficulties as most of the time you can’t help it, but at the same time his personality was like treading on broken glass

usually he had enough patience to last an entire two hour study session with you, but today was oddly different

nothing was going right with tsukishima’s day and he just got absolutely annoyed with every little thing from a person bumping into him in the halls to a stain on his uniform that you could barely even notice

right now, this was the tenth time he found you tuning him out and daydreaming

his knuckled turned alabaster from the pressure of squeezing his mechanical pencil. he huffed, trying to calm himself down as he rubbed his aching temples

“(y/n), were you even listening to what i was—”

“do you think giraffes know where other giraffes are from?” you interrupted him with another one of your mindless tangents, “like considering how the pattern of a giraffe’s fur depends on what regent they’re from, do you think a giraffe from southern africa could tell if another if from western africa—”

tsukishima was at his limit, “can’t you just shut the fuck up and focus for five minutes, (y/n)?” he shouts at you, “i swear, you wouldn’t be failing if you just listened for once.”

he huffs out in annoyance, completely ignoring the way the brightness in your expression fell into a frown

you weren’t mad as you honestly couldn’t blame him. having learning difficulties and a short attention span was burdening you boyfriend so much that he isn’t even obligated to be doing this for you

he was sacrificing his time tutoring you and you’re just wasting it

“i’m sorry i can’t learn as easily as you,” you mutter softly, picking up your things quickly

tsukishima gives you a look of confusion, “w-where are you going?”

“thanks for all your help, but i can’t keep wasting your time like this.” you say as you zipped up your backpack and left

the next day you walked to school alone. usually you would be walking with tsukishima and yamaguchi, but it seemed like even tadashi wasn’t there to wait outside your house either

you weren’t able to hide your melancholy as you entered your classroom, slightly glad that tsukishima and yamaguchi weren’t here yet to see your expression

it allowed you time to pull yourself together, and yet, that time alone was cut short as the two walked in

you briefly flicker them a look fast enough that they don’t notice, but long enough for you to see yamaguchi patting his best friend on the back with encouragement

tsukishima had something in his hands, but you were too far away to construe them

you looked back down to your desk, fiddling with you pencil and pretending as if you were thinking about what to write next

it was then did footsteps approach, arriving right next to you with a presence so unwavering

you gulped, hoping that it wasn’t who you thought it was as you looked it

of course it just had to be that one lanky boy with glasses and messy blond hair to be standing by your side

he was holding a stuffed giraffe and a small white box with string neatly tied around it

“i’m sorry for blowing up on you,” he bursts out his apology, “i know you have a hard time and i should’ve remembered that you can’t help it.”

he places the giraffe plushy and box onto your desk

“it’s an masai giraffe since i remembered you liking their unique fur pattern and i also got you strawberry short cake this morning before they ran out that’s why i wasn’t there to walk you to school.” tsukishima continues explaining, “i just hope you’re not angry with me.”

you felt a smile creeping up to your lips as you shook your head, “i could never.”

[pazumane-archive]

Closing Time - Asahi x Reader

Characters: Asahi Azumane, female reader, original female character, small Taichi cameo

Relationships: Asahi Azumane x Reader

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort if you squint, SFW but 16+ please

Warnings: Alcohol, general drunken shenanigans, emetophobia (mentions of vomit), bad language

WC: 6.4k

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is a totally self-indulgent bedtime-scenario-type story because there is simply not enough Asahi/Reader content out there and I adore him. It’s also my first time writing in 2nd person, so PLEASE feel free to send me any feedback, please just be kind :) I really don’t like to use y/n, so I only used it a couple times towards the end when I wasn’t sure what else to do lol

The preview begins with the bolded text below and fic continues after the cut :)

Reblogs appreciated! <3

You weren’t planning on getting this drunk. But by the time it got to be about 11:30, you didn’t know what else to do. You had put so much effort and energy into making yourself look nice just for your date not to show up. Your roommate was out of town, so instead of going home and pouting, you figured you might as well have some fun while you were out. But you’ve never been good at exercising restraint, and the fact that you were alone wasn’t doing you any favors. But by closing time had rolled around, you could hardly see straight. You needed help, so you call upon an old friend.

“Do you have anybody you can call for a ride?” Kawanishi asks.

Kawanishi’s the bartender at this izakaya, and over the course of the night, you spent most of the time talking his ear off. He’s nice enough, and held pleasant conversation for the last few hours. He says he used to be a volleyball player, and had even played on the same team as a one of the guys on the Japan National Team. You forget to ask him which school he attended, but he probably was tired of talking to your drunk ass anyway, so you don’t bother asking. “Yeah,” you say, digging in your purse for your phone. “Are you sure? I can call a cab for you if you need it,” he offers. “Nah,” you say, hiccupping between words. “I’ll call somebody. Thank you though.” “No problem,” he says. “Just try to make it quick.” You scroll through your phone, trying to figure out who to call. Your roommate’s out of town visiting her parents, so she’s a no-go. You could call Kokomi. Honestly, she would deserve the 2AM phone call for setting you up on this failed blind date in the first place. Ever since you moved to Tokyo last month, she was constantly trying to set you up with somebody, whether it was a friend, a coworker, or some rando that she had met on the train. Unfortunately, all of them were jerks. And this one was the biggest jerk of all. You silently curse yourself for going along with her antics again.

“He’s great, you’ll love him!” “You said that about the last three guys you tried to set me up with, Kokomi.” “Please!! You’ll never know if you don’t even give him a chance.”

Well, you gave him a chance. And it ended up with you all alone, drunk as hell in an unfamiliar part of the city. You dial Kokomi’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Bitch,” you mutter. You unlock your phone again and look through to find somebody that might be able to take you home. You scroll back to the top of your contact list, and your eyes settle on another name. He lives just a few blocks away, and knowing him, he’s probably awake working on something anyway. You click on his contact and wait for him to answer.

*

The exhaustion’s starting to get to him. It’s the weekend and he can afford to stay up an extra couple of hours to finish this design, but the combination of fatigue and frustration are taking over. He sets down his pencil and moves towards his bed, until his cell starts to buzz. He glances over at the clock on the wall. 1:49 AM.

Who could possibly be calling at this hour?

Asahi picks up his phone, surprised to see your name on the screen. His heart skips a beat in his chest, both from excitement and nervousness. Aside from his teammates, you’re one of the only people he bothered to keep in contact with after high school. The two of you had even met up a few times since you moved to the city, but he never would have expected you to call at this hour unless… unless something is wrong. “Hey you, what’s up?” He says, choking back a yawn. “Hiiiii Asahiiii!  I tried to call Kokomi but she didn’t answer her phone… could you come pick me up?” Your voice is thick and your words are almost unintelligible as you speak. It’s obvious that you’re far from sober. “Where are you?” Asahi asks, failing to mask the anxiety in his voice. “Are you okay? Are you safe?” “M’fine,” you slur. “But I…” Suddenly the call drops. Asahi calls you back in a panic, his heart racing as he waited for you to answer. You could be in danger and he’d be powerless to help you. He doesn’t even know where you are. “Hello?” A man’s voice comes through the speaker. “Who are you? Where is she?” Asahi asks frantically. “Relax, man. I’m just the bartender,” he says. “Look, your friend’s next to me, but she’s on the verge of passing out. Can you come get her before she pukes all over my bar? She’s at Zoetrope. You know where that is?” “Of course, I’m on my way now! I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Asahi says, grabbing his apartment keys and putting on a pair of shoes. He’s out the door almost immediately.

*

Kawanishi presses your phone back into your hands. Your head is spinning so fast that you struggle to keep your eyes open. “Is he coming?” you ask. “Yeah, he’s on the way,” Kawanishi says. “He’ll be here soon. Now do me a favor, don’t get this drunk the next time you come into my izakaya or I’ll have to kick you out.” “You’re kicking me out???” “Only if you start throwing up,” he says under his breath. “I’m not going to throw up!” you exclaim, suddenly becoming very aware of the churning in your stomach. You grumble, slumping over the bar. You squeeze your eyes shut, the spinning in your head only getting worse with every breath you take. You feel like you’re going to die, and honestly, between the embarrassment of being stood up and the wave of nausea coming over you, you’re ready to welcome that death with open arms. “Hey!” Kawanishi says, smacking the bar next to your head. “Your friend’s going to be here soon, don’t fall asleep or I’ll throw you out on the street myself.” “I’m sorry, Kawanishi-san.” You sit up slowly and cradle your head in your hands once more, trying to make the world stop spinning.

Please get here soon, Asahi.

*

Asahi sprints down the street as fast as he can towards the izakaya. He’s sure that he looks suspicious running down the street alone at night, but he doesn’t care. You’re in trouble, and he’s the only person that can help you. He finally makes it to the bar and hastily pulls the door open. You’re dressed beautifully, and your makeup and hair are exquisitely done. Unfortunately, the way you’re slumped over the bar makes it obvious that something’s wrong. He’s not sure what happened, but whatever it was, it must have been rough. The bartender gently helps you out of your seat, and Asahi can’t help but think that he looks very familiar. You straighten up and as soon as you make eye contact with Asahi, you perk up. “Asahi-san!” you exclaim, rushing towards him and almost falling over. You crush him in an unexpectedly tight hug. “Long time no see, big guy!” “I saw you three days ago,” he says under his breath. You continue babbling unintelligibly, and Asahi looks up at the bartender. “Did she close out her tab?” Asahi asks. “I took care of it already,” the bartender replies. “Please just make sure she gets home okay. She’s had a rough night.” “Yeah, of course,” Asahi says. “Thanks for helping her out.” “No problem.” Asahi peels your arms off him and starts to nudge you towards the door. Just before the two of you leave, Asahi stops and turns back to the bartender. “Have we met before?” he asks. “I played for Shiratorizawa. Didn’t think I’d see you again, Karasuno Samurai.” Asahi frowns slightly. He hasn’t heard that nickname high school, and it’s weird hearing it again now. “Right,” he says. “Well, thanks again. Have a good night.” Asahi leads you out of the bar and down the sidewalk. You hold tightly to his arm, stumbling over yourself. He braces you against his side, and you take this opportunity to tease him a little bit. “Do you like my outfit, Asahi-san?” you ask, pressing into his side. “Yeah, it’s really nice!” he answers nervously, turning his head to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. He’s not lying – you look beautiful, both your top and your skirt accentuating your curves in all the right places. But it would be wrong to say anything more than that while you’re in this state. That wouldn’t be fair to either of you. He brusquely clears his throat and keeps walking as soon as the light signals that you can cross. “I dressed up extra nice tonight, but it didn’t even fucking matter,” you grumble, your voice breaking slightly. Asahi either doesn’t hear you, or does hear you and decides not to say anything. “I’m soooo glad you’re here,” you say, drawing out your words even longer than you were a minute ago. “I’m sorry, this is super embarrassing! I should’ve figured this out on my own.” “It’s okay,” Asahi says. “How long have you been in Tokyo again?” “A month? I think?” “Exactly,” he says. “You probably don’t know your way around that much. I’d feel terrible if I wasn’t able to help you find your way home.” “Meh,” you say. “I’ve had the worst night of my fucking life, so maybe it would be better if I passed out in a ditch somewhere.” “Do you want to talk about it?” Asahi asks. “No,” you answer quickly. “Okay.” You start blathering again and Asahi has to practically drag you down the street behind him. The station just past his apartment has a train that can drop you right by your building. He can just take a cab back after he gets you home. He considers inviting you stay the night at his place since it’s right there, but he’s afraid of being weird, so he doesn’t say anything. The two of you come to a stop at the train station… which is closed. “I’m sorry,” Asahi says remorsefully. “I guess the train stopped running at midnight. I’ll call you a cab.” He goes to pull his phone out of his pocket, but you grab his hand before he can. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” you ask sheepishly. “I… my roommate is out of town. And I’m really not doing good right now. I just really don’t want to be alone.” Despite how out of it you’ve been since he picked you up, Asahi sees nothing but complete sincerity in your eyes. Tonight must have been really rough. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I’ll just sleep on the couch- or a futon if you have one!” you say, nodding. “Okay.” Asahi turns back towards his apartment and you follow closely behind him, not letting go of his hand the entire time.

*

Asahi helps you across the threshold of his apartment and sits you down on a chair by the door. “Asahi-san, you’re so handsome with your hair down like that,” you say, reaching up to twirl a finger in his long chestnut tresses. “And you’re loopy,” Asahi mutters, disentangling your fingers from his hair. Once again, he finds himself hiding a blush. He’s not used to being showered with compliments, and he knows you wouldn’t be saying this stuff if you were sober. He kicks off his shoes and kneels down in front of you, helping you take yours off. “How are you feeling?” he asks you. “Can I get you some water or a some–” “Why didn’t you ask me out when we were in high school?” you ask suddenly. “I think I made it pretty obvious that I had a crush on you. It’s all I could think about when you were holding my hand back there.” “I – I, uh,” Asahi stammers. You burst out laughing, startling Asahi. It’s that same boisterous laugh you’ve had for as long as he could remember knowing you. You were always self-conscious about it in high school, but your laugh has always been one of Asahi’s favorite things about you. Despite the fact that it’s at his expense, he’s glad to see your mood improve. Asahi considers your question for a moment. He really liked you too back then, and everyone knew it. Suga and Daichi constantly teased him for it.

So why hadn’t he asked you out back then?

Well, for a number of reasons. He spent so much of his third year focused on volleyball that he didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity for much else. He hadn’t even planned on going back to school after graduation until Nishinoya helped convince him to pursue his passions. He felt directionless, and he didn’t want to burden anybody else with his indecision. But most importantly, he was scared you’d reject him. Suga was right. He really was a coward. He’d dated a few people since high school graduation, but none of them made him feel the way you did, and they didn’t treat him as well as you would have. Which begs the question – why hasn’t he asked you out since you moved to Tokyo? He pushes the thought to the back of his mind. This isn’t the kind of conversation to be having when you aren’t even able to form a coherent sentence. Asahi’s thoughts are interrupted by your hand on his shoulder and a loud hiccup. “I should wash my face. Can I wash my face?” “Sure,” Asahi says, helping you stand up. You stumble forward, but he catches you easily and pulls you back to your feet. He quietly leads you to the bathroom and sits you down on the edge of the bathtub. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m a mess.” “No, you’re not. Hold on a second,” he says, opening the drawer under the sink. He pulls out a small package of makeup wipes and takes one out. He kneels in front of you and begins wiping the makeup off your face. “I know they’re not great for your skin,” he says. “But it’s better than nothing, right?” “Why do you even have those?” you ask between hiccups. “Do you wear makeup? I mean, it’s obviously fine if you do, but it doesn’t really seem like your thing.” “I don’t, but you never know when they’ll come in handy! I do work with a lot of makeup artists,” he says, somewhat defensively. You get the sense that he’s lying about something, but Asahi changes the subject before you can probe him any further. “So what were you doing there by yourself?” he asks. “It’s not safe to be alone so late at night.” Clearly this was the wrong thing to ask. All the negative emotions and thoughts you were having all even spring to the forefront of your mind, and you start to cry. Asahi starts apologizing profusely, but you wave him off. “It’s fine,” you sniffle, wiping a tear away from your cheek. “Kokomi was trying to set me up with one of her friends, but he never showed up.” Asahi sits back on his heels. Kokomi is another girl from Karasuno that ended up in Tokyo. She wasn’t in the same class as him, but he remembers how loud she always was in the hallways. Honestly, both of you were always loud, but you’ve always been much more considerate of others than Kokomi ever was. “Shit,” he mumbles. “That really sucks. I’m sorry.” “Yeah. It does suck.” Asahi grabs another wipe and asks you to close your eyes. You do as he says, and he lightly wipes off your eye makeup. He’s worked with enough models to recognize that you’re wearing false eyelashes, so he gently pulls those off too. You feel yourself start to wobble on the edge of the tub, so you grip his arm to steady yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t need to keep apologizing to me.” “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” you ask suddenly. “Wait, what?” “I just… this keeps happening to me. Everyone always says that it’s because they’re not the right person for me, but it’s starting to feel like there’s just something wrong with me instead,” you say, choking back a sob. “I know I just moved here, but I’m just so lonely. I hate feeling like I’m not good enough.” Asahi tenderly wipes a tear from your cheek and cups your face in both hands. “Hey, look at me. There is nothing wrong with you,” he says sincerely. “That guy is an idiot and a jerk. If he had any idea how extraordinary you are, he never would’ve done that to you.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You don’t feel like you deserve to be spoken to like this – with such genuine kindness and sincerity. Asahi makes you feel so good. So special. He always has. And he’s just so… tender, especially for somebody who looks as intimidating as he does. You wonder if those feelings from high school ever truly went away. You sit up straighter and try to smile at him, but your stomach flips unexpectedly and violently. “Asahi-san?” you ask, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Yeah?” he replies. “Toilet.” Asahi moves out of the way as fast as possible. You hunch over the rim and retch into the toilet bowl. Asahi quickly scoops up your hair and holds it behind your head as you throw up. “Please, just leave me,” you mutter. “I’m gonna fucking die here.” “I’m not going to leave you here and you’re not going to die,” Asahi says, gingerly picking up the last loose strands laying on your neck and holding them back with the rest of your hair. Your back tenses up again before you begin heaving once more. Asahi tucks his nose into the collar of his shirt, careful to make sure that he’s out of your field of vision. He wants to be there for you but he had a weak stomach himself and the sight and smell of somebody else’s vomit is something he knows he won’t be able to handle. You mumble weak apologies between hacks, but Asahi just ignores them and rubs your back gently. After what feels like an eternity, the churning in your stomach finally stops and you reach up towards the flush handle. The exhaustion in your body and heart finally begin to catch up with you, and your hand falls back to your side. “I got it. Do you think you’re done?” Asahi asks, coaxing you back up into a seated position. You nod, too tired to try to speak. Asahi quickly tugs his shirt back down from his face before you can see and closes the toilet lid. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “Don’t be,” Asahi says, flushing the toilet. “I’m your friend. I want to help you. And I’ve already told you that you don’t need to apologize to me.” Asahi helps you sit on the top of the toilet and rises to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says, scurrying out of the room. Although your eyes are closed, you still feel your body swaying. More than anything, you just want to go to sleep. Asahi pads back into the room and presses a wooden cup into your hands. “Drink this,” he says, turning on the faucet. Even though drinking something is the last thing you want to be doing right now, you go ahead and lift the cup to your open mouth. Cold water passes your lips and washes away some of the disgusting taste in your mouth. It feels gross, but you force yourself to drink all of it. Asahi takes the cup from your hand and turns the faucet back off. You flinch at the feeling of a damp washcloth on your face. “It’s okay,” Asahi says gently, cradling your chin with his free hand and angling your face up. “Just cleaning you up a little.” You murmur in acknowledgement and Asahi continues to wipe your face down. You almost fall asleep sitting on his toilet, but he gently shakes you to keep you awake. “Stay with me for another minute,” he says softly. “You can go to sleep soon. You’re gonna be just fine. I promise.” His words and his voice are so sweet that you want to cry. A couple rogue tears drip from your eyes and onto his hands. “I’m sorry,” you say once more. Asahi sets the washcloth on the counter and starts to pull you to your feet. You struggle to stay on your feet, so instead, he carefully scoops you into his arms and carries you out the bathroom. You don’t care where you go, you just need to sleep. Asahi’s pretty certain you’re asleep by the time he deposits you on his mattress. Your chest rises and falls slowly as he pulls his duvet over you. He begins to make his way to the couch, but stops when he feels you grab his hand. “Please don’t go, Asahi-san,” you whisper. “Please.” You tug harder at his fingers and he knows he can’t refuse you. He ends up sitting on the edge of the bed holding your hand until you fall asleep.

*

As soon as your quiet snores permeate the silence, Asahi untangles his fingers from yours. He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face and he can’t help but let his eyes linger on your sleeping face for just a moment. The moonlight trickling through the window illuminates your hair and casts a silvery glow on your skin. Despite the awful night you’ve had, you look absolutely radiant. He feels himself blushing again, but he takes some comfort in the fact that he doesn’t have to try and hide it this time. Not while you’re fast asleep in his bed. He’s far too scared to admit it, even to himself, but he’s fantasized about falling asleep next to you many times before. But in those fantasies you weren’t drunk and crying over another man. Asahi sighs, stands up, and moves over to the dresser as quietly as he can. After setting a few things out for you, he goes into the bathroom, gets ready for bed and heads to the couch for the night.

*

By the time you wake up in the morning, you feel like you’re going to die. You can’t remember what exactly happened the previous night. The last thing you remember clearly was talking to the bartender about high school volleyball, of all things. Your head’s pounding, and your stomach aches painfully, screaming at you to please eat something. You don’t open your eyes, fearing that it would somehow trigger another round of vomiting. Eventually, you force yourself into a seated position and open your eyes. The bedroom you’re in is small, but pretty well-decorated. It’s decently tidy. The only mess is a few crumpled up clothing designs discarded on the floor next to the trash bin.

Designs? Did that mean?

You’re at Asahi’s apartment. In his bed. Your eyes widen in panic.

  What happened last night?

You’re still wearing the clothes that you wore to the bar last night. And there’s no evidence of him ever being in bed with you. You reach over towards your phone, which has been graciously plugged in for you and set on the bedside table. That’s when you notice the note along with a sleeve of crackers and a glass of ginger ale.

Good morning!

There’s a set of clothes you can wear at the foot of the bed and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Feel free to take a shower if you want. Extra towels are underneath the sink. Please have something to eat and drink too. You’ll feel better if you do.

-Asahi

P.S. Please don’t feel bad. It’s okay.

You grab a few of the crackers from the bedside table and eat them, washing them down with the ginger ale.

Why does Asahi have to be so damn considerate? The whole situation is so embarrassing.

You contemplate just grabbing your phone and getting the hell out of his apartment, but you’re not going to pass up the opportunity to shower. You finish the last of the crackers, chug down the ginger ale, and grab the spare clothes at the end of the bed. You turn the doorknob as silently as you can and awkwardly creep down the hall towards the bathroom, stopping briefly to peek in the living room. Asahi’s fast asleep on the couch, clad only in pajama pants and a pair of fuzzy socks. His hair is down and messily splayed across the throw pillow he’s resting his head on. Quiet snores pass his lips. He looks cute. Your eyes trail from his face and down to his stomach. Despite quitting volleyball after high school, he seems to have mostly maintained his athletic form, except for a tiny little layer of pudge on his lower stomach. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile, until that little voice in the back of your mind reminds you of your place.

Quit staring, you perv! You need to get out of here!

You hurriedly continue down the hallway and jump into the shower as soon as you get into the bathroom. You think that maybe if you clean up fast enough, you can get out of Asahi’s apartment before he wakes up. However, as soon as you step into the shower, all worries about rushing out disappear into the back of your mind. You bask in the hot water, the steam clearing your sinuses and relieving some of the pain in your head. You silently thank the gods that Asahi actually uses conditioner, and not just 3-in-1 like most of the other men you were previously…. acquainted with. Although, it makes sense to you that somebody with hair like Asahi’s would have a strict haircare routine. As you shower, fragmented memories of last night start to come back to you.

Being stood up at the bar. Calling Asahi for help. Puking your guts out in his bathroom. Him carrying you into his room and laying you down on his bed. Him staying by your side until you fell asleep. You wishing he would’ve crawled into bed with you and held you through the night… Wait, what was that last part?

As soon as you’re done rinsing the conditioner from your hair, you step out of the shower and swiftly towel off. You find the spare toothbrush Asahi mentioned, take it out of the packaging, and brush your teeth with his toothpaste. The dry, gross feeling in your mouth is quickly replaced with a minty fresh taste. You slip on the sweatpants and t-shirt that Asahi left for you and dry your hair. Thankfully, Asahi isn’t as huge as most people make him out to be, so while the clothes he left out are a bit big on you, you’re not drowning in them. You’ll just bring them back some other day. You start combing through your hair, and that’s when you hear it – the sound of somebody padding around in the apartment. Shit. Once the footsteps quiet down, you rush out of the bathroom and towards the front door. Asahi eyes you as you scoop up your shoes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Good morning!” he says kindly. “How are you feeling?” “I’m so sorry Azumane-san, it won’t happen again!” you say as you throw open the door and rush into the hallway. “Hold on, wait up!” he says as you pull the door closed behind you. You run all the way to the stairs at the end of the hallway and go to call Kokomi for a ride home. That’s when you realize that your phone is still plugged into the wall in Asahi’s room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You turn around and trudge back towards his apartment. Before you can even knock, the door opens slowly. Asahi stands there in just his pajama pants, holding your phone out to you. “You shouldn’t leave without your phone,” he says. You thank him and take your phone, a blush creeping up your cheeks. You try not to stare at his bare chest, already feeling like a creep for ogling him while he was sleeping. “Your clothes are still in the bathroom, too,” he says. “I can go get them for you. Or I can just wash them and give them back to you another time if you want to leave.” “No, that’s okay,” you say, covering your flushing cheeks with the collar of his shirt. “I’ll get them. Can I come in?” “Of course.” Asahi steps out of your way and you head straight for the bathroom, avoiding looking in his eyes. Asahi never gets angry, and you know he wouldn’t be mad at you over something like this, but a lingering sense of shame still washes over you. You scoop up your clothes and leave the bathroom. As soon as you cross the threshold into the living room, the smell of coffee and frying fish washes over you. Asahi stands in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. In the time that you were in the bathroom, he put on a Black Jackals sweatshirt and threw his hair into a loose bun. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asks, smiling at you and pouring his own cup. “It’ll help with the hangover.” You stand there and ponder his offer for a moment. Sensing your hesitancy, Asahi suddenly turns back to the stove and mumbles something that you can’t quite make out. “What did you say?” you ask. Asahi rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’s had since you were kids. “I don’t mean to pressure you to stay or anything! I just thought it might help for you to have something more than crackers and ginger ale.” “You’ve done plenty to help me since last night,” you say. “But I’ll take that coffee if the offer is still on the table.” “It is!” Asahi says a little too enthusiastically for his own good. You can’t help but smirk as you take your seat at the kitchen table. Asahi pours you a cup of coffee and slides you a bowl of the rice and fish he made. You thank him quietly and start to eat. He slides into the chair across from you and eats his own breakfast, eyeing you carefully. “What?” you ask after catching him staring. “Since when have you ever called me Azumane-san?” he asks. “I don’t know,” you mumble into your coffee mug. “I didn’t think we reverted back from first name basis,” he says. “I thought we knew each other better than that.” “I don’t know,” you say, a devilish smile crossing your face. “Care to explain why you actually had those makeup wipes in your bathroom drawer? I doubt your makeup artists are coming over to your apartment.” Now it’s Asahi’s turn to blush again. “My ex-girlfriend left them here,” he says. “Felt like a waste to just throw them out.” “Ex-girlfriend?!” you exclaim suddenly, startling Asahi and causing him to drop the wipe on the floor. “I didn’t know you were seeing somebody!” “Yeah,” he says, throwing the wipe in the trash and grabbing a fresh one. “We broke up a while before you moved to the city. She left a bunch of her stuff here and refused to come pick it up. I think she was just too embarrassed to see me again. I got rid of most of it a while ago, but I kept some of the more… uh, utilitarian things.” “I’m sorry,” you say sincerely. “Why did you break up?” Asahi feels a slight pang in his chest. He met his last girlfriend through his job. She was nice enough, and things seemed like they were going okay until he showed up at her apartment to surprise her for their 6 month anniversary, only to find another man in her bed. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you say. “It’s fine. She cheated on me with some other guy,” he says, his expression darkening. “I think they’re engaged now.” “Shit,” you say. “What a bitch.” “Woah, settle down, it’s okay –” “No, it’s not,” you say firmly. “You deserve someone way better than that. Somebody that treats you with the love and respect that you deserve.” Asahi knows you’re right, but he doesn’t really want to press it. That whole mess had done a number on his mental health, and he really doesn’t want to burden you with his emotional baggage. He adjusts his glasses again and forces a smile. “You know, you should really take your own advice,” he says. You try to think back on what you had said to him last night. The details are fuzzy, but you remember crying. A lot. Instead of answering him, you shovel down the last of the rice and fish. “Thank you for the meal,” you say. Asahi smiles and nods at you before beginning to clear the dishes away. You stand up and stop him, insisting that you clean up yourself. As you finish drying the bowls, your phone buzzes. You check it, only to see a handful of missed texts from Kokomi.

Ono Kokomi [8:32} Hey!! Sorry I missed your call. How was he?  (°◡°♡) [9:14] That good?  (^.~)☆ [9:18] Or that bad?! (;;;*_*) [9:57] HELLO?? (ﾉಥ益ಥ)ﾉ [10:32] ARE YOU ALIVE?!?!?!  〣( ºΔº )〣

You roll your eyes and quickly type out your response.

Y/N [10:33] Yeah, no thanks to you. (￢_￢;)

Ono Kokomi [10:34] Was it really that bad?

Y/N [10:34] He didn’t even show up. (╥_╥) [10:34] Azumane picked me up at 2 AM because I was too drunk to go home alone. I stayed the night at his place. [10:34] Speaking of which, can you come pick me up? Not really in a state to take the train and I think you owe me one.

Ono Kokomi [10:35] (⊙_⊙) [10:35] Spill. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Y/N [10:36] There’s nothing to spill. I threw up in his bathroom and he slept on the couch. Can you just answer my question please? (҂` ﾛ ´)凸

Ono Kokomi [10:36] Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m on my way, lovebird. (￣ε￣＠)

“Everything okay?” Asahi asks. “Yeah,” you say, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Kokomi’s going to come pick me up.” “Are you sure? I can take you if you want,” he offers. “Yeah, she’s already on her way,” you say, setting the bowl down and turning to face him. “Besides, you’ve done more than enough for me already over the last twelve hours.” You silently pick up your things and walk towards the door. Asahi rises from his chair and awkwardly clears his throat. “Do you have all your stuff?” You nod and smile. Before you open the door, you approach him and wrap your arms around his waist. He shyly hugs you back, hoping you can’t hear the rapid pounding in his chest. “Thank you, Asahi,” you whisper. “You’re amazing.” You let go first and leave his apartment quietly. As soon as the door closes, Asahi walks back into the living room and flops down on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans. This morning was almost too much for him – seeing you in his clothes, eating breakfast together, you hugging him before you left. It was all so painfully domestic, and he wishes it didn’t have to end. If only he wasn’t such a coward, he would’ve asked you to stay longer. He doesn’t know how long he lays there until he finally decides to get moving for the day and finish that piece he was working on when you called last night. He checks his phone and sees your name pop up on the screen.

Y/N [11:00] I’m home. Thanks again for babysitting me last night. Whatever did I do to deserve you as my guardian angel? ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ [11:00] Or was that Noya-san? I forget. (^ω~)

Azumane Asahi [11:01] Lol. You’re welcome. And that was what we called Noya in our club days, but I don’t mind you calling me that too (* ^ ω ^)

Y/N [11:03] Let me make it up to you. [11:04] Come over for dinner tomorrow night?

Asahi almost drops his phone on his face. His fingers fumble as he types his response. He waits a moment before sending it, rereading it ten times to make sure he doesn’t come across as desperate.

Azumane Asahi [11:07] I’d love to. Do you want me to bring anything?

Y/N [11:08] That’s not necessary. I owe you a nice dinner. [11:09] You still like tonkotsu ramen?

Azumane Asahi [11:10] I do!

Y/N [11:11] It’s a date! See you tomorrow! (☞°ヮ°)☞ ☜(°ヮ°☜)

*

“You said nothing happened last night,” Kokomi says, staring over your shoulder at your phone. “Nothing happened, Kokomi. Now leave me alone,” you snap, tossing one of your throw pillows at her. She deftly catches it and plops down on the couch next to you. “Please,” she says, swatting you with the pillow. “The only reason you two haven’t gotten together is because you’re the densest people on the planet. I bet he’s flopped down on his couch right now thinking about how he doesn’t even want to wait that long to see you.” “Shut up,” you grumble. Kokomi’s phone rings and she quickly checks it. “Anyway, I have to go meet Kaito,” she says. “Got to go. Let me know how your date goes!” She waves and practically skips out the front door. You lay down and start making a shopping list for ingredients for tonkatsu ramen. As soon as you’re done, you set your phone down and cross your arms over your face.

“I bet he’s flopped down on his couch right now thinking about how he doesn’t even want to wait that long to see you.” No, Kokomi. That’s me.

[mightymorphingayagenda]

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here,  x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” 

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.  

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.  

Humourless. 

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.  

“This is the part where you-“ 

“Shhh.” 

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.  

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.  

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.  

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.  

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.  

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.  

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.  

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.  

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.  

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.  

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.  

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.  

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”  

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.  

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.  

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.” 

Cue phase two of the plan.  

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.  

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative. 

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.” 

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.” 

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.  

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.  

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”  

“Is that a threat?” 

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.” 

Eris said nothing.  

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued.  “To do as you’re told.” 

She gave him strict instructions.  Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me.  Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.   

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.” 

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.  

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.  

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.  

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle:  a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.  

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.  

Who’s your daddy, now?  

- 

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.  

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.  

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.  

“Damn it,”  she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.  

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway… 

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.  

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…  

“Ugh,” she said again, louder.  Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time. 

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.  

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?” 

He meowed again.  

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.  

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.  

Cassian’s jacket.  

Uhg.  

Now she was thinking about him again.  

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.  

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.  

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”. 

He purred.  

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath.  Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him.  The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.  

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.  

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.  

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.  

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.  

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.  

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.  

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.  

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.  

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.  

Not a man. A boy.  

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.  

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.  

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex.  Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet.  In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.  

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.  

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it. 

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.  

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her. 

Her screaming.  

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body.  What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.  

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.  

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.  

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles.  And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.  

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.   

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even.  In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.  

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.  

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.  

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues. 

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.  

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.  

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.  

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” 

 Her mother’s last words.  

 Ten numbers.  

 Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door.  All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.  

 “три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.  

 Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.  

 Like a phone number.  

 No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough.  Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.  

 A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.  

 “Здравствуйте.” 

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.  

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.  

“Who is this?”  

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?   

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-” 

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.  

 A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.  

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.  

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.  

Go down for murder.  

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body.  How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.  

 Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly.  Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.  

 Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers.  The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.  

 “If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”  

 “You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?” 

 “Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.” 

 “Woof,” Nesta had said dryly. 

 “Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

 “You offering to adopt me?” 

 “I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.” 

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.  

 “But you ever want job, you call me.” 

 Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.  

 Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.  

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.  

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.  

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice.  Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.  

Until Feyre had moved to the city.  

 Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics,  selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit.  Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.  

 At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.  

 Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner. 

 Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.  

 Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.  

 Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.  

 The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.  

 Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.  

 Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring.  A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings. 

 If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain. 

 It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done.  Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.  

 She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.   

That and the fact they were really very good.  

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.  

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly.  Sinking deeper into the basin.  

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-  

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.  

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.  

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.  

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.   

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.   

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.” 

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.  

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.  

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”  

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully. 

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.  

“You told me to give him a chance.”  

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?” 

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.   

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.  

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on- 

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?” 

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”  

“Ever heard of the third date rule?” 

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?” 

Feyre sighed.  

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-” 

“So why did you send him my way?” 

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.  

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes.  

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked. 

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.  

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.” 

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.  

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.  

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.  

“Well I’ve been smoking.” 

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.” 

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.” 

“He only smokes them on special occasions.” 

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?” 

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.” 

“Oh so you did hear me?” 

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”  

She hung up.  

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.  

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.  

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.  

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.  

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.  

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.  

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.  

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and  sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client.  An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could.  Because it was just easier.  

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.  

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.  

Fuck.  

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.  

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot;  but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.  

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong. 

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.  

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living! 

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.  

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.  

 — 

 Cassian had ignored her calls.  

All three.  

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.  

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator.  Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.   

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy.  She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.  

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.  

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.  

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.   

“All work and no play?”  

Cassian looked up from his desk.  

“I can fix that,” she said.  

He’d never looked more handsome.  

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.  

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.  

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.  

“What are you doing here?”  

Rude.  

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.  

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.  

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.” 

She turned to find him watching her.  

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.  

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.  

“You’re still upset about that?”  

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.” 

“Oh really?” 

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“ 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.   

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.  

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.” 

“You don’t have a clue what I want.” 

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly. 

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.  

It was all very conflicting.  

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.  

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.   

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again.  “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.” 

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.   

“You’re right,” she said.  

Cassian blinked.  

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.” 

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.  

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike.  “Your emergency, of course. Which was?” 

“Nothing to do with you.”  

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.   

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”  

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.  

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.  

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.  

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.   

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.  

“Shit.” 

His head fell into those large hands.   

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up.  So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.  

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.  

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.” 

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.  

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.  

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.  

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?” 

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.” 

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.” 

Nesta slid of the desk.  

“Go on,” she instructed.  

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” 

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.  

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.  

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.  

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.  

“I can tell.” 

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.  

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”  

Cassian swallowed.  

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.   

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.  

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?” 

“If you say please.” 

“Please don’t screw around with me.” 

Nesta faltered.  

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.  

“I’m really into you,” he admitted.  “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.” 

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.  

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.  

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”  

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.  

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.   

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.  

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion.  “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.” 

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.  

“Nesta-“ 

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.” 

“Someone could come back-“ 

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.  

“Nesta-” 

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders. 

“I want you,” she purred again.  

He might have tried to breath.  And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.  

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.” 

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.  

“You want me,” he breathed.  

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.  

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously. 

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.   

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.  

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.  

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.  

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.” 

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.  

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter. 

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…” 

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.  

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.” 

“And I’m saying you could be in me.” 

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.  

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over.  The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.  

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.” 

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.  

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout. 

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.  

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.  

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.  

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.  

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.  

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.” 

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.   

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.  

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.  

“Yes, yes, please.” 

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.” 

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze,  wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.  

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair. 

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.  

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.  

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.  

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.” 

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.  

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.   

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.  

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.  

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.  

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.  

“More,” she demanded. 

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.   

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him.  Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.  

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.  

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.  

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.  

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.  

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.  

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.” 

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”  

His words sent her over the edge.  

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.  

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.  

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders.  Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.  

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.  

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.  

“Then get on your knees.” 

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.  

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.  

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again.  “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”  

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.  

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.  

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.  

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.  

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.  

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.  

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.  

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.  

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.  

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.  

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.  

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.  

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.  

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.  

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.  

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.  

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.  

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.  

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.  

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.  

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.  

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.  

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.  

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.  

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.  

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.  

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.  

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.  

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.  

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.  

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.  

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.  

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.  

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.” 

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.  

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.  

“Down boy,” she purred.  

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.  

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.  

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.  

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.  

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.  

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly. 

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.” 

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.  

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.  

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.  

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.” 

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby” 

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.  

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.  

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.   

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth.  Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.  

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.” 

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew.  His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.   

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.  

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.  

“Cassian,” she keened.  

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.  

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.   

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.  

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.  

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.  

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.  

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.  

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.  

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.  

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.  

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”  

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles.  Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.  

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips. 

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.  

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.  

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.  

“Let me take care of you.” 

“Cassian.” 

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there.  “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.” 

Nesta smiled.  

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.” 

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.  

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.  

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.   

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.  

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.  

It was so good.  

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him.  And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl.  Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.  

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.  

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,”  She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.  

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.  

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit. 

Nesta whined softly.  

“Cassian…more…” 

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.  

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.” 

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.   

“Oh!” 

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.” 

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.  

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.” 

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.  

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”  

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.  

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.  

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.  

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.  

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.” 

She turned her gaze to him.  

“Shame.” 

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.  

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.  

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.  

Cassian grinned.  

“You like Italian?”  

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.  

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.  

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”  

 “Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”  

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.” 

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.  

“Lethal,” he whispered.  

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”  

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.  

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.  

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.  

  Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair. 

Their second date had been incredible.  

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.  

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.  

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.  

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.  

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.  

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.  

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.  

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.  

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.  

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child. 

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.  

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.  

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.  

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.  

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.  

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.  

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.  

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.   

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.  

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”  

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.  

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?” 

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.  

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying.  Which off course only made him like her more.  

“What? Make you blush like a-” 

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them-  like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?” 

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”  

“Says the military man.” 

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.” 

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.  

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.  

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.  

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.  

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”  

“That was so a line!”  

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.” 

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.  

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive.  “Because I’d love to take your top off.”  

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.  

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”  

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.  

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.  

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.” 

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.  

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.  

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.  

“What would you rather we talk about?”  

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.  

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.  

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute.  It reminded you that you were alive.  

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.  

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.  

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.  

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore.  Tame Impala playing from his pocket.  

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.  

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.  

“Well you’re the only one getting it.” 

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.  

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.” 

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.  

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.  

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.  

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.  

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.  

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly,  hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.  

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.  

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.” 

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.  

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.  

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.  

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.  

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.  

“Yes please.” 

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower- 

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.  

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.  

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.  

“What are you doing?”  

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did.  Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.  

“Congratulations.” 

Cassian grinned.  

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”  

 “Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.  

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.  

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.  

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.  

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.  

“Please do.” 

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.  

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.” 

He pulled back abruptly.  

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?” 

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.  

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.” 

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-” 

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.  

“But I-” 

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.  

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.  

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.” 

“More romantic than that sentence?”  

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.” 

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.” 

“How have you already failed?” 

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.  

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.” 

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.  

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.” 

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.  

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.  

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf. 

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.  

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.   

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.  

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.  

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.  

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.  

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.  

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.  

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.  

“Did you decline my call?” 

“Yup.” 

“Bastard.” 

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.  

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.  

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”  

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.” 

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.  

“That why you’re calling?” 

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?” 

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation.  “Yeah, I’m free.” 

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday. 

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.  

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-” 

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?” 

Shit.  

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.  

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.  

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait.  In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.  

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.  

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-” 

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.” 

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.  

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.  

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-” 

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.  

“Fine, your stropping-” 

“Fuck off.” 

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.  

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.” 

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.  

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.  

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.” 

“Hang on a minute-” 

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.  

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.  

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.” 

“Alright, alright Don.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.  

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.” 

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?” 

Cassian sighed heavily.  

“This a secure line?” 

“Always”. 

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.” 

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.  

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?” 

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”  

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.” 

“Lucien?” 

“Turns out the kid’s his.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.” 

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.   

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?” 

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.” 

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-” 

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.” 

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.  

Rhys went silent again.  

“We could always just kill Eris.” 

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.  

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.  

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-” 

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.” 

“Dick.” 

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.  

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-” 

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.” 

“I’m fucking Persian!” 

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.  

“A fanabla!”  

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.” 

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.” 

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-” 

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.” 

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?” 

“If I said yes would you come back to us?” 

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.” 

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.” 

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.” 

“Nesta’s no Feyre.” 

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.  

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.” 

“See you then.” 

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[heybeybey]

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

Pairing: Rivetra | Levi x Petra

Summary: Forced to retire from the Scouts due to a major injury, Levi thinks he'll be spending the rest of his days in domestic solitude. Petra, however, has another idea.

Loosely based on The Way of the Househusband.

Or: Captain Petra x Househusband Levi canonverse AU

AO3 Link

A/N: Okay I've had this outlined for WEEKS (no ending in mind tho) but I never got around to actually drafting it. But....... I had some time this morning and the inspiration after seeing this post so yay.

Thanks to @sleeperswakewriting for introducing me to The Way of the Househusband. It's cute and funny and DEFINITELY RIVETRA in another universe.

This is going be a drabble series btw but no assurance on when I'll be updating each chapter (My Royalty AU draft is glaring at this fic rn tbh). Some chapters will be based on the Netflix show but Levi's condition is a bit different from Tatsu's so it'll probably be loosely based at best.

And yes, the title is from the song My Girl. But I like this version since I think it fits Petra the most :3

Also also, we all know deep down that Levi wants to be a househusband so here you go.

- - -

Chapter 1: The Ceremonies

There was a time when his mind wandered to how his career in the Scouts would end. Levi always thought he'd die on the battlefield, just as he witnessed among his comrades. He'd accepted that reality, sometimes even waiting for it despite his will to continue fighting on.

For some reason, retiring has never crossed his mind.

"Honorably discharged due to major leg injury, incomplete spinal cord injury, and loss of right eyesight."

He can still hear the pity and sadness from Erwin's voice from that day in the hospital when they talked over where he will go from there. The doctors mentioned that his spine will heal over time, but his leg is broken way beyond repair. It's worse enough that amputation was considered at one point. He'd be good as titan food should he retain his current position in the scouts.

At first, he wanted to scream. He wasn't the type to show some outwardly emotion (except for when he's beating down new recruits or the three males in his squad) but being a part of the Survey Corps is what gave this shit of a life some meaning after he was pulled out of the underground.

Frankly, he didn't know what's next.

"Hey, Captain." Petra's sweet voice snapped Levi out of his thoughts and he forces himself to get out of his bad mood. This was her day and he'd be damned if he ruins it for her.

Levi takes her in and the corner of his lip quirks up. He feels pride fill his chest as his eyes strays a bit on the insignia freshly pinned on her uniform.

"I think I should be the one calling you that, Ral." He replies. "Congratulations."

Wheelchair-bound for what may be the rest of his life, Levi and his squad had to sit down and talk over what's next for the Scout's elites. The obvious choice was Eld, but Levi and the rest of the team were surprised when the blonde man turned down the promotion. He says that while he had the leadership skills and the years of experience that makes him more than qualified, he knew that he didn't have the same burning dedication to the cause as much as he'd witnessed in others.

Eld said that he'd be glad to support the next team captain instead. Oluo, while skilled, had often been too focused on his kill count. Gunther has a strategic mind but didn't really have the charm to bring people together.

So they all turned their attention to Petra.

To be honest, Levi had always wanted to promote Petra as his second-in-command. However, Scout regulations demanded a certain number of years that she didn't have yet at the time he first chose his elite squad. He'd never had a problem with Eld, but his and Petra's ability to synchronise on the battlefield is the reason why he'd always turned to her when he needed a second hand.

It makes sense in his eyes and to the rest of the team, even when Erwin and the other soldiers were doubtful of his choice. They've seen how ferocious Petra is during expeditions, but still had the heart to cry alongside her dying comrades. She's kind and helpful, but knows when a hard decision is needed to be made. She'd pitched in her ideas and opinions every time she accidentally passed by the officers' meeting sessions (she always brought them tea so she sometimes hear the conversations). This was often met with a surprised look from her higher-ups but having worked with Petra for quite some time, Levi would just smirk at his fellow veterans.

She's still rough around the edges and she definitely still has more room to improve, but the potential is there. He wouldn't have chosen her as part of his team in the first place if he didn't see that fire.

He wasn't surprised that Eld, Gunther and Oluo supported her, even when Petra was terrified to accept such a responsibility. Levi was firm in his decision.

In the end, Erwin stamped on his approval.

Levi was the one who pinned the insignia on her signifying her new position during today's pinning-on ceremony.

- - -

"Hey, Captain!"

"I think you should stop calling me that, Petra."

"Sorry. Habit." The ginger blushes slightly as she steps closer inside the apartment, basket in hand. "I bought something for you."

She brings out a few fruits from the basket, laying it down on the dining table in his humble apartment. "The farmer's market was on sale today and I had the chance to pass by before they closed."

"You didn't have to buy me all these, Petra."

"I had to use my pay raise for something, Captain," she jests. He wheels himself towards her to assist her with unloading the basket and they both work in silent contentment.

"So, how's your first day?" Levi asks after washing the fruits. Petra's face lights up at his question and the whole room seems to come alive as she chatters on.

"Holy Maria, Captain. I didn't know the team can be this stupid. No wonder you had dark eyebags after training us for years!"

- - -

It's been three months since he resigned from the Scouts. The new captain never fails to come home to the apartment he's renting near the Scout HQ everyday.

Come home? Tch. How delusional can you get.

He'd welcome her back every expedition and every training day. A part of him feels a bit of guilt gnaw on him when he sees how tired Petra is whenever she comes home, thinking of the time when he was her direct commanding officer.

"Captain, can I sleep here tonight?"

Now, he sees the sorrow and fatigue in her eyes. "You're always welcome here, Petra."

He offers to give up his bed for the night but she declines, saying that she'll be fine on the couch. She's unnaturally quiet, but he knows that this is how she typically is after expeditions.

They're both on the couch right now and she snuggles closer to him. Levi motions for her to lay her head on his lap, their boundaries thinning with every single visit.

He's quiet when he sees the tears start to fall from her eyes. Soon, Petra's sobbing and she wraps her arms desperately around him. His hand starts to slowly run through her ginger locks, hoping it gives her some comfort.

"She was the last in my and Oluo's batch." She starts, voice shaking and he gives her space to talk and mourn her comrade. "I wanted to save her... but it was either her or compromise the mission. I had to give the order."

"I'm sorry." Because if someone understands her better, it's him.

- - -

"Levi?"

It's the scout's day off today and they're all allowed to leave the vicinity to visit friends and family, or simply just to fuck around if they wanted.

Petra, not surprisingly, decides to spend another weekend with him.

"Hmm?" He's currently preparing their lunch, wheeling himself around the kitchen area.

"Did you ever think about settling down when you were still in the scouts?"

He cocks an eyebrow at her question. "And leave a widow crying on my grave? I didn't even have the time to date, Petra."

And he didn't even want to date someone else. Not when he kept having wet dreams about his own subordinate at that time.

"Well, you have a chance now, right?" Petra starts to help with laying down the dishes on the table. He looks at her, eyes taking in her body language. She's doing that thing with her hands again where she tries to occupy it with things to do whenever she's nervous. She's too tense for this to be some absent chatter.

"Just spit it out, Petra."

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm always here. In this apartment. Whether I'm back from training or meetings or expeditions," she starts. Levi wheels himself forward to grab their food from the small kitchen but he attentively listens to each of her words. Seeing that he won't be replying, Petra decides to continue.

"I like coming home to you, Levi. And I'm still devoted to you." Petra nervously says, the redness on her cheeks intensifying. Levi feels his heart thump at her last sentence. He stops what he's doing and looks straight into her amber eyes, the same moment as she reaches out to delicately hold both of his hands. "I'd like to continue doing so... if you'll have me in another way."

Bold as ever is the first thing that fondly came to his mind. He feels emotion start to climb up his throat but he never wavers in staring back at her. The next thing that came to mind wasn't exactly a thought, and the answer leaves his mouth with a certainty he didn't know he had.

"Okay," he quietly replies. Not much of a talker, as usual. Still, his sure answer was quite a surprise to the both of them.

Was it loneliness? That fear that he'd most likely die alone because of his automatic ability to push people away? Maybe it's some deep hidden desire to live a domestic life with someone—something that he allowed himself to fleetingly dream of while he was still in that underground hellhole—that he has since accepted wouldn't be in his future.

Until now.

He and Petra decided to have a shotgun wedding that same afternoon.

[wri0thesley]

sparring practise - sorbet x reader x gelato

you realise how helpless you are after an attempted burglary, and sorbet and gelato attempt to help you defend yourself. things do not go as planned. 

warnings: not sfw. reader is gender neutral and neutral of body. mentions of fighting, guns, knives, blood, home invasion, choking, cannibalism, serial killing, violence, general sorbet and gelato type warnings. 

yes this is self indulgent no i do not care

The home you share with Sorbet and Gelato is cloaked in civility. It’s in a nice neighbourhood that has a low rate for crime, and Sorbet dutifully tends to the flower beds – Gelato paints your front door in a shade of yellow that makes the neighbours whisper under their breaths even more than the nature of the relationship the three of you share, but nobody comes out and says it because as a whole, you seem like three perfectly well-adjusted and functional members of society who keep to yourselves.

They figure that Sorbet and Gelato work nights, perhaps as a security guards or some kind of manual labour – in the dark, bloodstains can look like all kinds of different things. They greet you when you go to the supermarket and gather your shopping, not blinking when you buy another new sharpening steel with the laugh that all three of you are foodies, and you seem to have an unfortunate habit of breaking them--

The house is your domain. The careful windows, the flower boxes, the neatly vacuumed carpets and the sigh as you stare at Gelato’s muddy boot prints in the entrance hall. They do their best – but sometimes, it is half past one in the morning, and they are weary and simply want to come to bed and embrace you.

The basement, though . . .

That is Sorbet and Gelato’s domain, and you are very rarely in it.

Not because you disapprove of what they do – but because they worry about you, you think. You are smaller than they are, not as scarred, not quite hardened by the years of their past.

“It’s better if you don’t get involved in Passione shit,” Gelato has said, a hundred times. “We need you here, amore! Who fuckin’ knows what we’d do without you?”

“He’s right,” Sorbet has intoned, wrapping his arms around both of your waists. “Bad enough we’re involved.”

“You love it!” Gelato accuses, leaning into Sorbet’s shoulder despite it. Sorbet’s mouth tilts at the corners, a small smile on his face. You know that a hundred men or perhaps more have had that smile be the last thing they see, Sorbet’s eyes dark, his face streaked with blood. It should strike fear into your heart – but all it ever does is make you want to poke his cheek, kiss him until you can feel the curve of his lips echoing all over you.

“Yes,” he says simply. “I do.”

Sorbet and Gelato keep their weapons down here, mounted on the wall. There’s an iron-topped table like the kind one would find in a butcher’s shop beneath the knives, shining brightly despite how often you’ve poked your head down there to tell them dinner is ready and seen it practically bathed in blood. The training mats to one side of the room, a table and chairs and fridge on the other side. Opposite the side of the room with the table and chairs are four iron manacles set into the brickwork, for times when hits have to be taken home and interrogated before being brought to an end – and for some of Sorbet and Gelato’s other outside of work activities, though they don’t talk to you much about those.

And tonight, you are here too.

“You leave me a gun in the bureau,” you’d said to Gelato, a night after a would-be attacker had attempted to burgle you, seeing that your house was neat and pretty and hearing on the grapevine that one homeowner was often alone. “But if someone overpowers me, I’m useless--”

(Sorbet and Gelato had not treated the man kindly. The basement is soundproofed, but you had still heard rhythmic thumping, and the next morning Sorbet had come into the kitchen with several unusual cuts of meat.

“They won’t fit in the fridge down there,” he’d said. Sorbet does most of the cooking. His meals are always delicious.)

It had been Sorbet’s idea to try sparring with you.

“We could leave you some knives too,” Gelato had suggested. “Maybe some other guns? A chainsaw?” and Sorbet had had to point out that none of those things would actually assuage your fears – in fact, if the perpetrator managed to wrangle them off you, you were left much worse off facing a chainsaw than you would be if you had never had one in the first place.

Gelato is closer to your height, so Sorbet makes him wrap his fists and take off his shirt. You do your best not to stare at his torso too much, though he is all lean, wiry muscle dotted with scars and starbursts that you have kissed a thousand times over. He sees you looking and gives you one of his most manic grins, his teeth all sharp – you repress the shiver that runs through you at that, trying to remind yourself you are here to learn and not merely to ogle your boyfriend. Though he does look very good, with his gold hair all tousled and a rush in his eyes that you always see when he feels like he has the dominant position.

Sorbet had taken a seat at first and told you to approach Gelato as if he were hostile, to see if you could get a punch in and so they could work on that – you had made a valiant attempt, despite every bit of common sense you had immediately whispering that Gelato was a predator and you were a prey animal.

You had not been surprised when he had flipped you easily, and you had landed on your back on the training mats with a great thump of air, all of the breath knocked out of you. One of Gelato’s heavy military grade boots had landed, gently, on your abdomen, as he’d bent over you with his eyes glinting in the fluorescent lighting of the basement.

“You look cute like that!” He’d laughed. “Come on! You can do better than this, tesoro!”

He’d been delighted as you’d dragged yourself back up, and as you had made attempt after attempt to get ahead of him. All of them had inevitably ended with you on your knees, or on your back – or once against a wall with a knife far too close to your back for comfort, Gelato’s hand easily around your throat.

That one had almost pushed you to the brink, your breath coming in little pants, a hot jolt of arousal coursing through you at just how Gelato was looking down on you. Gelato had obviously felt it too, because his grin had widened just a little, pressing closer to you so you’d felt the stiff, hot heat of something in his fatigues pressing heavily against your thigh--

“Come here,” Sorbet says. He’s stood up from the chair now, his hands coming to unbutton his own shirt. He is not quite as covered in scars as Gelato is – the blond is more reckless, and you have gathered his previous military experience was more dangerous than . . . whatever Sorbet did, after leaving his church school. That does not make any difference to the fact he is broad and muscled, sculpted from training and years of violence. “You’re not starting right. Your stance is all wrong.”

“I started that last one sittin’ on the floor to give ‘em a chance,” Gelato says, breathlessly, as he peels himself away from you and your hand flies to your throat, recalling the echo of Gelato’s calloused fingers. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had one of their hands about their necks, but . . . well. It never gets old, does it? “’N I’m doing fine.”

“You have experience behind you, caro,” Sorbet’s tone is patient. “Of course you do.”

Gelato grins as he gets back into position opposite you, clenching his fist.

“Sorbetto,” his tone is sing-song, wheedling. “You’re not gonna tell me what a good job I’m doin’? C’mooooon--”

Sorbet chuckles, crossing the room to wrap an arm around Gelato’s smaller form, using one hand to tip up his face and place a chaste kiss on the tilt of his crooked nose. Gelato’s had two broken noses in the past six months.

“You know you’re doing wonderfully,” he coos at his boyfriend, who dutifully reddens despite asking for the praise. “But that’s not what we’re here for, is it?”

“No,” Gelato admits, with a sigh – he looks at you, and he gives you a nod. “You’re not doing too badly! Look, Sorbet could knock me down without blinking, if you’re gonna learn from him, some low-life fuckin’ thief is gonna be a piece of cake.”

Sorbet kisses him on the sweaty mass of his pale curls and comes to you.

“Here,” Sorbet murmurs, getting in very close to you. “Your feet are too far apart.” One of his feet kicks gently at your own, forcing you to widen your hips. He grabs a hold of those next, rearranging the tilt, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating from his chest. Your breath catches as he takes your wrist, helping you curl your fingers into a fist. “Not too tight, don’t put your thumb inside or you’ll break it--”

He’s bent over you, his dark gaze on your hand – and you feel the puff of air he dispels in a breath, warming your neck and shoulder. You can barely breathe. Your heart is beating ten to the dozen.

You know Gelato is turned on – you’d felt that when you were pinned against the wall. You hadn’t realised until Sorbet had come up behind you that watching you was doing the exact same thing to him.

“Alright,” Sorbet says. “When you throw the punch, aim to get it through him, you’ll need the follow through.” You nod, but your throat is dry and your head is spinning.

“Yeah,” you say, “I will.”

Sorbet gives you a pat on the shoulder, before pausing and leaning in to whisper against your ear;

“Aim for his ribs. He’s got a weak spot, left side. You should be able to kick him and sweep him off-balance too.” A hand on your hip drags down, squeezing your ass. “If you manage it, he’ll fuck you into next week.”

“Don’t give ‘em too much of an advantage,” Gelato says. “Can I rush on them now?”

Sorbet gives a small smile again.

“Be my guest,” he says, but he does not go back to his chair – instead, he steps to one side so he can observe. Gelato bounces on the balls of his feet, all buzzing and unrestrained energy. You keep your fists as Sorbet told you to, re-running everything you’ve been told about punching today--

And Gelato moves like a wild animal, chaotic and quick. You dodge one of his blows by inches, sliding your foot forward towards him to alter your balance slightly, your dominant hand coming out with as much force as you can muster, everything you can remember about how to hold your fists running through your mind as it connects hard with Gelato’s left rib and the blond sputters.

Kick. Sweep. Under the ankle, despite his heavy boots--

Gelato stumbles to one side, balance lost, coughing – and then Sorbet is in the fray too, pushing you down in between the two of them so that you’re trapped between two of his legs and topple onto Gelato. The blond snarls hungrily, grabbing a handful of Sorbet’s hair and dragging him into a hungry kiss.

Sorbet’s stiff erection digs into the meat of your ass whilst Gelato’s digs into your front, stuck between the two of them, your glory at getting Gelato off of his feet seeming much less important than the frantic beating of your heart.

“You told them about my ribs,” Gelato grumbles. “Asshole.”

“Your asshole,” Sorbet reminds him, and kisses him again, before pulling away to wrap his arms about your middle instead. “Besides.” Sorbet’s voice turns low and smug. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice . . .?”

Gelato snickers. He lets go of Sorbet’s hair to cup your face roughly.

“Cucciolo mia,” he says. “How long have you wanted to be fucked?”

Your face grows hot, but that just makes him grin harder, sparks fly from his dark eyes. He grinds his crotch into your thigh and you swallow the thickness that rises in there.

“M’sorry,” you say, after a moment, as Sorbet joins in with the bullying, grinding his hips against your ass. “I--”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Gelato says, with a laugh like a rusty iron grate. That’s one of those laughs that his victims hear – one you should be scared of, but that makes nothing rise in you except want. “As you can probably feel--” Sorbet’s lips brush your ear, teeth worrying at the earlobe so you moan aloud. “We’ve got the same kinda problem ourselves. Y’know.” His teeth flash, sharp, bright, and you imagine them coated in blood. “If y’wanna help out some.”

You don’t respond to him in words. Instead, you press your lips against his hard, and when he bites hard enough to draw forth blood you moan.

---

When everything is over and done with, you lay sweaty and panting in between both of your boyfriends – Sorbet’s front pressed protectively against your back, Gelato clinging to your waist as he tucks his head beneath your chin.

“Next time,” Gelato breathes, already looking ahead, as if you three did not just spend several hours tangled hot and heavy within each other, biting and moaning and groaning and making the entire basement smell like sex. “We should teach ‘em to fire a rifle. I think they’ve got potential.”

“Mm,” Sorbet says, very low, making his chest reverberate against your spine in a way that has you shivering. “I think you’re right.”

[ushidoux]

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x  Reader (Pt. 3)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~2.5k words)

Warnings: again poor communication!!! angst, no sex in this chapter

A/N: Let me know what you think!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“Oi, you fucking bastard, you knew!”

Iwa losing his temper over the phone wasn’t exactly atypical, even if it had become a less frequent occurrence, but for once Oikawa was actually genuinely surprised to hear his friend this angry over the phone. Especially given that it was almost 2pm in San Juan, which made it the very early AM in Tokyo, so whatever had worked him up had also kept him up way past his bedtime, given that Iwa was now extremely careful about his sleep hygiene. 

Oikawa took enough time to properly swallow the bite he’d just taken of his choripan before answering.

“What did I know, Iwa-chan?” He finally inquired, setting down his sandwich in the wrapper spread across his lap before leaning back into the park bench on which he was sitting. It was a wonderful sunny day, the type of day where it was a shame you were being yelled at, he mused briefly.

“About ___ and Ushijima.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows furrowed, not that Iwa could see the confusion on his face. There was a short pause which Oikawa broke eventually.

“Am I missing something or…?” His genuinely confused tone didn’t serve in any way to make Iwa less irritated.

“You didn’t say anything!” He hissed loudly enough that Oikawa winced, holding his cellphone a good distance from his ear before answering. “You used to tell me about that motherfucker’s every move, and now that it’s useful information, you have nothing to say?”

Oikawa frowned.

“Why are you blaming me for your communication issues, Iwa-chan?!” He all but whined.

When Iwa’s voice grew silent on the other line, Oikawa grew slightly nervous. But he was right. This was a particularly severe lapse in communication between Iwa and you that he was now projecting onto him, severe because clearly it had ended up being a bigger deal than it should have been in the first place.

As much as Iwa didn’t want to admit it, yesterday evening was evidence that something was very, very wrong in his relationship with you, or at the very least a residual tangled web of feelings to sort out, and it wasn’t exactly something he could easily fix or improve on his own. 

Not that he wouldn’t try. 

“What happened?” Oikawa finally asked, and Iwa retreated.

“Nothing. I’ll… talk to you later.”

The phone cut off on Iwa’s end and Oikawa sighed with mild irritation before returning to his lunch thousands of miles away.

On the other side of the globe, Iwa made his way from the balcony to the bedroom, setting his phone down on the nightstand and taking a glance at you who had appeared to be finally sleeping soundly, but betrayed by the intermittent soft hiccups of someone who had been crying just moments earlier. 

He hadn’t meant to make you cry. In fact, he hadn’t even meant to force another discussion at all, but hours after the last guests had filed out, none the wiser about the fight that had just transpired earlier (even if Hinata had made a single innocent comment about the bruise blooming on Ushijima’s cheek), the elephant in the room had grown entirely too large for him to bear. Unfortunately, the simple demand for clarification had spiraled out of control and ended up with a shouting match which had culminated in you bursting into tears.

It wasn’t a good look for him to behave like this. 

Even so, Iwa couldn’t stop thinking about how the subject of your argument had replied to his grumbled apology with the admission that he probably deserved the hit for all he’d done. Somehow, the persistent remorse in his voice made Iwa consider hitting him a second time for good measure. 

That wouldn’t be the right move either. There wasn’t really a right move, was there? All Iwaizumi could do was hope that everything would blow over. 

You loved him after all; he was sure of it.

---

you knew, didn’t you?

knew what?

You grit your teeth at the quickly returned text message, then set your phone down at your desk letting out a hushed but aggravated sigh, before picking it up again and typing furiously. 

you texted me, ‘how’s everything going?’ right before all that shit happened.

that could mean literally anything??? What???

You didn’t know how much longer your friend was going to feign innocence, but it looked like not very long because once your eyes flitted back to the unfinished project proposal you had been working on, your phone quickly buzzed again. 

By the time you had told her what happened this morning on your morning commute to work, she had grown a little too quiet, interjecting very little as you spoke and not asking any clarifying questions. You had assumed that she had just been being extra considerate, but now that it was early afternoon and there was a lull in your concentration, it occurred to you again just how clearly she must have anticipated the awkward situation.

YOU said you didn’t follow sports anymore + it’s been 3 years. HOW was I supposed to know you were going to overreact?

Overreact?

There was a small pause in which you saw her speech bubble pop up and then down, and then up again.

Not overreacting I guess, but I’m just confused… Don’t you and Iwa talk? How did it become a huge deal?

You decided you didn’t really have an answer to that. All you could do was return a noncommittal idk, letting the conversation die out and returning back to the task at hand.

---

“Mommy, why does he look like that?”

Ushijima glanced for a split second at the small child pointing openly at him, giving a small, understanding nod to the mortified mother trying to quiet her son’s whispers before continuing on his way back to his hotel.

His face didn’t exactly throb anymore, but the bruise he had been gifted with was very noticeable even if he had to be thankful he didn’t have a black eye. Iwa had hit him surprisingly hard, which was good. At the very least, he could count on him to protect you.

Getting hit in the face by your athletic trainer wasn’t ideal but he and Iwaizumi were both professionals. They could put it past them.

Even if they didn’t have a deep friendship, there was a sort of camaraderie since they’d met in California years ago. That relationship didn’t have to sour, he told himself. 

He just needed to give you two a wide berth. 

Even if he didn’t want to, he had to. It was the right, mature thing to do. 

Even if he didn’t miss on the court, he’d missed a crucial set in life. 

He had no right to demand a second chance.

---

You hadn’t traveled home alone in a while, you realized, as you set pace towards your apartment after a long shift. The subway was cramped as usual, but the closeness of the quarters felt more noticeable and uncomfortable now that Iwa’s hand wasn’t holding yours and keeping you close to him. He’d messaged you about an hour before you were about to leave work to give you a heads up that he would be returning late, and for a moment, you wondered if it were really true or if he was still mad at you.

But you knew Iwa well enough to be confident that he didn’t hold grudges, and if he were still uncomfortable he would tell you - he would never actively avoid you. 

Then again, you hadn’t had a conflict like this before.

I don’t love him, I only love you, you’d said to him almost screaming, defensive because Iwa’s voice had sounded hurt when you failed to come up with the words to explain why you were so shaken still.

You’d meant that with your whole heart. So why exactly did you react so poorly? 

Maybe it was the final death rattle of unresolved feelings, rearing their ugly head before being banished to whatever realm past hurts went once they were healed.

When you finally made it to your apartment, you stood for a moment at the entryway after flipping the light switch, taking a couple of seconds to blink away the fact that things didn’t look quite right. 

For a moment, you couldn’t remember exactly when you had replaced your TV - was that before or after Ushijima? Had that couch always been in that position? 

Fatigue even made you wonder where your houseplants had gone, until you remembered you had all but given them all away, telling yourself that those last vestiges of your relationship would have to vanish before you could truly count yourself moved on.

Now that the plants were gone, were you truly over it?

You let out a sigh and set your keys down before shooting a message to Iwa to let him know that you had made it home. That proposal wouldn’t write itself, and you could tackle it anew once you’d treated yourself with a warm bath and a modest glass of wine.

---

Seated in his soon-to-be minimally used office, Iwaizumi leafed through the short stack of papers before him, including prior athletic history and a formal written statement from the team physician. Satisfied, he gathered the documents and gently pushed them across the desk towards the silent, patiently waiting athlete sitting across from him.

“It looks like you’re cleared for practice tomorrow,” he said, offering a measured smile to Ushijima.

“Not that I expected any issues,” Iwa continued, compelled to keep speaking from the lack of response from the man before him. While he didn’t exactly sense hostile energy from Ushijima, it seemed like he was even more difficult to read than usual. 

Then again, Iwa was unsure if he was projecting; he acknowledged that prior to this very moment in time, he had been more standoffish than usual, having avoided unnecessary interaction with Ushijima during the day’s orientation activities.

He took a surreptitious glance at the wall clock above his head. There were only two more members to clear after Ushijima and then he’d be done for the day and could go back home to you, maybe picking up sushi on the way home as a peace offering.

Ushijima didn’t exactly look like he was getting ready to leave, but Iwa hadn’t explicitly dismissed him.

The two sat in an awkward silence and Iwa wondered if he should apologize again to settle the stagnant air between them, not knowing that the man before him was considering the exact same thing. 

What happens now? seemed to be the question du jour.

“How’s your father?” Iwa asked abruptly, shifting in his chair and leaning forward on elbows propped onto the desk, maybe a little too forward, in attempts to keep his mind off the fact that the volleyball player before him had also played with his love’s heart.

“He’s been well. Thank you for asking.”

Another pause ensued and Iwa was running out of ways to tell him politely to get out of his office for his next client, but for once Ushijima was the one to break the silence.

“I want us to have a good working relationship despite everything.”

The statement hung in the air for a second before settling and Iwa could feel irritation start to bubble in the pit of his stomach once again, but instead he forced a pleasant smile.

“Of course.”

---

With feet tucked beneath you, your laptop perched on the glass coffee table and a half-drunk glass of white wine (refilled once) atop the end table next to the couch, the sad truth was that you had only written about five lines in the past 45 minutes. 

Instead, against all the advice you’d ever been given in your life, you had sleuthed your way into your ex’s Instagram and Facebook accounts, gleaning as much information as you could about what had happened after you were two, after you’d blocked him cold turkey on every social media application and vowed never to look back.

As expected, the pictures and life updates he posted were few and far between, but there were still some to learn from, especially when you looked through those snapshots taken by others in his life. You were initially surprised to see old pictures of you together still up if you went back far enough, but clicked past them quickly because the fact that you looked so happy was more irritating than sad at this point of time. 

You took another sip of your wine, feeling a soft warmth in your cheeks and a light pleasant haze fill your head while you kept perusing. Some pictures you recognized from his prior team here, Schweiden Adlers, and then there were other promotional images from a new team, Orzel Warsawa... He had even traveled to Poland without your knowledge, you mused.

You took special note of women he looked all too close to for friendship as you browsed, noting a gorgeous, tall blonde in several pictures he appeared to have dated for a brief stint of a couple of months.

1 short relationship in three years. It was a shame, you thought. They could have had the prettiest kids.

And there, you finally realized your internal monologue was crazy. Why were you doing this again?

You threw back the final bit of wine and switched back to your Word document. Maybe writing while a little tipsy wasn’t the best of ideas but any words on the page were better than none.

…

It didn’t take long for you to doze off and your boyfriend to find you sprawled on your belly on the sofa, your glass empty and precariously placed at the edge of the sofa, and your laptop placed just inches above your head.

Iwa’s smile was immediate as he admired your silly position while setting down dinner, quickly walking over to gather you up for bed.

You murmured slightly as he scooped you into his arms, your face instinctively nuzzling his chest. He couldn’t help but think of how cute you were, kissing your forehead softly before tucking you under the covers. You had been so exhausted lately from work, so he’d let you get some early shuteye rather than disturb your peace.

Leaving the bedroom to eat dinner alone on the couch, he noted your laptop in suboptimal location, moving it to the table before sitting down to avoid a future accident.

It flashed on with the slight movement, revealing a lengthy document with heavy blocks of text, which he saved just in case because autosave failure would bring you to tears. He then clicked out, only to see the results of your cyberstalking session.

His heart may have skipped a beat or two but he closed your laptop instead, leaning back into his chair to finish eating dinner.

The uneasiness that filled his stomach instead had to be related to the raw fish he’d brought home. 

There was simply no other explanation, couldn’t be.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 14: The Test Results - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia

Day 14: The Test Results - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

Todays story was requested by @itspdameronthings​. Thank you so much for the request and I really hope you like it. This is the longest of all the stories I have written for the November Writing Challenge.

November Writing Challenge Masterlist 

Day 13: Water Flowed- Llewyn Davis 

Day 1 

“Do you have to go?” Your voice is quiet as you watch him pack his bags from your seat on the bed. 

“Querida, you know I don’t want to but they are asking me back as a favor AND I’m being compensated. I worked in Columbia for three years, it's where my mother was born. I feel like I need to do this,” he kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his own. “It’s only four months and I promise I will call and text you every single day. It’s killing me to leave you but...I feel I have to do this.” 

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was a former member of Delta Force in the US Military before leaving to go work for the DEA in Columbia. Three years ago, he left Columbia to return home but not without one final mission. He got together a few of his old buddies from the force and robbed a drug lord before killing him and fleeing the country. But something went wrong. Well… a lot of shit went wrong, resulting in the death of his old captain, Tom, and forcing them to leave millions of dollars off the side of a cliff buried in the snow. 

Santiago had accepted a temporary assignment with the DEA to return back to Columbia and train some new recruits. You were not one bit okay with this plan but the one thing you loved and also kind of hated about your husband was how headstrong he could be. Unfortunately, you are just as stubborn as him. The last few weeks leading up to his departure had been fraught with arguments. You didn’t want him to go. Even though it had been years since that last mission, you didn’t know what the situation down there was. Were they still hunting for the men who had robbed and gunned down Lorea? Was he walking into a trap? No money was worth losing the man you loved, and he didn’t seem to understand that. 

“You don’t have to do anything.” The words are bitter on your tongue and Santiago winces, before moving to stand. “We don’t need that money, and you have no idea what you walking into baby…” 

“Y/N, we have talked about this enough. I am going!” He slams the top of his suitcase closed before pulling the zipper harshly and walking towards the door. He turns sharply at the door pointing at you, “Why do you keep arguing with me about this? I have told you a million reasons why I need to do this! Instead of supporting me you're just fighting with me!” 

“I do support yo-” 

“Well, you sure have a funny way of showing it.” he swings his backpack on his back, puts on his hat and walks out the door. You’re on your feet in a hurry. “Goddamnit, Santiago! Will you just fucking listen to me for two minutes?”  You grab his shoulder and turn him to face you. He’s fuming and you can tell the volcano is seconds away from blowing. “I DO support you! I understand WHY you feel the need to do this but I LOVE YOU and I don’t want to LOSE YOU!” 

You're out of breath from shouting, and you see the anger slowly fade from his face as he comes to stand closer to you, “Querida...baby you're not going to lose me. I love you….so … damn … much. I never really felt alive until I met you, and no one,” he puts a finger under your chin and raises your eyes to his own, “no one is going to take me away from you.” 

“You can’t promise that…” Your words come out broken and a choked sob escapes you. “You don’t know what’s going to happen. Santi I can’t lose you. I won’t survive without you…” 

“Shhh.” He pulls you close and you collapse in a sobbing heap into his chest, your tears soaking the front of his t-shirt, his hands are strong as he holds you close. “I know nothing is one hundred percent but I love you and I am going to come home back to you. Nothing could ever keep me away.” He pulls you away from his chest, wiping your eyes before kissing you gently.

“I love you too Santi, so much.” You sigh into the kiss and hold him tight before he pulls away, walking towards the door, grabbing his duffle bag from the floor and walking out, taking your heart with him. 

Day 31 

Santiago kept good on his promise and called and texted every single day, each time letting you know he was safe and how much he loved you. He was working hard down there, and he loved the adventure, even if he missed you like crazy. You missed him too and the combination of being without your husband, taking care of the whole house, your shared basset hound, and work was draining. It was only a matter of time before you started feeling under the weather. You had been feeling fatigued, sore throat, cough, and after two days of vomiting throughout the day you had to admit it, you were sick. 

On your nightly call with Santi the worry in his voice warmed your heart. “Baby, you need to go to the doctor and get checked. Remember when you got bronchitis last year? It was pretty bad.” 

You hack into the receiver “Yeah, maybe you're right. I just feel like shit Nauseous all day long. Jonathon actually sent me home today. Said he was worried about me ‘infecting’ the office.” 

Santi mutters under his breath but you hear him and snort. “Yeah I agree he is a dick, but I appreciate being sent home. I’ll go to the urgent care tomorrow.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“Yes, I promise. I want to feel better...I just hate going to the doctor.” You recall the many times Santi had to drag you kicking and screaming (sometimes literally) to the doctor. 

“Why don’t you ask one of the guys to go with you?” 

“Maybe...Frankie mentioned he was off tomorrow when I called him yesterday....” 

“See. It was meant to be. Why don’t you text him after you hang up with me and he will make sure you go? Then I can rest easy tonight knowing you’re ok. I wish it were me though. I would take such good care of you baby.” 

“Oh yeah?” What would you do if you were here?” You snuggle down into the comforter with your box of tissues, hot tea, the humidifier and his deep soothing voice lulling you to sleep. 

It doesn’t take long before your soft snores fill the phone and Santi smiles to himself. Listening to the sounds of his love finally feeling at rest. When you wake up three hours later to throw up the light from your phone signifies a message. 

I called Frankie, he’s going to come by at 10 o’clock to take you for an appointment. I booked it online through the app. Get some rest and drink lots of fluids. I love you. - Hubby 

You smile before brushing your teeth and crawling back into the warmth of your bed and falling back to sleep, dreaming of your husband. 

Day 32 

The next morning Frankie rings the doorbell at exactly 9:45.Like all the other Delta Force guys (except Benny), they are meticulously early. You greet him with a cup of coffee with his own special airplane shaped mug, complete with his name engraved on the side. You knew that when you married Santiago, Frankie came as part of the package. 

“Hi Garcia, how ya feeling?” He wraps one arm around your shoulder and you lean into the embrace, placing your head on his arm. 

“To be completely honest Cat? I feel like shit.” 

Frankie lets out a small laugh before rubbing gentle circles on your back. “Well then let’s get you to the doctor. You got your insurance card?” 

“Yeah it’s in my bag.” You grab your brown knit bag, swinging it over your shoulder. 

“Then let’s get going.” He guides you out to his truck, helping you into the seat before running around the front to the driver's seat. 

About twenty minutes later you're pulling into the parking lot of your doctor. Frankie walks you inside helping you get signed in. It's another thirty minutes before you're put back into a room, sitting on crinkled tissue paper, Frankie reading back issues of People. The door opens and you sit up a little straighter. 

“Mrs. Garcia?” You nod. “I’m Dr. Jacobs. What can I help you with today?” 

You proceed to tell her what’s been going on and she goes through the motions, asking you all about your symptoms, checking your ears, nose, throat, and chest. When she's done she types everything into her tablet, “one more question, when was your last menstrual cycle?” 

You open your mouth to answer before closing it slowly. “When was my last...Oh. Uhm,” you laugh nervously at a loss for words, “about a month ago it should be starting any day now…” 

“Is there any chance you could be pregnant?” she asks, looking between you and Frankie. 

“Oh, he’s not my husband!” 

“I’m her husband's best friend. He’s out of the country.” 

“Well it sounds like you may have the flu but I would like to run some labs as well if that’s alright with you, and maybe a pregnancy test just to be sure?” 

You laugh. “Sure doc whatever you need, but I am not pregnant.” 

Day 35 

You swing your car haphazardly into the driveway narrowly missing a planter box and running over Mia’s pink bike. The front door slams open. Frankie is running down the driveway, yanking the car door open and pulling you into his arms. Your sobs are staining your cheeks and you're a blubbering mess. 

“Garcia! What the hell! Are you ok!?” Frankie checks you over. You shake your head frantically. 

“NO! No I am not ok!” you shout! “The test results came back!” 

“Oh god, is it bad!? Cancer? Diabetes? Fuck! Did Pope give you some kind of STD because I swear I will kick his ass for you!” 

“NO! God...no...I'm...Pregnant!” You break down in sobs and hold onto Frankie who starts to laugh. “Stop laughing! This is serious! Frankie!!” 

He chuckles squeezing you tighter, “Garcia this is wonderful! You're gonna be a mom and Santiago is going to be a daddy! Mia will have someone to play with. Fuck, I’m so happy for you guys.” You pull away to see a huge smile on his face. 

Some of his excitement rubs off on you and you rub your nose on the sleeve of your shirt before you smile, “I’m gonna be a mommy…oh shit Frankie what do I tell Santi?

“We will worry about that later. But right now let’s get you home and back to bed. You still have that cough and you need your rest.” 

Day 36 

“Hey baby. How is my favorite man?” 

“Oh Querida I miss you so much. I think I forgot how much I love being out in the field. The rush, the thrill. It’s addicting.” 

Your heart drops and for a minute you say nothing. How the hell could you tell him about the baby? He would want to come straight home and he’s loving the work.

“Everything is great here. Yeah, I got the test results yesterday from the lab and everything is normal. I just have the flu and since I’ve been off the last few days I’ve rested and drank lots of fluids and I am feeling much better.” 

“Oh good, I was so worried about you.” He sighs. “I got a new app on my phone that counts down to the second till I get to be back with you.. I love you so much Querida.” 

You bite your lip to keep from crying before letting out a shaky breath, “I love you too baby, and I can’t wait to see you soon.” 

The conversation shifts and when you hang up with your husband you shoot a quick text off to Frankie. 

Don’t mention ANYTHING about the pregnancy to Santiago. I’ll tell him when he gets home. 

What? Why? 

He loves being there and if we're going to have a baby then he's not going to be able to do this again. If I tell him you know he will just come home early. 

Ok...I still think you should tell him. You're going to need support though...he’s still going to be gone for three more months. 

Your right...Frankie...will you be my person? 

... of course. Get some sleep Garcia. 

Day 100 

Four months doesn’t seem like a long time. But when you're pregnant and missing your husband it seems like a lifetime. It had been one hundred days since Santi had left for South America and only twenty-two more days till he came home. When you did the math in your head you had become pregnant two weeks before Santi had left. Meaning you were well on your way to being a very noticeable pregnant woman. 

You had been shopping a couple times with Benny to Motherhood Maternity store to get some bigger clothes because yours refused to fit. Also a very interesting trip to Babies-R-Us where after much convincing he did not purchase the entire store for his future niece/nephew. Will had been attending your doctor and lab appointments with you. And sweet Frankie had been helping you around the house, getting groceries when you were too tired, keeping up the yard, and taking you and your dogs for walks to keep you moving. Your husband’s brothers had become your own, and you loved them for it. Only 22 more days. 

Day 120 

You're sitting at the kitchen table doing a puzzle with Will when Frankie comes in carrying takeout and a squirming Mia. He puts her down and she rushes toward you. 

“TIA GARCIA!” she screams, launching herself into your arms. 

“MIA!” you shout, squeezing her tightly before tickling her sides. She giggles before shimmying out of your lap and running to the kitchen. Coming back a moment later carefully balancing (at least as careful as a three year old can) a plate filled with watermelon to you. 

“Papa says this is for the baby,” she tells you in what could be called an attempted whisper but more like a shout. 

“Why are you whispering Mia?” 

“Papa says that I have guts to be quiet because the baby is sleeping.” She leans forward and hugs your slightly protruding belly before climbing into the kitchen chair across from you. 

You give Frankie an amused look and he smiles with a shrug before plating out the food. Pizza for them and watermelon for you. It’s all you seem to want anymore. “Oh come to mama.” You spear a piece before placing it in your mouth, moaning as the cold sweet juice goes down your throat. 

“So I’m taking you to the airport on Friday to pick up Santiago. Any ideas on how you're going to tell him?” Frankie asks, taking a large bite of pizza. 

“Well I think he’s going to know.” You gesture to your stomach, spearing another piece of melon. 

“I’ve been looking up ideas on how to tell people you're pregnant, and you could give him a jar of pasta sauce,” Will says and you all look at him like he’s nuts, “No, hear me out it’s Prego pasta sauce...get it, Prego?” 

You groan before taking another bite, “I think he’s going to notice I’m pregnant before I can even give him a jar of pasta sauce Will.” 

“Not if he doesn’t see your stomach first…” Frankie says, “what if you made a sign?” 

“A sign?” 

“Yeah like when we used to come home from a tour and the families would have signs. You could make a sign!” 

You think about it for a minute before you fall in love with the idea. You go to the office and come back with a couple poster boards you kept for work presentations. You place one in front of Mia who squeals and grabs one of the markers you provide. You get to work outlining the words and filling them in with his favorite colors blue and red. When completed, you lift it up and show it to the others.

“That’s perfect!” Frankie beams. 

“Bet you 50 bucks he cries,” Will says. 

“Deal,” they slap hands and you glare, before smiling at the two. Only two more days. 

Day 122 - Santiago Comes Home 

You feel sick, what if he doesn’t want to have a baby? Will he be mad I kept this from him? Shit, maybe this was a terrible idea. What the hell was I thinking? 

“Garcia, you need to calm down, you're making me stressed.” 

“What if he doesn’t want this? What if he is disappointed? What if-” Frankie stands up and puts his hands on your shoulders. 

“Garcia listened to me. Santiago loves you more than anything in this entire world and he is going to love this baby just as much maybe even more. He may be surprised yeah but trust me. Once he wraps his brain around it, he’s going to be ecstatic.” He pulls you in for a hug and you take a deep breath, calming your nerves. 

The constant flow of travelers does nothing to lessen your anxiety. You take a deep breath and almost choke on the smell of espresso from the nearby Starbucks. Frankie gives you one last squeeze before handing you the sign and stepping back as people flood out of the gate. 

You rise to your tiptoes in search for a familiar head of salt and pepper curls. When in a break of the crowd you see him, running in a full sprint towards you. His face split into a megawatt smile. As he gets close enough to touch, you hold up the sign. He slows down slightly as he reads and you watch the smile fade only slightly before it’s replaced by shock. 

Welcome home daddy 

He reaches forward, holding tight to the poster board and slowly lowering it, eyes transfixed at your swollen belly. Silence. His hands shake as they put the sign on the floor, his eyes never leaving you. Your heart races and you feel the urge to vomit return again before he drops to his knees. 

You wince, “Baby, your knees…” reaching down to pull him up, but he makes no move to stand, his hands coming to your stomach. Placing his lips gently over your shirt. His forehead rests against you and tears drench your shirt. The baby chooses that moment to make their presence known kicking softly against his cheek. You run your hands through his curls and he looks up at you with a watery smile and a small laugh. 

“Querida, you’re pregnant. We’re...we’re having a baby…” he sniffles and you can’t help the tears in your own eyes. “Why...why didn’t you tell me? I would have come home…”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t. You’ve been so happy these past few months and I knew you needed to do this. Yes, I was scared as hell about losing you but...I understood.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers before shakily getting to his feet and clutching you tight, his hands frame your face and he pulls you close getting lost in the kiss, “I love you...so fucking much,” he whispers putting his forehead against your own. “I love you too. I’m so glad your home… I mean the guys have been great but I’m excited to go shopping for baby stuff with you, attend my doctor appointments together, and have you bring me platefuls of watermelon.” 

He laughs pulling back, “Watermelon? Is that what you’ve been craving?” 

“Oh god yes, even talking about it makes my mouth water.” 

“If that is what you want Querida, then you can have as much as you desire,” he kisses you again. 

A cough sounds from behind and you turn to see Frankie smiling at you.  Santi reaches out to give him a slap on the back, the two conversing in Spanish. You hold your hand out and Santi latches on, never letting go as you make your way through the terminal and out to the truck. 

The world passes by in a kaleidoscope of color as Frankie drives you both home. Arriving, you thank him before leading Santi by the hand and into the house. When the door is latched behind you, he presses you into the door gently. Every touch, every caress, left you breathless. His lips warm and wet against your own. When you take a breath his tongue snakes inside and he drags you from the door, striping each other, leaving a trail of clothes to the bedroom. 

After you’ve been thoroughly fucked and your wrapped up in Santiago’s strong arms, legs intertwined together, and he’s rubbing your belly do you finally relax. Sighing into his chest, and kissing it lightly. “Your really happy about the baby?” you whisper, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you. 

His grip around you tightens, “I promise you, I am very happy about the baby. You made me a daddy Querida. I love you...so much.” 

You sigh, “I love you too.” 

3 months later 

Eight months of pregnancy has flown by. After Santi got home from Columbia he took over doing everything. Attending your appointments together, buying and building things for the nursery, and bringing you platefuls of watermelon at all times of the day and night. Santiago takes the roll of daddy very seriously. All of those year in the military have come into play the last few months as he has transformed your house into a fortress. God help anyone that tries to hurt you or your unborn daughter. 

It started small with a few extra cameras on the perimeter, then installing a new indoor security system. A new fence was put up around the pool two months ago, and most recently the baby monitors set up throughout the house. He was beginning to drive you a little insane and you honestly just wanted him to lay off a bit. The perfect opportunity arose one fateful morning during breakfast. 

“So I’ve been thinking Querida, how do you feel about putting carpet on the floor of the nursery?” 

Part 2: Carpet (If you haven’t read it, check it out!)

Day 15: Just Walk Away- Ezra (Prospect) 

[stevesharrlngtons]

what i want.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: takes place in s1 of hemlock grove just after roman’s coma and the aftermath.  

word count: 3.1k

a/n: yeaaahhhh so i know this is st related but it felt more right to post this here over my marvel account? anyways, i just really really wanted to write for roman and this poured out of me yesterday (which is surprising bc i can’t remember the last time i wrote a fic all in one day) but even though i already know this is gonna flop, i wanted to post it anyway just for fun (: i hope you enjoy and if you do read, please let me know that you think!!!!

With an ear pressed to his chest and a hand cradling his neck, you counted the rhythmic beats of his frail heart.

He looked the same, felt the same, smelt the same; but the man we lay still below you wasn’t Roman. Not in the metaphorical sense at least. This man who’s lashes lay gently against the apples of his cheeks obscuring his large doe eyes, wasn’t your love. He was still and quiet and lacked the emotion of your Roman. Your Roman who could never hide how he really felt, who wore every feeling on his sleeve, unable to mask his emotion.

At least, always around you.

A soft french ballad played in the background as you hunched over his hospital bed in the attic of the Godfrey home. You could hear the faint scratch of the needle against the vinyl, more so when there was a lull between songs.

Heavy footsteps entered from your right and you knew before they reached you that it was Shelly to fetch you for school.

“I know, Shell.” You said quietly, like you might wake Roman from his restless sleep if you spoke any louder, “I just need a few more minutes with him.”

The tall girl loomed over you both, watching you stroke Roman’s cheek lovingly with your thumb, the rest of your nimble fingers still holding his thin neck.

She had never experienced the kind of unequivocal and palpable love that she did when she observed you and Roman together. She often wondered if all the tales of true love and soulmates that were regaled in some of her favorite novels were actually true? Because the way you looked at Roman, and the way Roman looked at you, could not be fabricated or faked.

After a long beat of silence, Shelly gripped her phone and typed out a simple message to you.

“I miss him, too.”

She could see tears forming in your eyes once more. Your eyes that seemed to have not ceased their perpetual filming for the last two weeks Roman had been under.

All you could was nod in response. When Shelly placed a dense hand on your shoulder, you silently wept.

It all felt so surreal. But Roman was always larger than life, you probably should have prepared for something like this. You were just so scared.

That night two weeks before, when he had come to you in the pouring rain, drenched to the bone, you had been scared then, too. Roman was dramatic, yes. But never anything like this. He trembled fiercely and his fingers twitched and his muscles rippled with fear.

He didn’t seem himself as you wrapped him in blankets and placed him in your bed to warm his icy bones. You had wound your arms around him as he cried into your neck, tears and snot streaking your skin as you soothed him the best you could.

“I’m ugly, I’m a monster, I am unlovable and disgusting.” He chanted between hiccups and deep intakes of breath, like he was under a spell.

“Please stop, please don’t say that. You’re not, you’re not, you’re not. I love you, I always will.” You whispered sincerely to him, beginning to shutter yourself at the uncharatieric behavior he was displaying.

He startled you even more when he grasped your wrists together with one hand and flipped you onto your back, meeting you with a fierce kiss before you could comprehend his actions.

It was all teeth and tongue and labored breathing as Roman pulled your strings in only the way that he could. Once he was inside you, he only became more brutal. It was more pain than pleasure as he looked at you with soulless eyes and his mouth agape. But everything Roman was, was good. Even now he felt like heaven.

When he had finished and pulled two orgasms from your body, he collapsed on top of you. You cocooned him with your limbs, whispering loving words and frightened questions as his body seemed to pass out from sheer emotional exhaustion, anchoring you beneath him.

The next morning, you were dressed in nothing but Roman’s cardigan and tucked underneath your duvet with no knowledge of his departure the night before.

It was only minutes after you woke that Olivia called to curtly inform you of Roman’s condition.

You placed your own hand, the one not holding Roman, over Shelly’s and squeezed it.

“He is so lucky to have you.” You said, swallowing thickly to look up and give Shelly a smile, “He loves you so much, I know he’ll wake just for you.”

Shelly knew you were trying to soothe her as well, something you had a knack for since you came into the two Godfrey’s lives. She appreciated it greatly, but wished you would let yourself swim and stop trying to make sure she stayed afloat.

“You, as well. He will wake for us.” Shelly typed and you squeezed her hand in a tight pulse.

“We can only hope.”

You dropped Shelly’s hand as she went to turn the music off while you kissed Roman goodbye.

“Where, today?” Came Shelly’s mechanical voice as the music ceased.

“His left eyelid.” You replied, standing up and stroking Roman’s porecelain cheek.

You had taken to kissing a new part of Roman each day as you left him. To cherish him even while his mind was missing. You were saving his lips for when he woke, hoping his subconscious would crave your mouth on his enough to jar him from his slumber. Roman was never quiet about his appreciation for your lips.  

“And tomorrow?” She asked.

“The other.”

As you sat in english class, you couldn’t help but feel Peter’s absence in the seat next to yours. With neither him nor Roman around, you felt off kilter. The boys had been going through a rough patch lately, but Peter was still your friend when Roman wasn’t looking. Giving you winks that would reply with an eye roll, and chatting between classes. You believed you could mend the fence between the two men by simply being Switzerland, but after the police incident, Peter wasn’t so sure.

But you and Roman were alike in many ways, you told Peter as much.

“You two will work this out. Even if it gets hard.” You say flippantly one day as you rummaged through your purse for a tube of lipgloss.

“Yeah? And how do you know? Are you an oracle and just haven’t told me?” Peter jokes as you take the cosmetic from your bag.

You remove the fuzzy doe-foot applicator from the pink make up with a loud squelch and smirk at him.

“Because not only do I know everything,” a swipe of the goods on your lips, “But, I always get what I want.”

Now, his absence along with Roman’s seemed to be significant. Connected.

And then you got a call.

And the ID almost gave you a heart attack.

You fled the classroom without the formality of an excuse. It wasn’t any secret that you and Roman were a couple, so some teachers had been far more lenient with you since he had fallen under. Thankfully, Ms. Day was one of them.

You ran from the class and around the corner for the veil of privacy before you picked up the call.

“Roman?”

“God, how I’ve missed your voice.” He said, punctuated with his melodic laugh.

You burst into tears, clenching your phone tightly in your sweating palm as Roman cooed to you.

“Hey, hey, no. No tears, baby. Too fucking hot to be sad, you know that?”

“I’m not sad, God no! These are tears of joy, of fucking relief.” You felt suddenly very fatigued from the worry and dread escaping your body at the sound of Roman’s voice, and slid down the wall to the grey linoleum below.

“Good, hate to think you’d forget about me after two weeks out of commission.” You could see his smile in your minds eye and your stomach twinge with love.

“You know I could never forget about you.” You replied, whipping your damp cheeks on the back of your hand.

“I’m glad. I was counting on it.” You can see his smirk now.

“Dick.” You laughed and he did as well.

“Eh, you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

There was a silence and you wished so helplessly that he was in your arms. Your Roman. Not the still and sterile one. The one with a wicked tongue and a beautiful smile that he offered to you so freely.

It was in this silence though, that you heard the purr of an engine.

“Baby, are you in a car? Are you with Olivia?”

“Uh, no. Not exactly.” And the bubble of joy popped just as it had formed.

“Roman, where are you? Why are you in a car?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, my love.” He hummed quietly his adoration and immediately you knew what was happening.

“Put Peter on the phone.”

“How did you-”

“Just fucking do it, Roman.”

You could hear him curse, then the shuffle of the phone being passed between hands.

“Hey, (Y/N/N), how’ya doin’?” Peter asked, faking a calm tone.

“Let’s forget the goddamn pleasantries, Peter. What in the living fuck are you doing trying to track this wolf when Roman just rose from the dead?”

“Rose from the dead sounds a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Does it sound like I give a shit?”

“Frankly, no. It doesn’t.”

“And what does it sound like I give a shit about?”

“Probably Roman not doing this right now.”

“Bingo, Fiddo. Now you either take him back to his house or I am coming to find you two and I promise you, I can be scarier than Olivia.” You hissed into the receiver, looking around to make sure no rouge students in the halls were hearing your conversation.

“Oh I don’t doubt it. But this was his choice, (Y/N). Nothing neither of us can do anything to change his mind.”

“Peter, I swear to-” This time, you were the one cut short.

“Baby, listen,” Roman said after commandeering his phone back.

“No, Roman, you listen! I know you have some attachment to helping kill this thing, but now isn’t the time.”

“But it is. It’s complicated, but you just have to trust me on this.”

“I do trust you, Ro. I do. But I don’t trust whatever this thing is.” You sighed, leaning your head back against the wall, “Unfortunately I do trust what it is capable of. Which is a fuck tone pain.”

“I’ll be safe. I have Peter, Peter’s got me. I got this. We know what we’re doing.”

“Wish I could believe that.”

“Baby, I promise. I swear, even. We are gonna find some answers and then I’ll be home to you in one piece.”

You pause and Roman calls your name from the phone, his voice vulnerable.

“It’s funny. This morning you were in a coma and you were more safe then than you are right now.”

“I love you.” Roman says firmly.

“I know.”

Another pause and you know you can’t scold your way out of this one.

“Just… please call me when you get back. I don’t think I can take another minute of being away from you.” Your tears were beginning again.

“Me too. You’re all I can think about,” Roman sniffles, “I need you, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You both sit in silence on the line before Roman tells you he needs to go.

“Ok… but hey, Turner?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Hooch to be careful. Both of you just… be careful.”

“Always.”

And the line goes dead.

After school you debated going straight to the Godfrey residence to wait for Roman to return, but decided against it. You weren’t sure exactly what Olivia knew and didn’t know, and didn’t feel like being alone with her while you figured it out.

So, you waited anxiously in your bedroom, doing everything possible to quell your shaking nerves. You had a perpetual tremor in your body as fiddled with your phone to try and distract yourself. Which was partly true, the other reason your phone was glued to your palm was so you would know the second Roman contacted you.

Though, as the sun descended in the sky and the night sky spanned for hours, you were becoming more restless. Whatever Peter and Roman were doing was no doubt dangerous and time sensitive, and it made you sick that it was nearing midnight without any word from either boy.

As the night continued to wear on and your mind ran away from rationality into an amalgamation of pure fear and absurdity, you decided you couldn’t sit around anymore. You weren’t going to wait for Roman to call and tell you he was home safe. You were going to drive to his house and wait for him there, and if he wasn’t back in an hour, you’d go out looking for him yourself.

As you put on a pair of house slippers and a sweatshirt over your nightgown, your phone vibrated on your vanity. Your heart began to speed up in your chest as you rushed over to the table and picked up your buzzing phone. On the screen was a text alert from Roman, with only one word present:

Come.

And you didn’t need to be told twice.

When you arrived at the Godfrey’s, you fled your car so quickly you almost forget the keys in the ignition. You ran up the front steps and banged both fists on the door needing to use your excess anxiety and adrenaline for something. And while you didn’t want to face Olivia’s wrath, your judgment was clouded by the chance of seeing Roman, alive and well.

When Roman finally opened the door, you wasted no time throwing yourself into his arms. He stumbled at the impact of your embrace, but was quick to remedy his shock by wrapping his arms around you. The feeling of this made your throat constrict.

“Jesus fucking Christ I missed you.” Roman all but growled as he firmly smoothed flyaways from your hair and placed his strong hand on the back of your neck.

“You have no idea how much I missed you, Ro.” You said, voice thick with tears as you began to pepper kisses anywhere you could reach.

Neck, jaw, ear, temple, cheek, shoulder, trap, clavicle, repeat.

Roman groaned appreciatively in your ear as you covered him in your lips.

“You scared me half to death you know?” You said between kisses.

“I know, I’m sorry. Things have been… odd. I still can’t remember it all.” Roman says, his tone confused.

“Well, Olivia said-”

“I know what she said. I just don’t know if I believe it.”

You furrowed your brows and tried to wiggle in his hold, silently signaling for Roman to place you back on your feet, but he only gripped you tighter.

“Not yet. Just, stay a while.” His voice wavered.

You finally pulled back to look at him, his eyes red from tears and shadowed. Sometimes it was difficult to look at him, his beauty and pain were just too much.

“I’m staying, Roman. You couldn’t get me to leave if you wanted to.” You reply.

A wash of emotion washes over his features as his lip quivers and his eyes attempt to blink back tears. You opened your mouth to try and alleviate him of whatever he was feeling when his mouth crashed to yours.

You forgot how good his lips felt against yours as your mouths meshed together. The velvet of his tongue and the mint and smoke on his breath. His hands gripping you everywhere as he pressed you impossibly close, moaning into you with deep primal noises sounding from his chest.

“Roman, baby,” You pulled away for air and Roman promptly moved his attention to your neck and clavicle. “I need you. Take me upstairs, I can’t wait any longer.”

Roman groaned and bit you hard on the shoulder before hitching your legs higher on his hips and running you both up the winding staircase behind him.

Bruises, at the behest of his mouth and fingers, littered your body as you lay on Roman’s chest as you both still reeled in the blissful aftermath of your climaxes. Roman’s fingers idled along and spine while his unoccupied hand rested behind his head.

He had begun to tell the tale of his night, of Peter and the turn and Chasseur and his mother. He told you Peter was upstairs unconscious and that he was unsure what was going to happen when he woke.

“So, after all this, everything’s still shitty? Is that what you’re saying?” You muttered.

“Essentially. But I have hope… we’re going to figure this out. I know it.” Roman nodded, like he is reassuring himself more than you.

“Me too. You two are smart,”

“You flatter me.” Roman chuckles and looks down at you.

“Just trying to butter you up to get into your pants.” He laughs again and slaps your ass.

“Clearly it’s working.” He replies.

“Well that, and I always get what I want.” You say with a content smile.

Roman hums, “Don’t I know it.”

“You enable it.”

“Again, I know.” He kisses your forehead and you burrow closer to him.

You two lay in silence a bit longer before he sighs.

“I think we should move to sleep in the attic. Just in case something happens with Peter and he needs us.”

We. Us.

The small implication in his word choice makes you smile and once again fall under a wave of emotion, just so happy that your Roman was back to you.

You don’t know what you had done if there was no we or us with Roman any longer. But you choose to not fixate on the past.

You just nod and kiss the underside of his chin. Roman gives you a small grin and begins to get up. As you do the same, Roman throws you one of his white button downs, giving you a stern look as you raise an eyebrow in question.

“Just put it on. I got two weeks to make up for, baby. It started with reuniting, then fucking, and now you in my shirt.”

You try to hold off the wide smile that was threatening to take over your face and put on the shirt, buttoning it to just above your cleavage.

“Yeah? And what’s next?” You ask, watching Roman round the bed toward you.

“Sleep.”

Now in a pair of threadbare silk pajama pants and nothing more, Roman extends his hand to you.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.” You reply, taking his hand, weaving your fingers as he led you to the attic.

i hope you enjoyed even though it was for a different show!! and if you did, pls i’d love some feedback (:::: also let me know if you would possibly want another roman fic bc i have other ideas lol

[anika-ann]

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.3

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6420 + 280 (you’ll see)

Summary:  Graduation day, yay! Says no one, ever.

Except for Penny, who practically drags you to enjoy one of the most important days of your lives. You go along, just because. Hell, who knows - maybe you’ll like it in the end.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the Attached series. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: mentions of name calling and humiliation,swearing, some angst and lots of talking and maybe... ;)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had been through several phases of dealing with what happened and they came and went and came and went, one blending into another, other times changing so sharply and quickly as if you flipped a metaphorical switch.

But what stayed for the majority of the time was that you simply had no idea what should you do.

One moment, you were certain that this was a sign from above telling you to break things off with Steve, because no matter the beautiful moments you had shared, continuing the relationship was an epitome of asking for more trouble and even though you had never met a guy so close to your dream man, you wondered if it was worth it.

The next minute, you mentally yelled at yourself and called yourself a dumb ungrateful bitch, convinced that this was in fact a trial, an ordeal by fire; a test you had to pass so your relationship came out stronger from it. Your faith was rock-solid that Steve was it, because after all, he was the closest guy to your dream man that you had ever met.

Your emotions were bubbling, the order of stages of grief all messed up, a mixture of self-pity, anger, resignation, denial---shame.

And shame seemed to be a theme that stuck, because the longer you were stalling and leaving Steve’s kind supportive and pleading messages without reply, the worse you felt, ashamed to reach out now, after such a long and pointed silence. Because Steve hadn’t relented, keeping in touch and very obviously staying convinced that you two could push through; the stark contrast of your doubts and his unshakable belief was breaking both your heart and mind.

How did you even deserve him? He stood by your side, at least as much as he could… while his name was in the poem too and he was probably dealing with so much shit right now and yet he didn’t cease reaching out while you left him in a lurch and really, you must have been the worst girlfriend ever.

If you even still were a girlfriend… though Steve appeared to still consider you one and it was making you want to tear your hair out, frustrated with your own stupid overthinking ass.

Penny, bless her, was there the whole time, loyal by your side instead of drinking herself into oblivion in a celebration of her bachelor degree. She was there as well when you received a text yesterday morning, followed by longer-than-usual silence.

I know this has little chance of reaching you, but know this: say the word and I will leave you alone to the point of not going to the ceremony at all despite my presence being formally half-required. Or I’ll be there and stay away. Anything you want, anything that helps you to enjoy your special day. You deserve to celebrate such a great success and I’d hate to be the reason for you to miss out on a memory that will last a lifetime. You deserve the world, sweetheart; and if you don’t want to me to be the one who gives it to you, I’ll have to accept it. Congratulation.

The text had to be split into three separate units, but the message was clear and you had a good thorough cry at it, your shaky conviction growing firmer and earning a solid base.

He had hit a nail on the head – you had been considering not going and then definitely going and then not again, back and forth for various reasons, but mostly because of him; too excited, too hopeful and too scared to meet him.

And to think you had been once afraid of facing him after you suspected that he had read your smutty story about him… this was so much more terrifying than that and now you were biting on your lips, slightly redder due to the lipstick you had applied for the ceremony, and you glanced up to meet Penny’s narrowed eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t you bail out on me now. You promised yesterday that you’d go,” she reminded you, half-concerned, half-strict.

You sighed, knowing fully that she spoke the truth.

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just that I haven’t replied to Steve, AGAIN, and I don’t know if he’s gonna be there. And what I am going to do if he is.

And what I’m going to do if he isn’t.

Penny charmed a supportive grin, walking to you and putting her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it in comfort until you managed to swallow your nerves for a brief second and return the smile weakly.

She squealed and pulled you to her side, a happy twinkle in her chocolate-coloured eyes.

“We did it, girl! We fucking made it to the end of bachelor studies! And we’re gonna enjoy every moment of that mummery that comes with it!”

You couldn’t but snort, amused at her exclaim, while tears burned in your eyes, a mixture of nerves, grief and happiness.

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

“That’s my girl!”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

For all you wanted to enjoy this day with your friend since your family wouldn’t be able to make it, the first thing your eyes searched for in the crowd getting ready for the ceremony was a broad figure with blond hair, a beard and the most beautiful eyes you couldn’t but fall in love with.

Your stomach, tight from nerves and anticipation, dropped to your feet and you had to focus on keeping the tears at bay.

Steve wasn’t here.

The professors were always seated together, expected to hang out in a group – which somehow provided them safety from both students in the gowns and the few individuals who didn’t understand the dress code and arrived in jeans and sweatshirts – and you couldn’t see Steve among them. You even caught a sight of Bucky; and if Steve wasn’t with him, well, then it was clear that he decided to stay home.

Home. You had felt at home with him too, but that was over now.

What did you expect though? You ignored him for almost a week and even a guy like Steve, so amazing and understanding, would lose his patience with such inconsiderate and downright bratty attitude.

Your heart weighted a ton, heavy in your chest, pounding anxiously at the thought.

Was this how you parted ways? Just… fading away? Two lovers, two people in love – and you had realized over the past few days that Steve must have truly loved you – falling apart for the lack of communication? What a cliché.

But really, how could you have kept your hopes up that he would show up? Because it was sort of expected from the professors? Please. Because he had asked you to let him know if you didn’t want him here… and you hadn’t responded? Again? Right.

Yes, you hadn’t requested that he stayed away – then again, you hadn’t exactly begged him to come either. All that because you let yourself fall into the pit of doubts and allowed them to eat at your soul and ruin your relationship with the best man you had ever met instead of holding onto him for a dear life.

You guessed it served you right, more so now, in this very moment.

Because right now, your resolve and faith that you had been meant to be with Steve felt more solid than ever. By the laws of human nature, by its very essence, you were certain of what you wanted the moment you understood that you lost it.

A tug at your hand snapped you from your gloomy self-depreciating thoughts, your head automatically turning the direction the intrusion came from. Penny’s face came into view and she frowned as she saw you blink away tears.

“Hey! No brooding today! Today is a great win of our lives. You hear me?” she scolded you lightly, her eyes twinkling with true happiness and you gulped, nodding obediently.

“Right. Sorry. You’re right of course.”

“Damn right I am.”

You charmed a pathetic smile for her and looked at the other students in the black gowns to distract yourself from one single thought – Is it a win? Or is it the final prove of my loss?

You desperately tried to believe Pen and forced yourself to focus on the bright side, on what you were supposed to be delighted for; you finished your bachelor studies. Yay!

Yet, despite your best efforts, the ceremony and the speeches from the professors and the officials of your university, all the ‘mummery’ as Penny called it, happened in a strange haze.

Perhaps that was how everyone felt, drunk on euphoria instead? You guessed. You thought you might have smiled at some point, fuelled by a brief moment of true victory.

You stood there among other students, your eyes on the stage where Sharon Carter, a student at the top of your class, walked to the stand to give a speech.

You weren’t exactly friends with Sharon – you talked sometimes, more of a common courtesy exchanged simply because you were classmates. Still, you were mildly curious about what she had to say; she was marked a great student for a reason and she tended to have the ability to catch attention and awake something in others when she talked. An excellent choice for the speech – however, you caught yourself nervously toying with the cap of the case with your diploma, feeling fatigue of the past days catching up with you.

God, you wanted to go back to your whining and misery, not because you revelled in it, but because in the safety of your dorm room, you didn’t have to put up a front of a student excited to graduate. Not that you were any good at the pretence.

“Good morning, everyone. Mr. President, Mr. Dean, Professors… and most importantly, students. For some of us, the journey ends here – we are about to leave the not-so-safe space of the university and try our chances out there, in the open and much more dangerous world,” Carter started, a mild smile on her lips. “That said, it doesn’t mean that our school days were exactly easy.”

“Oh, you had no idea,” you mumbled under your breath, a pang in your ribcage reminding you just how harsh university space could be – not just because of the professors and their impossible tasks.

And they said high-school was the nightmare.

You noticed several people muttering under their breath too, for various reasons. For a brief moment, you felt shame – the pain others had been through could have been even worse, because illness and death had little regard for waiting for when it was more convenient. Who were you to complain?

Then again, you felt like you suffered enough too, your pain just as real as theirs.

Sharon looked around the audience and took a deep breath, her smile turning almost wistful as if she could hear your thoughts.

“While I’m up here, I would like to do something… a bit unconventional. I know this day shouldn’t be dedicated to one person and that is not what I want to do, but I have to speak up. After all, that is what history taught us – that we have to speak up. I want to talk about something everyone who stands here know – sadly, because it was perfectly wide-spread at the university.”

Whispers rose in the crowds along with your pulse skyrocketing.

Fuck. Fuck, she wouldn’t.

Right?! This was something else she was talking about, something you had missed, because you were too busy sulking.

You grabbed Penny’s hand at your side, squeezing harshly and shot her a panicked look, wordlessly pleading her to tell you this was not happening and you were just projecting, imagining this was some nightmare coming to life.

She gave you a side-eye and beckoned her chin to the stage again. Your breathing picked up, your knees feeling weak.

Oh my god, oh fucking shit this was happening.

Why the fuck Sharon wanted to open this can of worms publicly?! Did she hate you?

Granted, you weren’t paying much attention to other people’s faces, but you were hopeful that the mess was slowly dying down and people weren’t necessarily staring at you.

Now, the small circle of people around you who obviously knew where you were, glanced at you pointedly.

Hadn’t your ears been ringing and your panic rising, you might have found it weird that they were smiling at you – and not in a condescending or malicious way.

“Come on. Listen to what she has to say,” Penny whispered to your ear and you eyed her, shocked to find her smiling as well.

A terrible realization hit you like a train.

“Wait, you knew about this?” you hissed angrily, your stomach somersaulting. The actual FUCK?! “You knew she was gonna talk about that? What the hell? Why?!”

Was that why she made you come here?

“Oh honey, you have no idea what was happening these past few days, do you?  Just listen.”

Huh?! What the fuck did Penny meant by-

“I just want to remind to the people feeding bad blood that the girl I’m talking about – a smart young woman who had accepted her diploma today, one of us – she earned her degree. In fact, she probably had to work even harder, because that’s the policy, a sort of a reverse favouritism. The records of her exams are much more detailed and she was under scrutiny, she had to prove that she was nothing the self-proclaimed experts were calling her.”

As outside your body as you felt, in this surreal moment where Sharon Carter talked about your dirty laundry during your damn graduation ceremony, the word ‘whore’ still popped in your mind in angry red letters and chased tears into your eyes, the humiliation you had felt when you first spotted the poem overwhelming you again.

“She had to face every evil glare people sent her way, glares she faced for something as simple as being in love. And just so you know, I have it from a reliable source-“ she pretended to cough while saying Penny’s full name, “-her roommate, that for the long months she’s been with her favourite man, it was in fact Professor Phillips whose name she was whispering in her sleep, because we all know he’s a real hard-ass; my condolences to Professor Rogers.”

Chuckles erupted in the crowd and you felt your lips twitch involuntarily. More and more people were turning to you as their colleagues elbowed their ribs to subtly point in your direction.

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed by so much attention – a positive one, it seemed.

When the hell did that happen?

“Also, all kudos to Nelson and Murdock, who accepted our request and are now suing the hell out of the Expert One and Two, possibly Three, for defamation and possible attempted assault.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

A breathy “Wait, what?!” fell from your lips.

“They offered to do it for free, but I think that a small donation never hurt anyone. You’ll find the link on the forum dedicated to our girl. You’ll find the link to that forum in your inbox if you haven’t already.”

There was a forum dedicated to you?! To hate you or to support you? How could you… not know about that?

Probably had something to do with how you shut off the whole world… social media included. Hell, especially those.

And the people who wrote the poem and sent it to everyone on uni could actually… be sued? It was that serious? From the legal side, not yours, you were sufficiently ruined about that you had no doubt-

“Let’s clap for Nelson and Murdock as they wave at us. Thank you, gentlemen!” Sharon called out and everyone’s head turned to a pair of lawyers you couldn’t hope to see – but you really had to in the future, because what?!

However, you did reluctantly join the deafening applause the people present dedicated to them.

Seriously, what was happening?

“Why I’m saying all this… I know she’s here with us today, because she deserves it just like everyone else. I would like to invite her to stand to the very left of the crowd. Please, come on, our brave soul.”

Sharon’s eyes unmistakably found you as if she knew where you were standing the whole time – which she probably could. Because of Penny. And obviously, few others.

Penny nudged you with a grin and you gulped as several onlookers sent you encouraging smiles.

You felt your face burning with all the eyes on you, your head spinning.

Oh god, oh god-

“Go,” Penny whispered to your ear. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

I’ll like what exactly?

“Uh-huh, sure,” you mumbled but gave in, your shaky feet carrying you outside the line of chairs to your left – it was probably no coincidence that you didn’t have to cross the aisle, already standing on the left half.

Everything was planned, that you were starting to understand… but to what end?

“You see, I want her to understand that maybe two or three people in this damn school made a fuss, but there’s quite a lot of people who don’t think any less of her, of people who are in fact happy for her and Professor Rogers. Also, I want her to be easy to find for later purpose,” Sharon explained as you reluctantly approached the aforementioned spot.

For later purpose? Easy to find?

A hunch slowly crept up your back and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted it to be true or not.

What were the chances it was something else though?

Pretty big, in fact. Because you had no clue what a surreal world you had found yourself in and how, but it seemed like everything, even the most absurd thing you wouldn’t even dare to think about, came to life here.

“You know, the best thing about her story is that… it’s a story of all of us. I mean, not in such a great detail, gosh, we wish to own a heart of such fine man, but…” More laughter erupted from the crowd and you choked on the sound ripped from your throat, something between a chuckle and a sob.

Wasn’t that the truth…

”But in the end, there is no great difference. We’re standing here today, because we pushed through. We stand here today, because this is our story of love and passion – for things, for people. It’s a story of working hard and losing sleep for something that truly matters to us. It’s a story of fighting off sticks and stones and overcoming obstacles, of fighting for our future,” Sharon said ceremonially, her voice fuelled by true yet not theatrical passion. One corner of her lips rose in a sad smile as she lightly shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. “And folks, I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t always gonna be easy. But the fact that we’re here today, in these ridiculous outfits we secretly love because they are a testimony to our success… it tells me that the future might not be the worst either.”

Sharon Carter made a pregnant pause, eyes searching in the sea of faces watching her, until her gaze fell at someone near you and her lips spread in an almost cheeky smile, one you hadn’t know she was capable of.

Before you could try and see what was the cause – even if the rapid beats of your heart already seemed to know the answer – she delivered an explanation.

“Isn’t that right, Professor Rogers?”

Hushed voices and shocked exclaims reached your ears, but you couldn’t quite hear them over the pounding of your pulse in your temples.

A tall figure with broad shoulders cladded in an unfamiliar hoodie was making its way to you, the crowd parting like a sea with each step he took. Even though he did, he didn’t have to lose the hood for your benefit – you had inspected his body thoroughly on many occasions, you knew his gait, and until now, you had believed that you were aware of every hoodie he had in his closet, because you had borrowed each and every one of them at least once when staying at his place... often.

Ruffled blond hair appeared first and then everything you had eyes for was his lips, curved in a hesitant smile and the beautiful eyes, so deep you could drown in them.

Your fingertips tingled with anticipation, your chest heaving in quick shallow breaths full of anxiety.

The expression on Steve’s face was unreadable – and yet, just seeing his face after the series of unfortunate events, was enough to chase tears into your eyes and for your feet to twitch with the unstoppable urge to run to him.

It was only the fear of his reaction that prevented you from making the tinniest move.

A pointed clearing of a throat sounded through the microphone, but you couldn’t tell if it worked on people, if they turned their attention to the person on the stage or kept watching your reunion. Reunion with Steve – who naturally hogged all your attention and as he approached you, his presence assaulting nearly all of your senses.

A sight for your sore teary eyes.

The barely audible yet deafening whisper of your name.

His natural scent mixed with his cologne and the detergent he used – even standing two feet away, you would swear you could smell it, perhaps a mirage created by your wishful memories.

The ghost of his skin and hair tickled your fingers as you had been running your hands through his hair and beard and roamed his body so often that you could practically feel it even now.

Half of the things you sensed must have been a figment of your imagination; yet, they felt very real, as did the rapid staccato of your heart hammering in your ribcage, the butterflies both pleasant and unpleasant occupying your stomach.

“Now, let the lovebirds figure it out and listen up, people…”

“Hi,” he greeted you softly, a single caress of his voice encouraging the flipping of metaphorical wings in your stomach.

“Hi,” you replied automatically, unable to think about anything better to say.

What were you supposed to say?

You had already made your peace with him not coming… to a point. You forgone all hope; so now you were desperately unprepared for him showing up, all casual-looking in jeans and a hoodie and so damn gorgeous as always.

An attempt at a smile graced his lips, his hand rising to the back of his neck in his typically bashful gesture as he self-consciously looked around.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea they would make such a fuss. I just followed the instructions and showed up-“

You heart sank to your gut; your body, warming up in his presence alone as he was your personal sun, suddenly felt cold with the metaphorical bucket of icy water his words provided.

He came here because someone told him to – someone who planned this stunt, this ridiculous and utterly stupid show. What was next? Were you supposed to kiss for the audience?

The same nausea you remembered feeling when seeing the poem hit you all over again; Steve didn’t want to be here.

He wasn’t here for you, he wasn’t here because he wanted to set things right.

The pain erupting in your chest was shocking and burned like a flame fed on gasoline. You truly were over and his words-

“No, wait, that came out wrong!” he hurried, crossing the short distance between you in three long steps and you would have taken a step back, hadn’t your feet rooted into the ground. “I came… I’m here because I wanted to see you. I missed you, sweetheart.”

Tears rolled freely down your face, the endearment sending a shiver down your spine, the admission sparking a warm light within you again.

You met his gaze, your knees shaking slightly in weakness, threatening to give out as you feared what exactly you would see in his eyes.

You could melt right there when you were met with the same softness he always observed you with, a blue-green sea of wonder and love, tainted with reluctance and regret.

You pressed your lips together in effort to stop your jaw from quivering.

Regret you were more than familiar with; conflict, sorrow, self-pity, anger, resignation, shame… those were the other emotions which you guessed he could read on your face.

His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m not here to guilt trip you. Actually-“ Steve started again and finally, as his hand disappeared in the front pocket of the hoodie, you found your voice, interrupting him.

“I missed you too,” you sobbed, covering your mouth as soon as the pathetic sound left your lips.

Steve’s own lips parted in awe, his gaze somewhat lighting up with a new hearty emotion.

But once you started talking, finally, finally speaking up, the dam broke and the waterfall of words couldn’t be stopped.

“And I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry for shutting you off like that, you didn’t deserve that and you were probably in a small personal hell too, I don’t even know if your job was affected and how are doing and it’s not right, I wasn’t supposed to ignore all your calls and texts, I was supposed to-“

“-reach out when you’re ready,” he finished for you, completely differently than you had intended.

It shut you up effectively.

“Look… I understand. It was tough and it still is and if you want this to be the last time we ever talk-- then it will,” he rasped, his voice breaking towards the end of the sentence, your heart squeezing painfully at both the premise and at hearing him hurting.

God, how much he must have been hurting for the past few days and now he was talking about understanding you and forgiving you for ghosting him and still offering you an out and--- Jesus fucking Christ, you were going to drown in your own tears.

And Steve reached into that damn pocket again and even if you had no idea what was there, you had a hunch it was some kind of a gift – either a parting gift or something for your graduation and you simply couldn’t--- you didn’t care for some materialistic shit right now-

You just needed to feel him again.

Taking one single step at a lightning speed, you let the diploma case fall to the ground and threw your arms around Steve’s neck, burying your face in his chest, drawing a surprised huff from him.

A box dug into your stomach, the content of the front pocket, but you didn’t give a fuck.

Not when Steve’s arms sneaked around your waist and shoulder with no hesitation, engulfing you, his nose burying into your hair—and cursing when the cap got in his way.

You chuckled madly into his hoodie, your fingers clutching the fabric when his daring lips awkwardly found a way to your temple.

You felt like you were touched by an angel, delighted laughter that shook both of your entangled bodies ripping from your throat along with a sob.

“Shit, Steve, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much, please forgive me, please, please, please-“

“No way. Nothing to forgive-“

“Like hell it isn’t-“

“It hurt, but I get it. I truly do,” he whispered frantically, his hands moving to push you away just enough to frame your damp face with his big warm palms. “You just needed time to process what happened.”

You nodded and then lowered your gaze in shame – because you were incredibly embarrassed for your further cowardice, sobbing like a stupid five-year-old. “And then I—I was scared that you wouldn’t care anymore- that it was too late-“

God, now when you said it out loud, it sounded even more pathetic, but that was now, in his arms, when everything made so much more sense-

He shook his head, causing you to look up again just in time to see the flash of hurt in his brilliant irises disappearing. With a brief smile passing his lips, he held your face more firmly in attempt to maintain eye contact.

“No. It would take a whole lot more for me to stop caring and there still would be no guarantee it would work,” he promised, gaze so intense that you couldn’t but believe him, no matter how unreal his words sounded. “You are not what they called you and you are mine, as long as you want, because I love you. Okay? I love you, because yeah, I still think you’re really freaking amazing.”

You chuckled at his choice of words, your heart bursting with their message. The heavy burden resting upon your shoulders dropped at last – and you felt as light as a feather, bound to the man staring into your eyes as if they were the last thing he wanted to see should he turn blind the next second.

He still loved you. Steve still loved you and both your heart and mind were enamoured of him, overwhelmed with his declaration.

You were not good with your words – in fact, in that moment, you were certain you forgot all the words in English language and in every other language you had ever tried to learn too.

There was only one language left to use then; the universal one that could fit thousands of words into one single second.

You let go of Steve’s hoodie, grabbed his face instead and pulled, rising to your tiptoes in hope to reach his lips with yours.

Luckily for you, he got the message before you could pathetically kiss only the patch of skin under his chin and allowed you to move him as much as you wanted.

And by Gods, did you want, finally adding the fifth sense into the play. Taste. You missed how he tasted and how his beard scratched against your sensitive skin-

Your tears spiked your kiss with salt, but neither of your cared as you pushed through the seam of his lips, letting him know what you desired before passing on the lead to him, an open-mouthed kiss full of desire, longing and raw emotions causing you to forget all about your surroundings until a low wolf-whistle sounded on your right, bringing you back to reality.

You parted involuntarily, foreheads resting against each other, warm tears still rolling down your cheeks, but now getting lost in your content smiles.

“I love you, Steve. I love you and if you love me too, then we belong together and whoever thinks otherwise can shove their opinion where the sun doesn’t shine,” you echoed his words from almost a year ago, words that stuck with you, because they were true.

You and Steve, you were the ones who mattered. These were your lives, your relationship, and you had done nothing wrong.

Because you loved each other.

Steve’s mouth caught yours for a short moment, nothing but a nip at your lips – a silent agreement followed by a warm smile, mirroring your own.

“Will you let me give you a little something now?” he whispered, sounding slightly amused as that would be the third attempt that day and the urge to slap his arm for being cheeky felt like a surge of pure life into your veins. The familiarity made your heart sing.

You glanced up at him, retreating and eyed him from head to toe in an appreciative and yet teasing matter. “Haven’t you already? How do I unwrap you, mister?”

Steve chuckled and pulled out a rectangular box, holding it out for you.

“Here. Congratulation to your bachelor degree. And know that if you don’t like it, we can always pick something else.”

You were only human – and curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back and the curiosity was killing you now as well. You bit down on your lip, not quite succeeding at masking your excited smile; even if you weren’t exactly deserving of a gift from Steve at the moment, which he would probably argue with, you couldn’t deny that you were touched by the gesture and who were you kidding, you did enjoy receiving a gift. And it was your graduation ceremony, you deserved to celebrate in every way imaginable.

You carefully took the box from Steve, tender fingers caressing the bow stuck on top. Hesitating only a second, enjoying the brief intoxicating anticipation, you lifted the lid.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as you revealed the necklace.

The chain, probably silver, was very delicate, carrying a simply decorated heart with a winding line in the middle, as if the heart was broken. Despite the symbolism, you couldn’t but revel at its beauty.

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, unable to tear your gaze away from the jewellery, tears, dried at last, threatening to escape your eyes again. “This is… so beautiful. So much-“

You lifted your gaze, only to meet his twinkling eyes. “You like it?”

You nearly choked at the absurdity of the question. Liked it?

“Steve, it’s—like it? It’s breath-taking. You shouldn’t have- that’s-” Shit, this must have been so expensive- but you had seen it now and you loved it and you didn’t want to part with ever.  “-but I absolutely want to keep it now.”

Steve chuckled lightly at your antics, but you took no offence since you were being a bit greedy.

You reached out to brush the pendant with the softest of touches – and sucked a breath in fright when it fell apart, causing you to realize for the first time that the heart could be divided in two, each part having its own loop on the chain.

“Oh,” you let out in surprise, your mind racing. Now that definitely was symbolic. Not a broken heart. Two parts of one heart. “That’s… does this mean one half is for you?”

As you asked the question to make sure, you looked up to Steve’s face, only to find a blush creeping up his neck.

“Uhm… I mean-“

“That’s so cute! And cheesy. So sweet though! I guess we do fit…” you mused, a goofy smile from the swirl of emotions today a testimony of how mushy the lovely and meaningful gift turned you. Steve’s blush deepened, but a delighted smile spread on his lips, eyes soft, so you assumed he was simply happy you liked it. “And we do complete each other.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve whispered, clasping your free hand in his, caressing tenderly before bringing it to his lips and dropping a barely-there kiss on its back.

“Would you wear it?” you queried, slightly nervous. “One of the halves I mean.”

It might have been his idea, but did you read him correctly?

“If that’s what you want. Give me your half and keep mine,” he offered, one corner of his lips higher in a cheeky and yet tender smile.

“You got a deal, Stevie. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. I was going to give you a key to the apartment officially, kneel on one knee and all that-“

“WHAT?!”

He wanted to do what?!

“-to ask you if you want to move in permanently, but I understand that we’ve been through a lot, you’ve been through a lot, so while the offer stands, I don’t want you to feel pressured or-“

Oh really? Then why did he even tell you about it?

Your heart felt like beating its way out of your chest, the widest grin spreading on your lips. Staring at Steve as he was stuttering, you couldn’t decide whether he was nervous about asking, trying his luck, or was teasing you, knowing all too well what you were about to say.

Oh god, your head was spinning, again-

“Yes!” you blurted out before you could think twice, shocking the stammering mess of Steve into silence.

“Really?!” he shot back in awe, his lips left parted in genuine surprise – and his expression was pure relief.

“Yes. If you mean it – and God help you if you don’t-“ And you were serious, if he was messing with you now— he wouldn’t, right? Steve wouldn’t joke about such important topic, about your life together.

“Of course I mean it-”

You squealed, closing the box you had nearly dropped in shock and hugged Steve as tight as you could, causing him to huff for the second time that day. Oh you were never letting go of him!

The crowd you entirely forgot about cheered and you jumped away from Steve as if burned, horrified that they had been following your reconciliation and displays of love this whole time-

And then you noticed the graduation caps in the air, a tradition celebrating the success of your year. You grinned at the image, catching Steve’s gaze.

“Go on,” he encouraged you, mirroring your grin when you reached for the square cap, swinging and sending it high in the air.

A yelp escaped you as you found yourself in the air as well in a blink of an eye, nestled in Steve’s arms as he laughed madly, pure delight shining from his eyes; and love. So much love.

You barely caught the cap, not really caring for it when in the arms of your man. You dropped a kiss to his lips, earning one in return and a few more, as you couldn’t get enough for each other after such a long time apart and so much unnecessary heartbreak.

You rested your foreheads against each other, tender meetings of lips, brushes of noses-

Steve winced and hissed in pain, causing you to withdraw and frown as you studied his face.

“Sorry, just… my nose…” he mumbled, seemingly embarrassed, “...tender.”

“From…?” you questioned, absolutely baffled. Steve sighed, but just one glare from you told him that you were not letting it go. You didn’t want him in any pain – you both lived through more enough of it in the past few days.

“Bucky punched me.”

“What?!” you blurted out, shocked to the core, and you braced yourself on Steve’s shoulders, your gaze automatically flickering through the crowd to find the culprit.

Why the heck would Bucky-

“Long story, tell you later,” Steve promised with a peck to your lips, signalling that the conversation was over. For now.

You had better things to do after all. So you only smiled in agreement – you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for some reason.

Wonder what that could be? Maybe because it finally feels like today is a win?

“I’m sure you will.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦- Bonus: -◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

It was the day after her own graduation when the blond was sitting on a park bench, light summer dress with cherry blossoms gently swirling around her knees, absentmindedly swiping through the apps on her phone, looking up every now and then to smile at the image of families enjoying the weather and freedom of summer.

She merely paused in her idly actions when the redhead woman she was waiting for seated herself next to her on the other end, sliding an envelope with a promised reward her way.

“As promised,” the redhead said disinterestedly, barely on a lower volume than a normal conversation would be and tugged a loose strand of her hair behind her sunglasses. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The blond smiled softly, reaching for the envelope and subtly hid it in her purse. “Same. It was rather fun, actually.”

This time, a smile broke on the redhead’s lips as well, cocky, satisfied, but by any means false.

“Well, I heard you’re staying for your master’s. You contact Danvers if you want any more of that fun, da?”

“You better count on that, Rushman.”

“It’s Romanoff, actually,” the redhead smirked, side-eyeing the blond as she rose to her feet again, ready to go where her orders would take her. She spent one more glance at the other woman though; she had carried out her task perfectly, in a way that seem very natural. She’d make a good addition to their growing team and since Natasha was anything but unpolite… “Looking forward to working with you in the future, Carter.”

Sharon Carter felt a surge of pride and couldn’t but return the courtesy before the woman would walk away from her life for god knew how long.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

Attached: Words Lost in Translation 

S.R.masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading ♥ We’re over 40k into the series, so thank you if you stuck around :-*

Lemme know your thoughts?

You might have noticed a to-be link for another addition to the Attached series called Words Lost in Translation. It’s more of an idea in my head, very little of the actual story written, but it will hopefully involve a bit jealousy… and smut. Just FYI.

Stay happy and safe!

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

A Truth In Your Eyes (saying you’ll never leave me)

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Not Rated (it’s just fucking fluff, y’all!) Notes: There were a few people that were pretty stoked about my first attempt in this universe, so I decided to put out another part. If you haven’t read You Say It Best, you should probably give that one a shot first!  Word Count: 4.4k Warnings: this is the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. Tony does describe a bit of anxiety, though - tread carefully if that’s something that triggers you!  Summary: 

After Peter is careless with his words, Tony is left feeling a little anxious about the stability of things between them. The philharmonic concert he planned to attend doesn't really help - but Peter is there to pick up some of the pieces.

Or - the one where Peter does a little damage control.

Read it on AO3 here

“I sometimes wish you could just hear like everyone else. It’d make things so much easier.”

Despite not being able to actually hear the words, each one rattled inside his head like active bombs just seconds away from going off.

They were dangerous – the type of thing that haunted Tony his entire life; from the halls of school where he struggled daily, to the comfort of his own home growing up. Everyone wished to change him, whether for their own convenience or the ease of being around him – people were always attempting.

Yet, when he met Peter Parker, Tony finally felt like he met someone who could understand him, regardless of the barrier that existed between them. For the first time in his life, Tony wanted to believe that hearing and non-hearing didn’t matter – there was a place where they both could exist in the same realm.

Then, those dreaded words slipped out of Peter’s lips so carelessly – the man not even cognizant of what kind of impact they were going to have.

They were so, so, so careless.

And, as happy as Tony was that Peter came to his senses, his heart still hurt. There wasn’t any way around that feeling – not when his idealistic thought about their relationship was so easily obliterated.

To be completely fair, Peter wasn’t even aware of Tony’s anxiety. There’d been many conversations about Tony and his experience with learning to speak and finding a way to bridge whatever gap existed between himself and another person – Peter seemed interested in all the parts and pieces, even.

After so much discussion and dissection of his experiences, Tony figured the apprehension could remain unspoken, yet understood. He so desperately wanted Peter to understand him – so, some of the hurt stemmed from that glaringly obvious barrier that still existed, no matter how much he wished it otherwise.

Over the last few weeks since Peter came back, Tony spent a lot of time thinking about their time together – the interactions that he treasured so much.

He fondly remembered their first conversation about his deafness – the adorable worry on Peter’s face when he stuttered out the question.

“So, have you always been deaf?”

Tony grinned at him then, his cheeks already warm from the intensity of the smile beaming from his face. The forwardness of Peter’s form of conversation always made him feel a little giddy – while most people hopped around him and tried to navigate murky waters with finesse, Peter barreled on, his idea of asking for forgiveness over permission totally charming.

“Yeah, I have,” Tony replied, his fingers moving through the signs before his brain remembered to add in the spoken word, too. At that time, they hadn’t been together all that long, so the fluent ASL still brought a ‘deer in the headlights’ look to Peter’s adorably rosy cheeks. It took a lot more thinking than Tony usually liked, but the man across from him seemed worth it.

“Both of my parents are hearing – they weren’t even aware I couldn’t hear until I was 3. I hadn’t started talking and did all my communication through gestures. I learned to sign first, then when my dad couldn’t pick it up, I started speech therapy.” He waited a beat, his heart pounding a little bit in anticipation for the words yet to come.

“Speaking makes people more comfortable. Recognizing that we at least have that in common allows me to have a much more genuine conversation than if I just read lips and typed on my phone.”

Peter looked at him with such awe in the minutes to follow his little tangent – his brown eyes were wide and complexly interested; there were probably a million thoughts running through his mind at the time. They were quiet while Peter looked at him and absorbed all of the things Tony said and managed to get out without really saying, too.

Reaching a hand across the table, Peter slipped their fingers together – the touch both soothing and reassuring. After the short time they’d been together at that point, Tony came to rely on the physical communication between them just as much as any other. He let himself relax a little, the usual anxiety leaving him with each dragged out breath.

“I want to make conversing with you as easy as possible, baby. Will you teach me ASL? Enough for us to talk to each other, at least? I’m a pretty quick learner.” Peter looked at him so earnestly – the words and gesture both so fucking genuine.

Tony delightfully recalled the way warmth spread from the center of his chest to every inch of his being, his fingers and toes on fire from those beautiful words – even now, after so much time and the little bit of hurt. Peter was careless, that much was certain; but he wasn’t heartless – his attempt to bridge the gap between them proved to be genuine time and time again.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tony forced himself away from his reminiscent thoughts – he’d been sitting in his seat in the audience waiting for the concert to start for a while now; long enough for his thoughts to run wild and so far away from him. If he didn’t’ force himself back to the present, he could easily miss out on Peter’s entire performance.

While stuck in his thoughts, Tony missed the room filling up – most of the seats that were once empty around him were entirely full, even the two down from his own. Tony took a second to reprimand himself for the negligence – one of his keys to success stemmed from the fact that he paid attention to everything… at all times.

Except lately – over the past few weeks, Tony found himself struggling a little harder than usual to stay present; especially with people outside of his little bubble. Usually, public gatherings weren’t too much of a hardship, but tonight – tonight, Tony was struggling.

Luckily, the lights were lowering as Tony came back to himself – the many people in the audience settling down with the reduced lighting. Most concert goers understood crowd etiquette – the when, where, and how things were conducted played a part in the whole experience.

Sitting up a little straighter in his chair, Tony let his eyes roam across the stage until he found Peter amongst the crowd of shiny instruments and stuffy individuals wrapped up in starchy, unmoving tuxedos. Though he too was stuck in such an outfit, Peter stood out – his wavy hair glistened under the lighting – his confidence radiating off of him in waves that only Tony could see.

The sight brought a smile to his face; even though he wouldn’t be able to hear a single thing his boyfriend played, Tony could clearly see how talented he was – Peter’s skill existed in every part of him, not just the sound he happened to produce.

After a short introduction from the conductor, the performance was on its way. They opened with a steady piece, the vibrations starting out minimal, then gaining pace until the ultimate crescendo peaked to end it all. The last few notes hung in the room, each person within Tony’s view completely captivated already.

For most of the performance, Tony tried his best to pick out Peter’s parts – with the combined visual cues and the learned feeling, he felt successful about half of the time. By the last few songs, Tony’s brain felt fatigued – Peter’s winks and affectionate looks between pieces the only thing really keeping him in it at all.

The last piece ended with a loud (even to Tony) sea of applause that filled up the entire room. To blend in with the crowd, Tony stood up with the rest of his row, his hands coming together to mimic the claps around him. He copied the behavior until it was clear for him to vacate the row.

His feet couldn’t carry him backstage fast enough.

Tony flashed the security guard his badge (the man fondly known as Little Ed shot him a soft smile as he did). Throughout his time with Peter, Tony learned the layout of their performance space and easily found him, his boyfriend delightfully flushed from the still flowing adrenaline of a job well done.

Brown eyes caught him before Tony could make it over to Peter physically – Peter’s stare stopping him in his tracks for a moment. The look never failed to knock him back, Tony completely smitten with the dark pupiled gaze, Peter’s nonverbal communication increasing tenfold since the first time they locked eyes like this. Without saying anything, Tony knew Peter was grateful for his presence, that seeing him right after such a big success made him just as happy as the performance itself.

Grinning, Tony narrowed the space between them, his arms wrapping around Peter’s waist the second they were within touching distance. He nuzzled his nose into Peter’s neck, the silent ‘hello’ exactly what he needed after so much artificial noise buzzing around in his head. After placing a small kiss to salty skin, Tony pulled away, a soft smile on his face.

“You were amazing,” Tony signed, his voice inaccessible to him after so much earlier strain. He trusted Peter’s ASL skill, anyway – they’d been working hard over the last few weeks to make the man completely conversational.

Peter didn’t disappoint, his handsome face breaking into a happy grin, the edges of his mouth actually reaching his eyes. He let a hand brush against Tony’s suit jacket clad shoulder, the touch brief, yet reassuring.

“Thank you,” Peter replied, his fingers touching his chin in the recognizable sign. “It’s so nice to have you in the crowd. It’s like everyone else fades away and it’s just you and me. I really like that.”

Tony smiled shyly, his eyes watching Peter’s lips form those last words with interest. He quickly recalled the last time he saw them, their skin much more flush and sticky then – both totally sated in the afterglow. The blush on his cheeks deepened, his smile turning into a smirk.

“I really like you.” Tony palmed Peter’s cheek as he spoke, his voice suddenly finding its way out of his throat.

Peter wrapped him up in a sudden hug, his arms squashing Tony to his chest. Since their little reunion a few weeks ago, Peter seemed hell bent on making up for it – whether it was through more diligent signing or an abundance of physical contact, Peter doubled his efforts – the try in his behavior apparent.

Letting a sigh slip through his lips, Tony felt himself relax into the contact. He appreciated the effort – there really wasn’t anything like the feeling of being in Peter’s arms. Yet, he wondered if it was just an attempt to win Tony back over, or if it was truly how things were going to go from now on.

He realized after Peter’s walk out, just how tangible being left behind actually was. It wasn’t as if he didn’t think about it before – every time they struggled to be on the same page, Tony found himself thinking how much easier it would be for Peter to be with someone else – someone that didn’t struggle to reciprocate… someone that, well – could hear.

When things were good between them, it was easy to brush off.

Ever since their falling out, though, Tony found it harder to just push to the side. If a little bit of annoyance could drag such careless words from Peter’s mouth, what would the long haul look like for them? Was it even worth it for Peter? Would there ever truly be a future for Tony’s deafness and Peter’s hearing to cohabitate successfully? So much fear sat in the pit of his stomach, so many unknowns and questions unanswered – Tony was already so damn overcome by love and near acceptance, losing Peter wasn’t something he ever wanted to do.

Fear and apprehension weren’t things Tony wanted to carry around with him, especially where Peter was concerned. Despite that want, Tony couldn’t stop himself from fretting or feeling anxious. Times like that very moment, when Peter wrapped him up in strong arms, they kept things at bay – but, only just barely.

Pulling away from Peter’s hug, Tony gave his boyfriend a little space – his sheet music and taken apart saxophone still sat on the table next to them, his presence obviously slowing down the cleaning up process. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The quicker we get to that after party, the quicker we’ll be able to leave.”

Peter shot him a smirk, then went about deconstructing his mouthpiece, the reed lovingly placed in its protector, then slotted into its spot in the case. Everything Peter did was precise, the movement of his hands hypnotic – Tony finding himself completely glued to them more often times than not.

Blinking the unnecessary distraction away, he turned his back to his boyfriend, cutting off any further means of communication for the time being.

Tony put Peter’s sheet music away, his eidetic memory allowing him to remember the order it usually existed in. With that done, Tony slipped it into Peter’s bag, grabbed the saxophone case from Peter’s hand, and offered up his arm for Peter to take. The weight in the crook of his elbow was comforting, the affection something Tony knew he’d need to get through the next step of their forced social adventure.

They took the extra time needed to get Peter’s instrument into the car, the few stolen minutes together some of the last they would get until obligations were fulfilled and the right people were spoken to. As much as he wanted to be by Peter’s side throughout the entire ordeal, Tony couldn’t keep up with everything – too many people to tune into and too much noise to navigate made it incredibly difficult to be anything but a bother.

Which is how Tony found himself in the corner, desperately attempting to escape conversation with the masses. He followed Peter around for a while, catching a few names here and there, exchanging the necessary hellos – then bowed out as quickly as he could. If he weren’t already in a state of anxiety, he probably would have tried to hold on a little tighter to the forced interactions. But, he couldn’t do it – not when his head was buzzing and every second he attempted to lip read felt like trudging through sludge – every exchange between himself and another person the heaviest burden.

He grabbed a flute of champagne and let himself relax against the wall, hazel eyes flitting between all of the different people occupying the space. The musicians were easy to pick out, they were still sporting the matching penguin suits. Stiff members of the upper echelon of New York society also stuck out like a sore thumb – there were only a select few that would jazz themselves up to the nines to attend a concerto. The random few (himself included) flitted in and out of recognition. Some were there with other musicians, and some seemed happy just to be in attendance, regardless of their standing.

As the minutes passed, Tony felt his head starting to buzz more intensely than before. After such a long day, he couldn’t decide if it was because the long use of his hearing aids, or the overwhelming nature of being in a crowd for an extended duration of time. Unlike Peter, Tony didn’t do much of his life surrounded by lots of people. The small five person dinners they sometimes hosted were a bit much – a huge room of people, all of which were talking non-stop, bordered on impossible.

Depositing his glass on the nearest flat surface, Tony reached up to fiddle with his hearing aids. He knew, the second he switched them off, the rest of the world would be blissfully silent – and yet, at the same time, his ability to communicate with it would be severely diminished. Despite the fact that he’d been mainstream his entire life, reading lips and keeping up with multiple people talking at the same time was not easy; and never would be.

Knowing what he knew, nimble fingers still moved to shut off the hearing devices, their assistance no longer anything but taxing and somewhat debilitating.

Peter must’ve seen him struggling – in the next second, Tony had a hand on his elbow, the comforting squeeze of familiar fingers grounding him, despite the small scare the touch provided. There was concern written all over his face, the small little crease between his brows both cute and reassuring. His hand moved to find Tony’s cheek, soft skin against soft skin.

“Are you okay? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn those off in public before,” Peter signed, his fingers pointing at the hearing aids in his ears. “This crowd must be a lot.”

Tony allowed himself to lean into Peter’s touch, the overwhelming feeling he tried to bottle up throughout the night finally coming to the surface under the affectionate care. Ducking his head, Tony rested his forehead against Peter – breaths intermingling. He sucked in a big lungful of oxygen, the smell of Peter’s cologne a familiar entity that helped to stop him from jumping over the preverbal cliff he felt perched over throughout the evening.

“I’m struggling, Pete – I’m not going to lie. This whole night has been a lot. All the sound, all the people. I just can’t keep up.” He signed each of the words, the idea of speaking without the help of his hearing aids one he didn’t even want to process. Tony was thankful Peter was paying close attention to him – the crowd not giving him any trouble at all.

The hand on his cheek shifted again, Peter’s long fingers sinking into the grown out hair at the back of his neck. Tony felt his eyes close, the world around them melted away with every pass of blunt fingernails against the surface of his scalp. With his eyes closed, it truly felt like it was only him and Peter – the bubble of silence so fucking nice after all the stress.

Peter continued to pet him until Tony opened his eyes again. The soft smile he found on Peter’s face made his heart race, his own grin settling over his lips for what felt like the first time all day. A swift tug to his hair signaled Peter’s retreat, his boyfriend using his hands to sign at him, instead.

“I think I’ve been here long enough. What do you think about heading home and ordering some take out? I could go for some pho.” Peter exaggerated the last sign, his lips making a round ‘O’ that he dragged out.

And despite being so entirely wrung out, Tony couldn’t stop the laugh that wormed its way out – Peter knew how to make him feel better, without really even trying. His ability to know what Tony needed just by simply looking at him reminded Tony of the reason he felt the need to trust Peter in the first place. He didn’t always class it up the best, but he delivered seamlessly, regardless.

Nodding, Tony stepped into Peter’s space, wrapping his arms around slim shoulders to bring him in close. He held him tightly for a moment, just long enough to absorb Peter’s heat, then let him go. “That sounds good – thank you.”

It took them a few minutes to actually make their excuses and get out of the concert hall, but they were soon on their way – Tony tucked into Peter’s side as they made quick work of the space between the building and the parking lot. Still feeling a bit off balance, Tony clung to Peter with every step; vulnerability oozed from him and for the moment, he didn’t really give a shit.

They made it back to Peter’s place twenty minutes later – both of them slipping out of their suits and into soft matching flannel pajama pants they cheesily wore during the holiday’s a couple months before. It felt good to be wrapped up in the small comforts, the companionship between himself and Peter tangible in all sorts of ways.

There wasn’t any talking while they got settled. Peter ordered their food without having to ask Tony what he wanted. While Peter took care of their eats, Tony set up the latest episode of Peaky Blinders, the closed captions on and ready to go.

The simplicity of one of their typical routines let all the surrounding anxiety melt away from Tony – the only thing left the ease of the environment he inhabited with his favorite person.

Peter made his presence in the living room known with a swift touch to Tony’s shoulder, his fingers settling on the back of his neck. Turning, Tony shot him a soft smile, his hand gracing Peter’s hip before shifting to sign.

“You really were great tonight, Pete. I love watching you play.” He finished the last sign with a soft touch to Peter’s cheek. “I sometimes wish I could hear like everyone else, too.”

Moving quickly, Peter gripped Tony’s cheeks, the move drawing Tony’s attention immediately.

“I should have never said that. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Your eyes never left me – each song, it was like I was playing to you and you alone. It’s the most intimate playing experience I’ve ever had, Tony. You don’t need to hear me – you get me. That’s more than enough.”

Not really knowing how much he needed to be told that, Tony felt chest getting a little tighter. It didn’t occur to him that his anxiety that evening circled around the feeling of not knowing how secure things with Peter really were. He forgave him his words weeks ago – they were careless and they both understood that. Maybe he didn’t let go of the feeling those words created within him as easily, though; the whispers of them still haunting him.  

Sighing, Tony leaned forward and pressed their lips together. “I know. I really do. I just – I’m feeling anxious. I was so sure that you just sort of understood me. And you do. I know that, too. It just – broke me a little. You saying what you did. Are you going to be able to handle this,” Tony signed, pausing to gesture between them, “years down the road? I’m always going to be deaf. I’m always going to have nights like tonight. I love you, Pete. I don’t want to lose you.”

The seconds between the words sitting in the space between them and Peter’s response felt like years – Tony’s heart thudded against his chest, each beat like lead running through his veins. It wasn’t an ultimatum, per say – he wasn’t laying down a this or that, but the answer was important all the same. He already went down the rabbit hole of falling in love and depending on the man in front of him. In all of his life, Tony didn’t want anything else in this world more than a future with Peter.

There was so much potential – their relationship consisted of so many components; friendship, love, intimacy – all of the important variables for long lasting companionship and happiness.

At the same time, there were room for complications, too. Especially if there wasn’t a certain kind of commitment that came with living with a person with a disability. Accommodations would always need to be made, whether it be in their method of communication or the environment of whatever home they lived in.

They could do it – he knew they could. And even better yet, he wanted to; more than anything, he wanted to make a real go at things with Peter, even more so than they already were.

Peter returned the kiss after many seconds of silent contemplation. He let the lip to lip contact linger, Tony soaking up the touch, letting the flare of want and contentment surge through him. Brown eyes stayed on Tony as Peter created space, his hands moving to sign.

“It’s a lot – the future. What’s going to happen, where I might be. The only thing I know for sure is that I want you there with me. I was really thoughtless, wasn’t I? Saying what I said.” Peter stopped then, his right hand grabbing Tony’s while the other rubbed circles across his own chest – the sign for sorry making Tony smile lightly. He didn’t need to nod his head for Peter to know the answer to his question – the simple fact that they were having this conversation at all spoke volumes.

After a quick squeeze, Peter dropped Tony’s hand, his fingers moving to sign again. “I’m not going to say that the challenges were going to face aren’t scary – because they are. I’ll probably get it wrong most of the time, but I’m willing to try. I want to, even. This, what we have, it’s it for me.”

Not really sure where they came from, Tony was surprised to feel tears dripping down his cheeks. He couldn’t remember welling up or feeling the incessant need to let stuff out that usually prefaced the times he cried. Yet, there they were, flowing freely down to his chin – the path of which Peter quickly followed with his thumb.

It felt like a catharsis – the sort of cleansing of anger and anxiety that Tony wasn’t aware he needed until halfway in it. Instead of freaking like he did so many times before when emotions became too big, Tony let them go, the soft touch of Peter’s hand on his skin helping to relax him even further. For once, it felt good to let go – to rid his system of the terrible shit he kept inside because there wasn’t anywhere else for it to be.

Except – not anymore. As evidenced by this very moment, Peter could take on some of his burden, he could hold Tony up when everything might’ve gone to shit before.

“I want that, too,” Tony finally managed to reply. He felt completely overcome and suddenly drained of all energy. All of the emotions from what felt like his entire life were exorcised – the wash of tears the physical manifestation of it. Now, all Tony wanted to do was crawl into Peter’s arms and simply exist – no barriers or hard feelings between them.

Apart from detangling to bring the food into the apartment, Tony spent the rest of the night in that exact way – wrapped up in Peter’s embrace without a care in the world.

[kazuwhora]

hey kc my boo thang <333 it's valentina!! and im here to request a tokrev matchup hehe

my pronouns are she/her, i am in 2w3 and an enfp! my big three are aqua sun, then a pisces moon and rising! my venus and mars r in sag if that also helps.

sooo abt me so okay so. i'm a huge extrovert and i need to talk to people at all times, even if it ends up damaging me in some way. i tend to overshare a lot and i am a huge crybaby. i'm quite loud and all and it doesn't take long for me to get along with people unless i feel intimidated. im very loyal, like too loyal lol and tend to ignore people's flaws. a big big big part of me includes music. i listen to a lot of it, all day, everyday. one of my favorite bands is deftones! but i listen a fuckton of genre. like a fuckton. emphasis on fuckton.

my hobbies include writing, drawing (even though i suck cheeks + im currently in school for art), and honestly? i don't do a whole lot due to chronic fatigue. i love love love shopping as well

i do not know my love language TT but if i had to guess it would be gifting! my preferred love language though is physical affection

my type would be a guy that's either kinda fucking goofy tbh, a tease, a meanie, who likes to bother me a lot but like in a nice way ya dig? like he needs to be funny or it aint finna work. but i also really enjoy acts of maturity, that shows me that he is well put together and can keep me in check. he needs to be very understanding since i have lots of mental problems lol so. that's that. i also like to be spoiled so if he could do that? id be absolutely head over heels. they also need to be able to handle clinginess, since im very clingy

some trivia includes the fact that i am terrified of most bugs, i am on heavy on the asexual spectrum i believe, i HATE solitude with my entire being and my favorite anime is soul eater! i also hate gore/gory stuff and horror films.

pls ignore any typos i got rly excited lol

HI BABY ONCE AGAIN I OWE YOU MY WHOLE LIFE AND MY ENTIRE SOUL FOR TAKING FIVE FUCKING YEARS TO GET TO THIS ANYTHING YOU WANT I WILL SERVE YOU HAND AND FOOT PLEASE LOVE ME

RAN RAN RAN RAN RAN like realistically ran. ik ran is typed as an introvert but theres no fucking way that man is an introvert and idc what anyone says I wont have any of it. ran is an extrovert and he's the type of extrovert that just blends really well with the way you choose to interact with people. he's the type to be completely enamoured by the way you see people and the way you crave interactions even if it means ignoring people's flaws when you get close. but the thing is, ran isn't the type to take advantage of this either. is he a little off his rocker? yeah, what abt it. it doesn't matter bc he would NEVER DREAM of manipulating you or doing anything to hurt you. I think deep down ran is a little cynical and hides it with the allure of his pillowy airy personality, and being with someone (especially an xnfp) who can be comfortable oversharing, being a crybaby, and also putting up with his antics? dream come true.

but also ran is a massive fucking meanie but in the sweetest way. he's a simp at heart but he doesn't like to go down without a fight. he bothers you, annoys you, pisses you off, but all with love. all so he can watch you get frustrated and annoyed only to soften when you look at him because how could anyone deny his charm?? he knows he can get away with things and that's the one thing he'll take advantage of in the relationship. he also loves that you're clingy, and though he wont admit it in words, it gives him a rush of adrenaline knowing you love him THAT much.

also sorry but ran wont do shit about bugs. he is also terrified of bugs. murder? no problem. bug murder? no fucking way.

[keanureevesisbae]

The Tran-Cavill Grandkids

Henry = 79 / Olivia = 70 / Vanessa = 47 / Elodie = 40 / Heather and Chloe are 36

Olivia: We have 8 grandchildren. It has been sixteen years since I first became a grandmother, but I still have to get used to it.

Henry: I love being a granddad. I love everything about it, especially when they all come over and we have seventeen people over.

Oliver (16)

Olivia: Oliver is Chloe’s and Joon Ki’s first son and our oldest grandson. Chloe was still in college and scared out of her mind when she found out she was pregnant. I stayed over in her dorm from her twenty fifth week of pregnancy to the thirtieth, since poor thing was suffering from a lot of panic attacks and because of their different schedules, Joon Ki and her friends couldn’t be there for her. I forgot how disgusting those dorms were. After that, she took online classes, because she was really fatigued and uncomfortable. She stayed at our place again up until the birth.

Henry: When Oliver was born, my life stopped for a moment. I was officially a granddad. I mean, I always knew I wanted to become a father, but a granddad… I never really thought that far into the future. But Oliver is such a wonderful young man. Takes his job as the oldest grandchild very seriously.

Olivia: He comes over a lot, since our house is on the route when he goes home after school. He helps us with some chores or just comes over to drink some tea with us. Oliver even offers to do groceries for us every Saturday.

Dylan (14)

Henry: Dylan is Vanessa’s and Trey’s first son. We were delighted that we were going to be grandparents of two boys. However, it was pretty hard for Vanessa and that absolutely broke my heart. My poor girl was in a lot of pain and discomfort and there was nothing I could do about it.

Olivia: Vanessa became dehydrated pretty early on in her pregnancy, forcing her to quit her job. I actually quit my job too, because I realized that I needed to be there for her. 

Henry: Finally, after all those years of her saying that just because I am rich, doesn’t mean she should stop working. 

Olivia: Anyways, my poor baby was really out of it and I moved in with her and Trey for a while, because they obviously needed to prepare a lot for the arrival of their little boy. So Henry and Trey decorated the entire nursery, while Vanessa and I tried to come up with a birth plan, me telling her about the whole giving birth thing and how scary it can be. We even went to a few therapy sessions, simply to put her mind at ease.

Henry: However, Dylan was born ten weeks too early and it was a trying time for all of us. We spend so much time in the NICU. Thankfully the entire family stepped in to help Vanessa and Trey out. Dylan was a pretty weak baby, also really tiny and had troubles eating. Though he was sick and tired pretty often, he grew out to be such an amazing kid, who understands the limits he has and despite that, still manages to participate in certain sports. We are so proud of him. 

Megan (9)

Olivia: It took five years before Vanessa got pregnant again and thankfully this pregnancy was easier on her. We were so excited when we found out she was pregnant with a little girl! Our first granddaughter. Megan is such a bright young lady. When she was four, she saw a picture of Henry having a tea parties with her aunts when they were around her age. The next time she came over, she brought a dress and her cups and saucers and forced Henry to partake. 

Henry: I thought those days were over, but I’m a push over and I couldn’t say no to her. Megan is such a happy go lucky kid, with the most infectious giggle. I remember when she was a baby, she started to giggle and didn’t stop. Nowadays, she can just stare at you, before bursting out in a fit of giggles. She also forces me to dance with her, but thankfully every Tran-Cavill girl tells her that it’s for the best that I don’t dance.

Jake (8)

Henry: Jake is Chloe’s second second and that is one special kid. He was already dancing in the womb, according to the sonographer. I think he was only two months when I was playing some music in the background and Jake was in his seat. He started to move his arms right on the beat!

Olivia: He is now going to dance classes and I have to say: that kid knows how dance. He can appear to be a bit more introverted, isn’t really in your face when they come over to visit. All in all, he is a pretty timid kid, but the second he hears music or is on a stage, he dances his heart out. So amazingly talented! When he visits, he always gives us little previews of the dances he taught in class. 

Kiki (4)

Henry: Heather was never the type of woman that dated. She was always more focused on her own career. It did shock me when she told us that she got pregnant and that she had to tell her boyfriend about it, since we all had no clue that she was even dating someone. Not even her own twin sister knew! 

Olivia: What a fucking doorknob that guy was. Heather wanted me to join her, when she would tell this Tom dude she was pregnant. Turns out she really is a daughter of mine, because she found herself a man that is the spitting image of Wesley, appearance wise and personality wise. He got so mad when she told him and even had the audacity to tell Heather that she got knocked up by someone else. He really wasn’t hiding the fact that he was an idiot, because he told my sweet Heather all that, when I was right next to her! Long story short, I broke them up, slapped Tom in the face and threatened to kill him if he ever sought out to her or the baby.

Henry: That’s my girl.

Olivia: But Heather is a real trooper and manages to take care of Kiki just fine. Thankfully we love her dearly and didn’t kick her out, because she got pregnant out of wedlock (like my parents and brothers did). We are the go to baby sitter for Kiki and it’s so much fun to pick her up from school. It reminds me of the times that we would pick up our own girls from school.

Henry: Kiki is such a happy go lucky little girl. She is a ray of sunshine and we are so lucky and grateful that she is in our lives and that that idiot Tom is not. I fear the day that I run into him, because I will throw him in front of a bus. Accidentally of course.

Olivia: Henry, honey, remember: you’re nearing the ripe age of eighty. What if you break a hip or your wrist?

Lewis (14)

Olivia: So, Katie, Elodie’s wife, used to teach English in Secondary school, but after she lost her job, since her school had to close, she became a substitute for three months at another school. That’s where she met nine year old Lewis. According to her, he was a shy kid, but every day after school, he’d linger around the classroom and talked to Katie. He would help her out with cleaning up, make his homework and often they would walk out of the school together.

Henry: Unfortunately she had to leave after three months and according to her, it was pretty hard leaving Lewis. Two weeks after she left the school, she got a call in the middle of the night. The principal of that school informed her that Lewis was removed from his home by the police. The neighbors called it in, since they heard the abuse going on. Later on, it turned out that Lewis was the victim of abuse on a daily basis. He lingered in Katie’s class room to postpone the moment of going home to his father. He was in desperate need of someone who would take him into emergency foster care.

Olivia: However the only person he wanted to stay with, was Katie, so she and Elodie took him in. It was supposed to be for a week, but a week turned into a month and after a nasty trial, they officially adopted Lewis on his tenth birthday!

Henry: I remember him coming over for the first time. Maybe it was a bit mean to let him meet everyone at once, but despite his nerves, he managed quite well. Now we know Lewis as such a hardworking young man, who desperately tries to help others and makes sure that they can reach their full potential.  

Stella (8)

Olivia: Elodie and Katie got into foster care a whole lot more seriously after they adopted Lewis and three years ago, they had to foster Stella, who had lost both of her parents in a tragic accident and there wasn’t anyone that could care for her. I remember Elodie and Katie having a bit of trouble with Stella, because she would lock herself up in her room and not talk to anyone.

Henry: It was hard, but Lewis swooped right in and the two of them had such long conversations. I think it was because of him that Stella opened up to her moms, but also to the rest of the family. She and Lewis are definitely partners in crime. She is quite something. Very mischievous and sneaky. She loves to scare people, hiding behind doors, but she doesn’t do it to us (thankfully), because she is afraid will scare ourselves a heart attack. So considerate. 

Olivia: In a lot of ways she reminds me of Vanessa. She is very eloquent and uses fancy words to throw you off guard. I love taking her out with me, because, just like Vanessa, she “whispers" something to you (most likely she’s gossiping), but the people she is talking about, can always hear it. I know I shouldn’t condone this, but I love the faces of the people when they hear Stella say: ‘Grandma, why is that woman wearing those shoes? The straps are too tight. She looks like a ham.’

Henry: You allow that? You should discipline her.

Olivia: I have been raising kids since I was twenty three and I always made sure to discipline them. Now that I’m a grandma, I can let it slide for a few times.

Charlotte (2)

Henry: And last but not least, little Charlotte. They fostered her since she was a year and officially adopted her six months ago. We don’t know exactly what happened to her, since she was abandoned at around nine months. No one actually knows what her exact age is, let alone her birthday. 

Olivia: It’s such a shame that something this horrendous could happen to such a precious little bean. She is, despite the things that happened to her, a lovely young girl, who kind of reminds me a lot of Elodie. A bit shy, a bit quiet and not a smiler.

Henry: Definitely not a smiler to strangers at all, but when she does… She’s so precious. Lewis and Stella are really good with her as well. These two were made to be older siblings. I can’t wait to see what kind of girl Charlotte becomes!

◎◎◎

Olivia: We are so blessed with our beautiful grandchildren and it’s my goal to become at least a hundred years old, so I can see every single one of them at least graduate!

Henry: And I want to hold my great-grandchild, so yeah, I agree, my love. We should become at least a hundred years old.

Taglist: @thelastsock​ // @flhorah​ // @sausagefest1996​ // @laufeysodinson​ // @xxxkatxo​ // @memoriesat30​ // @henrythickcavill​ // @crimsonrae​ // @henryobsessed // @madbaddic7ed​ // @summersong69​ // @lyrafraiser​ // @peakygroupie​ // @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ // @mary-ann84​ // @thereisa8ella​ //@crazyandanonymous4u // @xuxszx​ // @emmaofgreengabbles​ // @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​ // @onlyhenrys // @omgkatinka​ // @oddsnendsfanfics​ // @speakerforthedead0 // @agniavateira // @gearhead66 // @chamomilebottom // @diegos-butt // @yoyoanaria // 

[yzkhr]

Since today's my birthday, what better way to celebrate than torture myself and create this fic?

-

He was dying.

Being constantly followed by death, it wasn't rare for Japan's famous detective Kudo Shinichi to witness a pool of blood. However, it was a different matter if it was his.

The sticky red liquid was pouring out of his stomach continuously, with no sign of stopping. It dripped and dripped, making a trail of blood as he goes along the dark empty street in the middle of the night in Tokyo, settling in an alleyway.

Having no strength left to stand, he leaned on an old wall, not caring if it's dirty, knowing that it will be covered with his blood anyways.

Shinichi sighed, remembering what exactly happened that got him in such a painful situation.

When he chased after the serial killer, he didn't expect the man to still have one last trick under their sleeve—being a knife literally under the killer's sleeve— as Shinichi tried to tackle him. Unfortunately, the man managed to escape, leading to more chasing that the detective can't handle any longer with his condition.

He tried to call the police for back up but none of them are picking up. Detective Takagi and Sato are both in their honeymoon, while the rest are currently busy with a bombing case. He mentally smacked himself for being too confident, telling the Inspector that he can take on the serial killer on his own.

Seeing as how it turned out, he clearly couldn't.

He tightened the black blazer around his bleeding stomach even more, trying to at least slow down the rapid loss of blood but to no avail. Even if by some miracle someone were to find his battered body, it would already be too late.

He felt numb but at the same time in pain. He was losing so much blood that he knew he's about to pass out any second now. But he didn't want to yet. He still had to somehow give the police clues about the suspect. That was the least he could do.

He dug deep into his pocket, finding his phone that cracked when he tripped once from the pursuit. Luckily, it was still working. He opened his notes and typed every information about the murderer. Despite his trembling fingers and more blood loss happening, his perseverance was more than enough to do the job.

After he finished writing one last sentence, he pressed the home button and immediately regretted doing so afterwards. Because of it, the photo of him and Ran on their graduation day holding hands as his wallpaper appeared before him. His heart clenched almost in an instant, seeing the pure and blissful face of his girlfriend coupled with his embarrassed one.

And as if the world wasn't fucking with him enough, he heard a melodious ringtone from his phone that's only meant for her. She's calling him.

"Ran..." he muttered under his breath, seeing her name registered below the cracked screen. Shinichi didn't know what to do. For some reason, she always seemed to sense when he's in some kind of danger. His thoughts came back at the time when he first shrunk as Conan, her name flashing on his phone, signalling her call.

That time, he chose not to answer, knowing that he'll be humiliated proving to her that she was right about him getting himself into trouble with all his probing. Should he do what he did back then?

All of a sudden, the ache in his abdomen got worse as more blood poured out. The man's slice was a lot deeper than expected. With that, he came to a realization.

No. He has to answer her. Back when he turned into Conan, there was a tinge of hope that he can somehow return to his old body, that he can get through and treat his shrinking as nothing but a nightmare. But this is different. He was bleeding out blood for about an hour without any treatment whatsoever except for a piece of cloth—which is already too soaked— that he tied around the wound.

Although miniscule, there was coming back from turning into a seven year old. But dying? There was no redemption from something like being dead. He of all people knew that.

If he estimated, he still have at least six minutes. That's all the time he has. Six minutes until the pain is over, six minutes until he finally die. The least he can do was hear her voice one last time and to say goodbye.

Inhaling to somehow stabilize his ragged breathing, he pressed the answer button, slowly bringing the phone on his right ear.

"Shinichi?"

Hearing his girlfriend's voice made Shinichi forget for a second about his impending predicament. It was calm and soft, like music to his ears. A smile instinctively made it's way to his dry lips.

"Yo, Ran," he mumbled casually, as if the lack of blood wasn't about to make him pass out.

"Shinichi? Are you okay?" she immediately asked, worry lace in her tone. He planned on answering honestly, informing he didn't have much time left. For some reason however, things became different.

"Barou, of course I'm okay." the words naturally came out of his mouth despite his mind protesting, telling that what he was saying was wrong.

But after hearing a relieved sigh on her end, Shinichi started to rethink his previous decision. Is it really okay to worry her now when he knew she wouldn't be able to do anything anyway? Is it really fine to hear her voice change from it's usual sweetness into something bitter? Is it really right to break her heart for the remaining 6 minutes of his life?

'No,' Shinichi thought.

He didn't want his last minutes to be filled with sadness and regret. He didn't want the last thing he'll ever hear would be her cries over the phone, with him not being able to do anything to comfort her.

He can be selfish for just one last time, right?

"Mou, where are you exactly? You've been gone the whole day." she complained, her voice now having none of her initial panic, yet he can still hear the lingering concern. It made him realize once more how even after two years since the Conan incident, Ran still had nightmares and doubts about him going away. And now, he's about to leave her alone again.

Permanently.

"I miss you." he blurted out with sincerity, not wanting the regrets to eat him slowly. He leaned back further against the now bloodied wall, he despises how cold it is and wishing she was there to warm him up.

The line stayed quiet, but Shinichi imagined how flustered and red her face must have been. After returning to his teenage body, the detective didn't waste any time and made sure that Ran knows how much he loves her, to the point of overwhelming her sometimes. He took her out to countless dates, constantly saying sweet things, even being a bit more physical. Two years had passed yet she's still slowly getting used to it and he was fine with that.

He only wished he could stay longer until she finally did.

"I miss you too..." she quietly answered on the other line, a bit mortified. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle, delighting at her adorable reply. He got his karma however, when he ached on his wound because of the action.

Before he can tease, Ran quickly steered the topic away.

"Seriously, If you miss me so much, finish up the case faster. I'm making your favorite right now," she said, voice teasing and sweet, trying to mask her early embarrassment. True enough, Shinichi heard the slight whisking over the line making him also superficially smell the sweet scent of the lemon pie.

He imagined them five years later, Ran on her apron, standing behind the counter and whisking his favorite dessert while he hugs her from behind, wearing a satisfied expression. A flustered yet dreamy smile appeared on his face but he soon tasted a bitter feeling from the back of his throat wanting to be let out.

It wasn't vomit or blood but the disgusting taste of regret, him being aware he'll never be able to make his imagination a reality.

Wanting to forget the unsettling and resentful feeling on the pit of his gashed stomach, he redirected their topic by asking her about her day, feeling weaker and weaker as each second passed.

They managed to talk about a lot of things. They jumped from topic to topic, making jokes and flirting at the same time. It only lasted for four minutes, but it meant Shinichi's whole entire life. Within those said four minutes, he was also able to hide any sign of his painful situation, regardless of it getting worse and worse. Ran's gentle and kind voice also helped to calm him down, reminding him how he would break her if he showed any hints of distress.

Because of his experiences as Conan, Shinichi had built on a high pain tolerance when it comes to any physical injuries. He had his bones and muscles shrinking and growing time and time again after all. However, the blood loss was a different matter altogether.

He did well ignoring the dizziness and nausea, but his vision blurred even more than before, his world spinning despite him just leaning helplessly on the now bloodied ground, no longer capable of moving. Fatigue started to get to Shinichi as well, with him forcing his eyes to stay open despite it begging to be closed.

It didn't take long for Ran to notice, with his hearing getting weak and his voice slightly shaking from the shortness of breath. He tried to be firm, but he couldn't even breath properly anymore.

"Shinichi? Are you really okay?" she inquired, worry obvious and rising once again. He nodded his head languidly, as if she can see his answer.

"I'm....fine," he sighed heavily. "Just tired...."

"What do you mean tired? Where are you? Are you okay? Do you want me to end the call for you to---"

"No!" he cut her off, fear and desperation evident. Ran was clearly shocked, with only the echo of his voice being heard.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was scared. Not at the idea of dying, but the prospect of dying alone. He knew it was selfish, but he wanted—needed her there with him. He needed her warmth and kindess to envelope him, needed her voice to embraced him and take the pain away. But she wasn't there. The only thing he had left was her voice, and the thought of it gone as well absolutely terrified him.

"Shinichi...." Ran broke the silence, with Shinichi realizing what he had just done. He closed his eyes tightly shut, reprimanding his own stupidity.

"Shinichi... where are you?"she asked quietly, but Shinichi just moved his head slightly back and forth, indicating a no.

"It's okay Ran...it's too late anyways." he finally confessed, predicting his time limit being less than a minutes.

"I..got... stabbed. Been bleeding out for the last five minutes..." he managed to chew out, with hís breathing getting ragged as each word got out.

"What!? Why didn't you say so earlier!?" she was going hysteric and he was sure of the things going through her head.

"Shinichi please... tell me where you are. I'm coming there right now... please..." she pleaded. Shinichi heard her aggressively shoveling through her stuff and running fast, the sound of her heels clicking rapidly being it's proof.

"Ran, looks like it's my turn to wait for you this time, huh." even speaking was a challenge to him, panting hard as he finished.

"No! Shinichi, come on! Just tell me and I'm coming for you! Please...."

"I can't... you'll cry. I don't want the last thing I'll see... is you crying." he tried to laugh, but only managed a small chuckled.

The lines stayed quiet for a bit until he heard her sobbing. She was trying to cover it, but it was loud and clear to him. He frowned.

"Barou, didn't I tell you not to cry?" he tried to sound annoyed, but the fondness was so evident that even he heard it himself.

"Idiot! How can I not!? Don't do this to me.... What happened? Please, Shinichi...." she was now just crying uncontrollably, with no sign of stopping.

"Ran, listen to me..." he coaxed, trying to alleviate her cries with his voice.

"No! You're leaving! You're leaving me again....." she let out in between sobs and Shinichi can't help but feel a sting, picturing her as she spoke such words and what she must look like at the moment.

She was right. He was leaving her again. This time, with the certainty of never coming back.

"Come on, Ran, you know I hate it when you cry. So please..." he wanted to do something—anything to make her feel better. But all he could manage was a gentle and cajoling voice that seemed to have no effect on his girlfriend's wails.

"Why, why didn't you tell me!? I could have helped you! I could have..." she uttered incoherently, hiccuping. He shushed her gently, wanting to reason out.

"It was already too late. I already loss too much blood at that time. I didn't wanna worry you."

Ran still tried to protest by mumbling and rambling, but her tears were practically choking her. She couldn't speak.

"Ran, I love you so much...." he said, wanting to tell her for the last time, just how much his childhood friend meant to him.

Ran wasn't just his first love, she was also his greatest and last one. Even if he wasn't about to die, he knew that he would still choose her.

Her breath hitched from his confession. It seemed to calm her down as she controlled chokes and sobs, and he once more imagined her sitting on the floor, face a crying mess, but she was blushing and a loving smile plastered on her, still making her more beautiful than ever.

"I love you more," she answered, voice filled with pain and sorrow, yet laced with all the love and sweetness in the world. With that, Shinichi felt like the luckiest man alive.

"I love you most...." he jabbed back, not wanting to be outdone(and knowing that it was the absolute truth).

"You stay awake there do you hear me!? Don't close your eyes yet! I'm coming there right now so please, I'll definitely find you and be the one to beat you up so wait for me, Shinichi!" she commanded with so much conviction that he wanted to obey, but his body just wouldn't cooperate.

"Hmm..."

"Shinichi? Shinichi come on!" he was aware of her screams but they fell deaf to his buzzing ears.

'Ran, I'm sorry.'

Shinichi, contented hearing Ran for the final time and telling her how much she meant to him, wore the most genuine smile as he slowly closed his tired eyes, having no intention of opening them again.

"Shinichi? Shinichi!?" were the last lines he heard on the phone, as it slipped on his hand and dropped on the ground, lifeless, just like it's owner.

[spooks-and-tea]

Entangled (Spencer Reid x femReader) [Ch.5]

Summary: You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were watching Criminal Minds, and the next moment you were literally in the show. Can Spencer be the key to helping you find your way back home?

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of su*cide, bad explanations of quantum mechanics, sexual situations(some non-con), the usual criminal minds-type content

A/N: MGG gave us so much material to work with yesterday *ahem* great, respectful visuals. I feel the need to post two chapters in 1 day to keep these good times-a-going.

Word Count: 3,538

Chapter 1.  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 4. Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7. Chapter 8.  Chapter 9.  Chapter 10.  Chapter 11.

You weren't excited to go home. You had spent the last few days with Spencer, and you wanted to give the man a breather.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay over at my place? There's this new documentary out about mantis shrimps that I've heard good reviews on. I was thinking of watching it tonight." Spencer asked, following you to your car.

"No I should go home and deal with-um." You squinted your eyes to think.

"Chris," Spencer smirked.

"Yeah, Chris. I also want to try out that piano."

"You should, you're good at it."

"I haven't played since I was in my high school's band." You stood next to the door, clicking the button to unlock it.

"I guess I'll have to ask Morgan then." Spencer squinted in the sun, watching Derek leave the building.

"Something tells me he doesn't find mantis shrimps as fascinating as you and I." You commented.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?" Spencer asked.

"Bright and early."

"And you remember the addresses I gave you?"

You held up your phone. "Wrote them down."

"Good. Drive safe."

You reached out and pulled him into a quick hug.

"I will. Bye Spence."

************************************************************************ You stood at your entryway, hanging up your coat while you took everything in again. You still couldn't believe you owned all of this and had a rewritten history to go along with it.

There was still an entire second floor that you hadn't seen.

You trailed up the banister to the second floor. The first door you now knew was the bedroom, that left 3 more doors. You tried the next door over and opened it to reveal a bathroom. Of course, the bathroom was luxurious with a bathtub that reminded you of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The next door over was a guest room, although it looked like it didn't have much use and was being used as an art and yoga studio. The next room was your favorite. Rows and columns of shelves full of books lined the walls your heart beat raced as you walked, running your fingertips along the spines of the books. A desk and computer sat at the end of the room, which you assumed was used when you worked from home.

There was a cozy nook with a sofa and chairs against another wall and all you wanted to do was curl up and read a book. This was definitely your favorite room of the house.

You chose a random book and sat down to read, getting cosy with a throw blanket and pillow. You must have lost track of time because, when you turned around to look out the window, the sun had gone down.

You left the room, wanting to explore more, but you walked into something.

"Y/N. You're, home. How was work?"

"Chris, hey. Work was good." You replied, inching around him.

"You didn't tell me you were leaving on a case."

"I didn't. I'm sorry." You faked sincerity, trying your best to avoid the stranger.

"You haven't seemed like yourself lately is everything alright?"

"Yeah, great. Everything is great."

"Were you actually on a case, or were you at Spencer's again?" He frowned.

"I was on a case Chris. I just forgot to tell you."

"You've been forgetting a lot lately."

Well there is a good reason for that. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Prove it." His eyes darkened. "Prove you're sorry."

"Um how?" You wrung your hands together.

"You haven't been around in a while, maybe you can spend the night in bed with me?" Um no, not going to happen. Stranger danger. Abort. Was this relationship entirely sexual?

Suddenly learning about mantis shrimps with Spencer was sounding a lot more enticing.

"I-I'm a little hungry. I think I'll go-" He held your arm, stopping you. Holding your hand up to kiss it. You cringed remembering how Spencer looked doing that to the unsub.

He started to kiss up your arm.

"Chris, I'm tired." You could smell a hint of alcohol on his breath. Your mind worked to think of ways to calm him down without angering him.

He sighed.

"Then let me take care of you."

Again, you cringed, in fact, you wanted to vomit. Spencer had said the same thing to you the night you got here. After he saved you from drowning. Except his words carried a different meaning and were more welcomed.

You snatched your hand out of his grasp.

"I can take care of myself thank you very much."

"Y/N, why are you being such a brat?"

What is this guy's problem?

"I'm tired from work and I haven't had anything to eat. I don't want to sleep with you, Chris." You tried to keep your voice civil.

"Are you hiding something from me?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"No."

"You are. Is it him? Did he mark you up after you two fucked at his house?"

"How dare you?!" You yelled, absolutely appalled.

"Maybe if I left marks he could see what doesn't belong to him." Chris trailed his eyes down your neck.

"Who the hell do you think you are? I don't belong to anyone, especially you!"

"I'm your boyfriend! Don't blame me for being jealous after the way you've been acting lately."

"Look, calm down and we can talk about this." You didn't know this man, you didn't know how angry he could get.

"How could you go for someone like him? Is it the intelligence you're into? He's fucking weird. He looks like a skinny drowned rat."

"Don't talk about him like that." He could say what he wanted about you, but you wouldn't let him talk shit about Spencer, he didn't deserve that.

"You're defending him now! So there is something going on between you two. I knew it! I always knew it!"

"There is nothing." You said too calmly.

He suddenly reached out and grabbed the back of your neck, roughly pulling you towards him into a kiss. You pushed against his chest, backing away.

"You're hiding something and I want to know what, so strip."

"No."

He grabbed the back of your neck again.

"Then I'll do it for you, yeah?" He roughly grabbed your shirt, snapping the buttons off and pulling it off of you. You covered yourself with your arms.

"You are out of your mind!" You cried. How could you ever treat this guy as a boyfriend? He was  everything you hated.

"Well he didn't mark you here, did he mark your pretty thighs hmm? Did he spank you? Are you into that with him? I bet it's a professor and student thing." Chris barked out.

How he had gone from 0 to 100 so quickly, you didn't know.

"Get the fuck out of my house." You seethed.

"I live here!"

"Not anymore!"

With that, he stormed out, his drunken fatigue sparing you a longer fight. You lost the last of your resilience and fell, shaking, to your knees. You never wanted to see that horrible man again; he was a jealous prick. To think you gave him the benefit of a doubt when you first met; he didn't deserve anything from you.

You couldn't bring yourself to stand. You knew you weren't having a panic attack, but your anxiety was bad enough to have you shaking and crying on the floor. You reached out and grabbed your phone. Knowing it was the only thing you could do, you called Spencer. He picked up on the 4th ring. You could hardly hear them, he was somewhere loud.

"Hello?" He answered.

"Hey it's me." Although it was hard to hear him, his voice was already enough to begin calming your shaking hands.

"Hey Y/N what's up?"

"Heeeeeeeyyyy beautiful, you should have joined us tonight!" You heard Morgan's booming voice as he yelled into the phone.

"Oh, are you two out together?"

"Yeah Morgan offered to take me home, but then we stopped at this bar. There's live music!" Spencer sounded excited.

"You guys sound drunk already." You laughed, growing distracted from your current predicament despite your laying on the floor.

"Yeah, is there something you needed?" Spencer asked.

I need you.

You suppose he was enjoying himself tonight, you didn't want to take him away from that.

"I guess I just need to hear your voice." I need you here.

"You hear my voice all the time! Maybe too much! I'm always talking!" You heard Morgan loudly agreeing and women giggling and saying Spencer's name; trying to get his attention.

"Oh are you with JJ and Penelope?" Spencer took a moment to reply, saying something that you couldn't make out to the other people.

"No, why?" Because I need you here.

"It sounds like you're hanging out with a lot of people."

"We are! Morgan gave me this suuuuper strong drink and I started talking about the fall of the Roman Empire, it came up in a case once, and anyways, these two ladies came up to us and they love us! They want to hear all about Rome!"

"Spencer come dance with me please?" A female asked in the background.

"I-I don't dance," he replied to her.

"Then take me home." She whined, knocking into the phone with a thud.

"Um okay."

He returned to talking to you.

"Y/N I should go. Do you want to talk again later when everything isn't so loud?" Please don't leave.

"No I'm fine, go have fun Spence." He wasn't yours. Despite how close you two had already become, despite whatever fake history you shared, despite falling for the character on your tv screen.

"Okay." He hung up.

You dropped your phone on the floor you were currently sprawled out on. Feeling jealous, of course, for someone you had no right to be jealous for. To lash out at Spencer for having fun would make you no better than Chris.

When had you become so dependent on Spencer? It hadn't even been a week since your arrival here.

And yet you knew that he was the only person that made you feel like you weren't alone in this world, the only one who knew your secret. Is this what living in this new reality was going to be like? Lonely?

It's not like you had anyone in your previous life to turn to, what made this one so different, so heart-wrenching? Well, this universe had Spencer. Real Spencer. When Spencer wasn't around you, the absence felt abiding.

You eventually managed to pick yourself up, leaving your ripped shirt on the floor. You pulled yourself into the bathroom, avoiding looking at your reflection in the mirror. You drew yourself a hot bath and put a vanilla scented oil  you happened to keep by the soaps, inside. You breathed in the scent as you soaked in the tub. It wasn't the same. It was too sweet. It wasn't Spencer. Everything always circled back to Spencer.

You weren't typically the kind of woman to measure your self worth by your relationship to a man. You and Spencer were friends, and although it seemed at times that it could be more, maybe it just wasn't meant to be. You weren't from this world, you were forced into it. You had a hell of a lot of baggage; you couldn't help but feel like a piece of shit today though. Chris was the reason you felt violated, but you weren't going to sit here and cry over him all night. You were going to throw his clothes out into the hallway and hope that was all he had here. No, the tears that fell down your cheeks now were for yourself. After the last few confusing days you've had, you deserved to have a cry alone in a bathtub that didn't smell enough like your one comfort in this world.

If you were a stronger, more forward woman, you would go to Spencer's house and wait for him. Maybe he slept with the girl from the phone call, maybe he didn't. Either way you would confess to him everything that made him your favorite character before and everything that made him your favorite person now. Like the last unsub, you realized you had quickly fallen for Spencer Reid, but you weren't brave enough, or in any condition, to act on those feelings. You sat there and felt sorry for yourself until the water ran cold. Draining it, you made your way to your bedroom, but you hated the way it smelled like Chris. You lit some scented candles that were lying around and took all the sheets off, throwing them in the wash that took you a while to find. You grabbed the throw blanket from the library couch and decided that was all you need tonight. You brushed your teeth and got prepared for bed as your phone rang.

Sighing and already thinking of excuse to tell Hotch why you were not up for a case tonight, you picked it up.

"Hello?"

"I know who you are."

"What? Who is this?"

"I know who you are."

"Is this a joke?"

"I know who you are."

"I know who you are." The voice grew louder.

"I know who you are." Louder.

"I know who you are!" Louder.

The voice hung up, feeling your skin crawl. Suddenly you felt terribly alone in this big apartment, alone and scared.

You locked your bedroom door and blew out all you candles. Still, not feeling safe enough, you retreated to your closet, grabbing the throw blanket and a pillow along the way. You locked the closet doors and threw the items on your couch, still clutching your phone.

You sat on the couch in almost complete darkness, only the moonlight from a small window lit the room. You watched the rain outside fall, feeling tears slide down your cheeks. You could call Spencer; you should call him, but would he even pick up? You decided against it and scrolled through your contacts settling on another number. Someone you hopefully wouldn't be disturbing so late at night because you knew he was a night owl.

"Hello?"

"Rossi?" You whimpered through tears.

"Y/N? What's wrong?"

"I-I'm scared. I got a strange phone call and-and I'm hiding in my closet. I don't know what else to do." Well you certainly didn't sound like a believable crime fighter now.

"Okay, stay calm. Do you have your firearm on you?"

"N-no I left it downstairs."

"Do you have any reason to believe that someone could get into your house tonight?"

"It's unlikely, but I'd feel safer with someone here."

"Listen, I can come check on you, but I live 60 minutes away. Have you tried calling Reid? He lives closest to you."

"He was drinking with Morgan earlier, I-I doubt he could manage to catch a bus here."

"Okay. Try him first, then call me back if he can't make it. I'll come over if he isn't available, but don't panic, okay? We're trained to not panic in high stress situations like this for a reason." I'm not trained for anything, but making coffee and acting!

"Okay thank you. I'll check with him."

Your hands shook as you called Spencer's contact. It nearly reached his voicemail.

"Hello?" Spencer sounded groggy like he had just woken up.

"Spencer are you in any shape to make it over to my place?" Your voice softened, as it seemed to do whenever you spoke to him.

"Um. One second." You heard him groan and sheets rustling, he was probably pulling himself up in bed.

"Yeah, I can come over." Spencer yawned.

"You might want to bring your gun."

"Why? Is something wrong?" He suddenly became more alert.

"I'm probably overreacting. Someone called me and repeated this creepy message a-and it was unsettling and I don't feel safe here so I locked myself in my bedroom closet," you tried to coherently explain.

You heard him struggling to put on clothes.

"Okay uh- stay on the phone with me, okay?" It sounded like he was tripping over items.

"Okay." You whispered.

"Is Chris with you at least?"

You swallowed before answering.

"No."

"And you left your gun downstairs as per usual?"

"Yes." This was a normal mistake you made?

"Dammit. Okay I-I'm coming I'll be there in 15 minutes."

"Okay. Thank you Spencer."

"No need to thank me alright?" He sounded out of breath.

"Ok."

"Just stay in your closet and stay quiet. If you hear anything, let me know."

"Ok."

Your phone beeped a few times and you lifted it to look at the screen. Of course, the battery was dead.

"Fuck," you whispered. Dropping the cell in favor of clutching the pillow to your chest.

As you sat there you counted down the minutes until Spencer said he'd be there in your head. You knew he would be there at the exact time he said.

Every once in a while you heard a creaking, but the place was so big it could have just been normal house noises.

You counted down and when you hit 0, exactly when you hit 0, you heard nothing.

Spencer should be here. He's always precise.

You waited and waited for what felt like ages until a knock at your bedroom door made you yelp.

"Y/N? Are you in there? Are you okay?!" Spencer yelled through he door.

You ran to open it.

"Spencer." Spencer lowered his gun, pocketing it, clutching your discarded, ripped shirt in his other hand.

You threw your arms around him and buried your face in the crook of his neck. He tightly hugged you closer to him. You hugged him until you stopped crying.

"Are you okay?" He asked, softly.

"Emotionally? No. Physically? Yes." You pulled back.

"I didn't find anyone. But I found this and your phone cut off and I-I thought something bad had happened to you."

"I'm okay."

"How did this happen to your shirt?"

"Chris."

Spencer's eyes widened.

"Oh. Um I didn't know. Sorry."

You nearly facepalmed.

"No. It wasn't like that. I didn't want to do it." You explained, numbly. Spencer blinked at you, expression unreadable, holding your face gently.

"Tell me everything."

You nodded pulling him inside your room and, still feeling nervous, you locked the door.

You sat on your bed and gestured for him to do the same.

"What happened to your sheets?"

"I didn't like how they smelled like him, they're being washed."

"Oh."

You were silent.

"Tell me what happened since you left the BAU. You called me earlier and you sounded fine, what happened?" He asked in the steady tone of his interviewing voice. You explained coming home and being stopped later in the day by Chris.

"I tried to tell him that I was tired and hungry. It felt like a stranger was touching me and I hated it." You sniffled. Spencer reached out and gave your hand a comforting squeeze, for a germaphobe he sure turned to physical touch as a means of comfort a lot.

"He didn't listen and he accused me of sleeping with you because we spend time together outside of work." You looked at your joined hands. "He told me to strip to show him marks."

"Marks?"

"The kind you get from being rough when intimate Spence." You tried to explain without making the air awkward.

"Oh."

"I didn't follow his demands, so he grabbed my neck and he ripped my shirt off. He said some vile things about you and I kicked him out. That's how that shirt got there." You finished that explanation.

There was a silent beat, Spencer's face going through the motions until he settled on anger and guilt.

"Y/N I-I am so sorry."

"Don't be. That guy being a dick wasn't your fault."

"You called me afterwards. You said you needed to hear my voice. I was too drunk to notice you weren't okay. If you had told me, I would've come straight over a-and brought Morgan with me. He could probably beat Chris up. Prove the dominant masculine power structure he craves is toxic."

"He's gone now, so I wouldn't worry about him any more." You shrugged.

"After the burst of anger he displayed, I'd advise you to be cautious. He has a key to get inside, what's to stop him from attacking you again?"

"I don't know." You felt too exhausted to think about the Chris problem.

"Is he who you were hiding from? The phone caller?"

"No I was just about to go to bed when I got a phone call."

"What did they say?"

"'I know who you are.'" You took a shaky breath. "I tried to ask the caller questions, but he just repeated that, grew angrier and angrier, and hung up."

"What did he sound like? Was his voice familiar to you?"

"I didn't recognize the voice, but it was pitched down and nasally. Sort of like the killer in Scream?"

"Give me your phone."

"It needs to charge, it's dead."

"Alright, I'll give the number to Garcia to track, tomorrow. I'm sure she's not awake at this hour." Spencer rubbed at his tired eyes.

"Okay, thank you." You got up to charge your phone in the nearby wall plug. "Oh and Spence?" "Yeah?" He turned around. "Thank you for coming by so late. I hope I didn't take you away from uh you know- some- potential action tonight." You smiled, awkwardly laughing. You didn't like it, but you wanted him to not feel guilty for having fun for one night.

"Don't ever hesitate to call me, especially when you're in a situation like this." Spencer narrowed his eyes. "Action?" He frowned.

"I don't know. I heard some girls with you and Morgan, they seemed into you. I thought that's where you were tonight. That's why I hesitated to call again." You shrugged. Spencer scrunched his nose. "I-I didn't."

You raised your eyebrow, looking Spencer in the eyes, then rolled your eyes, biting your lip to hold back a smile. Your jealousy turned into admiration.

"Do you want to watch that documentary about mantis shrimps? I can't sleep after all of this."

Spencer's face lit up as he nodded and followed you downstairs.

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