#the fic doesn't even have clipboards

[airu27-rkgk]

unrelated (?) kaishin fic rec: Tomorrow, and the Next Day by cuethesun

[goddessofvalyria]

SUPERMODEL | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is a famous supermodel. However, he treats his assistant so badly that they reach a breaking point. She leaves him and he, for the first time realize how much he needs her. Not only in works but in his life too.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, kissing, sexual themes, oral (f receiving), fingering, SMUT, sex, squirting, age gap (Aemond is in his early 30s and she is in her early 20s). This is a modern Aemond in modern AU, he doesn’t have his disability (his eye).

English is not my first language, be kind and enjoy the fic <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 5800

Aemond Targaryen strides through the glass doors of the high-rise studio, exuding confidence. His tall frame is perfectly complemented by the tailored designer suit hugging his form, his silver-blonde hair slicked back impeccably. His assistant, a young woman trails behind him, her eyes downcast and her steps hurried to keep up. She clutches a clipboard close to her chest, filled with Aemond's schedule for the day.

"Assistant!" Aemond barks, not bothering to look back at her. "Have you confirmed the Vogue shoot for next Tuesday?"

"Yes, Mr.Targaryen" she replies quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And what about the interview with Vanity Fair?" he demands, his tone sharp and impatient.

"It's been moved to Thursday afternoon, as per your request" she answers, her gaze fixed on the ground.

Aemond clicks his tongue in annoyance. "I hate Thursdays" he mutters, more to himself than to her. He finally glances back at her, his expression one of disdain. "Why do you always sound so meek? Speak up! Or do you think my time isn’t valuable enough for you to bother?"

Her assistant swallows hard but doesn't respond to the insult. She knows better than to defend herself. Her job is to keep his life running smoothly, not to make waves. She simply nods, making a note on her clipboard.

They arrive at the studio, and the room buzzes with activity. Photographers, makeup artists, and stylists swarm around, all eager to cater to Aemond's whims. He thrives in this environment, basking in the attention, his arrogance palpable.

"Do they have my preferred brand of water here?" Aemond asks loudly, looking around with an air of superiority.

She nods quickly. "Yes, I made sure to have it stocked" she replies, already anticipating his needs.

Aemond scoffs. "You better. Last time, I had to suffer with that cheap swill they dared to offer me." He rolls his eyes dramatically before striding over to the makeup chair.

She moves to stand in the corner, her presence almost ghostly. She knows her place—always in the background, always silent. The makeup artist begins to work on Aemond, who lounges back, closing his eyes.

"You know, assistant" Aemond says suddenly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "You could learn a thing or two from these people. They know how to do their jobs properly. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be such a disappointment."

Her cheeks burn with humiliation, but she nods again, keeping her expression neutral. She can’t afford to lose this job, not now, not ever. She watches as Aemond is transformed, his features highlighted and contoured to perfection, ready for the camera. The photographer signals that they're ready, and Aemond stands, adjusting his suit jacket.

"Stay out of the way" he hisses to her as he walks past, not even sparing her a glance.

She steps back, blending into the shadows, her eyes following his every move. She can see the allure he has, the way he commands the room, but she also sees the cruelty that lurks just beneath the surface.

The photoshoot begins, and Aemond is in his element. He poses effortlessly, each click of the camera capturing his sharp features and confident stance. The photographer shouts directions, and Aemond complies with a fluid grace, his every movement calculated and precise.

During a brief break, Aemond saunters over to her assistant, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I hope you're taking notes" he says mockingly. "This is how a real professional operates. Not that you'd know anything about that."

Her fingers tighten around the clipboard, but she nods once more. "Of course, Mr.Targaryen" she replies softly.

The day drags on with more of the same—Aemond’s arrogance, his cutting remarks, his constant demands. She endures it all in silence, her face a mask of calm. She organizes his meals, prepared by his personal chef, making sure they’re exactly to his liking. She liaises with journalists, manages his social media, arranges his travel—all while bearing the brunt of his contempt.

Finally, the photoshoot wraps up, and Aemond is ushered to a private room for an exclusive interview. She follows closely behind, ensuring everything is in order. As they enter the room, Aemond turns to her, his expression icy.

"Make sure you don’t embarrass me during this interview" he snaps. "I don’t need you messing things up like you always do."

She nods, standing just outside the frame of the camera, ready to jump in should anything be needed. She watches as Aemond slips effortlessly into his charming persona for the interviewer, his smile charismatic and his voice smooth.

The next day she stands outside Aemond Targaryen's lavish penthouse, the morning sun barely peeking over the horizon. She checks her phone, her breath visible in the cool air. He should have been up an hour ago. She takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell, waiting for a response. Silence. She presses it again, more insistently this time. Finally, she hears the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

The door swings open to reveal Aemond, shirtless, his hair disheveled and eyes heavy with sleep. He looks at her with an annoyed expression, clearly displeased to see her so early. "What the hell are you doing here so early?" he grumbles.

"You're late" she says firmly, not backing down from his glare. "You were supposed to be at the Versace photoshoot an hour ago." She pushes past him, entering the penthouse. The place is a mess, bottles from last night’s party littering the floor.

Aemond runs a hand through his hair, looking irritated. "I wasn’t aware you became my alarm clock" he snaps, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

She ignores the remark and heads straight to his bedroom. As she pushes open the door, she spots a young woman in his bed, her red hair sprawled across the pillow. Her full lips press into a thin line. Another one of his conquests, no doubt. Probably someone he met at that Vogue party last night.

"Get up!" she says sharply, her patience wearing thin. "You’re late, and I’m not covering for you again. If you don’t move, someone else will take your place." Her voice is louder now, more insistent.

Aemond smirks, clearly amused by her boldness. "Relax. I’m Aemond Targaryen. No one is taking my place," he replies arrogantly, but he gets out of bed anyway, stretching as he does.

"Where’s the chef?" he asks, referring to his private chef, as he pulls on a pair of pants. She sighs, already anticipating his reaction. "Andre has the day off" she replies. "I’ll make you breakfast."

Aemond rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, too tired to put up much of a fight. "Fine. Just hurry up," he mutters.

She heads to the kitchen, quickly whipping up a simple breakfast— toasted bread with Nutella and coffee. She works with practiced efficiency, her movements quick and precise. As she cooks, the girl in his bed stirs awake, realizing where she is. The young woman gets dressed quietly and slips out of the bedroom, clearly embarrassed. She avoids Elara’s gaze as she leaves the apartment.

Aemond strolls into the kitchen, yawning. "Again?" he complains, though he sits down at the counter and starts eating. "Couldn’t you have managed something more… sophisticated?"

She clenches her jaw but doesn’t respond to the jab. She’s used to his criticism by now. "You need to eat fast and I'm not your chef" she says instead, her tone neutral. "You’re already running late."

He finishes his breakfast leisurely, seeming to take pleasure in making her wait. Finally, he grabs his jacket, and they head out. By the time they arrive at the studio, Aemond is over an hour late. The crew is waiting, the tension palpable. The Versace representative looks irritated but relieved when he finally arrives.

Despite being late, Aemond still manages to charm his way through the photoshoot. His arrogance seems to evaporate in front of the camera, replaced by that effortless confidence that has made him a star. The photographers and stylists gush over him, forgiving his tardiness in exchange for his flawless performance.

As the shoot wraps up, she stands off to the side, making notes for the next appointment. She glances up and notices a young man, tall with curly black hair and green eyes standing near her, looking nervous. He introduces himself, and her face lights up. She laughs, a rare, genuine sound, and nods as he talks. It's clear they’re making plans—he’s asking her on a date, and for the first time in a long time, she looks truly happy.

Aemond catches sight of the exchange, his expression darkening. As they leave the studio, he confronts her in the car. "What the hell was that?" he demands, his tone harsh.

She blinks, taken aback. "What do you mean, Mr.Targaryen?"

"That pathetic guy" Aemond snaps. "You were all smiles and giggles. You do realize you're supposed to be working, not flirting with some random kid."

Her face hardens. "His name is Kai."

Aemond scoffs. "Don’t make me laugh. You don’t have friends. You have a job. My job."

They arrive back at his apartment, and Aemond storms inside, clearly in a foul mood. She follows, her patience finally wearing thin. "You know" she says, her voice trembling with anger. "Just because you have everything handed to you doesn’t mean you can treat everyone around you like garbage."

Aemond turns on her, his face twisted with rage. "You’re just a fucking virgin, unsatisfied with your fucking life!" he yells, his words cutting deep.

She flinches as if slapped. Her eyes flash with hurt and anger. "At least I have a life, Aemond. All you have is this—your fame, your arrogance. But none of it makes you happy, does it?"

Aemond’s face contorts with fury, and in a blind moment of rage, he raises his hand and slaps her hard across the face. The sound echoes through the apartment, and his hand flies to her cheek, her eyes wide with shock.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Aemond’s chest heaves, his breath ragged, as if realizing what he’s done. She, however, doesn't wait for an apology. She takes a deep breath, her decision clear in her mind. She walks over to her bag, pulls out a folder, and slams it down on the kitchen island.

"What’s this?" Aemond asks, his voice uncertain now.

"My resignation" she says quietly, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. "I’m done, Aemond. I’m fucking done with you."

She turns on her heel and walks out of the apartment, leaving Aemond standing there, stunned and alone. The door slams shut behind her, the finality of the sound echoing in the empty room. For the first time, Aemond is left alone with the weight of his actions, the silence of the apartment deafening in her absence.

Aemond Targaryen has had a miserable week without her. His new assistant, a well-meaning but utterly incompetent woman named Lisa, tries her best, but she’s no her. She fumbles over simple tasks, double-books his appointments, and worst of all, she can't anticipate his needs like her always did. Aemond finds himself snapping at her constantly, frustration boiling over.

“Lisa, for the last time” he growls on the fourth day, “I said black coffee with no sugar, not some fancy vanilla latte nonsense. Can’t you get anything right?”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Targaryen” Lisa stammers, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll get it fixed right away.”

Aemond waves her off, already regretting his outburst. But the truth is, he's angry because he misses jer. He misses how she could keep everything in order, how she never made mistakes, how she seemed to know what he needed before he even did. He hates to admit it, but he misses her presence—the silent, steady strength she always carried.

By the end of the week, his patience is worn thin. Exhausted and frustrated, he decides to drown his stress in a drink. He heads to a dimly lit bar, tucked away in one of the city’s quieter neighborhoods. As he steps inside, the familiar hum of low conversation and clinking glasses greets him. He heads to the bar and orders a whiskey, neat.

As he sips his drink, he spots a familiar face across the room. His breath catches in his throat when he sees her, sitting at a small table with that boy named Kai. The sight of her laughing, her face lit up in a way he rarely saw when she was with him, sends a surge of jealousy through his veins. Kai leans in closer, saying something that makes her laugh again, her hand brushing against his. Aemond’s grip tightens around his glass. She is wearing a silver slip dress, loose hair and seems to be... happy.

Without thinking, he gets up and makes his way over to their table. She looks up, her smile fading the moment she sees him. “Aemond” she says, her tone flat. “What are you doing here?”

“Just out for a drink,” Aemond replies smoothly, his eyes flicking to Kai. “Didn’t expect to see you here, though.”

Kai shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Uh, maybe I should—”

“No” she interrupts, her gaze never leaving Aemond. “You don’t have to leave, Kai.”

But Kai is already standing, sensing the tension in the air. “It’s fine” he says awkwardly. “I’ll call you later.” He shoots Aemond a wary glance before quickly leaving the bar.

She watches him go, her face hardening as she turns back to Aemond. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands, her voice low but seething with anger. “You can’t stand to see me happy, can you?”

Aemond smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was just saying hello” he says innocently. “No need to get so worked up.”

She stands abruptly, grabbing her coat. “I’m leaving” she snaps. “And for the last time, I’m not working for you anymore. Find someone else to boss around.”

Aemond follows her out of the bar, his expression darkening. “Wait!” he calls after her. “You still need to pick up your last paycheck.”

“Make me a wire transfer” she retorts over her shoulder, not bothering to stop. “I don’t want to see you again.”

But Aemond isn’t willing to let her go just yet. He watches her storm off down the street, her pace quick and determined. He knows she lives somewhere near the Flea Bottom district, a rougher part of town on the outskirts. Without thinking, he jumps into his car and starts following her, keeping a careful distance as she navigates through the winding, narrow streets.

She finally reaches her building, a run-down apartment complex with flickering lights and peeling paint. Aemond pulls up and gets out of the car, his heart pounding. He watches her disappear inside, and for a moment, he considers leaving. But something pushes him forward, an inexplicable need to see her, to talk to her.

He takes a deep breath and presses the buzzer for her apartment. It takes a few moments, but eventually, the door buzzes open. He heads up the creaky stairs to her floor, where she’s waiting, her arms crossed and her expression furious.

“What do you want, Aemond?” she snaps. “Say whatever you need to say and then get the hell out. I have work tomorrow.”

He steps inside, the space small and cluttered but cozy, filled with personal touches—a stark contrast to his own sterile, minimalist apartment. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his eyes searching hers. “I—” he starts, but the words catch in his throat. He doesn’t know what he wants to say.

“You’ve said enough already” she cuts him off. “You’ve insulted me, belittled me, hit me—what more could you possibly have to say?”

“I’m sorry” he blurts out, the words surprising even himself. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms tighter. “Is that it? You think an apology makes up for how you’ve treated me?”

Aemond takes a step closer, his voice softening. “I miss you. I miss the way you always managed everything, the way you put work before anything else—before your own life. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I can’t stand seeing you with… with someone else.”

She laughs bitterly. “Of course, it’s about you, isn’t it? You don’t care about me—you just don’t want anyone else to have me. You’re jealous, Aemond. That’s all this is.”

“Maybe I am” he admits, his eyes intense. “Maybe I can’t stand the thought of you with him because I—”

“Because what?” she challenges, her voice rising. “Because you think you own me? You don’t, Aemond. I’m not your possession.”

“Because I care about you!” he shouts, his frustration boiling over. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re not around. Because I—”

Before he can finish, he closes the distance between them, his hands gripping her arms. He kisses her roughly, desperately, his lips crashing against hers with a force that steals her breath away. For a moment, she resists, her hands pushing against his chest, but then something breaks inside her, and she gives in.

The kiss is fiery, filled with all the pent-up emotions between them—anger, frustration, longing. Aemond pulls her closer, his hands moving to her back, and her fingers curl into his hair, pulling him even deeper into the kiss.

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. Her eyes are filled with confusion and anger, but also something else—a flicker of desire, of something she’s been trying to deny for too long.

“Get out” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Aemond’s grip on her tightens. “No, I—”

“Get out!” she yells, pushing him away. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want this… I don’t want you.”

Aemond takes a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows she doesn’t mean it—at least, he hopes she doesn’t. But he can see the determination in her eyes, the resolve. He nods slowly, backing away towards the door.

“I’ll leave” he says quietly. “But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

She doesn’t respond, just stands there, her arms wrapped around herself, her gaze distant. Aemond turns and leaves, the door closing behind him with a soft click. He stands outside for a moment, his heart racing, trying to process what just happened.

Inside, she sinks to the floor, her head in her hands. She’s exhausted—physically, emotionally. She doesn’t know what to do, what to think. But one thing is clear: nothing will ever be the same between them again.

Another week passes, and Aemond is nearing his breaking point. He’s more irritable than ever, snapping at everyone around him. His new assistant, Lisa, has quit after a particularly harsh comment about her incompetence, and he’s cycled through two more assistants since. No one can seem to fill the void she left behind. The thought of her is always at the edge of his mind, a constant, nagging presence.

Everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of her. The perfect organization of his closet, her sharp but efficient handwriting on his schedule, the way she always knew how to calm him down when he was in one of his moods. He’s tried to forget, tried to move on, but nothing works. He’s come to a stark realization: he doesn’t just miss her work ethic or her efficiency. He misses her. He needs her.

She, meanwhile, is struggling in her new job. She’s started working at a small startup as an assistant, but the pay is a fraction of what she earned with Aemond. Her first paycheck is a harsh reality check—only $400 for month. It doesn't covers her groceries, let alone rent or bills. She’s been wearing layers to bed to keep warm, unable to afford proper heating. She misses the stability, the security of her old job ($4000 for month)—even if it came with Aemond’s impossible attitude.

Despite everything, she can’t help but think about him too. She remembers their last encounter, the way he’d looked at her, the desperation in his eyes. And that kiss. She’d tried to forget the way his lips had felt on hers, tried to convince herself it meant nothing. But she can’t. The memory lingers, making her restless.

One evening, as she’s sitting at her small, wobbly kitchen table, trying to figure out how to stretch her last few dollars, there’s a knock at her door. She freezes, heart pounding. No one ever visits her here.

She opens the door to find Aemond standing there, looking worn and tired. For a moment, they just stare at each other, the silence heavy between them. He says her name, his voice rough. “Can I come in?”

She steps aside, letting him enter. He’s holding a folder, and she knows immediately what it is—a contract. “What do you want, Aemond?” she asks, her voice guarded.

“I want you to come back” he says simply, handing her the folder. “I’ve drawn up a new contract. Better pay, more benefits. And I promise, I swear, I’ll treat you better. No more… no more of what happened before.”

She hesitates, her fingers brushing the edge of the folder. “Why now?” she asks quietly. “Why come back now, after everything?”

Aemond sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Because I can’t do this without you,” he admits. “Because I’ve realized that I… I care about you. More than I should, maybe. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

Her heart skips a beat at his confession. She looks down at the contract, flipping through the pages. The terms are better than before—much better. But it’s not just about the money. It’s the way he’s looking at her, with a vulnerability she’s never seen before.

“I don’t know” she says softly. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Please” he says, his voice almost breaking. “Just give me one more chance. I promise I’ll make it right.”

She studies his face, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all she sees is a man who looks lost without her. Against her better judgment, she finds herself nodding. “Okay” she whispers. “I’ll come back but only because my payment is good.”

Aemond lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief flooding his features. “Thank you” he breathes. “Thank you”

The next evening, Aemond invites her to his apartment for dinner. He insists it’s to make peace, to start fresh. She’s hesitant at first, unsure if she should put herself in that position again, but eventually, she agrees. Part of her misses him too, misses the life she had working for him, even with all its complications.

When she arrives, the apartment is dimly lit, a soft, warm glow emanating from the candles placed around the room. It’s surprisingly intimate, and she feels a flutter of nerves in her stomach. Aemond greets her with a tentative smile, gesturing for her to sit at the elegantly set dining table.

Dinner is a quiet affair, the tension between them palpable. Aemond is uncharacteristically quiet, his usual bravado subdued. He serves a simple meal, one he’s prepared himself, and she’s surprised at the effort he’s gone to. As they eat, they talk—cautiously at first, then more freely, memories and old jokes breaking through the awkwardness.

“I’m sorry” Aemond says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. “For everything. For how I treated you. I was… I was a complete asshole.”

Elara looks up, meeting his gaze. “Yes, you were” she agrees, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “But I’m not exactly innocent either. I should have said something sooner, stood up for myself.”

Aemond nods, reaching across the table to take her hand. “You’re right. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

There’s a moment of silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Then, Aemond stands, moving around the table to kneel beside her chair. He takes her face in his hands, his touch gentle but firm take off her glasses with thin montature. "I cant'.... I can't see" she whispers, but Aemond doesn't care.

“I’ve missed you” he murmurs, his breath warm against her lips. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

Before she can respond, he leans in and kisses her. It’s softer than their last kiss, but just as intense, filled with a longing that’s been building for weeks. She melts into him, her hands sliding up his chest, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in her hair, and she gasps against his mouth.

He pulls her up from the chair, guiding her backward until they’re against the wall. “I want you” he breathes, his lips moving to her neck, kissing a trail down to her collarbone. “I want you so fucking much.”

She moans softly, her fingers curling into his shirt. “Aemond…”

He cuts her off with another kiss, his hands moving to the hem of her dress, lifting it slowly. She can feel the heat radiating off his body, his touch sending shivers down her spine. He breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Tell me you want this too.”

“I—” She hesitates for a moment, her mind racing, but then she looks into his eyes and sees the raw, desperate need there. “Yes” she breathes. “I want this. I want you.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He lifts her into his arms, carrying her to the bedroom. The room is dark, the only light coming from the city outside. He lays her down on the bed, his lips never leaving hers, his hands roaming over her body, exploring, claiming.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice rough with desire. “I’ve tried to deny it, but I can’t anymore.”

He begins to undress her slowly, reverently, as if she’s something precious, something he’s afraid to break. His hands are gentle but firm, his touch electrifying. She arches into him, her body responding to his every movement.

As he presses her into the mattress, his body warm and solid against hers, she realizes that maybe—just maybe—this is where she’s meant to be. Here, with him, despite everything that’s happened. And as their bodies come together, the last of her reservations melt away, replaced by a deep, all-consuming need for the man holding her so tightly.

Aemond’s hands move over her body with a newfound tenderness, as if he’s discovering her for the first time. He slowly undresses her, his fingers deftly unzipping her dress, until it falls open. He slides the fabric down her shoulders, his lips following the path of his hands, kissing the exposed skin. She shivers under his touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

“God, you’re so beautiful” he murmurs against her neck, his breath hot on her skin. His hands move to her back, expertly unclasping her bra and tossing it aside. He takes a moment to look at her, his eyes dark with desire, before leaning in to capture her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue brushes against hers, and she responds eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He pulls back slightly, his lips hovering just above hers. “You're so pretty” he whispers, his voice rough with need. He lowers his head, trailing kisses down her neck, to her collarbone, and then lower still. His lips find her breasts, his mouth hot against her skin as he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. She moans, her back arching off the bed, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

Aemond moves lower, kissing a path down her stomach, his hands sliding on her tights. He pulls her lace panties down in one swift motion, leaving her completely exposed. He takes a moment to admire her, his eyes drinking her in. Then, without warning, he lowers his head between her thighs, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

She cries out, her hands flying to his hair, her fingers twisting in the silvery strands. His tongue moves skillfully, licking and teasing her clit, his fingers pressing into her thighs to keep her still. She feels a wave of pleasure building, her body tensing with anticipation. Aemond groans against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her.

He flicks his tongue faster, his fingers joining in, sliding inside her with a slow, deliberate rhythm. She’s close, so close. He seems to sense it, increasing his pace, his tongue moving in circles, his fingers curling inside her, hitting just the right spot.

“Oh, God, Aemond—” she gasps, her voice breaking. Her hips buck against his face, her body trembling. He doesn’t let up, driving her higher, pushing her closer to the edge. She feels the tension coil tighter, tighter, until she cries out, her body spasming as she squirts, the intense pleasure ripping through her. Aemond doesn’t stop, his tongue and fingers continuing their relentless assault, milking every last drop of pleasure from her. She’s panting, her body slick with sweat, her mind hazy with bliss.

"I—I'm sorry" she whispers, trembling. "It—it was the first time... I don't know..."

Aemond finally pulls back, his face glistening, a satisfied grin on his lips. He crawls back up her body, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on his lips. “You’re incredible, fuck” he murmurs against her mouth. “You don't have to apologize”

Without breaking the kiss, he positions himself above her, his hard length pressing against her slick entrance. "Aemond" she stops him.

"You were right, I'm a fucking virgin"

He holds her gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and something deeper, something almost tender. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.

She nods, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. “Yes” she breathes. “I’m sure but... I...don't know, I'm not your type... I—” she is worried and Aemond notice that.

"I'll be gentle, now kiss me"

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushes into her, filling her wet pussy completely. She moans, her head falling back, her eyes closing as he stretches her, filling her in a way that feels both new and familiar. He sets a slow, steady rhythm, his hips rolling against hers, his movements deep and controlled.

He leans down, capturing her lips in another kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth as he thrusts into her. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her body moving in perfect sync with his. Every thrust, every movement, is a delicious friction that sends waves of pleasure coursing through her.

Aemond increases his pace, his breath ragged against her ear, his hands gripping her hips tightly. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice strained with effort. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She moans in response, her fingers digging into his back, her body arching up to meet his every thrust. She’s close again, the pleasure building once more, and she can tell he is too, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

“Come for me” he whispers, his lips brushing against her ear. “I want to feel you come around me”

His words send her over the edge. She cries out his name as she comes, her body tightening around him, pulling him deeper. Aemond follows moments later, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he spills into her, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

“Don't worry” she whispers. “I'm on the pill”

They collapse together, a tangle of limbs and heavy breaths, their bodies slick with sweat. Aemond holds her close, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his face buried in her neck. For a moment, they just lie there, catching their breath, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of their lovemaking.

She feels a strange sense of calm wash over her, a feeling of contentment she hasn’t felt in a long time. She turns her head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “What now?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Aemond lifts his head, his eyes meeting hers. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability she’s never seen before. “Now...” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You're mine....and....”

Fuck, he is hard agin.

Before she can catch her breath, Aemond lifts her effortlessly, pulling her onto his lap. He positions her over him, his hard length pressing against her slick entrance. She wraps her arms around his neck, her body still buzzing from her orgasm, her mind hazy with desire.

“Ride me” he growls, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her down onto him. She gasps as he fills her, stretching her, the sensation sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through her. She moves slowly at first, her hips rolling against his, finding a rhythm that makes them both moan.

Aemond’s hands roam over her body, gripping her hips, her ass, guiding her movements as she rides him. He leans in, capturing her lips in a rough, hungry kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth, matching the rhythm of their bodies. She moans into his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans against her lips, his hands tightening on her hips. “You feel so fucking good.”

She moves faster, her hips grinding against his, her body moving in perfect sync with his. “I...I feel... everything.” The pleasure builds again, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust, every roll of her hips. Aemond’s head falls back, his eyes closing, a deep, guttural moan escaping his lips.

She feels the edge approaching again, her body straining, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She rides him harder, faster, her body desperate for release, her mind lost in the pleasure. Aemond’s grip on her tightens, his hips thrusting up to meet hers, driving deeper, harder.

“Yes, just like that" he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. “Come for me again.”

His words send her over the edge. She cries out, her body tightening around him, her orgasm crashing over her, a wave of pure, unadulterated bliss. Aemond follows her over the edge moments later, his body shuddering as he comes deep inside her, his release hot and intense.

They collapse agin together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Aemond holds her close, his arms wrapped around her. For a moment, they just lie there, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of their lovemaking.

Elara’s heart pounds in her chest, her mind spinning, her body spent but satisfied. She turns her head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

Aemond lifts his head, his eyes meeting hers. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability she’s never seen before. “Now” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Together.”

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. Despite everything, she feels a flicker of hope. Maybe this is the start of something new, something real. And as they lie there, tangled together, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they can make it work.

[crownofgildedlilies]

oh, don't let your sunshine burn me!

in which: a son of hephaestus discovers a problem he can't solve. mainly, a daughter apollo who doesn't realize just how much her smiles hurt him.

pairing: leo valdez x daughter of apollo!reader

warnings: not proof read, slight cursing (otherwise, n/a)

tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, pining

word count: 3k

notes: my inaugural fic post on this blog. how special. plz enjoy. feedback is much appreciated.

Leo Valdez was going to lose his mind.

Or maybe a limb. Maybe that would get your attention. He wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't that desperate for you to turn your focus to him.

Stupid Garrett from stupid Ares. Why did he have to go and nearly get his head chopped off by Clarisse while sparring, stealing his thunder?

He should have done more than let his finger slip while hammering away in bunker nine. An exciting injury would have earned the most prized reward of your attention, for sure.

"Are you sure she's too busy?" Leo asked Will for probably four times too many to be considered casual. The blond only rolled his eyes and shoved an icepack into Leo's chest, nearly knocking him back a step, snapping him from his far too obvious admiring of you.

Even from across the infirmary, three hours into your shift, you stole the wind from his lungs. He was convinced you were a favorite of Apollo's, what with the way you glowed and lit up every room you were in.

Which is how he ended up in his current predicament. Absolutely desperate for any hint of your sunshine smile sent in his direction.

"Positive. Now, get out." Will confirmed, checking things off on his clipboard. Leo figured he was probably recording basic information like the patient—himself—had all his limbs, both eyes, ten fingers, and was practically drooling at his half-sister. Leo darted another glance across the room to you, still diligently assessing moronic Garrett from Ares who had been brain dead enough to accept Clarisse's offer of sparring.

Why were you blushing so much?

Something awful and too familiar twisted in his stomach, and all Leo could hear was Piper's voice telling him that he better make his move on you soon, because you were too sweet and too pretty to remain single much longer.

"When's her break again?" Leo asked, ignoring the way Will tipped his head back and closed his eyes, like he was praying for the strength to not hit his patient while under his care.

"And you can't ask her yourself because...?" Will prompted, dragging out the final word and forcing Leo to snap his attention towards the son of Apollo, his jaw practically open in shock.

"Because then she'll know I'm totally into her!" Leo whisper-shouted, waving his hands around as if to emphasize his point.

"You come in here everyday with a new injury asking for her to fix you up." Will pointed out, voice flat. "If she hasn't figured it out yet, I'm not sure she will. You should probably just be direct and ask her out."

Leo narrowed his eyes at Will, but on a rare miracle, he was at a loss for words. Maybe Will had a point. Leo was never exactly good at being subtle about his many, many, crushes, and if you hadn't realized he was hopelessly in love with you yet, then maybe he was safe from feeling the sting of your rejection.

"You're not going to talk to her, are you?" Will sighed, tilting his head slightly as he studied Leo, who, despite having already been given the magic remedy of an ice pack, remained perched on the side of a cot used as a medic's bed.

Leo shook his head side-to-side so quickly Will was a blur of blond hair and orange t-shirt in front of him.

"No can do." Leo said solemnly. "She's miles out of my league. Not even I'm stupid enough to think I have a shot with her."

"Well, at least Garrett isn't as oblivious as you," Will shrugged, shooting Leo a pointed look he didn't understand. The ugly feeling was back in Leo's stomach as he darted his attention towards you and the gods-damned son of Ares.

You were laughing, and Leo wasn't the cause.

Jealousy flared up in him.

You, on the other hand, were completely ignorant to the conversation occurring on the opposite side of the infirmary, far too engrossed in charismatic Garrett from Ares who was retelling the story of how Clarisse had knocked him on his ass and sent him to get bandaged up.

For a child of the war god, he was surprisingly graceful in his defeat.

"Next time, at least bring a shield with you." You smiled at Garrett, checking off the final few items on your clipboard. No major injuries towards his limbs, nor his ten fingers, neither of his eyes had been affected, and he was able to hold a proper conversation with you. "Otherwise I've got nothing else for you. Just an order to take the rest of the day easy."

"I can manage that," Garrett relented, which, for a demigod, was a pretty big ask. Taking it easy was never really an option when one of your parents was a god or goddess. "Hey, any particular reason Valdez is looking at me like he's going to send one of his inventions after me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to act casual as you turned around slightly, finding that Leo had in fact found his way into the infirmary and in fact was staring at Garrett like he might make a good snack for Festus.

You had been starting to worry, thinking that maybe he wasn't going to show up that day.

"Dunno," You shrugged, ducking your face into your clipboard so you didn't have to look at Leo, or Garrett, or Will—who was sending you a look that was both pointed and annoyed at the same time. "But you're set to go."

"Perfect," Garrett jumped off of the examination bed, acting like he hadn't been carried in by two of his half-brothers, a sly grin on his face. "You sure that's not jealousy on Valdez's face?"

"What? Why would Leo be jealous?" You were ashamed to admit you stumbled over your words, your face turning a vibrant shade of red, as you considered the implication of Garrett's words. That Leo might have been into you, enough that just the sight of you talking to Garrett might have been enough to turn his mood sour. "We're just friends."

"Sure," Garrett grinned wickedly, the kind of grin only children of Ares could ever create. The kind that told he totally didn't believe her rushed dismissal of his words. "All I want is an invitation to the wedding. Talk to you later!"

Garrett darted off before you could swat at him with your clipboard, your face flushed with embarrassment. Gods, were you really that obvious in your crush on Leo?

Sure, he came into the infirmary just about every day you were working, with some minor injury or another for you to tend to. And maybe you took a little longer to heal him than you did when Percy or the Stolls came in, were a little sweeter, but were you so transparent that even Garrett from Ares knew what you felt?

"For the love of all the gods and goddesses, would you please just go talk to him?" Will grumbled, borderline exhausted, as he appeared at your side. You jumped, nearly lost in thought, and narrowed your sunshine stare at your half-brother. "He won't leave until he gets the chance to brag to you about his latest made-up injury."

You didn't have to ask who Will was talking about. Leo was still watching you from across the room, rather impatiently. He'd managed to find a few loose bolts and washers and was currently inventing something you couldn't comprehend while he stared very pointedly at the ground by your feet, having averted his stare the moment you darted yours in his direction.

"Shut up," You mumbled to Will, but regardless you dashed off across the room with what felt like permission to engage in your favorite part of the day.

You had received Apollo's gifts of healing, not his poetic words. And every day you cursed that fact, because never could you put into words just how much being around Leo Valdez made you feel centered within yourself. It was like his very personality gave you permission to the version of you that was nearly lost to time and circumstance and the tragedy of being a Greek hero.

"What's the problem today?" You grinned, the smile your half-siblings claimed shined brightest in the camp plastered on your face almost of its own accord as you stood before Leo.

"My hand, Doc." He sighed, playing along and holding up his left hand while the right shoved the ice pack Will had already given him behind his back. You snorted a laugh, and Leo's grin broke out from the solemn facade he had attempted. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to work again if you don't help me."

"Well there's only one solution," You nodded, pretending to read something off of your clipboard—which was still filled out with Garrett's information.

"Anything you recommend is good with me," Leo leaned closer, trying to read over the edge of your clipboard, which you quickly tugged close to your body.

"Right, I've got it." You grinned, dropping your face closer to his, almost like your heart was in control of your body instead of your mind. Leo nodded, and you would have sworn you saw his gaze shoot to your lips for the briefest of seconds. "Amputation. Mr. Valdez, I'm afraid we're going to have to take your hand off."

"But, that's my pretty hand!" Leo protested, playing into your joke quickly. You couldn't even pretend to hide your smile, laughter falling past your lips just as easily as breathing.

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do for you." You shook your head, grinning widely at Leo, who was—for a guy with ADHD as severe as him—giving you his full attention. "You're free to go. I'll see you and your pretty hand at the bonfire tonight."

"Glad to hear you agree that my hand is pretty." Leo slid off of the examination bed with a grin that had you flushing and looking over the contents of your clipboard simply for something to do with your eyes. "See you later, Doc."

Waving, you sent Leo off.

Over the course of the following week, Leo had found himself at the infirmary—during your shifts only—six more times.

Three smashed fingers from equipment you knew for a fact he knew how to handle properly. One cut to his arm from a piece of scrap metal. A paper cut.

On Thursday, he came in complaining of a serious burn.

"Doc, you'll never believe it. My whole arm caught on fire."

Will hadn't let him into the infirmary, claiming that Leo needed a better lie than that to come visit, since everyone already knew he was fireproof.

Leo came back fifteen minutes later with a second paper cut. Will took his break an hour early, claiming he needed to for his sanity.

But then you didn't so much as catch a glimpse of Leo for four straight days.

You felt more than a little pathetic, jumping every time the door to the infirmary opened, hoping against hope that it would be the curly haired son of Hephaestus you so adored.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, the door opened and you couldn't stop the way your body instinctively twisted around from where you words repacking first aide kits that were left in various locations around camp.

But it wasn't Leo standing at the door, but Piper.

You weren't the closest with her, but you were friendly. So you didn't think she was there for you, at first, until you saw her talking to your half-sister Stella and pointing towards you.

"Hey," Piper's voice had an edge of seriousness to it that snagged your attention, halting your efforts of resupplying. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."

"Okay...?" You trailed off, not sure what she could have needed from you.

"Would you be willing to talk to Leo for me? He's in Bunker Nine, convinced he's going to make some big breakthrough on whatever machine he's currently working on." Piper explained and you nodded slowly, not seeing the problem. From your conversations with Leo, he always seemed to be in the middle of some big breakthrough. "He hadn't come out in four days. It's not healthy."

You frowned, trying to recall the last time you'd seen Leo at any of the meals. And when your mind came up blank, you settled on your answer to Piper's request.

"I'll talk to him."

You had never been to Bunker Nine.

As much as you talked to Leo, pretty much everyday, it was always in yours and shared spaces. The infirmary, mainly, but every once in a while at the dining pavilion or at the camp bonfires.

But you could barely focus on any one thing in the bunker. Half-finished projects littered the space, along with countless tools, scraps, and blueprints tacked haphazardly against walls and bulletin boards.

Since it was nearly dinner, the bunker had cleared out of all but one of its occupants. Perched over a table, working so diligently he didn't hear you approach, was none other than Leo Valdez.

Without thinking of the consequences, you dropped the canvas bag you had brought with you on his worktable, startling him so much he jumped in surprise and nearly sent his latest project clattering to the floor.

"Gods!" He shouted, wide eyed and hand pressed to his chest as if he could physically calm his racing heart. You couldn't help the way you grinned, a little lopsided, wholly endeared by him. "Sorry, were you trying to kill me? Because, if so, mission almost accomplished!"

"Actually, the opposite." With a confidence you didn't really possess, you leaned against the worktable next to him and started pulling tinfoil wrapped sandwiches out of the bag. "Everyone's convinced I'm your appointed caretaker, since you don't seem to do it yourself."

Leo had the good sense to seem chastised by the glare you sent him following your words. It wasn't like he could deny it, anyways. How many times had he ended up on your patient list?

"Did Jason put you up to this?"

"Piper," You confirmed, pushing a wrapped sandwich across the table towards him. Next out of the bag was a metal bowl, the bottom slightly charred and filled with paper scraps and twigs. "Light this for me, will you, please?"

"Well, when you ask so nicely," Leo grinned, a ball of flame forming in his palm and igniting the twigs in the bowl. Without needing to be told, Leo unwrapped his sandwich and ripped off a chunk to throw into the flames.

You copied his actions. And if you made a wordless prayer to Aphrodite to ask for a little assistance, that was no one's business but your own.

"I've..." You hesitated, darting a glance to Leo before focusing on your sandwich, biting down your declaration that you've missed him in the infirmary. He had already started eating, only further proof that he had been skipping meals while holed up in the bunker. "How come you're always getting hurt, Mr. Clumsy? I thought children of Hephaestus are supposed to be good in the forges."

You would have sworn you saw Leo blush, but your attention quickly darted away from him the moment he lifted his eyes to yours.

"You sure you wanna know the truth?" Leo asked his voice a kind of serious that was almost out of character for him. You nodded, slowly, and forced yourself to meet his eye. "I've been getting hurt on purpose."

"Leo Valdez!"

"Wait, let me finish!" Leo held up his hands to defend himself from your words and your glare, the healer in your absolutely hated the fact that Leo would have done anything to intentionally cause himself harm. "I did it because I got an excuse to see you."

"What?" For a child of Apollo, you sure didn't have a way with words. Distantly, you cursed the fact that you were a gifted healer and not a poet, because you knew what Leo's words meant and yet you couldn't get your own to function. "Wait—"

"I know this sounds stupid," Leo dragged a hand through the dark, disheveled curls atop his head. "But Will wouldn't let me in to see you if I wasn't hurt! So I... maybe... lied, a little bit."

You frowned, in thought. Thinking back, you couldn't remember Leo ever actually being hurt beyond the occasional cut or scrap. You'd always been so caught up in him and his visits to notice.

"I swear I'm not weird. I just really like you." Leo winced, no doubt taking your silence in a bad way.

And you weren't one of Apollo's poetically gifted children, so you simply pressed your lips against his and hoped he got the message.

It was a short kiss, a good first kiss, you noted with no small satisfaction. Your lips tingled and your fingertips were buzzing—and Leo looked like he had just won the lottery.

"You're sweet," You smiled, a thousand watt one that maybe Leo adored as much as your half-siblings did, and nudged his sandwich closer to him. "But you're banned from the infirmary unless you're actively dying. And for real!"

Leo paused, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to create a scenario that would get him past the barrier of your totally official and absolutely within rules ban.

"I can make that happen,"

"No, you can't," You tried to shoot him a discouraging look, but your smile was far too wide to deal any real damage. "Or else I'll go to tonight's bonfire with someone else."

"Nope!" He shook his head quickly, hair bouncing with the movement and expression light with an impish grin. "You kissed me, Doc. You're stuck with me, now."

You smiled, silently deciding you wouldn't mind being stuck with him.

"That's what I thought."

Leaning over to press a second kiss to the corner of his lips, you pretended not to notice the sparks dancing in his curls.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hi! could i request a rosa diaz fic where rosa has a really awful stomachache while she’s at the precinct, but she doesn’t want to admit she doesn't feel good. she keeps trying to work until reader eventually pulls her aside and rosa opens up and tells reader (rosa and reader aren’t dating yet). then reader brings her home and they get all cozy, and reader stays until rosa feels better. at the end rosa finally admits she likes reader and they kiss and its all very fluffy and sweet. tysm!!

Hey, friend! Hope this is what you were looking for. 🥰 This one took me a little longer than usual, but I'm really pleased with how it turned out. And for all you Rosa Diaz fans, get ready because I've got a lot of Rosa requests in my inbox! —illdowhatiwantthanks

Just Playing

Rosa Diaz x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, cops (duh, but they don't do any cop things), mentions of periods, period pain, implied sex Word count: 2.9k

Summary: You take Rosa back to her apartment after she has a rough day at work thanks to period pains. But you never could have seen where the evening would take you.

Rosa was nearly bent double as she stood at the podium, reading notes from a clipboard on a new drug ring they’d be investigating over the next several weeks. Her teeth were gritted, and she looked for all the world like she could kill someone. Well, she looked more like she could kill someone than usual.

You were good at reading Rosa, better than the rest of the squad. Maybe because your job allowed you more observation time; you were an officer, sure, but you didn’t carry a gun and you didn’t police the streets. You were their digital analyst, doing your own investigations online and finding information for the squad to use in their investigations. As a result, you had a lot of time in the precinct.

You were quieter than the others, more reserved, more observant. You knew that Jake got loud when he got insecure. You knew that simply telling Amy she was doing a good job was enough to stop a spiral in its tracks. You knew that Captain Holt had a fondness for candy canes, so you kept some in your desk drawer all year round, just to pull one out when it seemed like he needed a pick-me-up. But you knew Rosa best of all.

You’d be lying if you said you watched Rosa for solely platonic reasons. She was pretty. She was smart. She worked hard, and she cared about people–no matter how much she tried to act like she didn’t. Best of all, you could make her smile. No one else made her smile. After your first month or so on the job, she started talking to you. At first you were taken aback. Why was she being nice to you!? Why was she approaching you at all!? Rosa didn’t do small talk. She didn’t do politeness for the sake of being nice. It had to be that she actually liked you. You were flattered. As far as you could tell, Rosa didn’t like many people.

She especially didn’t like people today. She was clearly not okay. And you weren’t the only one who could tell.

“Any questions?” Rosa asked, finishing up her presentation, and pressing a hand over her abdomen.

Jake raised his hand and Rosa rolled her eyes.

“What, Jake?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

She glared at him. “Why, fuckface? Do I not look okay?”

“No, no!” he squeaked, hands up in defense. “You look great. Everything’s great. Carry on.”

You fiddled around in your bag, waiting for everyone else to leave the room before approaching Rosa, who leaned heavily on the podium, eyes closed.

You approached her cautiously. After all, Rosa was known for her explosive temper. She’d never exploded at you, but there was a first time for everything you supposed.

“Are you really?” you asked quietly.

“Hmm?” Rosa grumbled, inhaling sharply.

“Feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice was decisive, rough.

You lifted your eyes to study her face. When she finally looked at you–her expression pained, exhausted, embarrassed–you knew. She was not okay. The fact that she’d let you see that she wasn’t okay underlined just how not okay she was.

“What’s going on?” Your voice was low, your posture casual so that no one observing would be able to tell you were concerned about her.

“Cramps.” Her cheeks reddened a bit, and you nodded. She didn’t need to say anything else. You got it. Any woman would get it.

“Why don’t you go home?” you suggested.

“I can’t,” she said tersely, glancing into the squad room to make sure no one was watching you two.

“Rosa,” you scolded her. “It’s not gonna kill you to go home an hour early.”

“No, I mean, I can’t.” She grabbed your arm, and gently pulled you aside to where no one could see. Your stomach did little somersaults, and you felt bad for getting excited when Rosa was clearly in pain. “I tried getting on my motorcycle. It felt like I was being stabbed in the fucking uterus. I’m just gonna call a cab once everyone else heads out.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Rosa raised her eyebrows at you. It’s true, you weren’t normally that blunt. “I’ll take you home. You shouldn’t have to stick around here just being in pain. That’s stupid.”

“No, Y/N, don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.” She started walking away, and this time it was you who grabbed her.

“It’s fine, Rosa. I don’t mind. I’m done with my work for the day. We’re friends, right?”

Rosa looked at you long and hard, like she was thinking through a problem, before nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Okay, then.” You threw your bag over your shoulder. “This is what friends do.”

You started to walk out of the room, swinging your keys around your finger before stopping and turning back to Rosa. “It’ll, uh, be a minute, though. Just so you know. I parked… pretty far away.”

She grinned at you. “Yeah, I heard about that. You don’t use the precinct lot?”

“No! You have to pay for it! I’m not paying for parking at my job.”

“So where do you park then?” Rosa asked, sitting heavily in a chair and spinning.

You shrugged. “Wherever there’s street parking.”

“I’ll give it to you, Y/L/N,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re committed.”

You shot her an awkward, two-finger salute before walking out of the precinct and starting the several-block trek to your parked car.

You were kind of hanging out with Rosa tonight! Sure, she wasn’t feeling well. Sure, she might just be desperate for a ride home. But it counted… right? You’d parked just a block away from a bodega and silently thanked this morning’s parking gods. You picked up an assortment of things, some you knew Rosa liked, some that you’d want when you were on your period. And then, at the last moment as you waited to check out, you grabbed a bouquet of baby’s breath. It always made you feel better to have something pretty to look at. They might be a little too much, but it’s not like you’d gotten her roses or anything. Baby’s breath was a just friends flower? Right?

You threw your shopping bag in the backseat, then zoomed to the precinct for Rosa. You texted her, then waited, growing more nervous by the second. You’d never been alone with Rosa. Not like this, not in an enclosed space that wasn’t work. She sat with you at lunch sometimes or you went out for drinks with everyone after work, but this was different.

Pull yourself together, you thought, taking a deep breath as Rosa opened the passenger door and sat down heavily, leaning her head back.

“You alright?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

She nodded slowly. You waited for her to tell you where to go, but she was quiet.

“Uh… Rosa?”

She glanced at you.

“I kind of need to know where you live.”

Rosa seemed to think deeply about this, then leaned back and said, “Turn left up here. I’ll tell you where to go.”

You put the car in drive and simply followed.

When you pulled up next to Rosa’s building–a pre-war dairy refurbished as lofts–you followed her in quietly, stunned into silence, the bag of bodega groceries swinging at your wrist.

The elevator took you up to the fifth floor, and you couldn’t help but gape at her huge windows, the sealed concrete floor, the top-of-the-line appliances and expensive furniture.

You set the grocery bag on the kitchen island and took it all in, eyes wide.

“No offense or anything, but… how the hell do you live here on a police officer’s salary?”

“I don’t,” Rosa said bluntly, opening her medicine cabinet and rustling around. “I flip old cars in my spare time.”

“Oh.” You were glad Rosa was turned away from you so she couldn’t see you flush bright red at the thought of how she’d look fixing a car.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, slamming the cabinet shut. You jumped. “I’m out of–”

“Midol?” you asked, pulling a series of medicines out of your bag. “Tylenol? Advil? Aleve? Pick your poison.”

Rosa looked at the pills, grabbing the Midol, then staring at you so hard you blushed and turned away, rummaging through the grocery bag. You couldn’t see it, but her eyes softened as she watched you.

“You brought me painkillers?” she asked, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, still avoiding her eyes. “And…” You pulled things out of the bag like it was a magic hat. “Takis, Hot Cheetos, chocolate, a frozen pizza, and Moose Tracks.”

Now it was Rosa’s turn to gape at you. But somehow that made you blush all the more. “I just…” You stumbled over your words. “I always like pizza and chocolate when I’m on my period. And I know you love Takis and Hot Cheetos. And you always have Moose Tracks in the freezer at work.” When Rosa didn’t respond, you kept talking, trying to fill the silence. “It’s no big deal or anything. I didn’t want you to have to go out later or–”

“You noticed my Moose Tracks?” she finally said, smirking, her eyes twinkling.

“Well, yeah.” You shrugged. “I notice a lot.”

“Uh-huh…” Rosa mumbled, watching you flutter around the kitchen, opening cabinet after cabinet to find a glass and get her and yourself some water. You were so nervous your mouth was dry.

“Go lay down or something!” you told her, flustered. “I’ll bring you some water. Do you want me to put the pizza in the oven for you?”

“That depends, will you stay and eat it with me?”

Rosa seemed to have transformed all of a sudden. She’d been largely preoccupied with her pain before, and you could tell she was still feeling it, but it was like a switch had been flipped. Where before she’d been, if not distant, just vaguely nice, now she seemed smug, confident, almost… flirty? As if she had something on you. You desperately hoped that what she had on you was not the fact that you had a massive crush on her.

“Uh… s-sure,” you mumbled. “If you want.”

“I do,” she said, flopping onto the couch and covering herself with a blanket. You brought her a glass of water so she could take her pills, then preheated the oven, fishing a sheet pan out of a cabinet and placing the pizza in to bake.

You sat down on the opposite side of the couch from Rosa, inching to the very edge, and trying your very best not to touch her. You never, ever wanted to make her feel uncomfortable by touching her, even by accident. But she spread out and pressed her feet against your thighs, making your breath catch in your throat.

She scrolled through shows on her TV, then asked you abruptly, “You ever watch Drake’s Hollow?”

You shook your head.

“You should. We could now, if you wanted to.”

“Yeah, okay,” you said encouragingly, willing to watch literally anything with Rosa.

“We’ll start at the beginning so you know what’s going on,” she said, searching for the right episode. “It’s not good. It’s like… the McDonald’s of television.”

You grinned. “Like the frozen pizza of television.”

“Yeah.” She smiled at you. “But sometimes it’s all you want, you know?”

Rosa was right. Drake’s Hollow was not good. The acting was awful. The plot? Melodramatic and borderline ridiculous. But it was fun. You loved to gasp at the hilarious twists and turns. The melodramatic, lovelorn speeches of the characters. To yell, “Boo! Dump his ass!” at the screen when the husband was revealed to be cheating on the wife.

For her part, Rosa loved watching you watch Drake’s Hollow. But you wouldn’t know that. You could hardly believe your luck that you were here. In Rosa’s apartment. With Rosa next to you, so close she was touching you! That you were watching this stupid, stupid show together and making a frozen pizza. You were on cloud nine. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at her, so scared were you that you’d fumble and get awkward again and ruin everything.

“Bathroom?” you asked, standing during a commercial break.

“Down the hall to the right,” Rosa said, pointing behind her.

You stared at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands, patting cool water on your cheeks in hopes that it’d bring down the flush that hadn’t left since the moment you’d stepped foot in Rosa’s house. You heard the oven timer go off and quickly dried your hands.

You walked into the kitchen, and your stomach dropped all the way to the floor. The pizza was out of the oven, cooling. And Rosa was standing at the island, pulling the slightly rumpled bouquet of baby’s breath out of the grocery bag. The bouquet you’d foregone, thinking it probably was too much.

She looked at you, and you looked away.

“Did you buy me flowers?” she asked.

Fuck, you thought to yourself. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yep,” you sighed, trying to sound nonchalant. “I just… like to have something pretty to look at. You know, when I’m… on my period.”

It was a ridiculous excuse. You knew it. Rosa almost certainly knew it. She wasn’t stupid. You exhaled heavily and slapped a few slices of pizza onto a plate, hoping that a return to the couch, to Drake’s Hollow, would return everything else to normal, too.

You heard Rosa fill a vase with water, heard her arrange the flowers before grabbing her own pizza. Be cool, be cool, be cool, you told yourself as she sat back down, setting her plate next to yours on the coffee table.

You avoided her eyes, waiting for her to start the show again. You got more and more nervous the longer the silence went on, the longer the paused screen vibrated on the TV.

“Y/N,” Rosa finally said, her voice softer than normal.

Fuck, you cursed internally. You’d fucked it up. She knew. She knew and she didn’t feel the same because of course she didn’t, and now you’d ruined everything. It was all going to be awkward and weird now. Fuck.

“Flowers aren’t a thing that friends do.”

You let out a shaky breath. “They… could be?” you ventured, knowing as soon as it left your mouth that it wasn’t true, not for you and her.

She carefully slid her hand into yours, and you felt your heart stop.

“And what if I wanted to give you flowers?” she asked.

You blinked, not quite believing your ears, and turned to look at Rosa. Her face was light, playful, so much softer than usual. Was she teasing you? Tricking you? Making fun of you? Surely, she wasn’t that mean. She could be ruthless, sure. But she wasn’t cruel. Not to people she cared about it.

She gently grasped your chin, and your stomach did flips. Then she leaned forward and she kissed you. Just like that. So simple, so easy, so soft. Softer than you’d ever imagined Rosa to be. A softness she probably didn’t let many people see. She was so gentle, her fingers light as feathers against the skin of your face, her lips barely grazing yours, as if to ask for permission.

When she pulled away, you were breathless, even though she’d barely touched you, barely pressed her lips to yours. You just looked at each other for a moment, as if to gauge the other, as if to ask if this was real. But you–you’d wanted to kiss Rosa since the day you met her. The fact that she wanted to kiss you? Unbelievable. Beyond your wildest imagination. Rosa fucking Diaz. Absolute enigma. Terror of the Brooklyn 99. Wanted to kiss you.

Before you could even fully register what you were doing, you’d surged forward, grasping her face in your hands, pressing your lips to hers with all the fervor of an unrequited love that had, against all odds, become requited. She laughed, smiling into the kiss, pressing her hands against your collarbone, curling them around your neck.

When you finally ran out of breath, you leaned back, grinning, hand pressed to your forehead. Rosa laughed again, and you turned to her.

“This isn’t a prank, right?” you asked.

“No!” she scoffed, grabbing a slice of pizza and taking a bite. “I’m not that mean.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Okay, I wouldn’t be that mean to you.”

“Wow,” you smirked, taking a bite of your own slice. “You really do like me.”

“Shut up, nerd,” she grumbled, mouth full, shoving her shoulder into you.

But you could tell by the way her eyes sparkled, by the way the corners of her mouth turned up, by the way she let herself linger next to you, skin touching, that she was playing when she called you names.

But she wasn’t playing when she kissed you. Wasn’t playing when she turned Drake’s Hollow back on and tentatively tucked herself into your side. And she certainly wasn’t playing when the pizza was done, the ice cream eaten, the show over, the night late. When she said, “You might as well stay if you want to. You’ll have to drive me in the morning anyway,” then stood and walked to her bedroom, giving you a look that let you know you were meant to follow. And you did.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Hi I was thinking what about yan!mafia boss who kidnaps and baby traps(no need for smut scene) reader and how life would be for reader while pregnant

Yandere! Ex-patient! Mafia Boss x AFAB! Nurse!Reader

Hmm baby trapping.

Well I can say for sure y'all like the pregnant fics LMAO

I hope you don't mind me putting more details to yandere! This is like the much more twisted version of a greek myth story, so be warned!

Also, Rowan cameo? (Since Rowan is also a mafia boss)

Yandere! Mafia boss name: Hades

"Sir! Rowan's men are closing in!"

Hades clenched his teeth and looked at his right hand man. He was injured and not able to use his left arm right now.

"Fuck. Do we really need to retreat?" Hades pondered, clutching the empty Thompson in his hands and not minding his broken leg.

"Sir, please, let's just retreat!"

Hades bit his tongue and messed up his hair in frustration before opening up the intercom. "Retreat! Get out of there and retreat!"

It was hard extracting his men from that warehouse lot. But in the end, they were left with only 75% of the number of men that went to this mission, much to Hades' disappointment.

Hades.

He doesn't have a surname, nor a family.

All he has is his mafia and his men.

He remembered when he desperately clawed at the feet of the old mafia boss, asking him to take him in.

He remembers the rigorous training he had to go through in order to be accepted inside their famiglia, and just to be recognized by his boss.

After years of being the underdog, he won a do or die tournament inside the famiglia. And he became the new boss once the old one retired.

As somebody who didn't have anything, he knew how hard it is to have nothing at all. Nothing to eat, nothing to sleep on, nothing to drink.

So he made sure to claw as much as he can to his territory.

He is relentless in his pursuit. With his cold eyes and violent tendencies, it's no wonder his wealth and circle expanded exponentially.

His temper always flare up whenever he saw something he wants.

Envious even.

Filled with envy, he would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

He's temperamental, vicious, cold, and jealous.

He's always jealous. Envious.

He wants everything.

So, when he saw the opportunity to extend his territory once more with the Silas famiglia's territory, he had to.

But it landed him in the hospital.

It was a close fight, but in the end, Rowan won due to an error with Hades' group.

Hades sighed and brushed back his hair to his scalp, not even flinching when the nurse accidentally bumped into his broken leg.

"I-i'm so sorry sir! Forgive me!" The nurse panicked, their breathing fast and short.

Hades frowned, his eyes glowering in anger as he stared daggers at the nurse.

The nurse gulped and ran away, scared for their life.

Hades leaned back to the pristine, luxury hospital bed. The ache in his leg didn't faze him as he looked outside of the window, annoyed at the lost oppurtunity.

For now, he's going to let the Silas' go.

The door opened and in came a new nurse, you.

"Hello sir. I'm your new nurse! My name is y/n." You said, gently holding the clipboard in your hand. Your light blue scrub was clean and spotless.

"Hmph." Hades mused. "Did the crybaby ran to you and tattled on me? Telling i'm a big bad man?" He cooed, like talking to a child.

But rather than getting angry or scared, you only laughed and shook your head.

"You could say that." You told him straightforward, and this amused Hades.

"Well, whatever. Just do your best to take care of me." Hades said before he allowed you to come close to him.

You were an amazing nurse.

Nothing short of caring, you made sure to attend to Hades to the best you can do.

It was like you were a family member, taking care of him with such tenderness that even touched Hades.

Your hands, like the work of an angel, had the touch of a skilled healer and caregiver as you even tended to the most mundane tasks that he could do, like eat.

He didn't mind though. The pretty nurse was taking care of him. Who is he to refuse?

At first, he thought you were only after his money, which understandably made him upset. But you never crossed the line to flirt with him. You acted like an old friend, bantering and joking with him.

He liked this. You were not tense around him. You're not intimidated by the man in front of you, only annoyed whenever he refused to do something you needed him to do.

You both become friends, and Hades always looked forward to your care.

Just pure, adulterated caring hands of a mother-like figure.

Mother, huh?

If you took care of Hades like this, how would you take care of your own children?

He innocently pondered. Imagining you pregnant, he daydreamed of you give birth and having children.

But he flinched, suddenly feeling his body hot.

Seeing you pregnant aroused him.

No, seeing you get pregnant due to him aroused him to no end.

It was just supposed to be an innocent thought. Since he wanted to imagine what would it be like for you to have a family of your own and taking care of them.

But he imagined that the husband is him, the children are his, and you are his wife.

He imagined you moaning under him, clutching his back and screaming his name as he blew his load into you, pumping you full.

He imagined you with a round belly, filled with his baby or two, waddling around his mansion as he took care of your every need.

God.

He licked his teeth, suddenly, suddenly liking the prospect of you with him.

Ever since then, he saw you in a different light.

He had to have you.

Hades moved his leg and smiled.

It doesn't hurt anymore, and he knew it was fully healed.

"Thanks for this, doll." Hades said, his husky deep voice breaking the silence inside the hospital room. His sharp, dark eyes bored into your giddy form that was clapping for him.

"That's great then!" You grinned, looking at the clipboard and nodding. "You're good for discharge then! Can't believe you abused your stay here in the hospital until your broken leg actually healed."

Hades howled in laughter, feeling light.

"Hey, I had to. It's much more peaceful here." He lazily grinned. "And, I had my pretty little doll take care of me. That's two birds in one stone."

You flushed pink and gave a small chuckle.

"Haha. So funny." You rolled your eyes.

"What can I say? I'm a clown." Hades joked "Honk honk." He squeezed his nose, pretending it's the red, squeezy clown nose that clowns have.

"The whole circus, you mean." You teased.

The both of you got quiet once more as you helped his men who just got inside the room to move Hades' things out.

He watched you interact with his men and frowned, jealousy bubbling inside of him. And his eyes narrowed when he saw one brush his hand with yours.

In his eyes, it wasn't an accident, it was a deliberate act of flirting with you.

"Okay, I got to report to your physician first. Be right back!" You said, waving to Hades before jogging out.

"Oi, you."

All of his men stopped, heart rate suddenly picking up as Hades pointed at the man who brushed his hands with yours.

"Yes sir?" The man approached him and Hades immediately grabbed his hand, twisting it.

The man was about to scream in agony but only got to whimper in pain when Hades bore holes in him.

"Those hands you touched? I am the only one who's able to do that." Hades seethed, jealousy and envy bubbling inside of him again, threatening to boil over. "So don't you dare do that again."

He let go of the man as he nodded, scrambling away from him. His other men only bowed and continued to do their work.

They knew not to touch the boss' future wife, as what Hades told them.

But they don't know the scope of 'touch', and it seems that even accidental touches aren't out of the question.

They were glad that their boss found a woman to be his partner, and was happy that the boss seemed like he found something to be happy with.

Especially with how hard his life was before, he needed somebody who will love him unconditionally.

But they forgot that Hades was the epitome of envy and jealousy.

They prayed for your soul. May it be to escape Hades' clutches, or for you to tolerate his behavior and his overly possessive nature.

But, six months later, their hair stood on their ends when they saw you inside the boss' mansion, confined, and kidnapped. You had a defeated look on your face as you glared at their boss, who only smirked.

You were kidnapped by Hades.

six months before the kidnapping

Hades visited you in the hospital, bringing a bouquet of flowers in hand. It was an assortment of different floras, most of them of your favorite flower that you mused to him one day.

He sighed, suddenly feeling nervous. It was the first time he felt like this, but he shook his head and clicked his tongue before walking inside.

His long legs strode towards your floor. The other hospital personnel, who once cowered in fear, looked at him curiously and started to gush amongst themselves.

They knew who he was here for.

And once he got to the 4th floor, he saw you, working on your computer.

"Hey little doll." He drawled out, smirking as you looked up to him.

"Hades! How are you?!" You excitedly jumped up, eyes sparkling. Hades felt warm inside, knowing you were smiling like that because of him.

"Oh, you know. Doing the same. Your care is spectacular. I got healed in such a short time. You're an angel, you know that?" Hades winked and you giggled.

"Oh shut you. What are you here for?" You asked.

You gasped, seeing the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Grant me the pleasure of being with you, doll?" Hades said, his voice low and quiet, but his resolve was strong.

You grinned and accepted the bouquet, smelling the amazing aroma and smiling.

"Of course!"

At first, dating Hades was fun.

He spoiled you rotten. Giving you jewelry, clothing, food... Anything you looked at, he would buy.

He was a gentleman. A clear and distinct difference from how he's always been.

It was supposed to be a fairytale love story. Well, as much as a fairytale it is being with a mafia boss.

But he was so possessive and overly jealous.

"Why are you looking at him?"

"You don't have male patients, right? No, scratch that. Even women can see how amazing you are."

"Why did he talk to you? Is he asking you out?"

"What did she say? Did she flirt with you?"

"I'll rip their skulls out if you even try to glance their direction."

You groaned, annoyed by his jealousy. You tried to reassure him, that nothing was wrong, that he was the only one for you, but he won't listen.

He was draining to be with. He's always watching other people like a hawk, threatening them if they tried to interact with you, then getting so manipulative with you.

And while you made sweet, sweet love with him one night, with your body filled with his marks and bites, you knew you had to let go of the man.

You can't even work in the hospital right because of his jealousy.

So you have to.

But when you woke up, were kidnapped by him.

"What the fuck?! Hades!" You screamed, looking at the windows. It was grilled. The doors, all unlocked except for the exits.

Nobody was allowed inside the mansion, only you and Hades were residing there.

Hades smirked, looking at you pacing around the mansion. His eyes, dark, obsessed, and possessive, swept your form up and down.

"Doll, you're in the right place." Hades stalked towards you. His long legs, which you once helped heal, was now transporting your twisted boyfriend in front of you. "You think I don't know you want to leave me?"

You seethed, eyes boring betrayal and hatred.

"Why did you kidnap me?"

Hades smirked.

"Like I said, I know you want to leave me. And I can't have that." Hades licked his lips and gently clutched your hips. His thumbs, dangerously close to your core. You shivered, your body responding to his touch. "I did well training your body to like my touch." Hades mused.

You looked away, defiant arousal filling you inside as his hips fit with yours.

You could feel his excitement prodding at your stomach.

"I know you want me, doll." He whispered, leaning down to your ear and licking it. "Doesn't this feel forbidden? If you really hated me, hated my touch, and want to go out, you should have ran away from me. But hey, look at this. You're letting me touch you."

He chuckled darkly as he saw your red face.

"Come on doll." He whispered, kissing your neck. "They said hate sex feels phenomenal. Want to try it?"

Accepting it was the dumbest decision of your life.

He pumped you full, not even bothering to put protection.

And you, swept away by his divine touch, didn't care also.

You only regret this decision once you got pregnant.

Hades gave a triumphant, evil lopsided grin as he called his men to introduce you.

His men's eyes widened in fear at him.

Nobody can even get inside his mansion, let alone his men.

But now, he's openly letting people go inside his mansion. They knew you were inside the mansion, kidnapped. But why is he letting them go inside now?

Hades scoffed and shielded your form from the inquisitive eyes of his men, jealousy filling him.

"Welcome my fiancée, everyone. Treat her well, will you? She's pregnant with my child."

They all froze, before they felt like they were showered with cold ice water.

Baby trapped.

You were baby trapped.

That's why Hades opened the doors to them.

You can't leave no matter what.

And as Hades smirked at your glaring form, they prayed once more.

You're never going out of his clutches.

You were now forever confined in Hades' world.

His Persephone.

[samalong1]

A different kind of mess

Domestic fluff with hannibal and reader

Hannibal hates messes

He always went the extra mile when cleaning dusting his valuables,sanitizing everything,and cleaning the tiniest crevices

Nit so weird but considering he went all out every week it was clear neatness was important

But now that he has you and a small toddler it differs

If course its still clean but less so

His fridge is cramped with drawings

His coffee table has disney movie cds

His bathroom counters has remnants of sparkly toothpaste

Even his weird torture hospital basement has been effected

Some poor soon to be killed man had to hold back laughs as the menacing killer tripped over the damn tricycle that was only in the basement so his child woudnt try and ride it in the harsh winter made sense but he wished you told him

But even though he misses having impossibly clean home he cherishes the laughter from his sweet child as they play stringing toys along the floor that he'll have to clean up later

Even though he still keeps the house cleaner then the average household every once in a while when you take your child out he goes full on deep cleaning

As soon as your child is old enough he's teaching them to clean after themselves

Understands any mess his kid cleans up won't be perfect but still a good habit and makes it easier for him to clean

Legos are banned after he stepped on one

Almost yelled at the kid

Stickers are not banned but strictly monitered

He let his kid into his office once and stickers were everywhere

He had to explain to his patients why his clipboard had Ariel and puppy stickers all over

Only tolerates it from his child

Refuses to let any other kid in his house

Yes the gremlin is messy but he came from you as proof of their love and for him to guide and teach

And your kid likes going go their freinds houses anyway due to junkfood

Hannibal doesn't like them going to other kid's houses and has to meet the parents first ect

No sleepovers final word don't even bother asking

Only sleepovers are when your family is over for the holidays and cousins get to have a "sleepover" In the living room

But playdates are ok afterall it gives him alone time with you

Pta hannibal fic maybe

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Fem!PaperCut fic

Like most of my work this is unbetaed and so probably has some typos

******************

“Detention, Miss Curtis.” 

Ms. Sinatra hands her a now familiar pink slip, shaking her head in a way that’s more disappointed than surprised, and Pony does her best to look contrite, ducking her head to hide a grin.

She’s gonna have to quit doing this soon. For one, Darry is gonna lose her head when she finds out how many detentions Pony has got this year, and for another she’s running out of new ideas of how to get detention in the first place. She’s fortunate Ms. Sinatra kind of holds a grudge against her for what happened during the fire drill last year- which wasn’t her fault, ok? It wasn’t.

Ms. Sinatra goes back to the lesson, talking about Boo Radley this and symbolism that, but Pony isn’t really listening. Instead she looks down at the two slips of paper in her hands, one pink and the other a ripped piece of lined notebook paper, with the most chickenscratch handwriting she’s ever seen. 

It only has one word written. Well, one word and two kisses.

Detention? xx

It’s enough for Pony. 

***********

Tuesday’s are the only day of the week track practice takes place during lunch instead of after school. When the bell rings, Pony makes her way to the changeroom, slipping out of her skirt and into her track shorts before following her teammates out onto the yard. The track is 400m of packed dirt covered in gravel, chalk lines fading into dust. Their school district is far from the riches in the district, and what little funding they do have for sports usually goes towards the boys football team instead of varsity track and field. Pony doesn’t really mind, Be it dirt, gravel, or pavement, she’s never yet found a track that didn’t let her feel like she’s flying. 

Her sister, Sodapop, doesn't get it. Jenny, Dalia, and Two-bit don’t either. Even Darry, who had been captain of the cheer team before she left school, doesn’t understand what exactly the track team means to Pony. 

Because it’s everything.

The feeling of her feet digging into the track, her hair flying back and fighting to escape her ponytail, lungs burning as she forces herself faster, for once not having to worry about being ladylike or pretty, free for as long as she’s running. Sometimes it feels like if she runs far enough or fast enough she could run away from everything. Sometimes, when she’s nearing the end of a race, pushing herself faster than she’s ever run before, she can almost pretend for a moment that it really is all behind her, can leave behind the reality that mom and dad are gone and nothing will ever be the same as it used to be.

No wonder she’s set five personal bests already this year.

She stretches while the coach scribbles on his clipboard before sending them on an easy 800m for warm up. Pony pumps her legs, sticking close to the middle of the pack- unlike some people, she feels no need to try and show off. At least not until the practice races.

As she rounds the first bend she spots a familiar head of dark hair under the bleachers. The girl, wrapped in a leather jacket, a cigarette stuck between her red painted lips, catches Pony’s eye and grins, a cheshire cat smile with a gap in the bottom front teeth that never fails to steal Pony’s breath away, just a little bit.

She forces herself faster, pulling ahead of the rest of the team, which earns her a few dirty looks from the seniors. She can’t bring herself to care..

After all, it can’t hurt to show off a little bit. Right?

************

Antonio Shepard has to be one of the scariest people Pony has ever met. She’d never admit it, because greasy girls are supposed to be tough, but the guy’s cold blue eyes and the jawline that could cut glass would make him intimidating even if he wasn’t the leader of one of the east side’s scariest gangs. 

He’s also, as it turns out, scarily protective over his twin sister, which Pony supposes would be sweet,if it didn’t mean he spent every class they spent together staring at her like she was a puzzle he was trying very hard to figure out.

So what, she and Curly are friends? It doesn’t mean he needs to be weird about it.

Then again, Curly is the strangest girl Pony’s ever met. It makes sense her brother would be too.

In any case, Antonio’s surveillance makes geography a class that is very hard for Pony to concentrate in, something that is going to be a problem pretty soon if she fails the midterm and her grades start slipping. If Darry finds out she’s struggling in geo as well as math she can kiss the track team goodbye. And no track team means no letting Darry think she has track practice after school Tuesday, which means no Tuesday detentions, which means no hanging out with Curly for two hours completely uninterrupted. 

Yeah, she really can’t afford to fail the midterm.

She’s copying down the different layers of the atmosphere, wishing someone would pull the fire alarm like Two-bit and her treat of the week had a few weeks ago, when something small and damp hits her in the back of the head.

Annoyed, she brushes the spitball out of her hair and tries to ignore the snickers erupting from the back of the class as best she can. She’s dealt with plenty of annoying teenage boys in her life. Usually, the best reaction is no reaction, and if this is Archie Towsend’s latest shitty attempt at flirting with her she might actually lose her mind.

Five minutes and seven spitballs is all it takes to ruin her resolve. When a spitball lands in her ear, she whirls around just quick enough to see Antonio hide his hollowed out pen under his desk and adopt an innocent expression.

Pony sees red.

When she comes back to herself she’s holding another detention slip and Antonio is smirking at her, his snake-like eyes amused, even as he wipes the water she’d dumped over his head off his jacket.

Pony fumes for the rest of class. She is so gonna set Curly on him. 

********************

The reason Tuesday track practices run during lunch is the same reason why Tuesday is the only day Pony tries to get detention consistently, no matter how many notes or bribes Curly slips into her locker or gives her between classes. On Tuesdays, the principal, who usually oversees detention and makes students scrape gum off desks or some equally unpleasant task, goes home early to play in his intramural softball league, and so the track coach Mr. Duvall takes over. Now, Mr Duvall is deeply dedicated to his role as track coach…not so much to overseeing detention. 

When Pony gets to the detention room there's only three other people there. Most folks have figured out by now that Mr. Duvall often forgets to take attendance when he’s in charge of detention.

“Alright there, Curtis?” Mr. Duvall greets when she steps into the room, “You aren’t the type I’d expect to see in detention.”

He says that same thing almost every week, and every week he seems to forget he’s seen her in detention before. Pony is starting to wonder if the guy’s memory is really that bad or if the rumours of his pill problem have more wight than she initially thought.

“It was a misunderstanding Mr.Duvall,” she tells him, giving her most winning smile, and he nods absentmindedly. 

“Right, right. Well, you’re the last person on my list I think, so keep these folks in line for me, will you? I’ll be back in two hours to make sure you’ve all stayed the whole time.”

Then he leaves.

Pony snicker as the two greasers in the back of the classroom promptly open the window and climb out, leaving it open behind them, presumably so she and Curly can follow if they want to. It’s sort of gallant, she thinks. Maybe chivalry isn’t dead.

She doesn’t spend much time dwelling on it as she makes her way towards the only figure left in the classroom. She has no intentions of going anywhere, at least not for the next two hours. Not when she’s alone in a room with Curly Shepard for the first time in a week. Curly Shepard, who wears oversized baggy jeans- boys jeans- instead of skirts, and who always gets Pony in trouble, and who smells like cigarette smoke and dirt but somehow doesn’t ever truly smell bad. Curly Shepard, who’s more accurately described as handsome than pretty for all she’s a girl, and who Pony is pretty sure she’s starting to fall in love with.

Curly, who is currently hunched over a desk and not giving Pony the time of day.

Fuck. That.

“Watcha doin’?” she asks, hopping onto a desk right in front of Curly. She’s wearing a skirt, and it rides up a bit at the motion, something that would usually be guaranteed to not only capture Curly’s attention but distract her for a good few minutes, but Curly doesn’t even glance up.

“Just gimme a minute, doll.”

“You go through all this trouble,” pony drawls, “Slippin’ a note in my locker and comin’ to spy on me durin’ practice earlier, and now you can’t even give me the time of day? Darlin’ I got detention for you, a black mark on my shiny school record, and another one for dumpin’ a water bottle on your brother, dontcha think I deserve a reward for all that trouble?”

That at least makes Curly quirk an eyebrow, even if she still doesn’t look up from whatever she’s doing, and working very hard to hide behind her jacket sleeve.

“You dumped water on Tony? What’d he do?”

“Spitballed me.”

“I’lll put a frog in his bed tonight.” Curly promises, and Pony grins.

“My hero.”

“You know it, doll.” 

“If you don’t start payin’ attention to me I’m gonna follow them boys right out that window.”

“Jesus you’re impatient, y’know that? Here I am tryin’ to listen to you and do somethin’ romantic for once since you’re always sayin’ all I care about is kissing, and here you are actin’ all desperate.”

Pony rolls her eyes. “And what’s so romantic about ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignorin’ you,” Curly finally looks up, her gaze catching on Pony’s bare thigh before she forces herself to meet her girlfriend’s gaze, “I’m makin’ one of those gestures you’re always going on about, like that time you brought me soup when I was sick. See?”

She moves her arm and Pony finally sees what she’d been working on. There, carved roughly into the top of the desk, is a slightly lopsided heart with the initials P + C in the middle.

“This way there's proof we exist but no one to get us in trouble for it.” Curly says, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. She fidgets with her switchblade, flicking it open and shut while Pony’s eyes fill with tears.

“Oh Curly…”

“You don’t like it,” Curly swallows heavily, and Pony can see the way she’s trying to hide her hurt, “it’s ok, it was stupid anyway-”

Pony pulls her into a kiss.

“It’s perfect.”

Curly melts under her hands, trying to duck away and hide her embarrassment, but Pony refuses to let her, instead staring into her blue, blue eyes.

“You’re a real romantic at heart, ain’t you Curly Shepard?”

“Shut up.”

“You are.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“I mean it,” Curly threatens, “or I won’t kiss you for the rest of the day.”

Pony snorts. “I’m wearin’ my yellow skirt. You won’t last ten minutes without kissin’ me somewhere.”

“Wanna bet, pretty girl?”

She’s never been one to turn down a challenge.

“Y’know what?” Pony sticks her chin out, fighting a smile, “Sure.”

Curly makes it four minutes and Pony’s skirt riding up a bit before she loses the bet. Neither of them really mind.

Two hours later Mr. Duvall returns and lets them go, thanking them for being responsible enough to serve their full detention time. Pony walks beside Curly back to the east side, wishing she was brave enough to reach out and take her hand. 

She already can’t wait for Tuesday detention next week.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Ooh!! I love your wip, please do 😭📋📋📋🥵🥵🥵💙💙😎😎😎 thanks 🥰🥰

Hi darling thank you!!! 🥰🥰 So sorry I'm answering this like three weeks late, the words have not been wording. Scrolled through my asks last night and saw this one and wrote a lot more than I was expecting to. Thank you!

Verbal Abuse fic:

“Christopher said you're seeing a therapist again,” Helena says, her mouth a thin line. Eddie never bothered telling her about therapy. She doesn't believe it helps. “Yeah,” Eddie nods. “Have been for months.” “Pity you didn't start before you traumatized your son into running away,” she says, casual as anything.

Clipboard Buck fic (oh look, Maggie's projecting):

Eddie works his jaw in thought. He wracks his brain, trying to think of his first serious crush. That friend from highschool comes to mind, but he immediately skips over him to Shannon. Before her, there really wasn't anyone. He remembers his friends fawning over Leticia Montes in third grade. He didn't understand the draw. They didn't know her very well; she was in fourth grade. Eddie didn't know a thing about her. He supposes her dark curls and blue eyes were pretty, but there wasn't anything beyond that. There was a boy in sixth grade his friend Mary was practically in love with that, objectively speaking, was attractive. Eddie still didn't get it. Whenever his friends asked him who he liked, he'd think up the most well known heartthrob as his answer. Unfortunately, he had more than a few friends who would proceed to try and set them up. The refusals became degrading after a while. Eventually, he just stopped answering them. He lost those friends, but he didn't feel all that bad about it.

Sub Eddie fic (it's less than 3 lines but it's all my brain would allow me):

“Relax,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. He doesn't say it out loud, but Eddie hears it all the same. The promise they've kept to each other for years: I'll take care of you, and I trust you to take care of me.

Tanis' fic:

“Fuck, you're beautiful,” Buck says in an awed whisper. For a moment, Eddie thinks he should shy away from the attention. But he doesn't want to. This is Buck. Buck hovers over him, bracketing his head with his forearms. Eddie tips his chin up for a kiss and Buck grins as he leans down. Heat engulfs whatever softness remained from moments before. Buck nips at his lips and licks deep into his mouth, rocking down hard against him as Eddie pulls him closer, closer, closer.

Big Damn Hero (I couldn't not include this moment):

“Yeah, or you know you could… you could have mine,” Buck stammers like an idiot. Eddie does that adorable snort and shakes his hand. “Deal.” Oh, Buck was in trouble. So. Much. Trouble.

Also using this as my WIP Wednesday!

Tagged by @tizniz and @daffi-990 who both shared AMAZING stuff y'all should show some love!! 💚🩵 (p.s. I'm sorry if I haven't interacted with some tags I've gotten recently. Life's been... life, and some days even tumblr is overwhelming. Love y'all and thank you for continuing to tag me 🩷)

Tagging:

@lover-of-mine @loveyouanyway @kitteneddiediaz

@ronordmann @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @diazsdimples

@thekristen999 @monsterrae1 @actuallyitsellie @diazheartsbuckley @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley

@rainbow-nerdss @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6 @slowlyfoggydestiny

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@lady-elaine @buckley-diaz-rules @buddiedaydreamer911 @monroemary @pirate-hunter

@nonspeakingkiku @eddiedisasterdiaz @drunkandsupportiveeddie @traumabuddies @epicbuddieficrecs @elvensorceress @disasterbuck

@tofanasmuse @gnoeltop @keynb @cassi-brooks @-syrup-sue @punkrock00 @shannonhutchins @lasagnatheory

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Postcard Marks the Spot

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Canon typical torture that's about it in this one.

Author’s Note: Soooo..... I lied. There's definitely going to be more parts to this. All because I can't control myself. And if the muse wants to see this through, then I'm gonna do just that. You'll need to read the first two parts of this to understand what's going on. Don't forget to follow @xxwritemeastoryxxlibrary and turn on notifications just in case tumblr doesn't notify you with the tags.

I do not and will not ever give permission for my fics to be copied and posted on other sites. Don’t do it. Don’t be that person that ruins it for me and everyone else.

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. While likes are appreciated, reblogs are gold. Seriously, if you enjoyed this in the slightest, please reblog ♥

Phantom Masterlist || MCU Masterlist || Taglist

Her throat was raw from screaming. If it hadn't been for the mouth guard she was sure she would have broken teeth from clenching her jaw tightly as the electricity pulsed through her. The numbness she felt once the machine stopped barely gave her relief. 

Fight it. You can fight it. The words she constantly repeated on a loop from the moment they first placed her into the chair. You are strong enough to fight this. You made it through worse.

"Who are you?" A woman's voice filled the air but she refused to find the source. 

This wasn't the first time she heard the question and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. It was a question to see how much of her memories had been taken. To gage how much more they needed to subject her through. 

Her answers varied with each time. At first she only told them to fuck off. Or occasionally she'd get the chance to spit in the face of the doctor that stood too close to her. The more they began to chisel away at her, the more her answers changed. 

Just a random stranger. 

The person that's going to kill you when I get out of this chair. 

An ex Avenger.

Y/N. 

Phantom

The moment the mouth guard was pulled from her lips. She panted out her birth name. The name she had barely remembered from her time in the Red Room. The name that had been taken from her the moment she sat in the chair for the first time. 

It was the name that held no real meaning to her anymore. She had felt more of an attachment to the fake name she had been going by for the last handful of years than the name she had been born with. Yet at that very moment, that's the only name she remembered. 

She watched as the woman standing in front of her wrote on the clipboard after she had spoken. As she did, she tried to remember how she had gotten there or how she even ended up strapped to the chair. The more she tried to remember the more her head hurt, and not just from the process they subjected her to. 

"Do you know who this is?" 

Another question they kept asking her before holding up a series of photos. Sometimes it'd be a group photo of the Avengers at a press conference or individual photos of each of them. Other times it'd be a photo of her original handler or several other faces recognizable through Hydra’s history. And each time she gave the appropriate answer to ensure they knew her memory was fine. 

Until it wasn't. It was taking her longer to answer. Longer to figure out if she actually knew who she was looking at. At the beginning she'd easily say their names without any hesitation. But as each session progressed, she'd fight harder to remember their names. Sometimes she couldn’t at all. 

A photo of Bucky was held up for her to see this time. By the looks of it the photo had been taken on a mission. His brows had been furrowed in concentration as he held a gun up, ready to pull the trigger when needed. 

There were plenty of things going on in the photo, but she could only get her eyes to focus on his eyes. How familiar they had been to her no matter how many times she had seen them before and during her current situation. 

With the familiarity came a sadness that filled her chest. A pain that she no longer understood why it had been there as she looked at his eyes. But it lingered in the pit of her stomach. But she knew him. Otherwise there'd be no familiar feeling as she looked at the photo. 

Her brows furrowed as she tried to get her brain to work. To pull the information out from behind the wall that is being put up. After a moment an echo of his laugh filled her mind. 

His laughter had been contagious the whole night. It was a sight she hadn't seen before and she was enjoying every moment of it, committing it to memory as if it was the last time she'd ever hear him laugh like that.

His vibranium arm had been holding several bags filled with merchandise he had acquired through the night. Y/N had enjoyed watching him go from booth to booth and taking everything in before deciding that what the vendor was selling was worth the price and bought it without second guessing himself. 

Taking Bucky to a smaller fantasy based convention for his birthday was something that he never once expected to ever do. But seeing the excitement on his face as he went through the whole day pulling her to the different booths that caught his attention had been worth it. 

For the first time since completely turning her back on Hydra, she got to really get to know who Bucky was. And from the moment she found the flier advertising the convention, she knew she had to take him. 

"You have no idea how much I needed this." Bucky said as he pulled her closer to his side and put his arm around her shoulder. "I don't know how to express how much I appreciate you pushing me to give this a chance."

"Seeing you this happy and excited is all the expression I need." She kissed his cheek before giving him a smile. "Happy Birthday Bucky."

"His name is James Barnes." She said a moment later as she lifted her head up slightly to look at the doctor in front of her. "He's an Avenger. Former Winter Soldier and hostage of Hydra, just as I am."

A small tsk followed by a sigh came from the doctor. Before she knew it, the mouth guard was being forced back into her mouth. 

She braced herself for the blow. But no matter how many times she had experienced it, her body was never prepared for the current of electricity being sent through her. 

At the sound of the door opening, the doctor didn't bother to look up from the page she continued to write notes on. "This process would go a lot faster if we had her book." 

"That was never recovered." A soldier responded as he came to a stop beside the doctor. His eyes moved over to chair the moment a new wave of screams left her mouth. "We can only go by the pages we've found that Pierce had copied during his temporary time as her handler." 

"And nothing has come up from when you captured her?" The doctor looked up at the soldier before checking the watch on her wrist. 

"No." The soldier responded. "For all we know she could have destroyed it along with the base." 

"What are the chances of inserting new commands?" The doctor asked as she wrote a few more things on the clipboard before nodding her head to her assistant, indicating to turn off the machine. 

He watched as Phantom sagged in the chair, panting. He had seen the fire in her eyes the day they brought her in. As she opened her eyes, he could tell that fire had been snuffed out. There would only be a few more times needed if they were lucky.

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "There's only one way to find out. "

___

It wasn't long after Bucky explained the meaning of the postcard that the team found themselves back on the quinjet. There was no actual plan of action or data to go off of. Only a destination based off of the location on the front of the postcard.

"What are the chances of her still being there?" Natasha asked, looking over at Bucky. 

Their destination was only a few minutes away and all of them, especially Bucky were getting antsy. They weren't sure what would come from this trip. For it being 3 weeks since the postcard had been sent, they expected to almost find nothing once they landed. 

"Slim to none." His attention was on the postcard in his hand. He hadn't put it down since Sam had handed it to him. His fleshed fingers would occasionally run along the grooves of her writing. "For her to send this, there had to be no other way of getting out of it." 

"Then why send the postcard?" Sam asked. 

Bucky’s eyes looked over the writing on the back for the millionth time. He could hear her words play through his mind. Okay, worst ever possible case scenario. He realized now that it wasn't just a random scenario. It was a just in case idea if either of them would ever need it. 

He now understood why she had done it. They both had a past with Hydra. It was only a matter of time until someone attempted to get them within their grasp. Y/N knew she would be the easier target with the programming still locked within her mind. 

This was her way of subtly adding in the details just in case something came up. And while the first stake out with the potential scenarios had been a few months after her escape from Hydra, she wanted it embedded in any way she could. 

"It lets us know where to start looking." He responded a moment later. "Someone could have seen something. Or if she was keeping anything with her, that'd be where she left it. If we're lucky, we'll find something that will let us know at least in what direction Hydra went."

"Not to be the downer on the thought process," Sam began as he leaned forward in his seat. "What if that is the only thing we have to go on? She's been damn near impossible to even get a trail on after she stopped using the safe houses. For Hydra to find her, they've got something we don't and any trace of that could be gone." 

That had crossed Bucky’s mind several times on the way over. Each thought process comes to the same two ends. On one hand there was a possibility that there'd be nothing else to go on. On the other, there was ache in his chest that screamed she'd leave something behind for him to find. 

"What is it?" She asked as she finished wrapping her wounded hand in gauze. Bucky's brows had been furrowed as if he'd been thinking hard about something.

"Your hypothetical today." He said with a sigh. "I couldn't stop thinking about it." 

She ran her good hand along her face. "Was it the Hydra question?" She watched as he nodded before she closed the distance between them. "If there's one thing I know, you'll always be free from them." She placed her hands on his cheeks as she looked up at him. "You're strong enough to fight without them getting into your head. And I'd be there guns ablazing to pull you out before they could try anything." 

He chuckled as he placed his hands on top of hers. "Humor me. What's waiting on the other side of the postcard?" 

She shook her head slightly, a smile pulling at her lips. "There’d be hope waiting on the other side. Whatever we have with us. My heart." They both chuckled. "If I ever needed to use Siberia, I'd make sure I'd leave whatever I could to help you find me. No matter how small or big it may be." 

"You just have to trust me when I say this might be more than just a postcard." Bucky said as he looked over at Sam. 

____

Once landed, the team had split up. Bucky took one look at his surroundings and gave the others several locations to search. Especially places he knew would have vantage points of the town. While any other time he'd willingly go searching for any sign of Y/N, he knew he had to be the one to go to the shop on the postcard. 

He, along with Tony and Natasha, began making their way through the center of the town. Vendors lined both sides of the street. And as the town normally did, crowds gathered at each vendor.

Bucky’s eyes had constantly been scanning the area. They never settled in one spot for too long. They were scanning for the shop or anything that could be lurking around. If Hydra was still around, he didn't want to be caught off guard. 

When the small shop came into view, Bucky’s pace picked up as he made his way over. He hadn't cared if the others had taken a second longer to realize where he was going. He hadn't cared how the bell rattled loudly against the door as he roughly pulled it open moments later. He just hoped that there was something. Anything to lead him in the right direction of Y/N. 

As he scanned his eyes over the shop, he noticed three things. One, the way a glare formed on the shop owner's face before his eyes widened in surprise. Second, was the empty spot in the aisle that Bucky could only assume once held shelves. And third, his nose could pick up on the lingering scent of bleach. 

There was no doubt that something had happened within the shop. He felt some relief that something had happened instead of coming up empty the moment he walked in. He felt it in his gut that she had been there. That the postcard hadn't led to a dead end. 

He could almost imagine the path into the shop she would have taken before she reached the rotating shelf of postcards. The back and front entrance was visible no matter where she was within the shop. Several aisles filled with anything she could possibly grab to help her. He understood why it had to be this shop. 

"You're the Avengers." The shop owner noted as Tony and Natasha began to walk towards him. Bucky followed behind shortly after and noticed how the shop owner's face quickly steeled over as if he was supposed to be that way from the beginning. 

"At least that makes things easier." Tony said  as he looked at Bucky and Natasha before looking back at the shop owner. Tony opened his mouth to continue when the shop owner quickly interrupted. 

"Are you safe?" Bucky watched as the man asked Tony. He seemed not to care about what Tony may have wanted to ask and it made Bucky curious as to why. 

"Safe?" A confused look formed on Tony’s face. "Of course I'm safe." Tony then pulled up a projection of Y/N. "Have you seen her come in?" 

The owner looked at the projection for a moment before shaking his head. "No." He looked towards Natasha. "Are you safe?" 

The three of them looked at each other for a moment before Natasha nodded her head. "I'm safe. We're all safe. We're just looking for our friend to make sure she is safe." 

It was Natasha’s words that clicked something in Bucky’s mind. Anyone else would have just given an answer about if they had seen Y/N or not. But this man had been intentionally avoiding any questions about Y/N. 

All he cared about was asking if they were safe. A question that seemed pointless given the current circumstances. But Y/N had sent him a postcard with a coded message. A code that had been tied into the steps he had created with a scenario she had come up with for the sake of making a stakeout easier to handle. 

The owner shook his head slightly before looking at Bucky. There was a look in his eyes, almost pleading that one of them knew how to respond. "Are you safe?" 

An annoyed sigh passed Tony’s lips at the words but Bucky nodded his head. "Pancakes."

"What?" Both Tony and Natasha said at the same time. 

"I'll explain later."  Bucky shrugged. 

A smile pulled at the shop owner's lips as he kept his eyes on Bucky. "Your preference?"

Bucky chuckled at the memory that crossed his mind. One that left him and Y/N tangled in each other before the smoke alarm went off. "Regular, but the burnt ones made the memories." 

The shop owner nodded his head quickly. "One moment." He moved away from the counter and made his way towards the back room. 

Bucky looked over to find Natasha and Tony sharing the same look of curiosity. Bucky shrugged his shoulders. "Y/N played this smart. Anyone else would have given you an answer about if they saw her. Not look directly at an image of her and lie before asking the same thing to the person standing next to you." He looked over at Nat. "He completely ignored what you said after asking. But when you mentioned we were making sure Y/N was safe, it hit me what the phrase was. So I gave it to him." 

Before Natasha or Tony could respond in any way, the shop owner came back carrying a decorative box. One that was decent in size but small enough to be held in one hand. 

"Your friend said to give this to you." He held it out for Bucky. Bucky gently reached out to take it from him. "She told me she'd only trust the person who could answer correctly. Said what was left of her life was in that box." 

"Thank you." Bucky said as he brought the box closer to him. His eyes never left the lid of the box as he had. 

I'd make sure I'd leave whatever I could to help you find me. No matter how small or big it may be.

Part of him was afraid to even look inside of it. If this was all she had kept with her, it added to the guilt that was already hooked within him. The other part of him wanted to know what items the box contained that would help put him in the right direction in finding her.

"Was this where she was taken?" 

Bucky had heard Natasha’s voice ask the question. But his brain wasn't fully latching onto the conversation as his focus was now on opening the box. 

"No. She killed two of them here before she left. Tourists saw soldiers take her down at the next block over." 

She fought her way out.That would explain the empty space and smell of bleach. Bucky thought as he placed the box and the lid on the counter top in front of him. The box had been filled halfway with items Y/N had put in there. 

At first glance Bucky could see some pictures. Pictures that made a small tick of a smile pull at his lips. A strip of photos from a booth stuck out and he gently pulled it out taking in the images. 

His heart longed for the moments the camera had captured. The smile on both of their faces as they looked at each other instead of the camera. How her eyes had shined so beautifully as she looked over at him. Or how he kissed her at the right time for the last photo. The first time he ever kissed her was captured for them in a small square photo. 

His face fell as that guilty feeling poked out at him. He hated himself for forcing her to leave. He hated that he waited so long to start visiting safe houses and leaving her messages. Messages that had been left unanswered as those safe houses stayed vacant. 

Sighing, he placed the picture strip back on top and lifted the pile of photos to stand against the edge of the box. Underneath the photos were a few folded maps. 

Maps of the different locations she had been in over the last year and a half. Circles and Xs were visible in certain locations. No doubt places she deemed safe and places to stay clear of. On the top right corner of the first map, her writing had caught his interest quickly.

If you're reading this, thank you for coming. You didn't have to, but you did. You are the only person who would understand the contents of this. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden. I trust you with it. 

His eyebrow raised as he lifted the maps. Beneath them were two journals stacked on top of each other. One of them he recognized right away. The other not so much. 

The one he recognized had been Y/N’s journal. One that she had kept with her on every mission, every vacation, and that she wrote in nightly. Her favorite color protected the pages she had been writing on. And by the simple glance of it, there were only a few more pages left untouched. 

When he pulled the second journal out, his heart dropped. The black leather journal stared right up at him. The white lettering on the front was bright against the cover. The journal is newer in comparison to the one that still occasionally haunts his dreams. 

His fleshed fingers ran over the etched lettering in the leather. Each letter he traced with his finger proved further that Y/N did her best to make sure no one could just come along and surprise her. She'd go down as herself and not as the asset they made her into. 

As his fingers came to the last letter on the cover, flashes of a red journal appeared across his mind. How he loathed the memories of sitting in that suppressing machine and seeing the soldier in front of him read from the journal. How a journal such as that one, and the one in his hand, had the capability to take away a person's free will in an instant. 

Phantom. The front of the cover stated. It wasn't a symbol like the one he had seen being used during his time in Hydra’s hold. A single word that held more secrets than a symbol. 

Every detail about her time as Phantom was sitting in his hand. Her trigger words, the torment and conditioning she had been subjected to, along with notes from her handlers about her missions would be within the pages of the journal. The one thing that kept her from ever falling into the wrong hands without a fight and he now had it. 

She trusted him with the very detailed past she tried so hard to keep hidden from him. Trusted him with the very thing that could be used against her time and time again if allowed. He had it in his hand and he wanted nothing more than to watch it burn.

Who asked to be tagged:

@lady-loki-barnes-djarin

Phantom Taglist:

@anna97almeida

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@mrs-maximoff-kenner @mizzzpink @friendelius @thatfanficstuff @mushroomelephant @23victoria @avengers-fixation @fayeatheart @my-soulmate-is-mycroft

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Winter Soldier tag(For only and all things Bucky):

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[toadbreath]

the sun after the storm;

john mactavish is alive. simon visits him in the hospital, but something is wrong. johnny doesn't remember.

☀︎ w.c: 3,9k

☀︎ pairing: ghost x soap // simon riley x john mactavish

☀︎ rating: pg

☀︎ archive of our own: link here

☀︎ genre: angst, fluff, pining

☀︎ warnings: modern warfare 3 spoilers. writing soap's lines in a scottish accent lmao

☀︎ author's note: i haven't written a fic in ten years please be gentle and kind

What do you mean, they found him?

Simon hated hospitals. The sterile nothingness, the god-awful swishing sound scrubs made when nurses walked by, the machines beeping, the artificial plants that are there to provide a facade of comfort; the illusion of life in a building where it is so often taken. 

Third floor. Room 503.

None of that matters. Not when the man he loves is alive — the man he thought was dead for six months. The man whose ashes he gifted to the wind on that cliff as the sun set behind the ocean. None of this makes sense. Simon strides through the hospital lobby, b-lining towards the elevators.

Third floor. Room 503.

Simon’s skull balaclava is earning him some strange looks from various medical staff, but he has tunnel vision and doesn’t take notice, brown eyes locked on the glowing button that has a faded three printed on it. How many times has that button been pressed with the same urgency Simon feels in his gut? The elevator doors open to the third floor and he’s at the reception desk in four strides.  “Room 503?” he asks gruffly. 

The nurse, an older woman, furrows her eyebrows. “…Sir, visiting hours ended 5 hours ago. You can come back tomorro-“ Simon’s eyes glazed over with fury at the thought of having to spend another minute in this miserable place. He didn't have time to wait for tomorrow. Not when the man he thought he had lost forever was just down the hall. He stared at the nurse, his silence the only indication of the rage boiling up within him. His words cut through the air like a knife. “I’m not here as a visitor.”

The nurse is caught off guard by Simon’s reply. He was an intimidating man, even in civilian attire, the mask he had kept on just out of habit. She clears her throat and looks down at her clipboard to avoid Simon’s icy glare. “If you are not a visitor then what is your business here? Do you have identification on you?” She asks, flipping through papers until she finds the file for the patient in room 503.

Simon had no patience for these stupid questions. He had waited months to find out that the man he had thought was dead was alive and he wasn't going to be held up over some petty bureaucracy. “Identification?” he scoffed, the venom in his voice evident. “I don't need identification. I'm here to see John MacTavish.”

The nurse lets out a frustrated breath. “What is your relationship to the patient?” 

What is his relationship with the patient? He worked alongside MacTavish. He joked around with Soap. His chest feels warm and strange whenever he saw Johnny. Technically, they’re nothing more than colleagues, friends. There’s always been something else, though — something just below the surface that neither of them had been brave enough to act upon. Simon paused at the question and the nurse could see the uncertainty in his eyes. What was he to Soap? More than friends, less than lovers. A feeling he had never been able to name or put into words.

"We have a close relationship." he replies quietly. The fact that they had never explicitly defined their relationship made the situation even more awkward. What was he meant to say? That they loved each other deeply, but not in a manner that anyone outside the two of them had ever known? It sounded pathetic. It sounded desperate. It was true.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I need more information than that. I have to know who you are and how you know the patient before you can go into his room."

"I'm..." Simon started, his voice trailing off. He had known MacTavish for a few years now. He had gone to bars with him and watched him get smashed beyond belief on that god-awful scotch. He had found comfort in that Scottish accent he had grown so fond of over comms. He had spent sleepless nights staring up at the ceiling, replaying the night Johnny got shot over and over again. Everything he had done, and everything he could have done differently. Price’s words repeated in his head like a broken record: All stations, this is Bravo in the blind. Threat  neutralized. Bomb is safe. 

One KIA. 

The idiot had to go up behind Makarov and be a hero. What was that saying? Never bring a knife to a gun fight? If there was anyone that would bring a knife to a gunfight, it was Johnny. He was too stubborn, too proud. Always wanting to be the one to finish the job. That stubbornness, that pride, had gotten him killed. And Simon had to watch him die. Had to hold that cold urn of ashes and pour them out over that cliff and hold himself together long enough to not break down in front of the captain. He had spent six long months seeing Johnny in every sunset. He had spent five months avoiding sunsets altogether. 

"...I'm his partner."

That wasn't the answer the nurse was looking for, but it was the only answer that Simon could give her. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. “Right,” the nurse conceded after a moment of consideration. “When you go down the hall, it’s the third door on the left.”

Simon nodded and took off down the hall without another word. He could hear the nurse mumbling something about the strange visitors in his wake, but didn't pay her any mind.

He came to a stop in front of the door to 503. It looked just like the rest of the doors in the hallway. White. Sterile. Unassuming. Simon had been waiting for this moment for half a year. Now that it was finally here, he couldn't bring himself to go in. What if he had heard wrong? What if someone had made a mistake and it wasn't MacTavish in the room? What if he got his hopes up for nothing? John MacTavish wasn’t exactly a unique name, after all. What if-

A doctor came out of the room, a clipboard in his hand. He was tall and slender, the kind of man who had a face you would never remember. He looked up, a bit startled from Simon’s unexpected presence but polite nonetheless.

"May I help you?"

Simon swallowed his nerves. "I'm here to see John MacTavish." The doctor's expression turned somber. "He's alive," Simon said, the words coming out as more of a statement than a question. “Yes, he’s alive…” The doctor says slowly, closing the door to John’s room behind him with a soft click and studying Simon’s eyes with his own. “Have you been informed of his condition?”

Condition. The word makes Simon uneasy. "His condition? What happened to him? Is he okay?" He couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. Simon was usually more collected than this, but the news of Johnny's survival was throwing him off. 

“John suffered a gunshot wound to his right temple. We were able to extract the bullet and its fragments, however…” The doctor paused, choosing his words carefully. He had given this speech many times before, but that never made it easier. “The trauma resulted in retrograde amnesia. We don’t yet know if it’s permanent. If you go in that room… it’s very likely he will not remember you.”

Retrograde amnesia. The words crack his chest open and squeeze his heart like twine. It didn't matter how hard he had trained, or how much experience he had. There was nothing Simon could do about this. No target he could eliminate. This wasn’t something Simon could fix, and that infuriated him.

"Is there anything you can do? Anything I can do?"

The doctor shakes his head. "We've tried everything. There is no telling what will happen. He is stable, and his memory might come back in time. It might not. The only thing we can do is wait, let him heal.” "But I don't understand, I... I watched him get shot, fall to the floor. I watched him die. I held him. How is he alive?" Simon's voice cracks, the memories flooding back like a tidal wave. Johnny, lying on the floor, eyes glazed over. Johnny, slumped lifelessly over his shoulder. Johnny, the ashes of his corpse blown away into the sea. "You must be mistaken. The man I buried is dead. MacTavish is dead. I held his ashes."

The doctor shook his head again. "He was pronounced dead on the scene. He was rushed to a medical facility and they were able to stabilize him enough to fly him here. There was a mix-up with the body tags, and the body you received was someone else's. The hospital called and told us who the urn belonged to. That's how we were able to contact you and inform you of the situation." The doctor pauses. "We have no record of this other person, no information about their family or who they were. The best we can guess is that the hospital was trying to save face, and they handed you the ashes of the first dead body they could find." Simon's heart sinks. How long had he spent grieving, mourning a man who was still breathing? The guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. He felt sick. "I want to see him."

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea-" the doctor starts, but Simon cuts him off. His hands clench into fists. The thought of Johnny waking up, alone and confused in a hospital bed is enough to make him want to rip the door off the hinges and break whatever machines had the nerve to beep so obnoxiously. “Move,” Simon blurts out, pushing his way past the doctor and opening the door to Johnny’s room, stepping inside.

The air is stolen from Simon’s lungs as soon as his eyes landed on Johnny's prone form in the hospital bed. His head was wrapped in bandages, a white gauze patch over the wound on his temple. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that indicated peaceful slumber. 

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

All those months, and he was here. In a hospital. Alive. Simon felt weak.

"Johnny?" Simon whispered, stepping forward hesitantly. MacTavish stirred, the sound of the other man’s voice unfamiliar and foreign, but soothing, nonetheless. It was comforting, like a warm cup of coffee or the smell of a burning candle. It felt like home. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a deep blue iris that scanned the room, the bright fluorescent lights temporarily blinding him. He groans softly, slowly propping himself up into a sitting position on the bed. His paper-thin hospital gown rustles, the fabric scratchy and stiff. Johnny notices the masked man standing awkwardly by his bedside. His eyes scan him slowly, taking in his dark eyes and the black fabric of his balaclava. “They send security in ‘ere?” he mutters, squinting, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Do you..." Simon began, his voice trailing off as he pulled off his mask, running a hand through his shaggy, blond hair.

Johnny's eyes widened. He had never seen this man before, but the sight of him made his heart swell. The blond man had a heavy British accent, and scars of all shapes and sizes littered his pale face. He had brown eyes that shone like honey in the sun, his jaw strong and set with an expression of relief. The blond man's face was the most beautiful thing Johnny had ever seen, and he swallows nervously. 

"Do you recognize me?" Simon whispered, placing his hand on the rail of the bed. He could feel the tears threatening to spill over, and his vision was starting to blur. He was going to cry, and he hated himself for it.

Johnny shook his head. "Sorry, lad. Cannae say I do,” I would remember a face like that, he thinks. “Yer a familiar stranger, though."

"Familiar..." Simon echoed, his voice breaking. He could feel the knot in his throat. This wasn't fair. He was alive, and that was what mattered, but Johnny had no idea who he was. MacTavish was about to ask the stranger his name when the man suddenly burst into tears, sobbing softly.

“Oh, I…” Johnny says softly, reaching a hand out to comfort the stranger, squeezing the man’s bicep gently. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. What’s yer name?” he asks gently.

Simon's chest is on fire, and he's gasping for air. This was all wrong. All wrong. This wasn't the first time Johnny had died. The last time, it was a bullet in the head. This time, Johnny was here, alive, but Simon lost him all the same.

"Simon," he croaks. Johnny repeats the name back, his hand still gripping the other man's arm. He can feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, hot and thick, and he realizes he's crying, too, but he doesn’t know why.

“Simon…” he repeats, the name on his tongue felt like velvet, a word he could never tire of saying. Simon sniffles. Johnny looks at him expectantly, a single tear rolling down his cheek, and Simon can feel the weight of the silence pressing against his shoulders, suffocating him. “Simon. Why are ye cryin’?” he asks softly. “And why am I cryin’?” he chuckles a little, trying to lighten the mood. "Because we're both idiots," Simon laughs bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Johnny." he says, his voice hushed and solemn. “Sorry?” Johnny says, his eyebrows knitting together as he studies Simon’s face. He sits up a bit straighter. “What are ye sorry for?”

"I'm sorry because I..."

Simon's voice trails off. He can't look Johnny in the eyes. It's like staring into the sun. Johnny leans forward, his hand sliding down Simon’s bicep to his forearm, the cool feeling of leather under his palm as he goes. The blond man flinches, and the Scotsman feels a sharp stab in his gut.

"Yer wearing my tags," he murmurs.

"What?" Simon looks down at his chest, where Johnny’s silver dog tags hang unceremoniously on top of his black hoodie. They had become a sort of talisman for him, and he had worn them every day since Johnny's death, never taking them off once.

"Right." he breathes, his fingers brushing against the metal, a nervous habit — he often found himself clutching the only thing he had left of his best friend. 

"I must mean somethin' tae ye," Johnny says quietly, his Scottish brogue rolling off his tongue.

"You mean everything to me," Simon whispers, his voice cracking.

Johnny feels like his breath has been stolen. The weight of those words hit him harder than he expects, and his head spins.  He looks at Simon, his eyes filled with curiosity, the tears on his cheeks drying. "Tell me about myself. B’fore, I mean. What was I like?" he asks, and it's more a request than a demand. His eyes linger on his dog tags around Simon’s neck; Simon’s own are tucked underneath his shirt. 

Simon can feel the lump in his throat returning. "Well," he says, swallowing hard. "You were — are —stubborn, and brave. Always getting yourself into trouble. You never asked for help, and you had a horrible habit of drinking alone. You always tried to finish the job, and never trusted anyone but yourself. Loyal to a fault, one hell of a friend. You're also an insufferable idiot who has no regard for his own safety. A total dumbass. A bloody moron, really. And you know what else? I loved you, you Scottish bastard. I loved you, and I thought you were dead. Do you know how long it's been? Six months, Johnny. Six months, and now you're here, and you don't even remember me, and I can't even be mad. I’m not allowed to be mad because you're alive, you’re alive, and it's all that matters, but I lost you all the same, and it fucking hurts, you son of a bitch."

The words came out faster than Simon could stop them, and now he was gasping, tears pouring down his face, his cheeks burning, the air leaving his lungs and being replaced with something cold and empty. He hadn’t realized how angry he was, how angry he had been all these months. The anger he had buried deep, and let fester inside him. 

Johnny just stared at him, his eyes wide. “Love?” he whispers incredulously.

"Oh, shit," Simon mutters. His face burns red, and he wants to turn and run away, pretend he had never been here, never said any of those things, but he's frozen, and Johnny is looking at him with those stupid gorgeous blue eyes and it's all Simon can do to hold himself together. 

"We weren’t just friends, were we?” Johnny whispers, his hand tightening ever so slightly on Simon’s forearm. Simon is silent. The answer is obvious.

Johnny nods. "And... we never got tae say it, did we?"

"No," Simon replies, his voice a strained whisper.

"That's why yer here."

"That's why I'm here," Simon echoes, his voice a whisper. Johnny swallows, his mouth dry. "When did ye know?” he asks softly, his eyes locked on Simon's.

"That I loved you?"

"Aye."

Simon is quiet. He doesn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved Johnny. It had always been there, a feeling just below the surface, a constant presence. He had never given it a name, but it was a feeling that he couldn’t deny, even if he wanted to. He remembers the day he had realized how he felt, the moment when his feelings had finally made sense.

It was late summer, and they had just finished a mission. Price had gone off somewhere, and it was just him and Johnny sitting together in a shitty motel room. They were exhausted and sore, their bodies aching, and Johnny was nursing a few scrapes and bruises from when he had taken a nasty spill off a building. Simon had a concussion, and his eyes were bleary. Johnny had gotten up to grab the first aid kit and started to clean up Simon's wounds, a task that required a lot of careful concentration, which he did with a furrowed brow and his nose scrunched up. Johnny's fingers were gentle as he dabbed at the blood, his touch warm and reassuring. That was the first time Simon had felt comfort in years. That was the first time Simon had felt safe.

"Since forever."

Johnny takes a shaky breath. "Do ye still?"

"Are you kidding me? I never stopped."

"And if I can't remember? If I never remember? Will ye love me then?”

"Always," Simon replies without hesitation.

Johnny feels his heart swell at the reply. He smiles, his cheeks flushed pink, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Then I think I could learn tae love ye again," he murmurs, his eyes searching Simon's face.

"Again?" Simon echoes.

"Again," Johnny replies.

Simon laughs. It's a hollow, bitter laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless.

“I cannae explain it,” Johnny whispers. “I have no memory of ye. But when I woke up and saw ye in this room — I felt *warm*. It’s like my nervous system recognized ye. And I…” He sighs and pulls out a small sketchbook from his bedside table, flipping through the pages. There’s lots of little doodles, like the view from his hospital room window, stray cats, food he’s eaten, nurses, the sunset, but there's also a few sketches of a handsome blond man, and a page entirely dedicated to the curve of his jaw, the scars on his face, and the shape of his lips. "I think I drew ye, or wanted tae.” he murmurs. “It’s kinda cool, drawin’ a stranger and havin’ him show up tae my room the next day. Ye think I should draw a million dollars next?”

Simon is stunned, and an amused sound escapes his lips. Johnny had drawn him. He had drawn him, and he hadn't even known his name. "I didn't know you could draw," Simon says quietly, his cheeks burning. "I dinnae either,” Johnny chuckles. “But I had tae pass the time somehow.” He smiles. "I guess we had somethin' important. If I was able tae draw a handsome face like that when I cannae remember my own birthday." Johnny closes the sketchbook and places it on the bed.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he says softly. “It doesn’t mean what we have is gone. It just means I get to fall in love with ye all over again.” Simon blinks, unsure of how to respond. He had never considered the fact that Johnny might have fallen for him too. He had never even entertained the idea that his feelings could have been reciprocated. Simon had spent so much time pining after the other man, trying to suppress his feelings, that he had never stopped to consider that Johnny might have been struggling with the same inner conflict.

"We fell in love twice," Johnny says softly, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Fell in love twice," Simon repeats. "What a pair we make, huh?" he chuckles, his voice thick with emotion.

"Aye," Johnny says softly, smiling. "Ye think we could fall in love a third time?"

"Maybe," Simon says, a faint smile on his lips. "Try not to get shot again, though, yeah? Really pissed me off the last time.” Johnny chuckles and grins. "I'll do my best, sunshine."

"Sunshine?"

"Aye. That's what ye remind me of. Ye make me feel warm."

"I'm not much of a sunshine."

"Maybe yer right,” Johnny sniffs, studying Simon carefully. “Yer a…” Simon raises an eyebrow. "I think yer more like a storm."

"A storm."

"Aye, a storm. All rain and thunder and lightning. Yer beautiful, but ye have a temper."

"You've only known me for thirty minutes," Simon says, laughing.

"And I know that ye've been cryin’," Johnny replies, reaching up to gently wipe a tear from Simon's cheek. "But storms clear the skies, and bring the sun after. Ye've been cryin' and yer still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Maybe that's a sign."

"A sign?"

"Aye. That maybe I was meant tae find ye again. Maybe that's what I'm meant tae be. The one who reminds ye to come out and play when it's stormin’."

Simon stares at Johnny, his cheeks burning red. "Johnny..." he whispers.

"That's my name, lad," he murmurs, smiling softly. “Don’t wear it ou-“

Simon leans forward and presses his lips to Johnny's. It's a tentative kiss, a gentle meeting of lips. The world seems to stop. Simon can feel the tension leaving his body, the knot in his throat loosening. It's like he's finally breathing for the first time and he can’t get enough. His hands move to cup Johnny's face and his heart feels full and heavy in his chest.

Johnny kisses back, his lips moving slowly and softly against Simon's. He can taste the salt from Simon's tears and the faintest hint of something else — mint and coffee and a scent that is distinctly Simon. It's familiar, even if he can't place it, and Johnny finds himself clinging to it.

The two of them pull apart slowly, and Johnny is grinning.

"That was some kiss," he says, his cheeks flushed pink. "I could get used tae it."

"You should," Simon whispers, smiling. 

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

He's Too Good For You

Note: this idea came to me when I was at work and, being a cleaning lady in a healthcare facility, I'm always in the way (or are other people simply in my way?). Anyway, I changed the setting so this fic didn't become personal, and none of the interactions I wrote here have happened irl. I just get to day dream a lot during my job and this fic is the result.

Warnings: fluff. mention of blood, vomit, and urine (I'm sorry, I swear it's a fluff fic, maybe a tiny bit of angst)

pairing: Nurse!Sihtric x Cleaner!you (f)

summary: Your job at the hospital around a team of hot male nurses was never boring.

wordcount: 3,4k

Masterlist

Chapter 1.

'Good morning!' Finan grinned and pulled you in for a hug before you could escape him.

'Morning, lady,' Uhtred smiled as he passed you in the hospital hallway, and he chuckled at the firm embrace the Irish nurse had you locked in.

'Good morning guys,' you smiled sheepishly after you finally managed to escape Finan's arms, and then you spotted someone new. 'Who's that?' you asked and curiously looked at the young man who clumsily carried a stack of bandages from room to room, to stock up.

'That, my lady,' Finan said and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, 'is our new baby nurse.'

'Oh, fresh meat?'

'Fresh meat,' he grinned, 'that's Osferth. He's here for his internship. He started yesterday afternoon, but someone here doesn't work afternoons,' he sneered at you.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' you snapped back, 'someone's jealous I have a nicer schedule?'

'Oh, get out of here,' Finan nudged your shoulder and was about to go back to work, but then he stopped and turned back at you, 'oh, hey,' he said with a cheeky grin, 'Sihtric is working mornings again.'

Your mouth fell slightly open and your heart skipped a beat upon hearing those words.

'Thought you'd like that news,' Finan smiled, and then really left to get back to work.

You felt like the luckiest girl alive when you started your job as a cleaner in the local hospital a few months ago. There weren't too many male nurses around, but you somehow ended up working with a team of nurses who were all men. And all of them were rather cute and absolute sweethearts too. Finan was the prankster, and you could always count on a good laugh whenever he was around. Uhtred was the most experienced nurse, and he was more serious than the other guys as he wanted to become a doctor eventually, but he was also a pleasure to work around. You still had to get to know the new nurse, Osferth, but you already had a giggle when you wished him a good morning and his cheeks had turned red immediately.

And then there was Sihtric, who was the youngest nurse before Osferth arrived, and how handsome he was simply drove you mad. You were instantly smitten by the Dane the first time you saw him with his slightly scarred face and mismatched eyes, and you had avoided him for weeks in the beginning, because you felt your cheeks heat up every time you saw him. But being the only one who cleans at their hospital floor means that you're always in their way, and they in yours, so it was inevitable to keep avoiding one specific person. After a few weeks you got over your nerves, but the feeling Sihtric gave you simply never left. Unfortunately he had been working only evening and night shifts lately, so it had been a little over a month since you had last seen him.

And now, more excited than you had been in weeks, you prepared your cleaning trolley for another few hours of work. And you couldn't believe it when you walked out of your little office and turned to see Sihtric, stepping out of a room just down the hall.

He looked different. So very different. 

You froze at the sight of his shaved head, whereas he still had dark short hair the last time you had seen him, and you were shocked that he seemed to have a mohawk all of the sudden. He looked down at the clipboard he held with his tattooed fingers, and you were convinced he was the only guy who could ever look so damn hot while wearing scrubs. Maybe because he was the only one who always wore black scrubs, while Uhtred and Finan wore blue scrubs, and Osferth was wearing white scrubs, the latter puzzled you greatly. 

Sihtric wore black because you'd barely see the stains on it, and the men earn a lot of stains on their clothes by working with the patients. Every day there will be some blood, saliva and sometimes even vomit stains on their work clothes, and none of the stains were made by the men wearing it, except the coffee stains perhaps.

And then, as you gazed at the handsome nurse, he turned his head and looked at you, and a beaming smile appeared on his face. You also smiled widely as you found out his haircut wasn't a full mohawk, but just shaved on one side and you still got to enjoy the sight of his dark curls on the other side.

'Good morning,' you said as you tried to keep your smile and sudden nerves in check.

'Hey,' Sihtric said with his smooth, soft voice as he neared you with a half cheeky smile on his face. And as soon as he was close enough, he pulled you in for a hug. 'How have you been?' he asked while he squeezed you in his arms.

'I've been fine,' your voice sounded muffled against his broad chest, 'what about you? Done with the late shifts?' you asked and looked up at him.

'I've been fine too,' he said and trailed his hands down your arms, then loosely held your hands, 'and yeah, I'm done with them for now. I just needed the extra money. But everything's good now, so I'm here to bother you every morning again,' he grinned and licked his lips while he stared down into your eyes.

'Oh, I've surely missed you walking over my recently mopped floors and spilling your coffee over cleaned tables,' you laughed and rolled your eyes.

'Oh, I know you've missed that,' Sihtric squeezed your hands, 'so don't worry, I'm back in full force again. Gotta keep you busy, right?' he winked.

'Yes, because I don't have enough to clean yet,' you sighed.

'Best get to work then,' he smiled and took a step back, but didn't let go of your hands yet, 'I'll find you when we take our first break, okay?'

'I would be very heartbroken if I wasn't invited to the daily tea party, yes,' you taunted.

'Oh,' Sihtric pouted mockingly, 'and I would never want to break your heart. Because what would we do without you? The place would be a mess.'

'Exactly. So remember to better be nice to me,' you threatened teasingly as you took a step in the opposite direction.

'I'm always nice,' Sihtric scoffed.

'Sure,' you smiled. 

Sihtric reluctantly let go of your hands as you both took another step away, and then turned on your heels to go back to work, after giving each other one more sweet smile as you both glanced back at each other.

'So, eh, Osferth. It's Osferth, right?' you asked the baby nurse while you stirred your tea.

'Yes, miss,' Osferth said shyly, clearly still adjusting to his new workplace.

'Oh, no need to call me miss,' you chuckled, 'but I was wondering why you're wearing white scrubs?'

'Oh,' Osferth said, and you noticed how Sihtric and Finan immediately reached for their coffee and gave each other a sly smile as they took a sip. 'Well,' the new nurse continued, 'Finan said it's the best colour to wear.'

'Oh, did he really?' you raised an eyebrow and looked at Finan, who snickered with Sihtric while they both avoided eye contact with you.

'Aye,' Finan cleared his throat, 'they stain less quickly than our scrubs.'

'Do they now?' you tried to hold your laugh, knowing very well that everyone avoided the white scrubs, because at the end of the day the shirt and pants always look disgusting.

Osferth smiled rather proudly and you decided to let the guys have their joke today, but you would also make sure they wouldn't take it too far with the young man.

'Where's Uhtred?' you then asked.

'Talking to the new girl,' Finan sighed.

'New girl?'

'Aye, some blonde lady. Skade, I believe she's called. Also here for an internship.'

'I don't like her,' Sihtric mumbled and grimaced.

'Why not?' you asked.

'Bad vibes,' the pretty boy nurse shrugged, and Finan made a face which told you he agreed with Sihtric.

'But Uhtred seems oddly interested in her,' Finan shrugged.

'Anything with tits is interesting to Uhtred,' you remarked, to which the men nearly choked on their coffee.

'True that,' Finan laughed, and then suddenly looked at Osferth, 'what about you?'

'What about me?' Osferth asked cautiously while he nervously put down his cup.

'Do you think the new lady is attractive?' Finan asked.

You and Sihtric glanced at each other and fought a smile, while Osferth's cheeks turned red and he compulsively scratched his neck.

'I, well, I, I,' he stammered, then choked on his own saliva and went into a coughing fit.

'Is there a doctor here?' Finan laughed, 'anyone? Someone help this poor kid.'

You rolled your eyes and got up.

'Alright, I'm leaving this cosy meeting. I have five more bathrooms to clean,' you said, 'Osferth, don't let them get at you. Ignore half of the stuff Finan tells you.'

'Hey!' Finan said, feigning offence.

'And don't trust Sihtric either,' you told Osferth, 'because he's just as bad.'

'Bad? Since when do you have a problem with that?' Sihtric furrowed his brow and looked up at you.

'Just leave the poor guy alone,' you chuckled, 'okay, guys?'

'Fine,' they both said and looked down at their feet, guilty as charged.

You had just finished mopping the floor when Sihtric stepped out of the elevator, dragging wet leaves and mud inside that had stuck under his shoes, and he left a trail as he walked through the passage.

'Sihtric!' you groaned, 'really?'

'What?' he asked, then looked back and noticed his trail, 'oh.'

'Oh,' you mocked him, 'I just finished cleaning here!'

'Well I'm sorry,' he said innocently and blocked the road by standing right in the middle.

'Yeah, whatever,' you sighed, 'just move, will you?'

But Sihtric didn't move. Instead, when you pushed your trolley left, to bypass him, he took a step in that direction to block you. And he did the same when you moved to the right, and then back left again, not allowing you to pass. And he did it with a grin on his face.

'Sihtric!' you chuckled, 'stop it!'

You didn't sound very convincing, and you both knew it. When he kept blocking your trolley, you decided to just grab a rag and walk past him, leaving the cart behind. But as you passed him, Sihtric got a hold of your free hand and spun you around once, as if you suddenly got caught in a random dance. He smiled at you when you finally passed him, and then blew you a kiss, knowing very well he was a nuisance you couldn't hate nor resist. He then let go of your hand, and you both went back to work again with a smile.

About half an hour later you crossed paths with Sihtric again. This time he didn't taunt you, he just smiled and winked in passing, to which you melted and felt yourself blush.

'Hey,' he said just after he walked by, 'next time I run into you, you're buying lunch.'

'Whatever,' you chuckled, 'wait,' you scoffed, 'why me? I don't even eat lunch here. You know I only work till noon.'

'Fine, then I'll buy us lunch.'

'But-... fine,' you shrugged.

'Fine,' Sihtric shrugged, and you both once again smiled at each other before you brought your focus back to your own work.

And as expected, you obviously met him for a third time in an hour. This time it wasn't in the hallway, but when you just finished cleaning the lunch room. You walked backwards towards the door, making sure to not hit anything with your trolley, and you were startled when Sihtric snuck up behind you to poke your ribs.

'Hey!' you yelped, 'what the-'

'What do you want for lunch?' Sihtric cut you off by wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering in your ear.

'My god,' you hissed, 'don't spook me like that!' you turned around and slapped his chest.

Sihtric didn't respond with words, he just smiled as he towered over you, his hands lightly on your waist.

'And, well, I don't know,' you answered his question, 'like I said before, I never have lunch here.'

'We could go for a walk and just stop at one of the places nearby,' Sihtric suggested, 'I have an hour-long break anyway.'

'Sure,' you said, 'I'm fine with anything.

'Great, I'll see you in twenty minutes then.'

You locked the door of your little office after your shift was over, and you put on your denim jacket. When you walked to the elevator you found Sihtric already waiting for you. It was strange to see him dressed in black jeans, instead of his regular work attire, and he had pulled a grey hoodie over his black shirt.

'Why did you change your pants?' you wondered.

'Oh, I changed everything,' he shuddered, 'the lady in room six decided to bleed all over me because she forgot to mention she's on blood thinners. I had to wash my face for ten minutes straight and threw my clothes in the laundry. Figured I'd change into clean pants after we have lunch.'

'Oh my god,' you snorted, then grimaced, 'wait, I just cleaned room six.'

'Are you sure? Because it doesn't look like you did.'

'Hey, screw you,' you laughed.

'At least the hallway is still clean.'

'Yes, because I cleaned it again after you came back inside with your dirty shoes.'

'Ah, so nice to have a clean workplace,' he smiled.

'It would be nice if you could keep it that way,' you snapped back.

Sihtric gasped, then pressed the elevator button and looked back at you. 'You act like I'm the one who makes a mess here.'

'You're somehow always the only one I walk into, so it's really the only explanation.'

'Watch it now, little miss,' Sihtric smiled and nudged your shoulder.

You both got in the elevator, and just before the doors closed, Osferth jumped in. He looked down at his feet while you and Sihtric stared at the baby nurse, whose white scrubs were decorated with a large yellow stain, and he smelled awful too.

'What happened to you?' Sihtric asked, confused.

'I… I dropped someone's urine sample and it splashed all over me,' Osferth confessed almost inaudibly, 'I have to get clean scrubs downstairs.'

You and Sihtric both looked disgusted, and Sihtric pulled you closer, away from Osferth's piss stained clothes.

'So how is that white colour working out for you then?' you couldn't resist asking.

Osferth swallowed hard, while Sihtric bit down on his lip to fight his laughter, but you heard he struggled to control himself.

'I think Finan may have lied,' Osferth said quietly, to which Sihtric simply couldn't hold it anymore and broke out in a howling laugh.

You were freezing as you stood outside, waiting at a traffic light. You underestimated the coldness outside and should have brought a thicker jacket, but it was too late now. Sihtric noticed your slight trembling while you both waited, and he smoothly wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close.

'Do you want my hoodie?' he asked.

'No, no,' you said, 'thank you, but I'll be fine. We should just go to the nearest place we can find to eat.'

Sihtric agreed, and soon he pulled you into a warm and cosy bakery. You were both staring up at the large menu above the cashier, and Sihtric intertwined his fingers with yours for no reason at all, except that he simply just wanted to, and you didn't complain.

'Already know what you want?' he asked.

You nodded and told him what you wanted, and Sihtric then told you to find a seat while he ordered for you both. Not much later he joined you at the table, and soon your drinks and sandwiches were brought by the employee. You both enjoyed your lunch in silence while often stealing glances and sweet smiles. You had never been alone with him before, and you weren't sure what to do or say. Sihtric felt the same, but he decided to try and break the sudden ice anyway.

'So, any plans for the weekend?' he asked after you both finished eating.

'Not much,' you said, 'sleeping in I guess.'

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed as he sipped his coffee, 'sounds amazing.'

'I know,' you chuckled, 'what about you?'

'I have to work this weekend,' Sihtric pouted, 'mornings.'

'Yikes,' you chuckled, 'must be rough.'

'Mornings on the weekend seem rougher than weekdays,' he agreed, 'and we're severely understaffed so I'm glad I got to enjoy my lunch today, because tomorrow I won't have time to get something decent probably.'

'I'm sorry,' you said, 'it's hard to see you guys struggle sometimes, knowing I can't help in any possible way because I'm not qualified. Sometimes I worry if you're all okay, really.'

'Don't you worry,' Sihtric said and took your hand, 'don't worry about us, that's not your job. We're already glad you show up every day. We've had cleaners who just stop coming to work without any explanation. The entire floor turns into a horror scene without a cleaner. You're really important too, not just us nurses or the doctors on our floor. Don't forget that, lady.'

'Thanks,' you smiled and felt yourself blush, 'maybe, you know, if you have a weekend off sometime we could get lunch?'

'Yeah, I'd like that,' he smiled and rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, 'or, we could just do this more often on weekdays. It's nice to get out of the hospital. Especially now with Skade around.'

'Why don't you like her? I've seen her in passing, she seems nice and is pretty.'

'She's a know-it-all,' Sihtric said, 'and beside that, I just don't like her energy. Anyway, have you ever considered becoming a nurse?'

'Oh, no,' you said, 'no, that's not for me.'

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed, 'a shame,' he mumbled and looked at his phone, 'hey, we should head back. Well, I should head back. You get to go home,' he smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

'Oh, I have to go back too, I left my bag in my office.'

After you had walked back to the hospital, hand in hand, Sihtric had pulled you into a tight embrace as you stood in the elevator, going up to the seventh floor.

'I've missed seeing you these past weeks,' he whispered.

'Really?' you looked up at him, your hands on his shoulders.

'Really,' Sihtric smiled and trailed his fingers slowly down your temple, to your cheek.

He then gently pushed your chin up slightly and brushed his lips over yours. But the elevator stopped just before Sihtric couldn't control his urge to kiss you anymore, and you both pulled away when the doors opened.

'I'll see you Monday, yeah?' he asked.

'Of course.'

You smiled weakly, like Sihtric did too, feeling just as sad that you only got to see each other for such a short time, despite finally getting to know each other better outside of work.

'Good,' Sihtric said and slowly walked away from you, backwards, 'enjoy your weekend, little miss.'

'Thanks. Good luck working this weekend,' you said as you stepped back in the opposite direction, to pick up your bag.

'Thank you, sweetheart,' Sihtric smiled and winked, then disappeared through a door.

Your smile turned into a sad one, and you were startled by a sudden voice behind you.

'Are you dating Sihtric?' Skade asked with a mocking tone.

'What? N-no,' you said as you looked at her, 'we just… h-had lunch.'

'Oh,' she smiled, 'okay, good.'

'Good? What? Why?' 

'Yeah,' Skade chuckled, 'I already wondered why on earth he was dating a cleaning lady,' she half snorted as she eyed you up and down, 'he's clearly too good for you. But it's cute to see how he interacts with you when you're working. Almost as if you're important,' she said, then turned on her heels and left.

You watched her walk through the same door Sihtric had disappeared through, and you felt your stomach turn when you realised that the new, hot lady nurse was interested in Sihtric. Just like you.

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn @sihtricsafin

[dollyyun]

𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒔 | chap 15

SYPNOSIS: wherein Hwang Stella's life is tangled in a predicament involving her clandestine identity as a racer, her seemingly daily life as the official heir to the Hwang Empire, and seven guys with whom she has a complex history with.

PAIRING: enhypen members x fem oc.

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), reverse harem, chaebols, semi-college & racing, eventual adulthood, non-idol au, eventual enha being f1 drivers, multiple pov (this fic is written in first pov).

WARNINGS: angst, heartbreaks, smut.

WORD COUNT: 8k+

TAGLIST: @aishigrey @kgneptun

🍒 MASTERLIST 🍒

When Stella disappeared without leaving any single traces of her behind, we were devastated, heartbroken to the point where we needed to isolate ourselves from the world, and reeled in despair. I didn't take her departure well in the beginning, and as a result, I became wrathful, lashing at anyone, including Charlotte.

I remembered when I raised my voice at her with such rage that it had her breaking into tears and running away from me. That was the first time I ever shouted at her. My parents berated me about how Stella's departure was rendering me demented, and from there, I burst out in sheer anger despite shedding tears.

To this day, I still resent my parents, which was the reason why I decided to travel abroad with Heeseung, who wanted to pursue a career he had always dreamed of. Due to his influence, I finally knew what I truly wanted. Hence, we are on the same team with the same goal.

Team Ferrari has always prevailed over its competitors. I admit that the training was tough, and there were times where my mental health was flailing, but in the end, I triumphed, including winning previous competitions.

As I exit my vehicle, I remove my helmet and immediately look at where Heeseung is. When our eyes meet, a familiar sentiment flickers in his gaze before he gives me a firm nod with a faint smirk. The tension in my muscles relaxes in response, while my heart warms at the recognition that he approves of my performance in the trial.

Over time, I developed a crave for validation, but only with Heeseung. I didn't know why or how it happened, but I just knew that I wanted his approval and validation. Maybe it's because he's like an older brother to me or because we've gone through similar tribulations.

"You never fail to amaze me, Jake." Heeseung grins, his hand meets mine before he pulls me in to bump his shoulder against mine in a familiar gesture that we always do whenever we win something. "That drift, though. You ought to teach me that move."

I roll my eyes at him, knowing that he is either jesting or simply being humble, as he always is. "Don't make me laugh. You know that you're an exceptional driver as well. Heck, you might be even better than me!"

"Nah." Heeseung chuckles breathily, running his fingers through his hair. "I still need to sharpen my skills. Even Matteo rebuked me for fucking up a little on yesterday's trial."

I press my lips thinly at the mention of our team principal. I know he means well, but the man is a fucking perfectionist, and even the slightest mistake greatly displeases him. "It doesn't matter what he said. I know for a fact that you aced your trial, and you even gained applause and praise from the other teams."

A sigh leaves his lips as he leans away from the wall. "Yeah, well, I still have to prove to Matteo that I'm able to meet his standards, still."

Frustration bubbles within me as I sigh as well. "Heeseung─"

"Heeseung."

Both of us go flinching at the sound of her voice, which is tainted with professionalism. I turn to look at her, whose eyes are on Heeseung. She appears to be holding a clipboard and a pen. Her face is void of emotion. "The team managers requested to have a brief meeting with you. There's an important matter we need to discuss."

I can see the way her eyes look at me fleetingly, almost wavering, before she masks the peculiar sentiment in her gaze when she looks back at Heeseung. She's hard to read now. I ignore the ache in my heart as I look at Heeseung, noticing his soft gaze on her face despite how formal and stoic she is.

"Sure," He says softly. "Lead the way."

Stella nods her head in return and gestures for him to follow her, but not before her eyes fleetingly glance at me once more. This time, I am able to decipher the sentiment in her gaze, and it reflects the same as mine. Longing.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Instead of heading back to my shared apartment with Heeseung, where we temporarily reside, I decided to linger around the main entrance of the headquarters. Dusk has long since painted the sky, denoting that office hours are close to ending with the employees exiting the building.

Speaking of Heeseung, he had left earlier after the meeting ended. But before he left, he did inform me that Stella might be ending slightly late. I don't know why he informed me, but it was as if he knew that I actually wanted to meet her.

My bottom lip is tucked between my teeth, and I can feel lines creasing on my forehead. The look in her eyes earlier—I can't seem to erase it. The chances of her ignoring me and admonishing me are high, but I have to try to crack down on the walls that she built to protect her heart. I have to try and get her to love me back before the Grand Prix season is over, or else I'll regret never trying.

I lean my back against my car, which I have pulled up at the pick-up point, with my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes set straight on the main entrance. Technically, this is just a temporary car to accommodate my accessibility around NYC. Ferrari 296 GTB, one of my dream cars.

Not too long later, I spot Stella making her way out of the main entrance, seeming to be occupied as she is on a phone call. She doesn't seem to notice me yet as she descends the stairs. My heartbeat quickens the longer my eyes linger on her face.

Stella's beauty was what mesmerised me at first sight, but as we grew closer, her disposition made me fall for her hard. She had shown me sides of her that no one could possibly comprehend since she used to be known as someone who was heartless and callous.

I lean away from my car and take a few steps towards her, just as she ends the call. "Stella."

Stella lifts her head instantly. Her eyes meet mine while her lips go slightly parted, appearing to be genuinely shocked to see me in the flesh. "Jaeyun." The way she utters my name takes me by surprise, because there are no traces of detachment like I expected.

My lips form a small smile. "Do you need a ride?" I politely ask.

Though she doesn't seem to have her guard up, hesitation resides in her gaze. She bites her bottom lip while my eyes fall to her movement. "Thank you for the offer, but I think I'll take the subway."

"I insist." Luckily for her, I'm stubborn as a mule. "Besides, I've been meaning to ask you out for dinner." I tell her, rubbing my nape sheepishly. I don't miss the way her eyes soften.

"Okay." Stella acquiesces, offering me a small smile that has a huge impact on my beating heart.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

We didn't talk much during dinner, which we had at a Japanese restaurant. But the silence was not as awkward as I thought it would be. Maybe because I was too nervous to strike up a conversation with her. How could I not be nervous? She's Hwang Stella. My first love and the only woman I intend to marry.

"Thanks for the dinner. I really appreciate it." Stella breaks the protracted silence as soon as I pull up in the parking lot of her apartment building. My eyes shift to her, watching as she unbuckles her seatbelt. All the while, my heart is screaming at me to do something to make her stay a little longer.

"You're welcome." My smile feels tight on my lips. Our eyes meet, and this time, I can decipher the emotion in her eyes. Disappointment. As if she wants me to say something other than that, or maybe I'm just deluding myself.

"See you around, then." She mumbles before looking away from me and proceeding to exit my car. I watch her as she walks away, but her steps seem deliberately slow.

I swear, I can feel blood on my bottom lip with how hard I'm biting it. I mutter a cuss and quickly unbuckle my seatbelt before exiting my car in haste. I jog after her. "Stella! Wait!"

Stella halts her step just as I stop a few feet from her. She slowly turns around, her eyes searching for mine. This time, I can read her as clearly as the day.

"Are you still mad at me? Or are we fine now?" I start off, my breaths come out harsh. "I'm confused. Last week, you declared that you no longer wanted to be in our lives. You even said that─"

"I know what I said, Jaeyun." She cuts me off, her tone sounds firm yet has a tinge of softness. Even by the way she looks at me, it reminds me of the Stella I once knew. Conflict flickers in her gaze, as does irresolution and guilt. "And I never said that I hated you."

"But you said you don't love us anymore."

There it is, the walls she built have come to crumble into pieces. Shaky breaths leave her pink lips while her eyes appear glistening under the lights. "Don't we all say things we don't mean them if it means to protect them?" She chuckles sadly.

I take a step forward, feeling confused. Just two more steps, and I'll have her in my arms. "Protect? Why would you ever want to protect us?"

She looks away from my gaze briefly. "I can't tell you."

"Then tell me this." One step closer to her. "Do you still love me?"

She deflates as though someone hit her. Without thinking twice, I grab her hand, holding it tenderly. "Please, love." I plead. "Tell me the truth."

Stella finally looks at me, but this time, tears brim in her eyes. "Truth is, I tried hating you even before the incident happened four years ago when I found out you were involved in your parents' schemes."

"I know, and I'm terribly sorry for that." I tell her softly, the guilt I bear gnaws at me in my tummy. "I was a fool. I shouldn't have done what I did."

"But even then, I couldn't." Her voice cracks in between. "You were my first love and my first in everything. No matter how much I tried to erase my memories with you and even hate you, my love for you will always prevail."

"I'm so sorry, love."

"I know." She sniffles. "Just know that I've forgiven all of you. What's done is done, and what's in the past stays in the past."

I pull her towards me, startling her. My hand ascends to cradle the cusp of her jaw, tilting her head to meet my eyes. "Can you tell me one more thing?"

"What is it?" She asks in a whisper.

My heart beats with a familiar cadence. "That you love me." I murmur. "Please. I need to hear them."

A teardrop slides down her cheek as she looks at me as though I'm her whole world. "I love you." She reaffirms, but her voice breaks again. She puts her hand on top of mine, adjusting it so my palm is now cupping her cheek. She leans into my touch, making my heart swell with adoration.

"Say it again, love." I whisper, my lips unfurling a soft smile as I lean closer to her face, our noses nuzzling against each other.

A chuckle leaves her lips amidst the tears she shed. "I love you." Her hands curl into fists as they rest on my chest. "I still love you, Sim Jaeyun. Always have."

That is all I need to hear before sealing her in a long-awaited kiss. My lips on hers fit like a complete puzzle, just as she feels right in my arms. 

"I'm telling you, Oppa, Stella might need some time." Aera has been trying to dissuade me from making an obvious move. I can imagine the frown on my sister's face just by the tone of her voice. "If you still love her, you'll have to give her some space. Rushing things will only aggravate the situation, especially after you told me what happened last week."

I drape my arm over my forehead as I lay on the couch. A sigh leaves my lips as I press speaker mode instead. "But I have to try something. I don't want her to stray from me any longer. This distance is killing me."

"You're being dramatic." Aera deadpans. "If you can survive four years without seeing her, then I'm sure you can handle this distance for a little longer."

A muscle ticks in my jaw. "I didn't ask for that to happen, Aera." My tongue tastes bitter, as I recall. "You have no idea what I've been through. Four long years, and you didn't even tell me that you've been by her side throughout those years."

Truth be told, Aera and I have never cut contact. Sure, I was saddened by her decision to move abroad, but I knew that she needed to start afresh somewhere. Thankfully, she kept her promise to keep in touch with me, calling me or texting me despite our time differences.

Then, after I touched down in New York, Aera wanted to meet me, as she had something important to tell me. I dismissed how she sounded nervous and guilty over the phone. So we met, and from there, she revealed the truth.

I can't precisely recall how I took the shocking revelation, but I can certainly remember how betrayed I felt. I didn't even lash out at Aera, and instead, I walked out of the cafe in silence. I didn't answer Aera's messages or calls for a few days, needing some time to collect my thoughts and not wanting to make any rash decisions, because as much as I was furious at Aera, I didn't want to lose her again either.

Then we met again at her apartment. She apologised profusely, but I insisted that I didn't blame her and understood why she hid the truth from me. She knew that if she told me that she had been by Stella's side all this time, I would fly to New York without a second thought. Aera was a loyal friend to a fault, her devotion to Stella made me respect her even more.

Aera heaves a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Oppa." My heart warms at the fact that she decided to call me 'Oppa' a year ago. "But I'm right, aren't I? What if Stella hates you more if you choose to force a connection with her again?"

I rub my tired face. "You're right. I just─" I pause, biting my bottom lip harshly as I falter. "I just miss her a lot. I really love her, Aera."

"I know." I can sense her smiling. "You know what? Just do what you think is best and right. Follow your heart. I'd love to chat with you a little longer, but my break's over. I need to head back to the office."

After I bid her goodbye, she hung up the phone, leaving me with my jumbled thoughts. I hear Jake's footsteps coming from the hallway, prompting me to sit up and stare at him with a puzzled face.

"Since when did you come back?" I ask, bewildered. Since we're the only ones living in the same temporary apartment, Jake often walks around without a top. He drapes his towel over his shoulder after using it to dry his damp hair.

"Since last night." Jake looks oddly content. "I reached about one-ish?" He tells me as he makes his way to the kitchen, but halts his steps before he turns around to look at me again. This time, there is a roguish smile formulating on his lips. "By the way, since you miss Stella so much, you should visit her."

My frown deepens, still confused. "What? Why would you suggest something like that?"

"Why else?" He shrugs his shoulders, and a smirk touches his lips. "Besides, where do you think I was last night?"

Suddenly, it clicks. "You were at Stella's place?" I can't help but be envious, despite the confusion. "Why and how?"

Jake scratches his head. "Well─"

"Never mind." I don't know how, but my body moves faster than I can comprehend as I grab my car keys on the coffee table and my bomber jacket, which is draped over the couch's armrest, and walk towards the main door quickly. "Text me her address!" I tell him without looking back.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

I'm running, even as I'm nearing her apartment door, as if there is a time limit for seeing her, as if she would disappear again before I could even see her. I press on the doorbell thrice. I don't give a fuck if I'm being impatient, or rather, desperate. I've been apart from her long enough.

The door slowly opens, revealing the only woman who can make my heart race. Her raven hair is pulled back into a low bun, with a few strands of hair decorating her face frame. Obviously, she does not expect anyone to visit her, judging by the way she is dressed. An oversized white shirt that reaches her thigh area, almost obscuring her black shorts.

Even so, she still manages to look beautiful, rendering me breathless by her beauty.

"Heeseung." Her mouth parts opened in shock before recovering. Her lips press thinly as realisation flickers in her gaze. "Jaeyun must've told you where I lived."

"He did." I swallow harshly, hating how she sounds disappointed. "Can I come in?"

Without much thought, Stella opens the door wide for me to enter. I take brief glances at the interior of her apartment before turning around to face her, who makes her way to the kitchen. "Do you want anything to drink?" She asks, opening her fridge.

I enter the kitchen as well, stopping just a few metres from her. "No," I answer as she closes the fridge. "What I want is you."

Stella stares at me with something I can't decipher, but oddly, there are no traces of hostility on her countenance, unlike last week. She bites her bottom lip, sighing as she looks away from me. "To tell you the truth, I'm not ready to see you."

"Why? Do you really hate me that much, sweetheart?" I ask as my heart aches. I ignore the way my voice cracks just slightly. "I know that I shouldn't have done what I did four years ago, and for that, I'm truly sorry. But my feelings for you have always been genuine."

What she does next catches me off guard. She steps closer to me and cradles the cusps of my jaw, her eyes seem apologetic while a saddened smile touches her lips. "I know, Hee." My heart skips a beat. "I've already forgiven you. It's just that,"

Upon her abrupt silence, I hold her wrist and search for her eyes. "Just what, sweetheart?"

"I'm sorry." She breaks down, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hangs her head low. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Shhh, what's wrong? Why are you apologising?" I ask softly, unconsciously backing her up, and without thinking, I hoist her up as she sits on the countertop. Seeing her still weeping profusely with her face burying into her palms, I frown and grab her hands, gently yet firmly pulling away, allowing me to have a look at her beautiful face. "Hey, talk to me, sweetheart."

"I need to tell you something." She says, hiccuping in between. Amidst the guilt, I can see fear in her glistening eyes. "The reason why I disappeared without telling any of you or giving closure is because I was afraid. But above all, I wanted to protect all of you."

"Protect us from what?"

Her lips quiver, and the look on her face is something I've seen before. "From Hwang Minhyuk."

That fucker's name makes my jaw clench while anger simmers within me. I've always wanted to get a good piece of him, or even better, to render him immobilised.

"But he's in prison." I assure her. "He can't do shit, especially when you're out of his reach now. He can't hurt you anymore."

"That's what you don't get." Stella looks at me exasperatedly. "I'm not worried about myself. I'm worried about the seven of you. Before I left for New York, we met for the last time, and he threatened to kill you guys because he knew that wherever I went, you guys would too." Tears return to her eyes. "Because he knew how much I loved you."

"He's not entirely wrong."

"Which was why I did what I did. He was capable of anything, Hee." She whispers brokenly, looking utterly devastated. "I didn't want to risk any chances, and so I left. If leaving meant I'd be protecting you from him, then so be it." A sharp sob leaves her lips. "I'd rather die than allow anything to happen to you guys for the second time."

"Oh, sweetheart." I sigh, pulling her into my embrace as she leans in. The whiff of her familiar scent makes my heart ache, as I've missed it so much. I bury my nose in her hair for a while before kissing her crown. "You didn't have to, because we're capable of protecting ourselves."

"But Hwang Minhyuk is different." She counters weakly, resting her head in the nook of my neck. I place my hand at the side of her bare thigh, rubbing it up and down in an attempt to soothe her. "He's a monster."

I hum in agreement. "That he is. But you could've told us about it," I murmur. "We're not defenceless."

"I'm sorry, but at the same time, I'm not." She pulls away from my neck and looks at me in the eyes. "I'd do anything to protect all of you, even if it meant I would never see you again." Her eyes flicker on my lips briefly. "Because I love you."

My heart swells with a familiar sentiment. "You love me." I say, as though I'm reaffirming her love declaration to myself.

She smiles, her tears are drying on her cheeks. "I do." She grabs my hand and places it on her cheek. She flutters her eyes closed as she leans into my touch. "I really love you, Lee Heeseung."

I blink my eyes, which I haven't realised are watery. Four long years of despair, confusion, anger, and longing are suddenly worth it.

"I really love you too, Hwang Stella." I whisper affectionately to her, leaning down before connecting our lips and kissing her slowly as I wish to relish this moment a little longer.

It's hard to describe my relationship with my older brother. We used to be close until he went off to college. There were also times where I felt envious of him for the fact that he had meticulously planned for his future and remained resilient, which is why he is now a high-paying doctor. Although my parents love all of their children the same, I know that my older brother is their favourite. Despite my envy, I respect and look up to him.

But sometimes he does do unexpected shit discreetly, not telling any of us until the time's right, in his case at least. And so, my jaw goes unhinging while I feel lines creasing on my forehead upon the shocking revelation.

"What do you mean you have a fiancée and you're getting married?" I am finally able to find my voice after a long period of silence, as I tried processing his words into my mind, which already bears jumbled thoughts.

My brother, Park Haneul, is seated across from me with a stupid grin on his face. Presently, we are at a restaurant, and being the youngest sibling, I have the privilege of not needing to pay for the bills, especially when he's the one who wanted to meet me.

Haneul has been living in New York ever since he graduated from college and pursued his endeavours here. Since he was often busy with his own lives, we rarely called or texted unless it was important. So when I finally met him after so long, it was awkward for me, but Haneul didn't seem to think so, as he treated me like he used to when we were young. Eventually, I warmed up to him.

"It means I'm getting married." Haneul chuckles, finding amusement in my reaction. "Why? Are you not happy that your older brother finally wants to settle down?"

"It's not that." I recover, my hand brushing through my hair. This is all happening too fast and sudden, and I don't know what to feel. A sigh leaves my lips. "I'm really happy that you found someone you want to be with for a lifetime, but since when?" I ask with a frown. "Does the rest of our family know about this?"

"Oh, yeah. They knew about it months ago when I flew over to Seoul with my bride-to-be to meet them." Haneul says. "I was surprised when Mom and Dad told me that they lived abroad in the UK for months, then they told me about you." He smiles, and the familiarity of pride in his gaze warms my heart. "You wanted to pursue a career in racing, so imagine my surprise that you've become an esteemed F1 driver."

A smile threatens to form on my lips, but I clear my throat. "I have had to go through such tribulations to get to where I am."

"And I'm proud of you, really." Sincerity gleams in Haneul's eyes. "My little bro, now all grown up." He wipes away a nonexistent tear from his eye.

I roll my eyes at his theatrical action, but chuckles leave my lips. "So, when's the wedding?"

"Next week, Saturday." He informs. "Initially, she wanted to join so she could properly introduce herself to you, but her manager rescheduled an important event for today."

I nod my head in understanding. "Can I bring my best friends along? You remember them, right?" I ask. Haneul met them when he surprised me with his unexpected visit during my second year of university.

Recognition flickers in his gaze. "Ah, they're F1 drivers as well, right?" He smiles. "I'm a big fan of theirs."

I raise my eyebrow. "Oh? And what about me?"

"I'll think about it."

I shoot him a playful scowl, knowing that he is merely jesting. "Ass."

"Anyway, enough of me." Haneul leans his body forward, interest sparks in his eyes. "When are you going to settle down?"

My lips press thinly, not liking where this is going. "I don't plan on settling down. Besides," A muscle pulses in my jaw as I look away from him. "Love is a waste of time."

"You're wrong." His eyes soften, as though he knows that he has touched on a bitter topic. "Love can be amazing, and love is much more than just an intense feeling of attraction."

"For you, maybe." My face is void of emotion. "Good for you, though. But for me? I'd rather stay away from love. Plus, Mom and Dad won't have to worry about not having grandchildren since they have you to give them."

Haneul scans my face, reading me like an open book, but thankfully, he decides to drop it and moves on to another topic. All the while, my mind is distraught by the one person that I once saw a future with.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Earlier, I sent a text in our new-form group chat, requesting for them to gather in my temporary apartment, which is in the same building as Ni-Ki, Jay, Sunoo, and Jungwon. When I found out about where they reside, with the exception of Ni-Ki, I was shocked because I hadn't expected it. As for Jungwon, he reached out to me first just a few days ago. I couldn't say that we hit off well, considering that we were kind of arguing, but eventually, I forgave him.

"So, what did you want to tell us?" Sunoo asks as soon as we settle in the living room, scattered around. Their expectant eyes are on my pacing figure, waiting for me to crack the news.

"You guys remember Haneul? My older brother, who is living here?" I start off. "He's getting married, and he was more than welcome to invite you guys."

"A wedding? Sweet!" Ni-Ki seems enthusiastic, throwing gum in the air before catching it in his mouth. His disposition draws our attention as we collectively look at him with eyebrows raised, to which he mirrors. "What? I've always wanted to attend a wedding. The last time I went to one was years ago. You know, free food and all."

"Make sense of why you're weirdly happy about it." Jake nods his head before looking back at me. "When's the wedding?"

"Next week, Saturday." I say. "So we have time to buy tuxedos or whatever is presentable for a wedding." The guys break into chatter amongst each other, asking for accompanies to buy their suits and all.

"Actually, there's another thing that I need to tell you guys." Heeseung speaks up, leading to the chatter diminishing. As I observe him, he looks slightly troubled. "It's about Stella."

I expect the rest to flinch visibly as I do, but they seem relaxed, which greatly confused me because why aren't they affected by the mention of her name? Just hearing her name is enough to make my heart ache.

Heeseung licks his bottom lip, looking away from us briefly. "She and I made up yesterday."

There is a silence while I process his words in my mind. I don't even know what to feel.

"We made up too." Jake informs, and like bullets, the rest reveal the same news, leaving me the only one left out yet again.

"But I thought she hated us." My cold voice is resonating while I attempt to hide the fact that I'm hurt. "You guys were obviously there at the communal party, and you heard her."

Jay steps forward, seeming to be attempting to soothe my anger. "Sunghoon─"

"She's right." A cold laugh escapes my lips. "We're better off without her. Even if you guys have already made up with her, who is to say that she won't abandon us for another time?"

"Just listen to what Heeseung still has to say, Hoon." Jake says sternly, but his eyes soften as he looks at me.

I bite my lips harshly and look away, but I remain standing as I reluctantly wait for Heeseung to speak. And so he does, not missing out on any details, while the rest of us listen attentively with visible shock, anger, and devastation on our faces, including mine. I don't know what to think or what to feel as I reel in my troubled thoughts in silence.

"If she could've told us, then she wouldn't have to bear the burden to herself." Sunoo murmurs sadly. Before anyone can say anything, the doorbell chimes throughout my apartment, bringing a confused frown to my face.

"Sorry, guys. I didn't expect any guests for tonight except you bunch." I attempt to make my way to the main door, but am stopped by Jake, who gives me a small smile.

"Actually, we did." Jake says before walking towards the main door and opening it, revealing the only woman who lives in my head rent-free 24/7. Her eyes have yet to meet mine as she greets the rest with a small smile that is enough to stab me in the heart.

"We'll give you two some privacy." Jay pats my shoulder while I remain unmoving. I watch as they leave, not before giving her hugs, cheeks, and forehead kisses. When they finally disappear from my sight, she slowly lifts her head and meets my eyes.

"Can I come in?" She asks rather meekly, but I am too dumbstruck to respond, prompting her to enter before closing the door. She doesn't take steps towards me, still examining me.

"You." I finally managed to find my voice. Recalling what happened at the communal party, my eyes hardened. "What are you doing here?"

Guilt and regret reside in her gaze as she ambles towards me, and with each step, my heart is telling me to get to her quickly and hold her. "You already know why."

"No, I don't." My voice is sharp, enough to make her flinch. "Get out. I need some time to collect my thoughts after what Heeseung told us."

A shaky breath leaves her lips. "Sunghoon─"

The anger, despair, heartbreak, and other emotions this woman does to me eventually implode. "Fuck, Stella! Why do you always have to be so difficult?!" I clench my jaw while my eyes are glaring into her watery eyes. "One moment, you acted like I was your enemy once again, and the next, you're telling me that the reason you did what you did was for our protection?!"

I see her faltering, and my heart wants to comfort her and apologise for my outburst, but my mind is in chaos, fucking me up. "You might've thought that what you did was honourable, but it doesn't change the fact that you still broke my heart!"

I feel dampness on my cheeks, but I dismiss it. "You know what's worst? I even thought of having a future with you before you decided to abandon me." I find myself taking a step forward, towering over her figure. "What you did and said was cruel."

Tears stream down her cheeks while her lips quiver. "I'm sorry."

"You broke my heart, and you were the reason why I didn't want to look for a lover in anybody else." The volume of my voice lowers as I stand in front of her, close enough to catch a whiff of her familiar perfume. "You crushed me, Stella."

"I'm so, so sorry." She covers her mouth with her hand, looking down. "I was selfish."

"Yeah, you were." My breath feels heavier while the air around me shifts. I can't resist myself from tucking her hair behind her ear, and when I do, she lifts her head to meet my eyes again.

"I made the decision that I thought was best for all of us." Her voice shakes, and the sadness in her eyes is as clear as the sky. "But I needed to do it because I didn't want to lose any of you." A soft sob escapes her lips. "Because I loved you."

"Did you?" I cradle the side of her face, boring my eyes into hers. "Did you love me, Hwang Stella? Your ex-nemesis?"

"I did, and I still do." Her voice drops to a whisper, and her eyes flicker to my lips. "Even after all this time, my love for you never fades."

"Prove to me." I say firmly, inching my face closer to hers. "You gotta prove to me that you still love me, Princess."

Stella's eyes flutter close as she presses her lips against mine, and that is all it takes for my heart to pound hard against my chest while my pulses drum loudly in my ears.

She pulls away just slightly before whispering, "I'm so sorry."

"Prove it then." My hands reach for her under-thighs, pulling her close to my body before I hoist her up with her legs locking around my waist. Amidst the sadness, there is a palpable tension that both of us can feel as our breaths become laboured.

The heart wants what it wants, and anyone would be an idiot to ignore it, and I'm one of those idiots. I neglected what my heart truly desires for too long. I've allowed my paranoia to get the best of me, resulting in me abandoning the loves of my life. My home.

Am I still afraid of the possibility that Hwang Minhyuk will end up finding us and hurting them? Yes. But I can't be apart from them any longer. Maybe I'm being selfish once more, but this time, it is a need. Like how I need air. Like how Sunghoon is kissing me as though he needs air as well.

With our clothes discarded and tossed elsewhere, he hovers on top of me, kissing me and having me moan airily into his mouth as his tongue invades the cavern of my mouth, exploring every inch.

"I'm still mad at you." He speaks harshly into my parted mouth as soon as he pulls away. Fervent lust clouds my mind like a haze, and my heart beats faster upon his fingers trailing down between the crevice of my breasts and down to my stomach until they finally reach my womanhood that is in need of him.

"Sunghoon!" I gasp, my body going into a complete shock, when he plunges his fingers into my cunt without any foreplay or warning, moving in and out at a rough pace. My hand latches on his moving wrist, but he doesn't relent.

"You're so fucking wet." He says gruffly, leaning down to nip at the skin on my breast before slotting his mouth over one nipple, adding pleasure to my body. He suckles it and bites it, though not enough to hurt me.

My hips move along his rapid movement, and a moan escapes from my lips when he draws circles on my aching clit. "H-Hoon!" I throw my head back on the pillow, my eyes closing shut at the ecstasy while my fingers are tangled in his hair. I feel him trailing his kisses upward until he stops at my neck.

"Yeah? You're close, princess?" He asks, smirking against my neck, his fingers are unrelenting while the sloshing sound echoes in the room.

"So close!" I attempt to rut against his fingers, but as soon as my climax reaches its peak, he removes his fingers from my hole. Tears prickle in my eyes, staring at him as he has a cruel grin on his face. "Why did you do that for?"

"A punishment." In a blink of an eye, he turns me over, my stomach lying flat on the mattress. I gasp at how he's manhandling me, pulling my legs towards him and spreading them. I don't even have the time to react or to adjust when he abruptly thrusts his cock into my hole. He grabs a fist of my hair before pulling it back, forcing me to arch my back.

A series of moans fly from my lips while tears stream down my cheeks. He is ruthlessly fucking me, as though he is fucking his pent-up emotions into me. I hear him breathing harshly amidst the grunts beside my ear.

"How are you so tight?" He asks with a grunt. "Don't tell me that you've never looked for anyone to fill this sweet hole of yours, even after you left me."

My body is shoved upward at the impact when he delivers a deliberate yet hard thrust. "I didn't." I whimper, loving the pain he is giving me.

He scoffs beside me, mocking me. "Really?"

"Yes." My hands claw on the bedsheets, and a high-pitched moan leaves my lips as soon as his tip hits the spot.

"Good." He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss on my cheek before cooing. "Because you belong to me. Your body belongs to me." He thrusts, hitting the spot that has me curling my toes. "This sweet cunt belongs to me."

"Yes." I nod my head, lost in the ecstasy. I roll my eyes back as soon as I feel the climax approaching, but he abruptly pulls out, making me cry out. "No!"

"No?" He turns me around, my back on the mattress. A smirk touches his lips as he looks down at me, who is in a crying mess. "You'll take only what I give you." I flinch and moan out when the tip of his cock hits my clit, tapping it repeatedly and teasing me.

"Please." I whimper, moving my hips in an attempt to entice him into shoving his cock into my already gaping cunt with the pre-essence leaking.

"Please, what, my slutty princess?" He leans down with a simper smile, his hand brushing the hair from my face before he kisses me sweetly.

"Please fuck me." I whisper against his lips, but he teases me, sliding his cock in between my wet folds tantalisingly slowly. "Please, please, please."

"Yeah? You want to get fucked hard?" He speaks harshly into my parted lips before spitting in my mouth, one of his kinks. I swallow down with a moan.

"Yes." Just as I answer, he shoves his cock back into my awaited hole. This time, he sets the pace slow, taking his time to savour how tight my walls are engulfing him, but hard enough that it hurts so good.

"I'm never going to let you leave again." He grunts, now thrusting with a ferocious vigour that has me rolling my eyes to the back while my back curves into a deep arch. His lips are on my neck as I feel him breathing harshly. "I'm going to fill you up good."

I moan in response, my hands in his hair as I tug at the roots. "Sunghoon!" I scream as soon as I feel the familiar climax, and he doesn't relent, thrusting still until I finally come, my body convulsing.

But he doesn't stop, overstimulating me. "Sunghoon!" I whimper, feeling sensitive. My eyes roll to the back once more when his hand curls around my neck, tightening it firmly as he continues to drill into me with deliberate, precise thrust that has me seeing stars.

"I told you, princess." Thrust! "I'm gonna fill you up so good." Thrust! "So you won't be able to run away from me again."

And so, the room continues to be tainted with our sinful acts, round after round.

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[togamest]

chapter 1: cave in

❝ i'll tie my handlebars to the stars so i stay on track, and if my intentions stray, I'll wrench them away...then I'll take my leave, and I won't even look back. ❞

word count: 3,188 content: no reader mention, mention of character death, alcohol and drug usage, grief, seeing ghosts, mentions of blood & gore a/n: here is chapter one! this is a lot of lore building and setting the stage for reader to appear next chapter — you'll see them very soon, don't worry! i didn't intend for izana to appear in this chapter or in this fic in general, but given how owl city focuses a lot on schizophrenia and mental health and all that jazz, i figured having him around as a guiding compass for kaku would be really sweet <3 tags: @suyacho @qichun @kenpachisbrat @highpri3stess @fengxun @benkeibear @bleach-your-panties @enchantedforest-network @thehoneypotserver

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Kakucho is bored.

Well, "bored" may not be the best way to describe his feelings. What do you call the sense that nothing matters to you anymore? The numbness that sinks in after you've lost the one thing that made it all worth it? Whatever that is, Kakucho feels it deep inside of his bones as he wanders into the warehouse after Koko to inspect the latest shipment from one of their overseas partners.

Koko is much more suited to this lifestyle, although he's not the only one under crippling stress, much that he's placed on himself. He's dyed his hair white, and Kakucho can't help but laugh at recalling how close it is to Inui's shocking blonde hair. They'd match, oddly enough. He didn't seem to react the same way after everything shook out, but something definitely changed—warped—in him since Inui deserted him. The details behind that separation are kept behind tight lips, but Kakucho can read a room. It wasn't good.

A sigh from Koko forces him to return to the present instead of meandering on that thought stream. "This all looks good," he says simply to the worker as he tucks a clipboard underneath his arm. The worker says nothing, responding with a short nod before making the preparations to move the stacks of drugs onto another palette. Koko moves back outside, Kakucho following him quietly behind as they pause on the dock, staring across the ocean.

It's pretty today.

The breeze is full of summer warmth, the sun sparkling on the ocean's deep blue waves lapping at the shore deep below their feet. He could stay out here forever if he wanted to, his eyes sliding shut as he basks in the sunshine. Koko says nothing, simply allowing him time to soak up the sun; he knows they both need it, having been inside dealing with the Haitanis and Sanzu's shitshow relationship with Takeomi. It had been horrible lately; the boys were getting stir-crazy, and Koko had to wrangle them. 

The man in question lights up a cigarette, offering a drag to Kakucho with thin fingers, painted nails flashing in his vision as he takes it, allowing the nicotine to smoothen his mind for just a moment.

"Izana would have loved this."

Kakucho's head snaps around to look at Koko. He's staring at the ocean, unblinking, his eyes narrowed. The cigarette is back in his hand, but it rests at his side, untouched, barring Kakucho's usage. There are no remnants of sadness on his face, but rather a steeled resolve etching itself into the stress wrinkles beginning to show on his skin. He doesn't sound like he's going to elaborate, and Kakucho doesn't know what forces him to say it, but he doesn't have the heart to stop himself after he hums in agreement.

"Inui would, too."

He's met with a scoff, a flash of hurt echoing across Koko's face before it's gone, the blank, analytical facial expression taking its place so fast that it's as if Kakucho imagined it. He places the cigarette in Kakucho's hands before turning on his heel, strutting back to the car, throwing over his shoulder that Kakucho doesn't have to accompany him back. "Take this spare time when you can get it," he says before sliding into the car and disappearing on silent tires. He's still not sure why he lit the damn thing in the first place, but he takes another rip; something tells him that he looked as if he needed it, not Koko.

Now, it's just Kakucho, the sun, and the sea.

With a visitor. A typical visitor these days.

He can see him. He can see Izana sitting on the pier, swinging his legs in front of him. His old Tenjiku jacket is stained blood red, mixing with the lighter red of the cloth in a horrific display of gore. The gunshot wound is still there, a massive hole in his chest, though no more blood will spill from it. Nothing else about him has changed; his silver hair still brushes against his chin as he moves his head, the earring that Kakucho now has tattooed on himself as a remembrance tinkling in the wind, the only reminder that he's here in front of him. Izana leans back on his hands, looking up at Kakucho with those beautiful lavender eyes, and Kakucho feels his own going glassy.

Now, now, he hears Izana's voice speak so clearly in his mind, as if he's here with him; there's no need for tears, alright, Kaku? Sit with me.

He abides by his ghost's wishes, taking a seat with a huff on the pier's edge. He doesn't reach for Izana's hand. It won't connect; he's tried it before. Instead, he simply sits with the apparition of his friend, smoking the rest of the cigarette, the breeze shifting through the trees, the waves hitting the shore so gently. It's like a painting right before him, one he can simply reach out and touch whenever he wants.

Are you happy, Kaku?

He scoffs again, ignoring Izana's stare into his soul. He knows he's looking at him, and he can tell without checking the expression on his face. There was this face Izana would make whenever Kakucho lied to him; white lies, big lies, whatever it was, he'd know. He chalked it up to being able to read people well, but Kakucho knew better; Izana was paranoid. Paranoid that Kakucho would leave him, that he'd be alone again even after all those nights spent together with Kakucho whispering to him that he would never think about doing that to him. He'd never.

He immediately jokes that it seems like Izana is okay with abandoning him. It stings.

"I s'pose," he says shortly, watching the cigarette smoke curl into the sky. It's a pale white, almost see-through. The nicotine continues to settle into his bloodstream as he looks back down at the ocean waves lapping at the shore. Happy. What an elusive word in a business that is so violent, full of bloodshed and rage and anger. How can he truly be happy when the one thing that did make him happy is no longer here? How does that work?

You're not. You're lying, Kaku. I can tell when you're—

"Yeah, yeah," he groans, rolling his eyes and finally turning to look at Izana, "I know."

Izana's laugh sounds like wind chimes, the type that mothers hang outside of their kitchen windows that ring and sing whenever the breeze hits them. She'll lightly tap them when it's time to come home, to settle into the kitchen, and have whatever food is on the docket for that evening. Something that Kakucho has only read about but never truly experienced; the love of a mother, or parents for that matter. A family. At least Izana had a parent as absent and unforgiving as she was.

They sit silently for a while after that, Izana kicking his feet off the pier and Kakucho finishing his cigarette as he presses it against the wet pier, successfully dousing it.

What will you do?

The question takes Kakucho by surprise. "What?" he croaks, and Izana's lips crack into a smile.

What will you do about making yourself happy again?

"Dunno. How'm I supposed to be happy when you're not here?"

Izana's face shifts into a frown.

You have Koko, and the Haitanis, and—

"They're not you!"

His voice sounds like thunder as he snarls, cutting Izana's sentence off. The rage goes as quickly as it comes, the blood in his veins cooling as he realizes how irritable he's been lately. Ever since the wake for Izana, he's not felt the same since then. He's not felt happy since then. What was there to be happy about when the one thing that kept him going suddenly disappeared? Fucking Kisaki—

He doesn't realize his fists are balled up in his lap until Izana's ghostly touch brushes against his skin. It's the first time Izana has properly touched him and the first time it's actually worked. This whole haunting thing is still new to Kakucho, but he doesn't mind it; how could he? He's got a chance to remember his best friend; why would he question something like that?

Izana's smile is warm, like a blazing fire compared to how cold he feels.

You should go back to where I'm from. It should do something for you.

"The Philippines?"

Yes. Maybe you'll find someone who can help you. Some time away could do you some good.

He had been working a lot lately. He deserved some time off, even though every single one of his paid time off requests had been denied by Koko because he's "the only one I can trust" for some reason. Although, between the choice of him, Mochi, and the Haitanis and Sanzu, he can imagine why Koko thinks that. He's undoubtedly the most reliable, although not as craft as the Haitanis and certainly not as batshit as Sanzu. Not to mention, Takeomi isn't one for dirty work; he prefers to sit on his throne and watch everything play out in front of him. He's more like Taiju Shiba than he lets on.

However, at least Taiju donned his jacket and fought when needed.

He thinks about it some more. "What do I say to Koko?"

Do you really have to say anything?

His eyes go wide. "You mean…go AWOL?"

Why not? It's time they realized they're using you, Kaku. You're not happy, I can tell. 

He nods to himself. "I'll think about it."

Izana's smile is so large it could rival the sun's rays. Good.

The club is so sweaty and hot that Kakucho feels like he's melting.

Even in the VIP section above the music, the heat is unreal. Something about heat rising floats through his brain as he leans back, some sweet thing on his hip with cotton candy lip gloss pressing against his cheek. She's clad in almost no clothing, and he doesn't know her name, only that she fancies him. He needed someone to get his mind off his heavy talk with Izana.

AWOL. He could, he really could just leave. He doesn't have a last name; he could find a new one. The wedge might force Bonten to collapse; he thinks about Sanzu attempting to take over his position of watching over Koko, and Koko's face alone causes him to chuckle. The girl asks him what's so funny, but he shakes his head and waves her off. She shrugs and continues her movements, although clearly frustrated with no returns on her advancements.

A slender hand reaches for her cheek, tugging her in another direction, and Kakucho's gaze follows her to where she lands, right in Ran Haitani's lap.

He grins at Kakucho as the pretty thing slides onto him, his large hands resting on her waist. She's pretty stunning, he'll admit that; definitely more Ran's type with the bubblegum aura she has coming off of her. Her gaze is needy, doe eyes staring up at Ran as his own slide closed, leaning back against the couch as she does her handiwork.

A clap on his shoulder forces Kakucho to turn to the side and meet Rindou's purple gaze.

Rindou's eyes are not the same as Izana's, he's noticed. While Izana's were cold, steeled, and unwavering, Rindou's were more…smooth. Sensual. He was ready to con any moron who walked into the club out of a few thousand dollars and their dignity if he really wanted to make the guy squirm. He makes a good pair with Ran, who's just a different flavor of grimy; sure, he may not cheat once he finds a girl, but the problem lies in the question being asked.

He's drinking something tropical with an umbrella stuck in it.

"Kaku-chan," he slurs, and the signifier automatically has Kakucho's lip curling. "Kaku-chan? Jesus, Rindou, how much have you had?" he says gruffly, but the purple-haired man only laughs, rolling his eyes. "Who cares, man," he says, a little more coherent, "ya look bummed the fuck out. What's goin' on in that brain of yours up there?"

It's not like Rindou to get so personal, but his resolve begins to slip once he's had a few. Kakucho's seen it happen before, and it happened just like this. He knows his honeyed words aren't going to help his mood—

"Ya look like ya need a vacation, man."

The sentence has Kakucho floored. How the fuck did he know that? He thinks as he stares at Rindou, who has now realized his words are landing coherently, and a massive, drunken smile pulls at his lips. The dimples on his cheeks are small but present as he does so; Kakucho resists the urge to reach out and poke them, one by one. His face is a soft red, covered in blush from the drinks and the cocaine that's been laid out in front of them.

"I do?" he asks, not knowing what to say beyond questioning him. Rindou nods, taking another massive swig of his drink before placing it on the table and looking back up at him. "Yeah, y'do," he nods solemnly, "and frankly, y'deserve it. You've done a lot f'us, y'know? Always helpin' Koko out, makin' sure we don't do any stupid shit—"

"Yeah, well, you end up doing it anyway, so I must be doing a shit job." His tone is firm, but he can't help chuckling at Rindou's sentiments. They might be empty, but they're something.

Rindou's laugh is high-pitched and nasally as he slaps his thigh. "Ha! Well, y'do ya best, I'll say that much," he says, nodding as if he's made a great joke.

There's some silence between them, the music taking the place of the lack of words before Rindou looks at him. It's with a different expression, and his eyes seem much clearer, almost like the drugs are wearing off…or kicking in. Kakucho can barely tell the difference anymore. However, there's something knowing in his eyes, chilling Kakucho's blood. The heat around him feels nonexistent under Rindou's gaze; it's like he's caught in a predator's web as if he's seeing if Kakucho would dip like that.

"You know," he says slowly, his hand clapping on Kakucho's shoulder a little too firmly, "if ya ever did just fuck off to who knows where, I won't tell anyone. Scout's honor or whatever the fuck people say."

"I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"Yes, y'are. Can see it in ya face."

Kakucho blinks. "Fuck off, Rindou," he growls, but Rindou shakes his head.

"I'm bein' f'real, Kakucho. Don't think anyone was as fucked up as you were after Izana. You were his best friend, man; I get it if ya feel like ya have to escape—"

Kakucho's voice is ice as he gently lifts Rindou's hand from his shoulder, placing it back onto his lap. "Don't you dare speak his name," he says, his tone so terrifying that Rindou's eyes widen as he begins to stand, "and don't you dare tell me that you get it. You don't. You love this life. You love the attention, the drugs, the fucking women, you love it all. I don't. I'm not made for this shit. It's obvious—"

Rindou's hand grabbing his pants leg has him pause, and his response has him turning around again.

"So leave."

"What?" It comes out as a hiss.

"Leave. Go. Go tonight, man. Just fuck off. If ya don't like it, don't stay. You're a grown fuckin' man, aren't ya?"

"Fuck off, Rindou."

And with that, Kakucho grabs his coat and stalks out into the cold night air. It hits him as soon as he steps foot outside of the club, one of the doormen running up to him and asking if he needs a ride. He shakes his head. It'll do him some good to walk alone as he begins to wander down the street. He's sober, having not touched alcohol since Izana's death (he'd had a long battle with alcohol after that, to the point where he'd be betraying Izana himself if he put a bottle to his lips again). He almost wished he wasn't as he pulls his coat tighter around him.

He can see Izana next to him, so much shorter than him but somehow keeping pace.

Rindou means well, you know.

"Yeah, he sure fuckin' sucks at showing it," he groans, curling over himself to light up a cigarette. Izana doesn't comment on it, but Kakucho can see in his eyes that there's a fleeting sadness there. Sadness that Kakucho has kept up such a toxic habit.

You shouldn't smoke those.

"Oh yeah, and go back to the bottle? You've seen me on that. Trust me, this is better."

Izana shrugs. I guess.

There's quiet after that as Kakucho wanders. The street gives way to fewer streetlights, the stars above him sparkling and taking his breath away as he looks up. He sees Izana looking up at him, a grin tugging at his lips. They're so pretty tonight, aren't they? He says, and Kakucho nods, taking a seat on a nearby bench to take a load off. He takes a drag from the cigarette, leaning back against the bench. Izana settles next to him. It's not that he has to since he's dead and his legs don't tire out, but it's a nice gesture.

Rindou wanted you to leave.

"Was that you? Putting thoughts in his head?"

No. I can only be seen by you. You know this.

Kakucho sighs. "Yeah, it'd be cool if that wasn't the case, but thanks for making me feel special."

Kakucho.

His name is said in such a firm tone that he can't help but look at Izana dead in the face.

You have to go. You know you do. Even Rindou noticed.

The weight of what he's saying sinks heavily onto Kakucho's shoulders as he leans forward, his forearms on his knees as he clasps his hands together in front of him, the cigarette being held between his lips. He already has a destination; it's clear everyone else around him thinks he deserves one, and Rindou won't even remember what he's said tomorrow morning once the drugs have worn off. This is his chance; this might be the only chance he gets to leave.

There's a song somewhere playing faintly, and the lyrics are the final cherry on top.

Please take a long, hard look through your textbook 'Cause I'm history When I strap my helmet on, I'll be long gone Cause I've been dying to leave Yeah, I'll ride the range and hide all my loose change In my bedroom 'Cause riding a dirt bike down a turnpike Always takes its toll on me

"Alright, fine," he huffs, and Izana's eyes light up next to him. Really?

"Yes, you insufferable idiot." Insufferable? You love me. "Yeah, yeah."

The universe is pelting him with messages, nods, and winks. He can see fate standing before him, her hand outstretched. She smiles expectantly, her eyes twinkling as his rough hand takes it.

See what happens.

divider credit: @/benkeibear for the mdni banner and the gradient dividers! disclaimer: please do not copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first! © jousk4s 2024-2025.

[chimerickat]

Please tell me which summary makes you want to click on the fic. (If multiple or no options, please pick the one that makes you the most excited/interested.)

Feedback welcome!

A.

“Do you think you can make me love you again? I think you just got lucky the first time.”

Seto Kaiba doesn't back away from a challenge, especially not one issued by his wife.

B.

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Kaiba?” 

The unfamiliar name causes a jolt. You push yourself up to a seated position. “You must… I’m not Mrs. Kaiba.” You don’t even know anyone named Kaiba. 

“Sorry, honey.” Her smile disappears. She picks up a clipboard and looks at it. “Could you tell me your full name?” 

You tell her your full name. Then she asks for your date of birth, and you give her that, too. She asks for the year. 

You try to tell her the year. You open your mouth, thinking the information will fall out. 

After a moment of silence, you realize that you don’t know the year.

C.

When you wake up in the hospital, everyone keeps calling you "Mrs. Kaiba". They insist you're married to a man you've never met before.

It's terrifying, but you have no choice but to go home with this stranger.

People tell you your romance was a fairytale, but every moment with this man makes you wonder why you would have married him.

[doctorhelena]

Steggy Fic: Teach My Feet to Fly, Chapter 4/14

Summary: Peggy Carter, a world class ice hockey player learning to figure skate as part of a Canadian reality show, has an iron-clad rule about never, ever dating a teammate. Which means that she’ll simply have to get over the ridiculous attraction she has to her new figure skating partner, Steve Rogers.

Note: This story is complete, and has 14 chapters in total. New chapters are posted weekly on Fridays.

It’s also a very long-delayed thank you gift fic for the lovely @teaandatale!

Rating: PG

Read Chapter 4

Read from the beginning

Excerpt:

Toronto, Canada Battle of the Blades, Week 2 Second Week of Training (Wednesday)

Stepping into a skating rink had always felt a little like coming home to Peggy. The instantly recognizable smell of the ice, the familiar sounds of blades scraping and ice chips flying, the chilled air, the boards and the benches and the timers - it had all given her a sense of connection that had sometimes been difficult to find in a childhood spent moving countries every few years. 

Still, she had to say that she was starting to feel a little too familiar with the surface of the ice in this particular rink. 

Learning to spin, as it turned out, was every bit as frustrating as mastering the toe pick had been - and the worst of it was that although she was attempting the most basic of beginner spins and also not rotating nearly as quickly, nor for as long as any figure skater actually would in competition, she still couldn’t stay on her feet.

“Don’t ballet dancers have a trick for this?” she grumbled as she staggered towards the closest player bench, somehow managing to stay upright until she was able to reach and clutch onto the boards.

“Yep,” Phillips told her. “But unfortunately for you, skaters spin a hell of a lot faster than dancers do, so it doesn't work for us.” He peered at her. “You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

Peggy sighed. “No, just dizzy.” She wasn’t particularly prone to motion sickness, but unfortunately that didn’t help her keep her balance when the world was tilting wildly around her. 

“Good,” said Phillips approvingly, making a note on his clipboard. “Unlikely to hurl,” she imagined him writing, and grinned despite herself.

Steve skated over to lean companionably against the boards next to her. “You have to really try not to focus on anything while you're spinning,” he told her quite unnecessarily, given that she'd already been trying. “It just makes it worse.”

Peggy glared at him - or tried her best to, considering that there currently appeared to be two of him. “I know. But blurring my eyes clearly doesn’t help either, so perhaps you could convince my inner ears to cooperate.” 

She could feel the heat radiating from Steve's arm despite the small gap between them, a pleasant tingle of awareness travelling through her own arm and all the way down her spine despite her best efforts to ignore it. How on earth did he always manage to smell so good even in the middle of a training session? Despite her irritation, she suddenly wanted very badly to bury her face in the solid bulk of his chest until the last of the vertigo had faded - which would be a terrible idea, for very good reasons that she was simply far too dizzy to remember at the moment.

“Uh, Peg,” Rose said from behind her, amused, and Peggy realized with a start that she’d been staring at Steve again - although, to be fair, she told herself reasonably, he was a nearby stationary object. Rose, though, was looking between the two of them with undisguised interest, and Peggy’s face felt suddenly even hotter than it had from all the spinning. What on earth was wrong with her?

Read the rest of the chapter on A03

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

Death and Life

HUNK X Gender neutral reader

Warnings: mentions of injuries (minor cuts and bruises)

The first request for my soulmate au One-shot series. I made reader a rookie medic with the codename Saint in this fic but other than that, reader is pretty much ambiguous as i can make it. I hope everyone enjoys. (Please help, I might have a horrible mask kink)

Prompt: Thinking that you/ they don't have a soulmate until you/ they meet your soulmate/ their soulmate

Entering Umbrella's headquarter building with several agents, he withholds his grunts of discomfort as an agent beside talks to him, her spotless outfit was a striking difference to his bloodied and tattered uniform. She had a glowing rose tattoo on the palm of her hand- her soulmate mark.

HUNK, for the most part kept quiet as they walked down the long hallway, listening to what she had to say. His mind is thinking about the details of the mission he just completed. The pesky thoughts of wondering if he's truly meant to be alone occasionally rears its head in his thoughts.

HUNK has always been too great at the missions he's done throughout the years he's been in umbrella, hell, even during his time in the military. Having a soulmate will only make things worse for him- he tries his best to convince himself while others gave sympathetic looks his way when they found out.

Being the grim reaper in what he does gives him no time to care about the fact that he has no sign of a soulmate present. It made him focus in on being successful on his missions while his colleagues usually end up failing.

Before he joined umbrella, he has felt the emotional sting of knowing that he doesn't have any signs of a soulmate. No matching tattoos like everyone else, just his bare skin that shows. Now it's just the numbness of the acceptance of having no soulmate to go home to after his missions. He was the ideal candidate for Unbrella because of that.

"Have you seen the new nurse that started today?"

Whispers from one of the agents peaked his interest as they talked about the newest member. His footsteps followed through the corridors of the medical unit.

"Yeah, agent. I heard that the nurse doesn't have any soulmate.. how tragic."

The other agent responded, giving a brief sympathetic look towards the first agent. Both agents quickly quit down once they realized that HUNK was staring at them. He reluctantly entered the medical unit with his superior, not wanting to waste his time getting checked out for barely any injuries.

He sits on one of the beds, quietly waiting for the nurse to enter the area. His boss sits down at a spare chair after asking the head nurse to send a nurse their way. HUNK's mask covered eyes took in their surroundings before hearing soft footsteps and wheels of the medical cart move closer towards him.

"Hello, HUNK. Call me Saint, I'm here to check you out and make sure you don't have any infections and you'll be on your way."

Your eyes were on your clipboard before you looked at the male sitting on the bed. His covered eyes looked into yours as you felt as if the world has stopped. Butterflies fluttered your stomach as you attempted to put on a professional facade as you moved to your chair near the bed.

"I'll be damned, you do have a soulmate."

The voice of HUNK's superior mused as he uttered something about owing a couple people money for a bet. Your gloved hands carefully checked his cuts and bruises. It was gentle but perfectly accurate as you disinfeted and bandaged each cut on his skin.

HUNK felt a mixture of shock and disbelief as he looked at you work. The rookie nurse named Saint was his soulmate, his other half. All these years of accepting that he was supposed to be alone turned out to be a lie, his soulmate mark was not having one.

"All done.. I'd suggest applying the arnica cream on your bruises ever six hours for the next couple days. Other than that, you should get some rest."

Disposing of the contaminated items, you advised to him. Your shrubs were neatly pressed and matched the other nurses he's seen. Just as you handed him the jar of cream, the agent got up; leaving the area as he shot a knowing look towards the masked man.

"You don't have a soulmate mark too, eh?"

You tried to break the ice as you wrote on the paper in your clip board.

"Well, if you need a personal nurse or just someone to hang out with, here's my phone number."

With a soft smile, you took the sheet of paper out, folding it in half before handing it to HUNK. You hear the head nurse call your name before you said a brief goodbye to the male.