#the lump in my throat i get every time I watch my normally distinguished and tough and coolheaded father be pushed through airport security

[4thbrighteststar]

</3

[buck-buck-boose]

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, violence

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: I am... so sorry for taking so long. I was not expecting the start of the semester to be so hectic. I can't promise I'll go back to posting as regularly as during the summer, but I can promise that I'm not disappearing. I promise. I WILL SEE THIS FANFIC THROUGH EVEN IF IT KILLS ME. Thank you for the kind words and support while I've been MIA. Enjoy a chunky chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Little Saint Lottie

October 27, 1943

“I’m worried about her, Betty.”

“I know, Gladys. I know.”

Lottie couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a full night’s rest. Days seemed to bleed into each other, with no slumber to distinguish today from tomorrow. It wasn’t long after arriving at Azzano that she realized that he wasn’t waiting for her. Bucky was gone. In his place, dozens of men awaited her arrival with sunken eyes and twitching lips that begged for relief, whether it be through a healing touch or a final blow to the head.

When the realization hit Lottie, there wasn’t much she could do besides throwing herself into her work; if she couldn’t help Bucky, the least she could do was help his brothers in arms. Although anxiety ate her up from the inside out, Lottie had confidence in Bucky’s abilities. He wouldn’t let himself die in some POW camp, he just wouldn’t. Because then who would take care of her and Steve? He’d fight tooth and nail to get back to them, she just knew it.

She threw herself into her work, rarely stopping long enough to have a proper conversation or a full meal; this bad habit of hers came to a halt, though, when she came upon a boisterous redhead in need of stitches. Lottie had been deep in thought while examining the gash above his forehead when the soldier cracked a grin and peered up at her without moving his head too much.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

Lottie shook her head, “I’m afraid not, Private—” she glanced at his dog tags, “—O’Connor.”

“Ever done pinup? Maybe I know you from one of those cheesecakes we’ve got hanging up.” The man— more of a boy really, with his lanky frame and jovial smile —wiggled his eyebrows and ruined her diligent work of cleaning the blood from his wound.

The question left Lottie flustered; the idea of dozens of men gawking at her scantily clad figure left her feeling mortified, “Certainly not! I find that my talents are better suited for healing.”

O’Connor nodded and inspected her face carefully as she went to work on his gash once more. “I’ve got it!” Lottie nearly jumped away from him when he clapped his hands together, “You’re Little Saint Lottie, in the flesh!” The boy crowed his revelation, earning him glares from the other men recovering in the medic tent.

Lottie nearly dropped the needle that she’d been preparing to thread, “Excuse me?”

“Ah, it’s a funny story,” O’Connor chuckled, “Y’see, Sarge had this little photo he’d take everywhere. Always had it in his pocket, tucked in his helmet, you name it. Wouldn’t let the damn thing go. Anyway, we stole it out of his fatigues one day while he was cleaning up in some river ‘cause we wanted to see what the big deal was. Once we saw it was some dame—” Lottie shot him a look, “—lady, we started yanking his chain about it. He was just about as obsessed with that photo as my Ma is with her holy cards, so when he finally told us your name, we dubbed you ‘Little Saint Lottie,’ patron saint of the one hundred and seventh. That kinda pissed him off, but it’s not like you’re his girl, y’know? Though he sure acted like you were.”

Lottie was speechless. About halfway through his story, her mouth had dropped open and her hands had fallen to her lap. Here she was, looking dumb as an ox, while the soldier in front of her chuckled with childish glee.

“Me and the guys would even ask for your intercession whenever the chaplain came by to pray with us. Poor guy had no clue which saint we were talkin’ about. We tried to give it a place of honor in the tent but Sarge made us run laps when he found out we’d nicked it again.”

O’Connor nearly doubled over in laughter as he watched Lottie’s expression grow in horror. “Well as I’m sure Bucky— Sergeant Barnes has told you, I’m no saint. I’m just a nurse. Now hold still, unless you want these stitches to be more painful than they already are.” Before she could stop herself, the question came tumbling out of her mouth, “Speaking of Sergeant Barnes, do you know—” she fumbled with the needle as she made the first stitch, “—is he alright? Did you see him?” The soldier let out a hiss of pain, “Yeah, I got a glimpse of him while they were takin’ him away. He was battered but alright. There’s no man quite like Sarge, I know he’ll be back. He’d fight tooth and nail to get back. That’s what he said at least, ‘cause he always went on and on about how you needed him and all that. He sure talked about you an awful lot for a guy who hasn’t even asked you to go steady.”

Lottie’s breath hitched at the final comment, the mere idea of going steady with Bucky reducing her to a stuttering schoolgirl. She began to tie off his stitches, “We’ve been best friends for over a decade, it’s perfectly normal to care for each other deeply without bringing affection into it.”

O’Connor shrugged, which jostled her arm slightly, “I’ve never heard a guy talk about his best friend like that.”

Lottie didn’t respond. She gave his fully sutured wound one last glance, “Looks like you’re all set. Now don’t do anything stupid to get it infected.”

He gave her a crooked grin and wiggled his eyebrows, Lottie nearly scolded him but held her tongue, “As you wish, Saint Lottie.”

Lottie rolled her eyes and moved along to the next bed, where another soldier waited with a smile just as wide. It seemed that these men had become pleased as punch to know their patroness had come to grace them with her presence.

The USO’s visit to their camp took Lottie completely by surprise. She’d spent so much time floating from one medic tent to the next that she’d ended up completely out of the loop of the camp’s other goings-on. It wasn’t until she saw the fully-erected stage in the middle of camp that she realized. Her heart beat powerfully within her; with Steve here, she would be one step closer to finding Bucky. One step closer to bringing him home. “They say he’s gonna be here in a few hours,” Mary beamed, obviously giddy to see the Star-Spangled Man up close and in the flesh.

Lottie returned her smile, though it was weak. The weariness was starting to catch up to her, making her feel much older than a youthful twenty-three. Her stomach was in knots with anxiety; she needed to get to Steve as soon as possible.

Betty stood with them as they watched the hustle and bustle of preparations, “I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones looking forward to seeing Captain America. All these boys care about is seeing a bunch of girls dancing for them on stage, not some hunk of meat in a red, white, and blue suit.”

Nancy, who had just joined the conversation, scoffed, “It’s quite disappointing how little you think of these men and their patriotism.”

Gladys rolled her eyes, “They’re still men, Nancy. Scantily clad women or a guy singing about war bonds? They’re gonna prefer the women.”

Several hours later, Gladys was indeed proven right. Although he’d been driven off-stage with jeers and taunts, Lottie was waiting for him with a warm embrace.

“Hey, Lottie,” She could hear the smile in his voice, she felt its warm timbre as it surrounded her and reminded her of home.

“Good to see ya, Stevie.”

Steve pulled away from her and gazed around the camp, a grimace growing on his features, “Things don’t look to good around here.”

Lottie nodded, a twin grimace gracing her lips, “The hundred and seventh started out with two hundred men. Now they’ve only got fifty left. They’re barely holding on.”

Steve’s gaze shot to hers the moment she mentioned the one hundred and seventh, “Lottie that’s— this is Bucky’s—” The desperate look in his eyes made her own calm exterior begin to crack.

“Stevie, I know,” she whispered, a lump forming in her throat and tears pricking at her eyes, “I know, and I’m sorry. He’s not here. They— Those bastards took him, damn them!” For the first time since arriving at camp, Lottie cried. She sobbed and clung to Steve once more, feeling every bit like a scared little girl from days gone by.

Steve rested his hand against her back, “I’ll get him out, Lottie. He’s gotta be alive and I’ll get him out.”

She shook her head and wiped the hot tears from her cheeks, “No, Steve. You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”

“Lottie, you know I can’t put you in harm’s way like that—”

“Steve. I’m serious. What do you think I was doing that whole time I was with the SSR? Yes, we were making the serum, but they nearly trained us to death. I can shoot, I can use my knife. I can’t let you go without me.” Her voice was starting to crack, “We have to find Bucky together.”

There was silence between the two of them until Steve finally conceded, a wary gaze in his eyes, “Fine. But you need to be by my side the whole time.” Lottie nodded her chest warming with hope. “C’mon, we need to have a conversation with Colonel Philipps.”

The two of them jogged to his tent with their coats held above their heads to shield them from a sudden shower of rain. They entered the colonel’s tent, looking comical with their wet hair and heaving chests. Around them, soldiers and officials paced to and fro, examining maps or signing off various forms. If Lottie squinted, she could just barely make out the words. Letters of condolences; heartbreakingly clinical letters of regret for the losses of these sons, these brothers, these boys.

“Colonel Phillips,” Steve began, “Are you planning a rescue mission? For the surviving prisoners from the Battle of Azzano?”

The colonel looked back at him with a straight face, “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.”

Steve’s blond eyebrows furrowed, “But if you know where they are why not at least—”

“They’re thirty miles behind the lines. Through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save, but I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl,” before Lottie could protest, he shot her a glance as well, “and you’re just a nurse.”

Steve’s gaze on Colonel Phillips was cool, “I think I understand just fine.”

The colonel pushed past them, “Well then understand it somewhere else. Now if I read the posters correctly, you’ve got someplace to be in thirty minutes.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

Steve grabbed Lottie’s hand and pulled her behind him, “C’mon, we’ve gotta get going. You go get changed.”

Lottie nodded; her medical uniform would impede this mission so she’d need to wear the fatigues that the government had finally issued to them. Her heart raced a mile a minute as she scrambled back to the nurse’s tent to change. She knew that Colonel Philipps would be terribly angry once he found out she’d shirked her night duties, but her loyalties to Bucky took precedence. The recovering soldiers were left in the capable hands of her peers. She swore as she nearly toppled over while yanking her boots on; it was rather hard to get dressed in such a hurry. By the time she was ready and had exited the tent, she was met with the somber faces of Agent Carter and Steve.

“Agent Carter, what are you doing?” For a moment, she feared that they’d already been caught, that the SSR was already putting an end to their mission.

The other woman pursed her lips, “I’m here to help.”

A mere half-hour later and they found themselves in the SSR’s plane, headed to Krausberg, where the POW camp was located. Howard Stark called out to them from the cockpit, “We should be able to drop you right at their doorstep.”

Fear was starting to creep into Lottie’s mind and burrowed itself deep within her gut. She heard the conversation continue all around her, but she was still processing the daunting mission before her. She and Steve up against Hydra. All alone. Even Bucky had struggled against them; he’d lost to them in the Battle of Azzano. Bucky. That’s what worried her most. It’s what filled her with the most fear. If she and Steve got through the Hydra camp safe and sound only to find that he was dead, Lottie wasn’t sure how she’d deal with it. She’d probably go mad, in all honesty. She’d end up in some institution, crying over lucky pennies and charcoal drawings while being molly-coddled by some woman in white. How tragic that would be.

Before her thoughts could become any darker, Lottie was jolted back to reality by the sound of bullets against metal. Steve grabbed his shield and her arm, urging her to join him by the plane’s exit.

Agent Carter shot up from her seat, “Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!”

He turned to respond, “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!” “You can’t give me orders!”

A smile grew on his face, “The hell I can’t! I’m a captain!”

Steve shifted his goggles and nudged Lottie, “It’s go time. When you see me pull the chute out, you do the same.”

Lottie nodded with a quiet determination, and together, they jumped.

Entering the base was painstakingly quiet; once they’d snuck into a truck and eliminated the guards inside, Steve and Lottie were left to mouth words and offer silent support through unwavering gazes. Once they’d safely passed the gate of the base, they exited the truck and swiftly dealt with any opposition.

Steve led her across the base with caution, giving hand signals when it was safe to turn a corner and sprint across a patch of unobstructed space. The two of them traveled with the shadows, avoiding any spotlights that could catch them in the act. Lottie scarcely felt that she could breathe, it was as if one exhale would reveal their presence to the multitude of guards.

Once they entered the main building, the two of them found themselves in what seemed to be a factory. There were giant sheets of metal everywhere and huge bombs seemed to surround them. Amongst them all, Hydra soldiers transported other metal parts and containers of glowing blue material. That did not bode well with Lottie at all.

Lottie spotted some guards walking to a lower level, jangling keys in hand. “Steve, they might be guarding the prisoners.” Her whisper was barely audible, fear keeping her from speaking any louder.

“The blueprints said they were below the manufacturing level. C’mon.”

They followed the guards onto a walkway that had large circular grates that cut into the metal, each forming the ceiling of small cells that the poor prisoners had been separated into. Lottie and Steve knocked the guards out and stole their keys. The two dropped to the same level as the cells and began unlocking their doors.

One of the soldiers gazed at them through the bars of his cell, “Who are you supposed to be?”

Steve panted from stress, “I’m Captain America.” He gave Lottie an expectant look.

“I guess I’m Little Saint Lottie,” she responded somewhat sarcastically, referencing the retrospectively comical nickname that was developed by the one hundred and seventh.

Some of the men cracked grins, “So you’ve heard our prayers, huh?”

“Loud and clear. Now let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

She tried to ignore the growing horror inside of her upon the realization that none of these men had brilliant blue eyes. Not a dimpled chin in sight.

“Is there anybody else? I’m looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.” It seemed that the same horror was growing within Steve.

A man in a scarlet beret responded, his British accent prim and proper, “There’s an isolation ward in the factory, but no one’s ever come back from it.”

“Alright,” Steve nodded, “The tree line is northwest, 80 yards past the gate. Get out fast and give ‘em hell. We’ll meet you guys out in the clearing with anyone else we find.”

“Wait, you know what you’re doing?” “Yeah. I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times.”

Lottie couldn’t help but stare at Steve in amazement. Gone was that awkward boy from Brooklyn. He was a man now, a leader who could do anything he put his mind to. He’d grown so much, not just physically, but in his character.

While the prisoners worked their way out of the base, Steve and Lottie began their search for the isolation wards. Lottie tried to ignore the sounds of explosions and men crying out from below them while they traveled across metal catwalks. She could only hope that the cries of pain were coming from Hydra soldiers.

After turning several corners, they found themselves in an old hallway, surrounded by brick on both sides. They hurried down the corridor out of desperation; they knew they were running out of time. Lottie stopped suddenly when she heard a groan. It was close. She drew her weapon and dragged Steve into the room, her heart stuttering and her palms slick with sweat.

“Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven…” That voice. Oh, how she knew that voice; she loved it so. Lottie heard it whenever she found the time to fall asleep. It crept into her sweetest dreams but tore her apart whenever it wiggled its way into her nightmares.

Bucky lay in front of them, strapped down to a table; his lips moved ever so slightly as he repeated the same phrase over and over again.

She rushed to his side alongside Steve and nearly let out a cry of happiness. Had the situation not been so dire, she would’ve descended upon him with a bone-crushing embrace and great big sobs of joy by that point.

Lottie whispered a quiet, “Bucky?” His eyes were glazed over and his mouth agape, “Is that— is that—”

“It’s us, Buck,” Steve nodded reassuringly as he tore at the straps across Bucky’s chest. Bucky looked up at him, taking his face in,

“Us?”

“Me and Lottie,” he nodded, tugging her closer so that the two of them could be in Bucky’s field of vision.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him, finally feeling whole again. She’d gotten her Brooklyn boys back. Bucky only looked back in confusion, “Little Lottie, she— she’s always been here. Always. Stayed with me the whole time.”

It was Lottie and Steve’s turn for confusion. Lottie brushed the hair back from his forehead to calm him down and ground him, “Bucky, I’ve been with the SSR this whole time. We’re here to rescue you.”

Steve nodded and dragged him off the table, “I thought you were dead.”

Bucky was obviously having a hard time processing everything that was happening, “I thought you were smaller.”

Lottie listened as the gunfire intensified, “Come on, we need to move.” Steve threw one of Bucky’s arms over his shoulder and the two fell into step behind her.

“What happened to you?” Bucky grunted out, pain etched into his voice.

“I joined the army.”

“Did it hurt?”

Steve was growing agitated, “A little.”

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.” Lottie huffed, “I’d sure hope so after all that effort I put into it.”

Bucky mustered out a befuddled, “Huh?”

“I helped to create the serum that made him like that.”

“So that’s why you left without saying a word.” Bucky’s tone was only slightly accusatory.

Lottie muttered a weak “Yeah.” They’d need to have a lengthier conversation once he wasn’t struggling to walk five yards.

As they crossed the catwalks to get towards the exit, the factory below them began to combust. Huge flames erupted from the metal contraptions and triggered explosions all around them. They hastily climbed the metal stairs to get to higher ground.

“Captain America, how exciting!” A thick German accent cut through the noise of explosions and gunfire. “I am a great fan of your films!” Before them stood two men; one was a short little fellow clad in a jacket and fedora. The other was tall and wore a distinguished Hydra uniform with its menacing crest emblazoned on his shoulder.

The taller of the two gave Captain America a once over as he strode across the catwalk that separated them, “So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Steve snarled and punched the man in the face. The swift blow caused a blotch of redness to appear near his eye and a sinking feeling of realization settled into Lottie’s stomach. This was Schmidt, the monster who used the serum prototype.

Before she could say anything, Schmidt struck back and left a dent in Steve’s shield, “Haven’t I?”

There was a brief scuffle before Schmidt backed off while the other man pulled a lever, pulling the catwalk apart. With a grin, Schmidt began pulling at the skin of his face and revealed fiery red muscle and tissue beneath, just as Lottie had seen when she first began experimenting with the formula. “You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!”

“Then how come you’re running?”

Steve never got an answer. Schmidt and the other man had already boarded an elevator and left them standing on the catwalk, nearly helpless.

Another explosion went off, cueing the trio to leave, “C’mon, let’s go. Up.” Lottie instructed the men to follow her, though she wasn’t too sure how to escape the factory. All she knew was that they needed to keep ascending the stairs.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they were faced with a metal beam that led to a catwalk with an exit. It was terrifyingly slim, with only enough room to place one foot in front of the other.

“Ladies first,” Bucky murmured, “but I’ll be right behind you.” Lottie felt sure of herself knowing that at least she wouldn’t have to cross on her own.

She took a tentative first step, testing how well it would hold her weight. Lottie tried not to look down at the fiery pit below while she carefully moved along the beam. It was a comfort to have Bucky behind her with his chest nearly pressed against her back as he followed her every step. Lottie had just scrambled over the railing of the catwalk when a jarring explosion shifted the beam’s position and sent it careening downwards. She gasped in horror as Bucky leaped to grab onto the catwalk.

“There’s gotta be a rope or something!”

Steve stared at the two of them from across the pit, “Just go! Get out of here!”

Bucky slammed his fist on the railing, desperation tearing at his voice, “No, not without you!”

“Steve, please! We can’t just leave you here!” Lottie pleaded. Steve couldn’t die, not like this.

With a look of determination, Steve backed up and made a running jump to clear the gap between the two catwalks. An explosion threatened to swallow him up, but he made it over safely, although a little worse for wear.

Lottie and Bucky could only stare in amazement. Steve nodded to them both, “Let’s get outta here.”

Several ladders and a whole lot of dodging later, the trio found themselves trudging towards the tree line.

It was silent amongst the three of them; painfully, dreadfully silent. She decided it was time to break the silence, “Bucky, I—”

“Look, Little Lottie, I know you’re sorry, alright? And I forgive you. Even though you lied to my face and left without saying goodbye, I had a whole lotta time to spend forgiving you.”

Now that the fear of being caught by Hydra soldiers had fully subsided, Lottie allowed herself to let out a sob of joy and nearly threw herself at Bucky. She almost apologized for the force of her embrace since it was likely to hurt a man who’d been captured by Hydra, but he didn’t show any sign of pain. She’d need to remember that for later.

“I missed you so much, Bucky. I really did,” Lottie nearly whimpered. Gosh, she sure sounded lovesick. “I missed you too, Little Lottie.” His embrace was sure and strong, and with it, a flood of memories came back to her. Nights on her fire escape. A birthday evening spent swing dancing. A lucky penny slipped into her hand. For the first time in months, Lottie finally felt whole. Her heart that had been splintered into shards of pain and hopelessness had finally begun to mend itself back together. While she found comfort in his arms and forgiveness, she knew there were still so many words left unsaid; words that he needed and deserved to hear.

“Yeah, I missed you guys too,” Steve muttered, obviously peeved that he was being left out of their moment.

“Aw, come on, Stevie,” Lottie grinned and pulled away from Bucky a little to allow Steve to join their hug.

“And if I remember correctly, Bucky, I think it’s actually Little Saint Lottie now,” she grinned. While she couldn’t see his face at the moment, she just knew it was turning a gorgeous shade of scarlet, based on the sputtering coming out of his mouth.

[ironmandeficiency]

anatomy lesson

pairing: cody / reader,  waxer / reader

word count: 2756

summary: cody and waxer go to retrieve you for a briefing and were concerned to find you still sleeping. even worse, you were in a pool of your own blood. (let the fluff ensue)

a/n: reader is 18+. i love the hc that most (if not all) non-medic clones have no idea what a menstrual cycle is and absolutely lose their shit upon first exposure (except for gree & the entirety of the 41st, they have their shit together but i digress)

when the calls came in from master plo and anakin and you still weren’t there in the briefing room, obi-wan was concerned. it was unlike you to oversleep when on duty, being ever punctual with your duties as a padawan and commander. he told you the night before the exact time you’d be needed for the briefing and you’ve never been late to a briefing ever since you joined him as his apprentice. 

he caught cody’s attention with a slight wave and tried to dispel his worry. “cody, will you retrieve y/n from her quarters? she’ll be needed before the briefing.”

cody nodded, giving a brief response before leaving the room. “right away, sir.” he shared the general’s concern although no one would get him to admit the origins. cody knew there were days you were awake before he was, already preparing for the day with a mug of tea in hand. you had the same air about you as the general, a negotiator in the making. being late was an anomaly in your normal behavior, which meant to him that something must be happening.

that’s why his concern elevated to panic when you weren’t answering his (rather loud) knocking on the door to your quarters. “commander! y/n, are you alright?!” his fist pounded on the door with no response.

a couple brothers gathered around the spectacle, unsure why cody was so frazzled. “if you don’t answer me in the next five seconds i’m coming in!” more pounding, no answer. it was time to go in.

cody busted the external controls and the door swished open, his eyes quickly absorbing his surroundings. waxer followed cody in because this was an extremely strange series of events. why was cody busting into your quarters, and why was he so tense?

spotting your form lying still in your bunk, cody nearly fell on his face running the short distance towards you. he inspected you for a moment trying to see if there was a problem. cody was coming up short until waxer pointed to a pool of blood on the blankets, hands slightly shaking.

they carefully lifted the blankets covering you and nearly threw up. there was so much blood, more than should ever be out of a person that wasn’t dead, and here you were just laying in it without a problem!

wait, were you dead?!?! both of the troopers simultaneously reached for different pulse points, relieved when they felt a steady heartbeat. you weren’t dead yet.

waxer ran into the hallway and shouted for someone to retrieve a medic, his voice bordering on panic and ferocity.

“there’s no time! i’ll run her there while you notify general kenobi in the briefing room!” cody scooped you into his arms and sprinted toward the medbay, ignoring the shouts and worried looks he got from his vode. you were his only concern, and may the force help whoever got in his way.

waxer reached the briefing room in record time and if he wasn’t trained for combat, the running would have taken his breath from him. “general kenobi!”

obi-wan turned towards waxer’s shout in the doorway and was startled to see the man so frantic. the holo forms of master plo and anakin following obi-wan’s gaze to the trooper, looks of worry similar to obi-wan’s etched onto their faces.

“waxer, what’s wrong?”

“it’s the commander, sir! we found her in her bunk covered in blood, cody’s taking her to the medbay!”

the news pummeled the jedi with the force of a raging gundark. plo nodded for obi-wan to take his leave, anakin’s face was beginning to twist into something almost unidentifiable from worry.

obi-wan’s voice when he spoke was not the mellifluous cadence everyone knew him for; no, it was rough and pained and curt in an effort to shove away the lump forming in his throat. “we can finish this later. i’ll notify you both when i have more information.” he shut off the call with a harder than necessary press of a button and immediately followed waxer toward the medbay.

what could have possibly happened to you? you were in one of the most well-guarded and armed ships in the GAR and had the loyalty of the entire 212th behind you. why would anyone want to harm you, if that happens to be the case? obi-wan didn’t like the way waxer’s force signature burned, and making sure you were okay seemed to be the only thing that could ease the feeling.

you woke up… not in your bed, which was peculiar, but you were even more confused when you were moving. unsure as to why you were being jostled more than some unfortunate soul trying to tame a bantha, you take in your surroundings. you were still on the negotiator, and you were being carried? that would explain the movement.

coming into consciousness, you could easily distinguish cody as the one carrying you and the hard set of his jaw told you something was wrong.

“cody, what’s going on?” your voice was still grainy from sleep but cody had never heard anything so comforting.

cody seemed relieved to hear your voice but was ferocious in his reply. “what’s going on?! y/n, i found you unresponsive in a pool of your own blood! you’re headed straight for the medbay!”

oh no. no kriffing way.

you tried to move out of cody’s arms but the man had a vice grip on you. wriggling about could only get you so far when you were still trying to wake up completely and it showed by the way you weren’t able to free yourself from his arms. “will you stop moving?!” he shifted his hold slightly, making it even harder to escape. kriff.

“put me down, cody! this isn’t a concern for the med team!”

“like hell it isn’t! do you see how much blood you’re covered in?! i’m surprised you’re even conscious right now!”

he was still running and you were wishing for something, anything to happen to get him to put you down. but alas, cody was determined and did not put you down until it was on a cot in the medbay, aranar and a med droid immediately approaching you. “what’s wrong, commander?”

“i found her in a pool of blood and she’s trying to tell me it isn’t a concern!”

“cody, i-“

“someone tell me what’s happened!” you recognized the voice of your master immediately and you groaned, wishing the cot would somehow miraculously fly itself through the side of the shuttle and free you of this torment.

could this get any worse?

“master, i am perfectly okay! i haven’t been able to explain-“

obi-wan cut you off. “you most certainly are not okay! i was told you were found covered in blood! when is that ever a normal occurrence for anyone?!”

aranar, being far more medically inclined, soon discovered what the “problem” was. you sent him a scathing look that explicitly said “explain this to them now!” but aranar, being one to hold a grudge against jedi that didn’t report their injuries, shook his head with a grin. the smirk he sent your way told you everything you need to know, which was thus: you were on your own.

were you seriously going to have to give an anatomy lesson to everyone? apparently so.

you sighed before you began to explain the situation. “i’m suffering from what’s known as the menstrual cycle.” the word “suffer” seemed to raise some heads, some being nearly two entire squads. apparently word travels faster than you had thought.

your master’s face was almost blistering from the blush that had risen to his cheeks. you didn’t need your training bond to tell you that he was absolutely mortified (he was also quite relieved at the fact you weren’t about to die). he looked more like he got a sunburn on tatooine than was just embarrassed by failing to identify his padawan’s menstrual cycle. he left the room quickly, knowing that he didn’t exactly leave his fellow jedi on a promising note.

you turned back to the growing cluster of clone troopers surrounding you, making quick work to reassure the worried gaggle of clones that it wasn’t deadly. “it’s a completely normal thing, don’t worry. every month or so, my body naturally builds a lining in my uterus to prepare for a pregnancy. if i don’t get pregnant, my body sheds the lining out through vaginal bleeding.”

there was a brief silence as the men processed the information. it was gruesome in their opinions, the way women were able to do everything men could do and be actual growth tanks for other creatures.

“so the blood,” cody began with understandable hesitation, “was just lining that you’d need to carry a child? you’re not going to pass out from blood loss when it happens?”

“does it hurt?” waxer was concerned, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“you’re not dyin’ on us or anything, are you sir?” jester’s playful tone disguised a deeper fear quite well and would have fooled you if you weren’t a jedi.

you decided to answer the most pressing question first, a soft smile on your face at the worry in his tone. “no jester, i’m not dying anytime soon.”

you probably should have (or had someone else) explain this to them earlier, but you never thought it’d become a problem. it was relatively easy to hide the cycle from your men prior to now and they had never seemed to pick up on any changes that coincide with your cycle, so you just kept on with your routine.

but since you were here, you might as well tell them everything to watch out for. “sometimes it does hurt like a bitch, not gonna lie. i can get stomach cramps and my muscles will be sore for a while, and i’m a bit more sensitive to touch than normal.”

the men in front of you nodded in understanding. “are there any other symptoms we should know about, commander?” boil’s question seemed to be on the minds of the several men around you. aranar had taken to shooing out the ones farther away because he was starting to feel claustrophobic, hating the way he could barely move about the medbay without bumping into someone.

“nothing too drastic, just appetite changes and some changes in mood.” they looked to aranar and when their brother nodded his agreement, their shoulders released the collaborative tension in all of their shoulders. you could feel their worry dissipate into the force, satisfied that you were, in fact, perfectly fine. “now i thank you all for your concern, but i would really appreciate some privacy so i could change out of these clothes.”

several of the men filed out, thinning the crowd the same as aranar had until you were left with cody, waxer, and jester. the latter took his leave once he got a quick hug from you and more reassurance that you were completely fine and there was no reason to fuss.

waxer took jester’s spot seconds later, a set of blacks in hand. “i hope these will suffice for now, commander. at least until you’re able to get to your quarters and into something more comfortable for you.” he extended them towards you gently, and there was even a pair of boots included. you knew as well as he did that they wouldn’t properly fit you but the sentiment behind giving you these was no less strong. in mando’an tradition, sharing armor with someone was one of the highest forms of trust and affection one could show and you were reeling from the implications.

(what you didn’t notice was the gleam in cody’s eye and the way waxer looked to his ori’vod for reassurance. it wasn’t like you would have known what the look was about, but seeing as you didn’t know it happened in the first place, there was nothing to speculate.)

you took the blacks from him with a soft smile. “these are extremely appreciated, waxer. thank you.” you swung your legs over the bed and walked towards him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. if you weren’t mistaken, he softly hummed and leaned into your hand like a tooka getting scratched under the chin.

“would you like to get breakfast with us, commander?” cody questioned, a hopeful gleam in his eye.

you weren’t going to refuse in the first place, but your stomach wanted to guarantee a trip to the mess with the men in front of you with a growl. the men grinned at the noise (well, the way you looked down to hide your face afterward) and you nodded your agreement. “give me just a moment to get cleaned up and i’ll gladly go with you.”

they nod and tell you they’ll wait up outside before leaving you alone.

thank the stars there was a private ‘fresher in the room you were in. you were quickly out of your bloodied nightwear and once you were clean and armed with a tampon to plug the leak, you grabbed the blacks from their neatly folded pile.

you’ve carried sets of blacks before, but these felt strangely lighter. almost all sets of blacks were made the same because everyone that wore them had nearly identical measurements. personal modifications were near obsolete, exceptions being made for clones that were granted prosthetics instead of decommissioning (at the cursed d-word you quickly pulled your thoughts back; you and your master both had numerous issues with the treatment of your men, and your current emotional vulnerability would do nothing but cause trouble).

you started with the pants. when you got both legs in, you were shocked. why were they so snug? you knew for a fact that you didn’t have the same measurements as your men, and yet… the pants fit like a glove. a perfectly-fitting glove.

maybe you were imagining this. you had to be. the moment you emerged from the room, you’d be able to flap about in the outfit like a young padawan wearing their master’s robes. cody and waxer would laugh and smile, one of them probably daring you to eat breakfast in the blacks (which you would take them up on without hesitation).

but then the shirt fit just as well, if not better, than the pants. that couldn’t be! your chests were completely different! you had boobs, for kriff’s sake! the size of your bust was inconsequential, it was the fact that blacks were made to fit the clones, who didn’t have boobs last time you saw one. what could possibly explain it?

as you let your thoughts roam, you slid the boots on and realized with a start that holy shit these are my size. and if the boots are my size, then that means… 

you were given a custom set of blacks.

they saw you as one of their own, their vod. you were their highly respected jedi commander, but you were also family. every member of the 212th knew that you’d put your life on the line for them (despite it being the opposite of what they wanted in battle) just the same as they would for you. the gesture was one of deepest sincerity and camaraderie, if that word was even strong enough to define the feeling.

“waxer! cody!” you called for them to come in. you could feel your throat getting blocked by the overwhelming love you felt right then, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

the two burst in, worried something actually did happen this time. then they noticed you were decked out in your new blacks with watery eyes and a wide grin on your face.

“you fit right in, y/- oof!”

cody’s teasing was cut off by you nearly taking him to the ground with a hug, arms wrapping tight around him. you let go after a moment and brought waxer in too, letting yourself be encased in the light and happiness and safety being spread through the force. a gentle hand came to rest at the back of your head, and another rubbed your back soothingly.

“i take it you won’t need to change before heading to the mess?” waxer’s smile was heard in his softly teasing words, and it made your heart sing.

“you bet your ass i won’t. now let’s go, i’m starving.” you untangled yourself from the embrace of the men in front of you before letting them escort you to breakfast.

[moonknightly]

and you keep me holding on : santiago “pope” garcia x reader (four)

Word Count: 5.3k

Excerpt: “He cries and he screams and he curses every higher power he can think of until his voice is strained with the effort. He bargains, he pleads. He prays, and then he curses again.”

Warnings: Blood, violence, gun violence, cursing, meh

[SERIES MASTERLIST] 

OCTOBER 20TH - DAY FOUR

The precinct is busier than usual when Santi walks in the following morning. There are twice as many people, twice as many noises, twice as many reasons for Santi to be annoyed.

So many FBI agents. So many sounds. It’s complete sensory overload.

He stops after taking only a few steps off of the elevator, shaking his head, trying his hardest to push his irritation down. He’d been livid when Cameron announced that she was no longer letting the squad work on the case, and he hadn’t been the only one to let their anger show, but if Santi is being completely honest, he knew it had been coming.

It didn’t make it any easier, though. It felt like giving up in a way, even though that was the last thing he was willing to do.

Giving up would never be an option.

And fuck, the idea that it would one day be expected of him made his blood boil.

Santi takes a couple of deep breaths. He lets his eyes fall shut for just a moment, willing himself to stay calm. He shakes his head once, twice, and then starts to move towards an empty desk Cameron was letting him use. He can hear bits and pieces of the different conversations going on around him as he walks, but he can’t bring himself to actually pay attention to what’s being said.

He plops himself down into his chair, and before he has even a moment to make himself comfortable, he feels someone come up behind him and stop just a few feet away. He twists in his chair, spinning it around to face whoever has decided to sneak up on him and was surprised to notice that it wasn’t one, but two people — both agents.

“Need something?”

Santi doesn’t mean to sound so sarcastic, and while one of the agents chuckles a little bit, the other looks rather unimpressed with his attitude.

The second one — the one wearing a glare that quickly morphs into a arrogant smirk — shoves his hands into his pockets and tilts his head curiously at Santi.

“Maybe.”

Yeah, he fucking hates this guy.

Santi waits for the agent to continue, but several seconds pass in silence and he can’t stop himself from slowly raising an eyebrow in question.

“Okay…” Santi mumbles, dragging out the “y”, still waiting.

“I’m Agent Barnes, and this is Agent Graves.”

Santi glances towards the other agent, Graves, who smiles gently at him and gives him a quick nod. He definitely likes this one better.

Barnes rocks back and forth on his heels, still smirking to himself as he says her name under his breath. “We’d like to talk to you about her disappearance, if that’s alright with you.”

Santi can’t help but flinch at the cold way in which Barnes says her name. He can tell the sudden movement piqued Barnes interest, but he isn’t about to explain himself, doesn’t feel the need to.

“Sure, I’d love to talk about my wife,” Santi responds, eyes narrowed and lips upturned into something that resembles a grimace.

Barnes takes a few steps forward and comes to lean against Santi’s desk while Graves stays where he’d been standing. Pope folds his arms across his chest.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Barnes asks, looking down at Santi, his eyes staying trained on his face. Santi holds his gaze, taking it like some sort of challenge almost.

He absolutely loathes the bastard.

“On the sixteenth. She stopped by after she left the hospital and I walked her downstairs.”

“And at what time was that?”

“At about eight,” Santi answers, shrugging his shoulders gently. He hadn’t been looking at the clock, he’d been looking at her.

“And why didn’t you go home with her?”

“I had a lot of paperwork and she was tired. I needed to stay and there was no reason for her to.”

Barnes nods his head once, seeming to think over the information Santi just gave him in a way that makes him roll his eyes again.

“And what time would you say you made it home that night?”

“You know, I’m starting to feel like this is an interrogation, not an interview. Look, I’ve already told all of this to-”

“It’s just a simple question.”

Santi is frustrated, because all of the times, all of the facts, they’re all written down in her file, and he’s positive that the agents had already looked through the notes.

“About fifteen minutes after midnight.”

The passive expression Barnes is sporting quickly morphs into a smirk — one that honestly makes Santi want to deck him but also makes him so sick to his stomach at the same time.

“How long does it usually take for you to get home?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take.”

“That’s funny.”

Santi furrows his eyebrows, ready to slam his hand down onto the desk and demand Barnes just get to the fucking point, but before he can even blink the agent is continuing on with his words.

“You scanned out of your office at eleven that night. Only twenty minutes home...”

No. There’s no fucking way he’s about to-

“That leaves almost an hour that you have unaccounted for.”

Santi is completely and utterly floored at what Barnes is implying. He can only stare in shock for several seconds, jaw slack, tips of his ears turning bright red as heat flooded his body.

“You think that I killed my wife.”

It isn’t a question, but rather a statement �� a statement that Santi never imagined he would find himself saying. He scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief.

“We don’t-” Graves starts to say, but his partner quickly cuts him off, silencing him with a simple wave of his hand that only pisses Santi off even further.

“I didn’t say that,” Barnes says, voice lacking any distinguishable emotion.

Santi scoffs again and quickly stands, feeling like it gave him some sort of advantage even though he was several inches shorter than the other man.

“I would never do anything to hurt my wife.”

“I’m not saying that you did, but maybe,” Barnes starts, that damn smirk returning full force. “Maybe you and Nathan...”

“Okay, now you’ve gone too far,” Santi fumes, taking a step closer to Barnes, getting ready to wind his arm back so he can just-.

“Garcia,” Cameron calls out from where she’s standing, about ten feet away.

Santi hadn’t noticed her approach.

“Do you hear this bullshit? Did you hear-”

“Santiago,” she interrupts, effectively silencing him. She rarely calls him by his full name, and when she does, it was used as a form of comfort that Santi didn’t even know he needed until just now. He swallows the lump in his throat and glances towards his feet, trying to push his anger away, giving way to the shame at the fact that someone could ever think he’d hurt her.

“I wouldn’t hurt her. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

Cameron places her hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle yet firm squeeze like she’s done so many times recently. “I know.”

Of course she knows. Santi loves her more than any person had ever loved another. She is, and always will be, his entire world, his reason for getting out of bed in the morning and his reason for breathing, and Cameron can’t understand how someone could even insinuate that he might be involved in her kidnapping. Santi has a temper and that’s no secret to anyone, but he would never, ever do something to hurt his wife, not even in the midst of the most heated argument would he imagine laying a single finger on her.

“I wouldn’t.”

Santi looks towards Cameron with such hopelessness and desperation trapped in his irises. He’s pleading with her, begging her to just believe him. He’s convinced that she agrees with Barnes.

“We all know.”

She squeezes again, and after her words have a few seconds to settle in, it seems to be enough, at least for the moment.

Santi’s shoulders seem to relax, just a fraction, and he sucks in a sharp breath. He nods his head once, solemnly so, and mumbles something that sounds like an excuse under his breath before retreating towards the locker rooms. No one follows, he doesn’t want anyone to. He just needs a few seconds to himself, a moment to push the nausea and the nerves and the worry away, even though he knows they would only return.

What Santi really needs is for this to all just be some sort of twisted, fucked up nightmare.

What Santi really needs is her.

OCTOBER 21ST — DAY FIVE

Cameron makes Santi take the rest of the day off. He tries to argue with her, giving her the same reasons he had before, but nothing seems to convince her to let him stay. Ideally, she didn’t even want him to leave Jay’s apartment the next day either, and this time, he decides to just shut up and listen.

She wants him to sleep in until noon, watch as many movies as he possibly can, call his mother back, and actually eat something more than a few bites of whatever fast food or microwavable meal he’d been forced to buy.

Normally, Santi wouldn’t complain about doing any of those things, but today is different. He needs something to focus on that will keep his mind quiet. He feels that he needs a distraction today more than any other day so far.

Because today is their two year wedding anniversary, and he is losing his mind by doing nothing.

It’s just after six p.m., and he’d woken up at five in the morning with no possible chance of getting back to sleep. The TV is turned off, and Santi has no desire to stand up and find the remote, and even if he does turn something on, he knows he won’t be able to properly focus on it. The bagel he’d made that morning is still sitting half eaten on the coffee table, and he didn’t even bother to make himself lunch.

Nothing Cameron wanted him to do came even close to being done, but Santi just can’t bring himself to do anything other than play a word game on his phone.

But he knows that he needs to call his mother back. He still hasn’t spoken to her, and she’s still calling him a few times each day, leaving message after message each time she’s met with the familiar “beep” of his voicemail. His father had started to do the same, even going as far as to send him a text message that read “If we didn’t know any better, we would think you’re missing too”. He deleted it right after opening it.

He just needs to get it over with

Santi sighs gently, closing out of his game and pulling up his contacts, scrolling until he found his mother’s name. He hits the call button, his stomach flipping as he waits.

She answers after the first ring, the worry in her voice sounding in Santi’s ears, the guilt of not answering any of her hundreds of calls suddenly weighing on his shoulders. He didn’t mean to cause her any sort of panic or grief, but what did he think ignoring her calls would do, especially in a situation like this?

“Hey Mamá,” he mumbles into the phone, voice hoarse from not having used it all day.

The relief in his mother’s voice after she hears him speak instantly makes that guilt grow into something that nearly swallows him whole, and his chest tightens as he listens to her cry in what he hoped was ease after finally hearing from him and not hurt because she just now heard from him.

About five minutes pass before the conversation moves from Santi’s apparent inability to answer his phone to what he knows his mother has been calling about, and what has been the only thing on his mind for the last five days.

“Have you found anything?”

Santi feels a lump form in his throat, and he suddenly loses the ability to speak properly. This has been his reality for the better part of a week — talking about her and thinking about her every second of every day, which really isn’t any different from normal except for the fact that it now made his heart ache rather than fill him with joy.

He briefly tells his mother what happened in Princeton and Allentown, though he assumes she’d already heard. If you turned on the news for even two minutes, you would see her name and her picture flash across the screen, accompanied by Nathan’s, which never failed to make Santi’s rage blossom all over again.

“At least I know she’s alive,” Santi mutters after a brief pause where neither of them could find the right words to say, thinking back to the picture from the other day. “The amount of blood...Mamá, I was so fuckin’ scared that she was de-”

Santi’s voice cracks, and he can’t bring himself to finish his words. Saying that he’s afraid out loud is probably the most candid he’s been since the start of it all. He still hasn’t let himself cry, not really, but the one tear that fell down his cheek is all it took for the dam to break loose.

He pulls the phone away from his ear, but he doesn’t hang up. He simply lets it fall to the couch beside him as he brings his other hand up to his mouth, covering it as a broken sob passes his lips. His mother continues to listen on the other end, and her heart shatters for her son as well as his wife. She recounts an almost silent prayer just as Santi curses God’s name, and she can’t even bring herself to chastise him for using such language. She would’ve done the same if she were feeling even half of what Santi is.

All of Santi’s emotions continue to pour out of him in a violent downfall, like a storm that held no mercy, leaving a gaping hole in his chest that threatens to swallow him whole. He cries and he screams and he curses every higher power he can think of until his voice is strained with the effort. He bargains, he pleads. He prays, and then he curses again. His mother listens the entire time.

Several minutes pass like this, and once he’s sure that there are no more tears left for him to cry, after he feels like he would pass out if he shed even one more, he picks the phone back up slowly, though he stays completely silent. After several seconds, his mother says his name gently.

“I’m here,” he mumbles, no emotion left in his voice at all.

His mother seems to be thinking about her words, choosing them carefully as to not upset him any further. “Maybe you should think about coming home for a few days.”

Santi doesn’t respond, and after another moment spent in silence, she speaks again. “You know, I just don’t think you should be alone tonight…”

“You remembered,” he grumbles quietly, his voice hardly audible.

“Of course I did Santiago, but regardless of whether it’s your anniversary or not, maybe you just-”

“You know what Mamá,” he interrupts, cutting her off. “I, uh — I actually have plans tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Jay just got this new video game and we were gonna order a pizza or somethin’ for dinner,” he lies, though there was absolutely nothing in his tone to give him away. “I won’t be alone, promise.”

She seems to accept his answer, and doesn’t question him any further. She even sounds slightly enthusiastic about it, saying that it sounds like the kind of distraction Santi needs. He has to physically bite his tongue in order to keep himself from scoffing.

They say their goodbyes shortly after, and Santi throws his phone onto the couch cushion beside him, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he stares at the floor for what feels like an hour when it was probably only two minutes.

He and Jay don’t have any plans.

There’s no video game, no pizza. He feels slightly bad for lying to his mother, but a larger part of him just wants to save her the worry and trouble.

He quickly stands from the couch and switches out his sweatpants for a pair of jeans, but can’t find the effort to change out of his old PT sweatshirt, the one she always stole from him. He runs his fingers through his hair, not bothering to style it. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and he’s sporting a decent beard that he knew she would love.

He grabs his wallet and the spare key Jay’d given him, picked up his phone and sent him a text, also lying to him about his location and his plans, and set out the door.

Not ten seconds pass before Jay is texting him back, telling Santi they’d caught a case and he wouldn’t be home until later that night anyways.

Santi doesn’t think twice about it, and simply shoves his phone into his pocket before heading to the subway.

Their apartment is dark when Santi arrives a half hour later. He doesn’t bother to flip on the light in the entryway, and takes a moment to just stand there, his back against the wooden door, fingers tracing each groove.

It almost feels normal, like any other day. It feels like Santi had just gotten off work for the night and he’s taking a moment to decompress before he would make his way to the bedroom, where he would find her curled up under the sheets, her head on his pillow as she waited for him to come home to her.

But she always made sure that the lamp in the living room was on for him, and she had a habit of leaving the TV running until he got in. Neither are on, and only silence and darkness and solitude surround him.

Santi kicks his shoes off by the door before pushing away from it, taking a few tentative steps into the apartment. The room is slightly illuminated from the glittering lights of Manhattan, just enough for Santi to see around the outlines and shapes of things. It’s strange — everything looks the same, smells the same, but it feels so completely different. So completely foreign.

Lifeless.

A few things are out of place, like the blanket they kept on the back of the couch, now on the floor, and the couple of books they kept stacked on the coffee table are shifted a few inches to the left. Santi folds the blanket and puts it back in its place, moves the books back, and then walks slowly into the bedroom.

The smell of her perfume instantly hits him upon entering, and he has to grip the doorframe to keep himself from stumbling backwards. He sways on his feet, and closes his eyes for just a moment, taking a deep breath to, hopefully, steady himself as he reaches to his right to flip on the light. He keeps his eyes tightly shut for another moment before slowly opening them to finally take in his surroundings.

The bedroom is far worse than the main living area. The pillows from the bed are tossed to the floor, the sheets and comforter twisted together in a knot that Santi knew he would struggle to get out. There’s a small strand of yellow police tape on the floor that Santi doesn’t understand why it’s there, as they had only blocked the front door with it. Both of their bedside drawers are still pulled open, and he can see that the bathroom light is still on.

The bathroom.

Santi moves without intending to do so, and he feels his feet carry him towards their ensuite almost as if he’s on autopilot. He reaches the threshold in just a few short seconds, and at first, his brain doesn’t exactly process what he’s seeing, doesn’t fully make the connection and he only stands there, confused and bewildered.

No one’s been by to clean up yet, and blood still covers every surface Santi chooses to set his eyes on, only now, it’s dry, and more brown than it is red. The shower curtain had been taken away by the crime scene techs, as had the bathmat and the various hand towels that had been covered in crimson. Santi is almost positive that there isn’t as much glass on the floor as there had been before, which made sense — the techs would have taken some of it as well. But the floor and the walls and the counter...it looks like the kind of murder scene one would see in a grotesque horror film.

There’s even a handprint on the side of the tub that Santi knows belonged to himself. He’d used the tub to hold himself up, to keep himself from collapsing further after falling to his knees. He looks towards the cabinet under the sink to find a second handprint, right where he knew it would be. He had caught himself there, too.

He stands in the doorway for what must have been five minutes at least, staring at the blood and the glass and the wreckage, and he feels absolutely nothing. If anything, he feels completely and utterly numb to it all. Part of him can’t believe that what he’s looking at is real, and the other part won’t allow his brain to connect the dots.

He knows it’s her blood, in their cozy little apartment in Manhattan, and yet, he still feels like he’s standing in the middle of any old crime scene, where any old victim had been murdered by their enraged boyfriend. He’d seen it so many times before, back when he was a detective. It doesn’t seem any different now.

He tries to make sense of it in his head, tries to use sound logic and the knowledge of what he’d learned in his psychology classes throughout college to figure out why he’s feeling the way that he is, but nothing made sense. He just feels so entirely disconnected.

Another few minutes pass before Santi is finally able to turn his gaze away from the carnage. A small bout of nausea hits his stomach, but he chooses to ignore it. He’s learned that if he doesn’t pay attention to it, the less likely he is to lose what little his stomach holds at any given time. He wipes a stray tear away from his cheek, one he wouldn’t have noticed if the cool air from the vent hadn’t hit his face, and steps away from the bathroom.

His next destination is the closet. Nothing in there has been touched or moved to his knowledge, and for some reason, he feels comfort in that. He sighs gently and grabs an empty bag from the corner. This time, he’s more careful when choosing what clothes he would bring with him, because he has no plans on returning to the apartment anytime soon, not without a stack of moving boxes and a U-Haul at the very least. He decides right then and there that he’s breaking the lease early and finding somewhere else to move immediately. Just having the apartment in his name makes his skin crawl and he wants out, wants nothing to do with it. And not only that, but as well as he knows his wife, he knows that if-

When they find her, she won’t want to be anywhere near the apartment.

But he also knows that there’s a part of her that will want to keep it just to prove a point, to show that she’s more than what had been done to her, and the thought of that makes him smile just a tiny bit.

“Stubborn ass,” he mumbles under his breath, a small, sad chuckle following just after.

He needs to get out of there.

Santiago gathers all of the clothes he figures he’ll need and turns to leave the closet when his eyes catch a familiar flash of gray, just like they had five nights before.

Nevada is still where Santi had dropped him, just lying on the floor, forgotten. She would’ve been so upset had she seen him just tossed aside like that, and that thought also causes Santi to grin to himself. She loves that damn wolf more than anything, would often swear that she loves him more than she loves Santi but he’s always thought it was so adorable how attached she was to the stuffed animal that he doesn’t even mind. She’d always treated Nevada as if he were a living, breathing thing.

He walks over to him, gently kneeling down to take him into his hands, his smile growing slightly as he feels the matted “fur” against his fingertips.

Santi slowly flips Nevada over, finding that her rings are still shoved onto the tail, just like they had been before. At first, he didn’t think that he would find them there, and he can’t exactly explain to himself why. He gently pulls them off, letting the cool metal settle in the palm of his hand.

All he can do is stare at them for several seconds, and it feels as if a rock settles and grows in the pit of his stomach the longer he he holds them. He closes his fist around the two rings, mumbling something that sounds like a promise — a promise that he’ll find her, and that he’ll bring her justice no matter the outcome — before shoving them into the pocket of his jeans.

He glances at his own wedding band for a moment, sitting on his ring finger, the silver glistening in the light, just like it had every single day since they said “I do”.

Two whole years to the day.

He’d planned to take her away for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary. It was supposed to be special, romantic, just the two of them alone in Boston without a care in the world. He’d had it planned for months now.

Does she know what day it is, wherever she is? Does she remember, or even realize how many days have passed?

Fuck that. Santi hates himself for even wondering, because it made him feel so completely selfish.

And he hates himself even more when he reaches to slide his wedding band off of his finger.

He failed her, he doesn’t deserve to wear it. He doesn’t deserve to call himself her husband.

When-

If they find her — which also makes Santi hate himself, because he’s beginning to pay attention to the numbers and the statistics and he’s starting to look at it as a recovery instead of a rescue — will she even want to still be married to him?

Will she still love him? Or will she hate him for letting this happen to her?

He slowly drops his hand, leaving the band on his ring finger. He’s sure he’ll never be able to take it off. Even if he never sees her again, he was sure the band will remain on his finger until he’s rotting in the ground (like he deserved, but he pushed the thought away, not wanting to wallow in his own self loathing).

He will always be her husband, unless she explicitly tells him that it’s no longer what she wants.

Santi shakes his head and tries to turn his brain off. He doesn’t want to think about that right now.

He shoves Nevada into his bag, zips it close, and makes his way out towards the foyer. He turns off every light in the apartment before leaving, locking the door behind him without looking back once. He can’t stand to be in there any longer, not liking where his mind is headed while standing in the middle of all that had once been theirs.

He arrives back at Jay’s shortly after, expecting him to still be gone on whatever case he’d been talking about, surprised when he finds the other detective standing in the middle of the living room. It looks as if he’d been pacing, his hands on his hips and a blank expression on his face that Santi can’t read.

“What’s up?” Santi asks, throwing his bag onto the floor by the door, deciding he would worry about finding a spot to put it away later.

Jay stays silent for close to a minute, seeming to be lost in thought before he finally speaks, voice low and eyes looking everywhere but at Santi. His tone sounds cold yet so full of emotion at the same time.

“Nathan emailed you a video tonight. Your account is being monitored and we intercepted it before you could see it.”

Santi’s blood runs cold, and he feels frozen in place. He wants to ask Jay what it is, but he can’t make himself speak, doesn’t remember how to use his voice. Instead, he just swallows the lump that had formed in his throat and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

It takes Jay several seconds to speak again, and when he finally does, Santi is sure that he would’ve preferred for him to just stay fucking quiet.

“Santi, Nathan shot her.”

Jay has tears in his eyes, and Santi still can’t move. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t fucking move move. Can’t speak, can’t think, can’t process the other man’s words. He can’t do anything.

“They’re working on tracing the email but we...the FBI said they have enough reason to believe that she’s-”

Jay can’t bring himself to finish his sentence, but Santi understands. He understands perfectly, though he wished he didn’t.

Nathan shot her, and they have enough reason to believe it was fatal.

But it doesn’t sit right with Santiago.

Something about it feels off, feels wrong. He was sure he would’ve felt something in his gut, like people say they do in books and movies when someone they care about is hurt or in trouble. But then again, he hadn’t felt anything out of the ordinary when she had been taken. But if she had been killed, he was almost certain he would have felt something — some instinct in the back of his mind, anything.

“She’s not,” Santi snaps, voice hard with emotion though it broke on the last word at the same time. “She’s not dead.”

“Santi,” Jay chastises sternly, exasperation evident in his voice.

“She’s not dead.”

“You didn’t see the video!” Jay yells, sliding his hand down his face as the pain and anger takes over his entire body. “You didn’t see it and you should be thankful that you didn’t have to.”

It’s obvious that what Jay had seen in the video traumatized him, and was enough to make him think for himself that she’s dead, but Santi just can’t accept it. He doesn’t know if it’s the denial talking, or if what he’s feeling is actually real, but after repeating himself for a third time, he feels the world come crashing down around him, he feels everything stop.

Santi’s knees give out, and he crumples, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Jay catches him before he can hit the floor.

Everything is black.

Santi’s heart, his world — it’s nothing but black.

[thepickpocketofdreams]

“I’m too nervous to talk to the Prince. I wouldn’t know what to say.” Marinette fretted, turning her head to catch a glimpse of him in his white outfit. Herself and Chat Noir were still waltzing around the ballroom, making a continuous loop of the dance floor. Every time they came close to the Prince, her stomach clenched and she steered them well away, where she could just watch from afar and sure, maybe she wouldn’t get to talk to him, but just looking was fine, right? At least she’d be able to remember this night and –

“I’m sure you’d do just fine,” her partner replied. Marinette looked up at him and saw that he was smirking, so she flicked the bell attached to his bowtie.

“That’s easy for you to say, kitty. You have no trouble with conversations – I bet you make him laugh all the time.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Princess. I find you purrfect.”

“Chat.” Marinette shot him a look. “Look at him! My friends have told me he’s funny, but he’s also so…so elegant and refined!”

From behind her, there came a familiar voice. “Trust me, Multimouse, Prince Adrien is anything but refined.”

Marinette pivoted to grin at Kagami’s dry quip; they must have drifted close to where she was posted. She tugged Chat off the dancefloor to avoid being stepped on as they talked.

“Excuse me, Kagami, but the Prince is the epitome of refinement.” Chat said with an exaggerated bow. “He practically invented it.”

“Which is why Nino spent all afternoon having to chase him with cologne?”

“That cologne makes him sneeze and you know it – ”

“Keep talking, fleabag.”

There was a second of silence in which Chat glared at Kagami’s impassive expression. Then Marinette snorted, and blushed furiously as Kagami and Chat looked at her in amazement. Then Chat began to laugh, and Kagami’s lips twitched.

“It’d do him good to have someone like you around, Multimouse,” said Kagami with a shake of her head. “You can help me to remind him of his duties – which involve wearing cologne,” she added in a stage whisper, as Marinette giggled.

“Oh, cruel world that forces its Princes to wear such vile concoctions,” Chat pouted and struck a ridiculous melodramatic pose, which only made Marinette laugh harder. Before she could find a comeback however, she noticed that Kagami snap back to attention.

“Your highness,” she said with a bow.

Slowly, Marinette turned.

And gasped.

Before her was the Prince. He stood tall, dressed in a white suit with a flowing cape that touched the ground – there were feathers embroidered into the lapels, she noticed distractedly, as her eyes moved upwards. A pair of green eyes bored into hers from behind his mask as he surveyed Kagami’s bow, and the people around them who had dropped into curtsies and –

“Oh!” Marinette dropped into a clumsy curtsey, and lowered her gaze. His shoes! They were white too – a pain to keep clean outside, but SO distinguished in this case and –

“You may rise.” His voice. It was melodic, not that three words were really an indication, but oh well. As she stood up, Marinette peeked sideways and realised that Chat hadn’t bowed, merely nodded his head at the Prince. Well, he’d said they were friends, but if even Kagami had bowed then –

“Can I help you, your highness?” asked Kagami, distracting her from her thoughts.

“Princess Lila wishes to dance with me. I wish to avoid dancing with her.”

“You could dance with me,” suggested Chat Noir with a smirk. To Marinette’s surprise, the Prince gave him a withering look.

“Don’t start. I’m exhausted.” His eyes roamed the cluster of people around them, before coming to rest on…her? Checking behind her, Marinette realised he was holding out a hand. “You’re a pretty thing, you’ll do.”

Pretty???

“Excuse me?” Chat Noir took a step forward. “You can’t just speak to the guests that way –”

“There should be a ‘your highness’ in there somewhere, cat,” said the Prince in a bored tone.

“Oh, I’ll give you ‘your highness’ –”

“Gentlemen!” Kagami strode in between the pair. “No need to make a scene. Your highness, I’m sure any one of these wonderful guests would be more than happy to join you on the dancefloor.”

For a moment, no one moved. Marinette looked from the Prince to Chat Noir, whose posture was stiff and unyielding. What was he doing? Surely, he could see that the Prince needed a partner?

“I want to dance with this one.” The Prince said firmly.

Marinette gasped. She tore her eyes away from him and caught the tail-end of the glare Kagami shot at Chat. He hadn’t moved. The glare he was directing at the Prince was enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

I thought they were friends?

“It’s okay,” she said, putting a hand on Chat’s arm. His eyes snapped to her. “I wanted to dance with the Prince, remember?”

“Yes, but –”

“Smart girl.” The Prince placed a hand on her waist, and Marinette dropped hers from Chat’s arm. Seeming to snap out of his trance, Chat swept into a deep bow.

“Well, it was a delight to dance with you, milady. I hope you find all that you’re looking for.”

And he walked away.

~~

Out in the centre of the dance floor, Marinette had no time to worry about Chat Noir. All her attention was focused on not standing on the Prince’s toes, or saying something ridiculous. Not that she usually said ridiculous things, unless she was around unfairly attractive people which, to be fair, the Prince was, because he was a MODEL but –

“Your name?”

“I – sorry?” Marinette forced her attention to the Prince’s face and saw him wince as she instantly stood on his toes. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry –”

“It’s fine.” He attempted a smile. “I asked your name?”

“Oh, I see. I’m ah – I’m Multimouse. Well, just for tonight, I mean, I’m not normally called Multimouse. What kind of person would have that name? Like multiple mice, what would have to happen at your birth for you to get a weird name like that?” Towards the end of the sentence, she tailed off into a squeak.

Why. Am. I. Like. This.

To his credit, the Prince didn’t run for the hills. He looked as though he wanted to, but he didn’t. Small mercies.

“It’s…nice to meet you, Multimouse.”

Something inside her shrivelled up at the lack of tone in his voice. Marinette chanced a glance up at his face, only to be met by disinterested eyes. Eyes that looked past her to scan the crowds of the dancefloor.

“Hiding from someone?” she asked. Chat Noir had been hiding from someone too, her traitorous brain reminded her. No. She pushed Chat Noir aside. This was her chance to talk with Prince Adrien.

“I’m hiding from Princess Lila. Weren’t you listening?” he snapped. A lump formed in Marinette’s throat – here she was, in front of her hero, and it was going every bit as badly as she had feared.

“Oh yes, silly me. I completely forgot.” Marinette gave a half-laugh. The Prince didn’t seem to notice. If anything, he seemed to prefer her silence.

They waltzed around the room, and Marinette looked around wildly for a friendly face. Alya, Nino, Kagami, even Chat Noir – but none of them were there. She craned her neck to check the highest balconies, but there was only a lone figure up there dressed in blue.

All of her friends had left.

“I –” Marinette took a step away from the Prince, letting her hand drop from his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Please, find someone else to dance with you. I need – I need a moment.”

Before he could reply, she darted through the crowd and out of the ballroom.

[starstruck-xavier]

For the bthb Don't Let Them See You Cry for Moceit

Lavender

tysm for the request! i had fun writing this one, i hope you enjoy <33 another fic for @badthingshappenbingo​

ao3 || wattpad || bthb masterpost || fanfic masterpost

words: 1627 ships: moceit (up to your interpretation) warnings: verbal fighting/arguing, nothing physical prompt: don’t let them see you cry fandom: sanders sides

summary: Patton has never liked the sound of fighting, but at least someone catches onto that. bingo card and fic under the cut!

X = finished, O = work in progress i’m still taking requests!

~

Patton has never liked the sound of fighting.

He knows that these arguments usually get resolved, that it’s very rare nowadays for the sides to hold extensive, serious grudges against each other thanks to the improvement in communication that they’d all been practicing with Thomas, but this is six characters all trapped within the confines of one man’s imagination and the laws of physics out in the real world. They can’t be separated from each other for alone time that easily. Everyone is always everywhere.

Individual words can’t even be distinguished from the quarrel that Logan and Roman are having, yelling meaningless insults at each other, Patton and Virgil merely caught in the fray. About five minutes of this has transpired with Virgil becoming more and more fidgety until he sinks out with an apologetic look to Patton, not even noticed by the other two quarrelling.

He’s the dad character, he should be able to stop them from fighting! But whenever he opens his mouth, the lump in his throat threatens to rise and spill his tears. And then what would they think of him? He can’t let them see him cry. Even though everyone’s been comforting and supportive of him through his more emotional days, this is a different situation. Roman and Logan are too caught up in their argument to think about timeout or indoor voices.

So, Patton waits, blinking rapidly, breathing deeply, waiting for a moment of silence so he can clear his throat and cause them to realise just how loud they’re being. Thomas probably has one hell of a headache. It’s getting harder and harder to watch the two sides argue, their quarrels clearly straying from the topic they’d first started on. However, just as Patton thinks he’s about to break, he feels a tugging that alerts him to being summoned elsewhere.

When he rises up again, he’s in a room that doesn’t look extremely familiar, but the black and yellow theme gives away just who’s it is.

“Janus?” Patton scans around the room until he lays eyes on the newly accepted side. "I’m— I'm just moderating a discussion in the common room. Do you need anything?”

"I’d hardly call it a ‘discussion’, Patton. I’ve been listening." Narrowing his mismatched eyes with suspicion, Janus walks over slowly and touches his gloved fingertips to Patton’s chin, gazing into watery eyes. "Don’t try to force your tears down. You’ve got a lot bottled up in there.”

Instinct compels him to deny that he’s feeling anything negative, plaster a smile on his face and force his voice up a pitch to uphold his sunny disposition, but then Patton remembers who he’s talking to. Janus can spot lies, that’s his function. Still, the moral trait simply takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes, not ready to let everything go just yet. “Logan and Roman are just… arguing. It’s a little much. They didn’t even notice when Virgil left.”

Janus hums in thought, then perks up as he has an idea. "I’ll go out there for you and handle things. I think that if I try to join in as myself it’ll set them off further, so, may I impersonate you for the time being? I know they both have a soft spot for you, but I saw how upset you looked watching them. You can stay here.”

Ever since Janus’ multiple impersonation plots, he’s learned to ask for permission before shifting into another side’s look. As reluctant as he was when Thomas decided to get everyone to work on better communication, he’s aware now that taking someone’s place without letting them know will cause confusion and general discord, and so he awaits Patton’s answer, hearing a distant ‘falsehood’ screech through the walls.

"Yes… please. Y— You don’t have to—“ Patton starts, but Janus shushes him gently.

"I know I don’t have to, but I want you to feel better." The snake skin on Janus’ face starts to fade as he alters his appearance to mirror the side in front of him. "I won’t be back soon, and then you can’t tell me everything that’s been on your mind lately." He smirks humorously, eliciting a more genuine smile from Patton, then conjures a pair of glasses and clears his throat, feeling his larynx lift upwards to accommodate the difference in voice patterns that the two exhibit. "Don’t go anywhere, kiddo!”

There’s no flaw in how Janus captures his voice with a dorky movement of his shoulders, making Patton chuckle to himself for a moment, then all the smiles leave him as soon as he’s left alone. He makes his way to Janus’ bed and sits down, leaning against the wall and hearing muffled conversation in the common room.

"Okay, guys, let’s not fight anymore.”

"Oh, my apologies, Patton. We must’ve figuratively strayed from the original topic.”

"Yeah, because Calculator Watch over here is being too stubborn to listen to my idea!”

"I was listening, it’s just preposterous!”

“Logan! Roman!”

A few seconds of silence drift through the air, then… "Where did Virgil go?”

"He left about five minutes ago. Poor kiddo must be pretty anxious.”

That reminds him - Virgil. He’s been on Patton’s mind for some time as well, adding to the mountain of emotions lodging in his throat. The kind, apologetic look he’d received from the anxious side before he left feels strangely refreshing after the buildup of tension between the two, ever since the whole puppet video. They’ve definitely made an effort to repair their friendship - Patton treats Virgil more like his intimidating self while still maintaining a doting, fatherly attitude and Virgil tries not to direct his outbursts towards him - but still, it seems like something’s missing. Patton just wants his best friend back.

The thought sends his tears overboard, and within a matter of seconds he’s stifling his sobs into his hand. The softener in Janus’ bedsheets underneath him provides a little bit of comfort, but every time Virgil’s face appears in his mind, the faucets in his eyes open a little more. It’s getting harder to keep his hitched breathing under a controlled volume, and he doesn’t want to alert anyone’s attention so that Janus can continue with his plan, so he grabs a pillow, sets his glasses down beside him and hides his pain away from the rest of the room.

The pillow smells of lavender. Lavender, purple… Virgil…

Patton doesn’t lift his head when he hears the familiar whoosh of displaced air as Janus returns, he just continues to sharply inhale the lavender scent and sob through his exhales. He doesn’t even try to collect his scattered pieces when a pair of arms wrap around him and hold his trembling body close, keeping it intact. Of course, with Janus being part snake, he doesn’t radiate body heat like the other sides when he gets hugs from them, but that doesn’t change the feeling of a comforting body leaning against his. All the while, Janus stays quiet and waits for him to talk, sprouting his four extra arms after a while to card one hand through his hair and trace various patterns into Patton’s arms and back with the others.

It takes a long time for the moral side to steady his breaths, but eventually he removes his face from the tear-stained pillow to look at Janus with red eyes and a runny nose. He barely stops himself from apologising, apologising for crying, crying into his pillow nonetheless, instead reminding himself that he is the emotional side and that it’s completely normal for him to be feeling this way - something he’s had to remind himself of for so long. No words are spoken yet; Janus uses his extra arms to shift Patton into his lap and then moves to lay down on the bed with Patton’s head against his chest. Tears still leak from puffy red eyes, but it seems that he’s finally let all of his most intense emotions out.

For the rest of the day, every now and again Patton says something like "I wish mine and Virgil’s relationship was the same as it was before”, or "I made Thomas think he was a bad person”, or "I just hate seeing my family fight" in between sniffles, and Janus continues the comforting motions of gloved hands in his hair and on his back, underneath his blue polo, telling him that Virgil doesn’t hate him, neither does Thomas, and it’ll all be okay soon as long as everyone decides to cooperate, and Patton knows that there’s nothing but truth in his words.

"Did you manage to get Logan and Roman to forgive each other?" He asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Janus hums amusedly. "Yes, I eventually revealed myself and told them I'd get Remus to gently nudge them down the stairs if they didn’t.”

The response causes Patton to laugh adorably as he props himself up on his elbows to look at him, the corners of his eyes creasing in that way they do when he’s smiling genuinely. “Janus, no violence!”

"I was only joking, sweetie." The dorky side’s forked tongue flickers out with his smile, but then he tilts his head playfully and looks into Patton’s eyes for a moment. “…Unless?”

Patton has never liked the sound of fighting, but at least somebody has caught onto that now. In the meantime, the two will laugh the evening away and then fall asleep, tangled in each other’s limbs, but then eventually Logan and Roman will sort out their differences for good, Patton and Virgil will finally have a long-anticipated conversation, and Janus will be supporting him all the way.

Maybe it’s helpful to let yourself cry in front of somebody else every now and again.

[im-a-goner--foryou]

Prompt from anon: I need something sad. Tony is older and him and Pete has been together for a few years now, Tony slowly starts showing signs of Alzheimer’s (let’s say he’s in his late 50’s, early 60’s) and it starts off small like forgetting where he put the remote or where he is when he wakes up. Then it starts getting worse like forgetting Peter’s name or forgetting who he was and it finally reaches the point where Tony doesn’t even remember what he looks like or that he’s even married to Peter. Whoop.

((fff this was supposed to be short but I got carried away and now there's a full page of shit i wrote in the middle of a depressive episode sorry))

Read it here on Ao3

They say time is a silent killer, that it creeps up so unsuspecting, until the devastating effects of it come to light.

There is no denying it-- Tony is getting old. Yes, he's Tony Stark, the enigmatic brilliant inventor who became so much more than a weapons producer, who made himself more than the title of 'Howard Stark's son'. But he's human, and time waits for no one. Peter's attentive eyes don't miss the first beginnings of grey hair sprouting from Tony's scalp, highlighting sections of his normally chocolate-brown curls. They were barely noticeable at first, only visible when Peter's curled up on the bed beside the older man, chin nestled on Tony's steadily rising and falling chest, moonlight spilling though the fluttering curtains; but as time grew on Tony's hair grew predominantly silver-white, the scratchy stubble of his goatee becoming a pepper grey. (Peter finds out only much later that Tony's been greying since he hit his forties, but has always been careful in dyeing his hair monthly to hide his ageing.) The crinkles of Tony's smiling eyes grew deeper, the stress lines on his face becoming harder. The seemingly-constant dark bags under his eyes gave him a tired, distinguished look. (Tony would lightly tease that they were the result the many countless nights spent worrying over the young crime-fighting teen.)

But most of all, along with his health, Tony's memory deteriorated. He's at the deeper end of fifty, and still his ingenuity never catches a break; he's still actively inventing, creating pieces that still cease to shock and impress the world. His brilliant mind is seemingly still at its peak-- so it's a shock for the both of them when the older man starts displaying signs of dementia. Simple, unforgettable events like forgetting where Tony had placed his wrench, when it was on the worktable as usual; or important information slipping from his mind, showing up late to business meetings not-on-purpose. The rest of the Avengers lose their patience with his absent-mindedness fairly quickly, rolling their eyes or greeting him with pursed lips as he misses yet another mission debrief.

Peter slips out of a particularly stressful briefing-- where everyone had been shooting reproachful glances at Tony's- empty- assigned seat for the entirety of it-- to retreat to the lab, where he finds Tony bent over the most recent project. He looks up with bleary eyes as the boy enters, a small smile on his tired face that Peter easily returns; it quickly slips, though, as soon as he notices how Peter is still in his spider suit.

"Oh god. I missed it again, didn't I," Tony states rather than questions, mouth set into a frown as Peter crosses over to him and gently brushes back his sweat-matted hair.

"It was nothing important anyways," Peter attempts to reassure, but pauses as he takes in the pained look in the other's eyes. "What? What is it?"

A shaky hand reaches up to cup his cheek, and he instinctively leans into the warm touch, gaze never wavering. He watches the Adam's apple in Tony's throat bob, catches the flash of desperation across the man's face, hears the shuddering intake of breath; then Tony retreats back behind sealed -off walls yet again. "You can tell me," Peter pleads then, his won hand flying up to keep Tony's arm there. "Please."

It's a disease. Early Onset Alzheimer's, is what's typed across the medical report. The bold words blur across the page, shaky and unclear, until Peter realises that he's trembling all over and hot tears are welling up in his eyes. He blinks them away furiously, suppressing the shuddering gasps threatening to escape his chest, until a teardrop slips traitiorously down his cheek and lands with a splat on the paper. Then he's being wrapped up in strong familiar arms, held tight and close as Tony steadies him, answering his gaspy sobs with soft murmurs.

It's not even Peter who's sick.

It's majorly unfair. They say life's unfair, but there's always varying degrees, isn't there? From missing a bus to not winning the lottery to seeing your parents leave one night and saying you'll see them tomorrow, and then you wake up the next day and they're gone and you never really got to say goodbye.

Tony doesn't deserve this. Hasn't he suffered enough?

Hasn't Peter suffered enough?

The disease consumes Tony painfully slow, every moment torturous. Every symptom on the doctor's checklist displays itself, one by one. Memory loss. Language problems. Changes in personality. Difficulty organising and expressing thoughts. This last one understandably hits home the hardest to the inventor; sometimes Tony will pause in his work momentarily, a far-off look in his eyes, brows furrowed in concentration, until he'll fling his worktools to the ground and let out a scream of frustration.

"It's not working," Tony snarls, sinking heavy onto the chair, burying his calloused hands into the grey mess of his hair. "It's not- fucking, I can't get it to work!"

"It's okay. It's alright, Tony."

"I can't do it. Can't. Don't know how, I don't know."

"That's fine, you'll get it soon enough. You always do," Peter pleads, holding the man's hands in his and running his thumb along the lines of his wrist in what he hopes are placating motions. He sees more than feels the muscles in Tony's back and arms clench and shudder, and braces himself just in time for the man's outburst.

"Well, not anymore, can I?" Tony spits, practically shoving him off, eyes alight with fire, replacing the usual dull shadow of his pupils nowadays. "Because I'm fucking, fucking sick and this disease is slowly eating up my brain, and soon I'll be worthless," Tony yells. "Because if I can't invent things then what good am I? I'll be nothing!"

Peter steps back, tripping over his own feet, tears once again blurring his vision and Tony's twisted, almost unrecognizable face; he turns and runs away from him, crying and stumbling to his room, burying his face into the pillows and screaming out all of the painful emotions swelling deep in him, uncontrollable sobs so loud and violent he thinks his chest's about to explode.

There's treatments, of course, cures and claims of all sorts to rid the human brain of this disease; empty promises that Peter can't help but believe everytime, if only to experience the blinding exhilaration of hope, for something to temporarily relieve the pressure unfurling in his chest. And then they go to the most expensive medical experts money can buy, only for the doctors and professionals to stare across examination tables with pity in their eyes as they tell Peter that there's no real cure, only the slowing of the diseases' inevitable progression.

We'll try their best, they all promise grimly, every single time-- more for Peter's sake rather than Tony's now.

"What the fuck?!" Tony exclaims, and Peter immediately drops the bottles of pills in his hands to rush to the kitchen, heart slamming erratically against his ribcage, bracing himself for the worst. He's greeted with the sight of Tony standing amongst the shattered remnants of a mug, fists clenched by his side, jaw set as he stares right at a terrified-looking Steve. His eyes dart around wildly before landing on Peter, and he looks a breath short of hyperventilating. "Dear," Peter tries consoling, but he's cut off by Tony.

"What are you doing here? Why, why-" Tony's face is ashen as he stares at the Captain, clearly gripped by blind panic. "Who...?"

"That's Steve," Peter steps over to him carefully so as not to spook the man, his movements slow and in Tony's direct line of gaze. Gently he reaches out to lay a light hand on Tony's arm, ignoring the stab of hurt he feels when Tony yanks away from his grip. "It's Captain America. Steve, he's staying over this week."

A scoff. "Captain America is dead."

Peter flicks a pointed gaze to Steve, who lowers his head and slips away silently, leaving the two of them in the kitchen. Tony's more confused than anything now, all the anger gone. He looks tired. When Peter hesitantly brushes a shard of glass off Tony's wrist he doesn't flinch away this time.

"He's an Avenger, remember?" He says softly. "We all are. Well, were, I guess. At one point in time. You, too."

Tony's expression doesn't change. "I'm not anything like him."

"Well, you're Iron Man."

There's a pregnant pause, and a spike of blind fear shoots through Peter. No, no... Tony frowns, then looks up at him. Confused chocolate-brown eyes meet his, and Peter's worst suspicions are confirmed. "I don't know... I'm not. That. I'm-- uh, I don't know," Tony repeats, defeated. He looks apologetic as he stares down at Peter with soft eyes, as though he's aware that something's wrong but not really sure what exactly it is. The lump in Peter's throat grows larger, threatening to choke him; he has to say something.

"You're Tony Stark," Peter states quietly at last, and once he starts he can't stop, the words falling from his mouth in an endless flow. "You're in inventor. You're a hero. You're an engineer. You're Iron Man, an Avenger. You're smart-- absolutely brilliant, you're a genius and yeah you can get a little bit crappy at times but you're still the sweetest, most caring person I've ever met, and you're--"

"...Your husband," Tony interjects quietly then, startling the younger man to a stop with just those two soft words. He meets Tony's uncertain gaze. "I mean, I'm your- like. We're married, right?" he says, hesitant, almost shyly; and Peter's smiling, his lips stretching so wide it hurts and his heart's aflutter in his stomach-- he feels the exact same emotion he did all those years ago, when they shared their vows. He's crying again, he notes absently, tears slipping and falling onto his quivering lips. Nodding wordlessly, he sees Tony's face break into the same dazzling smile he's so maddeningly in love with.

"We're married? Damn, almost can't believe it. You're a real catch." He whistles, then reaches up to gently brush the hot wet tears from Peter's face. His eyes are positively sparkling now. "I'm so lucky," Tony murmurs, and Peter laughs joyously before kissing his husband slow and deep-- and just for that moment, the world was okay again; at that very moment, Peter realises that they'll be okay.

  It's been eight years since the diagnosis; eight years since Peter began this long goodbye. The pills do their job, they drag out the process of Tony's illness. Some days the man will be fine, his old usual self; he'll talk about the team, or go on about thermonuclear astrophysics, the both of them sitting across a table and bantering with each other-- days when Peter will capture every single moment into his memory. And then there are other days, where Tony will refuse to talk to him, facing the wall with a blank unreadable stare, and any sort of pleading Peter will try are futile. There are days when he'll lash out, unable to control his emotions as he punches the wall repeatedly, leaving his knuckles bloody; when he'll look at Peter as though... as though he doesn't remember him. Which, no matter how painful that fact is to accept, is inevitable. Tony barely remembers who he is anymore. Why would he remember Peter?

  Peter comes home late from work one day  to find Tony not in bed, instead tinkering away at something in their workshop. He looks calm, at ease; and Peter almost doesn't want to disturb him. With an affectionate roll of his eyes, he goes up to the man, so preoccupied with his work he doesn't notice Peter coming over. 

  "What're you making?" Tony jumps at his voice, very nearly falling out of his seat, and huffs in response to Peter's soft giggle. 

  "How many times have I told you to not creep up on your old man?" He chastises not unkindly, shooting a playful glare at Peter. "You're gonna give me a cardiac arrest one day, sweetheart."

   "Sorry. Can I sit?" Tony scoots over so that Peter can slide into the bench beside him, catching his curious gaze at the messy papers; he slides them closer to him, offering a blueprint. "See, it's for your suit. Adjustments.... new upgrades, and all that."

  Peter scans over the designs, leaning into the warmth of Tony's side, then glances up at him. "Just like old times, huh?" he carefully examines Tony's scribbled notes at the side and adds softly, "these are great. The improvements are amazing, Tony. I didn't even know we needed them."

  Tony shrugs good naturedly. "Guess I still have it in me."

  "You certainly do."

  Tony smiles tiredly in response, sighing as Peter pecks him lightly on the lips before nuzzling into his chest, resting his head on his shoulder. A hand reaches up to gently smooth his curls back, just like all those years ago when they'll cuddle on the couch and Peter will fall asleep to the soft caress of Tony's familiar touch.

  "I love you, Tony," he whispers. I'm not ready to say goodbye, he adds silently to himself. "I just... no matter what happens, I'll still be here. For you." Peter swallows, chokes out the next words; his voice cracks. "Don't-- don't forget me. Okay?"

   He feels Tony's chest fall, along with a sigh that ruffles his hair. He blinks up through teary eyes to meet Tony's gaze. His next words are matter on fact. "How can I forget you, when you gave me so much to remember?"

   And then Tony pulls him closer, pressing a simple kiss to his forehead. 

  "I love you, Peter Parker. Always have, always will."

[purrincess-chat]

How to Catch a Ladybug CH4 FINAL

So, I would have had this one out sooner, buuuuut I picked up Hyrule Warriors Definitive Edition on Switch and spent most of my afternoon playing >,> But anyway, here is the last chapter of HCL! Much like the rest of this story, this chapter is a lot of Lila-meta, so, um, sorry or you’re welcome? XD

Read on AO3 | FF

Chapter 4

The following Monday at school, Lila stuffed her books inside her locker with a dazed look in her eye. Her mind was still a mess of truth and lies, unable to distinguish between the two anymore. Who was she now without her façade? Somehow she’d lost sight of that pretending to be someone she wasn’t, and as a result, she didn’t know what to say or even how to fake a smile. She both longed to see Marinette and simultaneously dreaded it though it was for a different reason than normal now because now she was going to confess her sins to her and beg for forgiveness.

It was uncharted territory for Lila. Schmoozing was easy when it was fake, but Lila had never had to genuinely convince someone of something before. She felt so open and exposed as if everyone could see right through her, and it made her skin crawl. Was it too late to transfer schools? If ever she wanted to run away and forget a place, it was this one.

“Lila?” She startled, twisting around to see Marinette standing behind her with a worried expression. “Are you feeling better? Rose told me you felt sick on Saturday and had to leave early.”

Her brows were knitted together, eyes filled with concern, and Lila felt her heart skip. She should hate her face. She wanted to hate her face. But she didn’t. Truthfully Lila had done a lot of thinking over the weekend, and the realization that Marinette’s actions had all been genuine and likely to make up for her behavior had flipped everything Lila had ever known on its head. No one had ever been her friend before. Not really anyways, and Lila wasn’t quite sure how to process it. She was, however, sure of one thing: she had developed a hopeless crush on Marinette overnight.

It made her whole confession scheme all the more daunting, though also all the more necessary. Lila had never been in love before. Not like this anyway. Sure, she’d set her sights on the hot popular types before, but it usually came with an ulterior motive. But this was different. This made her skin clammy and her hands shaky, and she didn’t know what to do with that.

“Yeah, I got a little stomach bug. I was over it in a day, so it’s fine now,” She said, the lie coming out smoothly, but her face quickly fell. “Um, I’m sorry I missed the rest of your party.”

“That’s okay. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” Marinette placed her hands on Lila’s shoulders with a cheerful smile that made her spine stiffen. “Hey, why don’t you sleep over this weekend to make up for it?”

“Oh, uh, I- that sounds…great,” She stammered, and Marinette tilted her head to the side, slipping a hand under Lila’s bangs to press her hand to her forehead.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You still feel a little warm.” Lila’s cheeks burned under her concerned gaze, and she swatted Marinette’s hand away.

“I’m fine, and I’ll totally be there Saturday,” She said, and Marinette’s sunniness returned easily.

“Awesome! I can’t wait; I can ask Papa to make my grandma’s pizza for us, and we’ll have tons of movies and games and-” She prattled on as they walked to class, and Lila rubbed her temple with an internalized groan.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

The longer she put it off, the more her guilt was going to eat at her, but there really wasn’t a good time to talk to Marinette alone. She really did know everyone at school, and there was always someone else nearby anytime Lila approached with even a fraction of the confidence she needed. But she had Saturday night to look forward to where she was certain to get Marinette alone if the wait didn’t kill her first.

The mixture of dread and eagerness was doing a number on her mental health, but nonetheless she managed to survive until Saturday. She spent the day watching the clock impatiently until it was finally time to go to Marinette’s house. Her parents weren’t home, as usual, so she locked up and headed out.

“You’re here!” Marinette pulled her into a tight hug the moment she opened the door.

“I told you I would be,” Lila said, patting her back awkwardly.

“Come on in! Papa is almost done with the pizza, and I downloaded that Italian love drama that you recommended,” Marinette said, taking her wrist and pulling her inside.

“Welcome, Lila,” Mrs. Cheng greeted with a smile. “Don’t be shy just make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” Lila said, twisting the strap on her duffle bag in knots.

“It’s always good to have another Italian in the house,” Her father commented with a grin. “I’ve been perfecting a Bolognese for quite some time now, and I’d love to get your opinion of it sometime.”

“Uh, sure.” Lila nodded, and Marinette placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, you can put your bag up in my room,” She said, pointing up the stairs, and Lila followed after her like a baby duckling.

Her parents were so warm and welcoming, and it weirded Lila out a little bit but in a good way she supposed. It was nice to have people interested in her comfort and, as the proper Italian that Mr. Dupain was, her hunger level. Every time she turned around almost they offered her tea and cookies, bread, cheese, cake, and Lila hadn’t eaten so much since Christmas at her grandmother’s house.

“Well, we’re going to go clean up downstairs while you two watch your movie. Let us know if you need anything,” Mrs. Cheng said as Marinette flopped on the couch beside Lila with a bowl of popcorn.

“Okay. Thanks, Mama,” She said, nodding over her shoulder as her parents retreated downstairs. “Sorry, I know they can be a bit overwhelming sometimes.”

“It’s okay. They’re nice,” Lila said, hugging her knees to her chest.

“What are your parents like?” Marinette asked, clicking the remote to turn on the TV.

“They’re…busy.” Lila shrugged, and Marinette winced apologetically as if she’d broached a sensitive subject which, she had, but Lila wasn’t going to guilt her about it. “They just work a lot that’s all. It’s no biggie.”

“I’m sorry. That must be really lonely,” Marinette said, reaching out to place her hand over Lila’s gently, and Lila fixed her gaze on it, cheeks flushing a little.

“Sometimes, but I manage.” She shrugged. Not very well, as it seemed, but she was hoping to work on that.

“You’re always welcome here if you ever want some company,” Marinette said, and Lila opened her mouth to confess her sins only to be interrupted by the title screen music of their movie.

She faced forward as Marinette hit play and clamped her mouth shut, heart hammering in her chest. Close, but Lila needed more time to find her courage. Sleepovers were a place for really personal and intimate heart-to-hearts, right? Wasn’t that more or less why truth or dare was invented? At least she had cheesy Italian romance to calm her nerves for a while. If only her problems could be solved as simply as the ones in movies.

When the movie finally ended, it was getting late, and Marinette suppressed a yawn. Lila’s pulse quickened, a lump forming in her throat as Marinette turned off the television and turned to her. Should she say it now? Could she say it now? They were alone, but was Lila ready to deal with the consequences of what she had to say?

Worst case scenario, Marinette threw her out and never spoke to her again, but on the other hand, she could totally forgive her then they could enjoy a wonderful evening together. And Lila would be rid of all of her guilt, but the ever looming threat of the first scenario made her stomach churn.

“You ready for bed?” Marinette asked, stretching her arms over her head, and Lila nodded, standing up and heading for the stairs.

“Hey, Marinette…” She blurted boldly before she could overthink it, stopping short on the steps.

“Yeah?” Marinette glanced up at her and cocked a brow.

“Can I tell you something?” She asked, clutching fistfuls of her pajama pants to keep her hands from shaking.

“Of course, what is it?” She prompted with an encouraging smile, and Lila bit her lip, swallowing back a lump in her throat.

“I-I…” Her bravery was cut short when Mr. Dupain’s footsteps sounded in the hallway and seconds later the front door opened.

“Hey, girls, having fun?” He beamed, strolling in casually.

“Yeah, I think we’re gonna head to bed,” Marinette said as her dad filled a cup with water and tipped it back.

“Can I ask you a favor?” He asked, rinsing the cup and setting it in the dishwasher.

“Sure, Papa, what’s up?” Marinette paced down a few steps to meet him.

“I hate to ask this of you, sweetie, but can you repair my apron sometime soon?” Her father asked with an apologetic wince, holding it out to her, and Marinette accepted it without hesitation.

“Of course, Papa. I’ll sew it up tonight,” She said as if it weren’t a big deal.

“It can wait until tomorrow since you have a friend over,” He insisted, waving his hands frantically.

“It won’t take me long,” She said, examining the tear.

“If you’re sure…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you, honey.”

“You’re welcome, Papa.” She stretched up to peck his cheek before following Lila up the stairs to her room. “Good night!”

“Good night.”

“You don’t have to stay up with me,” Marinette said retrieving her sewing kit.

“It’s fine. I’m not tired yet,” She insisted, politely omitting the fact that she was too anxious to fall asleep as of late.

They were alone now, and yet Lila couldn’t bring herself to say much. She couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth. Maybe it was because she wanted to cling to this normalcy and camaraderie for as long as she could since she’d never had real friendships like this before. But this wasn’t real because Lila had always just told lies and put on a face. She’d been so absorbed in her mission that she missed the first opportunity she had to make real friends, and once she told Marinette the truth, she was certain that everything was going to change between them. So, if she were being honest, the real reason she couldn’t bring herself to do it was because she was a coward. Lies were comfortable, and they were all she’d ever known. Even if Marinette forgave her, Lila would start her journey down a long and unfamiliar road, and it terrified her.

So she sat quietly on the chaise next to Marinette, watching her fix the stitching on her father’s apron, wallowing in self-pity and regret until she’d finally finished and stretched her arms above her head with a yawn.

“Ready for bed?” Marinette asked, and Lila nodded, so she stood up to put away her supplies before they both crawled into her bed. “I’m really glad you came tonight. It’s been fun to spend time together with just the two of us.”

“Yeah…” She winced, settling down on her side, and Marinette laid beside her, her face only inches away enough that her breath swirled around Lila’s cheeks.

“I’m really glad that we’re friends, Lila,” She said, taking Lila’s hands in her own. “I hope we can become even closer.”

Lila pressed her lips into a firm line, studying the look in Marinette’s eyes. They were always filled with so much light when they looked at her, and she wondered how anyone could convey such genuine emotion like that. She envied her, her life, her loving relationship with her parents…Deep down it was something that Lila had always wanted but never gotten, so she’d adapted to the life she had. So maybe, if she were lucky, if she hoped and prayed hard enough, she could have a life like Marinette’s someday. A life with friends and happiness and love.

She gave Marinette’s hand a gentle squeeze, a small smile curling on her lips. “Me too.”

Marinette seemed pleased by her response, and she reached up to turn off the light before settling in contently. Lila waited until her breathing slowed and evened out before blinking her eyes open again. She reached out to brush strands of hair behind Marinette’s ear, running her thumb over the earrings. A week ago, Lila would have jumped at such an opportunity to have Marinette so vulnerable before her, such an easy target for her sleight of hand, but things were different now, and Lila couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not after everything Marinette had done for her.

Ladybug had humiliated her on her first day, but Marinette helped her move past that and do something Lila had never done before. Every day when she went to school now, people stopped her in the halls to tell her good morning or compliment her outfit. She had people to sit with at lunch who weren’t just interested in the fantastical stories she had to tell. People who cared about more than just her lies.

In a weird way, Lila was grateful that Ladybug had called her out because if she hadn’t then Lila wouldn’t be lying in a bed with a friend, but rather, she’d likely be at home, alone with nothing but fake admirers and two busy parents. In an instant that road seemed a lot less daunting, and Lila realized that maybe she’d been taking steps down it all this time without realizing.

Because she did find Kim’s jokes funny and Nino’s remixes catchy. She cared about Rose’s letters to Prince Ali, Alix’s new rollerblades, and Max’s newest high score on Ultimate Mecha Strike. Maybe in her mind she’d been pretending at first, but maybe there was also something genuine inside her, and she just didn’t know how to recognize it.

She let her hand drop back onto the pillow, leaving the earrings right where they belonged. Marinette really was a hero, and she’d saved Lila from herself.

When morning came, Lila pulled the blanket over her head to shield herself from the sunlight streaming in through the skylight. Marinette still slept peacefully beside her, and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. Never before in her life had Lila wanted something so badly as she did a fresh start with Marinette. A fresh start with herself. Maybe she wasn’t certain who she would be or where she would end up, but she hoped in her mind that she could be more like Marinette. Genuine, caring, honest. Someone worth loving and being friends with.

Confessing her wrongdoings was only the beginning, and she silently hoped that Marinette could forgive her. After all, she’d forgiven her once already and seemed to like her well-enough now. And for what it was worth, Lila had forgiven her too, and it was a weight lifted from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how heavy a grudge could be until she finally stopped carrying one.

“Girls! Breakfast!” Mrs. Cheng called up the stairs, and Marinette shifted in her sleep, eyelids fluttering open a few moments later.

“Good morning,” She yawned, stretching her legs out.

“Morning,” Lila said groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“Did you sleep okay?” Marinette asked, sitting up. “I didn’t hog the bed, did I?”

“No, you were fine,” She insisted, shaking her head. “I hope that I didn’t steal the blanket too much.”

“Honestly if you did, I didn’t notice. Once I’m asleep I’m completely out.” She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “Are you hungry? I’m sure Papa baked us something for breakfast.”

Lila detected the faint smell of bread, and her stomach growled embarrassingly loud. Marinette giggled as she clamped her hands over it, cheeks flushing. She seemed so relaxed, the polar opposite of the storm raging inside Lila’s mind. Would she be able to smile so care freely one day too?

“Good morning, girls,” Mrs. Cheng greeted as they climbed down the stairs.

“Morning, Mom.” Marinette pecked her cheek before taking a seat at the table, decorated with fresh fruit and bread.

Everything in their life was so warm and filled with love. As Marinette sliced pieces of bread, Mrs. Cheng poured them tea, and Lila felt a bit overwhelmed. She wasn’t used to dining with other people at breakfast as her parents just took their cups of coffee to go. Only on holidays would her whole family get together to share a meal.

“Did you two sleep okay?” Mrs. Cheng asked, taking a sip of her tea. “You didn’t stay up all night gossiping, did you?”

“No, we went to bed, and I fixed Papa’s apron for him,” Marinette said, slathering her slice with jam before taking a bite.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to get it back.” She perked up. “I’ll go run it down to him and let you girls finish eating.”

“Okay. It’s on my desk next to my sewing machine,” Marinette instructed as her mother disappeared up the stairs, and Lila waited until she returned all the way down to the bakery before flicking her gaze to Marinette.

“Alya and the girls are going to the pool today, do you want to come?” She asked, scrolling through her messages on her phone.

“S-Sure.” She nodded, rubbing her sweating palms on her fleecy pajamas.

“Awesome! I’ll let them know,” She said, keys clacking as she typed a quick response.

“Um, actually, can I tell you something first?” Lila started, swallowing back the lump in her throat.

“Sure,” Marinette said, sobering and turning to face her fully.

“I want to be honest with you, for once, because I see now how petty I’ve been, and I want to be better.” Marinette tilted her head a little in confusion but listened intently nonetheless. “I know your secret, Marinette. I have for a while…”

“M-My secret?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise as a nervous grin crept over her lips.

“I saw you in the library the day after I arrived at school. I know that you’re Ladybug.” Marinette’s eyes widened worriedly, and Lila averted her gaze with a shrug. “It’s fine. I’m not going to tell anybody, but I want you to know something about me that might ruin our friendship, but I’m tired of pretending. For once in my life, I want something real.”

She paused for a moment as Marinette’s jaw closed, and she nodded for Lila to continue.

“When I found out who you were, I was angry because I felt like you were befriending me to mock me, and I thought that everything you were doing was fake. So I pretended to be your friend hoping to get back at you for everything you did to me, and I hated your guts because no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t beat you.” She gripped her pajamas nervously, gaze locked on the table. “I even planned to steal your earrings from you so that you couldn’t be Ladybug anymore. That’s why I gave you those stupid fake ones for your birthday. I thought that you were like me, and that you had everyone wrapped around your finger because you made them revere you. But I was wrong.

“People like you because you care. They’re your friends because you’re always standing up for them and putting your neck out for them. You’ve never been fake to any of them, and when I realized that, I was ashamed. You have everything I’ve always wanted, and I’ve been really jealous of you all this time. And you’ve only ever been nice to me and been my friend, and I-I…” She ran a hand across her cheek, feeling something hot and wet touch her skin, lip quivering, but she continued. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to be more like you. I want to be honest and have friends, and I want to be friends with you. For real this time, but I understand if you hate me.”

Marinette sat in stunned silence for a moment while Lila hiccupped and whimpered pathetically before she reached out to place her hand over Lila’s with a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t hate you,” She said gently, scooting closer. “In fact, I don’t blame you. The things Ladybug said to you- the things I said to you were harsh and uncalled for. The truth is, I was jealous of you and worried that you were going to steal Adrien away from me, and I got angry and lashed out at you.”

“You had every right to. I was using you to make myself look better because I never expected Ladybug to drop out of the sky and call me out like that.” She rubbed her nose and sniffled. “I hated you so much when I found out. I hated you more than anyone, but I couldn’t- you’re so genuine and honest, and I’ve never had that before. I want to hate you, but I can’t.”

She paused to take a breath. “I realized that I can’t hate you because I love you. I love you, and I want to be with you, but I know I don’t deserve you.”

“We’ve both done things we aren’t proud of, but I’m willing to put it behind us if you are.” Lila glanced up to meet her kind gaze, feeling her tears welling up again. “Honestly, I was expecting you to confess your feelings to me all this time, but I never expected that you knew my secret…I felt a little guilty too knowing what I did to you as Ladybug before I even knew you. Because once I got to know you, I couldn’t help but fall for you.”

“I don’t deserve someone like you,” She wailed, burying her face in Marinette’s chest. “You’re so nice and gentle and caring, and I’m so horrible and mean and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for lying to make myself look better. I’m sorry I pretended to be your friend. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“I don’t think you’re horrible.” Marinette shook her head, running her fingers through Lila’s hair. “You’ve done horrible things and been mean, but that doesn’t mean that has to be who you are. You can change all that and turn that girl you’ve been pretending to be into the real you.”

“I don’t know how,” She said, sitting up, and Marinette cupped her face, brushing a tear from her cheek.

“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got me,” She said with a laugh. “Because I love you too, Lila, and I’m willing to help you so long as you want to be better.”

“I do. I want to be someone who deserves your love,” She whimpered, and Marinette took her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know who I am without all of my lies, but I know that I want to be more open and honest with others and with myself.”

Marinette smiled brightly, and for the first time in a long time, Lila smiled too. Not out of want for something or to manipulate someone into getting her way, but out of happiness. Her chest was warm and overflowing with happiness and light, and tears streamed down her cheeks as Marinette held her close. There she was safe, and there she was loved, and she had a lot of work to do.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Who’s Crushing on the New Manager? [1]

Monsta X

Son Hyunwoo (Shownu)/Reader [F]

Words: 2.8k

Genre: Fluff

Others: Intro / Shownu / Wonho / Minhyuk / Kihyun / Hyungwon / Jooheon / IM

-------------------------------------------------

“I’m Y/N, I’ll be in your care.”

Her voice was just as soft and warm as her smile.  It didn’t take much, but those few seconds.  He already knew that that soft fluttering in his stomach was none other than a small crush, ready to blossom into so much more.

Shownu cleared his throat and kept his professionalism in check as he bowed back to her, eyes locking back with her as he straightened his spine.  

“Hyunw- uh, I mean Shownu.”  You chuckled at him, as he stopped himself from introducing himself with his given name.  You nodded to him, an amused smile on your face.

“Yes, I know who you are, I am your manager after all.”  Your chuckle almost made his cheeks heat along with the pounding in his chest.  Of course you knew, he didn’t really need to introduce himself.  The short conversation was interrupted by the official who spoke up before he turned to leave.

“Please take Ms. Y/L/N to the studio and introduce the rest of the boys to her.  And Please, don’t scare her off.”  You giggled at his smirk and Shownu just rolled his eyes playfully before the official took off to wherever he came from. Shownu looked at you, your face turned slightly away from him as you watched the man walk off.  

Your profile was just as magnificent as looking at your face head on.  He was already convinced you owned every angle and didn’t have a bad one.  When you looked back to him, he kept looking at you. You two just stared at each other for a moment before he smoothly angled his body to silently lead you.

“Shall we?  I have a feeling the boys are getting rowdy and anxious.”  You chuckled, which made him smile.  

“What makes you think so?”

“Call it a leader’s instinct.”  

“Is it as good as what we women call intuition?”  He sucked in a breath through his teeth playfully.

“I don’t know about that.”  And with that short interaction, he silently followed you to where the rest of the boys were.  And when you arrived, he was spot on. It was quite a sight.

Chankyun was in a corner, just screaming?  For no reason? Minhyuk was running around, chasing Jooheon for God knows why.  Hyungwon was sitting on the couch, seemingly normal, until you notice the lump that is under his rear was most definitely not the couch, but Wonho’s back.  The younger boy pushing the older into the cushions.  And Kihyun had emerged dramatically with his ipad in his hand, belting a note that was stable, but, coming from him, was rusty in sound.  

Shownu just stood where he was, and put his hand on his forehead, moving his finger to pinch the bridge of his nose and just breath.  Why? Why were they like this?  Was it because they had a new manager?  No, that couldn’t be it, could it?  They hadn’t done this before?

While he stood there, he heard you cover your mouth, the slap of your palm hitting your lips catching his ear.  He looked down at you through his fingers and noticed your red face and shaking shoulders. He was about to question you, making sure you were okay when you burst out laughing.  

You laughed loud as you clutched at your stomach, nearly untucking your shirt with how hard you gripped it.  Soon, the chaos that was the boys calmed down and they all swarmed around you, smiles and laughter of their own.  Minhyuk was the one that came to your free side and slung an arm over your shoulder, before Shownu smacked it off.  

It was bad manners.  Yeah, that’s why he did it.  

When all the laughter died to just chuckled and harsh breaths, introductions finally began. They introduced themselves one by one, with cheesy titles attached to their names, like ‘sexiest member’, ‘softest’, ‘cutest’, etc.  When they were done, you just told them that an introduction was necessary for their part, but it was appreciated anyways.  You gave your name and then happily told them that you would enjoy working with them.  

The energy that they radiated was contagious and it just made a person smile.  That first day wasn’t too much, and all you did was get to know the members.  And soon that day ended and you went back to your apartment while the boys when to the dorms.   

The next day, the boys were to go to a showcase for their fans, as well as hold an interview about their next album and, of course, other music related questions.  So, the day had started early for them, earlier for you.  You had woken up early, getting all the schedule times down before hopping in your car to get to the building and then follow the van the boys use to travel in.  

When you had stopped at the dorms, you watched the 7 sleepy boys amble out in their clothes, masks and caps on as they all piled in the van.  A few offered small waves to you, but it took a lot for them to properly function with so little rest.  You felt bad for them as you let out your own small yawn.  

Then, you were off again and before you knew it, you were getting out before them and waiting at the entrance of the building they were using. A bit more awake, some of them had questioned and complimented your attire.  You were in casual clothing today, and would start to dress this way unless something came up that required you to dress up again.  

Dark jeans that hugged your legs, a t-shirt tucked only in the back slightly, a black jacket and your shoes. Your hair was down and a cap was on your head to hide your, probably now tamed, bed hair that a brush couldn’t get rid of.

“The casual look today?” Shownu had approached you as the boys walked in front of you, maneuvering through the halls.  You nodded to him, looking at the piece of paper in your hands as you walked, reading through what they were doing and when today.  

“Yeah.  I only dressed in a business casual attire yesterday because I had to finish up paperwork in the main building offices.  But, since I’m working and on my feet most of the time, and since it’s not like i have a dress code to follow, I’ll be dressing more or less like this.  Unless, of course, I’m asked to dress up.”  He nodded at you, it made sense.  Part of him felt bad for the life of a manager.  He had a hard enough time working with the hard schedule.

Recordings, little rest, sometimes finding hard times to stop and eat well, filming, editing, photo shots, travel; it was all a lot sometimes.  But, he felt like managers had it a tad worse.  With them having to work before the schedules, always be ready at all times, make adjustments in their own time, even when they should be having a break.  They were a big step in the hypothetical drawing board that is the life of an idol.  

And even if they didn’t show it as much as they wished they did, every one of the boys respected their manager, and every other staff member who would work with them.  They were all hard working and talented people with skills that flourish to new extents.  

And, with that first, tiring, fun, fan-filled day rapidly moving by, everything fell into place.  Day after day passed with you as their manager and everyone of them getting a specific relationship with you across.  Some like brothers, some playful friends, but there was one member whose line was blurred, and not distinguished like the others.  

None other than Son Hyunwoo.  

The leader of the group would always be polite, and would always seem so calm around you, but if you turned away or left the room, he would basically crumple into his chair or into the couch or steal longing stares your way until you looked back to him, in which he promptly turned his head.  

Point was, he did a bad job of hiding the fact he had a crush on you. Your personality was infectious, happy and full of smiles.  Even when the schedule was packed and times were tough, you always tried your best to make sure they were feed, safe and happy.  Putting a smile on everyone’s face no matter what the obstacle.  

That in itself was attractive to Shownu, not to mention your maturity in which you handle situations.  You would be this fun, playful, prankster at times, but when it really counted, you would turn into this professional manager with every fact, piece of information, time and number ready on the tip of your tongue to any question.  

You astonished him.  Yet, you never seemed to know his gazes.  You were oblivious to it even.  He didn’t know if you were just too busy to notice, which would be logical, or if you were just oblivious in nature to notice these things, or if you were just uninterested.  He didn’t know.  

However, you may not have noticed him, but everyone else did.  Namely his team.  And they did not let him leave it down.

They would tease him in the dorms, and behind closed doors openly, and if you were around, they’d just shot him looks or one member would put on a dramatic two way romance with another member.  But, even if they gave him crap, they thought the idea of you two as a couple was cute as hell and supported it with their whole heart.  

Then one day, he somehow worked up the courage to tell you.  Tell you everything.  And how it happened surprised even himself, as it was a spur of the moment.  

The boys had a rare day to themselves, and many stayed at the dorms, and so you decided to pay them a visit as a friend, not a manager that day.  It was a fun filled day until you had to leave and it had already gotten quite late, so Shownu had offered to take one of their cars and drive you back to your apartment.  

You agreed as the two left the house and he did as he intended.  He drove you, dropped you off, said your goodbyes and he left.  But, it wasn’t until about the halfway point back to the dorms, where he suddenly stopped, turned around and was driving back to your apartment building.

He don’t know why he did this, or what made him do it.  Maybe he was finally fed up with hiding it, or maybe he just was thinking irrationally, he had no idea.  He had no clue what he was doings, what he would say, or why he would say it.  He just thought of you and that fueled everything on.  Everything he was unsure about, but he was concrete on what he would do tonight, reject or accepted.

He’d tell you everything.  

So, when he parked in the parking garage and ran out of the car, and up to your floor, he was out of breath as he rang the bell by the small box speaker by your door.  When you came over the speaker to see who it was, all he did was ask to be let in, in which, surprised you ran to the door in a frenzy and opened it up.  

He nearly melted at the sight of you.  Apparently, he had been gone long enough for you to wash the makeup off your face and change into a pair of pj pants littered in small bears and a white tank top.  He chuckled at your pants, seeing the bears as you offered him inside.  He stepped in, but didn’t leave the door within 5 feet.  You looked at him quizzically.  

“Hyunwoo?  What’s wrong?”  That was another thing he loved about you.  You always called him by his real name when it was just the two of you.  It was something so small, but he didn’t want his name to be said by anyone else like that.  

“I have a problem, and I think you’re the only one who can help me figure it out.  I don’t care what the outcome is, I just need closure.  To get it out.”  He was still slightly out of breath.  You didn’t know what he was talking about, and you bit back the red threatening to erupt your face and secretly gripped at your pants to keep your breathing and heart rate in check.  

You tried to offer him inside, for water or something to calm him down.  But, once again all he did was stand there.  In the doorway, staring at you.  Through you almost.  

“Hyunwoo, just come inside.  We can talk about it when you’ve had time to catch-”

“I like you, okay?” You nearly fell over.  The red you had suppressed now overpowered you and started to spread over your cheeks and nose.  Your gripped your pants tighter, less secretly now.  “I know your busy, busier than me-”

“You know I’m not busier than you.”  You interrupted, but he kept talking like you hadn’t.

“-But I had to tell you before anyone else did.  I’ve always thought you were cute, but it kept growing in my head and my chest and now all I do is stare and admire and just want to be here.”  There was silence as you focused your eyes on his shirt, his plain white shirt as you felt his eyes bore into your face.  

“I said I wouldn’t mind the outcome, reject me or not, I-”  You whipped your head up, eyes blown and red littered on you face.

“Why would I reject you?!”  Your quickly slapped your hands over your mouth, turning redder still, as you wanted to crawl into a hole and just hide.  “I-I mean, who would do that?  Reject the opportunity to possibly be in a relationship with such a good man?  That’s just crazy talk, or maybe I’m talking crazy, or just… I’m crazy.”  You huffed as you bent down to the floor, hugging you knees and hiding your embarrassed face into them.  

The boys had been picking fun at you for month and your loud crush for their leader.  It was a typical ‘we know, they don’t scenario they found themselves in.  You thought you had been the only one who was teased in private, but hearing it from Shownu, he probably got the same treatment.  It almost made you laugh.  

You jumped as you felt your wrist being grabbed along with your opposite arm and then your body being pulled back to your feet.  Once you were nearly straightened up, you then were pushed into a chest as arms wrapped around your shoulders.  Your breath hitched as you felt a chuckle rumble from Shownu’s chest and into your ear.  

“Your warm.”  You pouted and wanted to hit at his sides, but your arms felt like jelly.  It was like you had no control of your body.  

“Shut up. It’s rude to tease you manager.”  He chuckled again, rubbing your back in a way that made your eyes droop.  He was one of the few members who knew of your constant back pain, so the little action did a lot of you and your racing heart no doubt.  

“But, your more than my manager, so I think it’s okay.”  You felt your pulse in your hands and arms, heart quickening more and more.  

“More?”  Your voice rose an octave, cracking slightly as you asked him to elaborate.  That same chuckle hit your ears for the third time.  A fourth and you’d probably drop to your knees again, slipping from his arms.  

“You’re my manager, sure, but you’re also someone special.  A friend, an important person, and if you give me the pleasure of saying ‘yes’, then you can have the chance of being my girlfriend.”  You wanted to whine at him, he was being too sweet, too smooth for himself.  He was confidence, because part of him knew.  He knew you couldn’t say no.

“If you stay the night, I’ll be more inclined to say yes.”  You all but whispered into his chest.  You wanted to try and take some control of the situation, but ultimate, Shownu saw through your attempted and pulled his phone from his back pocket. 

He quickly sent a text to the group chat he had with the guys, saying he’d be staying with you for the night and that she’d drive him to the dorm tomorrow when their schedule picks back up.  Of course a few cracks came afterwards, but it was done.  

Now, you were his, and he wasn’t ready to let you go for at least the next 100 years or longer.  Depending on how long his life is.  Point being, you were his for the rest of his life, and you had no qualms about it.  

You were his manager, but now, you were just his, as he was yours.  For a long, long time.  

[mx-bebe31-blog]

Kelpie!Wonho

A Kelpie is a shape shifting water spirit (usually a horse) that is bonded to a space of water. Originates from human sacrifices given to appease the gods of water. Kelpies are thought to keep children away from the dangers of water and tell women to be wary of handsome strangers. 

This is honestly just,,, ah,,,, angst oof. No happy ending here (is this a pattern?! Why am I such a hoe for angst god damn). Hope you enjoy!

Wonho,,, used to love the water. Then, he hated it. And now that he’s technically a spirit tied to water...he’s come to love it again

He lives and is the sole spirit that owns this body of water - a large natural pond that is as pretty as he is

He can make flowers and lilypads appear on the surface to his heart’s content, and loves making pink and blue and yellow blooms

He basks in the sunlight and feels the friendly fish brush his feet as he naps

It’s serene,,, so much unlike his past

He was giggling at a frog on his lilypad one day when he spotted his first human in a long time. No one really knows about this place anymore,

He sinks just underneath the water on the other side, able to see you through the thin space of the water’s surface tension

You’re watery in image, but he can see the color of your hair and the beautiful way the sun shines down on your skin

Normally, it’s been children who took their adventures too far into the woods and ended up here. He keeps them safe, keeps them from having the same fate of drowning as him

But you’re you,, and you’re not a child. You look much older than that - a matured and youthful face that he’s delighted to see that day

When he peeks up over the water’s edge, you’re a lot less blurry

But he’s not sure he likes that too much

Wonho frowns underneath the water as his eyes focus on you through wet lashes. He sees that your lashes are wet as well, as you weep by the shallow end of the pond

His frown worsens, and he feels a pit in his chest

He doesn’t really know what to do,,, he hasn’t had a sad soul come here since around the time he became the spirit of this body of water

He’s usually playing with wide eyed and smiling children

His arms move through the water, his fingers flicking out to make a pretty pink water lily bloom and float on the surface. He makes a little current, making sure it goes straight to you

You only see it when it bumps into your shoe that’s barely at the lapping edge of the pond. You’re sitting on the grass, and you lift your eyes just enough to see the flower.

A pout forms on your lips as you pause in your tears, reaching out and gently feeling how soft it was.

Your mouth forms a tentative ‘o’ in surprise when a matching blue lily bonks your other shoe. Your fingers move to touch the other one, shocked that it’s so pretty in the sunlight

You admit that it’s a beautiful, serene place. You hadn’t been her in a long, long time, but it’s still here. You weren’t even trying to find it, you just ended up here

Soon, you start to see a lot of flowers, some with little frogs on them. There’s a calm splash from a fish tail, too.

When you notice that there’s a lot of water lilies, you look up to see why they had all floated to you

You meet eyes with someone in the water. You’re certainly surprised, but you don’t scream

You maybe even think it’s a hallucination, so you put your head down to look at the dozens of lily pads paired with water lilies.

“Hi…” Came a shy voice. You hear something disturb the water and you look up to see the same white hair and dark eyes as before. You are so worn down from sobbing you don’t even move or question why he’s in the water. He’s just there

You manage a meager wave with your fingers, not able to start your voice up again

“Why are you crying?”

His voice is honey like and you don’t even know him but you want to trust him and trust that he has a reason to be here by himself

“...My brother.”

Wonho gulps and doesn’t want to feel the burn behind his eyes as he hears your voice almost completely break

“Did...something?”

“He’s dead.”

Wonho can’t even try to gulp down the lump in his throat as he watches you silently bury your head in your knees and weep.

“And you came here for...peace?” He asks softly, wishing he was alive so that he could at least touch your shoulder or embrace you

“I guess…” You whimper through the waves of melancholy

Wonho’s frown never disappears. He looks around his environment trying to find anything that will help, but there’s not much he can do

When you calm down again you look around, too. To the pond almost half full of just flowers.

“Where did these come from?” You ask in a croaky voice, fingers brushing a petal once again.

Wonho barely let’s himself smile as he cups his hands together by your knees. You watch as a white water lily blooms beautifully before your eyes. His hands drop the flower in your lap, and you pick it up, careful with how fragile it feels

“It’s pretty. How can you do that?” You finally realize through your haze that that isn’t exactly normal, but you don’t have the strength to react too animatedly to anything like Wonho

“I don’t know how, but I just know that I do it when I’m bored, or sad, or lonely. It brings frogs, butterflies, dragonflies, and bumble bees to keep me company.”

“Why did you make so many then?”

“For you. I don’t want you to be sad.”

You shrug, not knowing how you couldn’t be sad. Even if you were to smile right now, the loss of someone so close to you would forever be there, a gaping hole in your heart.

“Oh…”

“I’m sorry about what happened...And I know the pain won’t go away so easily, but you shouldn’t do anything reckless during this time. You should go home..and do whatever would help you feel better.”

You choke up and nod, placing the flower down before you picked at its beauty

“Then I should go..Thanks for..the flowers.”

“You should come back here so I can check up on you. I’ll always be here.”

As you stand, you look down on him with confusion. You’ve never seen past his collarbones, you don’t even know his name

“What do you mean?”

“I’m Wonho, a water spirit. Specifically, a kind of...well, I forgot what they call us. Kelpie? I can’t leave here.”

“I’ve never heard of those...but ok…”

Personally, you feel like it’s just a fever dream. Some manifestation to help you cope with the very dark place you were in right now.

You go home and sleep. And sleep. And sleep.

And every time you wake up there’s tears falling from your eyes in the sheer pain of loss

You lived alone, but your brother didn’t. He had lived back home, just having gotten his license when it happened. You tried your best to always tell him to drive safe...but…

What you eat, you tend to throw up. You tell yourself it’s just a liquid diet you’re on, but the only thing you can down is gatorade. Even water feels too rough.

So you forget Wonho easily as you can barely distinguish the days from each other. You check the time after you wake up; nap after nap, but even time becomes confusing

But the funeral happens with a shaking body that begins to shut down.

After a month, you can eat small portions but only if you really want to eat it. You get back to your job and you’re not in school currently

It’s been months and you always think about the time you went to the woods for solace

But you can’t find yourself to even put one foot in the pathway

It seems like too much energy. It’s too hot, then when winter comes, it’s not even an idea inside your head

You forget Wonho, and the thought of him never traces your mind

But that’s how loss is sometimes

It’s an example of how grief can be one hell of a thing

You forget, and forget, and forget

But Wonho doesn’t

He floats in the pond, creating so many flowers it nearly fills his space. He’s surrounded in them and he thinks of you whenever he creates one

He wishes he could see you again but he knows he is something that isn’t tangible to a human

Children think it’s their imagination

And adults shake it off and forget

At the thought of you possibly ignoring his words and dying yourself,,,

He doesn’t want to think

He just wants to float in the balance of his own pond

Wondering when he will be released from this loneliness, that not even you could cure

________

Short and angsty rip. I promise these au’s will get better and longer!! I’ll probably make another version of this in the future ^-^ thanks!!

-S

[mxmoonjelly]

Something I did Part 1

Solaris was a very busy city with a lot of merchants, beggars, thieves and families.

But there are 4 kinds of people within: The Familiars, The Searchers, The Embodiments and The In-Betweens.

The Familiars don’t believe in much of anything. They don’t have a set deity to worship or things to offer. No one speaks to them because they don’t respond to you when you try anyway. To distinguish them, they wear white tops.

The Searchers are crazy. They don’t believe in anything like the Familiars, but they actively search for possible deities and look to the zodiac for their daily commute. They will kill for their cause so they run the country. They wear red and black, most of the time and a whistle around their necks in case they need backup.

The Embodiments are a bit uncommon. They wield element magic of their respective zodiac signs and can summon them from above in times of dire need. They are shunned for being different even though they wear normal clothes.

The In-Betweens have no actual purpose. They resemble Familiars and Embodiments, so both can camouflage well.

Searchers like Familiars and In-Betweens.

In-Betweens tolerate Embodiments

Embodiments don’t like Searchers.

Familiars don’t mind Embodiments.

In-betweens like Familiars

Searchers don’t like Embodiments

Familiars like In-betweens

In-Betweens don’t like Searchers

And Embodiments are indifferent to Familiars.

Confused? Me too.

One of the In-Betweens is Marlo McConnell, a red headed, blue eyed, hot tempered man in his mid twenties.

Now, Marlo was never too active with any one of the three groups. He knew his lover, Dockery Rosewood was one of the Embodiments and always tried to be respectful toward the few that Dock was friends with, but he was never really told on how different the Embodiments were.

His parents were Familiars; therefore, that’s how he grew up. He didn’t believe in the powers that Embodiments were told to have and never really went out of his way to try and learn about them. But was also curious about them.

He wanted to be a part of the Searchers, but when he learned that involved killing, he dropped the topic and never looked back on the decision.

Even on this fine night, as he was being interrogated by one of Dockery’s Embodiment friends, Ira Lysander in her apartment. She was a Gemini and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to like her. “You’re not joshing me when you say you don’t know the oath by heart?” She asked, frowning when he shook his head, the ponytail slung over his shoulder swaying with his movements. He was getting a headache from how many times he had refused.

She leaned back in her chair, watching as he did the same. “Are you sure? You look like a possible Searcher.” Marlo sighed and glanced at Dockery, who was having a happy conversation with Peaches, his pet rabbit as he put some bows in her fur. Dockery smiled at his work before hugging his pet, who nuzzled him. Dock’s smile had always melted Marlo’s heart. His farm boy lover never ceased to amaze the selfish man and made him truly happy. Being with Dockery seemed to humble Marlo in a way that he didn’t think was possible. He was blessed to- “Don’t look at him.” Ira stated as she slapped him across both his cheeks. “Look at me.”

Marlo had finally had enough. His mouth twitched into a scowl as his blue orbs shot her a glare that physically stung.  “Can you just stop this nonsense?!” he demanded, his tone actually sending shivers down her spine. “My god, I am not a Searcher or a Familiar or anything else you lump me with! I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t let those thoughts cross your mind!” He could feel Dockery’s frown from here and it made him feel terrible about yelling. There was silence. Marlo stood, brushing the nonexistent dirt off of his slacks. All of this quiet was beginning to choke him as he gave a nod of recognition to Ira’s terrified look. Her normally green eyes looked dull and her posture seemed that of a terrified child in a corner. “Good night to you, ma’am.” He said, his voice lacking any truth as he grabbed his coat from the coat rack and walked out of the flat.

***

Marlo had made it to Town’s Square when he felt someone grip his shoulder. Out of instinct, he turned, ready to strike, only to meet the Amber orbs he fell in love with. “Marlo,” Dockery started, his voice cool and collected, unlike his own, who always sounded chaotic and strange. “What was all of that about? I know you don’t like Ira, but there was no reason to yell at her.” The red head stared back at him, not wanting to look at the other people as he thought about his answer. “Maybe so.” He said, trying not to yell, although it seemed to be failing. “Maybe I had no reason. But maybe- just maybe- there is a small chance I may have been justified. I am a private person, Dockery. Maybe I don’t like it when people pry into my business and have them try to explain my status on the three groups.”

A frown took place on Dockery’s lips as he pondered his words, but Marlo wasted no time in thinking about what came out of his mouth as he continued.

“Maybe I don’t like it when Ira decides who I am based on ‘observation’, maybe Ira needs to learn about boundaries, maybe I would like to be left alone on the matter!

"Maybe she needs to just leave me alone because I am tired of her foot up my ass! How could you not understand this after how long you have known me?!” Dockery blinked in surprise, soon releasing his grip on Marlo’s shoulder. He glanced to the side for just a second and noticed the crowd that was forming at a rapid pace. “I would like for you to calm down.” He said, still incredibly calm but the frown was still present.  “You’re causing an unnecessary scene.” To this, the shorter man shot the same, terrifying glare from earlier. “I’m causing a scene?! Me?!” He demanded, standing straighter and putting his hands on his hips.  “Oh, yeah. I’m always the bad guy, aren’t I?!”

“That’s not what I’m-”

”Shut up! You clearly don’t understand where I’m standing on this situation because you’re more worried about your friend’s feelings than what me, your own lover, has to deal with every time I see her! So, yes, maybe I’m causing a scene, but I have more than a worthy reason to be creating one!”

Marlo didn’t even wait for a response. He just turned his heel and walked away, cursing his (Maybe former) lovers name as he heard his own boots clanking against the sidewalk.

                                    ***

It was only when he made it home did he realize how wrong he was.

He lashed out at someone who was just being cautious and caused a scuffle in town with the one person in the world he trusted with his life. Deciding to be dramatic, Marlo walked to his bedroom and leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor and pulling his knees up to his chest. He doesn’t like feeling guilty. It almost always made him feel physically sick. Even now, he could feel the bile rising in his throat as he began to cry. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this at all.

 But when has he ever wanted anything?

[vitanteactawrites]

Sometimes Two Isn’t Enough, Part IV

Fandom: Supernatural / AU

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel 

Pairing: Dean x Reader x Sam

Word Count: 2,281

Part: Four [part one, two, three]

Warnings: None!

Author’s note: Sorry it took so long guys, but here it is! We’ve finally started to dig in a little deeper and discover who the reader is, so enjoy! On a side note, I’m on vacation for a week but plan on taking a good old notebook and pen with me to try and get some stuff done. Next weeks chapter will be a little late, but expect a hunt and more information on who the reader is.

Despite the fact that the gentle lull of the Impala’s engine had put you to sleep, when it cut, you hardly stirred. Which was why your brows furrowed in sleep muddled confusion as fingers dusted hair from your eyes. With a soft grumble, your hand moved to bat away whatever had disturbed you, the other tugging Dean’s borrowed jacket closer to your shoulders. And while your sleep addled brain could hear the deep chuckle, your body still insisted on curling deeper into the soft leather of the back seat, chin nuzzling into the jacket within your grasp.

But the hair in your face was pushed back once more, this time accompanied by a gruff whisper of your name. Upon the realization that someone was going to insist on waking you regardless of any effort you put forth in attempt to avert it, you sleepily opened and squinted your eyes at the figure before you. Only once Dean was firmly in focus did your lips curl slightly.

“Sorry - are we stopping again for the night?”

You could tell that it was late afternoon by the light seeping through the windows of the vehicle, and despite the fact that there were potentially hours’ worth of open road ahead of you, you’d been quick to learn that the Winchesters had been taking you into consideration. You knew little about the past, which made driving for a long distance seem uncomfortable. More than once the three of you had stopped around dinner and stayed put, effectively making your trip to safety a little longer, but also much more comfortable.

“We’re here.”

The two words were enough for any lingering exhaustion to be wiped away and replaced with interest. Scooting across the seat, you carefully exited the Impala, offering Dean his jacket back in the process. You felt… nervous. This was, as Dean had once put it, their home. Or as Sam had put it, home base. Putting two and two together hadn’t been hard. One of them was your soulmate, which meant that this - at least for the time being - would be your home as well. Lacking any real memory, this place was your first home, which made it that much more important and special.

“Where’s Sam?”

“Inside. He figured it shouldn’t take two of us to wake you, so he brought everything in.”

Though your gaze had drifted to look at Dean as he spoke, it didn’t take long for you to offer a soft hum of acceptance at his words, eyes turning to the outside of the bunker. And it wasn’t just the exterior building you took in, but the surrounding woods, the roadway, everything.

You aren’t sure how long you lose yourself in your thoughts, but it’s a gentle brush of knuckles against the back of your hand that has you thrown back into focus. The surprised look you throw Dean is enough to put you both on edge, as he’s quick to withdraw his hand and awkwardly run it up the back of his neck instead.

“We - we better not keep Sam waiting. He might think something got us and send out the search party.”

It’s a poor attempt at a joke, one you mentally kick yourself for immediately, but it propels you toward the first doorway in your sight.

The moment you step into the bunker, your feet draw to an immediate halt - causing Dean to nearly barrel right into you. The scuffling of feet as Dean braces his hand against the rail and carefully steady’s you both is enough to draw Sam’s attention from below. It’s likely the look of complete awe on your features that has the grin of pride and the bubble of laughter escaping his throat.

“I had the same expression when I first saw this place too. Don’t worry, you get used to it.”

He was right, you would get used to it eventually, because this place was going to be your home, which was perhaps the reason you’d stopped and just…  stared. They’d built it up to be something because they had memories in this place - they’d established themselves there, and every time they’d spoken of it on the drive, you’d been under the assumption that you’d come to love it because they did. You’d assumed there would be touches of them, but that it would need some of you too - and you were right, it would - but it still seemed perfect.

You weren’t sure when Sam had moved to stand at the bottom of the steps, looking up at you with a small sense of pride shining in his eyes, and that beautiful grin on his face, but once again it was enough to propel you forward.

“I - I know you stumbled upon this place yourselves and have since discovered more about it as time passes but I - may I have a tour?”

It seemed to be the perfect question to ask, because within moments Dean shucked the jacket you’d returned to the back of a chair and the two brothers sprung into action. The three of you moved through each room at the pace you set, and while they provided as much information as they could about each room - whether it be the initial intended purpose of the room, their use of it, or their experience with cases or memories involved in the space, some question always pushed past your lips. Your interest in their home seemed enough for one brother to begin a story or thought, and the other to pick up on it. It was an action you’d believed others might have perceived as rude -- as if they were interrupting one another, but the exchange of looks, of small shrugs and grins was enough to tell you that, while not completely normal, it was something they would accept.

Once you’d returned to the main living space, the walls lined with books and the floor littered with an array of tables and chairs, Dean gave you once last long look before muttering something about cleaning his gun and unpacking. You watched him leave before turning to look at Sam expectantly. Dean had been reluctant, which meant they’d made some sort of deal about spending time with you.

“So these are the books you’ve been telling me all about? The ones filled with lore, and theories… history?” You asked, eyebrow arching slightly.

“Uh- aha ya.” Running a hand over the back of his neck, Sam’s gaze was quick to move from you to the shelves surrounding you.

“I’m not sure I remember, let alone know how to read,” you mutter, brow furrowing slightly in silent question as to whether or not that’s something you should really be ashamed of, “but could you show me some of the books maybe?”

Sometime during your question, your eyes had moved from Sam out of nervousness, instead taking in the lengthy shelves and surrounding area, so when an answer wasn’t offered forth immediately, you nearly cringed. Swallowing the lump of discomfort that was forming in your throat, you dared to look at him. There was a conflicting look on his face, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Sam was quick to snap out of it, his head dipping into a succession of nods.

“Yeah - yeah uh I’ll show you some of my favorites.” There is a quick flash of a smile, but the hesitation in his eyes was still prevalent. “And if for some reason you can’t read… then I’ll teach you. Just - just like I’m sure Dean would - will - teach you about hunting or cars or whatever else you want to learn.”

Your lips quirked - only slightly - into the smallest of smiles. “Thanks Sam. I’d really appreciate that.”

Time passed after that, but you found it hard to distinguish whether it was flying or creeping by. You were relieved to note that most words on the pages of the books Sam showed you, as well as a select few you pulled out yourself, held real meaning. There were a few you asked for clarification on, some Sam pointed out as being newer, or slang, others even he was uncertain on. At some point during your trek around the large room, Dean had reemerged. Seated within one of the more comfortable of the chairs with his feet propped up and a beer in his hand, he busied himself with looking for cases on the computer. But it wasn’t long before you caught him watch you pursue the endless number of books, his lips quirking into a smile that seemed the vanish the second he caught either you or Sam watching him.

“What’s the most unique book you have?” The question is perhaps the first words that have truly broken the silence within the bunker in the last hour, but they seem much needed. Particularly because of the silent conversation Sam and Dean appear to be having via looks and facial expressions can either be a good, or terribly bad thing.

“Oh. Well, the Men of Letters have a few odd books - but most of them we’ve managed to translate. Kevin,  or Castiel can handle most anything we throw at them, but there’s one that neither can crack. Castiel claims it’s older than most Angels.”

You glanced between the two brothers, eyebrow arching slightly.

“And you have this thing here? Can I see it?”

A few minutes later, you were seated at one of the tables, a stone tablet in your hands, and a few thin pieces of parchment beside it.

“We assume someone transferred it from stone to paper a few hundred years ago, but outside of a folder and box with a bunch of question marks, there isn’t much too it.” Sam informed, seating himself opposite you.

You gave him a mildly impressed look before your eyes dropped to the tablet in front of you. Within seconds your brows were crinkling together, a frown tugging at your lips.

“What do you mean Castiel couldn’t read this?” With a glance at the Winchesters, you returned to the papers.

Deans attention waned from the laptop in his lap to looking at you fully, eyebrows arched and beer long forgotten.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, it isn’t that hard to read. It’s about the Daughter of God. It’s pretty vague, but the writer keeps calling this Daughter of God her mother.” You muttered, glancing up.

Before either Winchester can open their mouth to say anything, there is a faint flutter of wings before a man appears at the top of the stairs.

This time, you were certain time slowed. All senses but sight dulled - the sound of the brothers greeting or your chair knocking back as it hit the floor were both vague and distant. The man at the stairs appeared directly in front of you, his seemingly stoic face crinkled in confusion.

“Stay back, Angel.”

The threat ripped from your throat in a near growl, one that seemed to shock the entire room back into motion.

“Y/N. Y/N!” The hands pressing against your arms and then moving to cup your face are what drew you back completely into focus. With reluctance, your eyes ripped from the unidentified man to Dean’s, whose expression was no longer masked but shined bright with worry.

“That’s Castiel, okay? He’s a friend.”

The words ought to have reassured you, but instead your eyes flickered back to look at Castiel, the frown returning to your face.

“Y/N here uh - she can read that tablet.” Sam interjected, clearing his throat awkwardly as a hand motioned over toward the table.

“She is not human.”

Scoffing softly, you gave your head a shake, trying to get around Dean to no avail. “Someone has brilliant observation skills; shall we test out your theory?”

Deans face appeared in front of your almost immediately, his hands leaving your face to grip your arms and direct you back a few steps.

“Y/N. What is with the hostility?”

“You keep telling me that Lucifer - the man who apparently held me against my will and used me against you, the man who I apparently hate to the point of wanting to destroy him - is or was also an Angel at some point or another. You may trust him, but I don’t.”

It was enough for his grip to loosen around you. With a few steps, you were back to where you’d been standing before, eyes narrowing onto the trench coated man as Sam explained who you were, and what you’d found.

“That would explain it. Your presence releases an aura of power, like the essence of God after he leaves a place.” Castiel muttered, gaze turning from the tablet to look at you.

“The Daughter of God is as close to an urban legend as the Angels have. Did the tablet mention who might have transcribed it?”

“Emma.” The reply is as brief as you can make it, and from the tense set of Castiel’s shoulders, you realize he is just as unsettled by your presence as you are his.

“Very well, I’ll return to Heaven and begin the search immediately.”

Without waiting for confirmation, there is a flapping of wings and he is gone. A look is exchanged between yourself and the Winchesters before you sigh and give your head a shake.

“That’s Cas for you.” Sam muttered.

“Come on, I’ll make us some dinner.” Dean replied, turning on his heel to disappear into the kitchen. With one last exchanged look between you and Sam, you offered a shrug and followed Dean.

[lovingzombiechaos]

You’re Still a Dumbass

Oh lord. So, this is different. This is NOT Negan x Nayna smut. Nope. This is Rick x Nayna smut. I might as well get some practice in. Just in case ;)

NSFW (duh)

Word Count: 3,000

Also, apologies if it’s not as polished as I would like, it’s really late and I wanted to finish and post!

When Rick clambered down the stairs, Nayna couldn’t help but burst into laughter. So many months of seeing him with that bushy beard. So many years had passed since he’d been that smooth-faced, earnest country sheriff. Seeing him with that same smoothness and those hard lines made her heart flutter, the same way it did when she first grasped his hand and Glenn introduced him as “Dumbass.”

He broke into a grin when he saw her with her fingers over her mouth. “That bad, huh?”

She shook her head. “Not even a little.”

He rubbed his chin. “It feels weird.”

She leaned against the back of the couch and crossed her arms over her chest. “You look just like that day in Atlanta.”

He came to stand before her, next to the column. He crossed his arms over his own chest and gave her an amused once over. “So do you.”

She laughed and waved him off. “A few more grays, at least. Couple lines.”

“Don’t we all?” Rick asked with a smile.  

Her fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and stroke his face. She wanted to run her fingertips along his jaw, tease him about missing a spot. Instead, she grasped the edge of the couch, hiding her hands beneath her thighs.

Rick’s eyes searched her face. ���Do you remember that day?”

Her heart began to hammer and she swallowed the lump in her throat, though when she spoke her voice was raspy. “Of course I do. Let’s see, I almost short you. Andrea almost shot you. And Merle almost shot you.”

He snorted. “Only one of those was an accident, right?”

She made a face and shrugged. “The world may never know.”

He shook his head. “We were so stupid.”

She nodded, watching as he fiddled with the bright, white shirt. She resisted the urge or smooth her fingers over his chest, feeling for chest hair or muscle. Though, they’d been on the road and lost weight, Rick still kept a semi-muscular build. At least, that’s what the tight t-shirt stretching across his biceps told her.

His head snapped up with such certainty, causing her to reel backwards. But, as always, his steady hands were there to catch her. Only this time he didn’t let go. She licked her lips at the contact of his rough calloused hands on her bare, freckled shoulders.

“We’re not dumb anymore,” he said with venom in his voice.

She tilted her head back, surprised by the hardness in his eyes. She was used to the haunted, hallow look, the same look of despair they all wore. But this coldness, this faraway stare? It reminded her of Tomas, and she shivered.

“You’re right, we’re not,” she said firmly. “We are not dumb, and nothing like that will ever happen to us again. Nothing like the Governor. Nothing like Terminus. I swear it, Rick.”

“Oh, I know. I’ll make sure of it.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Rick glanced over his shoulder at the open screen door and then back down into her face. The mix of fear and arousal had Nayna reeling with confusion. Why couldn’t he kiss her? Or why wouldn’t he back up. Why did he have her cornered?

The desperation was clearly scrawled across his tired, yet intense face. She’d never seen him this bad before. Sure, she’d seen him a little crazy, at the height of pissed off and even broken and weary. But even at his lowest low, she’d never quite seen him with such urgent need.

“These people are weak, Nayna,” he said, bending down to whisper. He recoiled when he saw the reproach in her face. “They’re living on borrowed time. All of them. We need it more than they do.”

She shook her head and placed a hand on his chest, forcing him away. “These are good people. We can’t just take over.”

“Yes,” he hissed, stepping even closer than before, grabbing the edge of the couch on either side of her. When he spoke, his breath tickled her cheek. “Don’t you see? I’m doing this for…the group…for Carl…for Judith…for you.”

Her eyes shot to his and she tried to read the heavy, hard gaze in them. For her? He had distinguished her from the group. Why?

“For me?”

She saw the twitch of his brows, raising in surprise. It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

He was so close, close enough for her to brush her mouth to his if she dared stand on tip-toe. And God did she want to.

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear and traced its curve all the way down to her jaw and then to her chin, which he angled upwards so his gaze pierced her own. “For us.”

“I don’t understand…”

That frightening look disappeared from his face, replaced by something much more primal. “I want to have a life with Carl. With Judith. With you.”

Before she could protest or even speak, Rick’s lips swept over hers. At first he moved softly, slowly as if he were afraid that he would scare her off. When she didn’t run, his kiss deepened and became a heady, intoxicated affair; one that lifted her onto her tiptoes and caught her in her own wave of passion, crashing against his, like two currents fighting for control.

His other hand crept around to the small of her back and he drew her in closer, smashing her flush against him. Her toes curled in her boots just as his tongue curled into her mouth. She met his tongue ferociously devouring him. Their lips would be swollen in the morning, but they couldn’t have cared any less.

He buried his hands in her hair, keeping her trapped against the couch with his hips. His stiffening cock pressed into her lower belly, sending liquid ropes of aching need racing through her body, from her whirling head to her tingling toes.

“Bed,” he growled, pulling away just enough to talk.

“Yours or mine?”

He put his hands on her hips and shoved her towards the stairs. “Ours.”

Her giggles echoed down the hallway as they staggered up the stairs and stumbled towards the bedroom, neither able to keep their lips or hands to themselves.

They collapsed onto the bed, an entanglement of frenzied limbs. She snagged his shirt and tore it over his head, growling at the sight of his bare chest before running her nails down it.

She’d been holding back her ache for so long, that now, she couldn’t hold back.

He propped himself up on his elbows, and smiled. “Slow.”

“Can’t,” she said in a whisper. She lifted her hips, grinding her body into his. He let out a short groan before bending forward to nip at her lips.

“Slow,” he repeated.

She sighed and flopped back on the bed, though she kept her fingers curled in his hair. He slid down the length of her torso, stopping at the hem of her shirt. He exposed her belly and began kissing his way upwards, making her wriggle and laugh under his ticklish lips.

Stopping at her navel, he tilted his head to the side. “There are so many things I don’t know about you.”

With a breathless bout of laughter, she pushed herself up to look at him, cocking her own head to the side. “Hmm?”

When he looked at her like that, with a mix of love and lust, her heart skipped a beat. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, watching and waiting.

“For instance,” he said, kissing her just under her navel. “I didn’t think you were the kind of girl to have more than your ears pierced.”

It was so ridiculous and yet, it was so Rick. All she could do was smile down at him as she ran her fingers through his hair. “My nose is pierced too.”

He squinted up as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Really?”

She self-consciously touched it. “Yeah, I just wear the clear thing because that’s all I had when I left home.”

He snatched her hand away from her nose and pressed his mouth to her fingertips. God, she loved every gesture from this man.

She grinned slyly. “The world ended before I got a chance, but…I always wanted to pierce my nipples.”

He raised his brows and then in one fluid motion, he lifted her shirt to her neck and pawed at the back of her bra, grunting as he released the clasp.

“What’re you doing? I thought you wanted to go slow?” she said with a pretend pout, but made no move to stop Rick from shoving her bra above her breasts. She was so turned on that she arched her back, just a little, pushing them out, silently signaling for him to touch them.

He drank his fill of them before leaning down to lick them in earnest. Little high pitched squeaks erupted from her mouth as he cupped them both, popping her nipples out, the better to suckle them. Panting, she twisted the sheets in her hands, turning her head from side to side, as if she were trying to escape the pleasure, while in reality she was trying to keep from touching herself and ruining the moment.

His warm, wet tongue lapped at one nipple and then the other as he moved back and forth. Whichever nipple wasn’t in his mouth was being rolled between his thumb and forefinger.

She moaned each time his tongue stroked across the very tip, and before she knew it, his tongue moved so fast her breath was coming out in racy spurts.

And as soon as it had started, it was over. She shivered as her red, wet nipples hardened in the cool, exposed air.

She felt a tugging on her boots, and she allowed him to slip them off her feet, keeping her eyes firmly shut, wanting to stay in this moment forever. He ran his fingers the length of her legs and then peeled her leggings off, along with her panties.

When she opened her eyes, she found him kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed. Their gazes crossed for a brief moment and he smiled at her, rubbing his thumb over her knee. She opened her legs and allowed Rick access to the swollen heat between her thighs.

True to his word, he started slow, wedging his tongue between her lips and sliding it shallowly up and down, sideways. When he passed over her clit, her legs jumped and danced, so he grasped her hips and shifted her to the very edge of the bed, throwing her legs over his shoulders. Normally, she would have protested, for fear of falling, but she trusted Rick even more than she’d ever trusted William.

He edged his way deeper, still moving up and down, until finally he hit her center. Instead of stopping, he dragged both his tongue, and then his lower lip up her slippery slit. He moved up one side and then down the other, glancing up at her on occasion, though she often missed his gaze as her own eyes were torn between staying shut and looking down at him.

What a sight to see, Rick Grimes with his face buried between her legs, her wetness dribbling down his chin. Nayna threw her head back and laughed, which only made him curl his arms around her thighs even more.  

His tongue danced and flicked over her clit and she rose to meet his mouth. He chuckled, sending vibrations into her core, bumping her closer and closer to the peak.

“Please,” she said. “Just…suck…”

“Mmm,” he agreed.

She shuddered. “Please, Rick.”

He wrapped his lips around her clit and used his tongue to massage the hood away.

“Yes!” she cried, raising up on her elbows. “Like that…touch my…rub my nipples. Please.”

He obliged, tugging at her nipples in rhythm to his tongue. Her back arched, pressing her tits harder into his hands and she wrapped her thighs more securely around his head.

She let herself go completely, losing herself to the swirling of his tongue. Her orgasm hit her hard and fast and she thrashed against his face, crying out, not giving a fuck if they heard her on the street. Fuck it, it was her first orgasm in almost three fucking years. She fucking deserved it. And it was with Rick, so double fuck it.

She was like jelly in his arms, and if he hadn’t been holding her so tight, she would have fluttered to the floor like a piece of paper. He helped her back onto the bed and lay on his side, stroking her skin, rubbing her down like a skittish filly.

When she finally came to, she opened her eyes and giggled at Rick smiling down at her.

She nodded down to his pants. “Why are you dressed while I’m naked?”

“I’ll fix that,” Rick said. He grinned and reached for his belt, but Nayna swatted his hands away.

She worked his belt off. “I’ll fix it.”

He lifted his hips, allowing her to take his pants and shorts off. She bit her lip as he sprang out at her and tentatively she wrapped her fingers around him and pumped her hand up and down. His thigh muscle tensed up underneath her other hand as he let out a long breath and closed his eyes. She grinned to herself and bent down to take him in her mouth.

He groaned and splayed his hand on the side of her face, allowing her to map the length of his dick with her lips a few times, before pushing her off and rolling her backwards, looming in above.

“Why?”

He kissed her neck, running his tongue along her throat. “I want to be inside of you.”

She felt a giddy sense of excitement as he climbed on top of her, knocking her knees open with his legs. It was finally going to happen. She wasn’t dreaming, she wasn’t lost in her own fantasy.

The feel of his skin against hers nearly made her melt. He was fulfilling a craving she didn’t even know she had. She skimmed her fingers up and down the broadness of his back, coming up to grasp his shoulders and then back down over his arms. She allowed herself to tug on his chest hair and was rewarded with a soft moan that touched a place in her heart she thought she buried long ago.

His lips captured hers and as he lowered himself, she felt him pressing against the soft fluff of her pubic hair. Readjusting, she lifted her hips, rubbing herself on him, making him groan against her mouth. As she rose again, the soft hairs on his chest rubbed her sensitive nipples, sending more tingles throughout her body.

“Rick,” she whispered. “I want you, Rick fucking Grimes.”

He laughed. “I want you.”

She nodded her assent and he positioned himself at her entrance. Her already pounding heart beat faster, threatening to slam right out of her chest. Nayna found herself running her fingers along his shoulders and biceps in nervous anticipation. She opened herself up further and waited, biting on her lip.

He nudged his way inside of her, just the very tip, making her writhe and squirm as he slanted away. When he came forward again, he pushed himself just a little deeper, and then withdrew at the same gruelingly slow pace. He teased her this way for several more strokes, until she had fully enveloped him and his pelvic bone lay against hers. While it was a snug fit, and Rick had to work his way inside of her, nothing had ever felt more right.

As if he read her thoughts, he stopped and bent down to kiss her. He stroked the hair from her face and traced his fingertips over her jaw, down her neck and along her collarbones. Those little touches almost brought her as much pleasure as he did inside of her. There was more than longing behind each kiss. It was as if Rick was trying to say all the things he’d never said to her in those kisses.

Briefly, she remembered an article saying that when a man loved a woman, there was no greater gift he could give her than himself. It made her smile before she parted her lips to allow Rick’s tongue inside. Together like this, she felt whole and safe. And playful, something she hadn’t felt in a long while.

Every so often she would adjust her hips and he would groan into her mouth. Soon it became a game between the two of them. Him holding back and her trying to get him to moan louder. Eventually, pleasure won out and Rick drew his cock in and out of her, kissing her exposed throat when she threw her head back.

His thrusts came at a faster pace with him unable to hold back any longer. Not that she minded. The harder he slammed into her, the more pleasure jolted through her body, bringing her closer to a second orgasm. She wrapped her legs around his hips, dragging him in closer, though he would never be close enough for her.

“Nayna,” he whispered. “Nayna!”

His hips slapped into her and with one particularly forceful buck, he sent her over the edge, making her clench around his cock. As she convulsed around him, he came too; and in the midst of his spasms, with his warmth coursing into her, he grunted. “I…love…you.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she took in his red face. She smiled and rubbed her knuckles along his freshly shaven jaw, sighing as he turned to kiss them, though his eyes never left hers. She knew exactly what he wanted her to say aloud.

“I know you do,” she said, pulling him down for another toe-curling, orgasm inducing kiss. “And I love you…Dumbass.”

Hx�<;�