#this drawing is old but I still LOVE the way Cable's arm came out

[manicpixiemeatboy]

Old bitches in love ft. intersex Deadpool and transmasc Cable.

[liz-allyn]

heat of the moment, pt 3: (500) days of suffer [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]

summary: get ready to die hard. again. and again. and again. angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - "mystery spot"

words: 6.2k

warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly. in this chapter: tw gore, blood, burns, smut (but not really graphic), body horror, s*lf h*harm, su*c*de

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

Peter looked over at you and the way your tiny legs carried you a nose ahead of his pace down the sidewalk. “Bug, why’ya walkin’ so fast?” he asked.

Your gaze was focused straight ahead of you, brow furrowed with determination. “Because Gouda needs meds and 45 minutes of vigorous exercise, and no matter how much his owner watches Cesar Milan, nothing will ever change that.”

He picked up his pace, and had to skip just to keep up with you. “Say what now?” he said, puzzled.

“Watch your step!” you admonished him as you approached a crosswalk. You halted at the stop signal, putting a hand protectively over Peter’s chest as the tour bus sped past you. “This sidewalk is a minefield.”

He blinked, confused. “Why are we even going this way? When you told me you were skipping work, I thought we could get some breakfast—”

“No breakfast,” you sternly replied. “Other plans.” 

Peter watched you quietly, concern drawing lines across his features. It was clear he was dissatisfied with how curt you were being towards him this morning, especially when he seemed so needy, but you didn’t budge. 

You were on a mission.

“Bug, as much as I love storming down Lexington with you in unpenetrable silence, it would really help me out if I understood—?”

“I’m looking for someone.” 

You sounded frustrated, but he wasn’t sure why. “Who?”

The light to cross changed. “The girl who got me killed in the first place,” you declared, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

You glanced both ways, even as the crowd began to move ahead and around you, before you stepped down into the crosswalk. Peter stared blankly as he watched you go, still processing what you said.

“Wait—what?” he blurted, rushing up behind you. “What are you talking about?”

“Watch out!” you snapped, gripping his arm and yanking him to the side of a puddle near the curb. You pointed at the puddle, reprimanding him. “Live wire!”

He stepped to the side, his eyes following the path of your finger, until he saw the frayed bit of cable from the base of an old lamppost. 

When he looked back up at you, he stared incomprehensibly. “How did you know that was there?”

You rolled your eyes, continuing down the sidewalk. “I’m in a time loop, Peter,” you sighed.

“A time loop?” he repeated.

“A time loop.”

“Like in Groundhog Day?”

You groaned, “Yes. Whatever that means.”

“What?” His jaw dropped, staring incredulously. “Really? How have you not seen—?”

“I haven’t had time to watch it!” you snapped bitterly, causing him to pull back. “I’m sure it’s a real fucking hoot.”

He quirked a brow towards you. “Someone woke up on the wrong side—”

“Of your dick this morning?” you glared over at him. His cheeks turned rosy as you levelled your finger. “That’s hilarious, Parker. Really. “

He let out a nervous laugh, his shoulders hunching a bit. “How did you know—?”

“It’s the sixteenth time you’ve said it,” you replied.

“Hold up, so you’re saying you’ve had this conversation sixteen times?”

“You’ve made that joke sixteen times. I’ve had this conversation twenty-three times.” Your eyes drifted ahead as you spoke and you came to a sudden halt.

“There!” You grabbed Peter by the shoulder and pointed to the thin woman with stringy hair. She moved down the sidewalk as you had seen her in days past, floating unseen through the world like a ghost. Her eyes were cast down and she cocooned herself in clothes that didn’t fit her. Observing her, you noticed for the first time how sunken in her eyes looked. Combined with her pale skin, she looked like death. 

“Who is that?” Peter questioned curiously.

“The grim reaper,” you scoffed. “Like, a tragically pretty grim reaper.” You gestured for him to follow you as you began stalking towards the woman. “This bitch,” you declared, “has gotten me shot. She’s gotten me electrocuted. She’s gotten me hit by a train. This bitch has killed me nineteen times—she’s gotta be the key to this.”

“She’s trying to kill you?” he repeated, shaking his head as he observed her. “But she’s so tiny? Why?”

“Who cares,” you replied coldly. “This time, I’m gonna kill her first.”

A hand suddenly gripped your arm tightly, as your boyfriend pulled you back towards him, the humor vanished from his eyes. “Whoa! Time out, time out... Let’s... talk about this?”

“I don’t have time to talk about this!” you raised your voice. “I don’t have the luxury of having time left! I’m ending this. Now.”

You moved to yank away from him, but he held you more firmly. He dragged your gaze towards his, speaking with measured breaths between hushed tones. “Listen to yourself, you don’t even sound like you right now—”

“Who do I sound like, then?” you snapped, burning with frustration and pent up rage. “You?”

When you saw his reaction, you realized it would’ve been kinder if you had just slapped him. Your jaw fell slightly agape as you measured the weight of the words that had fallen sloppily— hastily, cruelly—from your lips. Peter’s face was grim like the scene of a crime, the evidence of an unkind act of betrayal shattering him.

It was a tearful, late night confession a couple of years before that had illuminated knowledge about his period of darkness. It happened long after he’d met you. But not long after you discovered he was Spider-Man. Shortly after he promised no more secrets from you. The same night he realized he couldn’t live without you. And immediately after he told you he didn’t deserve you. 

Once he started telling you the stories, they didn’t stop. Each one removing a stone from his chest. Fueled by grief, and fresh bloodshed, and three whole bottles of Jack, and so much guilt, you felt like it was a wonder Peter ever got out of bed at all. 

As he predicted, you were devastated to hear about the period of time he stopped pulling his punches. Not by shame, however. But by how one person could bottle up so much pain. 

You let him cry into your lap as if he were a child, and you stroked his hair and rubbed his back, and swore that you’d never let him anguish in that pain again. Not alone.

And yet here it was again, smeared across his face. His brown eyes stinging. Nauseated, his complexion paled from it. He swallowed hard, the pieces of his heart feeling like glass in his chest. He was once again that caged animal. Once again, that monster. Again, he was alone.

Peter removed his hands from your arms, somewhat mechanically, as he fixed his dark eyes to the ground. Concealing a sniffle, he locked his jaw in place, unable to look at you.

“Peter,” you breathed, desperate to take the words back.

“It’s fine,” he said, shortly. He turned away from you, towards the crosswalk ahead. 

“No, Peter, please, just wait—”

Then, you both looked up with surprise to see your Grim Reaper. She stood with her back towards you, her gaze fixed on the rush of traffic ahead of her. Head up, shoulders back, she stepped off of the curb into the crosswalk. Right into the path of the city tour bus from one of your earlier demises.

“Wait!” Peter shouted as the two of you watched the space close between the woman and the bus. She was feet away from meeting the same fate as you. 

In that moment, you felt sympathy for her, remembering the sensation of your ribs piercing your lungs. 

The next moment, Peter lifted a wrist and aimed a web at her back. He yanked and pulled the tiny woman from the road, whipping her back into his arms.

The next moment, you saw the bus swerve suddenly. Overcorrecting. Tires wailing against the pavement. Hopping the curb. Careening into the sidewalk. A hot dog stand vendor retreating out of the path of the bus as his cart goes flying. 

It tumbles through the air. 

You look up at the cart as it flies above you. 

Contents spilling out.

Boiling water. Falling. 

Drenching you in blistering, searing waves.

You screech as your skin bubbles up and peels instantly under the 200 degrees Fahrenheit temperature of the water.

You can hear shouts and screams around you. A mix of voices of stunned witnesses, a horrified hot dog vendor, and even the Grim Reaper herself. And of course, you could hear the love of your life shrieking desperately. 

You could hear him, but your eyelids were melted shut.

The pain was unbearable. This was probably the worst way to go, you thought. And unlike other times, you hoped it would end quickly. Except that you’d deeply regret that the last thing Peter will remember you for is calling him a murderer.

The pain is unbearable. You step backwards blindly. You figure you have it coming this time.

Just your luck. You step right into a puddle, next to a lamppost.

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

“You’re in what now?” Peter questioned incredulously, walking side by side with you down the sidewalk.

“A time loop.”

“Like in—”

“Yes, Peter,” you sighed, wandering aimlessly. If anything, you were more tired this Tuesday. “Exactly like Groundhog Day. And no, it’s not deja vu, like a glitch in The Matrix. It’s a time loop.”

“How’d you know I was gonna—?”

“Because you always reference some scifi movie that I’ve never seen.”

“What?” His jaw dropped, staring incredulously. “Really? How have you not seen—?”

The sound of your phone vibrating interrupted the tense conversation. He noted you made no attempt to answer it, continuing on your warpath. 

“Who is that?” Peter asked.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s Kim.”

At once, his face lit up. “Your mom?” he replied, jumping in front of you, blocking your march. “Cool, you should answer it!”

Stopping, you shot him a look, and he immediately sobered his reaction. “Why would I do that?”

“Um... I... dunno,” he shrugged, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Other pedestrians swarmed past you, forking where you obstructed their path. “You guys... don’t really talk that much, I was jus’... thinkin’— I dunno, it’s weird that she’s calling you, right?” 

You eyed him suspiciously as he glanced around the sidewalk, suddenly appearing uncomfortable in his own skin. 

“Hey, do you want coffee?” he deflected. “I need some caffeine, especially if we’re gonna live through this day multiple times. I’m gonna get us some coffee. Almondmilk Latte, right? I’ll see if they have lavender.”

Before you could attempt to argue or stop him, he disappeared into the coffee shop you’d stopped in front of. 

You stood by outside on the sidewalk, glaring indignantly. “Fucking toddler,” you groaned under your breath. Your pocket buzzed again. You felt your anger building up again. This time, you did the thing you had avoided up until this point.

You accepted the call, hesitantly putting the phone to your ear. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down, while also trying to spot the source of drilling noises from nearby construction. “Hi.”

A bright, cheery voice greeted you through the line. “Hi, honey! I didn’t think I’d get you—wasn’t sure if you were busy at school!”

You rolled your eyes. “Graduated two years ago, Kim.”

You heard your mother’s breath hitch, as if you could hear her bubbly nature deflating like a balloon. “Ugh,” she sheepishly responded, “you know I hate it when you call me that, honey.”

You glanced from side to side, suspiciously eyeing a flock of pigeons as they landed nearby. You were still on high alert that death could literally strike at any moment. “Y’know now’s not really a good time for me...” you sighed, trying to ease yourself out of the awkward call.

“No, no, I get it,” your mother quickly replied, returning to her more positive tone. “I know you’re busy. But—hey, the reason I called is that I was thinking of coming into the city on Saturday. Um... I... wanted to see if you were available to get together? For dinner? Or lunch?” 

Now you were the one holding your breath.

Saturday. This Saturday. 

Saturday seemed like a fantasy. Something so far away from reality, it might as well have been a fairy tale. A carrot on the end of a string. A cruel joke at your expense. 

How could you think of Saturday, when you were fighting to make it to Wednesday?

“Maybe you could invite that boyfriend of yours,” she added, the smirk evident in her voice. “Peter, right? It’d be nice to finally meet him.”

You bit down on your tongue so hard you could taste blood. It was a taste you were becoming accustomed to. You felt the blood in your veins practically boiling. Another familiar feeling, in a literal sense.

Weeks in between text messages, months in between calls. Never once has the idea of taking an interest in something you cared about crossed into conversation. What would it matter, you wondered—nothing you cared about was ever good enough for her anyway.

The resentment was too much to hold back, seeping into your voice. “Are you serious? Why would you want to meet Peter?” you practically spat. “We’ve been together for over a year and now you want to meet him?”

You heard her huff. This was the reaction between you two, always, no matter what variables were in play. You were a volatile mix, you would explain to your boyfriend. 

“Well,” you noted the shift in her tone, tension building, “I’d say that’s serious, right? Not like the others.” 

You flinched at her casual mention of your past failed romantic relationships. That one word was meant to summarize years of therapy and difficulty letting Peter into your heart. Like it wasn’t the reason you rose early and stayed up late, filling your time with the dogged pursuit of your career aspirations. Pursing a Master’s. Climbing a ladder made up of people that didn’t look like you. Devoting your energy to making sure that you were never nothing again, even if you were alone.

Peter wasn’t the only one with baggage or built up walls. 

“I just feel like I should get a chance to meet him,” your mother babbled on, oblivious to her poor word choice and also to the fact that she caught you on The Worst Day Ever. “Don’t I get a say since he’s practically part of the family now?”

Your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up. “What on God’s Green Earth makes you think that I would want that?” you hissed, your aggravation boiling over, spewing venom into the phone’s mic. “Are you fucking kidding me? What makes you think that I would want Peter to be a part of this family?”

You rounded on your heel and came to a halt. There in front of you, was the devil in question, holding a coffee cup in each hand and his broken heart on his sleeve. Once again, not even battle scars and knife wounds could be as painful as your careless words. 

You stood there forever, gazing into his chocolate eyes, witnessing the storm clouds brewing there. His brow creased, and his lip hung loose, and his arms slowly dropped, as if he’d lost the strength in his body. You held the phone to your ear and could hear your mother arguing in the distance, but it was drowned out by the sound of Peter’s heart breaking.

You did that to him. You hurt him. You. You always do. And you always will. 

“Pete...” you breathed, aghast and unable to explain yourself properly.

He shut his mouth, locking his jaw. The pain burned away from his features and left a stone expression behind. You pulled the phone away from your ear and opened your mouth, but he was already retreating. Angrily, he turned on his heel and began pacing back down the street, disrupting the flock of pigeons.

“Peter, wait!” you called after him, the phone call forgotten. Your voice bounced off the glass buildings around you and caught the attention of pedestrians, but it didn’t slow his pace. You bounded behind him, embarrassed. “Pete, I didn’t mean that—”

“Nah, no need. I got it,” he icily chuckled, his deep frustration coming out in the form of his sharp Queens accent. “Made ya’point pretty clear, didn’t ya?”

“No, wait, I can explain,” you cried.

“I don’t wanna hear it!” he shot back.

“Just wait—please, look at me for one second.”

He stopped walking, but hesitated, throwing his head back in frustration. With pursed lips, he finally obliged, turning to face you. 

He was met with horror, right as an 8-foot length of rebar, knocked loose by a pigeon looking for a place to land, fell from the scaffolding above and impaled you from neck to ankle. The force of the skewering jolted you back a couple of inches as the rebar buried itself into the concrete. It was if you were speared in place, forced to look upon the stunned confusion and growing distress on Peter’s blood-splattered face. 

You felt your legs lose their balance. You couldn’t fall backwards or to the side. Instead, you slid down the length of the rebar, your blood and ruptured organs lubricating your kebab. 

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT

Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant...”

You gasped, reaching for your shoulder where the rebar had pierced your torso. Sweat covered your neck, chest heaving with the phantom ache of feeling your insides slice open. 

“The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

You sat up in your covers, eyes wild and filling with furious tears. You glared at the clock radio. The music flowed at an obnoxious volume as it swallowed you up and spit you out into another Tuesday. 

It was all too much. There was an ache in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was caused by the rebar, or the terror of your current living nightmare, or the agony of watching the man you loved more than anything being destroyed again.

“Mornin’, Sunflower!” the devil in question rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, Peter Parker’s head poked around the corner.

You gazed at him, your vision going blurry. Hot tears formed in your eyes and spilled down your face. In the blur, you could see his expression change as he noticed your distress. “Bug?” he questioned.

You gazed at him. Helpless. And then you launched yourself off of the bed, exploding into a growling, rageful tantrum. You tore the clock radio off the nightstand, ripping the cord from the socket, and hurled it into the drywall. Peter flinched with a stunned expression as the device smashed to pieces.

He looked back at you, horrified. You stalked over to the bedroom wall where your gold-and-pink embossed desk calendar hung up beneath an intricate, gold-leaf cursive decal. You glared up at the letters above the calendar, as together, they mocked you:

SEIZE THE DAY

You seethed, glaring at it like some cursed object. Peter wouldn’t have known this, but to you, it was a pointless relic. 

With narrow eyes, you peered at each enlarged square filled with rows of your elegant handwriting. Scribbled on every line of a plentiful, packed schedule of events that didn’t matter which you would never attend. 

He half expected the calendar to burst into flames with the way you were staring at it. He opened his mouth, just to be cut off by your shriek. You tore the calendar from the wall, hissing and grunting, shredding each page of the calendar with your fingers. 

When you were finished with the calendar, you moved to the corner desk, ripping the items off. Your pencil cup, a letter organizer, your mousepad, your wireless keyboard. You lifted the laptop in the air and smashed it on the desk, obliterating it. 

“Whoa!” Peter shouted, startled and now prompted to action. “Hey, hey, what’s happening? What’s wrong—?”

“It’s a joke!” you screamed. “It’s all a fucking joke!” You grabbed the edge of your tiny writing desk and flipped it. You toppled your desk chair right after it. You were like a tornado, tearing through the bedroom, yanking on drawers and turning your room upside down. 

“Bug, just calm down—”

“This is all a joke!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face. “My entire life is a joke! This day and every single day that came before it! It’s all nothing! It’s just bullshit! It’s bullshit!”

Peter held his hands towards you, trying hopelessly to placate you. “Okay, okay, just slow down, we can figure this—”

“I’ve already figured it out!” you screamed back, stalking towards the opposite nightstand. You knew that Peter kept a knife in the bottom drawer. A switchblade swiped from one of his captured criminals, kept for emergency use only. 

Usually, it’s primary purpose was to slice through unruly webs when testing or repairing his webshooters. 

You had a different use for it now. “I’m fucking ending it!” you hissed, reaching for the bedside drawer.

Peter snapped to attention. “No, wait!”

You yanked the drawer open, pausing as your eyes landed on an unfamiliar object. 

Your brow furrowed as you observed a tiny velvet box, taking it into your hand. Curiously, you opened it. 

Inside, a ring with a single, glittering, colored solitaire gemstone. It dazzled you with a sparkle that caught in the morning light. Not just any gemstone. Your favorite. 

Its meaning unmistakable. 

Your mouth fell open, the breath being carried from your chest. Glancing up, you looked back to Peter, who stood anxiously on the other side of the room, running a hand through his dark wet locks. His face was rosy pink, flushed with embarrassment and spoiled plans.

He sighed, with a pointed lack of courage. ”I.... Um... This... uh, this-this isn’t how I wanted this to go.” 

The tension melted out of your body as you gazed at him, dumbfounded. He shuffled his weight between his feet, wrapping his arms in front of his bare chest. He was twitchy and nervous, like an eighth grader called upon in English class to read a poem. 

He was so gentle, you thought. So full of earnest hope. 

He slapped his giant hand down his face, groaning sheepishly. “Ugh, this is... That just happened. Okay.” You watched him turn and pace for a few strides, before pausing and planting his hands on his hips. “I - I had this planned,” he gave a shaky, soft chuckle. “And I wasn’t in a towel.” He briefly lifted his eyes up off the floor to meet yours. He was timid, like a deer who could be spooked at any minute.

He cleared his throat, “I was gonna wear a suit, uh... I-I had a dinner thing. A picnic by the Boathouse.” You vividly recalled the place in Central Park he was referencing. The site of your first date. 

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he continued, “I had a blanket and a basket, wine, cheese, little LED candles and these tiny string lights...” His mouth sounded dry as he gaze bounced from you to the floor, “And I was going to tell you to get dressed up because I had some fancy dinner at a restaurant planned, and then I was gonna tell you I got caught up because of Spider-Man stuff, and for you meet me by the Boathouse and you’d get there and I’d be there with the candles, and with the picnic all spread out, and flowers, and... then...”

His voice tapered off as he summoned all the strength in his heart to steady himself. You watched him with silent tears, the rage behind them having morphed into something tender, but equally painful. 

He looked so beautiful today, you thought: The smile on his face. The bounce in his step, and the light of his eyes. Golden amber eyes, filled with dreams. Hope for the future.

“I was gonna say this speech that I... I-I... for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was, but it was really nice. It was great.” Warmth that could outshine the morning sunlight filled his face, a boyish smirk softening the anxiety on his features. It was a look that made you smile every time. 

This time was no different. He responded to seeing the soft curve of your mouth, with another burst of joy that he struggled to contain behind his teeth. Peter’s smile was magnificent, but this was something else. It was like a rose blooming. Fireworks bursting. A thousand watts of light. 

He shyly added, a little more confident, but still carrying a hint of uncertainty, “And at the end of it... I was gonna ask... if I could spend the rest of my life with you?”

The pain was unbearable.

Your face crumpled. The spear lodged deeper. The hole in your heart grew wider. You looked down at the engagement ring in your hands, then turned back to him. 

Lip quivering, eyes watering, you squeaked out a single word. “Today?” 

The pain is unbearable. It’s unfair. Unfair to him. 

He observed you carefully, eyes locked on yours as if he were entranced. He nodded gently. “I know. Shoulda done it sooner,” he said with a half-smirk, but his tone implied earnestly that it wasn’t really a joke. 

It wasn’t a joke. This was hell. 

He didn’t deserve to be here. But you did.

You slammed your eyes shut with the finality of a coffin being sealed. Covered your mouth to swallow an agonized cry, the tears now cascading down your cheeks. Although uncertain of your reaction, he slowly moved towards you anyways, drawn into a magnetic field that needed to hold you. You needed to hold him. You wanted to hold on forever.

“Peter,” you choked out. His hands came up, cradling your face. 

“I’m tired,” he whispered, using his thumbs to wipe away tears he could not fully understand. “I’m tired of waiting... for more money, for our careers to take off, for this city to not need Spider-Man, or waiting for when I’ll finally feel like I deserve you, because I don’t think I ever will. I’m done waiting for the right time. It’s now. Now is the right time.”

You shook your head. Your body felt heavy, like you were going to collapse. 

He leaned in close, his voice barely above a breeze. “I don’t want to spend a single day without you in my life,” he dreamily stated, like a promise. A vow. One that you couldn’t reciprocate. 

“Peter,” you cried softly, gazing through blurry wet tears into the warmth of his eyes. 

He was so vulnerable. So eager. The memory of the times you’d broken his heart haunted you.

And then it was like a dam breaking. You pulled him into a kiss, your tongue invading his mouth. You were desperate for him. Desperate to console him. To heal wounds of past Tuesdays. Your fingers came up to grip the nape of his neck. You never wanted to let him go. 

But you had to tell him, didn’t you? You had to tell him that today was the last day of your life. It was the wrong day to promise anybody a lifetime of happiness. You had to tell him. 

But he was wrong about you. He wasn’t the one who was undeserving. It was you.

Selfishly, you breathed him into you, tasting the wonders of his mouth. Your fingers gripped his wet locks and he moaned into your mouth. He pulled away, his anxiety on his lips and a question weighing on his mind—the one you hadn’t answered.

“Please, don’t say anything,” you mumbled, your fingernails trailing into the flesh of his neck. He hissed at the sensation. It was rougher than you intended it to be. But you were getting used to pain. You wanted to share it as much as you wanted to escape it.

You kissed him, invading his mouth once again. “Please, just kiss me, Peter, please...” His shoulders relaxed as his tongue explored yours, a different kind of tension taking over his body. You felt his hand grip the back of your head, fingers twisting into your hair. You sucked and bit his soft lips, abusing the flesh. 

“Just stay here with me,” you moaned as you felt his hands travel down your back and thighs. You pressed your hips into his. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t ever want to leave. Just-just let’s stay here forever. Please.”

His breath hitched as you attacked the skin of his neck. He felt achingly hard beneath the towel, you pressed your warmth up against him. You climbed up until your legs wrapped around his waist like a serpent. You were the Tree of Knowledge, filled with lust, and truth, and the horror Tuesdays past. You wanted to intoxicate him. You wanted to protect him. You wanted to feel him. 

“Stay with me,” you gasped, your tongue skinning him. “Just touch me, please.”

As swiftly as the bullet fired from your least favorite officer’s gun, Peter scooped you up in his grip. Your back landed against the firm mattress, springs creaking beneath you, and Peter climbed on top of your body.

The world became a feverish blur. Fingers gripping. Nails biting. Teeth scraping. Every gasp met with a breathless sigh. Every pleasure-filled moan met with an aching cry. Soft caresses. Vicious kisses. Haphazard gropes in between the rhythmic percussion of thrusts. 

You could tell he wanted to slow down. He wanted to savor each moment as if he had plenty. He wanted to be gentle with you. To hold you as delicately and proudly as the precious metal held onto the solitaire gemstone of your engagement ring—still inside the box, discarded on the ground.

It didn't matter.

Peter was all you wanted. And as you doggedly pursued a building climax, you held onto him tightly. Each moment was worth more than any treasure on Earth. Each moment vanishing.”

“Harder,” you begged, “please, faster…”

The noise he responded with barely sounded human. A guttural groan through gritted teeth.

“Harder, please…”

“Don… wanna… hur’chu—“ he mumbled between labored breaths, his hands gripping the mattress on either side of your head. You swallowed his protests.

You wanted this to hurt. You welcomed the pain. “Please, Pete, harder,” you hotly whispered in his ear. “Harder!” You felt his thrusts deepen as he impaled your belly. “More! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” His hands curled beside you. He drove his hips further, moaning into your mouth.

Beneath the sound of panting, you heard the sound of metal creaking. Fabric tearing. Peter’s fingers dug into the mattress, and as the fabric gave way, blood splattered across his neck.

He gazes down at you. Confused. Stunned. He pulls back, face turning white. You watch his eyes fill with terror. Panic. Then your gaze falls downwards. A twisted, coiled wire from the box spring had erupted through your chest. The severed muscle walls of your heart gush blood. You hear Peter call out your name.

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

You lay limply, exactly where you died. Your eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant...”

Your chest throbbed and your body ached. 

“The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

Perhaps you were right after all, you thought. 

This was a joke. And, yes. This was also Hell.

This was a curse.

“Mornin’, Sunflower!” the devil in question rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, Peter Parker’s head poked around the corner. He found you sitting up in the bedsheets, staring pensively at the wall above your desk. Your eyes were fixed just above the calendar, on the wall decal. Gold-leaf, curvy letters proclaiming your mantra.

SEIZE THE DAY

You read it again. And again. Your eyes scoured it. Obsessed. 

“Bug?” Peter questioned, watching as you slowly rose out of the bed. You tip-toed gently across the bedroom floor and stopped at your writing desk, digging underneath for a medium-sized storage box. You came to a slow stand, placing the box on the table.

He watched from the doorframe as if he could hear gears in your head spinning. “Uh... you.... Okay?”

You lifted the lid off of the box, fingers digging inside.

“Sorry about the music,” he said sheepishly, glancing over at the retro clock as the synthesized, progressive pop-metal riffs of Asia flowed into a second verse. “I forgot about my alarm...”

You pulled an old photo album from the box. One he’d never seen before. “It’s probably not the most pleasant way to wake up,” Peter remarked, realizing finally that you weren’t even listening. “Babe?”

You opened the photo album your mother sent you two years ago. It was still in the box that it had been shipped in. You remembered scoffing as you opened the Christmas present, rolling your eyes, telling Peter that your mother gifting you a relic of your family history was all he needed to know about her.

You flipped past several pages and came to a stop. Peter slowly approached you, peering over your shoulder at a portrait of four women of different generations, sitting together on a plastic-wrapped couch. It was an awkwardly posed photo, with awful dated fashions and hairstyles. One of the photos taken at family gatherings where instead of a “happy memory,” you get “proof of life.” 

In the picture, there was you—which was obvious, because in many ways you looked the same as you did as a child. Then there was your mother, the woman he’d seen pictures of, but never met, and was only known as “Kim.” Beside her, an older woman who looked strikingly like your mother. A grandmother, Peter guessed.

In the center of the photo, right next to you, there sat the oldest woman. A white-haired old maid with dark circles underneath her tired eyes, faced scored with deep wrinkles. He inspected the photo closely, grimacing, uncertain if the woman being photographed was mentally present at the taking of the photo. 

Your gaze was transfixed on an object that sat in your great-grandmother’s arms. It was a tiny pillow, with an intricate embroidered design: A clockface, and the blocky-lettered words: TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE

You were alone in the living room, staring down at the cell phone in your hand. Peter was out of the apartment. You tasked him to bring back donuts, even though you wouldn’t eat any. Listeria was no joke. Besides, you needed the privacy.

Anxiously, you tapped your mother’s contact card, and put the phone to your ear.

After a few rings, you heard her silvery, bright tone. “Hi, honey! Were your ears burning? I was just about to call you! Isn’t that strange?”

“Hi,” you swallowed quietly. It was strange how you were struggling to find your voice. “Hey, Mom.”

“Listen— I wanted to tell you that I’m coming into the city this weekend. If you’re not busy with school, I figured we could catch up.”

You heard the sound of paper bags rustling. The memory of going to a farmers market with your mother popped in your head. You were eight. You told her you didn’t like pomegranate and she argued that you’d never had it before, and pomegranates were better than strawberries, and you were deeply offended by this. 

The ghost of a smile curled your lips briefly, and the memory faded away.

“Maybe we could get dinner, or lunch? Or maybe I can finally meet that boyfriend of yours?”

You considered the first time she’d asked, and considered the timing of the object hidden inside Peter’s nightstand, and suddenly things made sense.

“I know you’re both so busy, but… I think it would be nice to get to know him. And to see you. If you have time.”

You felt your eyes sting. Time was the one thing you had. Just not the right time.

“Yeah, um…I wanted to ask you a question,” you began with a trembling breath. You continued to hear the rustling of paper bags and rattling of canned goods on the other end of the phone. “Could Nana Manners actually see the future?”

The phone went silent as your mother went still. You could practically hear her purse her lips. “Who on earth told you that?” she laughed with a humorless scoff.

More silence. Through the phone, you could hear your mother’s heart beating like a drum.

“She did,” you replied. “The day she died.”

You waited for a laugh. Another scoff. Perhaps a snide remark that would borderline insult your intelligence. Instead, there was a heavy silence filled with a million unspoken things. 

“Don’t be silly,” your mother finally blurted. The clamor on the other end of the line made you wonder if she was doing origami with her paper bags. “You know that poor woman was ill.”

That was all you needed to hear.

Continue to Part 4

A/N: hey what’d you think? Tell me what you liked by reblogging and/or leaving a comment!

Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for supporting fandom writing.

[demonsandmischief]

Come Home To Me Part 2

Marvel - A Sam Wilson Imagine

Sam Wilson x Female Reader

1K Words

Here's Part 1

TFATWS Spoilers Kinda

-Part 2-

Finding you.

----

"This place is empty," Sam groaned miserably to Bucky into their earpiece. "I was prepped for full fire fight. It's just an abandoned warehouse."

"It doesn't look like anybody has been here in awhile," Bucky told him. "I've got some old newspapers, but that's about it."

Sam thoroughly went through every room in the basement. It was where you said you'd be, so why weren't you there?

"I'm sorry," Bucky said from behind him.

"I don't understand. Do you think she's okay? Does she even exist?"

It was hard to see Sam like this, a man normally so care-free and easy going. This had really taken a toll on him. It sucked that Bucky didn't have any answers for him.

"Maybe I remembered it wrong." Sam took a shaky breath, a million scenerarios running through his head.

"Hey," Bucky patted his back. "It's going to be okay."

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here, man. I know we don't always get a break." Sam shook his head, running his hand down his face.

"Don't worry about that," Buck said softly, observing the exhausted man in front of him. "Let's get out of here."

Sam stood from where he had been resting on the wall, a piercing pain flooding his temple as his vision went white. His knees buckled, and he released a startled yell.

"Sam."

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked, gripping his arm and helping him up.

"Please hurry."

Sam let out another groan of pain, reaching up to his head, "Do you hear that?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to find you, but you're not here," he yelled back to the voice, sending his foot into the wall with frustration.

Bucky furrowed his brows as he watched.

"They knew you were coming. They put me in a van, but didn't lock the door. I can jump out."

"Don't jump. Not until I get close." Sam didn't know how she was talking to him. Bucky was looking at him like he had grown another head.

"They took her in a van."

"I'm not sure I want to believe the man that just had a full ass conversation with himself."

"Shut up."

---

"You're Captain America?"

"You can see me? Bucky, that's the van, on third street." He said from the sky.

"Sam that street is an exit to the freeway. She's going to have to jump, otherwise other people are going to get caught in the mix. Are the people driving armed?"

"I don't think they'd drive a armored truck like that without some kind of weapon."

"There's two up front and three in the back with me. All with weapons."

The communication caused a dull ache in Sam's head. He was confused and scared. He'd never imagined having to rescue his soul mate, and it added a whole other vulnerability factor.

"How the hell were you planning on jumping if there's three in the back with you?"

"What's the plan, Sam? We're running out of time here."

Sam folding his wings slightly, allowing him to get closer, "You get the back and I'll get the front. On my count."

He knew Bucky never waited for his count. He had already launched himself into the van, yanking on the metal handles that opened up too easily. The doors came right off their hinge, flying into the busy street with sparks and chaos.

"My bad," Bucky yelled, jumping off.

Sam used Redwing to take out the drivers. The vehicle crashed full force into a lamp post with a metallic crunch.

He landed on his feet, eager to see who was inside.

Two large men staggered out disoriented, but, guns raised.

"There must be one still in there. We need to make sure he doesn't try to take off."

Bucky nodded, "I'll deal with these two. You go."

"He's waiting for you. Be careful."

There was a lot of smoke, and a sickening smell of gasoline.

"What exactly does Captain America want with our van," a greasy man sneered, blocking something or someone in the corner.

Sam squinted as his eyes adjusted to the low light. "If I wanted the van, I wouldn't have crashed it."

"You need to draw him out. You can't do anything if she's cornered in there," Bucky told him in his ear.

"My hands are tied, but I can kick him from behind. Let me take him. You grab the gun."

You really wanted to fight. He couldn't help but smile slightly at the eagerness. It was kind of adorable.

"You're a smartass and you need to get out," the man growled, pointing his gun and forcing Sam backwards toward the opening.

The man stumbled forward, and Sam took it as an opportunity to get the weapon. They struggled for a moment, and the triggered was pulled in the process, sending bullets ricocheting off the metal walls like a pinball machine.

"Shit," Sam yelled. He hoped you were okay.

Bucky snapped the gun in half, knocking the guy out in one clean punch. He threw the pieces on the ground. He stared darkly at Sam, silently asking him why he was such an idiot. "Should we be worried about more coming?"

"Yes," you spoke up for the first time. "The warehouse was full of them."

Sam walked hesitantly to the corner. Your hands were tied behind your back and around the seat, preventing you from moving.

"Now I really want to know how you were planning on jumping."

You shrugged with a smile, "I could have figured out a way."

Sam smiled back, working quickly to free your hands. "I'm Sam Wilson."

"Y/N, Y/L/N," you copied. "Thank you for getting me out of here."

---

He winced when he saw how raw your wrists were. "I have a lot of questions, but let's get going first."

Here's Part 3

Thoughts? I'm not an action writer so I was scared for this.

Tag List: @superwholockruleztheworld @imiiimargo @hiuahoe @idunnomayn @cable-kenobi @nialeesato @bklynxbaby @wolflover384  @mytbel0st @burnalley @heyarely16 @lilithknight1111  @loveyou5everr @yougottalovefandoms @lets-love-little-me @cxlpxrnia @taleah 

[mi6-cafe]

THE FINAL DRABBLES ARE IN!

COME READ THEM AND DECIDE WHOSE IS THE BEST, BETTER THAN ALL THE REST!

But first, what was the prompt again?

Our writers had to use the phrase “be careful what you fish for” in their 300-word drabbles verbatim. 

See the drabbles below the line and VOTE!

(Image description: James Bond off on a fishing expedition)

But how, mods, how do we vote? you ask.

Step 1: Read the drabbles, making notes along the way.

Step 2: Pick three favourites and vote for them in the VOTING FORM while adding feedback for others if you so choose!

Step 3: Profit! (Because it’s all anonymous and even the writers you didn’t vote for end up getting your lovely feedback and it makes them so happy!)

You have until Sunday at 8:59 9.m. PST/11:59 p.m. EST/3:59 a.m. UTC to cast your vote.

Now, come READ&VOTE! (You can also read on wordpress for nicer formatting)

#1

Title: Compliments Author: sunaddicted Warnings: explicit flirting Summary: Q wasn't expecting to hear such a compliment

Seeing Silva bent down over his computer still sent a thrill down Q's spine; despite the fact that the man had become a more or less permanent fixture in Q-Branch, it didn't mean that the adrenaline kick he got out of facing the former rogue agent had gotten any weaker.  

"That's some of my best work."

"Is it."

Q swallowed as he went to stand by the other man, peering down at the lines of code that Silva was studying with the kind of keen eye that made Q squirm, feeling naked even when Silva was looking at his work rather than directly at him.

Though, what was his work if not an extension of his being?

"Are you fishing for compliments, Quartermaster?"

Saying his title in such a caressing and satiny voice should have been made illegal. "Do I need to?" Q tried to ignore the hint of neediness in his voice, even as the flush he could feel blooming up his neck surely betrayed him. He couldn't help it: in his life, he had only met a man who was his equal - better, he had only met a man who could code circles around him, pushing him to do better; to think faster; to outgrow himself. It was exciting.

Raoul slowly turned around, a smirk already painted on his lips. "You have a great arse I would like to bend over this sturdy desk of yours."

"Wh- what?!"

The blonde bent down, lips ghosting against the shell of Q's ear in a caress that was barely there. "Be careful what you fish for, Quartermaster," Silva reached down and closed his hand on the other's hip in a steadying manner, fingers digging into the jutting bone there "You never know what kind of compliment will get thrown your way."

#2

Title: A Fine Kettle Author: Anyawen Warnings: none Summary: LIke shooting fish in a barrel, really.

"This isn't what I had in mind when I said I needed an exit," Bond groused as his feet squelched in his ruined shoes. He'd never get the stink of fish out of this suit. He'd be lucky to scrub it off his skin.

"Well, you know what they say, 007. Be careful what you fish for," Q said, snorting at his own joke as Bond groaned.

"Don't even start, Q," Bond growled. Well. Tried to growl. If it came out as an amused whine Q was polite enough not to call attention to it.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Q said primly. "I found you an exit and left your adversaries floundering. You didn't even pull a mussel."

"I've endured torture more pleasant than—"

"Stop your carping; you’re giving me a haddock."

Bond inhaled slowly. Exhaled.

"What will it take to make you stop?"

"You'll have to shell out more than a few clams."

"Q," Bond begged. Yes. Begged. And yet, he knew that if he were standing in front of a mirror right now his reflection would be grinning. Q's jokes were terrible, and his puns were worse, but hearing him so lost in his amusement was a glorious thing.

"Bring all of your gear back for a start. No losing or breaking anything just for the halibut."

"I'll do my best," Bond promised.

"And dinner."

"I beg your pardon?" Bond asked, shocked. He'd been asking the Quartermaster to dinner for weeks.

"You need time to mullet over. That's fine. Just let minnow."

"Yes, Q. Obviously, yes."

"Excellent. I'm thinking sushi."

Bond couldn't help the laugh that slipped out. He could hear Q's smug grin.

"Just squidding," Q said, then hurried to add, "About the sushi. Not about dinner. And dessert. And afters."

"Afters?"

"Cuttles."

#3

Title: Retrieval Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: none Summary: Q knew it had never been about her

Q came upon Dr Madeleine Swann serenely fishing from the riverbank. “Got one,” she announced, before handing the rod to him and walking away. Bemused, Q tugged, and the fish leapt from the murky river into his hand, scales flowing like water to engulf his entire arm. Face to face, it gave him a toothy grin.

“Be careful what you fish for,” it snickered as the trees around him exploded with gobbets of blue flame. Q dove into the river to escape and was dragged deeper, drowning, webbed hands holding him tight.

He flailed awake to a bed stained green with murky water, strands of river weed draped about. The windows were wide open, moonlight making the wet marks on the floor glisten.

“James?” he whispered. There was no answer. Not since James had taken the damn car and driven off. But there had been enough clues.

----

He took the river road, heading north. Every bridge was washed-out, every access to his destination blocked. He finally came upon an old-style ferry, its raft drawn along a heavy cable strung across the river.

The old raftman eyed him, then shrugged. Halfway across, the raft slowed as if hung up on something. The ferryman cursed and stamped his boot on the boards. As the raft drifted free again, he gave Q a wry look. “Hope you know what you’re about, lad.”

----

The waterhorse waited for him at the loch edge, burning eyes watching him warily as he approached.

“I never believed you left for her,” he said, tangling his hands in the wet mane. “And all the warnings of all the fair folk in the world couldn't keep me away.” He swung astride and held on. “You can either drown me or come home with me, James. It’s up to you, now.”

#4

Title: Gone Fishing Author: Hexiva Warnings: None Summary: Alec is just trying to have a nice vacation. James has other plans.

Alec is fishing. He’s taken some much-needed vacation time after a knife to the leg on his last mission, and he’s chosen to go to Jamaica, in part because of how James’ face falls when he learns Alec is going without him. James loves Jamaica. Alec, for his part, loves having anything that James can’t have. The sky is blue. The ocean is a beautiful shade of blue-green. Alec lets his line dangle down into the warm water, and leans back in his boat with a sigh of contentment. And then the peace of the summer day is shattered as the water erupts, and a black-clad figure in scuba gear surges up out of the sea, gasping, and clambers into Alec’s boat, almost upsetting it. Alec’s hand flies to his gun, but before he can draw it, the diver pulls off his mask and reveals James’ familiar face. James is bruised and bleeding, and he gasps out, “Near miss. Good thing you were here.” “What the hell are you doing here?!” Alec demands. “I’m on vacation, James!” “Underwater base,” James explains, pointing down into the depths of the ocean. “Spying on our submarines. Blew it up and escaped.” “How do you do it, James?” Alec says, acidly. “How is it that no matter where you go - no matter where I go - there always seems to be some madman with an increasingly improbable scheme gunning for you? Can’t I have one vacation to myself?” It’s not James’ company he minds. It’s that this was supposed to be something he could take away from James. A chance to one-up the always charming James Bond. “Well, Alec,” James said, leaning in with his charming smile. “You know what they say. Be careful what you fish for.” “I hate you,” Alec said, with feeling.

#5

Title: Dare to Wish Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: A very nice welcome-home.  

"Are you going to put away that blasted machine?" Bond asked, not even looking away from his skilled cooking.  

"Hm?" Q hummed distractedly, not ceasing his typing.  

"Your laptop, darling," Bond complained, making 'darling' sound more like a demand than an endearment.   "Hm." The typing never faltered.  

Bond reduced the heat on one of the other pans that he was juggling on the stove. "I was gone for over a month," he grumbled. "I even dared to hope that you were looking forward to seeing me again."  

Q smiled, and the typing slowed. "One minute, and I'll be all yours, and yet you'll still be giving your attention to our dinner."  

Bond couldn't help but grin. "What's so terribly important anyway?"  

"Oh, just some matter of national security that I'd like off the table before we eat."  

Bond laughed. "Bare feet, unbuttoned shirt, and saving the world. A marvel, you are."  

"One step up from working in my pyjamas," Q quipped.  

Bond sighed. "I'm never going to live that down, am I? What about the incident where you basically plugged Silva into our network?"  

Q pulled a face. "That was... my first week as Q, and I desperately wanted to prove myself, and I may have-"  

"Q," Bond interrupted. "I won't let you live it down, but I'm not holding it against you."  

Q smiled. "Thanks. I do, on very rare occasions, get insecure."  

"There's no need. Everyone knows how brilliant you are. And there's no need to be fishing for compliments."  

"Not tonight. I'm just... fishing for affection."  

His typing instantly stopped when a small box of unmistakable shape was put in front of him.  

Bond caught his eyes and smiled. "Be careful what you fish for."  

Q's breath stuck in his throat, and his eyes lit up. "Never."

#6

Title: A Fishy Companion Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: Bond makes friends with a merman

“Bond,” said the creature, his tone quite serious.

Bond merely grunted as he continued to mend his nets. He would not even look at the creature as he swam around him in the shallow water, his movements graceful. A bloody merman, for god’s sake. He’d found him tangled in his nets after a fishing expedition some way from the island and the merman, having been rescued, refused to leave Bond’s side ever since.

Now he queried: “Why is the fisherman so stingy?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not,” said Bond brusquely.

The merman replied, “Because his work made him sell-fish.”

Bond closed his eyes briefly. He’d been a double-O agent— a bloody good one— once upon a time. So long ago, it seemed. Retirement on this remote Caribbean island, in a wooden house with its own small pier, had been something he’d dreamed of, until retirement became more like exile and solitude gave way to loneliness.

Until this.

Bond found himself smiling despite himself as the merman persisted, “Why did the fisherman start doing drugs?”

“I don’t know. Why did he?”

“Pier pressure.”

The merman was beautiful, with dark hair and large green eyes that gazed into his rather owlishly. For reasons of his own, he’d named him Q.

Bond looked away. “I think I need a massage,” he said, wincing as he flexed his biceps.

“Have you heard about the Sauna that serves food?” Q piped up. “Their specialty is steamed mussels.”

“Why you—” Bond laughed before he could stop himself. “I ought to have left you in the nets. That might have made you less talkative.”

The merman swam up to him and settled his head boldly on his lap.

“Be careful what you fish for,” said Q, smiling.

#7

Title: Go Fish Author: soufflegirl91 Warnings: adult humour Summary: Q Branch tech must be recovered no matter where the double-ohs lose it.

“Another bloody spoon,” Bond complained, releasing it from the magnet and tossing it on the pile building up at his feet. “How do people even lose spoons in a lake?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the same way you lose proprietary weaponry?”

“Q, for the last time, I didn’t-”

“Can we get any closer to the middle?” Q cut him off, tapping a few times on his tablet screen. “Maybe if we start at the deepest point and move outwards?”  

Bond sighed, dropping the line back into the boat with a clatter. He pulled the engine cord, and with a roar, they were moving.

“THIS SHOULD DO,” Q yelled over the din.

Bond brought them to a stop, but Q didn’t wait for the engine to die down before continuing:

“I’VE ACTIVATED THE HOMING BEACON. THE LAKE’S DEEPER THAN I’D LIKE, BUT I SHOULD GET A SIGNAL ONCE WE’RE-” the engine died down with a final splutter, leaving Q yelling, “DIRECTLY OVER IT - oh.”

“You don’t get out on the water much, do you?” Bond quirked a grin at his flustered Quartermaster, flinging out the line on the starboard side.

“I wouldn’t have to get out on the water at all, if you didn’t go throwing away rocket launchers like they were crisp packets. Bond, what are you doing? I haven’t got a signal, yet.”

“Signal or not, I’ve caught something.”

Bond pulled on the Q-branch reinforced line, trying to reel it in. Whatever the line had caught, it was heavy. Finally, his catch cleared the water line.

He stared.

“Is that a tentacle dil-?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Q cut in.

He giggled. Giggled. Bond had a terrible feeling he knew what was coming next.

“No. Don’t you dare say it.”

“Be careful what you fish for!”

#8

Title: Do I Really Want To Know? Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: none Summary: Mallory contemplates a recent mission and the behavior of agent and Quartermaster.

Mallory hadn't gotten to his present position without understanding the value of differing approaches to acquiring information. There were circumstances when a simple question was all that was required. There were others when a figurative bludgeon was necessary. That was more often the case when he had someone dead to rights and just wanted an admission. But when something was more delicate, a search for something he suspected but hadn't been able to prove, he needed the skills of a wily fisherman tricking a trout out from under a rock to rise to the bait.

It was unacceptable that his Quartermaster and 007 had gone off coms for eighteen hours. True, the mission was completed, but Bond's bad habits seemed to have rubbed off on Q. Interviewing both had been useless. 'Yes', 'no' and 'equipment failure' were the sum of the responses. Utterly respectful but complete obstruction from both.

They were hiding something and he was worried. Certainly, disloyalty was possible but he had thought better of both of them. There was a chime from his computer and he glanced at the incoming message from accounting. “Can we have some clarification on these charges, please? Uncertain whether these are mission related.”

Mallory scanned the receipts. A moderately expensive hotel suite, room service, and a concierge fee for a trip to a chemist. All charged to one of Bond's aliases. On impulse he called the hotel. Five minutes later he ended the call and stared at the phone. Well, better than treachery certainly but still, Bond and Q? The concierge had found the couple charming and was sure they were a couple. Be careful what you fish for. Now what was he supposed to do? Better that they hadn't admitted anything. He didn't have to act if he didn't officially know.

#9

Title: Shark Bait Author: Venstar / 1amvengeance Warnings: violence? People dedding Summary:  what would you do for those you love?

Bond swam to the ladder access of the dock. A creak of the boards and he froze in place. He swung himself up, his movement was swift and deadly. The guard dropped as suddenly as he had appeared. Bond rolled him into the water. Through the mist, he could just barely make out the tip of a fin. He smiled. It was cold, calculating, and lacking in teeth.

“Almost there.” Bond smiled as a soft breath was let out over comms. “Were you worried?”

“About you or my mortgage and two cats? Because if you live, then maybe M won’t find out about this.”

This time Bond’s smile was wide and bright. “I’m glad we agree then.” 

Bond cut a slit through his wetsuit until he could see his skin underneath. Slightly tan with a smattering of darker freckles. Was that a new mole? Maybe he should have it checked out. Too late. Blood welled up from where the mole had been. He grimaced.

“Bond? What are you doing?”

“Chumming the water.” He heard Q’s sharp intake of breath at the sound of him re-entering the water.

“Bond. This is the worst idea on the list of bad ideas.”

“I know what I’m doing, Q. Moving in, now.”

Silence from the other end as Q listened to him work. He slid through the water, coming up just under the opening of the warehouse. He pulled himself out, his eyes on his targets. He spared one glance for his lover, hoping that Felix could keep the two men distracted enough for him to...yes...to do that. The two men were tossed cut and bleeding into the dark water behind him. Their shouts of surprise turned into screams of pain and terror.

"Be careful what you fish for." Bond murmured, smiling at Felix.

#10

Title: Witnessed Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: James observes Q's methods. It pays off. Q is flexible. He can play an agent like a fiddle. Any time, any place. He knows exactly how to approach his agents — something James is rather impressed by. He'll let them stew for half an hour when necessary; he'll cosy up to them, all charm and innocence; or play up the socially inept IT intern. Sometimes, he gets mean. James particularly likes that part of Q. Whichever it is, though, Q's got them all wrapped around his long capable fingers. James can't look away. He hears from 002 about the 'banger of a DnD game' she apparently raked in the loot for. He also learns about the Deck of Many Things. It's surprisingly accurate for whatever happens next.

009 loses a chess match and gets equipped with a tractor instead of the Jeep he'd requested, although it goes 300 mph and has multiple cannons attached.

005 fails a coin toss and gains a squirt gun full of holy water for her mission at the Vatican. With a quirk of a smile, Q suggests Russian Roulette to Alec. He wins, but just barely.

Q equips his agents with the bare necessities, but unlike his predecessor, they all have to earn the goods. Q's gambling and James is determined to get his own. Q, ever the gentleman, asks what he's willing to play.

"Let's Go Fishin'," James tells him and just for a second Q looks startled. James' lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

"Be careful what you fish for," Q tells him, voice low and enticing. James leans forward, distracted.

"I win," Q says, eyes alight with excitement.

"It's a draw," James corrects, hoping his exhaustion won't show. Q's gaze grows sharp.

On his next mission, James finds an exploding pen in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

#11

Title: To Fish or Not to Fish Author: scarytheory Warnings: none Summary: Someone is sending weird presents to Q. He needs to figure out who that someone is.

The mug was ugly. Big, brown, and with a ceramic trout holding a plate “I fish you very much!” engraved in bold letters. It wasn’t the only thing that had been anonymously sent to Q for his birthday this week (other items included cheap chocolate and a teddy bear).

“This is getting ridiculous. Who would give me something so hideous?”

“You know what they say – be careful what you fish for!”

“That’s… not what they say.”

James smirked, obviously happy with himself.

Q continued: “Can you at least pretend that you’re jealous? It used to be you, sending me obnoxious gifts!”

“Don’t act like you thought it was romantic now, you hated it.”

He did. But he still had all the awful trinkets that James had sent him from missions before his retirement. They were displayed in his office, he couldn't force himself to throw them away. Maybe he was sentimental, after all.

“Perhaps it’s from a criminal who wants to infiltrate the MI6,” Q wondered.

James laughed. “I can guarantee you that it’s not a villain, the gifts are indeed from the heart.”

Of course he had something to do with it!

“And you can’t just tell me?”

“Nah. Let minnow when you figure it out!.”

“James, this was a terrible pun, even for you.”

“It’s not kraken you up?”

Truly not.

The question was who could send him these kinds of gifts? It seemed that they weren’t from some admirer either, seeing as James didn’t feel threatened. On the contrary, he was amused.

“Oh my God!”

Suddenly he knew. And it was horrifying.

“It’s from my mum.”

James grinned: “I love that woman. She understands that fish puns are fin-tastic!”

With horror, Q realised that against his better judgment, he had ended up marrying his own mother.

#12

Title: One Hell of a Strange Fish Author: Misha / artsytarts Warnings: none, just lols Summary: Fishing at lake Erie can be more exciting than you think. 

Felix sighed happily as he sat on his little bench in his little boat and let his mind wander. Bliss like this was hard to come by. A weekend of fishing, peace and relaxation was awaiting him and there was nothing that could spoil it.

Just as he’d finished the thought, a sudden tug at his fishing rod almost made him topple over the rim of his boat. Felix caught himself and cursed, put his feet down and with all his strength, he started reeling in the gigantic fish. It was putting up one hell of a fight. Gritting his teeth, Felix pulled and pulled, until, with an almighty splash, it broke the surface and screamed, just as the hook zinged past Felix’ ear.

Wait… Screamed?

Felix blinked.

“What do you think you’re doing, you bloody idiot!!” the man, not fish, exclaimed and ripped his diving mask off. He glared daggers at Felix, who still stood poised with his rod in hand.

Then the man frowned. “Felix?” he said incredulously.

“James?!”

“What on earth are you doing up there?”

“Me?! What are you doing down there?!”

James huffed, paddling against the water. “I asked first.”

“Well, I’m on holiday.” Felix held up the evidence. “Fishing trip. What about you?”

“Assignment,” James answered simply.

The mental image of a mushroom cloud above lake Erie filled Felix’ head. “Hell. Should I be worried?”

“Not particularly,” James said. “Anyway, should get going. Nice chatting with you.”

“Hold on, James, what –”

“Next time… Be careful what you fish for!” James called out, shoved his mouthpiece back between his teeth and submerged.

“Did you just…” Felix began, but James was already gone.

With a sigh, Felix let himself fall back into his seat and rubbed his forehead. They had to stop meeting like this.

#13

Title: Gone Fishing Author: Merc / the moon of mercury Warnings: none Summary: sometimes Bond prefers not to talk about his missions.

“Now you’re just preening,” Q says, rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. “Fishing for compliments. Really, Double-O-Seven, must you always make such a show of everything?”

Bond shrugs and finishes straightening his tie, not bothering to argue. He had been admiring his own reflection on the window of the newly painted DB10.

“Quite a dashing image, if I do say so myself. That’s the point, isn’t it? It’s the Geneva Motor Show, no one’s going to take me for a collector if I don’t look the part. What do you think?”

“I’m not the one you need to convince. All I care about is that you get the job done and bring back my car in one piece.”

“Why so grumpy, Q? I’d hoped you’d at least extend the sentiment to my person besides the car. And maybe wish me good luck? I have a feeling this one won’t be easy.”

“Bollocks, you’re going to seduce her, get the intel, and spectacularly blow things up. All of which you invariably accomplish every time. So, off you go and lay your bait. But please, do me a favour and think of the poor car while you’re at it.”

*     *

Q is right. The rich widow falls for his charms, spills her secrets, and buildings explode. Even the Aston survives. A success, all things considered.

Still, it takes him a week after returning to London to face his Quartermaster. The ugly love bites have faded and the overwhelming stench of perfume is nothing but an unpleasant memory. But Q has recordings of the events that went down in her boudoir, and Bond knows for sure he won't let it go.

Unfortunately, his foresight proves right.

“Be careful what you fish for,” he quips the moment Bond steps in, dissolving into laughter.

#14

Title: Look at the Bright Side Author: MrKsan / starrboned Warnings: none Summary: The Quartermaster's job is never easy.

When Bill entered the office, it was dark and quiet. Q sat slumped, painted pale blue under the light of the computer screen.

“Q?” Bill whispered, unsure what he stepped into.

Q looked up, blinking slowly.

“Bill. What are you doing here?”

Bill approached the desk, turning on the lamp. Q flinched from the light, like the sleep-deprived vampire that he was.

“It’s midnight, Q.” Tanner sighed, taking in the wide eyes and the dark shadows under them. “Bond came back hours ago. Why are you still here?"

Q blinked. Bill could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

Christ.

Q pushed a glass bowl from behind the screen. The water inside sloshed wildly from the sharp movement, stirring awake the creature inside.

“It's a... fish?"

“Bond brought it,” Q said. He glared at the fish like it's the source of all of his problems.

“He got you a fish?”

“No,” Q said, eyes narrowing. “He brought back the micro-sized, water-proofed, indestructible hard drive made especially for this mission, containing all the stolen information M asked for."

Bill glanced back at the fish. The fish, who had very sharp teeth inside its slightly gaping mouth.

“Is the hard drive -”

“It's inside the damn piranha!" Q hissed, smacking his head on the table.

Bill couldn't help it.

"Be careful what you fish for, huh?” He said, earning a sharp stare from under the dark mop of curls.

“At least he brought back the equipment this time,” Bill said, smiling apologetically. “Come on, you won’t get anything done by glaring at the fish.”

Q sighed, heavily, but took Bill’s offered hand and stumbled to a stand.

“At least it’s not a komodo dragon this time,“ Q said, as they stepped into the empty parking lot.

Bill couldn't help but laugh.

#15

Title: Cracked Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: n/a Summary: Bond and Q bring down a villain and have a few laughs.

Waves lapped at the sand, offering a gentle, rhythmic backbeat to the sounds of a madman’s island base crashing down in flames.

Bond and Q stood side by side on the beach, each sooty, disheveled, and soaked to the bone. They were sporting various bumps and bruises, some scrapes and burns, but they were pleased with themselves, nonetheless. It had been a grueling few days’ work, filled with more fire, gunplay, and close encounters with sharks and other sharp-toothed marine life than Q was usually comfortable with, but they’d done good work. Yet another villainous plot soundly foiled.

“Well,” Q sighed, “I suppose it’s true what they say.”

“What’s that, Q?” Bond asked idly.

Snickering preemptively, Q answered, “Be careful what you fish for.”

The expected eye-roll and long-suffering sigh never came. Instead, Bond’s expression went curiously blank, before a smile cracked over his face and he began to laugh. It started as a small chuckle before morphing into true, shoulder-shaking amusement, and Q’s own smile slid away in alarm. The joke wasn’t that funny – not that Bond ever laughed at his puns to begin with.

“Oh god, did you sustain head trauma while I wasn’t looking?” Q demanded, his fingers twitching towards Bond’s scalp.

Bond shook his head, still chuckling lightly. “I’m fine, Q. In fact… I’m fintastic.”

In spite of the suspicious anxiety churning in Q’s chest, he couldn’t help it; the pun was so terrible, so ill-timed, so entirely out of place, that Q had to laugh. “Oh, that’s it,” he gasped between giggles, “you’ve finally cracked.”

“I’m fine, Q,” Bond said again, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Q’s smiling mouth before giving him a small shove in the direction of their getaway boat. “Now let’s get out of here.”

*****

GO VOTE!

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione), Part Four

Well, here’s part four for you! It’s really just part three continued, but since I didn’t want the previous part to be 7k words or so long, I split it up. The total wordcount is 12.4k words now!!

Thank you very much to those of you who’ve commented and sent me lovely owls on here to let me know you’re enjoying it! (this is a sideblog for me, so I don’t respond to comments on posts, but I do answer asks as Cashmere).

I know a lot of folks (me included) don’t like starting to read WIPs that are unfinished, so thanks to those of you who have hopped on now. Consider yourselves honoured beta readers! It’ll go up on AO3 when it’s all posted on here and completed.

No real warnings for this one, just some discussion of their past relationships (for both Hermione and Draco) before the plot thickens and things warm up a bit in part five. Not sure when that’ll go up - it kind of depends on how much feedback I get on this one I guess! Comments and reblogs feed an author’s muse after all.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

___

At her wry smile and tiny shrug, Malfoy laughed, apparently reassured. “A little,” he repeated softly to himself under his breath.  

After a heartbeat she shot him a sidelong look and added, “You’ve changed so much, Draco. I can hardly believe it, but it’s clear as day.”

He did a little double take at the sound of his name on her lips, and then he smiled. It was such a tiny, fragile melting of his expression that she nearly missed it.  

“I mean it,” she said, tightening her fingers on his steel-cable forearm for a fraction of a second. “I don’t know if it was the war or your marriage, or becoming a father, or something else entirely, but… you’re not the same person you were back at Hogwarts. Not at all.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he hissed. “I had a hell of a lot of growing up to do. I think I did ninety percent of it in the space of sixth year. But Astoria helped steady me after… after Hogwarts and all the bollocks and bullshit of the aftermath of… of… you know.”

“‘Bollocks and bullshit’ is a mighty casual way to say ‘a short stay in Azkaban and three years of house arrest’, Malfoy. That’s got to change a person, for sure.”  

He shrugged. “I’m just glad it’s all in the past now. For the most part, anyway.” The silence that followed spoke volumes of the baggage that they were all still hauling around with them, of one kind or another.  

They wound their way across the park’s pathways with no particular direction in mind. As the glittering waters of the Serpentine drew into view in the deepening dusk, she murmured, “I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me too,” he said, voice little more than a low rumble above the sussurating wind in the trees. “Theo seemed on fine form, and it was nice to see Pans again. It’s been a few months. Longbottom looks good too,” he added as an afterthought. “He grew into himself, didn’t he?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “Never would have called his and Pansy’s relationship though. I thought she went for the bad boys like you and Blaise…”

Malfoy snorted. “I’m a ‘bad boy’ now, am I? That’s an interesting spin on my past.”

“Maybe not so much ‘bad boy’ now as ‘grumpy reclusive Mr. Rochester’. How about that?”

“He one of your Muggle heroes?” he asked without sting.  

“Yeah. He’s Jane Eyre’s leading male. A bad-tempered rich man who has a big house in the middle of nowhere and a secret deranged wife in the attic.”

“Well, I hit three out of the four criteria…” he said and Hermione’s heart lurched as she remembered he wasn’t a bachelor but a widower.  

“Shit, Draco, I’m sorry,” she said. “That was thoughtless of me.”

He shook his head, the silver hair of his forelock tossing about as he chuckled, an entirely unfamiliar sound which she decided she wanted to hear again almost immediately. “It’s fine, Granger. You haven’t got a malicious bone in your body. Besides, it was a long time ago.”  

They came naturally to a halt in front of the man-made lake and stared out at the lapping water for a time before she uncoupled her grip from his arm and shucked her coat back on.  

That done, she drew in a deep breath and paused, leaning her forearms on the back of a cast-iron bench overlooking a flock of huddled, plastic pedalo boats moored up offshore. Malfoy remained a pace behind her, back straight as an arrow, his hands tucked into his pockets now that she was no longer hanging onto him.  

A fair few Muggles were out and about, some walking lazily as she and Draco had been, others pounding along the pavement on their evening run, and a good number were walking dogs. The sheer mundanity of it all struck her deeply for a moment and her breath caught in her throat.  

“Granger?” he asked in a soft voice.  

She straightened and turned to look back at him over her shoulder. “I was just thinking how close we came to losing all of this… Sometimes it seems like a million years ago, and others…”

“Like yesterday,” he finished a beat later. His eyes glittered in the half-light, pale lashes ghostly and ethereal, and in the dark, his pupils were wide and black and inviting.  

“Let’s keep going, hmm?” she chirped.  

In fact, he walked her all the way back to her rather modest apartment in Muggle London. “You didn’t want to live closer to work at the bookshop?” he asked as she fumbled for her very ordinary, Muggle keys with half-frozen fingers.  

Giving up, she murmured a quick ‘alohomora’ and pressed her hand to the extra ward she had placed on it. “I’ve lived here since I moved out of the house with Ron. Never seen any point in looking for something bigger or whatever. It’s cosy, and it’s just me anyway. You want to come in? I’ll have to tweak the wards if you do.”

“I… I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, his expression pinching.  

“No bother. It’s a three minute job, if that.”  

He looked torn, teetering on the edge of a refusal, but as she swept her curls back out of her face and blinked up at him, he seemed to waver, and finally he nodded. “Alright. Yes please.”

“Stay put. I’ll be right back,” she said, and left the door open so that he wouldn’t feel like a stray dog shut out in the cold.  

After setting her bag and coat down on a sofa in the main living room, she stood and centred herself, reaching for the wards with her magic. They thrummed reassuringly as she wove a slightly different pattern into them, allowing Draco Malfoy to come and go, and then she released the magic once again.  

“Ok!” she called to him and he stepped tentatively inside, shutting the door with a polite click behind him and levering off his fancy dragonhide Oxfords at the doormat.  

There was something so intimately sweet about seeing him pad across the fake-wooden lino of her living room floor in his dark socks that she couldn’t help grinning.  

“Those are some powerful wards you’ve got up,” he commented as he blinked curiously around the room.  

“Hangover from the Ministry days, I suppose. Plus this is technically a Muggle building, so I can’t have anyone noticing anything strange. There’s another witch here, up on the seventh floor, but we don’t see each other often. You want something to drink? I’ve got tea or coffee, and a small selection of wine, though nothing nearly as nice as what Theo has on tap…”

He smiled. “A tea would be lovely.”

She ducked out into the tiny galley kitchen and lost herself in the simple task of filling and boiling the Muggle kettle. She turned to find Malfoy leaning his shoulder against the door frame, hands cupped under opposite elbows, watching her with that owl-like intensity again.  

“Muggle kitchen,” she grinned almost sheepishly. “Magic is great for a lot of things, but some routines just can’t be beaten.” Ron had always hated and mistrusted things like electric kettles and refrigerators, not quite fully understanding the way it grounded her in her Muggle upbringing.  

“I’m not judging you,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse. “I’m just interested. Do you mind?”

“No,” she said, fishing in the cupboard for her selection of teabags. She held the cardboard box open for him to select one and her eyebrows rose when he chose a delicate mint and chamomile one, but she offered no comment. “I can give you a masterclass in using Muggle kitchens if you like.”

His lips pulled back into a broad, dazzling smile and he laughed. “Go on then.”

“Fridge,” she said, opening it and showing him. “Keeps things cold; powered by electricity. Freezer, keeps things, well, frozen…” She continued her tour while the tea steeped, and by the time she was done, the tea was ready and they made their way back out into the humble living room, with a second-hand sofa and a battered old coffee table with more ringed coffee-stains on than visible surface.  

Her stomach rumbled and he raised an eyebrow at her.  

“I didn’t get a chance to eat anything yet, other than nibbles at Theo’s,” she cringed.

“Don’t let me stop you having something for supper then,” he said.  

“I’m not going to scoff a freezer dinner on my own while you sit there and watch me,” she blurted, laughing. “Unless you want to join me? I’ve got a couple of pizzas in the freezer. Nothing fancy, but they’ll be ready in twenty minutes or so if I put the oven on now.”

Malfoy looked like he’d missed something somewhere but was too embarrassed to ask, so he just said, “Pizza? Sure. The last time I had pizza was when I took Scorpius to Rome.”

“Well,” she said, setting her mug down on the table and heading into the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she called, “I can guaranteed these won’t be nearly as good as those were, but they’re pretty tasty. I think they’re both chicken and pesto - is that alright?”

“Perfectly.”

Oven on, she returned and folded herself into the squashy armchair which sat at right angles to the sofa, tucking one leg up beneath her and drawing the other foot up beside her. Malfoy, of course, sat like he was about to take tea with the Queen, while she felt like a pretzel on a shelf. A comfy pretzel though, she thought as she reached for her mug.  

“I’m glad we walked back,” she said after a moment. “I can’t believe I worked myself up into such a tizzy over Ron like that. It’s so childish…”

Malfoy sipped his tea and then cradled it between his long, pale fingers for a moment. “What happened between you two? I thought you three were —”

“— the ‘Golden Trio’?” she purred, voice laden with sarcasm.  

He made a conciliatory gesture with his head but said nothing more.  

She sighed. “We were. I mean, Harry and I are still super close - I’m James’ godmother after all. Ginny’s the sister I never had, but something went wrong with Ron somewhere along the line.” She knew exactly what the final blow had been, but there had been a myriad other issues on both sides before that. “I think… I think he felt like he never had a real niche, you know? He was always second fiddle to Harry in the heroics and quidditch departments, and, well, everyone knows I was the brains of the trio,” she said self-effacingly. “That’s not to say that he’s stupid — he’s not.”  

Malfoy scoffed at that, and for a moment she saw the petulant, petty little thirteen year old he had once been. A deeply sceptical look filled his eyes, and he looked like he was physically biting his tongue to keep himself from disagreeing with her.  

“No, really,” she scowled. “He just makes stupid, split-second decisions without thinking anything through. I’m not defending what he did or how he behaved at the end of our marriage, but…” she sighed heavily and drank a mouthful of too-hot tea that scalded her throat on its way down. “He’s in a pretty good place now with Lavender. We just… rub each other up the wrong way, even now I think.”

“Theo said he was being an arsehole earlier,” Malfoy pushed.  

She shrugged. “A bit. I think he carries a lot of bitterness towards…” she gestured vaguely in Malfoy’s direction, “… Slytherins? I’m not really sure. Stupid house prejudices that a lot of witches and wizards clearly never get over. As if one moment in our history defines us for the rest of our lives, or as if we’re limited to the characteristics of the house we were sorted into at the age of eleven… It’s just so fucking dumb, Malfoy!”

He laughed softly at that.  

“What? You don’t agree?”

“No, I absolutely agree with you. I was enjoying hearing you swear, that’s all. Forgive me.”

She flushed and looked away, anger leaving her as swiftly as it had come. “Ron has a lot of insecurities, and a few of them centre around me, but… I guess I just wasn’t enough for him in the end.”

“How could you possibly be ‘not enough’ for someone, Granger?” Draco asked in a hoarse whisper. “And you were the bloody Minister for Magic for Merlin’s sake…! What more did he want from his witch? Morgana herself reincarnated?”

She laughed long and loud at that, and Malfoy seemed to relax a little in the wake of his little outburst. “My reign was very short though,” she said as she stood and took the opportunity to put the pizzas in the oven. When she returned, she asked carefully, “What about you and Astoria?”  

“What about us?” he asked, voice even and steady, though his eyes swirled softly like Trelawney’s crystal balls, hiding their secrets behind a shifting sheen of silver.  

“Were you happy?”

Malfoy’s eyes slid away from her to stare unseeing at a point across the room, and he sat back against the sofa cushions, still nursing his cheap, Tesco mug between his hands.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “For the most part we were. It wasn’t… earth-shattering or anything, but it was pretty good, all things considered. It was arranged by our families, you know?”

She nodded.

“I knew Astoria’s older sister, Daphne, far better than I knew her, but Daph promised to an Austrian count already. He’s actually very nice. I’m glad for her.”

“I vaguely remember Daphne from school, but I didn’t have many classes with her as we got older.”

“I’d met Astoria a few times before it was all formally arranged, but even then, we only met a total of perhaps five or six times before the wedding proper. It wasn’t the huge event my mother had always dreamed of throwing for me, but with my father in Azkaban and me under house arrest, the mood wasn’t really there, you know?”  

Hermione did some quick maths and realised he must have been only nineteen or so when he’d been married, and her eyes widened. She’d only been twenty-two when Ron and she had tied the knot, but still, that struck her as very young. Scorpius hadn’t been born straight away though, and there had been vicious gossip about blood-curse-related infertility until the little mandrake had arrived. Hermione been about to make the leap to Minister at the incredibly tender age of twenty five when the attack on the Manor had taken place, and Scorpius had been mere months old at the time.

“Toria and I grew to know each other better,” Draco went on, “And in time, I think we came to love each other, in our own way. She certainly adored Scorpius before the blood curse took her.”

“What was she like?” Hermione asked in a whisper.  

Again, Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes with his head tipped back to rest against the sofa cushions. “Quiet, intelligent, articulate, easy-going most of the time, but when she got passionate about something, she could be pretty stubborn. Scorpius inherited a lot of that from her.”

“He looks like you though,” she said. “I mean… almost exactly like you did at that age. It gave me quite the turn when I saw the two of you on Platform 9 3/4 you know?”

He smirked and cracked an eye open. “Tell me about it,” he said. “Mother is always calling him ‘Draco’ instead of ‘Scorpius’. It drives him nuts.”

They shared a laugh at that. “Your mother lives with you at the Manor then?”

“Yes and no,” he said, shuffling a little and getting comfy again, relaxing his torso more casually against the arm of the sofa at last. “She moved out of the main manor when Toria and I married. Now she lives at what we affectionately call the Dower House. Officially it’s called Nightshade Cottage.”

“Ominous name,” she said and he smiled again.  

“Apt though. There’s a rambling, stone-walled potion-garden round the back of it, full of all sorts of interesting plants, and a stunning rose garden at the front. It’s really beautiful in spring, and rather potent in summer.”

“You make it sound almost welcoming,” she said without thinking and he huffed a dry laugh.  

“Parts of the estate really are lovely, Granger; its sordid past notwithstanding.”

When the beeper went on the timer, Malfoy jumped and looked confused, but she laughed and showed him. She did use her wand to cut up the pizzas though, and by the time they were seated back on the sofas with plates in their lap, they resumed their easy talk as if they’d never been interrupted. Watching Malfoy in his fancy clothes and eating pizza with his hands was almost too much for Hermione to bear, but if she focused on his voice too much instead, she found herself mesmerised on that front too. Who’d have thought that Hermione Granger would have found herself growing more and more attracted to Draco Malfoy all these years later.  

Long after they’d finished eating, they spoke a little more of Scorpius, and how Malfoy guessed he was getting on after his first week at school. “Of course, he hasn’t written to me yet, but I’m hoping he might pen something this weekend…”

“You worry about him, don’t you?”

“Constantly,” he snorted. “One of the burdens of being a father, I suppose.”

“Of being a good one,” she amended, and she didn’t miss the way he swallowed thickly and blinked his glassy eyes rapidly a few times.  

Then he sighed expansively and then levered himself to his feet. “It’s late, Granger, and I should probably be going. I’ve got a meeting to get to early tomorrow morning in Scotland, and I still have a bit of paperwork to do tonight.”

“But it’s the weekend, Malfoy,” she said as she rose too. “You can’t have to work, surely?”

He nodded and shrugged, but made his way to the door and slid his feet back into his shoes without further comment or explanation.  

A little, fluttering, doxy-wing cloud of nerves shimmered to life in her chest as they stood face to face at the door. Malfoy swallowed again and hitched a tiny, lopsided smile. “Thanks for tonight, Granger. And…” he faltered and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Thank you.”

“I feel like I should be thanking you,” she said. “You got me out of my funk and walked me safely home.” She ran her fingers through her mass of curls and didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to watch the movement before he blinked and turned away to open the door, clearing his throat.  

With his fingers still on the handle, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “My pleasure, Granger. Sincerely.”

Hermione barely managed to offer him a watery smile before he was striding off down the corridor.  

She lingered in the doorway long after his footsteps had faded down the stairwell — apparently using the Muggle lift alone had proved too daunting for him. After she locked the door and recharged the wards behind her, she picked up his empty plate and mug to put them in the dishwasher.  

As she passed the dresser that had once belonged to her mother, she caught sight of a moving photograph of Crookshanks. The half-kneazel was staring at the flat’s front door with his yellow, lamp-like eyes wide. “What do you think of him now, huh Crooks?” she asked the photo. “Bit different, eh?”

Photo-Crookshanks purred and circled in the bottom corner of the frame a few times, bottle-brush tail twitching, before returning to his fireplace and curling up with a look of contentment on his face. God, she missed that cat.  

“Yeah. I think I like him too, Crooks,” she said. “Merlin help me, but I think I like him too.”

.

Part Five

___

I’ve only written all 12,410 words of this because people told me they liked it, otherwise it’d have stayed on whatever the first chapter was, so if you want more, let me know with a reblog! Feel free to send me an anonymous owl too if you’re more comfortable doing that.

Anyway, take care, and more soon, I hope. I’ve got a fair chunk plotted out, and it should take us up to Christmas in the storyline (it’s September now for them).

writing masterlist | Ao3

[keanureevesisbae]

Coach Cavill - Chapter 11

Summary: Amelia and Henry are going apple picking.

Coach!Henry Cavill x Amelia Jung (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 5.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: I don’t know Henry’s family (well duh 🙄), but I wrote them in a way it would fit into this story. However, please keep in mind that this is in no way reality. Also, I know it has been over a month since I last updated this fic, so thank you for your patience 🥰

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

After what seemed the longest day at school, I quickly drove home, so I could get ready for my date with Henry. I’ve been looking forward to it since the moment we agreed to it. I love apple picking and the fact that I get to spend even more time with Henry, is definitely something I’m not saying no to.

Yesterday morning and this morning Henry came by to bring us all something nice to drink (a caramel cappuccino in the morning just hits different) and to pick up his sandwiches. I can’t believe that this is actually happening right now. After divorcing Dean, I thought dating was out of the question, really. I figured Dean would move on with his new girlfriend (and I mean, he certainly did: they’re getting married and have a baby—I think that definitely qualifies for moving on), while I would sit in my house, surrounded by my kids and my friends and I’d probably date when I was over fifty, when the kids would be long off on their own.

I mean, I wasn’t opposed to it. I had been with the same man since I was eighteen, being on my own felt like an entire lifetime ago and I was thoroughly enjoying it.

However, I met Henry and it seems to fit. I wouldn’t have dared to dream someone like him fitting here so perfectly.

My house is filled with kids. They all know I’m going out and when I’m gone, they have the place to themselves and don’t have to—and I’m quoting both myself and Eve here—use their inside voices as Eve is still working. While Benji, Lola, Jake, Isabella and Yara are all hanging on the couches watching some tv, I’m frantically running around, in order to get myself ready for this date. I took a quick shower, to clean myself up a little, since there was a slight peeing incident today at school and unfortunately, some got spilled on me. Not on accident of course. Poor kid was really anxious the entire day, since it’s not going well with his grandma. Besides, my own kids and Eve’s kids all peed or puked on me at least once, so you could say I have seen my fair share.

‘Amelia,’ Lola says, as I’m pacing through the living room, ‘why are you nervous?’

‘I’m not nervous,’ I tell her.

Benji smiles. ‘Yes mom, you are. Relax, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a date.’

I sigh deeply, knowing deep down that it’s not a big deal and I should relax. It’s indeed just a date and I already know Henry. He comes by in the morning and gives me a kiss. Nothing to worry about. ‘Am I looking too casual?’ I ask them, as I look down to my tight blue jeans, the thick black sweater and the black ankle boots. I have my warm white coat ready on the backrest of the seat. ‘This is too casual,’ I conclude.

‘Mom,’ Isabella says, while she sits on Lola’s lap, ‘you look really pretty and I know that Henry thinks so too. This morning he said that you looked really pretty.’

He did what? ‘When did he say that to you?’ I ask her.

‘When you were checking your bag.’ Isabella smiles and I can’t even hide my blush.

The doorbell rings and I let out a high pitched scream.

Yara starts to giggle. ‘You can do this, Amelia,’ she says. ‘Really you can.’

I can’t believe I need a few kids to hype me up, but to be fair: I am a bit rusty in the whole dating department. If they think I’m a nervous wreck now, they should’ve seen me seventeen years ago when I went on a date with Dean. ‘I know, I’ve got this,’ I say as casual as possible. I walk to the door and when I open it, I’m met with the beauty that is called Henry Cavill. His coat hangs open, only to reveal yet another cable sweater.

‘You are absolutely breathtaking,’ Henry says with a smile. ‘I’m so lucky.’

My mouth falls open. ‘You have got to be kidding me,’ I laugh. ‘Seriously Henry, you are already the embodiment of perfection and then you say this.’

Henry looks at his shoes and from the looks of it, he is trying to cover up a blush. That is adorable, really.

‘I just have to get my coat. You want to come in?’

‘Of course,’ he says, when I step to the side to let him in.

‘Where is Kal?’ I ask him. ‘I haven’t seen him in a while.'

‘Greg and Annabelle are watching him. I can’t say no to that sweet face.’

‘Whose sweet face?’ I ask with a chuckle.

Henry simply rolls his eyes, but lets out a laugh anyway

‘Oh, by the way, you have to know there are three teenagers and two young girls sitting in the living room.’

He nods. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ He closes the door behind me and presses a light kiss on forehead. ‘Did I already say to you that you’re pretty?’

‘You told me I was breathtaking,’ I say with a smile. ‘But I did hear you were talking to my daughter about how pretty I looked this morning.’

He chuckles. ‘I might’ve.’ I feel his lips on the tip of my nose and my stomach twists and turns in a pleasant way. I almost forgot how the first weeks of a new relationship type of thing feels like.

I clear my throat as I try to regain some composure and together we enter the living room. Jake starts to make kissy sounds, causing me to roll my eyes. ‘Grow up, will you?’ I say to him, as I grab my coat.

Henry gently pulls it out of my hands, before holding it up for me, so I can easily slide my arms through the sleeves.

This man… Is he honestly real? I hope every minor on that couch is making mental notes, because this is peak gentleman behavior and I want them all to remember this for when they start dating.

‘I won’t,’ Jake laughs. ‘This is way too much fun.’

‘Well, I’ll keep this in mind for when you start dating,’ I say, as I zip up the coat. ‘Remember, I can embarrass you even better. Remind me, how old were you again when you peed on my porch?’

Yara pretends to vomit, while Isabella exclaims: ‘Ew, you peed on our porch? That’s disgusting!’

‘I think he was six the first time, mom,’ Benji says with a chuckle and Lola starts to laugh as well, before adding: ‘And the last time he was ten.’

‘You wouldn’t, right?’ Jake asks, his eyes enlarged.

‘If you don’t zip it, I definitely will. I have tons up my sleeve,’ I say with a smile. ‘Okay, kids, I’ll be back around dinner time. Isabella and Yara, please don’t touch the stove and oven. If you need something, ask the older kids, okay?’

‘Yes,’ the two of them say.

‘If you guys need anything, just remember, Eve is next door and I’m one phone call away.’

The five of them nod. ‘We know.’

‘Also, I’d rather have something left to eat here, so please don’t be swines and eat everything.’

‘We won’t,’ they all say.

‘And—’

‘Amelia, just go!’ Lola laughs. ‘We know how to behave ourselves here. It’s not the first time we’re alone here.’

‘Yes, mom, we’ll manage,’ Benji adds.

I nod, realizing I’m totally overreacting. They are home alone here all the time, while I hang out with Eve and Johnny. This isn’t new. ‘Right, you are totally right. I’m so sorry.’

‘Have fun,’ my daughter says.

‘We will,’ I say, ‘and Jake, for the love of God, don’t say: but not too much fun.’

‘How did you know I was about to say that?’ he asks, his voice a bit higher from sheer surprise.

‘You are fairly predictable,’ Henry says. ‘Even I knew you were going to say that.’

I finally manage to leave the place with Henry and when we’re finally in his truck, I lean over to give him a long kiss on his soft lips. He hums against my mouth, as he places his rough hand on my cheek. I can’t believe he actually deepens the kiss, but I’m not complaining at all. I could kiss this man non stop for hours on end, without getting tired of it. When we let each other go, I smile. ‘I really missed you,’ I say, ‘though I saw you this morning. Is that too clingy?’

‘Not too clingy at all, because I missed you too. I can’t get quite enough of you.’ He starts the car when we put on the seatbelts and he says: ‘I bought the ingredients you told me to buy for the pies. I also bought some whipped cream, because Greg told me if I were going to eat one of your apple pies, there has to be whipped cream on top of it.’

‘Greg is an absolute angel for reminding you, because I am out of whipped cream and he is totally right. Did you know I won the pie baking contest back in middle school with my fabulous apple pie?’

‘I did not know,’ Henry says, as he drives off. He mindlessly places his hand on my leg and I can’t stop myself to place mine on top of it. ‘I really look forward to this,’ he admits. ‘I have never been apple picking before.’

‘It’s so much fun. Pro tip: you have to walk at least twenty minutes before you start picking. Then you find the best apples.’

‘Good thing I have an expert with me,’ he says. ‘Greg told me it would be fun.’

‘You tell Greg quite a lot,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘Well, no wonder he kept wiggling his eyebrows at me yesterday.’ I wrap my arms around his thick one, before placing my head on his bicep. When Dean and I were still married, I could never sit against him like this in the car, because our seats were separated. Henry’s truck allows me to scoot over a bit to the middle, so I can melt against his broad frame. ‘I’m sorry about Jake,’ I say.

‘Well, don’t be. I really love the way you are with not only your kids, but also with Eve’s. It truly shows how close you guys are. I think it’s great you two live next to one another and you can always lean on each other.’

‘It sure is.’

‘Tell me, Amelia, how was your day at school?’

I tell him about how the kids were sweet today and how we made some Halloween related drawings. I even mention the slight peeing incident, but also that it was no big deal really. ‘How was your day?’

‘It was okay,’ he says, but I can hear his voice flatten a bit.

I look to the side, only to discover a deep frown between his brows. From the looks of it, today was not okay. ‘What happened?’

‘My mother called,’ he says, ‘telling me to come back home.’

‘Oh,’ I say. That can’t be good? ‘Are you going back?’

‘No of course not, I just arrived here. Besides, my life here is much better than in Jersey.’ He sighs. ‘She thought it was a horrible idea to move here. She also didn’t approve of my choices of work and sure doesn’t like it I’m doing it overseas now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, when you have four brothers who are either with the Marines, lawyers and all that stuff, you could say I’m the loser of the family.’

‘Or are you the only one that followed their heart?’ I ask. ‘I mean, do you even know if your brothers enjoy what they do?’

He simply shrugs. It’s been hard on Henry to open up, I can see that. ‘Henry,’ I say, ‘when I grew up, I wanted to work at the mortuary.’

‘What?’ he asks. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, I went to my granddad’s funeral and I was in that age where I wanted to experience everything. The woman who helped us arranging the funeral, I was in awe of her. I went with her probably the entire time and she told me what she did for a living. I was actually planning on becoming one, figuring out to what colleges I had to go to, but then I went to Korea. After I came back, I realized I didn’t want to work with the dead, but with the living and preferably our future.’ Realizing that, per usual, I’m about to miss the point I was going to make. ‘What I’m trying to say with this, was that every career move I had in mind, it wasn’t something my parents wanted me to do. They envisioned me becoming a doctor, or a a lawyer, owning my own business. But they just accepted all the choices I made, whether they liked it or not.’

Henry laughs. ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘I just can’t believe you wanted to work at a mortuary. You sure are quite something, Amelia.’

‘I like to keep on surprising.’

‘Figured. What about your kids?’

I chuckle. ‘They have interesting plans. Benji wants to become a career judoka, but I told him he needs to think about getting a degree. He might be quite the judoka now, but what if one day he gets injured or he doesn’t make it? So he came up with the idea of either becoming a dentist or a coach, like you.’

‘Really?’

‘Mhm and to be honest, I’m leaning more towards coach. I think he would be really good at that. He really has an eye for the details, with not only himself, but also with others. And Isabella wants to be famous, but she hasn’t figured out how she’ll get famous.’

He nods. ‘And you support them?’

‘Of course, they are my kids. The point is that your parents should accept you and your choices. The idea of parenting is that you prepare your kids to be ready for the world, not to dictate their lives. You might have an idea of what type of career fits them best, but they have to decide for themselves, make their own choices and mistakes. Besides, I could think of worse career moves. I mean, a judo coach is a great job and being famous… It’s quite something, I have to give her that and with Isabella’s personality, she would enjoy it so much. She loves being in the spotlights, preferably alone.’

‘You’re an excellent mother. Mine could learn a thing or two from you.’ Henry parks the car on the lot, but doesn’t get out. It’s almost like he wants to say something else to me. Knowing how hard it can be for some people to open up, I decide to wait and see whether or not he wants to tell me what is on his heart. ‘You know,’ he starts with a sigh, ‘my mom never went to one of my games.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ I ask him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Seeing these kids here, with their entire support system at the games, it warms my heart. I’m happy they have that.’

I study his face. ‘But you can be a bit jealous,’ I say. ‘That’s allowed.’

‘By you?’

‘By everyone. We all want something we didn’t have growing up and that’s normal. Parents try—or at least it appears as if they do—but they can never give their kids what they deserve. It pains me to know that there are things that I can’t provide for my kids or that I can’t meet their needs. I remember when I was doing my first internship at a primary school, I saw this mother who had four beautiful daughters. That’s what I wanted: sisters or brothers. I was all alone growing up and people would kill for that, but I just wanted a companion within my family. But my parents couldn’t give me that.’ I send him a reassuring smile. ‘Believe me, it can be hard to see kids who have what you have always wanted growing up or kids that are deprived of that what you had.’

Henry nods. ‘Wise woman you are.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I mean it! And just know that when I look over at the bleachers now and I see you, I realize that you are my support system.’

That is the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me.

We get out of the car and all the nerves I experienced back in my own house, are all gone now, especially when he reaches over to hold my hand. Being around Henry is so easy and it worried me  a bit I didn’t feel so tense and nervous around him. When I first started dating Dean, I was a nervous wreck for at least two months. But maybe it’s unfair to compare teen Amelia, to adult Amelia who is divorced and has two kids.

When we arrive at the apple picking field, Henry hands me a bucket and together we walk over the grass, finding the spot with the best apples. ‘So tell me all about the divorce, Henry.’

He chuckles. ‘How long have you been thinking about this?’

‘To be fair? The second you told me about it. I mean, who would divorce you?’

‘I could say the same thing about you. You are the catch of the town.’

‘You are too,’ I say.

He bites his bottom lip as he stares ahead of him. ‘Okay, so I told you that my parents wanted me to marry her and her family wanted her to marry me.’

‘Yes.’

‘And how she dated my friend behind my back and we got divorced, right?’

‘Yes. I’m just curious to why you agreed to it?’

He snickers. ‘It had to do with a trust fund.’

‘Trust fund? That is honestly a thing?’ I ask.

Henry nods. ‘It is. So, if I married her, I would eventually get access to the trust fund.’

Eventually. That isn’t promising. ‘But you got divorced,’ I note. ‘What happened to the trust fund?’

‘It is now a yacht, owned by my parents.’

I place my hand on his arm. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

‘Never expected the word fucking to leave the lips of kindergarten teacher Amelia Jung,’ he chuckles. ‘But no, I’m not kidding. When I divorced Vera, that’s my ex, they knew she slept with my best friend, but they blamed me.’

This is absolutely infuriating me. ‘You have to give me your parents’ number,’ I say in all seriousness, ‘so I can call them and tell them their parenting style is honestly unbelievable. Henry you are a grown man! You should decide for yourself who you are dating or what kind of career you want to pursue. And that trust fund thing, how low, my goodness.’

Henry chuckles. ‘You understand why I had to leave?’

‘Oh, I more than understand, I just wonder why you didn’t leave sooner. I really don’t want to talk badly about your parents since I don’t know them, but this crosses a line. What an idiots.’

He nudges my side. ‘This fired up look really suits you, Amelia,’ he admits. ‘I like it.’

I look up and he smiles. He is so beautiful, my oh my. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Always.’

‘How rich are your parents? I don’t need a number, but just an indication.’

‘They are pretty rich,’ he says. ‘Like, there is a possibility we would have marry a distant cousin to keep the money in the family, if there are no more trusted family friends who are single.’

Why do I know exactly what kind of family this is about? ‘I didn’t know Jersey had those types of rich.’

‘We keep on surprising,’ he chuckles. ‘Honestly, I never really fitted in, always the black sheep of the family. I’m just grateful I’m out of there and living my own life, even if it’s at age thirty eight.’

‘Luna Meadows sure is lucky to have you here.’ I stand on my toes, to give him a kiss on his soft lips. ‘You sure you don’t want me to call your parents?’

‘I don’t think they are ready for that,’ he smiles. ‘If they find out I’m dating you, they’ll flip.’

Oh my, we’re dating? Is that what he is saying? ‘Is it because I’m Korean?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, it’s more you having kids.’

‘Don’t your parents want grandkids? I thought everyone with kids is desperate to become grandparents.’

‘They do, just blood related grandkids.’

I simply scoff. ‘Your parents are a piece of work.’

‘You can say that again.’ I’m already opening my mouth, but he is way ahead of me. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he chuckles. We start picking some good looking apples, as the late autumn sun warms my back. ‘Okay Amelia, I see a nice apple, but I can’t reach.’

‘Well, that sucks,’ I say, ‘because of you can’t reach it, I certainly ca— Oh no! Henry, put me down!’ I scream as he wraps his arm around my legs, lifting me up.

‘It’s the one on your right,’ he tells me, but I have closed my eyes shut. ‘Come on, Jung, it’s not that high!’

‘It is!’ I say. ‘You know I’m afraid of heights.’

‘I know you are. Just pick that one apple.’

I manage to open only one eye and quickly grab the one on my right. After I nearly broke the branch while picking it, he carefully puts me down. ‘That wasn’t funny, coach Cavill,’ I tell him, pointing dangerously at him with my pointer finger.

‘Oh look at that,’ he chuckles, ‘the teacher-finger.’

I try not to smile, but I fail. ‘Shut up.’

He bites his bottom lip, only making my heart pound really fast. Is he aware of the effect he has on my heart, especially when he does that? Henry leans in to give me a quick peck on my lips.

Amelia, please, now is not the time to faint.

‘Excuse me,’ I hear a voice behind me say and I cannot believe it’s Trixie again. Of course she is here, to ruin my fantastic date. She accidentally sat in the booth next to me on my second date with Dean, together with her friends. ‘Coach Cavill, I wanted to talk to you about George, is now a good time?’

I want to smack that smug grin of her face. No, now isn’t a good time and any human being with even one braincell could’ve figured that out.

Henry clears his throat, obviously a little caught off guard. ‘Uh, what did you wanted to talk about?’ he asks, as he scratches himself in the back of his neck.

‘His progress.’

Well, I can tell her all about that: her twelve year old is just as bad as he was three years ago. There is no progress with George Yates.

‘I think we should have that conversation a little later,’ Henry says with a professional tone, ‘when we’re at the center for example. I have video material and all. We could have a chat tomorrow, before training.’

‘Can’t wait,’ she says. ‘Amelia, are you having fun?’

‘Mhm, we’re going to make an apple pie at his place,’ I say, holding up the basket. ‘Remember, back in middle school when we were in that pie baking contest and I made one of my famous apple pies. What did you make again?’

Her face grows pale.

‘Oh right, pecan pie, with that very dark crust.’

Trixie is ready to skin me alive and honestly, I can’t really blame her, because I have been in her shoes more than once. For years her words would stab me like knives and now it’s the other way around. I remember when I came back from Korea, the way she gave me a hard time because my band Forever Hope disbanded. I mean, what did she accomplishment in those years? A date with Lucas Yates?

However, back then I just ignored her, but now I can’t. She will do anything to discredit me, but after that last phone call I had with Eve, when Trixie told me how I did not want to host a baby shower and a sweet sixteen at the same time, I felt this newly gained power to not allow her words to get to me.

I came to the realization that Trixie is still stuck in her high school mentality, while I grew up and actually matured. This gossiping and undermining thing was ridiculous back in school, but now… It’s still ridiculous, but also just plain pathetic. And maybe my comments aren’t exactly mature, but this is honestly just a small part of the payback she deserves after all those years of nearly bullying me.

‘Well, Trixie, Henry and I have some baking to do. See you later.’ I grab Henry by his hand and pull him with me. Henry doesn’t say a word on our way back to the truck, but once we’re both seated, he starts to laugh. ‘What?’ I ask.

‘How much underlying anger was in that conversation?’

‘Oh, quite a lot,’ I chuckle. I try not to think about the whole kid thing, because I honestly think it’s too soon for Henry and I to have that discussion. ‘Trixie and I go way back and I just felt this need to tell her off. Sorry.’

‘No need for apologies, remember?’ He places his hand on my leg and gives me a comforting squeeze. ‘Just so you know: I like you seeing you like this.’ He leans over and presses a kiss on my lips. ‘Now let’s go and make that famous apple pie of yours.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Making apple pie with Henry was nearly impossible. For starters, I had to make a checklist of every single thing that needed to be done at his place and spoiler alert: it’s a lot. I don’t want to call this place a dump, but… It kind of resembles one, if I’m being honest. When I finally managed to get myself to the kitchen, he continued to distract me with hugs and kisses. I mean, it’s not the worst thing I could think of (it was quite romantic), but once I’m baking pies, there is just this instant switch and I have a severe case of tunnel vision.

But of course, I managed to pull it off, with shockingly little help of Henry (but he made it all up by being handsome and handing me the stuff I needed). Now we are waiting for the three pies to cool a bit, as we are sitting on the couch. ‘I didn’t get any texts from the kids,’ I say, as I stare at my phone. ‘Or Eve for that matter. Are they okay?’

‘I think you are worrying too much.’

‘I’m not,’ I tell him, but when I look up and see his eyes, I realize I’m lying. ‘Okay, maybe I worry too much. It’s a trait I got only after the divorce. I usually was pretty chilled, very laid back, however when they went to their dad for the first time after the divorce… I was a nervous wreck. I think I finished up an entire bottle of wine and some.’

‘Oh no,’ he chuckles. ‘I’m sorry.’ He wraps an arm around my shoulders and lets out a sigh. ‘But I think it’s a mom’s job to worry.’

‘Yeah, part of the job, indeed.’

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but then he breaks the silence by saying: ‘You know, I keep thinking about Benji and that… anger outburst he had the other day.’

‘I know, I know, we’re trying to work on it, but… He just bottles up all of his emotions and then they come out uncontrolled. It’s so uncharacteristic of him, but he has been having them since he was little. I just worry sometimes he might hurt someone.’

‘I understand,’ Henry whispers.

‘But when he was younger, he would also save it when it was just us, when his dad wasn’t around. Probably because I just let him have his rage, before finally stopping when it was about to get out of hand. Dean on the other hand would get really angry. I think he felt and still feels safer to do it when he is with me.’

‘Understandable.’

‘I just worry a lot and that resulted in quite a few grey hairs.’

‘Listen,’ he says, ‘you are doing an excellent job, that I can guarantee. I mean, listen only to my parents and how much of a train wreck they are.’

I chuckle. ‘That’s a wonderful compliment, thanks for that, Henry.’

‘You understand what I mean.’

‘I sure do and… I know I’m doing good, but sometimes I just lack so much in my own opinion.’ I lean towards him, to press a long kiss on his lips. Before he can say anything to that last statement I made, I say: ‘We should get going. Think the pies are ready.’

‘And you desperately want to get back to your children, copy that.’

Henry and I get in his truck, with the slightly steaming pies covered in tea towels so you won’t burn your hands when you hold them. I adore being in a car with him, especially when he places his hand on my thigh. When we arrive home, Henry holds the pies in his hands and when I open the door, I only hear Isabella’s and Benji’s laughs, meaning the other kids went home. I’ll bring the other pie to Eve’s tonight. ‘Hi sweeties,’ I say when I walk into the living room, seeing the two of them on the couch.

‘Mom!’ They jump up and rush towards me and hug me close. ‘How was it?’ Benji asks.

‘It was wonderful,’ Henry says, ‘and you kids are lucky your mom loves you a lot, because otherwise I would’ve eaten all of this all by myself.’

Benji holds out his hands to help Henry out and brings the pies to the kitchen. Isabella jumps up and with one arm he balances her on his hip. ‘You wouldn’t, right?’

‘Oh, I think he would,’ I chuckle.

We walk to the kitchen, where Benji already has four plates prepared. ‘Oh shoot,’ I say to Henry, ‘I left the whipped cream in the car.’

‘I’ll get it, no worries,’ he says with a smile, before turning around, as he grabs his keys from the counter.

When he is out of hearing distance, Isabella pokes my arm. ‘And?’

‘And what?’ I ask her.

‘Did you two kiss again?’

The fact that I’m stammering, is the answer to her question. ‘Why do you care?’ Benji asks his little sister.

‘It’s just so romantic,’ she exclaims and wraps her arms around my shoulders, pressing her cheek against mine.

Henry walks back in with the whipped cream, tosses it up, before catching it with his other hand. Show off, I think to myself. ‘Who wants some?’ he asks.

‘I do, I do!’ Isabella says.

‘On your nose or on the pie?’ Henry asks with a smile.

‘On the pie,’ she chuckles. ‘You are a pig.’

‘You can’t just call people pigs,’ I say to her, softly squeezing her side.

‘You do it all the time, mom.’

‘Some things need to stay within the Jung family, honey,’ I whisper in her ear. ‘Okay, Isabella, pick a piece.’

We take our plates with the piece of pie and the whipped cream and sit at the table. Benji is seated next to me and when I look to the side, I notice him looking at Henry and how he is treating Isabella. I bump my knee against his and our eyes meet. My sweet boy, I think to myself. He sends me a quick smile and I chuckle.

‘Benji and Isabella, do you mind if I talk to you two about something?’

‘Is it something we did?’ Benji asks, his voice dripping with worry.

I place my hand on his wrist. ‘No, sweetheart, it’s nothing you did.’

Henry shakes his head. ‘It’s just something I need you to know.’

Isabella looks up to the side, as she takes in the broad man next to him. ‘What is it?’

‘Well I want you two to know that… Just because I’m dating your mom, doesn’t mean I’m trying to steal her away from you nor to become your new dad. She is still your mom and you two are her number one priorities.’

My daughter chuckles. ‘Henry, we know all that.’

‘And we are more than happy to share our mom with you,’ Benji tells him.

While Henry is a bit surprised, I am not, because I just knew my kids would react like this. ‘Really?’ He can’t help but smile and that melts my heart.

‘Really,’ my two kids confirm and I smile when I see how happy the three of them are. ‘Is there anything you wish I know or you expect from me?’ He looks over at Isabella, who already opened her mouth. ‘And that does not involve watching television with you passed your bedtime,’ he says, causing her to pout.

‘Just make my mom happy,’ Benji says and if my heart wasn’t completely melted away, it is now.

‘Honey,’ I say, as I wrap my arms around his neck. I can feel he is rolling his eyes. ‘You are too sweet.’

‘Mom, stop,’ he laughs.

‘My boy is such a darling,’ I continue, simply to pester him.

‘Mom!’ Benji says, trying to push me off, but I’m simply too strong for now.

‘I did such a good job raising you,’ I chuckle, as I pepper his cheek with kisses.

‘Mom!’ He starts to laugh and I actually let him go now. ‘Don’t hug me like that again, but I meant what I said. Just make my mom happy and then I’m happy.’

‘I can do that,’ Henry says. ‘I promise.’

[twoidiotwriters1]

Iron 3 (Peter Parker x F!Oc)

Words: 1,756

Masterlist

Chapter 2  / Chapter 4

Tony Stark's trip to showcase the new Jericho missile is a success with the military, but when soldiers take him back, they’re intercepted and the billionaire is kidnapped.

Both Lily and Pepper find out by watching television. The call from Colonel James Rhodes confirms their fears. Although the information isn’t much, the important thing is that they’re doing everything to find him.

Pepper Potts concentrates on everything she has to do for the company without her boss. Working for Tony for so many years has formed a special connection, even if it is not the conventional one. Sometimes thoughts of possible horrible scenarios come to her mind, but she pushes them away.

Something she can be thankful for is the company of little Lily, who also can't help but worry about the man. He may not have been kind, but no one deserves to be tortured.

The tension remains for three long months, the wait for news from Tony along with the paternity results in the envelope which has not been opened. Nobody knows what to do in a situation like this.

Rhodes keeps searching for his best friend with the help of the army. Pepper and Happy take care of the little girl. The relationship between Tony and Lily's small circle has been strengthened in all this time, even Rhodey receives some calls from her asking if he’s okay and if he has found Tony. Regardless of the test results, they would protect Lily.

At the end of the three months, the new news give everyone a great respite. Tony Stark is alive and returns home.

Although Lily wants to meet Tony along with Pepper and Happy, they won't let her. Surely there would be a lot of reporters and they’d ask a lot of questions if they see the girl.

For those cases, Pepper had already arranged a babysitter. A difficult task, but she managed to find a twenty year old girl, she has no idea who the girl is, nor who hired her. The contact was a Stark Industries worker. With that problem solved, they both wait in Pepper's apartment.

Jessica the babysitter isn't so bad, Lily thinks. The only bad thing is that she spends a lot of time on her phone.

Lily searches all the channels for any news about Tony and finds one where they’re broadcasting a press conference with him eating a hamburger.

"That man must be crazy," Jessica says from the couch.

"Why?"

“He just said that he will no longer make weapons. His company produces the most. He’ll run out of money,” She explains.

Lily frowns.

Why would Tony stop producing what makes so much money?

***

"Did you think I wasn't going to find out about the girl, Tony?"

“Obie…”

Obadiah Stane raises his hand to interrupt him.

"It hurts me that you don't trust me.”

Tony sighs.

"I didn't have much time to explain everything to you and after my obligatory vacation, I couldn't do it.”

"Is she yours or not?"

“I don't know, I haven't seen the results. But, I don't think you called me for this,” Tony tries to deflect that topic as soon as possible. He can't handle this now.

They walk through Stark Industries until they reach the room where the Arc Reactor is. They argue about the actions of the company and how it affects Tony's decision. He tries to show Stane another form of energy, but in the end he fails to do much.

Happy waits for him in the limousine to take him back to the house. Tony gets in the car.

"Sir, Lily asked me to give you this," says Happy, handing him a folded paper. "She's already at your house," He informs and starts the car.

Tony unfolds the paper, finding a drawing made with colored crayons. A big house, the sea behind and three people standing in front. The names Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper are written under each person in crooked letters. The man can't help but smile, but what he’s really surprised about is seeing the fourth person in the air with outstretched arms. It's him with a big smile and the words 'I'm alive' next to him. He doesn’t know whether to feel fear at those words or simply laugh at the idea.

The truth is that during his experience in Afghanistan, he did think about her. How his life would be if the test was positive. If he’d manage to get out of that situation and return to have a family. Images from his childhood, everything he lived with his parents came to his mind.

Howard Stark was not the best father in the world. Tony doesn't remember loving or encouraging words from him, no matter how hard he tries. He discussed this with his assistant and his friend Yinsen, who was very helpful in giving real advice, but even so, he still doesn't believe that he’s capable of raising a girl. He doesn't have a clue how to do it.

“Sir," Happy interrupts his thoughts. “We’re home.”

***

"You're good?”

“Yes."

"You don't look good.”

"Well, I am," Tony answers, arranging some things in his workshop.

"Did you like my drawing?"

"It could be better.”

Lily frowns. It’s not the answer she expected. Maybe that means he wants more drawings, to see how much I can improve, she thinks.

“Okay.”

Tony takes off his shirt and leans back on a table. He connects several cables to his body. Lily looks at him curiously and notices the circle in the center of his chest.

"What is that?”

"You wouldn’t understand.”

"Doesn't it hurt?"

“No."

"How does it work?"

“You wouldn’t understand-"

“Try me,” She cuts him off. She’s sick of that answer. Tony sighs.

"This little wheel of light,” He touches it. “It's what keeps me alive, it works so that the shrapnel doesn’t reach my heart.”

"What is shrapnel?"

"Fragments of a missile that tried to kill me.”

She nods.

"And what are you going to do now?"

“Update it. Jarvis, call Miss Potts.”

"Can I ask another question?"

"You already did.”

"I'll ask another question," She informs. Tony brings his lips together to avoid a smile.

“Okay."

“Your dad was also an inventor. Did he answer all your questions?"

Tony frowns. He could never ask so many questions to his father. Howard kept him as far away as possible, but he had other teachers or he did research himself.

Pepper's arrival interrupts them. Her steps are nervous, she thought that finally her boss would want to know the result of the paternity test, but seeing that he needs her for something else, she leaves the envelope on a table.

The man explains what she has to do to replace the reactor in his heart with a better one. Lily looks amused as Pepper panics and Tony tries to relax her, but it only upsets her further.

"It's like the game ‘operating'."

"What is that?" asks Pepper scared.

"I know what it is, can I try it?"

"No!" The two adults answer. She makes a face.

When the machines sound faster on alert, Lily freaks out and looks around for something she can help out with, but she doesn't know what all of Tony's toys work for. But Pepper manages to solve it in time and everything ends.

“You're better?" She asks approaching again.

“Yes, Kid. Back off,” He answers, pulling her away a bit.

Pepper wipes her hands. Tony explains what she has to do with the old reactor, she nods, but after she clears her throat.

"We have a pending issue,” Tony turns to see them. Pepper points to the girl.

“Right," He sighs. "Just tell me if she's mine or not.”

"Don't you want to see the papers?"

Tony sits on a bench and looks at Lily.

“No."

Pepper opens the envelope carefully. Reads every detail and sighs in relief. She smiles and looks up at her boss.

“Lily's your daughter, sir.”

Tony doesn't take his eyes off the girl.

“Fine."

Pepper notices the tension between them.

"Just fine?"

"Yes, that's it,” Now he stares at the redhead. "Thank you, Miss Potts.”

The redhead nods unsure and leaves the workshop.

Tony makes a face and returns to the girl.

"You got scared?" He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“What did you think?"

"I don't want to lose my dad so soon,” She cocks her head. "I just found him.”

"I should take you to an orphanage.”

“You'll do it?"

“You’d be better with someone else.”

"But I don't want to be an orphan.”

“Nobody wants to be. I am.”

"Is that why you're always sad?"

He opens his mouth thinking of an attack, but he decides to avoid it.

“This is a bad idea. Being my daughter, I don't recommend it.”

“Well, not that I have a choice. My mom is no longer at home and…” She sighs. "I don't think she wants me back.”

Tony puts his hands to his face and groans.

“Fine," He gets up and looks around. "I have other things to do. Pepper will handle the paperwork."

“Can I help?"

Tony walks to a desk and touches the surface. Holograms of plans and folders are projected in front of him. Lily approaches the desk, Tony looks at her from the corner of his eye, maybe he can admit that it is nice to have someone who’s easily impressed.

He and Jarvis talk about a secret project, outside of any Stark Industries business.

"I don't want this to fall into the wrong hands.”

"What about mine?" Lily asks. She raises both hands showing him her palms.

He sighs.

“They're still wrong, but,” He cocks his head. “I guess you're a Stark now. That's enough,” He crouches down to her level. "You can’t tell anyone about this.”

"Not even Happy?"

“I'll take care of Pepper, Happy and Rhodes. This shouldn't get out of here unless I say so. Okay?" He offers his hand.

“Deal," They shake hands. “Can I help?"

"Only if you follow my rules.”

"Which are?"

“Don't get in the way. Do exactly what I tell you and don't ask so many questions.”

She frowns at the last rule.

"I can't help it, how can I help you if I don't know what to do?"

He rolls his eyes.

"Fine, we’ll have a limit of questions.”

“Fine," She answers in a deep voice, imitating his. She smiles looking at him, but she stops when he doesn't.

"This will be more complicated than I thought.”

Taglist

If your username is crossed out it’s because Tumblr didn’t let me tag you, sorry. If you want to be removed from the taglist, you can tell us, we also make mistakes, lol

@stardusthigh​   @sarcasticallywitty15​​ @silenthappyplace​​ @yourbonesareinmybody​​  @aylauwuuniverse @tyb1​​ @skittles-skittles​​ @hufflepuffzutara​​   @poetryislife0715

[magnusmysteries]

Part 26: Captivating Literature

The Magnus Archives was a horror podcast. It is now completed. Many of the show’s mysteries were never explained on the show. I intend to explain them. Spoilers for the show, but also spoilers if you wanna solve these mysteries yourself. This is based on episodes Pageturner, Literary Heights and The Coming Storm.

Once when Dominic Swain and Michael Crew are children, Dominic insists they keep playing outside and as a result Crew is hit by lightning and gets a Lichtenberg scar. The Lichtenberg scar draws the attention of a monster of the Spiral that begins tormenting Crew. As an adult, Crew buys the book Ex Altiora from Herbert Knox. Crew uses the book to become an avatar of the Vast. He says he binds the monster to the book. Years later Dominic finds Ex Altiora in a charity shop and buys it. Later while wandering the streets Dominic ends up at Pinhole Books and meets Mary Keay. Later Mary’s son Gerard visits Dominic, buys Ex Altiora and burns it.

When Herbert describes the book, it has no Lichtenberg figure and it does not smell of ozone. Herbert says that when Crew was in his shop, there would be a smell of ozone, but the smell wouldn't come from Crew. Also the lights in the shop would get brighter. That’s the monster following Crew that is messing with the lights and the smell.

When Dominic has the book, a Lichtenberg figure appears in it and it causes the smell of ozone. He brings the book to a play and thinks there is a problem with the lights. That’s the monster in the book causing the figure, the smell and lights problem.

Originally Ex Altiora is supposed to make people dizzy and make them fall. Herbert falls out of a chair twice. The previous owner died from falling down the stairs. Dominic falls down some stairs and twists his ankle. After the spiral monster is trapped in it I think the book can also mess with the senses and memories of people.

A couple of quotes from when Dominic buys the book: “At first I assumed it was some sort of faux-leather special edition and I was sure whoever put it out for sale must have done the same, because the price on it was only four pounds. There was something about it that made me take another look, though, and picking it up I felt the binding and realized it might well have been bound in real leather, probably calf, given how soft it was.”

“...it was then that I noticed the time. I had somehow managed to spend an hour in that shop...”

I think the spiral monster spent almost an hour manipulating Dominic into buying the book. It made several attempts, and then deleted the memories of the failed attempts.

I think Crew somehow deliberately made Dominic buy Ex Altiora as revenge for Dominic causing Crew to get hit by lightning. Maybe Crew made a deal with the monster in the book, that Crew would release the book if the book hurts Dominic.

When Dominic goes for a walk and ends up at Pinhole Book, it’s the spiral monster messing with his mind. At one point Dominic almost walks into a man, so he is confused. Why does the spiral monster send Dominic there? It wants the book to be burned so it can be freed. Maybe the monster knows of Gerard’s habit of burning dangerous books. Or maybe it thinks Mary will destroy the book, as she is now an avatar of the End and the End and the Vast are opposites (see Part 3). Whatever the plan, the book is burned and the monster freed.

I think the monster is the Distortion. Crew mentions how his scar is a fractal. The Distortion loves fractals. The monster creates an impossible door for Crew. The Distortion makes doors.

Here’s how Crew described the monster ”In the dark it would stand beneath my bedroom window, the light flaring, flashing the awful brightness of sheet lightning across my room. I could never look directly at it. The bright, arcing glow of its insides almost blinded me when I tried. It was almost a man, but I could never be sure. Its strobing, flashing Lichtenberg organs changed and flickered too fast.”

Crew also says: “The thing that chased me, you see, it was an arcing branch of the Twisting Deceit, taken shape to follow me. But the shape it had taken more rightly belonged to the sky.”

Here’s how Herbert describes the monster: “It was hard to make out, as it only seemed to appear for those momentary flashes, but it seemed tall, thin, its limbs angular and branching. Like Mike’s scar.”

Here’s Sasha describing the Distortion “It looked too tall, the limbs and body were very thin and almost wavy, like they didn’t have any structure or bones in them.”

Here’s Helen Richardson describing the Distortion: “Its body was thin and limp, and when it moved, it shifted, like I was watching it through rippling water. Its hands were swollen, and bits of them jutted out at annoying angles.”

I think the Distortion, when tormenting Crew took the form of lightning, since Crew was afraid of lightning. But it still had some of its old form: tall and thin with arms that branches out.

I think this is The Distortion before it became Michael. It is not quite human, and does not have Michael’s Shelley’s Laugh.

In Left Hanging, Simon Fairchild jumps out of a cable car. More weird stuff happens, and the driver starts walking towards the door. I think he is about to jump out and fall forever, like Simon wants. Then this happens:

“There was a thump from above, the sound of something heavy landing on the roof of the car, and the driver froze, arms still outstretched. His eyes widened in sudden realization, but before he could pull back from the edge, an arm, long, grey, and completely inhuman, reached down from above with terrible speed. It grabbed his wrist, just for a moment, and then he was gone, his own scream vanishing into the abyss beyond the door. (...) Then came three bangs, one after another on the roof of the car. Knock. Knock. Knock. Then a laugh. A terrible whistling sound, like the howling of a gale.”

I think that’s Michal on the roof. The weird arm and the laughter points to Michael. And three knocks, like when Helen knocks on the door in Taking Stock.

I think Michael is stealing victims from the Vast as revenge for being trapped in the Vast book. The driver gets taken by Michael instead of falling. And the mother of the statement giver doesn't remember anything. Michael has changed her memories. That way the statement giver fears he or she for her sanity instead of fearing heights like Simon wanted.

Some might object that the dates don’t add up. The monster gets trapped in the book in 1998 and released in 2012. The Distortion tormented Paul McKenzie in 2003, and so it seems the Distortion could not have been trapped in a book then. But I think the Distortion is a time traveler. More on that in the next post.

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Sweet As Sin - Part Four

Summary: After losing your job and having to spend all of your savings, you find yourself completely broke as you desperately search for a job. On a whim, you join a website for sugar babies and sugar daddies can meet, and you’re surprised when you immediately make a connection with Captain America, of all people. But as you grow closer to Steve, you start to realize that there may be a dark side to America’s golden boy.

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Steve Rogers x Reader, with eventual Dark!Steve Rogers

Read part three here!

A/N: Here be smut! 18+ only, please. :) Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Your GPS navigated you to the address Steve had texted you that morning, and you immediately felt out of place as your old, battered Impala puttered down a road lined with well-manicured brownstones. Each one was a little bit unique, but they all had the same thing in common – they were wicked expensive, located in one of the nicest areas of Brooklyn. You had passed a boujee private school, two quaint shopping centers, and a small dog park on the way, and now you were parallel parking in front of Steve’s house.

After reaching into the backseat to sling your duffel bag over your shoulder, you turned on your heel and stared up at the three-story building. Planter boxes lined every window on the street-facing side, and you smiled at the thought of Steve planting and tending to the ferns growing within them. The door had been painted a bright, cheerful red, and an American flag was flapping just to the left of it. You had to chuckle a little at the cliché, but you knew that Steve was an old-fashioned guy. It was easy for you to picture him making this house his home.

You climbed the front steps and knocked on the door, adjusting your knit cap as you waited for your boyfriend to answer. The wind was biting as it whirled through the streets of New York, and a quick glance skyward told you that snow would be coming soon.

You were broken out of your thoughts when the door opened, revealing Steve smiling down at you from its other side. He was dressed in a cable-knit sweater that was the same color of his eyes, and your mouth watered when you saw the steaming mug of coffee in his left hand.

“Hey, doll,” he greeted you, and you immediately stepped into the warm space, pressing your forehead against his chest.

“You’re so warm,” you groaned, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“Glad I can be of service,” he joked. The door clicked shut behind you as his free hand rubbed your back. “You’re cold as ice, hon. Come in; let me take your things.”

Steve slid your duffel bag off of your shoulder, waving at you to follow him into the living room. Along the way, your eyes skimmed over the space, taking in the pictures he had dotted around the walls. You paused at one that showed him sitting on a couch with some very familiar faces; Tony Stark was sitting directly to Steve’s left, holding his hand up behind his head to give him bunny ears. Then, there was the famous Natasha Romanoff, who had her legs draped over Hawkeye’s knees. Thor – the actual Thor - was standing behind the couch holding a massive stein of beer, a large, dopey smile spread across his face as he posed for the camera. And, to top it all off, Bruce Banner was sitting on the floor in front of Mr. Stark with a shy grin.

“That’s me and the original team,” Steve said from behind you, and you jolted at how close he suddenly was. “We took that about a year after the Battle of New York. Tony’s always throwing these parties around holidays.”

You smiled, turning back to face him.

“You guys look like you’re all good friends,” you commented.

“Yeah… We’ve had our ups and downs, but we all know that we have one another’s backs.”

You grinned and wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the baby hairs growing at the base of his skull.

“You need to tell me about some of your adventures sometime,” you remarked. Steve laughed and squeezed your hip, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

“You’re my favorite adventure so far.”

“Oh, my god,” you laughed. “That was so cheesy, Steve!”

He smiled sheepishly before stepping back, leading you towards a crackling fireplace waiting just in the other room.

“As cheesy as it is, it’s true.”

You nearly melted once you laid eyes on Steve’s living room. The space was incredibly cozy; there was a large, beige sectional sofa to one side, and a matching loveseat was placed directly in front of it on the other side of the hardwood coffee table. To the left, there was a large bay window that had been visible from the street, and there was a window seat built into it full of decorative pillows. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, and you recognized one of them from the picture Steve had sent to you during your first ever conversation.

The fireplace, though, was truly the heart of the space. It was large and made of stone, and above the mantle, there was a huge painting of the New York skyline done in abstract shades of brown and red. As you walked further into the room, you felt the heat from the fireplace wash over you, and you didn’t hesitate before taking a seat on the floor in front of it and sticking your hands out to warm them by the fire.

“Steve, I’m in love with this room,” you gushed, smiling up at him.

“And here I thought I’d never be jealous of my own house,” he joked, lowering himself down beside you. He set your duffel to the side and carefully set his coffee down a few feet away before pulling you flush against his side. You leaned into him as his arm came up around your shoulders, closing your eyes as you breathed in the scent of his cologne.

“I can’t take full credit for this place, though,” Steve continued on. “When I picked this house out, Tony surprised me by hiring a decorator. But there are a few things that I’ve done here and there to put my own spin on it.”

“Like what?”

You watched as he pointed at the painting above the mantle, nodding towards it.

“Well, I did that about a week after I moved in.”

“Wait, you painted that? Steve, that’s amazing.”

You turned to him just in time to catch the blush that was painted over his features. He just chuckled and shook his head, waving off your compliment.

“Nah, it’s nothing. I don’t make nearly as much art as I used to,” he confessed. “Back when I was growing up, I would draw on the side to earn extra cash for me and my mom all the time.”

You smiled, craning your neck so you could look up at him.

“What kind of things would you draw?” you asked.

“Usually people,” he reminisced. “I would set up my sketchpad on a street in a rich neighborhood, and some people passing by would give me a nickel to do a quick sketch of them.”

“Wow… So on top of everything else, he draws too,” you chuckled. “Is there anything you can’t do, Steve?”

He laughed, pulling you tighter against him.

“Oh, god, yeah,” he laughed. “You could write a series of encyclopedias about the things I can’t do.”

“Oh, please. Name just one.”

“I can’t dance,” he said immediately.

“C’mon, everyone can dance-“

“Everyone except for Steve Rogers,” he insisted. “It was the same back when I was younger; whether it’s to modern music or not, I can’t dance without looking like a goober.”

You snorted, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry, just… ‘Goober’?”

Steve winced, glancing at you sheepishly.

“…People don’t say ‘goober’ anymore?”

“Steve, no one has used the word ‘goober’ in a sentence in a thousand years.”

“Now, I know that’s not true. I’m old, but I’m not a thousand-“

“Are you sure about that?” you interrupted with a grin. “Because anyone who says goober should probably be checked into a nursing home. Actually, I passed a few on the way, if you’d like to consider-“

You cut yourself off with a squeal as Steve turned you around, pressing your back to the floor as he straddled your hips.

“You know what?” he laughed. “I don’t need to take this abuse.”

You couldn’t hold back the giggles that were tumbling out of your lips, and Steve’s smile matched yours as he held you firmly in place despite how much you were squirming.

“Oh, what, do you have somewhere to go, miss?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes!”

“And where is that?”

“I was hoping,” you smiled, “to explore my boyfriend’s house a little bit. See what kind of incriminating things I can find in his bedside drawers and medicine cabinets; you know how it is.”

“Hmmm… No, can’t say I do. What I do know, though,” he remarked, moving one of his hands slowly down your side, “is that your boyfriend has something else he would rather be doing.”

You bit your lip, looking down to watch as his hand snaked lower and lower, eventually finding the button on your jeans. His fingers played with it a bit as he watched your face to gauge your reaction; you looked up at him, staring into his blue irises, and saw how his pupils seemed to dilate.

Suddenly, his mouth was on yours, and you made a small noise of surprise before wrapping your arms around his back and kissing him. The carpet was soft beneath your skin as he slowly started to pull your shirt off, and when you finally broke your kiss, it was only so he could fully remove it and toss it onto the couch. The heat of the fire was warm against your right side, but you still shivered as his eyes hungrily settled on your breasts. You said a silent thank you to your past self for deciding to wear one of your nicer bras that morning as Steve ran his hands over the pink lace of your lingerie.

“I really like this,” he murmured under his breath, most likely to himself. You felt your cheeks heat up from his praise, but your eyes widened when Steve abruptly reached around your back and ripped the bra’s band clean in half.

“Steve!”

“I’ll buy you another one just like it,” he promised, hushing your protests with another searing kiss.  

He tossed the now-useless scrap of fabric away before greedily kneading at your tits, rolling them in his palms as his hips started to grind against yours. Every time his bulge pressed against you just right, you felt shocks of pleasure emanate from your already-drenched pussy.

His lips slowly started to trek downwards, trailing a path down your cheek to your neck, and you cried out when you felt him bite your flesh. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he licked over the bitemark, soothing it before once more sucking in what you were certain would be an impressive hickey later.

Suddenly, though, you felt yourself being flipped over, and your breath was nearly taken away when Steve maneuvered you onto your belly.

“I wanna try something,” he murmured against your ear. You nodded quickly as you felt him guide you up onto your knees, and you shifted to support your weight on your elbows.

You craned your neck and looked over your shoulder, watching as Steve efficiently started removing his and the rest of your clothes, tossing them into a neat pile before turning his attention to you again. He smirked, giving you a wink as he knelt behind you.

“Have I mentioned,” he asked, “how much I love your ass?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you saw his jaw clench as he brought his palm down hard against your ass. You gasped, closing your eyes and letting your head fall forward. Again, he spanked you, and you bit your lip from the sting it left in its wake.

“I asked you a question, baby,” Steve cooed as his hands groped and squeezed your ass.

“I-I,” you stammered, trying to gather your scattered thought. “Uh, n-no, I don’t think you’ve mentioned it.”

“Well.” You could hear the smile on his lips as he once more leaned down, covering your body with his as he kissed your shoulder. “I love it. And I wanna watch it as I fuck you.”

You gulped and nodded, biting your lip as Steve’s mouth trailed down your spine. A noise escaped your throat as his hands spread your ass cheeks, and your pussy clenched as it was exposed to the sudden rush of cool air. You spread your knees wider apart and arched your back, glancing behind you once again.

Steve’s eyes darkened as he took in your form, sitting back on his heels as his hands shifted, using his thumbs to keep you spread open while the rest of his digits curled around your hips. His tongue darted out, licking his lips as his eyes focused on your pussy.

“So wet,” he observed, leaning closer. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you want me?”

“Yes, Steve, please-“

“What happened to sir?”

He arched an eyebrow, smirking up at you, and you felt something mischievous stir within you.

“Sorry, Captain,” you purred, wiggling your ass. “I meant to say, ‘Please, sir, fuck me until I can’t walk straight-‘”

A moan interrupted you as Steve leaned in and licked a stripe up your pussy, from your clit to your entrance. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you let out a moan as he lapped at your clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue. One of his hands trailed up your back until it rested between your shoulder blades, and you felt him slowly start to press you downwards until your chest was flush against the carpet and your ass was sticking further up into the air.

All the while, his tongue was starting to flatten out, tracing patterns against your clit that had you seeing stars. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead against your crossed forearms, your hips jolting any time his tongue changed its pace. Moans fell from your lips unbidden, and you hoped to God his neighbors couldn’t hear you as you grew louder and louder.

The carpet was rough against your knees and your hands, and the lewd sounds of Steve’s tongue laving over your soaked cunt filled the air. You could feel your own juices running down the inside of your thighs, and you could tell from the knot tightening in your belly that you were getting close to cumming.

“Steve,” you panted, pushing your hips back against him. “Fuck, I’m close-“

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, though, Steve pulled away. You whined at the loss, your nails digging into the carpet as you squeezed your thighs together. Within seconds, though, you felt Steve grip your hips as he drew himself up onto his knees, and before you take a breath to prepare yourself, he was pushing into you.

“O-oh, fuck,” he groaned, “Been thinkin’ about this pussy all damn day…”

He wasted no time before starting to move, and you braced yourself as you felt the way your pussy stretched around him; his cock was still just as big as you remembered it being, but despite the burn from being stuffed so full, it still felt amazing as your cunt took his hard length.

“Captain, oh my God-“

You craned your neck to watch him, taking in the way his muscles tensed and flexed as he rolled his hips forward. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his jaw was clenched; you wondered if he was straining to control himself and his strength, doing his best not to hurt you.

Ragged groans were emanating from his parted lips as he fucked you into the floor, and his hands were continuously exploring your body, gliding over your ass to your tits and then back to your hips. With every thrust, the head of his cock was slamming into a spot deep inside of you that had you all but screaming his name, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you found your release.

“You’re getting close,” Steve grunted, pressing his chest against your back and caging you in beneath his body. “I can feel it; you gonna cum for me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you moaned. “F-fuck, I’m so close-“

One of Steve’s hands moved towards your pussy, brushing past your folds to tap your clit in time with his thrusts. You wailed, your body tensing as your orgasm ripped through you. Your eyes rolled as wave after wave of pleasure washed over your body, and somewhere in the background you could hear Steve’s groan as he came inside of you. Hot cum coated your inner walls as you both rode out your highs, and you shivered as his cock began to soften inside of you.

“Fuck, doll,” he sighed, rolling over onto his side. He gently took you in his arms, spooning you from behind as you faced the fire. “I’d been looking forward to that.”

A laugh bubbled past your lips, and you turned your head to press a quick peck to his lips.

“Me too. To be honest, I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to keep my hands off of you, now that I’m gonna be staying here.”

You turned away just as a wide grin spread over Steve’s face, and you missed the pleased, possessive gleam in his eyes as he pecked your cheek.

“I hope it takes them a long time to fix your heating, then.”

____________

The rest of the day went by quickly. You and Steve laid there, talking and dozing for a good hour before going for another round. This time, he fucked you from behind as you laid on the floor, rocking his hips slowly as he whispered filthy things into your ear. Your orgasm was slow-building and languid as he slowly wrung it out of you, and you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep afterwards until you awoke to find Steve picking you up.

“Sorry, doll,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh! Oh, no, it’s… it’s fine. Shit, what time is it?”

“It’s almost five.” Your eyebrows flew up as he started carrying you to the staircase, climbing it with long, confident strides despite baring the weight of an entire other person in his arms. “I was just about to start on dinner.”

“Oh?” A yawn interrupted you, and you giggled when Steve yawned immediately after. “Oh, sorry.”

“For what?”

“For giving you my yawn.”

Steve frowned.

“I… Don’t understand. Your yawn?”

“Yeah! Cuz, you know. Yawns are contagious?”

He shook his head as he carried you into a bathroom decorated in white and blue tile. He sat you down on the counter as he bent down to retrieve a hand towel from beneath the sink, and you took the opportunity to admire just how wide his shoulders were.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Yawns are contagious; for most people, if they see someone else yawn, it makes them yawn, too,” you explained. “It’s a sign of empathy.”

“Huh.” Steve smiled as he ran the towel under the sink, getting it wet with warm water. “Well. Since I caught your yawn…”

“…It means you’re a very empathetic person,” you finished. “But I could’ve told you that anyways.”

“Mm.”

He pulled your legs apart gently as he nodded, and you felt your cheeks heat up as he started to clean the cum from between your legs. His touch was exceedingly gentle as he ran the rag over your skin, and the warmth in his eyes as he looked at you made butterflies erupt into flight within your chest. You thought that this might just be the most intimate moment you’d ever shared with another person; there was something about the sudden shift in mood and the vulnerability of your position that made you want to cling to Steve and never let go.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but his lips found yours in a slow, lazy kiss that had your toes curling. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling his beard as it tickled and brushed against your chin. He tasted like coffee, and he was so warm; you felt as if you were going to dissolve into his touch.

From there, Steve carried you into the kitchen, which was right next to the living room. It, too, was decked out with blue and white tile, and there were several modern stainless steel appliances with the Stark logo on them. You sat on one of the barstools at the island in the center of the room, making easy conversation with your boyfriend as he set about cooking a casserole of some sort.

“Thanks again for letting me stay with you,” you sighed, setting your chin in your hand. “Leave it to my luck to have my heat go out during the coldest time in the year.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with luck,” Steve spoke, glancing up at you. “I looked into it, and apparently three other apartment complexes in your neighborhood had the same thing happen.”

You straightened upon hearing that; you hadn’t seen that anywhere on the news.

“Oh, wow. I had no idea.”

He shrugged, pulling a head of broccoli from the fridge.

“Well, your side of town isn’t exactly the, uh…safest place to live,” he mused. “If anything, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

“Hey, it’s not so bad,” you quickly defended. “If anything, it’s on the nicer side of things for that part of Brooklyn.”

For a moment, Steve looked as if he wanted to say something, but he held back, closing his mouth before he could make whatever point he’d just thought of.

“…I guess I just worry about you,” he finally huffed. “Sorry; I know that’s probably paranoid.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But… It’s also very sweet. And I am grateful that you invited me to stay here with you.”

A smile came to his lips, and his eyes twinkled as he looked over at you.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart.”

As it turned out, the casserole Steve made was actually good, despite its bland coloration and questionable look. It was a recipe from the 30’s, after all, but you weren’t disappointed. After eating, you insisted on helping Steve do the dishes, which you did standing side by side in a comfortable silence.

Once the dishes were dried and put away, Steve brought your duffel bag up to the bedroom, giving you a quick tour of the space on the way.

“There are three stories and a basement,” he explained as you ascended the stairs. “But I only use the first and second floor, for the most part.”

He paused on the landing, pointing out various doorways as he listed off rooms.

“Office, bathroom, and bedroom through there,” he explained, gesturing to each respectively. He turned and pointed towards the second set of stairs, which lead upwards. “Upstairs is there, but don’t bother checking it out; it’s just storage and old boxes.”

He walked into the bedroom, which had in it the biggest bed that you had ever laid eyes on. It looked like something out of a movie, and you immediately walked over and sank down, headfirst, into its grey sheets. Steve laughed as he set your bag on the dresser.

“Comfy?”

“Oh, my God,” you groaned, your voice muffled by the sheets. “It’s so comfy, Steve.”

“I did not understand a word of what you just said,” he joked. “But I think it was a yes.”

That evening, the two of you sat on the sofa and watched movies in your pajamas. As it turned out, Steve had never seen Star Wars (though you weren’t terribly surprised by that fact), so he rented A New Hope for the two of you. He kept up with the plot surprisingly well, though you could tell some of the science-fiction jargon went way over his head. And once it was over, he asked if you would watch Empire Strikes Back with him next, which you happily agreed to do even though you were starting to feel your eyelids grow heavy.

Steve’s reaction to the ending, though, was completely worth staying up. You laughed as he sat there, watching the credits, his jaw still slack with shock.

“…So wait a minute,” he finally said, setting his elbows on his knees and staring at the screen. “You’re tellin’ me that Darth Vader is Luke’s father?!”

“I cannot believe you haven’t had that spoiled for you before,” you laughed.

“I mean, I thought it was a little funny that his name means ‘father’ in German, but I thought it was just a coincidence,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair. He let himself relax once again, sinking back into the sofa cushions, and you set your head on his shoulder as he tapped his foot restlessly.

“Darth Vader is Luke’s dad,” he whispered to himself, and you barked out a laugh. Directly afterwards, though, a yawn overtook you, and Steve looked down at you with an arched eyebrow. “Gettin’ sleepy?”

“Just a bit,” you yawned once again. You blinked up at Steve slowly, finding a fond smile plastered across his lips.

“I think,” he said, pulling you into his arms, “that it’s time for us to go to bed.”

You made no protest as he picked you up, effortlessly carrying you through the house as he went around, shutting off all the lights. He only let you go once he brought you to the bedroom, and you kissed his cheek before kneeling down by your duffel, looking around for your toothbrush.

“Oh, shit,” you groaned under your breath. “No, no, come on-“

“What’s the matter?” Steve asked from the other side of the room.

“I forgot my toothbrush,” you sighed, standing up. “I’m gonna have the worst morning breath.”

Steve chuckled and gestured for you to follow him to the bathroom.

“Don’t worry; I picked up an extra for you the last time I was at the store,” he told you.

“Oh, thank God-“  You paused, arching an eyebrow at him. “Wait… How did you know I would be over?”

The smile on his face faltered for just a second as he turned to answer your question, but it righted itself before he spoke next.

“Oh, I didn’t. But I was hopeful that you’d spend the night here at some point.”

You grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours after he pulled a still-packaged toothbrush out of the medicine cabinet.

“Someone was confident,” you smirked.

“No, not confident,” he corrected you. “Just hopeful.”

____________

You slept like a baby that night; how could you not? Steve held you in his arms almost the entire time; as it turned out, he was a bit of a cuddler in his sleep. You weren’t complaining, though; when you woke up the next morning, you felt more well-rested than you had in a long, long time.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

You turned to find Steve walking into the bedroom, already dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue button-down. A quick glance towards the clock told you that it was only 8:07 in the morning, but you could already smell breakfast wafting from downstairs.

“How’d you sleep?” Steve asked, drawing your attention back to him.

“Perfectly,” you smiled, pushing the sheets back and stretching.

“Well, I’m glad. We have a busy day ahead of us,” he remarked. You arched an eyebrow as you stood up and made your way over to your duffel.

“Oh, really? What do you have planned for us, Cap?”

You jumped when you felt him press up against you from behind, and you let him tilt your head to the side so he could press a soft kiss to your neck.

“Well,” he murmured, trailing his hands over your hips. “I thought that we could eat a big breakfast, first off. And afterwards, I was thinking we could go to the zoo.”

You gasped and spun around, feeling excitement spark in your chest.

“What?!”

Steve laughed, a wide grin spreading over his features.

“Well, why not? I’m in between missions, so there’s nowhere for me to be. And I’ve always wanted to take a dame to Prospect Park; me and Bucky were actually at the opening of the zoo there back in the 30’s.”

“That’s…really cool, Steve,” you smiled, starting to pick out your outfit for the day. “What was it like?”

Steve sat on the bed and watched as you debated which sweater you wanted to wear with the jeans you’d picked out, thinking back to the fond memory.

“Well, me and Bucky were broke, first of all,” he chuckled. “We couldn’t afford a ticket in, but Buck was friends with one of the zookeeper’s sons. So he snuck us in with him when he went in to work that morning.

“The whole place was packed that first day; things were different back then, you know. Most people had only ever seen pictures of an elephant or a lion, and even then, the pictures weren’t detailed and in color the way they are today. So people were seeing these creatures they’d only ever imagined before in real life for the first time. It was…”

You looked over as you pulled your sweater over your head, catching the small, wistful smile on Steve’s face as he thought back to that time.

“It was magical, as corny as that sounds,” he finally sighed. “Plus, that opening day was the day before my birthday, so it was extra special for me.”

“Oh, I bet that was one incredible b-day,” you said. “What day is it on?”

At that, Steve paused, and you could have sworn that a blush had started to spread over his cheeks.

“I… Well, it’s…”

You frowned, walking over to set your hands on his shoulders.

“What is it?” you asked? “Don’t wanna tell your own girlfriend when your birthday is?”

Steve let out a huff of laughter at that, letting his hands come to rest on your waist.

“It’s just… Well. When Tony found out about it, he never let me hear the end of it. In fact, every year since he found out, he’s thrown an enormous, obnoxious birthday barbeque for me.”

“Oh, come on, that doesn’t sound so bad-“

“My birthday is on the fourth of July.”

You blinked, trying your best to fight back the grin that was trying to spread over your face. A sharp burst of laughter escaped you, and you quickly threw your hand over your mouth as Steve let out a sigh.

“…Yyyyeah…”

“You’re kidding me,” you giggled, letting your hand fall from your mouth to your chest. “No, that’s…that’s too perfect. The universe would never be so rude to you.”

Steve shook his head, scratching his beard.

“Tony puts up these banners that say Happy America Day, and my cake has been red, white, and blue for the past five years.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed so hard that tears came to your eyes; Steve had just looked so defeated as he said that, and you couldn’t deny the irony that Steve would also just happen to be born on the same day America declared its independence from Britain. He took it like a champ, though, and just laughed with you at the coincidence.

“Well,” you finally said, still grinning, “this year we’ll do something for your birthday that’s decidedly not patriotic.”

Steve, for his part, actually looked touched, and there was a tone of relief in his next words.

“I would…really like that.”

______________

That day might have been one of the best of your life. After feasting on pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs, the two of you dressed up in your warmest coats and left for the zoo. Steve had offered to drive you there on his motorcycle, and despite your initial trepidation, you’d said yes. As it turned out, you enjoyed the experience, if for no other reason than it gave you an excuse to have Steve between your legs for the duration of the short drive. It was nice to feel the wind rush around you as you clung to him, and the way the bike tilted into the twists and turns of the road was exhilarating.

You’d never had as much fun at a zoo as you had that day. Steve gave you a grand tour of the parts he remembered from the 30’s, and you told him random facts about the various animals the two of you saw. And despite the fact that Steve swore up and down that he didn’t enjoy using modern technology, he took nearly a thousand pictures that day – most of them were of you or whatever animal you were looking at, but you managed to convince him to take a few selfies with you.

You even captured a picture of Steve that, in your opinion, was priceless. It was of him in front of the lion exhibit, and it was taken the moment one of the lions started walking right towards the glass. Steve’s eyes were wide in the photo, and his mouth was open wide in an excited smile; you’d found out later that lions were his favorite animal. He told you that as you two sat in the zoo’s main plaza, snacking on some overpriced pizza that Steve had insisted he didn’t mind getting for the two of you.

“To be fair,” he said after laughing at the picture, “lions are my favorites. I get that excited any time I see one.”

“Really? Why lions?” you asked.

One of the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile, and he took a sip of his beer before answering.

“They were always my mom’s favorite,” he explained, and you could hear a hint of melancholy in his voice. “I used to draw them for her; they always made her happy, even after she got sick.”

A sad smile had fallen over his face, and your heart squeezed at the sight of it.

“…I can tell you miss her,” you spoke softly, reaching over to put your hand over his. “But for what it’s worth, I know that she was proud of you, and she’d be even prouder to see who you’ve become. But… I know that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Steve’s eyes found yours, and no one could miss the affection that was glimmering in them for you. His hand squeezed yours, and he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Thanks, doll,” he murmured. “It does help, more than you know.”

After the two of you finished your lunch, you walked around the rest of the zoo, hand in hand. Steve’s beard made it harder for people to recognize him, but there were still a few who came up asking for selfies with him. He was always gracious about it, letting them take a quick photo and thanking them for their kind words before turning back to you. There were others who didn’t come up to talk to him but who definitely still recognized who he was; you saw a few of them taking pictures of you, but you tried not to worry about it, focusing instead of Steve and the scenery around you.

Once you were done at the zoo, you two walked around for a while without any real purpose or destination. You took in the sights of the city, strolling down tiny side streets and exploring what Brooklyn had to offer. Towards mid-afternoon, you stumbled upon a small, hole-in-the-wall café that had the most delicious smell wafting from its open door. The two of you had stepped in to find that the shop owner had just baked some homemade cinnamon rolls, and so the two of you took a break in your exploration of the city to have a cup of coffee while sharing a cinnamon roll. It, of course, was sinfully delicious, as was the sight of Steve licking icing off of his lips.

He caught you staring at one point and winked, causing you to look away as your cheeks heated up in embarrassment. You got him right back, though, when you saw his eyes linger on your mouth as you licked icing off your fingertips.

“See something you like, sir?” you’d asked quietly. His eyes had visibly darkened, and his voice was husky when he leaned in to murmur his reply.

“I’m gonna remember that later on tonight, baby,” he’d promised.

And once the two of you got back to his place, that’s exactly what he did. That night, the two of you could barely keep your hands off each other. When you finally did manage to go to sleep, you were thoroughly exhausted, which might have been the reason why you slept so late the next day. In any case, when you finally woke up, the clock on the nightstand told you it was 9:30 already.

“Fuck,” you sighed, sitting up stiffly as your sore muscles ached in protest.

No amount of stretching was able to calm the ache in your limbs, but despite how it made your every movement burn, you didn’t regret a single thing about the day before. A small, sated smile had settled over your lips as you pulled on one of Steve’s t-shirts and made your way downstairs. Halfway there, though, you heard your lover’s voice coming from the kitchen, and he didn’t seem happy.

You paused, a frown spreading over your face you slowed to a stop.

“I don’t care, Fury,” Steve was saying. You peeked around the corner, seeing him seated at the island, a stormy expression on his face as he stared down at his cup of coffee. You could just barely catch the sound of a man yelling something on the other line, but you couldn’t make out his words.

“Then get Natasha to lead the mission,” he suddenly barked, and you ducked back around the corner as you listened. “Or Sam; he’s more than capable of-“

He was interrupted again, and you bit your lip, contemplating whether or not you should reveal yourself. Maybe you should go back upstairs? But what if he heard you walking away – would he realize you’d been eavesdropping?

“Director, my personal relationships are none of your business,” he all but growled, and your ears perked up; was he talking about you? “And neither are my reasons for turning down missions. Bottom line is, I’m not going. Sam will be willing to lead, and you can send Wanda in for extra backup. And before you say anything, yes, she’s ready for this.”

With that, Steve hung up; you heard the clatter of him dropping his phone onto the countertop. You held your breath and counted to ten in your head before straightening up and walking around the corner, watching as his head popped up to look at you.

“Good morning,” you smiled, walking over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Did I hear you on the phone with someone?”

Instantly, the worried lines on his face disappeared, and an easy smile overtook his features as he pulled you in for a quick kiss.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said. “Just some business back at the compound – nothing to worry about.”

You pulled back, looking over his face; as upset as he’d sounded before, now there were no traces of frustration to be seen. A small part inside of you glowed at the thought that you’d been the one to relieve his tension so quickly, but you couldn’t help but wonder about what his phone call had been about.

“I was thinking we could go back to that café we found yesterday for breakfast,” he said abruptly. “Does that sound good to you?”

“Oh! Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’d like that. I’ll go get dressed.”

Steve smiled and nodded, watching your ass as you walked back towards the stairs. His eyes followed you until you completely left the room, and even then his gaze lingered where you’d been standing moments before; he was totally, completely, addicted to the feelings you brought up in him. At first, he’d felt guilty about tampering with the heating unit for your building, but he reasoned that it would only take them about a week to fix it. And, God, did he need this – a week alone with the woman he was so quickly growing to adore.

Any shred of regret he’d felt from stealing the copper wires from your heating unit or from turning down missions just so he could spend more time with you had faded away as soon as you came walking into the kitchen wearing nothing but his t-shirt. So, no, he wasn’t going to entertain Director Fury’s tantrums when he said no to an assignment. In fact, he reached for his phone and turned it off before sliding it in his pocket and picking up the newspaper in front of him.

He sipped his coffee as he skimmed over the articles, and although he usually discarded the gossip and entertainment sections entirely, his eyes fell on a headline that caught his attention. Biting his lip, he turned to its page, staring that the picture printed before him. It was from yesterday, when the two of you had gone to the zoo. His hand was in yours, and you were smiling up at him as the two of you strolled past the elephant exhibit. ‘Captain America Finally Finds Love?’ was scrawled boldly across the top of the page, and his eyes scanned the article, taking in the various speculations as to who you were and how you’d met the famous super soldier.

Just as he was finished reading, he heard your footsteps start to descend the staircase, and he quickly pulled the page out of the paper and folded it in half a few times, sliding it into his pocket just before you appeared in the doorway, looking absolutely gorgeous in a deep burgundy sweater dress and soft gray leggings.

“Ready to go?” you asked, adjusting the knit cat perched on top of your head.

Steve grinned and stood up, grabbing his keys before making his way over to you.

“I sure am, doll.”

[rmtndew]

Begin Again ~ Chapter 6

Summary: Walter Marshall is a dedicated homicide detective doing his best to balance his work life with being a single father to a teenage girl. Fiona Sparks is a woman doing her best to take care of everyone and everything around her, except for herself. Neither has had the best luck with relationships, but once they meet, they’re willing to give it another shot, this time with each other. (It’s basically just romantic fluff) 

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This is a sequel to ‘All I’ve Ever Known’. I started writing this because I needed an escape for some personal stuff going on and my coping mechanism included giving Marshall all the love that man needed, and imagining him being the softest boyfriend to me, then passing those details on to Fiona (my OFC).

Tag list - @hollydaisy23, @alyxkbrl, @onlyhenrys, @omgkatinka, @speakerforthedead0​​, @gearhead66,  @thethirstyarchive, @oddsnendsfanfics, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira, @aaescritora, @justaboringadult, @beenthroughalot, @seriouslygoodlookinggents, @xxxkatxo, @musicartmayheminmyheart​, @lilliannaansalla​

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

The next week started out well. Marshall’s closed case meant paperwork - which I knew he wasn’t a fan of - but it gave us the ability to spend more time together. After his court appearance on Monday, he stopped by the shop so I could see him in his suit. He was insanely handsome - he really did clean up nicely - but I preferred him looking like a big cozy bear in his thick sweaters, so I gave him the go ahead to change into something more casual for our date that night. Darcy, being the wonderful friend that she was, let me leave a few hours early so that Walter and I could meet up sooner. We had dinner and picked up everything he’d ordered for Faye’s room. Then we went to his house and he assembled the new furniture while I painted the old. Tuesday he picked me up and we had Chinese takeout before finishing the room. It took all night - I didn’t get home until close to one in the morning - but we both worked to get it done in time. And it was well worth it. I may have been an adult, but even I was a little jealous of how cute it had turned out. Faye’s birthday was the next day, Wednesday, and Marshall picked her up from school, then surprised her with it before taking her home. That evening while I was on the phone with him, she sent me a sweet text thanking me for helping him out and telling me how much she loved it. 

Unfortunately, things started falling apart for me after that. Mom spent Thursday getting ready for her trip with my aunts that weekend, and despite how much I tried to convince myself that she would be okay, my anxiety wasn’t buying it. Since Dad died, I hadn’t spent a single night away from her. And with her cancer still feeling fresh in my mind, knowing that I wouldn’t be there with her if something were to go wrong made my anxiety worse. It came to a head Friday morning when I had a panic attack. I was having coffee when it hit me. The chest pains, the heart palpitations, the tingling in my arms, the numbness in my fingers and toes. I felt dizzy, my vision swimming. I knew what it was, I’d had them for more than half my life, and yet I was always scared it was something more. A heart attack usually. My mind could never comprehend how something like anxiety could cause such an intense physical reaction. But it did and when it was over, I was exhausted. I was thankful that I didn’t have to go to work - Darcy had closed the shop for the day - because the most I managed to do that morning was take a shower and put on sweatpants and an oversized sweater. By that afternoon, I felt torn between being too tired to do anything useful and needing something to distract me from dwelling on Mom going away. She wouldn’t let me help her with anything, so I finally settled on cleaning out the fridge. That’s where I was, trying to identify the contents of a container that had gotten pushed to the back, for who knows how long, when I got a text from Marshall. 

Marshall:  I wanted to see if you had plans for dinner? I know your mother is leaving this evening and didn’t know if you’d cook for yourself. I  can take you out, or cook for you, if you’d like?

I wanted so badly to say yes, but I didn’t have the energy. Cleaning out the fridge was as much as I had been able to force myself to do, and even that was pushing it. There was no way I could manage to get ready for a date. 

Me:  I don’t have plans. Unfortunately I’m not feeling well. Do you take rainchecks on dinner?

I hated turning him down for several reasons. One being that I loved spending time with him, no matter what we did. But another was knowing that he wasn’t always going to have free time to spend with me. That these few weeks we’d had were rare, at least by his admission, and I felt like I was squandering it. 

Marshall:  I do take rainchecks. And I’m sorry that you’re not well. Is there anything I can do for you? 

Me: No. It’ll pass. But thank you for offering. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I can. 

Almost as soon as I sent it, he replied, like he’d anticipated what I was going to say and was waiting, his thumb hovering over the send button. 

Marshall:  You have nothing to make up for, Fi. Just let me know if I  can get you anything. 

Reading the text, I felt like crying. He was wonderful and there was no reason why I shouldn’t have been able to go out with him, except my brain decided to have a meltdown and destroy my whole day. 

Me:  I will. You’re too sweet, Walter. Thank you. 

Marshall:  That’s not possible. 

Me:  For you to be sweet? I highly disagree, mister. 

Marshall:  No. For anyone to be too sweet to you, love. 

My heart fluttered for a moment, touched by how wonderful he truly was. But it was over quickly, replaced by tears. I’d finally found someone that I adored and that treated me better than anyone ever had, but even still, my anxiety fought it and that afternoon, it won. 

A few hours later, June came by to pick up Mom. I carried her suitcase to the car, then made sure she had everything important in her purse. 

“Fiona, I’ve got it, sweetie. I’ve got my medicine, my wallet, and my phone. Anything else I need, we can pull over and get.”

“What about your phone charger?” I asked. 

“In the suitcase.”

“Your car charger?”

At that, she looked a little sheepish. “I did forget that one.”

“I’ll go grab it for you. Where is it?”

“I think it’s on my vanity. If not, don’t worry about it, Bird. June will have her phone, too.”

“I know, but I’d feel better if you had it. I’ll be right back.” 

I ran upstairs and looked at Mom’s vanity. The charger wasn’t sitting on it, so I went through the drawers, searching for it with no luck. I didn’t know where else she would keep it, but I knew that if I asked, she would tell me to forget it and try to leave before I could find it. So I decided to give her mine to take instead. I had a backup one with a shorter cord in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. 

“You’ll have to take mine. I can’t find yours,” I called, starting down the stairs. 

“Well, I found something,” she called back. “There was a surprise on the doorstep.”

“Mom, I swear if you brought the neighbor’s cat in again, I’m telling. It’s not inhumane to have an outdoor cat,” I said. But when I reached the bottom of the staircase, I saw who she’d ‘found’ and couldn’t hold back my smile. It wasn’t a cat, thankfully. It was Marshall. He smiled back at me. 

“Are you still going to tell on me?” Mom asked. 

“I’ll consult with Detective Marshall here and decide,” I said, walking over to her. 

Marshall was standing with one hand behind his back, the other holding a bouquet of wildflowers. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“Of course,” I said. 

“Well, we have to get on the road, so we’ll leave the two of you to it.” Mom turned and gently pulled my head down for her to kiss my forehead. “I love you, sweetie. I’ll call you when we get there.” 

I handed her my charger and she put it in her purse. “I love you, too. Be careful and have fun, okay?” 

“I will.” She looked up at Walter. “Would you do me a favor and keep an eye on her this weekend? She could cut one of her limbs off and wouldn’t tell me because she wouldn’t want to ‘bother’ me.” 

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I will.”

She patted his arm. “Thank you.”

Mom and June gave me hugs before leaving. June told Marshall that it was nice to ‘finally’ meet him. I rolled my eyes but he smiled and said it was nice to meet her, too. I stood in the doorway and watched them leave. Once they were gone, I closed the door and turned back to Walter. 

He rubbed his neck, looking a bit bashful. I didn’t think I could ever get used to him looking that way. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you sending her off.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she was happy to have you here to be a buffer. I think she was half afraid that I was going to cling to her leg like I did when I was a kid and try to keep her from going.” I went to him and brushed a curl back from his forehead. I squinted at him playfully. “Now that I’m thinking about it, that was pretty convenient for her. Did she call you?” I joked. 

He smiled enough for me to see the sharp end of his canines. “No. I was on my way home and wanted to check on you since you said you weren’t feeling well.” He held up the flowers. “And bring these to you.”

“That was sweet. Thank you.”

“Are you worried about your mum leaving?” he asked. I nodded. He put his free hand on my hip, drawing me closer. “I figured that may have been it, instead of you being ill.”

I put my hands on his chest, feeling the soft texture of his cable knit sweater under my palms. “I know she’s a grown woman, and I know she’s a lot healthier now than she was, and I know she’s going to be with family, so I really shouldn’t be worried, but I can’t help it.” I chewed my lip for a moment. “I had a panic attack this morning. I didn’t tell her, because I knew she’d know it was over her leaving and I didn’t want her to feel guilty,” I said. “But that’s why I asked about a raincheck for dinner. It drained me and I didn’t think I’d have the energy to go anywhere. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that. It’s understandable to be worried about her. You’ve taken care of her the whole time she was sick,” he said. “I’m sorry it caused you to have a panic attack, though.”

“I’m used to them. I’ve had them half my life.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

I shook my head. “It just drained me. I’ll be better tomorrow.” 

“Would you like me to stay and keep you company?” 

I looked down at my hands. “You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to. Do you want me to?”

I took a deep breath. “Please,” I whispered.

He kissed the bridge of my nose, then put his forehead to mine. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

I smiled. “Then you may never leave.”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

I looked up at him again. “Have you eaten? I could make us dinner.”

“Would you let me order take out for us instead?”

“You don’t trust my cooking?” I joked. 

He smiled back. “It’s not that. I promise. But I would feel better if I felt like I was taking care of you, not the other way around.

I bit my lip for a moment, thinking. “Okay.”

“Good girl,” he said, then placed a kiss on my forehead.

A flush instantly pinched at my cheeks, the heat spreading to my ears and neck, just from two simple words. “We should get those flowers in some water,” I said, moving back and taking them from his hand. I didn’t want him to see how flustered I was.

I walked to the kitchen and he followed. I found a vase in one of the cabinets and filled it with water, then I took the flowers from their wrapping and placed them inside. Marshall took the wrapping from me and put it in the trash while I arranged the flowers. Once I had them how I wanted them, I carried them to the table and placed them in the center. Marshall came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, and kissed my shoulder. I wasn’t a petite woman, but he engulfed me, making me feel dainty for the first time in my life. I closed my eyes and melted into his touch.

“Thank you again for the flowers. They’re beautiful,” I said. 

“You’re welcome.” He kissed my shoulder again, then kissed a trail from there up to my neck. I sunk further into him with each kiss. He finished with a soft, lingering kiss behind my ear. “What would you like to eat?”

“Do we have to eat? I kind of don’t want to move from right here.”

He laughed and I felt it rumble through me. “I assure you, I plan on resuming this as soon as dinner’s taken care of.”

“Promise?”

He nodded. “Yes, darling.”

“Keep calling me stuff like that and I’m going to be too weak in the knees to do anything else.”

He laughed again. “Is that so?”

I turned my head to look at him. He looked amused. “Yes, it is. Don’t act like you don’t know what kind of effect you have on me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a slight smirk.

“Oh really?” I asked. He shook his head. I took his right hand away from my waist and moved it, placing it over my heart, and held it there with my own hand. “Call me darling again.”

He looked confused, but he did it anyway. “My darling, Fiona,” he said. Then I watched his eyes widen as he felt my heart rate pick up. “That’s because of one word?”

“It’s because of you. Because of how you say it. Because of how you make me feel when you say it.” 

He gave me a kiss, soft and gentle, then smiled as he pulled back. My heart was beating faster and I knew he could feel it under his palm. “So it’s not just words,” he whispered, sending shivers through me. “My beautiful -” He kissed behind my ear. “Sweet -” He kissed my neck. “Smart -” My head tilted for him naturally. He kissed the underside of my jaw. “Darling,” he said, then pressed a kiss to my exposed collarbone. 

Never in my life had a man made me feel the way Walter did. Especially right then. He surrounded me, crowded every one of my senses, and made me feel weak and strong at the same time. I could be vulnerable with him, let him know exactly what he did to me, and I wasn’t afraid he’d exploit it. I wasn’t afraid of him at all. He was protection. I knew that he would protect me, protect my heart, and so even though I could feel it beating so fast it almost hurt, I kept his hand pressed against it, wanting him to feel some small part of how he made me feel. 

He let his lips linger on my collarbone for a moment, and then, to my surprise, he blew a raspberry on it. I squealed, my knees buckling at the sudden tickling sensation. He caught me, his arm around my waist tightening to keep me from falling. I burst into a fit of giggles and he laughed, too, moving his hand from my heart to circle around my waist, joining the other one.

“Are you ticklish?” he asked, still laughing. 

“I didn’t think I was, but no one’s ever done that,” I said, my cheeks starting to hurt from how wide my smile was. 

“Hm...this could be an interesting experiment, then.”

“No, sir!” I said, still laughing. 

“Fine.” He kissed the side of my head. “It’s better when it’s a surprise anyway,” he said. He loosened his grip on me, then turned me to face him. He looked very satisfied with himself as he smirked at me. “Do you still want to do this, or will you let me order dinner now?”

I shook my head at him. “You sneaky bear,” I said, my smile never breaking. “Yes, you may order dinner now.”

“What would you like?” 

“I think...a deep-dish pizza, please.”

He smiled. “Then pizza it is, love.” 

Marshall ordered pizza, then he and I cuddled on the couch until it arrived. Then we ate it straight from the box while watching baking shows. After dinner, we got comfortable. He sat on the couch and I sat beside him, stretching my legs out and leaning my back against his chest. He wrapped me up in a blanket and held me. His hand occasionally playing with my hair, running his fingers through it. We didn’t talk very much, but we didn’t have to. Just him being there was enough to make me feel better. Eventually, my anxiety melted away, leaving me relaxed. My eyes were growing heavy when Mom called, the sound startling me. 

“Hey Bird, did I wake you?” she asked. 

“No. I’m watching TV. You’re fine.”

“You didn’t stay up for me, did you?”

“No. I’m watching a show with Walt.”

“Oh, is he still there?”

“He is. You’d be proud of him. He’s looked after me very well tonight.”

“That makes me feel better. You’ll have to tell him I said thank you.”

“I will. How was the drive? Did you guys get there okay?”

“We did. We ran into some snow, but it wasn’t too bad.” There was a pause, then I heard her yawn. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to let you know we made it.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I’m glad you got there safely and I hope you guys have fun this weekend. Try not to get too crazy.”

“No promises, Fi.” 

I laughed. “Alright. Go get some sleep, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetie. Goodnight.” 

We hung up and I put my phone back on the coffee table. 

“She made it to their hotel?” Marshall asked. 

“Yeah. I didn’t realize they’d been gone that long.”

He looked at his watch, then raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t, either. It’s nearly midnight.” He rubbed his hand up and down my back. “I should probably go and let you sleep.”

I didn’t want him to leave, but I knew he must have been tired. He’d worked that day, then spent all evening taking care of me. I couldn’t ask him to stay any longer. 

“Okay,” I said. 

He helped me tidy up the living room, throwing away the trash from dinner and cleaning up the few dishes we’d dirtied. I walked him to the door. He gave me a hug and a kiss and I tried not to linger with either, not wanting him to see how reluctant I was to let him go. But he must have seen it or sensed it because as he was about to leave, he paused and turned back to look at me. 

“You know, if you’re nervous about being here alone, I could stay with you,” he said. “I could sleep down here, on the couch, if you want.”

“I couldn’t ask you to sleep on the couch.”

“You’re not; I’m offering.”

I chewed my lip and looked down at my feet. “I could...I could ask you to sleep somewhere else, though,” I said quietly.

I watched his feet turn as he walked back to me. His hand gently lifted my face to look at him. “Do you want me to stay tonight, love?”

I nodded. “Please.”

He stroked my jaw softly with his fingers. His blue eyes were the softest I’d ever seen them. “All you ever have to do is ask.”

“Will you stay with me, Walter?”

“Yes.” 

We locked up, then he followed me upstairs. I gave him the pair of sweatpants he’d loaned me when I’d painted Faye’s furniture because he was worried I’d ruin my jeans. I’d washed them, intending to return them on our next date. He changed into them while I was getting the pillows from the guest room. I watched him from the corner of my eye as I arranged the bed so we could share it, trying not to be shallow and stare as he pulled off his sweater, his T-shirt going with it. It was difficult. I knew he was muscular, even his sweaters couldn’t hide that, but seeing him for the first time took my breath away. He was so big and broad and manly. I’d never dated anyone that had even remotely come close to looking the same. 

I got into bed and lay on my side. Marshall turned off the light, then joined me. He put his phone on the nightstand, then lay facing me. Even in the dark, he was beautiful. 

“Thank you for this,” I said. 

“You’re welcome, my love.”

“Would you mind holding me? Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.” 

I rolled onto my other side and he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me to him, his chest pressed against my back. I rested my arm on top of his, my fingers threading down through his. He nosed the back of my neck, then kissed it, before resting his head behind mine. 

“I love how warm you are,” I said, my eyes closing. “You’re like a big, strong blanket.”

“A hairy one at that.”

I laughed. “Yes, but I love that, too. Have you ever seen a shaved bear? They’re terrifying.”

It was his turn to laugh. It shook my whole body as he did. “What?” 

“Have you never seen the picture of the shaved bear?”

“No. But what does that have to do with me, anyway?”

“You’re my bear.” 

“Am I?” he asked. I nodded. “Does that mean I can’t ever shave my beard?”

I hummed sleepily. “I don’t know. I do really like it. I like all of your hair, though. Especially your curls.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I always want to play with them. They’re soft.”

“You’re more than welcome to play with them anytime you want, then.”

“You’re so sweet.”

“And you get very complimentary when you’re tired,” he remarked, humor in his voice. 

“Well, you deserve all the compliments.” 

“Do I now?” 

“Yes.” I yawned. “You’re my favorite person, you know? And you make me feel safe. Always,” I said. “Not that I feel unsafe without you, I just… I don’t know. You make me feel protected anytime I’m around you.” I let out a breath. “Especially right now.”

He tightened his arm around me, pulling me closer. “You are always safe with me, love,” he said softly. 

I melted further into his embrace. I could feel myself starting to drift off to sleep. The weight of his arm around me, the heat of him pressed against my back, it all felt so comforting, I couldn’t stay awake. 

As I fell asleep, the last thought I had was that I was without a doubt falling in love with Walter Marshall. 

A few hours later, I woke with a start. A phone was ringing and my first thought was that it was Mom. I sat up, groping in the dark for my phone. My worry turned to confusion when I realized it wasn’t my phone ringing. A moment later, the ringing stopped.

“Yeah, Marshall,” Walter answered the call, his voice deep and raspy from sleep. There was a pause and he let out a breath. “Okay, yeah, I’ll be there in thirty.” He hung up, putting his phone back on the nightstand, and sat up beside me. He put his hand on my back. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I thought it was Mom. It scared me for a second.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” I took a deep breath, reaching out to touch him, my hand landing on his knee. “You have to go?”

“Yeah. There was a shooting.” He rubbed my back softly. “Will you be able to go back to sleep?”

“I think so,” I said. “Do you want me to make you coffee while you get dressed? I have a thermos I can put it in.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t worry about me. Just go back to sleep. I’ll lock up behind me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He moved his hand from my back up to the back of my head and cradled it as he kissed me before getting out of bed. I watched him as my eyes adjusted to the dark. He went to the chair where he’d put his clothes and swapped his sweatpants for his jeans. His black boxer briefs gave me my first glimpse of his muscular thighs with nothing hiding them, before covering them again. He pulled on his shirt and sweater, then sat long enough to put on his boots. He came back to the bed, putting his phone in his pocket, then came around to my side.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he said, sitting beside me.

I shook my head at him. “Don’t be. It means a lot that you stayed as long as you did.”

He cupped my face in his hand. I leaned into it. He stroked my cheek. “I’ll call you later and check in on you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then my nose, then my lips. “Lay down,” he whispered. “I’ll tuck you in.” I lay back down and he pulled the covers up around me, tucking them around me. He bent and gave me another kiss to my temple. “Goodnight, Fi.”

I had to fight every urge that wanted me to hold on to him and ask him to stay. “Be careful, Walt.”

He smiled at me. “Always, love.”

He left and I’d never felt so alone. The bed was cold and I missed him. I grabbed the pillow he’d been sleeping on and hugged it to me. It smelled like him. With that scent still there, I felt my body relaxing, and soon I fell back to sleep.

[simplyclockwork]

I am a huge fan of your writing. I would love a post season 4 fic where we see John and Rosie move back to 221b. Sherlock has an accident and breaks an arm and a leg. As he is wondering how he will take care of himself John turns up to collect him from hospital like its the most natural thing in World that he will take care of Sherlock. The focus is John wanting a chance to redeem himself. Happy Johnlock ending please. I’m over 18. Smut optional!

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Hi, anon! Thanks for your patience with me filling the prompt. Hopefully, you like what I’ve written :) Please feel free to send a prompt anytime!

You can also read your prompt on Ao3 here. The rest of the fill is below the page break.

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It’s only been a couple of weeks since John moved back to Baker Street, with his few belongings and infant-daughter in tow. Sherlock is still adjusting, and so is John, while Rosie bounces about the place like a tennis ball. She provides a perfect distraction, a much-needed buffer between John and Sherlock, who are still trying to find their way back to something considered normalcy.

Whatever their new normalcy is, Sherlock doesn’t know. He just hopes they find it soon because the unresolved tension hovering over 221B is starting to drive him mad.

Things are different. Better than they were before when John… well, that was before, and this is now. Sherlock tries not to dwell on their brief tilt into insanity. Mary, the aquarium, Culverton Smith, Eurus and Sherrinford. Each has taken a toll on Sherlock in one way or another. Things are different. John works at the clinic more often than he joins Sherlock on cases. He has a daughter to provide for, and his evening spent in a well with chains around his ankles has made him somewhat skittish.

Sherlock can’t blame him, not when he feels a little skittish himself—but he’s the world’s only consulting detective. It’s him, or it’s no one, and he’s got a bit of life left in him yet. Casework feels strange without John at his side, but John hasn’t been there in any consistent capacity since Sherlock returned from the dead, so he adjusts.

Sherlock’s had more madness than most, more than enough for several lifetimes. These days, Sherlock tires more easily. Moves a little slower, reacts a little later. Retirement is a word he starts to hear more often, echoing in his Mind Palace and staring back at him from the bathroom mirror when he pokes at the new wrinkles in his face and as he tugs at the silvered hairs appearing at his temples with increasing frequency.

It is pure irony that on the day Sherlock decides to slow down on the more challenging cases, to focus on fours and sixes and the life he hopes to build with John and Rosie, he has an accident.

The case is a straightforward kidnapping that Sherlock solves in minutes. The kidnapee, a young woman in her 30s, named Alice Forbes, is taken from her London flat by an ex-boyfriend. Sherlock leads Lestrade and his team to an old building with a decommissioned lift. Narrow and festooned with disturbed cobwebs, the shaft is dark and accessible with a rusted but sturdy-looking ladder.

In hindsight, Sherlock should have known it was too easy. Should have waited, should have let Lestrade’s men go before him. But, true to his impatient nature, he is the first to rush down the ladder.

And he’s the first to fall when one of the rungs, eaten through by rust and time, gives way beneath his hand, sending him to the bottom of the lift shaft. The fall isn’t far enough to kill him, but it is far enough to break bone, and Sherlock winces at the double crack he hears before agony and fire spill through his left arm and right leg. A cross-body break, of all things, arm trapped beneath him and leg striking a cable at the wrong angle.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade’s voice reaches him from above, invisible in the dark, and Sherlock clenches his teeth to resist the urge to scream.

Definitely multiple breaks, he can tell. Nothing hurts like a break, and right now, Sherlock is ablaze.

“Don’t climb down,” he manages to reply, voice wavering and strained with pain. “One of the rungs broke. Could be others.”

“Fuck,” comes the reply from above. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock squints in the dark, wetting his dry lips with his tongue as he takes stock of his body. At least the two breaks, possibly a mild concussion, and sweat rising on his brow. Shock. “No,” he finally says, swallowing around the taste of bile. “I need an ambulance.

Lestrade spits another short curse. “With how much you hate going to the A&E, I take it that it’s bad?”

“Rather bad,” Sherlock replies, trying for humour and just sounding weak and ragged. “I believe I’m going into shock.”

Instead of answering, Lestrade starts barking orders. Setting his temple carefully against something cold and metal, Sherlock blinks in the dark and takes in his surroundings. A shape shivers and sags against the wall of the lift shaft not far from where he lies. Given Alice’s lack of response to the shouting, he’s not confident she is anything like okay. Only the constant shivering tells him she’s still alive, and he clears his throat before shouting, “Make that two ambulances.” Swallowing, Sherlock sucks in a breath at a ripple of agony from his leg and adds, “I found Alice. Alive, but not conscious.”

“Got it,” Lestrade calls back. A light shines down, and Sherlock squints. He can’t make out Lestrade’s face, and likely the DI can’t see him either, but the beam from the torch is a point of light in the dark, and Sherlock fixates on it. “We’re gonna get you out, alright?”

“That would be preferred,” Sherlock replies, trying for venom and only sounding tired.

A rope snaps down next to his head. Tossed from above, it hangs in the air with a silent expectancy. Staring at it, Sherlock hopes Lestrade doesn’t expect him to climb up the offering. When it begins to shake and wiggle, he knows someone must be climbing down. A small, shaky sigh escaping his lips, Sherlock tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, though whether the comfort is for his benefit or Alice’s, he doesn’t know.

As his mind begins to darken and drift, he feels a pang of guilt for not letting John know where he’d be today. Sherlock has time for one last passing thought of how he’ll manage with two broken limbs, whether or not John will even bother to visit him at the hospital, and if this little stunt will shatter the tenuous connection between them before everything fades away.

***

The faint drone of voices draws Sherlock out of his head, and he opens his eyes to bright lights and white coats. He blinks, squints and blinks again, waiting for his vision to clear. When it finally does, he finds a young woman standing over him with a small smile.

“Hello, Mister Holmes,” she greets, and Sherlock blinks once more before she introduces herself. “I’m Doctor Seif.”

“Hello,” he replies, his voice rough. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Concussion?”

Doctor Seif nods in sympathy. “Mild, but enough to knock you out. You came in and out of it until we set your leg, then we lost you for a bit from the pain.” She pats his shoulder with a gentle hand. “Your left humerus is broken, but not severe enough for a cast. So we’ve done a splint, but your leg will need a cast.” Moving to set his chart down, she pauses and turns back, adding, “We called your brother—he was listed as your emergency contact. We spoke to his aide, and she said he would be here once he finishes with a meeting.”

Sherlock waves a hand, dismissing both her words and the faint pang he feels at the reminder that John is no longer his emergency contact. “He’ll turn up. Always does, just like a bad penny.” Doctor Seif laughs.

“I have two older sisters. I know just how you feel.” Tapping his chart, she tilts her head. “Now, let’s get you fixed up and out of here, shall we?”

Sherlock’s smile is small and strained, but an attempt nonetheless. “Certainly.”

***

The cast is bulky, and his arm aches in the splint, his pain barely impacted by the basic painkillers. But Sherlock refused anything stronger, and he grits his teeth hard against the discomfort as a nurse helps him into the protocol-dictated wheelchair. Doctor Seif stands next to him with a script in her hand for prescription refills. She hands both the slip of paper and a crutch to Sherlock once he’s seated.

“Let me know if anything changes or you experience worsening pain or signs of infection,” she says, waiting for Sherlock’s tired nod. “Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few weeks to evaluate the arm. Good evening, Mister Holmes.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock says in a quiet voice. He is exhausted, his body heavy with fatigue and faded adrenaline. He tilts his head toward the nurse, who begins wheeling him out of the room and down the hall.

They make it only a few feet before footsteps sound behind them, and a panting voice calls out, “Sherlock!”

The man pushing his chair pauses, and Sherlock turns his head to see John trotting down the hall toward them. Bemused, Sherlock glances at the nurse, who shrugs. He turns his attention back to John, who pulls up in front of them with a sigh.

“Sorry,” he gasps, straightening with his hands on his hips as he pulls in a loud inhale. “Took me a bit to get Rosie to her babysitter’s, then there was traffic, and…” John shakes his head. “But nevermind that, I’m here now.”

Sherlock stares up at him. “You’re… here?” he repeats, confused. John’s brow furrows, first with confusion, then with understanding.

“Of course I’m here. Greg called me, then Mycroft.” His frown deepens. “Was surprised to hear he’s your emergency contact.”

Sherlock’s eyes dart away, and he doesn’t reply.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the nurse cuts in, his voice reluctant, “but I need the chair, so if I can wheel you outside…”

“Yeah, of course,” John says, picking up where the words trail off. “I can take it from there.”

The three of them continue down the hall, the nurse pushing Sherlock in the chair with John at his side. They walk in silence, with Sherlock darting quick, bemused looks at John from the corner of his eye. John either doesn’t notice or pretends not to, and Sherlock is grateful for whichever it is.

Once outside, the nurse stops, and Sherlock starts wrestling with the crutch, the chair, his own body until John quietly murmurs, “Can I help?”

Sherlock pauses and glances up at him before nodding once, a stiff jerk of his head. Something like relief and gratitude passes over John’s face, there and gone too quickly to verify. Before Sherlock can take the opportunity to study him, John moves around to his side, the one without a splinted arm, and loops his hand gently around Sherlock’s torso. John helps him onto his uncasted foot, slips the crutch in place, and keeps close as Sherlock tests out a little hop forward. He is clumsy and awkward but mobile and shuffles along slowly. John stays close, helping where he can, one hand resting light and ready on the small of Sherlock’s back.

When Sherlock finally raises his head, coaxed forward by John’s quiet voice, he sees a silver car and freezes. John almost bumps into him and stops just in time, steadying Sherlock.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head to look at Sherlock’s face.

Brow furrowed, Sherlock blinks at the car. “You bought a car?”

“Yeah, last week,” John says, relief in his expression. “Easier with Rosie, you know? And paying less rent, well, I thought…” he shrugs, letting the words trail off.

Wordlessly, Sherlock nods and lets John lead him off the curb and toward the car. John opens the door and coaxes Sherlock to drape his uninjured arm around his neck, helping him scoot down into the passenger seat.

Once John is next to him, sitting behind the wheel and waiting for Sherlock to finish getting settled, he doesn’t seem to know where to look. When he, at last, opens his mouth to speak, he and Sherlock talk over one another.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

They both go silent and still, staring at one another. Blowing a loud exhale out through pursed lips, John breaks the standoff first.

“First off, I’m glad you’re relatively okay, considering.” Sherlock braces himself for the angry words, the dressing-down. But John just looks at him with a small, tentative smile, and Sherlock stares as John quietly says, “And of course I came.” He clears his throat, eyes darting to the windshield before they return to Sherlock’s questioning face. “I know things have been… well. I know it’s not like it was before, but I… I want to try.” Swallowing hard enough to make his throat bob, John looks at Sherlock with a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his eyes. “I know I have no right to ask for it, but I want a chance to show you things are different.” Hands clenching slowly inward then outward in his lap, John’s voice drops. “I want to show you that I’ve changed.”

“John…” Sherlock starts, only to find he doesn’t have any more words. John seems to understand, a slight smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“I want to redeem myself, Sherlock,” he says and holds up a hand to silence the protests he can no doubt see rising on Sherlock’s lips. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing to make up for because we both know that’s not true.” The small smile fades, and he reaches out to slip his fingers over Sherlock’s where Sherlock’s hand rests on the centre console. It’s unexpected and entirely welcome, and Sherlock blinks down at their hands before looking up at John. “I’m here because we’re a team.” His eyebrows twitch upward, and he adds, “Just the two of us, right? Against the world?” His smile is small and hopeful, and Sherlock feels a rush of warmth at the sight and the words.

“Of course, John,” he replies, nodding. “Just the two of us. And Rosie.”

This time, John’s smile is firm and confident, his laugh pleased and just a little surprised. His fingers curl between Sherlock’s knuckles with gentle but firm pressure. “Just the two of us and Rosie,” he agrees. His eyes glitter, and Sherlock’s lips twitch upward in quiet acceptance.

When John starts the car and guides them out of the parking lot, their fingers stay slotted together on the centre console.

[samwrights]

Aoba Johsai 3rd Years as dads [hc]

Lmao, as if I was gonna stop at Karasuno. I’m a Seijoh hoe through and through 😂😂😂 this ones a little off the rails but it’s my blog and I write what I want. I’ll get to the rest of Seijoh later, maybe, but these turned out way longer than I anticipated.

Slight TW; mentions of miscarriage.

Iwaizumi;

I love this supportive man so much 🥺

I don’t even want kids and I’d let him turn me into a baby factory, idgaf.

Ahem, n e ways.

Low key, he would be freaking out over your guys’ first kid. Didn’t matter that you were in live-in S/O’s, or that you’d been together for y e a r s.

Homie wanted to marry you first, finally get you guys out of your shoddy apartment, maybe spend a few years traveling the world.

He wanted to live the life of a dink, at least for a little while before eventually starting a family with you. Apparently someone’s pullout game weak af.

Despite not being prepared for parenthood, your pregnancy actually goes pretty swimmingly. Iwa would def be the man to come with to all doctors appointments, parenting classes, and would literally call his mom every three seconds freaking out because he has no idea what color to paint the nursery.

“Mom, I can’t just paint it whatever, what if the baby doesn’t like it?” Don’t ask me why, I just know it would be a fact.

Throughout your relationship as teenagers, Iwa was always your hype-man cause he loves flaunting his woman at whatever she chooses to succeed at. Which made Oikawa hella jealous but irrelevant. Now that you guys were going to be a family, it was like falling in love with you all over again and he literally hyped you up everyday with how great of a mom you were going to be.

Endless comments on how beautiful you looked while pregnant, regarding your glow or how he gets so overwhelmed with love knowing that you are having his child. Fucking simp.

If you feel he’s laying it on too thick, you tell him it’s actually Mattsun’s and Iwa is just a cover so you can run off with him and Makki. 0/10, does not appreciate.

The closer you get to your due date, however, all jokes are completely off, and Hajime is in full on protective husband/dad mode. Did I mention y’all still ain’t married or

He does literally everything for you just to make sure you aren’t in too much pain or discomfort. Mfer won’t even let you pick up a laundry basket 💀

“Honey, I’m fine! Please, I can’t sit on the couch all day, there’s going to be a permanent imprint from my ass on it.”

“Baby, why is the couch wet?”

“Huh. Guess my water broke.”

Annnnnnd cue Hajime screaming his head off while proceeding to grab your hospital bag packed with clothes, a spare aux cable, and your toiletries, before rushing out to the car, starting it, and driving to the hospital.

Without you.

With that being his only major faux pas, Iwaizumi welcomes fatherhood with open arms. Sure, y’all didn’t have your house yet and a wedding was going to be difficult to plan (though if you’re down for the courthouse, he was in), and he didn’t have enough saved to buy you a ring that screamed “Mrs. Iwaizumi” to him.

But in the mean time, he could not get enough of his girls. Even little things like feeding your daughter or watching tv with her in his arms with you snuggling up to his side made him the absolute softest boy.

It may not have been his ideal situation in the past, but now all he looked forward to was watching your family continue to grow with a few more hopeful additions.

Oikawa;

Well this is awkward. You and Tooru I mean Oikawa broke up a few months ago. Not that it was a particularly bad break up; definitely more on the mutual side.

You wanted to continue pursuing your dreams and he wanted to carry on being a Pro. (Personally, I picture Oikawa being with a musician of some sort that posts covers of YouTube).

So even though you guys aren’t together anymore, you still keep up with how he’s doing in the pro VB world and he low key still watches your covers on the internet.

Your posting becomes less and less frequent, he notices over the span of a few months until you stop uploading all together. He thinks nothing of it until he gets a notification that you’ve finally uploaded a video. Two. Years. Later.

“Where we’ve been.” He doesn’t miss the collective pronoun before clicking on the video, seeing you standing with your guitarist, the former Nekoma VBC captain, Tetsurou Kuroo, as well as a cute, pudgy baby.

A baby that looked nothing like Kuroo and a whole lot like Oikawa did when he was a baby.

The video talks about your hiatus, as well as how you and your now boyfriend/guitarist were enjoying your life as parents and making music was hard with your little boy, and that the two of you needed to prioritize your son first. you introduce your baby, but the first thing Oikawa discovers is that the age of your baby and the duration of yours and Kuroo’s relationship didn’t add up. Don’t ask me why Oikawa knows how long you’ve been together, he has his resources.

Considering the toddler was two, and you and Kuroo had been together for a year. And the baby didn’t look anything like you OR him

Oikawa is flipping out now, and tries everything in his power to get a hold of you. Which oddly enough, wasn’t that hard considering your number is still the same.

“Did you finally figure it out?” Was all you said to him. He’s so upset that you didn’t tell him—that could have been him. Standing with you. Holding his baby—not bed headed fuck holding HIS son.

After FTing him, you, Oikawa, and Kuroo agreed to set up a meeting with all of you so Oikawa could finally meet his flesh and blood. He’s excited, but man oh man is he salty.

He missed his son’s first steps, first meal, holding him, teaching him how to walk, his first words; he missed ALL of it.

But the bitterness he feels completely goes away when he sees baby Oik’s in person for the first time. He had never, in his entire twenty three years of living, been in love until now. Despite your hesitation, you allow Tooru to hold his child for the entirety of your little meeting, allowing him to make up for lost years.

The three of you agreed on a form of joint custody that allowed Oikawa to have his son while you toured or were busy working, and you would have him while he was out doing his thing.

TL;DR, Oikawa takes the opportunity to make up his lost years spoiling the fuck out of his baby when he can and, oddly enough, the arrangement works out to benefit the both of you.

Ngl, parenthood is hard for him. Not because he doesn’t know how to parent, but rather because he never pictured his first child to come about this way. He would never admit it to anybody, not even Iwa, that knowing he had a child that he was barely a father to left him feeling lonely. That loneliness, however, motivates him to truly be the best dad that can be so that maybe when his son his old enough, he would rather live with him instead of his mom

Ofc, he teaches his offspring how to play volleyball as soon as he’s old enough to learn. But outside of that, Oikawa’s favorite thing to do with his son is little quiet nature walks away from the bustling city to have quality time with him.

Hanamaki;

This chill mfer 💀💀💀 for some reason, I feel like his love language is touch.

Your relationship with him was so simple, even after moving in together in your second year of college, years ago.

Well, it was simple.

As simple as life could be with four demons overrunning your house.

Due to the number of children the two of you had, with all of them being no more than two years apart in age, you became a stay-at-home mom, leaving Makki to provide for the six of you.

Because of your hellions wreaking havoc on you all day, Takahiro always wound down from work with the kids by putting on a movie and even reciting the script in his own voice to keep them entertained. Allowing you to go wind down with a glass of wine while you took a bubble bath.

Your oldest was Makki’s right hand man at the ripe age of 7. He always made sure that, as the big brother, he was looking out for his siblings and being the man of the house to help mommy while he worked.

Makki never raises his voice at the kids. Ever. Period.

If he’s upset with them or they did something they weren’t supposed to, he resolves the issue by picking them up, sitting down on the couch with them in his lap and staring at them. “Why did you draw on the walls with crayon, little man?” He would ask the offending five year old boy in the most calm voice.

“I wanted to paint a pretty picture for you and mommy!”

“And we love it. But next time, dude, if you put it on paper, I can bring those pictures to work so I can show everyone else.” Yeah, he calls his sons dude.

If his youngest and only daughter began crying over anything—Makki was on it like flies on shit. Little princess is not allowed to cry in daddy’s presence. He’s always quick to figure out why she’s crying too and, he learned, it’s mostly just because she wanted attention.

“When did you get so good at this?” You’d tease him.

“We’ve had lots of practice, honey.” 💀💀💀

A lot of the time, he felt really bad because he felt that he just kinda left you with the kids while he worked, and he’d be a little insecure. He thinks you’re tired of him and that you want to leave sometimes.

He thinks you don’t notice when he’s upset but he kinda dumb dumb cause you’ve been together for almost half of your lives, ofc you know when he’s upset.

While he’s laying in bed, nonchalantly scrolling through his phone before falling asleep for the night, you sit at his bedside, giving him the look. “C’mon, Takahiro. I can tell when something’s bothering you.” His lips would purse a little bit before locking his phone and putting it on his night stand, then holding whatever hand of yours that was closest to him with both of his.

“Ya ever just...get tired of our life?” Aksfnrjfl WOW THAT CAME OUT WRONG. This is why he prefers touch, he’s shit with words. “Wait no, that’s not what I meant. D-do, uh...a-are you happy?” Wow he really shit with words. Even if this would be conversation y’all would have at least once a year.

But no matter how many times you told him you loved him, he needed to feel it. Why do you think you ended up pregnant nearly every year? “I’m getting my fucking tubes tied after this, Makki.”

Matsukawa;

This goof would be your partner in crime second to Makki of course.

Half the time people kinda forgot you were dating let alone married because the two of you had always been playful and full of laughter; the only change was PDA was sprinkled in.

Sitting in his lap, little pecks during conversations, burying yourself in his neck or him burying himself in your hair, a hand always on your back or your shoulder.

Homies super subtle touchy.

The biggest reminder was when you’d announced your pregnancy to your friends. While Makki was super excited to be an uncle, Oikawa and Iwa were kinda like “y’all actually have sex??” Like you weren’t fucking married??

But whatever, y’all goofy and in love or w/e and it almost seems that the two of you aren’t taking pregnancy seriously. You totally are, but your friends don’t think so.

Coming up with baby names was Issei’s favorite pastime. But he went super left field with a lot of them, so you unfortunately had to veto them.

Painting and preparing the nursery was also an absolute blast. Because you both wanted the gender to be a surprise, y’all painted the room white on top with a full rainbow on the bottom, complete with gender neutral wall decals.

Honestly, he was so so so excited to be a dad. But mostly, he was just so smitten with you. It wasn’t hard for him to, considering the two of you were best friends long before dating.

He definitely turned your ultrasound pictures into memes that he hung in the babies room. “The last time I got pussy” captioned under the first ultrasound was his favorite.

You woke up one day in excruciating amounts of pain—like someone was carving out the muscles in your stomach and separating them from the skin from the inside and you knew something was wrong. “Issei, we gotta go to the hospital now!”

“N-now?” All jokes are gone, all laughter void and absent. “Honey, you’re only at the end of the first trime—“

“I know, idiot! We gotta go now!” You’re sobbing while hunching over your stomach, trying to walk but not succeeding in getting very far. Instead, your husband opts to carry you out to the car before zipping on over.

The sudden appointment had taken hours and the both of you felt drained. Well, you actually were. All of the pain you had experienced earlier in the day did not compare to the devastating blow of hearing that you had a miscarriage.

Silence fills every space that the two of you were in but, knowing you as well as he did, Mattsun refused to leave your side. Even if you had to pee.

“Babe, I have to pee.”

“Cool, which bathroom do we wanna use?” He wasn’t making jokes for the sake of being funny, which was the reason you allowed him to sit on the edge of the tub while you handled your business, holding your fingers in loose threads. It’s weird, but this was not a time for either of you to be alone to indulge your demons.

“We’re gonna get through this.” His arms would wrap around you from behind, carefully folding over your once filled womb, with his head resting on top of your own. “Just you and me, babe, against the world.”

“And Makki.”

“And Makki.”

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

twenty three

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: story circle

disclaimer: that bloke Eric, harassment, cursing

One of the luckiest things to happen to you in life is, I think, to have a happy childhood

Avery had never stayed at a party till the very end. She wasn't a fan of the loud noises, the crowded space, the drunks. The atmosphere itself made her anxious. As the hand of the kitchen clock finally hit twelve, she assumed the party would start to die down. She thought people would slowly funnel out, all bidding their goodbyes and frantically making their way to the tube. Their thoughts, no doubt, thinking about the inevitable hangover they will face tomorrow. But, that didn’t happen. If anything, the party intensified. While she knew that she could go home, she didn’t want to. If she did, she would fall asleep. If she left, she would be alone.

A few minutes earlier a small group of people had formed, all of them sat around the living room. Harry, who was exhausted from showing Avery his amazing dance skills, had led her to where he was previously sitting, both of them sitting side by side on the sofa.

Francis, who sat opposite them, held up a cupcake with blue frosting and sprinkles all over it. "Okay, who made these cupcakes because they are so good! I need the recipe."

"All the credits to me," Another boy spoke up, he had black short hair and there was a golden earring dangling from his earlobe. "can't give you that recipe though, it's my mothers." He shrugs and Francis groans dramatically, making everyone laugh.

Avery sat in silence, taking everything in around her. The atmosphere started to grow on her. Harry grew worried by her silence, asking her multiple times if she was feeling okay, but she was having the time of her life. She loved hearing about everyone's family reunions, annoying relatives and friends who got married. It was so different to her life and she wished she could tell a story about her family. But she couldn't. Even Harry chimed in talking about one Christmas night when he was six and tried to catch Santa, tripping over the cable for the electric candles on the tree and causing the whole thing to fall over.

"Okay" Francis speaks up. "I want to hear the most embarrassing thing that happened to you in your childhood or teenage years. Starting with..." His eyes skimmed through the room before deciding on a ginger haired girl. "Zoe."

The stories went all over the place. From awkward kisses to first dates and failed pranks or trying to impress crushes. And before she realized, it was Avery's turn to tell her story. Her first instinct was to let them skip her, but no one in the group was having it. There wasn't anything to say, she had been homeschooled and her childhood had been not even close to any experiences here.

"Uhm... I don't really know... what to-"

"Oh come on, pet." A sudden movement in the corner of her eyes makes Avery move closer to Harry in fright. She gripped his forearm, Harry immediately noticing and taking her hand into his own, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles on the back of her palm. Eric had sat down next to her on the tiny sofa, apparently deciding to join the little circle as well. "Don't act all innocent. Tell us, what did you do as a child?"

"If you'd let her talk she'd be able to answer, mate" Harry chimed in, throwing an annoyed look at Eric.

"Nothing comes to my mind right now." She quickly rambles, trying to just get out of this situation. Being the center of attention must be high up on the list of worst things in the world she thought. The eyes of all these people fixed on her made her incredibly uncomfortable.

"Oh, so she is all innocent" Eric exclaims, his breath smelling like beer and his words almost unnoticeably slurred.

She could sense Harry roll his eyes beside her before he leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Tell something about Oliver, love."

"Oh yes!" Avery grins, embarrassed for a second at how loud her voice was. "I have a cat and he used to balance on the rail of my balcony. There was one time where I had just gotten out of the shower, still in just a towel, and I saw him balancing outside on the railing. I got super scared that he would fall off, so I ran out and grabbed him, and in the process my towel dropped which ended up in me flashing an old lady living opposite me."

"Oh my god, that sounds horrendous!" Francis laughs.

"It was horrible, I didn't step foot on that balcony for a month." She giggled less aware of all the eyes on her. They continued on but Harry was still chuckling from Avery's story. "Oliver really is a bastard, huh?"

"No" Avery laughs. "He's so cute, I just had to forgive him."

Harry shakes his head but there was still a smile on his face. His eyes meet hers and he studies her face for a moment. "You look a bit tired."

"I am" She confesses, leaning her head against his shoulder. There was no reason for denying it, especially not when she was talking to Harry.

"Do you wanna try and get some sleep tonight?"

"Not really" With the party, and Harry sleeping over the night before, there surely was a lot on her mind and Avery wasn't eager to simply sleep it all off.

"I can put a pot of coffee on?"

She sits up with a grin. "That would be amazing."

"I’ll make you a cup." Harry knew that what he was doing was wrong. He shouldn’t be encouraging her sleeping habits, or lack thereof. But, making the night most bearable for her was his top priority, and if this was how, then that was that. Case closed.

"Thank you."

He gets up and disappears in the kitchen shortly after. Avery turns her attention back to the stories being told by all the strangers sat around her. Now that Harry isn't around, she felt irritable and increadoubly out of place now that he was gone. She groans internally because she knows that she has been relying on him too much. She was dependent on him. She felt as if she was no longer independent.

When it came to her job, paying bills, doing taxes, and managing her things, she had always been independent. She had to be. But as soon as she got confronted with social interactions, she simply couldn't stop her heart from beating or her thoughts from racing.

"So.. Avery,'' Eric beside her starts, turning his body towards her and leaning back against the armrest of the sofa, a new bottle of beer in his right hand. "How old are you?"

She fiddles with the hem of her sweater, feeling his burning gaze on her. "22" Avery whispers, focusing her attention on the guy with the black hair who is telling some story that she is too far away to hear. She was trying to show Eric that she really ins't interested in talking to him, but he doesn't get the hint.

"You live on your own then, right? At 22? That's impressive."

She nods, still avoiding his eyes, trying to concentrate on the story.

"Is it far from here?"

"Just a couple tube stops." Just don't look at him, ignore him.

"Hey, loosen up a bit, hm?" Eric jokes and his hand squeezes her thigh, making her jump cause she wasn't expecting him to be so bold.

"Please don’t touch me." She mumbles, scooting closer to the other end of the sofa. Eric simply shrugs, moving closer to her but before he can say anything else, a ball of crumpled paper hits his head. Avery looks up and notices that Francis was the culprit.

"Hey Eric!" He yells over. "Cut it out. You're being annoying."

Eric rolls his eyes at Francis, ignoring his request and turning back to the girl beside him, but Francis doesn't stop. "I mean it. Leave her alone or get the fuck out, okay?"

After huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf, Eric finally gets up and walks towards a little group by the fireplace on the other side of the room.

Avery lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. Finally feeling relieved knowing that he was away from her. She got up, about to thank Francis, before realizing that he had completely disappeared. Lost in the abyss of the party. So, Avery slowly made her way to the kitchen, knowing that Harry would be there.

Harry was leaning against the kitchen counter, texting someone on his phone, his brows furrowed. As Avery enters he looks up, his eyes becoming a bit brighter and his brows unfurrowed. "Your coffee is almost ready." He says, assuming that was the reason why she came to the kitchen.

"It's boring without you." She felt how her body had calmed down substantially, her heart had turned back to a normal beat and her mind slowed down.

"Everything in life is boring without me," Harry says and she chuckles tiredly at his ego. "Come over here."

Avery scrambles over to him and Harry opens his arms, pulling her small frame close to his chest. She allowed herself to close her eyes and take in his scent as Harry rested his chin on her head. Avery guessed that he would leave somewhen, maybe soon and there would be no one to blame for it. No one at all. Because if she can't stand herself, how could she expect someone else to be around her.

"Whatever happened to you, Ave, no matter what it was, you didn't deserve it. I know you didn't." She freezes but Harry doesn't let her go, instead he starts to draw small circles on her back. "I noticed how you were acting earlier when everyone was telling their stories. You seemed so... eager to take it all in as if.. I don't know..." He murmurs, she feels the vibration of his chest against her cheek.

"It doesn't matter to me what it was, and you don't have to tell me, but you didn't deserve it."

She had never told anyone. Not her previous boyfriends, not Tom, she could barely admit any of it to herself. For a moment, she thought about not replying at all.

"But don't you think bad things happen to bad people?"

"Oh Avery... I think you can be anything you want to be in life. Anything but a bad person."

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[hopelikethemoon]

Christmas Morning (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Christmas Morning Rating: PG Length: 2000 Warnings: FLUFF Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Christmas Day 1998.  Summary: Presents are opened. 

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“Mommy, look what Nadia got me!” Josie shouted, getting your attention as you looked through the viewfinder of the camcorder. She proudly held up a bright pink CD-Rom game, “It’s the fashion designer game I’ve wanted for forever!”

Javier gave you a look, “I think she just shaded you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Thank Nadia for it.”

“The kid’s got style. How could I resist?” Nadia shrugged. “Next time we watch you, we’ll play with it, alright?”

Josie nodded her head, “Thank you.”

Chucho chuckled, “Just you wait until she opens my presents.” He took a sip of coffee before sitting it aside and taking the very squirmy Sofía out of your arms. 

“Mommy!” Josie squealed. “Monica got me the nail designer too!” She beamed at the camera.

“Looks like this is a very Barbie Christmas.” Javier remarked, resting his hand on the top of your thigh and giving it a squeeze. You pulled your housecoat around you tighter and leaned into his side. 

Josie moved onto her grandfather’s gifts, which included the Barbie Riding Club game and a matching Barbie doll. 

“Look!” Josie brandished the doll, pouting a little. “But I still don’t have a pony.”

“Hmm.” Javier tapped his chin thoughtfully, “I wonder if Santa knew. Maybe you should open your stocking.”

Josie scrambled across the floor to grab the stocking out from under the tree, before retreating back into her spot in front of the camera. 

“Clothing…” She huffed, tossing them aside like any little girl would, before she got her hands on the big toy. “A horse! Daddy, I got my pony!” She ooed and awed as she stared at the package. 

“And it walks,” You told her with a grin. 

Mitch leaned over the back of the sofa, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “That smile right there reminds me of a certain sixteen year old and Dove.”

“Oh God.” You hid your face. 

“Who’s Dove?” Javier questioned. 

You playfully swatted Mitch’s hand off your shoulder. “The guitar I got for Christmas after I moved in with them,” You explained, scrunching up your nose “It was black and had this stupid white dove on the front.”

“She was just the cutest thing,” Darla remarked from behind the sofa where she was sitting beside Mitch on the chairs Javier had pulled in from the dining table. “But she was no Stevie Nicks.” 

Javier grinned at you, rubbing his hand up and down your leg, “I didn’t know you played.” 

“Not well.” You assured him, making a face as you pressed your lips against his shoulder. 

“She wasn’t terrible,” Mitch amended. “Not great, but not terrible.” 

“Mommy, are you getting this?” Josie questioned as she tugged on a dress over her pajamas. 

Monica laughed, “Why don’t we do a fashion show later?”

“Does Tate want to do a fashion show?” Josie questioned. 

Tate clenched his teeth and grimaced, looking towards you and his parents for a way out. 

“Tate would love to be in your fashion show,” Mitch told Josie, patting Tate on the back. 

“Thanks dad.” He grumbled, shaking his head. 

“Now, let’s see what mommy and daddy got for you.” Javier said, gesturing to the large box that was still sitting under the Christmas tree.

“But I’ve already got everything I wanted!” Josie announced, even as she hauled the box over and started peeling away the wrapping paper. She stopped once she realized what was in the box, her jaw dropping as she looked directly at the camera, before looking towards you and Javier. “Mommy!” She grinned at you. 

“Well, let us see.” Chucho remarked, taking another sip of coffee. 

Josie quickly peeled away the paper and proudly held up the American Girl doll that you had been eyeing for over a year. As soon as that catalog showed up in the mail last Christmas… you had known you had to buy it for her. 

“What’s her name?” Monica questioned, tilting her head as she tried to catch a glimpse of what the name was, but Josie was quick to turn it back around so only she could see it. 

“Her name is Josefina! Just like me!” 

“No kidding,” Chucho remarked, looking at you and Javier then. “That worked out didn’t it.” 

You laughed, biting on your thumbnail. “An arm and a leg later.” 

“Let me see,” Nadia said, holding her hand out to take the box from Josie. “Josefina Montoya.”

“Wait a stinky minute!” Josie jumped up suddenly, racing down the hallway towards her bedroom. 

You pursed your lips and looked between the other adults in the room, “Where do children get those phrases?” You laughed, sitting up a little as you looked down the hallway as she came trotting back with a book in her hands. Ah. 

“You’ve been reading to me about her, Mommy! You clever lady!” She jumped onto the sofa, nearly causing Chucho to spill his coffee beside you as she threw herself onto yours and Javier’s laps. 

“I wanted you to know all about your new friend,” You told her, poking her in the belly. “I hope you realize you’ve been spoiled rotten today.” 

“It’s because I was a good girl all year.” Josie grinned brightly at you, tucking her hands under her head as she reclined back on you. 

Javier tapped his finger against her nose, “And now you’ve gotta be a good girl for a whole new year.” 

She sighed dramatically, “Well, I’ve gotta be good for sissy.” Josie sat up and walled her way in between you and Chucho to dote on her sister. 

Mitch leaned over the sofa, “You’ve done good, kid.” 

You smiled back at him, “I’ve tried to.” 

“So what did you two get each other?” Monica questioned. “I noticed you two already did gifts.” 

Javier snorted, “That’s what happens when you’re parents and you get up before the little ones.” He curled his arm around your shoulders, “Aside from the grill, someone got me the Star Wars trilogy on VHS.” 

“And a couple new games for his Playstation,” You said, patting his leg. “And he got me an office chair for our office at school.” You shrugged. The real gift had been the update to the silver bracelet you wore. Hidden under the band, away from anyone’s gaze, was a special date in May — etched in alongside all the other important dates in your lives. 

You still couldn’t believe that a few feet away, unbeknownst to everyone except for Chucho — the picture of the two of you, fresh out of saying your vows, hung on the wall without anyone knowing. 

Your little secret. 

“You know, the fact that you play video games gives me hope for other people from your generation.” 

“You’re right behind us,” You reminded her with a pointed look.

“You and Javier are Boomers,” Nadia pointed out. “Monica and I are Generation X.” 

“I feel like this is a slam.” Javier remarked, his brows drawn together skeptically. “Is this a slam?”

“Now we know where Josie’s getting her zingers.” 

Josie nodded her head, “I get all the zingers, mommy.” She grabbed at your hand and kissed it. “I love you mommy.” 

“Aw, I love you too sweetheart.” You kissed the top of her head. 

“You too, daddy.” 

“Love you, princesa.” 

Josie jumped off the sofa, startling Stevie who jerked awake. “I love everyone in this room!” She announced, before snatching up her American Girl doll box and heading back towards her bedroom. 

“I so thought the horse would be the biggest draw,” You remarked with a shake of your head. “I guess you can’t always know.” You took the baby back from Chucho, settling her into the spot in between you and Javier so she could recline back against him. 

Chucho gave your arm a pat before he hauled himself off the sofa, “I’m gonna make another cup, now that the fun’s over with.” 

“Make a whole pot, will you? I need coffee.” You said as you stifled a yawn. 

Mitch got up from his chair and walked around to take Chucho’s seat on the sofa. “Thank you for inviting us back into your life.” He said, gesturing towards Tate and Darla. “Not a day went by that I didn’t worry about you. Hoping that you’d turn out alright, despite everything. And you have.” 

You felt tears prickle behind your eyelids as you blinked slowly, “Thank you, Mitch. I wish I’d made more of an effort.” 

“It all works out in the end,” He said with a wave of his hand. “You and your family are welcome in Philly.” Mitch looked towards Monica and Nadia then, “You two as well.” 

“Really?” Monica smiled. “I’m honored.” 

“You’re family.” Mitch said with a warm smile, before he looked back at you. “I’m proud of you and I know dad would be… God, he’d be thrilled to see how well you’ve done for yourself. That’s all he ever wanted.” 

You wiped at your eyes, “I don’t know where I’d be if he hadn’t set everything up for me. I know I’m really lucky.” You knew there were hundreds of thousands of kids who went through the same bullshit you did — every day. 

Monica had shitty parents. Connie’s mother was in the running for craziest mother of the year. 

“I just want to do right by my girls.” You told him. “They deserve the world I didn’t have.” 

Javier squeezed your shoulder three times as he kept his arm curled around you. “I’m glad you welcomed Mitch into our family,” He started with an amused tone in his voice. “Otherwise I’d never know you could play the guitar.” He snapped his fingers. “Steve’s got one.”

You turned your head slowly and glared at him, “No.” 

“Oh, come on.” 

“No!” You laughed, slapping his leg. 

“She really wasn’t that bad,” Mitch pointed out. “If she had actually practiced.”

You scrunched up your nose, “I felt weird taking lessons from your nanny.” 

“She was paid for it!” Darla assured you. “And to think, you could be some big name musician if you’d put a little effort into it.” 

“I wouldn’t have met Javier.” You said without hesitation. “There’s no variation of my life where I’d be okay with that.” 

“I dunno,” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Maybe I’d be working security for your concerts.” 

You rolled your eyes, “No.” 

“You two go well together,” Mitch pointed out, drawing a line between the two of you. “I don’t think I ever saw this spark between you or any of the guys you brought home.” 

“MItch!” You shot him a look. “Shut up.” 

“No, no. I’m curious now.” Javier glanced around you. “What were these men li—” You covered his mouth with your hand before he could finish. 

“Nope. We are not having this conversation.” You warned him, turning back towards Mitch then. “Don’t.” You slowly uncovered Javier’s mouth. “I went to an all girl’s school, my choice of boys was narrowed down to Darla’s friends’ sons and the sons of the ladies at the DAR.” 

“They weren’t terrible.” Darla pointed out. 

“The were the poster boys for frat houses, college sports, and the dictionary definition of WASPs.” 

“Oh,” Javier tilted his head. “Lance?”

You made a face, “Unfortunately. In my defense it was Philadelphia.” 

“The pickings were slim.” Darla laughed. “But look what it’s led you to.” She patted the top of your head in a very familiar fashion, before she headed into the kitchen to get a cup of the coffee Chucho was brewing. 

“All that matters is that you’re happy, kid.” Mitch reminded you. 

“Oh, I am.” You assured him. “I think I’ve maxed out on happy.” 

“And we’ve maxed out on camera space.” Javier pointed out, setting Sofía in your lap as he scooted forward to fiddle with the camcorder. 

This was what Christmas was going to be like for the rest of your life. A stark contrast to the Christmases you remembered from years past — back when the holiday seemed like a black mark on the calendar because you never got to be with the people who actually loved you. 

Now you had that love and you were never letting it go. 

[pastel9girlbunny000die]

Age Gap... AU

One Piece~

♡The characters are all between 27-29 unless said otherwise

♡The s/o is between 16-18

Warning: ...Kissing and Cuddles? PDA, nakedness and language.

Part 2

Exstra 😱😵🖊 {At some point I couldn't stop writing.}

Portgas D. Ace 🔥

🔥You met Ace at school during one of your art classes.

🔥He came in to do a favor for one of your teachers, to give tips on art and give you guys professional guidance and at some point he posed as a model.

🔥Yes a model !!!

🔥Soooo you kinda got to see him naked the first time you met, he was opened with all his god like built.

🔥When the class was done sketching. He caught a glimpse of your work seeing as it wasn't nearly done, so he offered to stay longer for you to finish.

🔥God damn you wish he didn't, him being there is the very reason your sketch wasn't done. It was too embarrassing to look at a naked man infront of you and sketch.

🔥Not knowing which to concentrate on?

🔥Ace saw that, and offer to help you like exstra lessons at his home maybe improve the areas you lack at.

🔥And you gladly took that offer.

🔥At some point after teaching you for half a year. You started just acting like a couple without knowing when it actually happened.

🔥Ace loves his s/o with every bit of his heart.

🔥You spend most of you free time with each other, either sketching each other or chilling playing video games or talking.

🔥Ace is a professional artist, with both a degree and diploma in practical arts, so ofcourse his art is going to so much more advanced than yours.

🔥You love staring at him while he paints.

🔥Ace loves not wearing a shirt proves he is comfortable in his own skin, he also got his s/o into wearing less clothes.

🔥With the less clothes you got use to drawing him only in boxers.

🔥And somehow you guys turned into that couple that's completely fine with walking around each other naked in his apartment alone.

🔥Ace's job is something he loves doing while having fun. Yes he does teach arts at a university.

🔥Remember your still in high school not in a college/university.. yet.

🔥Ace is a very clingy man he will hug you a lot even when his naked. He gives you a lot of pet names he's favorite is, teachers pet.

🔥He doesn't do small half ass kisses. Its either long and passionate or heavily horny make out.

🔥Ace's s/o loves the tattoos on his skin, trenching her/his fingers over his arm or back.

🔥Ace reminds you of a cowboy though to his country style and mostly the hat in his bedroom.

🔥Yes you have met his friends especially Marco, you didn't mind hanging out with them their nice people and fun.

🔥You met Ace's family the first week he started teaching you. You met his two brothers and his Father that goes by White Beard.

🔥The second White Beard met you, he told Ace to never let you go or he will beat the crab out of him

🔥Ace took it to heart and loved you even more.

🔥You never really told your parents that your dating Ace. One day you just brought him home and hanged out in your room, at some point they just assume you guys are dating and they we're all right with it.

🔥When it comes to drawing Ace, you love to draw his face the most, make it look like his freckles are stars.

🔥His black hair and freckles are the most notable features on him.

🔥Your first date, wasn't that bad except at a random part he fell asleep

🔥In the beginning when he started teaching you, you though he was just tired but it happens frequently so it made you worried.

🔥He calmed your nerves telling you he has narcolepsy and his fine, might fall asleep at random times but his okay.

🔥It made you relax, and questioned him if there's a way to stop it but he only shook his head and dropping down on you snoring as he sleep hug you.

🔥You can only ask him help with art work/homework anything related to art otherwise not he can't help, he'd be just as dumbfounded as you.

🔥He inspired you to get a tattoo of your own name in your (Body part), but he was against the idea of a random person touching so he did it himself.

🔥Accidentally spelled one letter wrong so he had to cross it out, you strated yapping at him that he did it purposely.

🔥He made it up to you by giving you another tattoo on your (Body part) that was your favorite (animal of your choice/any tattoo of your choice.)

🔥You guys never gets mistaken for relatives or family members even friends, cause Ace's is all over you, making out even sucking on your neck.

🔥But they do know you guys have an age difference but they don't know how much

🔥His already in his late twenties, and doesn't care as long as you are with him and love him for who he is rather than his age he'll love you back.

🔥You were happy afterwards.

🔥PDA *Public display of affection*

🔥He would hold your hand even kiss you.

🔥But he loves wrapping an arm around your waist having you lean against his body.

🔥Signaling others that you are taken and your his property.

🔥PDA kissing😏😳 just like I said, Ace only allows long and passionate or heavily horny make out kissing.

🔥He makes sure sexual tension rise when your with him, his happy knowing you desire him, so does he.

🔥The fire in your relationship might take a very long time to whither away.

🔥He loves you dearly.

Exstra exstra!!!

Portgas D. Shanks 🍺

🍺Unlike the others Shanks is way older. Reaching 37.

🍺But very childish and energetic.

🍺You decided to take on a part time job just to own a little side cash for yourself, you start working as a waitress/waiter at an old diner in town.

🍺One day Shanks and his friends came in after work to hang out and drink the place dry having some sort of celebration.

🍺And his glad he came along, (His friends might've made him go unwilling) but his glad one glimpse of you and he already knows what's for dinner on the menu.

🍺At first glance he didn't seem very approachable, maybe it was his appearance the three scars over his eye or maybe his big god like built

🍺But once spoken to him he passed off a kind caring and loving atmosphere his actions where so nice he even apologized for accidentally touching your hand

🍺Through out the night he shot complements and cheesey pick up lines, that made you either giggle or blush.

🍺You where kinda sad when he left. (or rather his friends dragged his black out ass out of the diner)

🍺You really wanted his number or at least his name.

🍺The next day he came in for breakfast, you were lucky to catch him, some how you talked the day over with him.

🍺So on he came in everyday, either for breakfast lunch or dinner, which pleased you very much.

🍺on some occassions you joined him, being able to enjoy the food you cooked and seeing him enjoy your cooking as well as the beer you pour for him.

🍺One evening your co worker pointed out that you must have been enjoying your dates.

🍺You were a little confused but decided to ask Shanks himself

🍺"Yeah, we've been going on dates for awhile now, why?"

🍺"u-umm?" That was your only response.

🍺You just let go, and decided to start calling yourself Shanks's girlfriend/boyfriend.

🍺He made sure you never regret it

🍺Later on you guys hanged out more outside of your part time job, and more at his house

🍺He began loving you more and more each day he's kinda a clingy guy

🍺He loves holding you in his arm and kissing you all over your face and neck.

🍺Only way he can show you how much he respects and care even loves you.

🍺He was happy that you didn't back away when you saw his missing arm.

🍺But you love how he still cable of a lot of things and doesn't need anyone's pity

🍺It makes you few him in a new light

🍺But sometimes he takes advantage of his disability and asks for your help, like putting on his shirt or drying his hair, a lot of other more minor stuff that might give you naughty thoughts.

🍺You know exactly what he's doing, but you get to enjoy it too.

🍺He can't help but laugh at you blushing at his bare skin, he loves you trying to be innocent

🍺Shanks has great friends their all lively like him and loves to drink as much as him. Whenever you come over to his place you might meet 3 or 7 of his friends enjoying a beer and BBQ.

🍺They respect Shanks very much, and is happy for him that he found someone that can deal with his childlike nature and take care of him at the same time

🍺When you are hanging out with them, they always tease Shanks and you making Shanks fall in a fit of laughter and you blush madly in his lap.

🍺School work/homework is something you can easily ask Shanks about he might not have all the answers but he knows more than he lets on.

🍺So at times you get better grades than you did before, the way he explained some things made it easier hand that you played more attention to your hot older boyfriend.

🍺But Shanks doesn't have much family left and never saw why you need to meet those his not close too.

🍺You just simply forgot to introduce him to your parents.

🍺Until it back fired, you forgetting to introduce him made the situation even more difficult.

🍺You just mindlessly invited him to a one of your family BBQ's and he cheerfully agreed.

🍺Once he came by the weekend that's when you remember that you forgot to introduce him to your parents before your family and distance relatives and family friends.

🍺You sucked it up and acted normal, which displeased Shanks since you didn't sit on his lap or kiss him much not even hugs.

🍺At first he thought you were embarrassed of him but saw you running around handing drinks and snacks to those who just use you as an little servant girl/boy, too lazy to get off their own asses and do it themselves.

🍺He also knows you have a hard time saying no, since you are a good person and very nice

🍺He decided to deal with the matter himself.

🍺Place down his beer, he grabbed your little ass that was about to hurry pass him, pulling you down onto his lap hugging you to his chest.

🍺Your tired body automatically rest on him laying your face in his neck

🍺Not a few seconds later you two started having a nice loving conversation he made you giggle at his words. Rubbing his hand in circles on your back.

🍺Making you love him more.

🍺That's when your mother/mom came by angry calling you lazy for not helping the others around.

🍺Before you could get up and back to "helping" the family, Shanks grip around your waist tighten.

🍺"Listen here, miss. I'm not a rude guy but the table is right over there, now I haven't seen (y/n) for entire week cause of my business trip. Now they can serve themselves, or can they all not walk."

🍺Your mother/mom got furious now turning to you.

🍺"Whose this?" She simply pointed at the red head

🍺"(Y/n)'s man... lover... Boyfriend. Which do you prefer miss?"

🍺"I forbid you to see him ever again."

🍺"You can't. (Y/n) is 18 an gown adult so she/he can make her/his own decisions. You have no say in the matter."

🍺Your mother/mom huffed crossing her arms stomping away. Not liking him one bit

🍺Your Dad/father couldn't help but laugh liking Shanks even more.

🍺This is the kind of guy he'd let his daughter/son marry one that can stand up to your mother/mom stupid shit.

🍺You thought that was the end but the tables quickly turned on your mother/mom.

🍺Shanks is truly the one for you.

🍺So having him meet your parents didn't go all that well especially with your mother/mom.

🍺The things you love about Shanks ofcourse his personality and body.

🍺But his red hair is what you love the most, running your fingers through the red locks makes you happy all the time. Is truly a beautiful color.

🍺Red has a range of symbolic meanings, including life, health, vigor, war, courage, anger, love and religious.

🍺You even asked if its his natural hair color and you got a yes, he even proofed with some baby pictures of himself.

🍺Which you adore the ones that his near your age.

🍺But you will always love the him who is in front of you the him you met and fell in love with.

🍺Shanks has a pretty good job, he is the owner of one of the biggest four business company in the world.

🍺Yes! That means his quite rich. Your set for life marrying him.

🍺That's where some of his friends teases him, calling him your Sugar Daddy.

🍺You have never really asked him for anything not even a penny. If you want money you make your own.

🍺A gift, you refuse any gift unless it is his love and affection that you'd gladly take.

🍺Shanks drinks alot sometime you question his liver. When his drunk his someone that anyone would like around a happy drunk, his not sad or angry, just ×10 more cheerful and clingy.

🍺PDA *Public display of affection*

🍺He wants bear hugs daily. Once your in his lap he doesn't let you out for a long time same goes for your butterfly kisses he wants them daily.

🍺He'd die without your attention.

🍺Your eyes must always meet his.

🍺PDA kissing 🍻😚~ Shanks doesn't mind cheek kisses or a make out session, he thinks it's brave of you that he won't take you then and there.

🍺At home DA *Display of affection*

🍺He loves when you leave a trail of kisses on his neck down to his lower abdomen, it happens rarely but he just loves being under your touch

🍺The little things you do for him makes him wanna keep you for himself.

***

The End.

Maybe~😏

[kassies-take]

Dream Come True

Summary: R is Alex’s daughter and Alex wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

A/n: went back to rewatch Supergirl episodes and the moment in season three when the realization that Alex actually does wants kids gave me an idea.

Warning: Fluff

Alex Danvers x Reader, Dansen, Supercorp

Word Count: 1860

Age:  4

Alex and Kara stood next to each other with the grill smoking beside them. 

You were four, after Kelly’s and Alex’s foster class they were able to become foster parents. It took them about five months before they found a match, with you. No one has made you feel loved as Alex and Kelly has. You definitely didn’t make it easy for them for the next four months, you were so stubborn but they both had so much patience and so much love to give. When it came to it, you agreed immediately to have Kelly and Alex as your parents.

Alex was a bit jealous when you first met Lena and Kara, instantly connecting with Lena. Kara was way to excited and scared you away. You were still scared of Kara.

Lena carried you as you both cheered with putting up the tent, considering that you and Lena has never been camping. 

“Are you sure you two never went camping?” Kelly smiled.

“You make it easy,” Lena smirked, kissed your cheek and placed you in the blue tent. 

“Mommy! Look at the tent I made with Lena!” You called from the window. 

There was a calm silence that took between the sisters and their wives. This was the first mom since they met you. You ignored the silence and walked towards Alex. You grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the tent. 

“Mommy. There is space between you and Enat so I can stay in the middle and look at the stars.” A silent cry was made by Kelly as she heard her whole heritage with in calling her mom in her mother tongue. 

“Kara’s almost done with dinner, then after dinner we can look at the stars.” 

A campfire was made with Kara’s heat vision which you didn’t see as you chased Alex, Kelly and Lena around with a water gun. Kelly dried you up before marshmallows were brought out. 

“Mom, mommy!” You panicked when your marshmallow caught on fire.  

Alex grabbed your stick and blew out the marshmallow. You were about to put it in your mouth when Kara showed you how to make s’mores. Needless to say by the end of the night there was chocolate around yours and Kara’s lips. 

“I understand (Y/n), but come on Kara. You too? I married a child.” Lena laughed. 

“A falling star!” You interrupted.  

“Do you know what to do when there is a shooting star?” Kelly asked. 

“No,” you pouted when you didn’t understand. 

Lena’s face dropped immediately. She was adopted when she was four too but she knew what a shooting star, granted it was meteoroids falling into Earth’s atmosphere burning up. 

“You make a wish.” 

“Oh. Enat can take my wish.” 

“Why don’t you want to wish for something, baby?” 

“Cynthia, the nice lady at the adoption place, said we had to take turns.” 

“Okay, it’s my turn to to show you something. Drum roll please!” Alex got up. 

Kara, Lena and Kelly smacked their hands together. Alex came back from the car with a dark blue telescope in her arms. The rest of the night was spent with Alex trying to make you see constellations correctly. 

“Look it’s Eridanus.” Alex moved from the telescope. 

“It looks like a snake. Oh there is a man next to it.” 

Alex smiled before she caressed your hair and looked up to the sky. 

~~~~~

Age: 4 

You sat in between Kelly and Alex on their bed. Normally bed time stories would be read in your room, but their bed was so much bigger than yours and you wanted to cuddle with them.  

You were going through, word by word for the story ‘Sylvester and the Magic Pebble’. Both Alex and Kelly listening patiently.

“They...went..to the...po-” you looked at Alex.

“Police.”

“Police. The police c-could not find their uh their khayld.”

“Ch,” Alex demonstrated. “c and h together make ch sound. So the c.h.i.l.d is?”

“Child?” you said unsure.

“That’s my girl!”

~~~~~

Age: 5

It was take your kids to work day after a long debate and Kelly’s dismay you were going to the DEO with Alex. You knew your mom was a cool secret agent and that Auntie Kara was Supergirl. 

Without Alex and Kelly knowing, she took you flying when she really shouldn’t. The DEO was still a secret agency so the only kid was you. You spun on Alex’s chair in her office, starring at the white ceiling. 

“Alex said you’d be in here!” Supergirl came into the room. 

Your arms immediately reached for her. You snuggled into her arms, you were stuck in Alex’s office since she was needed on a mission. Alex was going to work on her mission statements when she got to it but now she requested for you go to the training room. 

Alex was dressed in her uniform punching gloves by her side. “Sorry mommy had work and couldn’t be with you. But now mommy is going to teach you how to punch.”

“I will get to be like mommy?” 

“Yes, but you got to promise that you won’t tell mommy and you can not use this unless someone hits you first.”

“Okay.” You smiled before you grabbed the two gloves.

“(Y/n).” You turned to face your mom. “You got to pinky promise.”

Your pinkys interlocked before Alex helped you with the gloves. She helped you into a fight stance before slowly guiding your hands to throw a punch. After several punches with Alex guiding you, you began to punch Alex’s gloved mittens on your own. Kelly and Alex has an argument about this, but you ended up looking foreword to Sundays to spar with her.

~~~~~

You were a quiet, didn’t speak a single word. The teachers noticed you didn’t make any progress in your reading skills. Alex was furious and so was Kelly. How dare they say you aren’t making progress when you would read to them every night. Harry Potter for that matter. So you were home schooled.

Turns out it was just hard for you to meet new people. So Superfriends took turns to teach you. You were mainly with J’onn in the tower. He taught history on Mondays Brainy projected himself in the tower to help with math on Tuesdays, Lena always took a half day on Fridays and would help you with science. Kara and Nia would help with English on Thursdays or Wednesdays. That only worked until middle school.

It wasn’t until then when you started through glitter all over your room, frustrated with the fact that your valentine wouldn’t look perfect.

“What’s wrong kiddo?” Alex asked from the door.

“I can’t make this stupid Valentine.”

“It’s not stupid, let me see. That is a lot of glitter. You are not giving this to anyone. No boy likes glitter.”

“It’s for a girl...” Silence took over before Alex stepped further into the room. 

“Well girls don’t really like glitter either.” 

“You always make Valentine’s Day so special with mom. I don’t know what to do.” 

“Well everyone always gives a bear and flowers, I like where you are going with the card.” 

You continued to draw yourself and your crush in crayon adding red hearts around the both of you. Alex took the same red crayon, writing ‘the universe can not compare to your beauty.’

“That’s so cheesy! I love it!” You hugged Alex.

~~~~~

Age: 11

Alex woke up with a feeling that something was wrong. She looked to her left and found Kelly fast asleep. She got up and checked on your room, to find you sniffing and curled up into a ball. 

“My sweet girl. You’re okay. I’m here.” Alex whispered as she slipped under the blankets with you. 

You cried into her neck, tightly gripping the back of her shirt. Alex wished so dearly to take away your pain. She hated to see you cry. She rubbed your back and whispered sweet words in your ear. 

You don’t get nightmares easily, you’ve seen your mother defeat aliens and even enjoyed watching scary movies with your mothers. It wasn’t until you found Alex unconscious in the medbay, with wires coming out of her arms when you kept getting your nightmare. All different scenarios of Alex possibly dying in the field. 

Alex knew not to say ask for anything you weren’t ready to share. Alex caught Kelly’s silhouette at the door and gestured for her join. Kelly knew, of course, she was a therapist and she was your mother. Alex held you until you fell asleep again before Kelly told her her guess. 

~~~~~

Age: 16 

Alex had a day off today. She was going through old reports on her bed when  the apartment door was slammed open. It was near lunch time you were at school and Kelly had a meeting that would go past lunch. Alex reached into the reached under the bed and pulled out the gun below. 

The DEO director followed the shuffling and grumbling into your room. She raised her gun before she registered a click from a gun. She cautiously walked towards your room, she turned immediately and pointed her gun at the intruder. 

“Mom?” 

“(Y/n)?” You both lowered your guns. 

“I thought you’d have work.”

“Don’t you have school?”

“I don’t feel safe there.”

“Is that why you have a gun?” Alex raised her eyebrows.

You looked down in your hand before you switched the gun to hold it from the barrel and handed it to Alex. 

“Lets get you food, then we can talk.” 

“They tell me i’m not (your ethnicity) enough, nor am I enough. My birth parents didn’t want me. I think it would’ve been better if I was left to die in that orphanage.

“Hey, your parents wanted you, in fact they came after Kelly and I. They were in no shape or form cable of giving you the love you needed. They gave up yes, but you’re wanted by us. I promise we did not adopt you out of pity.” Alex moved your hair behind your ears. “And no, it would not have been better. Yes, Kelly and I would’ve adopted someone else, but trust me when I say the world is a better place because you’re in it. I’m not just saying that because your my daughter. You brought Kelly and I out of dark places, you have even made Supergirl helpful again. We love you, I love you and you are enough.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you pouted as Alex held you.

“You have touched so many people’s heart. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their corner. You are a dream come true and I promise you that nothing stands a chance against you.”

“Except Aunt Kara.”

“Except Aunt Kara,” Alex agreed. “Though your Aunt Kara doesn’t stand a chance to your Aunt Lena.”

“Aunt Lena spoils me...”

“Yeah I have to talk to her about that, because apparently you’ve been talking to your Aunt Lena cause she built you a...”

“A stealth suit! This is a dream come true! Of course after you and Enat.”