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kkvqwrites · 1 year

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Bedside Manner

Reader goes into labor while Simon's away and calls the first person she can think of. The task force (and some other friends in high places) rally around the couple on the most important day of their lives.

Word Count: 2,587

Characters (in order of appearance): fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Capt. John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kate Laswell

CW: childbirth, hospital setting, medical procedures

A/N: Am I a Ghost girlie? Absolutely. Am I also a sucker for the found family trope? Til I die. This idea wouldn't leave me alone and I'm so glad I stuck with it. I love the way this came out and hope you like it!

"Dear? Everything okay?"

The captain's voice on the other end of the line sounded worried. Both he and Simon had drilled it into you to never hesitate to call Price if you needed anything while your husband was away, but you couldn't help feeling a bit guilty.

"Um, I think so," you began, willing your voice to stay level and upbeat. "I think I just - oof.." Another contraction hit, stealing the air from your lungs. They were coming more consistently now, and hard enough to stop you in your tracks.

This could not be happening.

"What's wrong? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" You could hear movement in the background, him gathering his things to be out the door and on his way to you.

"I'm fine, John. I just didn't know who else to call. I think the baby might be coming?" The words came out pinched as you worked through the tail end of the contraction. The captain swore loudly.

"Stay put, love. I'm on the way - everything will be alright. Want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No, no, that's fine. Stay safe and I'll see you when you get here." You hung up before he could argue and fuss like a mother hen.

______________________________________________________________

The knock at the door startled you. You looked at the clock - surely that couldn't be John already. The man lived across town. Not trusting yourself to make it to the door, you called out.

"It's open!"

Turns out it wasn't Price, but Gaz, who stepped into your living room and began taking in the scene. It was a sight to be sure: you, doubled over sitting on your yoga ball, rocking back and forth to try to alleviate some of the pressure in your hips, towel around your neck because you were sweating like a pig, ambient white noise filtering through the bluetooth speaker to keep you calm. For all his usual swagger and poise, Gaz looked a bit frightened.

"Kyle, did John call you? I'm so sorry - I'm sure you were busy-"

"Not at all, I rushed over as soon as I got word." The sergeant came to your side and knelt until he was eye level. "The captain's on his way but I was closer. We didn't want you to be alone any longer than necessary."

"You and your task force are worse than a quilting circle." The jab came with a joking smile, but the smile was cut short by the stab of another contraction. At the sight of your face screwing up in pain, Kyle's eyes got big.

"Can I do something? Do you need anything?" He wrung his hands as he fussed, seemingly unsure whether to touch you or whether you'd bite him if he tried. Admittedly, you weren't too sure yourself.

"Need you to reset - the timer." The words came out through clenched teeth as your muscles tensed and screamed. "Contractions - need to time them."

"The timer - right." He sprung into action, undoubtedly happy to have a defined task to accomplish. As he was fiddling with the device, Price stormed through the door, his demeanor all-business.

"Gaz? What's the situation?" The sergeant hopped to attention as if he was at roll call.

"Got here not long ago myself, Cap. Just reset the timer for contractions."

"Where are we at?"

"Thirteen minutes, sir."

The captain turned to you, assessing you from top to bottom. His expression and his voice softened considerably as he spoke.

"Ready to get to the hospital, love?"

"Can't - they told me to wait until they're five minutes apart." The man looked bewildered.

"And just let you sit here and suffer? Not on my watch. Gaz, grab my keys - "

"John," you interrupted. "I already called. They won't admit me yet. We just need to wait it out."

"Nonsense, love. You wait til I get someone's ear over there. Five minutes my arse." He moved to help you stand, but stopped in his tracks as he took in your face, your lip trembling. "Is there something else?" As if on cue, a fat tear rolled down your cheek, the first of its kind since the pains began.

"This isn't supposed to be happening," you squeaked out. "Not for a few more weeks. Simon's supposed to be here."

The men shared a glance, looking stricken. Price leaned down next to you, a broad hand gently squeezing your shoulder. His voice was soft when he spoke, a renewed slowness replacing his prior rushed pace.

"I know, love. I know it's not ideal, and I know you're scared. I know Simon would give anything to be here, that he'd split heaven and earth to be with you right now. But I also know he'd want you and your little one taken care of, yeah? He wouldn't want you to wait."

You nodded, despite more tears threatening. "Doesn't change the fact they won't admit me yet."

The captain's mouth quirked defiantly. "You let me worry about that. Gaz, help her up. I'll drive."

______________________________________________________________

Simon was tired down to his bones, feeling like a wrung out rag after the most recent mission. Despite that, the man was a ball of energy as he hopped off the plane, desperate to get back to you.

"Someone's antsy," Soap drawled, taking a more leisurely pace. He slid his sunglasses on as Simon switched on his cell phone anxiously. "Got somewhere to be, LT?"

"'Matter of fact I do - home." Simon impatiently hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. "See my wife, eat a real meal. Finally build that godforsaken changing table. Who knew a baby needs so much furniture?"

Soap barked a laugh, but Simon tuned him out as he put his phone to his ear. He'd gotten a voicemail from you, and everything else ceased to matter.

"Hey babe, it's me. I'm not sure when you'll get this, and I hate to worry you. I'm sure it's fine. It's just... I've been feeling some contractions-"

Simon didn't hear the rest, nearly dropping his phone as he broke into a run.

______________________________________________________________

True to his word, Price argued with the hospital staff until you were taken up to a room. You were sure he must have pulled rank, threatened to call people, but he refused to let you worry about it.

The ride had been smooth, despite John driving like a bat out of hell. Gaz stayed in the back seat with you, clinging to your hand and fussing. Later, you'd think it was funny how he seemed to need more encouragement and support than he offered, but at that moment very little was funny.

You had been able to stay in denial for an admirably long time. The past few days, you were able to tell yourself it was just Braxton-Hicks contractions, not the real thing. That even when it became evident the real thing was starting, that it wouldn't progress quickly. That even though it was progressing, that Simon would walk in the door just at the right moment and sweep you into the car and off to the hospital and all would be well. Even when your gut told you to pick up the phone and call the captain, you had managed to make yourself believe that you were wrong, that it was a false alarm, that you still had more time.

Now, here you were, connected to monitors and being poked and prodded by nurses. Medical history, allergies, birth plan, you felt like you were in interrogation rather than a patient receiving care. And if it wasn't the nurses it was the two men standing off to the side, one wringing his hands in worry and one watching the nurses like a hawk and barking questions. The contractions were closer to eight minutes apart now, progressing quickly. Now the situation was very real, and as thankful as you were from the support from Price and Gaz, your heart threatened to shatter at the absence of the one person who mattered most.

______________________________________________________________

"Bloody fuckin' hell, no one will answer their phone!" Ghost barked, ready to throw his out the window. He'd had radio silence other than a second voicemail, this one from the Captain:

"Simon, Price here. Just got word from the missus that the baby's on the way. I'm headed there now. I don't want you to worry about a thing, I won't leave her side. I'll update you as I'm able."

"She knew to call the captain; he's probably with her now," Soap offered from the driver's seat. He'd practically had to arm wrestle Simon for the keys, but ended up convincing him that he'd be able to call for updates if he wasn't worried about driving. Silently, he thanked the saints Simon had agreed; who knows what carnage he'd unleash on the roads as worked up as he was.

"He better be, or I'll - not now, Laswell!" Simon rejected the third call from the station chief since landing and tried Price again. He was sure he'd hear about it for skipping debrief and jumping in the car, but right now he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. When Price's phone again went to voicemail, he was about to go nuclear when the car's Bluetooth lit up with Laswell's number.

"Shite; let me answer it LT." Soap pushed the button. "Laswell, it's Soap. Here with Ghost."

"I know," she said impatiently, her voice filling the space. "I've been trying to call all afternoon. I know what's happening and I'm here to help."

"What? How do you know?"

"Price called me as soon as he got word, asked me to find you. Anyway, you're wasting time heading in that direction; there's a lane closure ahead and you're about to be neck deep in traffic. I've mapped an alternate route for you. Take the next left."

The two men looked at each other in confusion before both starting to speak at the same time.

"Left? That takes us the wrong way-" "How do you know where we're at?"

"Boys! Boys, listen," she continued, exasperated. "Don't worry about how I know, just do as I say. We're gonna get you there as fast as possible. Now turn left!"

Soap cut the car to the left, ignoring the indignant honks of other drivers as he began to cut through the city under Laswell's watchful eye.

______________________________________________________________

"The doctor says you'll be ready to start pushing soon. How are you feeling?" The nurse was genuinely trying to be nice, so you bit back on your retort of how the fuck does it look like I'm feeling? My insides are exploding! and instead chose a weak smile and a head nod.

Once the nurse whisked away, Price was back at your side. You could tell by his expression he wanted to give you a pep talk like you were one of his soldiers about to head into battle, but he was searching for the right thing to say. You broke the silence first.

"I'm scared." Your voice sounded small, the words escaping almost of their own volition. The captain took your hand, blessedly avoiding sugarcoating the situation.

"I know. But you're doing great - a real trooper. Even with the needle in the back! Simon's gonna be so proud of you, love. And Gaz and I are gonna be right here. Right Gaz?"

"Right, Cap." The sergeant slid back into the room, cup of ice in hand. While the captain had taken point and begun advocating for you with the hospital staff and asking a million questions, Gaz had been dutifully making sure you were comfortable. Anything from getting you an extra pillow for your back, to helping you tie your hair back, to getting you ice chips since you couldn't have food or drink during labor, he was on it. If either man was uneasy about what was about to happen, they dutifully kept it under wraps and maintained their game faces.

One by one, the care team took up positions around you to get started. Price and Gaz got next to you, each taking one of your hands, ready to offer what support they could. You shamed yourself, one last time, for being ungrateful for their presence. A lot of people give birth with less, you tried to tell yourself. He’d be here if he could.

The doctor walked in, donning gloves and getting a quick status update from one of the nurses before meeting your eyes. “Evening, ma’am. We’re going to-”

Her words were cut off by a commotion in the hall, a door slamming and what sounded like some raised voices. Everyone in the room exchanged confused glances, and Price motioned for Gaz to go investigate. He poked his head out into the hall for only a moment before returning with a big grin.

“You’re not gonna believe who’s here."

Then your husband was in the doorway, and then he was at your side, and suddenly those honey brown eyes drowned out every ounce of pain and fear you’d been holding onto, and that warm, calloused hand took yours, and you were ready.

______________________________________________________________

You would have thought it would be difficult to fall asleep under fluorescent lights, with monitors beeping and staff bustling around. But you had never known tiredness like this, and wanted to take the nurse’s advice and rest while the pain meds were still working their magic. The delivery had been uneventful once the show was on the road, and Simon never left your side, his steady presence grounding and his voice in your ear keeping you calm. Then there she was, a baby girl, the most precious tiny thing you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d stared at her and cried for hours, stroking her tiny hand and welcoming her to the world until you could barely keep your eyes open. And so, with a squeeze of your hand and a kiss on your forehead from Simon, you found yourself drifting off. You were aware, as you floated off, of his slow pacing back and forth with your newborn daughter in his arms, of his whispers to her that were too low for you to hear. Of the guys popping in, as unobtrusively as possible lest the lieutenant tear them limb from limb for disturbing you and the baby, bringing him food and coffee and admiring the bundle of joy.

“Doesn’t look a thing like you, Simon,” said Soap.

“Thank God for that,” he replied.

“You should have seen it, Simon really - needle this long, right in the spine!” Price remarked, not for the first time. “She didn’t even flinch.”

“I’m just glad you made it for the gross stuff,” mumbled Gaz.

“Kyle, you’re in the military. You’ve seen arms and legs blown off.”

“Completely different, Johnny. Not the same at all.”

On and on they bantered, brothers in arms stepping into their role as uncles for your baby girl with delight. One of the last things you heard was Simon, his voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you, all of you, for being here. For today.”

“Oh come off it Simon,” replied the Captain. “These girls mean something to you, so they mean something to us. That’s what a family is. Now quit hogging her and let Uncle John have a turn.”

You wouldn’t remember this conversation when you woke up, wouldn’t be able to articulate where it came from, but you’d carry with you the bone-deep feeling of connection with this little makeshift family forever.

#cod ghost #cod ghost fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mwii ghost #task force 141 #john price #soap mactavish #gaz garrick #kate laswell #mwii fanfic

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moni-logues · 2 months

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Investment

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (Kintsugi couple!)

Genre: slice of life, fluff, established relationship

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: Yoongi's tired of his job and terrified of making a change.

Content: no warnings! Just fluffy stuff

A/N: firstly, 'gardening leave' is what happens when, rather than working your notice period, the company pays you NOT to work. Secondly, AHHHH Kintsugi couple is back again. This is truly a drop in the ocean of what I've thought about for them lmao but as someone asked the other day about their future, here is a small glimpse into it!

You heard the door open and close and then Yoongi was immediately curling himself up in your lap.

“You’re late today, baby.”

“I know,” he mumbled, speaking into the fluff of your jumper. “I hate my job.”

You kissed the top of his head. This was not the first time he’d said that. Not even close. He had been saying it more and more frequently over the past few months and you weren’t quite sure what to do about it.

“I made dinner; do you want me to get you some?”

He shook his head again and you stroked his hair as you wondered what might help. A cat climbed up into his lap and you thought that might work but Yoongi barely noticed her.

“I could run you a bath? Do you want a bath?”

There was a second’s hesitation and then he nodded and sighed.

“That sounds nice.”

“Ok, I’ll run you a bath.”

And you moved, to get up, to go and start the task at hand but Yoongi gripped you tighter, a quiet noise of protest leaving his mouth.

“You know I have to get up if you want that bath.”

“Five more minutes.”

So you sat for five more minutes: you stroking Yoongi’s hair, he stroking the cat, and then he did, as promised, let you get up.

“Ok, bath is ready.”

You had done your best: the nicest bubble bath, candles, quiet classical music on in the background (because studies have shown it helps to reduce stress). Yoongi stripped and stepped into the hot water with a hiss; it was probably too hot, but you knew that was how he liked it. As hot as hell. Even hotter.

He sank into the water with a groan and you kissed his forehead before turning to leave. Your exit was stopped by your hand in his, which he would not drop. You turned to him.

“You come here,” he said, pointing to the bath.

“Me, too?”

He nodded, so you stripped as he had only a minute earlier and tentatively, slowly, and carefully lowered yourself into hell’s hot spring. You grimaced but eventually were able to settle, leaning back against Yoongi’s chest, tucking your face into his neck. He kissed your shoulder, once, and then again, and then made his way to your neck and your cheek.

“Would you still love me if I quit my job?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly.

“What if I had no job?”

“I’d still love you.”

“What if I were poor?”

“Still then, too.”

“What if I never got another job ever again?”

“I can support us.”

Yoongi snorted, softly and not unkindly.

“Not here.”

“No,” you conceded. “Not here, but I make more than I did before I moved in and I was supporting myself pretty decently. We could live ok together on just my salary. We’d eat.”

Yoongi’s arms grew tighter around you and he nuzzled his nose into your hair.

“I love you,” he murmured into it.

“I love you, too, baby.”

“I’d never make you do that, you know.”

“I know. But I could. I would.”

He kissed your cheek.

“Do you want to quit your job?” you asked after a few moments’ silence.

Yoongi let the question hang and you didn’t push the issue. You knew he’d been struggling recently. That work wasn’t what it used to be. That he got no satisfaction from it. You saw him lie in bed and stare at the ceiling every morning before he absolutely had to get up. You saw him crawl home at night – never early, never on time, always late – and fall asleep on the sofa. You noticed how much less frequently he was doing the things he liked to. You noticed he wasn’t eating so much. You worried about it, but you didn’t know how to help. Because you felt sure that what he needed was to quit and you weren’t sure if he could.

That job had been his lifeline. His everything. It had been his way out. It had made him. He didn’t know what to do without it. Didn’t know how he would survive – except that, of course, he did know. He knew he would be fine. More than fine. He was smart and sensible and had a financial advisor who was worth every one of the many, many pennies he cost. If he were really smart about it, he probably could never work again.

But he still didn’t know how he would quit his job. His whole life he had dreamt of it. His whole life worked towards it. He was good at it. Great, even. He was well-respected. He was successful. He didn’t know what he would do if he failed. He didn’t know if quitting was failure. He saw his teenage self, his lost, lonely 18-year-old self arriving in Seoul for the first time with nothing but a rucksack and a heart full of terror and he saw that self curse at him for even considering handing in his notice.

It made him feel ungrateful. It made him feel arrogant. It made him look at his colleagues with something closer to contempt than it had ever been. Made him look at himself that way, too.

His therapist, Joan, the one he liked, the Australian in her mid-fifties who had studied abroad in Korea, met a man, and then lived here ever since, had asked him to talk to you about it. About quitting. Because you were part of his fear, too. What would you think if he quit? What if he couldn’t get another job? What if he lost all his money? Would you still respect him for being a quitter? Would you still want him if he couldn’t provide? How would you ever be able to marry and have children with him if he couldn’t support you?

He squeezed you tighter and kissed you, reminding himself that you were there. Reminding himself of the person you were. Because he knew you wouldn’t leave. He knew you would love him. He really did know it, but there was doubt deep in his heart that wouldn’t leave him.

You had let Yoongi lead the conversation on his job because you didn’t want to say the wrong thing. It felt too big, too significant to dare risk putting your foot in it. But then, you usually did just that; you would usually say anything, everything, to Yoongi. This felt like an exception because it went so far back into his past and so far down into the depths of his soul.

Maybe that actually made it all the more important that you dragged it to light.

“Ok,” you said, sitting up a little and twisting to look at him. “What would you do if you quit?”

He shrugged.

“Would it make you feel more confident about quitting if you had a plan?”

Yoongi shrugged again. Because he did have a plan. Or not so much a plan, but an idea. Something he’d thought about, been thinking about. Something he might want to do. Something that scared the shit out of him. He was still thinking, though; he didn’t know if he was ready to tell you.

“Well, if you want to try to make a plan, you know I’m here. And if you don’t want a plan, that’s ok, too. I want whatever you want, remember?”

You leant forward and kissed him lightly, twice, and then a third time because you just couldn’t help yourself.

“I’m on your side, baby,” you whispered, lips still close to his. “I’m always on your side.”

You lay next to Yoongi, later that night, bath water cooled, bodies dried, bed-ready. You were thinking about the day Yoongi might quit his job—what you could do for him, what he might want, how he might feel. He interrupted your thoughts.

“I might want to be a counsellor.”

You waited a second to absorb it, to bring your mind back around. It seemed obvious, now he had said it. Of course. Of course, that was what he would be. What he would do. How perfect for him.

“A counsellor? I think you’d be an amazing counsellor.”

“You do?”

You pushed yourself up so you could look at him, even though you could barely see a thing in the darkness. You used your hand to guide you, resting it against his cheek, fingers gently brushing hair from his brow.

“Yeah, I do. I think that’s a great idea.”

He hummed and you felt him nod.

“How would you do it? How do you qualify for that?”

There was the rub. That was the other reason he hadn’t wanted to say it. Because it would take years. He could do an accelerated course, so he’d qualify in two rather than four, but he didn’t know how long after that it would take him to make money, to be stable, secure.

The thing was that he wanted to marry you. Had been thinking about it. Had been trying to not want to quit his job so that he could just do it, ask you already. He wanted to marry you and stay happily in his job for the rest of his life so he could provide for you and however many kids you might or might not have; he wanted to ensure that they would be safe and secure, that you would be safe and secure. He could do that if he stayed in his job. He didn’t know if he could do it if he didn’t. And he didn’t want to propose to you under false pretences; didn’t want to propose while he earnt good money and then quit, then earn next to nothing, trap you into life with him when he didn’t know what he could give you.

That was why he hadn’t quit yet. That was the excuse he was giving himself. That was what Joan had really wanted Yoongi to talk to you about. Because when she had asked how you would feel if you knew these were Yoongi’s concerns, he answered. He knew the answers already. Joan thought hearing them from the horse’s mouth might help. She was probably right.

But he still didn’t want to ask you because he was scared of asking. Scared of raising the topic of marriage in case you didn’t want it.

That was why he couldn’t quit his job.

“It would take a couple of years,” he answered eventually. “I’d have to go back to university. To qualify. Not sure how long it would take after that to get established, to make good money.”

“You don’t have to make good money. I told you: I can support us.”

“And I told you I would never make you do that.”

There was an edge to his voice, an anger you knew wasn’t really directed at you. You let this one slide because you knew that even talking about quitting his job, doing something else, was hard enough for him.

“I have passive income,” he continued, voice softer, “and savings. It won’t be on you.”

“I don’t want you to use your savings, though.”

“That’s what they’re for.”

“You shouldn’t use them up if you don’t have to. I said I’m on your side and that means we’re a team, ok? Be a team with me. Let me help. I let you help me by not paying rent here, don’t I? Let me help you not use your savings.”

Because that was how you got through to him. You reminded him that you were in this together, that this was supposed to be about giving and taking, not just him giving and giving and giving. You wanted to give, too, and Yoongi liked giving you what you wanted.

“Well it’s not like it’s happening anyway,” he said. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. I really think you should do this. It sounds so good. It would be so exciting.”

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to make out the features of his face, allowing you to dip your head and kiss him.

“I know you hate your job, baby, and I want you to be happy. You deserve it. You deserve the opportunity to find out if there’s something else out there you can do. I think you can do it. And I’m always, always going to be here for you, no matter what happens. Promise.”

It didn’t come up again for a while and you didn’t raise it, leaving the ball in Yoongi’s court. Besides, he had seemed lighter since your conversation—like even discussing the possibility of something else was enough to lighten the load a little. You did your own research, looking at schools and trying to find out what he’d need and when, but you weren’t sure how much research he’d done, whether he knew what course he wanted to apply for, whether he’d applied for it already.

You decided to give him another couple of weeks. There would still be time after that for the application deadlines you’d seen (if they were even the right ones). It would give him a little more time to bring it up again. And if he didn’t, you would.

You leant heavily on the door handle as you opened it, tired from work, hungry, so, so ready for the weekend: a weekend in which you would lie down a lot and do little else, you hoped. You kicked your shoes off and two cats came skittering towards you. Then human feet appeared behind them and you looked up in shock.

“Baby!”

You leapt into Yoongi’s arms with a little too much force and he staggered back, laughing, holding you tight. He span you around in the air just once and you tottered on your feet when he placed you back down.

“You’re here! You’re- you’re early!”

He grinned and nodded.

“Yes and I’m making dinner.”

You kissed him hungrily, fingers tightly wound in his hair.

It had been so long since Yoongi had beaten you home from work that you couldn’t even remember the last time. Even longer still had it been since you’d seen Yoongi this happy on a work day.

You both walked to the kitchen and Yoongi poured you some wine. You hopped up on a bar stool and refused to let him go back to cooking; you wrapped your legs and arms around him and kissed him, relieved and excited and so damn happy to have him there, then, at that moment.

There was a twinkle in his eye when he pulled back from you and it sent a spark down your spine, woke the butterflies in your stomach.

“I quit my job.”

You gasped, your mouth open wide.

“No way!”

He nodded. You squealed with laughter, pulling him close, holding him tight, then letting him go to pepper kisses all over his face.

“You quit!”

He looked happy about it, sparkling, glowing, radiant even. He grinned at you until it faltered, a second of doubt passing over his face like a cloud.

“I should have told you,” he said, brow creasing. “We should have discussed it-“

You knew, though you couldn’t see them under his hair, that the tips of his ears were going red. You kissed him, cut him off mid-word.

“I like surprises,” you told him. “And I’m so happy for you.”

You brought your lips to his again, hoping to kiss him for long enough for his doubt to fade and pure joy to return.

“Does this mean you’ll be home on time now?”

He nodded.

“I’m enforcing working hours,” he told you, “not working whatever hours they ask.”

“Can you do that?”

“What are they going to do, fire me? I already quit. And if they want to put me on gardening leave, even better.”

He shrugged with a cavalier smirk.

He may have looked confident, but Yoongi’s heart was hammering in his chest, had been all day. He wondered when it would give out from the stress. He’d blocked out his entire morning for an ‘urgent, top priority’ problem: he sat in his office for three hours trying to get it together so he could go to his boss and hand in his notice. He hadn’t told anyone he was going to do it. He couldn’t take the pressure of anyone else knowing, though now, in hindsight, he wished he had told you (even if you did love surprises and even if he did love the glee on your face when he’d told you). Somehow, even after all this time, he was still not used to the fact that he didn’t have to do everything on his own. That he shouldn’t be doing things on his own. That he preferred doing them with you.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours, his heart now hammering and fit to burst, pressing against his ribs as if it could break them. He was terrified. There was a pit of anxiety in his gut that felt endless, that made him unsure if he would be able to eat the dinner he was halfway through cooking. But he had you. In his life, in his heart, in his hands, on a stool in the kitchen of the apartment where you both lived. You knew he could do it. He wouldn’t let you be wrong.

#yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi fluff #bts fluff

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bonny-kookoo · 2 months

Note

hii!!

since you mentioned oc's period in someone older,can we have drabble related to this topic pls🙏🏽 just want to see how caring jk is

You've never really thought you'd be in a situation like this- but then again, Jungkook is surprising you constantly, so you should expect it by now.

You're sitting on Jungkook's lap right now, fully letting his front body support yours as you lean your head against his shoulder, basically clinging to him like a koala- just that you're not on his back. He's working while you rest, constant clicking of the keys from his laptop's keyboard almost like soothing background noise, helping both your headache and your nausea as you fight both simultaneously.

Sometimes, like right now when he's just browsing through Mails and Documents, one of his hands will rest on your back, occasionally even traveling beneath your soft sweater just to feel your skin.

You've told him to just leave you be on the couch, or even in the bedroom- feeling too uncomfortable to really do anything today. But he'd insisted that if you'd like, he'd want you close- just in case you want or need anything. And also, he likes your company, even if you're a little out-of-order at the moment.

You're moving around a little, giving him a little notice that you're awake again, and at that, he leans back in his chair a little to look at you. "A little better?" He asks, but you just shrug.

"I'm still nauseous." You mumble. "But I'm also hungry." Is what you complain about, making him play with the piercings on his lower lip.

"Maybe you can try something light? Just some fruit or anything you might feel like from the fridge?" He asks, unsure how to exactly help you. You've already taken some meds for it, but you've also told him that you're always a bit miserable during your period. But right now you nod, before you yawn and get up from his thighs.

"Am I really not bothering you?" You ask him, and he shakes his head as he walks to the kitchen with you, downstairs in his house. It's then that you suddenly rush into the guest bathroom downstairs, feeling the floodgates open for just a second as you slam the door shut behind you.

A knock is heard. You get ready to tell him you're alright, when his voice is heard instead. "There's some stuff underneath the sink, if you need anything." He tells you, and you reach for it, opening the tiny cabinet door- finding both panty liners, pads and tampons there.

This is so typical for him. Always prepared for anything.

Later, while he's making you tea and warms up some of the leftovers from yesterday, you realize just how.. good you feel. Emotionally at least.

"Do you like.. bigger, or smaller dogs?" Jungkook wonders as he puts down your mug of tea in front of your hands, before he sits down, oven still running as it heats up the food.

"Hm. I think, both are nice." You say, putting your hands on the cup to warm them. "I mean, your house is big, and you have an even bigger backyard. So a big dog would be fitting, right?" You tell him.

"Hm, maybe. Would you feel comfortable with a big dog?" He asks, and you squint your eyes at him.

"Are you asking me if I want to get a dog with you, mister?" You question him, and he laughs.

"Caught me. I actually have been thinking of it. A dog would be nice, right? So you're not so lonely when I have to travel again for business." He explains himself, and you shrug.

"You think we can take care of a dog together?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"I mean, we're not gonna get one like.. tomorrow. But maybe in a few months?" He proposes, and you nod.

"It'll be like having a baby." You giggle, and he laughs, watching you fondly.

"Well, right now I already have a baby to take care of."

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic

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sarahs-secrets2 · 1 year

Text

She (Phillip Graves x Reader) 18+࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

MINORS DNI 18+

based on She by Harry Styles

fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, daddy vibes? , phillip is cheating on his wife with reader, pet names, reader is homewrecker (sorry)

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Phillip sat in his big office staring out the panoramic windows. His head buzzed as he twisted the wedding ring around his finger. The office chair squeaked as he leaned back in it, images of you tangled up in his sheets clouded his train of thought. The red lacy lingerie was permanently ingrained into his memory. From the way it hugged your figure, to how it felt to tear it off. He fully slipped the gold band off, heavily examining it. The knock at the door pulled Phillip back down from his daydreams as he quickly slipped the wedding ring back onto his finger.

“Come in,” he coughed, adjusting in the creaky chair trying to look as normal as possible. His secretary stepped in cautiously as she clutched her notepad.

“You have a call on line 3 sir, they said it was important,”

Phillip leaned back in the chair as he rubbed his temple, he had a feeling of who it could be. “Yeah, I know who it is, thanks,” he pulled himself forward from the worn leather chair before stopping his secretary just as she was about to leave, “Mind grabbin’ me a coffee doll? ‘Preciate it,” he thanked her before even getting an answer and winked as she scurried off to get him his coffee.

A heavy exhale escaped Phillip’s lips as he picked up the phone.

“Phillip,” your voice flowed through the speaker held closely to Graves’ ear.

“Darlin’, whaddya doin’ callin’ me here? I thought we agreed on no calls at work?”

“I just couldn't help it,” you paused waiting to see what he would say but he was silent, “Don't be mad,”

Graves could almost feel your pouting through the phone. His thoughts trailed off as your voice became background noise. All he could think of was how pretty you probably looked right now, lying back on a bed while you talked to him. He hoped your hand was finding its way down between your thighs just to get off on his voice. He hoped you were in lingerie or even better the shirt he had “accidentally” left at your place last night. His dick was throbbing in his pants pushing against the seams at the idea.

“Are you there?”

You heard him clear his throat, “Why’d you call?”

“I missed your voice,”

“That so doll?”

“Mhm,” you hummed out, “When can I see you again?”

“Oh hell, I’m not sure,” It was silent as he thought, “I don’t want anyone gettin’ suspicious of me now, I’ll let you know when we can meet again, that sound alright?”

His voice was low as he spoke, sending a chill down your spine. You need him just as badly as he needed you. “That sounds perfect,” you spoke slowly, “I’ll see you soon sir,”

“Talk soon darlin’,” the phone clicked, ending the call.

Graves dropped the phone back on the receiver before dropping his head in his hands. The timing couldn't be more perfect as his secretary knocked before marching in with the coffee, “Here you go sir,” she quickly set the cup down before scurrying out of the office. He spit out a quick ‘thanks’ before refreshing his computer in an attempt to actually get work done today.

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

Graves hopped out of his car and unlocked the front door. As quietly as he tried to sneak in, his wife still was able to hear the faint sound of the door shutting.

“Phillip? Is that you?” she wiped her hands on her apron and peeked around the corner, “Dinner will be ready soon honey,” she smiled sweetly as she went back to the kitchen.

“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” he shouted down the hall as he trudged up the stairs with his briefcase. Once he reached his bedroom he tossed the bag on the floor and flopped down on the foot of the bed.

One hand loosened the tie around his neck while the other scrolled through his texts searching for your name. Fully removing his tie now, he typed out a message hoping you would answer before he had to go eat the meal his wife just cooked.

Need to see you tonight

He stroked his jaw as he waited for a response, finally a text bubble appeared.

Same spot as usual?

Phillip Graves liked your message

“Phillip come eat,” the voice from downstairs almost made him jump as he quickly deleted the text convo and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Comin’,”

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

“I’m comin’,” his breath hitched as he continued to rut into you, his pace quickened as he felt you clench around him. “Fuckkk,”

“Oh my god Phillip,” a wave of ecstasy flooded over you as Graves pushed through both of your highs. He pulled out rolling over next to you in a wave of exhaustion, both of you panting heavily trying to catch your breaths.

A couple of minutes passed before you finally spoke up, “I’m glad you texted me,” you shuffled in the bed as you turned to face him, propping yourself up with your elbow.

Graves was laying on his back staring at the ceiling, his hands tucked behind his head. “M’glad too,”

“You’re not scared of getting caught, are you?

He extended one of his arms, wrapping it around your shoulder and pulling you closer to lay on his bare chest. “I don't want to think about that right now doll,” his voice was hushed as he closed his eyes, he gave your shoulder a small squeeze as you could feel yourself drifting off laying on his chest.

Morning came fast. The sun broke through the hotel curtains, as you woke up you rolled over in bed looking for Phillip.

Gone.

Typical, especially considering your relationship. He never was there in the morning, he had a wife and kids at home. You reached over to the nightstand to grab your phone and began skimming through your texts.

Had to head out sorry, gift for you on the counter. Wear it next time I see you.

You swung your feet off the bed and walked over to the counter finding the Victoria's Secret bag. Tossing the tissue on the floor you pulled out a scarlet red lingerie set, he always liked you in red. You smiled to yourself as you sauntered into the bathroom to try it on, making sure to grab your phone… just in case.

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

“Have a good day guys,” Phillip shouted out the window as his kids ran into the school. Just as he was about to pull away his phone dinged.

Thanks for the gift x

Hope you’re able to see it in person soon: Attachment 1 img.

His head fell back as he stared at the photo on his phone. It was only 9 in the morning and he was itching to see you again. Graves tried to think of a way to respond but couldn't, he was too dizzy from the feeling of all the blood rushing to his dick.

Taking a big swig of coffee he headed to his office hoping that the work that awaited him would somehow be able to distract him from you. Little did he know that you now lived in his daydreams and it would only get stronger from here.

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

did you guys see how i made it loop hehe

#phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #philip graves x reader #philip graves #phillip graves smut #phillip graves cod #phillip graves imagine #phillip graves x you #cod graves #graves x reader #graves mw2 #graves cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #Spotify

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deathbecomesthem · 2 months

Text

Anything We Want

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

WC: 3.4K

Warnings: None, really. There are implications. Mention of scars.

Summary: A day at the beach, but with a lot of yearning.

Fic inspired by this song right here:

*This is a re-upload. Enjoy, friends. I consider this a special one.

Distracted. It’s been like that for the last few weeks, truth be told, but worse since you felt his eyes rake across your body earlier. Now you know, he wants you as much as you want him. It was unmistakable when he walked into your bedroom expecting you to be ready for the day at the lake with the kids. He stood too long looking at you with your bathrobe tied loosely around your body, hair wet, water rivulets running down your legs, chest, cheeks.

The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background, just you and him seeing. If not for the sound of your front door being thrown open, you’re certain the distance between the two of you would have shrunk until –

“Hey, where are you guys?” It’s Mike. Not just Mike, you’re sure, because it’s too much noise. They’re early, but so is Eddie. Of all the days.

“Uh, I’m coming, hold up.” Eddie’s stumbling over his own feet as he turns to try to head of the boys from barging into your bedroom. You take notice of the red blooming high on his cheeks, because it’s undeniable. The moment happened. You both felt it.

When you enter the kitchen, you find the boys play fighting and digging through your cupboards while Eddie sits at the kitchen table with a glass of water. He’s unusually quiet. You’ve got your bag packed, and you push past Dustin to get into the fridge to get the sandwiches you made last night for everyone.

“Are we all ready? Suits on? Towels? Sunscreen?” You answer is a chorus of yes moms. You hate the nickname. It’s why they still use it. You can’t help the way you want everyone to be happy, be safe. How could you not after everything?

“Eddie –“ he starts, his name pulling him out of the daydream he was having. You know what he’s thinking about, his hand on your skin, his mouth on your neck, your smell in his nose, you’ve got to bring him out of that, “You ready to get going?”

He clears his throat, knocks back the rest of the water, and nods. “Let’s get moving, everyone’s gonna wonder what’s taking so long.” His attempt to save face, act like he wasn’t the reason everyone was still standing around waiting to leave, brings out smirk on your face.

The boys are shoving and pushing their way through the front door, you yell at their backs, “you little shits pile in the back, I’m riding shotgun,” they all groan in response to your demand. They’ll concede, but it’s easier for them to know the score before they even try it.

“How are we doing, Ed?” You loop your elbow in his while you steer him to the door, “do you need me to drive? You seem a little out of it.”

Your good natured and knowing ribbing seems to give him the courage he may have otherwise lacked. As you step to move your way through the front door, he pulls you back and pins you against the wall – out of sight of the rest of the crew.

He touches your still damp hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “What have you done to me?” As if you’ve done anything, you have no response to the question. You see the crease in his brow, the concern. He’s questioning his feelings, and it makes sense. You both have become something of parent figures for the kids in the last few months. So much pain and loss, you and Eddie have been the constants for them. You two are an unlikely duo, for so many reasons, but you’ve worked so hard to be consistent for everyone. Mutual sacrifice and mutual dependence on each other. This is the first time either of you have really looked at each other.

“What are you doing to me, Ed?” Your eyes are searching his. His lips are parted, as if he has something to say. Your mouths are drawn together, as if each set is magnetized to attract the other. His nose is rubbing against your own as he angles his mouth to meet you, the heat of his breath fanning across your lips –

*Hooooonk* *Hoooooooooonk* The sound of the horn from Eddie’s van has you jumping apart from one another. Two heads shaking away the fog of desire. What is going on with you two?

“I’m gonna kill those little assholes.” Eddie grabs the cooler and beach bag before slipping on a pair of flip flops at the door. He looks like a dad ready for vacation in his self-altered jean shorts while the bottoms of his sandals slap against the soles of his feet with every step. You feel giddy watching him like this. It’s a rare thing, Eddie being comfortable enough to shed his leather, his second skin, and you wonder when it happened. When he decided you were safe. It must have been when I wasn’t paying attention.

The sounds of Eddie berating Mike Wheeler can be heard over the roar of the van’s engine starting, and the blare of Iron Maiden cranking over the speakers. You grab your sunglasses and keys, before stepping into the heat of the summer day. You take your time locking the door, thinking about how just a moment ago you were lost in a moment with Eddie.

The vinyl passenger’s seat in the van sticks to your skin the moment you make contact with it, you turn to see your driver for the day’s adventure, ignoring the sounds of teenage boys bickering in the backseat. “Ready, Eddie?” You give him your best smile, and this time when he smiles back, you see that flush return to his cheeks.

“Born ready, baby.” His cheesy grin and teasing tone succeed in making you laugh hard enough to let out an indelicate snort. You feel giddy when he throws the van in reverse and slaps his hand against the steering wheel.

With the windows rolled down, the warm summer air beats against your arm as it hangs out of the window. You don’t mind the heat, the warm embrace welcome after the cold winter and spring at the edge of hell. The beach has been calling to you, and Eddie answered it by providing a reason to leave.

“I feel like this place is going to suffocate me,” you’d spent the first half of your day working at the community center and the last half sat at a desk at city hall fielding phone calls concerning revitalization plans for Hawkins.

Eddie sat with his legs splayed in front of him, tray of weed on the table in front him while you lay flat on the shag carpet of your parents’ living room, fingers weaving between the pieces of soft material.

“We can’t have that, you’re too important.” He’s concentrating on his task at hand, providing you with something to keep the nightmares at bay. It’s been bad, and like he said, you’ve become important to the community. It was unfair and exhausting.

“So, I guess running away would be considered bad form on my part, hm?” You angle your neck up to catch his reaction to your thought. You almost felt like if he told you to, you’d pick yourself off the floor and run out into the night, getting lost somewhere without the constant ringing of a telephone. Without the desperate needs of so many broken people filling your mind.

“No, probably not a great idea,” he sees your face fall, and it pings his heart, because he knows it’s not fair. He wants nothing more than to tell you to fuck this place and run off, but he’s on the list of the people that need you, “well, not a good permanent idea. How about for a day?”

It hadn’t taken much for you to be excused from your work for a day. Your boss and the volunteer coordinator could see the exhaustion on your face dragging your features lower with each passing moment. You weren’t just a hard worker, you’d lost everything and turned your pain into a gift for everyone around you instead of wallowing in your grief.

Right now, with the wind whipping through the cab of the van, the boys in the back laughing, Eddie drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, you feel alive. More alive than you have in a long time. The hours on the road move languidly, you spend the time watching the way the curls move with the air. The way the muscles of the arms flex with each turn of the wheel. The way lips move in sync with the words sung by the musicians on the cassettes playing in the tape deck.

He catches you several times, and you feel no shame. There has already been an unspoken acknowledgement between the two of you. Now that you could see, there was no going back. His eyes were better used on the road in front of him, but you could see him trace along the curve of your neck when you used a finger to draw your attention to the places you want him to kiss when you get some time alone.

It’s the crunching of gravel under the van’s tires that draws you back into the present moment. The halting of the brakes, the wind no longer moving his hair around his head. The sparkling sun high in the sky. You could hear the waves and you knew that as soon as you crossed over the top of the dunes, the wind across the lake would cool your skin already dampened with sweat.

You hand the heavy load of beach items to the 3 younger boys and share the task of carrying a couple of umbrellas with Eddie. You’re both slow, letting the boys get ahead and pick their spot. Even now, you’re both too caught up in each other, stealing looks and grins while your sandaled feet sink into the soft sand of the path laid out before you.

“How long do you think they’ll keep us here today?” Eddie’s asking, but his eyes are pleading with you. You haven’t even found a spot yet, and he’s already ready to shake the rest of them off his back. As if it wasn’t his idea to bring them along in the first place.

“Oh, I think we have at least a good 6 hours out here, Ed.” You knock your shoulder into his, “remember I packed lunch and dinner for us. You insisted we take our time and not rush back home.”

He answers you with a resigned groan, “I’m just full of great ideas,” he stops and turns you. Sweat was already beading on his neck, and under the bangs that hid his forehead, you’re sure. Without thinking, you reach into a pocket and pull out a hairband. On tiptoes, you reach up and tie his hair back into a low bun, hoping it provides him with some relief. It’s not until you look back into his face that you see the expression of yearning he has as he takes in your look of concentration.

This is bad. Unbelievably bad. The kids would pick up on this before you and Eddie even know what’s happening. You need to find a way to cool his jets, and your own, before you find the boys’ spot on the beach.

“Eddie, you can’t keep looking at me like that.” Your own eyes are pleading with him now.

“I can’t help it.” Exhaling a sigh, he brings a ring clad hand to his face, raking it down from forehead to neck as if he could wipe away the need he has written all over it. “Sorry, I’ll try. Stop being so fucking sexy and maybe we’ll get through this in one piece.”

Without letting you respond, he jogs ahead of you. He thinks I’m sexy. The thought alone makes you feel lighter and taller. The thought alone sets your skin on fire, and you’re sure you’ll both burn before the sun sets on the lake today.

Coming over the hill you see Eddie making his way to the spot, a little way from the shore. Robin, Nancy, and El should be here soon. The family. Your only family.

Towels are lain on the soft ground, umbrellas create a blanket of shadow, and you are opening the big beach bag that holds snacks, water, cans of soda, and sunscreen. You line the boys up in a row and help them get their hard to reach places before shooing them away from you. Eddie’s up last, and you can see the hesitancy he has as he reaches down and pulls his faded Metallica t shirt over his head.

He’s pretty, ink speckled skin with the still red scars scattered across his torso. You focus on the work, taking care to spread a thicker layer of lotion over the scars and his tattoos. The spots that are most sensitive to the harsh rays of the summer sun. His breath is ragged while you run your hands across his sensitive skin. You make mental notes of the places where the brush of your fingers makes his breath catch in his throat. For later.

“Hey!” Robin’s shouts from down the beach pull your thoughts back to the present, again, and you give Eddie a soft slap on the back indicating you’re done with him for the moment.

“Go play with your kids, I’ll be here.” You can feel the girls getting closer while Eddie stands stock still in his spot looking at you. His breath is still heavy, his chest flushed, and it’s enough to send a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

“Promise? I’m afraid if I take my eyes off you, you’ll disappear.” His brows are knitted together, and you understand what he’s feeling. Like this might slip away from both of you if you let it. You give him a half shy grin and nod just as El barrels herself into your back for a sneak attack hug.

He’s off, with a wave backwards, he runs down to the edge of the water. The new additions set up their own spots next to your own, while you watch Eddie and Will wrestle in the wet sand at the water’s edge.

The hours drift by lazily, the water is too cold for you to spend more than a few moments at a time letting it cool your too hot body. The heat of the sun dries your skin quickly, pieces of sand stuck to every piece exposed to summer air. Today, this is the only place that exists. Everything else has fallen away, it’s just you with your toes dug deep into the cool sand.

It’s late afternoon when you catch him staring again. Nancy and Robin are in the water, splashing each other while the rest toss a giant beach ball back and forth trying to keep it from getting caught in the wind. Your paper fan doing its best against the heat. You give up and grab some ice out of the cooler sat next to you, running it along your collarbone and up the back of your neck. When you look up, Eddie is standing a few yards away, apparently frozen by the scene in front of him. He’s watching you, and now you’re watching him back. You close the fan and rest it against your forehead while you dip the ice, down the valley of your chest.

“Not fair.” He throws his hands up in the air in frustration, while you laugh. He’s approaching slowly, looking over his shoulder to ensure that no one’s coming up behind him. “You’re doing this on purpose, and I fucking know it.” He’s standing over you, casting the shadow of his form across your body. You think, you wish, it was his own body draped across you right now.

“I don’t know what you mean. It’s hot, Eddie.” You bat your lashes at him, and he throws his body down next to you. He’s all arms and legs most of the time, and now is no different. The rest of the group is distracted, and he takes the opportunity to drape his chest, sticky with sweat across your own. As if he read your mind just a moment ago. It could be read as his typical playful wrestling, Eddie could always be counted on to make any of his friends his unsuspecting victims.

His hands find your sides, and he squeezes firmly, not a tickle. His face mouth is close to your ear, and he barely whispers, “I can’t wait until I can spend some time alone with you.” You feel his desire pushing against the outside of your thigh, and you gasp a little. You can see Mike look back over to the two of you, and you wiggle under him as a warning.

“Eddie.” You huff out as his nose nuzzles at your neck. He breathes you in deeply before adjusting his shorts and climbing off of you before he lumbers back down the beach.

The sun is a little lower in the sky now, and you know it’s time to start a fire, it will be no time before all of the gear is packed back up and everyone drags their tired bodies back to the parking lot. So, you get to work. And Nancy joins you, her eyes watching your face more than you’re comfortable with. She’s always been more perceptive than you appreciate, she always knows what you’re thinking.

You work silently with your closest friend. She lets you keep your secret. You call the rest over and settle in, it’s an easy beach dinner that takes no real effort to setup. Each person with a metal roasting fork for their hotdogs, with sun kissed cheeks and sand dusted legs. Your eyes can’t stop watching him, though. You’re both devouring each other with your eyes while the rest of the group devours their dinners.

Nancy must know, because she does something you never would have expected when the meal is over and everyone begins slowly clearing away their garbage. You might be the mom of the group, but Nancy is the manager. Nancy knows how to get everyone working together, she knows how to run an efficient ship.

“Hey, everyone,” she’s slapping her hands together to get the attention of Dustin and Mike – they started an argument about something you couldn’t even begin to comprehend – “you two, hey! Mike, Dustin, and Will are all riding back with us, we’re gonna squeeze in, and everything else can go in Eddie’s van. You’re all spending the night at my house anyway, and I’m sure those two won’t mind a quiet ride back after dragging your annoying asses out here for the day.”

The way she orders everyone around brokers no room for argument, and she gives nothing away about her true intentions. You could kiss her, but that would remind everyone that Eddie only lives a little ways from the Wheeler’s and Nancy’s plan doesn’t completely make sense, so you just shrug in agreement and try to tamp down the adrenaline surge coursing through your body. Your mind flashing to scenes of lips on lips, hands roaming across sweaty skin, your teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder –

“Hey, you with me?” Eddie’s standing next to you now while you watch El and Will dragging the cooler down the beach. You’ve been standing here too long, lost in thought. He must have said something.

“Sorry, too much sun. What’s up?” His cheeks are tinted pink and you feel guilty for not telling him to add more sun screen at some point. He’ll be sore tomorrow.

“I said, let’s get the van loaded up, get them on the road, and we can, uh, stay for a little while. You and me?”

You put your arm through his elbow, something you do often, and you lead each other behind the rest of the gang. As they climb the top of the hill, and the tops of their heads disappear behind the dune, you stop in your tracks.

“Look, Ed.” You draw his attention back to the water. The sun’s slow descent in the western sky turning the water to a deeper blue, almost black color. It’s then that you decide, while the others load up the van, that this is alone enough. You draw his mouth to your own and close the gap between you. A prelude to the evening ahead. To the days and months ahead.

#eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson lives #eddie munson imagines

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limarieb · 6 months

Text

it's so sweet knowing that you love me (though we don't need to say it to each other)

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: You were born completely deaf, unable to fully learn how to read lips and constantly finding your hearing aids uncomfortable. On your venture for coffee, you find yourself overwhelmed (to the point of escape) when you are being spoken to by a (very pretty) woman who you cannot understand. Confusion and chaos arise on both ends. You return that same week, ready for the hateful confrontation that might take place. Fortunately, that "hateful" confrontation does not happen.

Warnings: none (a bit of angst, but then it's all fluff)

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: this little collection of one-shots is still one of my favorite things to think about occasionally... perhaps i will consider making a third part if you give me some of your ideas on what the third part should consist of...

Main Masterlist | ao3 | Wattpad

Click Here for Part 2 to the 'Sweet' One-Shot Collection

...

From an early age, you realized that you were different from other people. When you would go to various places with your parents, random strangers always tried to talk to you. You couldn’t hear them, of course, considering the fact that you were born entirely deaf; adults and children alike never seem to understand that, though, and continued their quests of trying to get you to talk with your mouth rather than your hands.

Due to your innate inability to hear, you grew up learning sign language as your primary language. It wasn’t until you were four years old when you were lost in the supermarket, frantically trying to find your parents, that you realized the majority of people do not comprehend your language. Growing up in upstate New York, there weren’t exactly many people like you. There were not many people that felt ostracized by their community for something beyond their control, nor were there many individuals jumping at the opportunity to make accommodations for situations like yours. Thus, the most you were able to do in terms of communication was writing and reading in English and ‘speaking’ in sign language. Unlike some other people who were deaf, you were never able to learn how to read others’ lips, which frustrated you to no end.

And, honestly? It sucked. It was a lonely experience, and you spent many nights of your childhood (and adulthood) crying to your parents about it. It broke their hearts seeing their child experiencing such a cumbersome set of emotions and experiences that most do not even witness in a lifetime, and you knew they carried a pang of guilt about it all. You wish they didn’t, though, because you know it’s not their fault and that they have been trying their best to help you thrive despite your challenges.

It wasn’t all bad, darkness, and negativity. In fact, there are many moments where you found your deafness as a sort of power or unique ability (instead of an inability). It allowed you to sense things differently. Your favorite way to decompress was feeling certain textures, especially the yarn blanket your mother made years ago, and putting on loud music so the vibrations would flow through the medium of the speakers and into your body via your fingers or your feet. Something about it all was therapeutic.

You received a pair of hearing aids as a child, but you did not necessarily prefer them. In circumstances where there were a lot of people in a given room, the sensations would become quite painful and confusing for your brain to untangle and compute all at once. Ergo, you only really use them on the occasion where you know prior that there were gonna be few people and low amounts of background noise, like when you are working one-on-one with a client.

Given that you were going to the local coffee place, you elected to leave hearing aids at home. You use your phone to place a mobile order, effectively removing the barrier of needing to talk to an employee to order. You walked into the shop and began your path towards the pick-up area. Reaching and sorting through the other orders, you eventually come to the realization that yours is not there. You figured that the staff was simply behind on crafting the drinks, so you wait for a few minutes.

As you anxiously played with your fingers, one of the employees approaches you. She was slightly taller than you, but she was also undeniably beautiful. Her long auburn hair was tied back, held in place by a mere tie. You caught a brief glance of her eyes, quickly noticing how green they were. In the presence of such a pretty lady, your anxiety began to rise. She gave a shy smile and began moving her lips to form words. Due to your overly anxious state and inability to read her lips, you rapidly became overwhelmed. You look behind her to see her coworkers behind the counter snickering at you two. Immediately, you assumed they were laughing solely at you, talking about how the only reasonable explanation for your lack of response was stupidity beyond any repair.

So, you turned around and walked out of the door. You felt so embarrassed , more than you have ever felt since high school. All you wanted to do was go home and decompress.

Wanda stood there in a state of shock. One second, she was there trying to explain to you how she couldn’t make your drink because they were out of oat milk; the next, you were gone.

Did I say something wrong? Wanda thought to herself as she watched you escape her workplace.

Hanging her head in shame, she retreated to behind the counter where her coworkers, Bucky and Sam, were still laughing at her failed attempt to have a conversation with you. The brunette has watched you for a while from afar; she knew your favorite drink like the back of her hand, and she always tried to make sure your favorite spot in the corner of the café was kept neat and tidy for you. In her eyes, you were the most beautiful creature to walk on this planet. She would give up anything to know you as something more than just a customer.

Wanda let out a sigh of frustration mixed with sadness, leaning against the counter with her head in her hands. She finally broke the monotony of the undying laughter, “Would the two of you stop laughing? It’s not funny. Oh my god, that was so embarrassing.”

“Cheer up, little witch,” Bucky started. “There are more fish in the sea.”

“I don’t want other fish, though. I want her,” she tried to reason. “She’s so pretty, Bucky. And, after months, I finally worked up the courage to talk to her, and she just walked away from me.”

The latter part made Sam raise an eyebrow, “What do you mean she just walked away from you? Did you say something that could’ve upset her?”

“I don’t think so,” Wanda tried to think back. “I was just starting to explain how we were out of oat milk, so I couldn’t make her drink. But, before I could even give her some alternative choices, she just… left.”

Sam let out a hum, unsure of what exactly to reply. The three employees went back to work, yet Wanda was definitely not thinking about her encounter with you while making the various orders.

A few days had passed since the incident. Even though you vowed never to return to the coffee place (your favorite coffee joint), a conversation with your mother left you feeling more empowered and confident about it all. Her facial expressions and rapid hand motions displaying her anger at the workers forced a smile out of you.

Thus, you decided that you were going to return to the coffee place the next morning. You repeated the same mobile order but decided to keep your phone in hand in case you needed to type something mean and vulgar at the employees who left you feeling humiliated the other day.

You grasp the handle and pull the door forward, granting yourself entry into the once comforting setting.

With a fleeting glance to the counter, your eyes briefly meet hers. It was too late to turn back now, so you cautiously walked to the familiar pick-up area. However, your drink seems to be missing again today. Great.

You look up to see the same woman from before warily approaching you, and it takes everything you have in your body to not flee the scene. Similar to the previous time she walked up to you, the girl began to speak again. She did not get very far before you opened the notes app on your phone and started to furiously type. By the expression on her face, you could tell she was surprised at the sudden action but waited for you to stop typing.

After a minute passed, you finally turned the phone to show your message to the woman:

Hi, there. I’m deaf, and I don’t have hearing aids on at this moment. Anything that you’ve said, I did not hear… at all.

You watched with patience as the other girl slowly and carefully skimmed the message. Her head tilted and her mouth opened to form an O-like shape, and you could pinpoint this moment with exact accuracy as the moment she realized that you were not (and were never) purposefully ignoring her — you couldn’t hear her; that’s why you must have left suddenly.

She shyly smiled and nodded towards your phone. With a quirked eyebrow, you offer it to her. She happily takes it from you to begin typing a message of her own:

Hi! I’m so sorry I didn’t realize before… I’m sure it must’ve been frustrating to just have someone talking AT you rather than WITH you. Is that why you left suddenly last time?

You weren’t really sure why you were surprised by her message, specifically the last part. Did she remember? After thinking for a few minutes, you form a reply:

Yeah, I guess… I was just very overwhelmed, and I saw some of the others laughing. I just felt bad, idk. So, I left.

You definitely did not expect the frown that appeared on her face when you walked in there today. She pointed to the phone, and you gave it to her once more.

I’m sorry… if it makes you feel any better, they weren’t laughing at you or anything. Actually, they were laughing at me, not you.

As you read the new message, your face visibly contorted into confusion and disbelief.

What do you mean?

With the phone in her hands again, she typed:

I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months, Y/N. The last time you were here, I finally tried to talk to you - at least about how we were out of oat milk for your drink. I guess they found you walking away without saying anything VERY comical.

It was your turn to be in a complete and utter state of shock.

Oh… Wait, how do you know my name?

She wrote her reply fairly quick:

Who do you think makes your drink every time? ;)

As she passes the phone back to you, she personifies the wink in real life. Immediately, you feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

Well, I feel like it’s fair to ask for your name now - an 'eye for an eye’ type of thing.

She subconsciously bites her bottom lip as she slid the phone over with her reply:

Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.

Something about her name and connecting it to her made you feel… light.

Well, Wanda, I’m here talking to you now, aren’t I? Why did you want to talk to me before? Am I that intimating?

It was her turn to fall victim to blushing, reading your questions regarding her apprehension of talking to you.

Intimidating? No, not really. Really pretty, though? Can neither confirm nor deny.

You released a small, quiet chuckle at her compliment; Wanda, on the other hand, has to remember for a second how to breathe because she heard you for the first time. She loved it, and she only wants to hear more.

Give me your phone?

You sit there in confusion but comply with her unspoken request nonetheless. You give you her unlocked phone again, except you notice there’s no new message in your notes app conversation. You raise your eyebrow, showing you don’t really understand what just happened. Wanda, however, just winks at you again and slowly returns to her spot behind the counter.

You never found out what she did at that moment on your phone until you receive a text a few minutes later from a foreign contact labeled “Wanda ;)”:

Wanda ;) [9:47 AM]

Hey, sorry to cut our convo short - I had to help the customers. Meet me for dinner after work? 6 pm? :)

How could you say no to a request from her? You look up from your phone to see her biting her lip, hiding a smile as she makes drinks for other people. You look back down at your own device to respond:

You [9:48 AM]

I’ll be there. :)

You don’t remember being treated with such care and understanding before, especially by who was merely a stranger moments ago and has seemingly little experience with a person who is deaf. Wanda was different, though — a good different. She initiated a feeling of happiness and freedom within you that had not been experienced prior to that day. Most people did not consider trying to help you or finding different ways to talk to you, but Wanda did; moreover, she did so because she wanted to — she wanted to actually know you.

It was increasingly evident that you were beyond infatuated with her. The night went so well, in fact, that you changed her contact from “Wanda ;)” to “Wanda <3” after you met her for your date that same evening.

End.

#wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #limarieb #marvel imagines #elizabeth olsen x reader

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nanaloveswo-men · 3 months

Text

pairing: nanami x reader (sfw, implicit that you have a relationship) summary: the firsts years lost nanami's cat. you were called to help. nanami isn't happy. wc: 2.7 i want to write more about nanami, you and his (yours) cat

requests are open!

"sensei!" itadori feel the relieve filling his body as soon as you pick up the phone.

honestly, you kind of wish to never know what is happening, because if itadori is calling you, certainly, nothing good will come out of it. still, you have a job to do while you are his teacher.

you try to sound as polite as possible when answering him.

"hi yuji! is everything okay?" 'impossible' your mind quickly answer.

you hear some noises in the back of the call, and immediately you recognize the other voices.

"don't sound so hopeless" nobara shout at her friend, and you can perfectly imagine the two of them.

"stop screaming at my ear! she's going to hear you." yuji whisper, or at least try to, but you end up hearing the same way.

you think if yaga is going to be mad if you hang up on three freshmen that can possibly be in a death-or-life situation. maybe he wouldn't mind at all...

"yuji, where are you?" you ask already picking your keys, ready to save their asses.

more noises happen in the background, and you wonder if they are fighting with each other. the phone goes silently for a moment, and have to look down at the scream to see if the call was ended.

unfortunately, it was not. "i'm sorry to bother you, but we need your help" of course, the last one of the trio appears: megumi.

megumi tried his best to get away from the trouble duo but he is sure that you still could hear some screams. itadori's screams, you think. yeah, they are definitely fighting, and apparently, nobara is winning.

you signed trying to think why the bombastic trio of the jujutsu high need your help. neither of the options in your mind is good. "megumi, can you put on the speaker?"

after some seconds, you can hear the trio perfectly. "first of all, you three need to calm down, and explain why you need my help" before any of them talk, you continue "and nobara, you can't kill yuji yet, so stop beating him." she isn't happy to obey, but you hear itadori thanking you.

"okay, now you can tell me what happened" and again you can hear itadori, nobara and megumi talking at the same trying. each of them giving their version of the history. "only one of you!!" you scream interrupting them.

they fight for a little more before itadori finally speak. "you know, nanamin is on a work travel" he starts "and he kindly asked me if i could take care of his cat."

'more like i begged him for that' yuji remembers from a couple of days ago.

last month, gojo asked if nanami could watch itadori on his next mission, and even though he didn't want to, (or at least this was what he tried to convience you about) he accept. after killing the curse, kento offered to buy a snack for yuji (he couldn't let the boy die from hunger, he explained) and that was when itadori discovered that nanami owned a cat.

he saw a picture of it on his wallet. 'her name is angeline' nanami said because yuji keep calling his pretty cat "it".

the boy tried to convince his professor to let him meet angeline in person, but nanami would never let that happen. not when he was still alive.

angeline was a well-being animal. nanami made his number one priority to treat his cat like she deserved. the best food, weekly pet shop appointments, all the toys she needed to entertain herself when he was away, cuddle when he was at home. everything for her to be happy.

meeting anyone from his work (except from you, angeline absolutely adored you), teacher or student, would mean an stressful experience for the poor cat.

on the week nanami would be out of town on a work trip, he was ready to ask if you could take care of angeline, but yuji was faster than him.

"nanamin, please! i promise that i'm going to take good care of her." he begged for the last ten minutes, and kento was closing to explode "i won't make her stressed, and i can even video call you to see her anytime you want."

nanami signed. he would regret this, he was sure. but maybe he should follow your advice. trust people more. he could do this.

"alright itadori, you can take care of her."

but now yuuji was thinking that maybe nanami shouldn't have trust him.

"we were on a mission, so i thought it was a good idea to bring kugisaki and fushiguro with me, and everything was ok, we feed the cat, and played a bit with her, but then-" itadori was growing more and more nervous with each word coming out of his mouth.

megumi and nobara weren't different. the three of them could feel the cold sweat running down their temples.

you were just like them. of course, you knew anything good could come from itadori when he called you. but still, this was going for the worst scenario possible.

"yuji, where is angeline?" you ask, hoping, hell, even praying for the best.

itadori ignores you and continues his story. "we got hungry and run to the convenience, it was really quick, we didn't stay there for more than 10 minutes, but in our way back to the apartment kugisaki saw a dress, and then-"

yuji's voice is cut off and substituted by megumi.

"we got here, and the door was open. the cat was gone. we can't find it." you can hear itadori screaming in the background 'her name is angeline!'

everything pauses for a moment. you can't hear your students fighting. you can't hear any noise. actually, you feel nothing. your mind is completely blank.

and suddenly you remember how much angeline means to kento.

you and nanami been in a relationship for the past months, and since the begginig, he made sure to let you know how much he loved the little cat.

"itadori is the one who let the door open. blame him" nobara's voice took you out of your trance.

"i'm coming, don't move a muscle." you say briefly before ending the call.

---

in your whole life, you never expected to be in such conditions. you, a teacher, someone that can kill the most deadly curses, locked with your three students, desperately trying to find a cat.

you were still at the apartment with megumi, both of you looking everywhere in hope for angeline to still be here.

at this point, you were already using humiliating techniques.

"pspspspspspsps come here, it's me" knelling near the couch, you tried to call one more time "come on, angeline, you like me, yeah? then come here" you looked under the couch again, hoping that the cat would miraculously appear.

nothing, as expected.

even megumi was on the edge now, one of his shinigamis with itadori and nobara, while the other was stucked in the apartment with you. even the divine dog looked tired.

"megumi, don't you have, like, a divine cat? maybe we could pretend angeline was one of your shinigamis the whole time" you said throwing your body on the couch. at this point, you were already thinking of ways to calm nanami down. maybe you could convince him that his cat was something that only existed in his imagination?

"i don't think this will solve the problem" megumi sit on the chair near you, sad that kento would be disappointed at him. "i think that we can blame gojo-sensei, say that he broke into the house and let the cat scape."

you laugh a little, happy and a little worried to see megumi's funny side. "that's a good idea." you hum back, looking directly at the boy sitting next to you, only to get a look of his serious face.

he was talking for real. he won't disappoint nanami.

"let's wait for your friends to return, right? maybe they got luckier than us here." you try to easy the mood a bit, gently petting the divine dog lying on the carpet.

after some minutes, you finally hear running footsteps, which you presume are itadori and nobara. you and megumi quickly stand up, glaring at the door.

when itadori enters in your vision, you are already screaming at him.

"did you find angeline?" both, you and yuuji shout at each other at the same time.

"i think we're fucked" nobara says.

the four of you sit on the couch in completely silence, now, there was only on thing you could do. call kento.

obviously, no one wanted to do that.

'itadori was the one who let the door open." megumi defended himself.

kugisaki is quick to get her ass out of the way too. "he is the one that is responsible for the cat."

now, yuji had to be smart, otherwise, he would really have to call nanami, and he didn't want to get scolded. at least not in front of everyone.

knowing that he couldn't do anything incredible, he used his best technique. puppy eyes.

'damn kiddo' you think looking at the boy. you had nothing to do with the situation, why would you be the one calling nanami? you knew you would regret picking up the phone.

you sigh, feeling defeat by a bunch of kids. "i will do it. but you own me. the three of you." you reach for your phone from the pocket of your jacket.

you swallow the knot on your throat. praying that maybe nanami wouldn't answer.

"hello?"

as always, the world isn't on your side. maybe today wasn't your day at all.

"hey, kento! how is your trip going?" you answer, choosing your best calm voice.

you can feel the trio tensing up by your side, and for a moment you think that nanami will be able to hear their quick heartbeat.

"i'm almost finish, i'll be home tomorrow. why are you calling this time?"

of course, he would suspect. you usually call him at night, when you both would be already lying in bed, ready to sleep. "well, nothing you know, just feeling like checking on you would be good, you know?

nanami is silently for a moment. "why are you repeating sentences?" you fucked up. "what is happening?"

kento knew you better than you had thought previously.

"let's get into a hypothetically situation. if angeline went for a walk outside, and didn't come back until now, how mad would you be on a scale to 1-10?" you try to easy the water you're getting into.

but nanami isn't having any of your bullshit. "what are you saying? did you lose angeline?" you can feel the rage on his voice, and for a moment you think that maybe you should follow megumi's advice and blame gojo.

"so, 10 then?" nanami almost growls, and if this was any other moment, you would actually find it really hot. but not now.

"of course it would be a 10! now tell me, where the fuck is my cat?" oh, he is already cursing. time to hang up.

the trio tremble by your side, clearly hearing how much nanami is pissed off.

"well, so good that angeline is right hear with us, safe and pretty." you say absolutely not convincing the blonde on the other side of the phone. "unfortunately i have to hang up now, but it was a pleasure to talk to you.".

"us? who is there-" you click on the red button on the screen before kento can say another word.

you look at the trio, nobara and megumi by yuji side, both of them gently patting his shoulder. you can even see a dark aura hovering itadori's head. he was depressed.

your heart aches a bit. after all, you took pity on them. of course, yuji had fucked up, no doubt, but he was doing his best, trying to impress his teacher.

"no time to be sad!! get your ass to work!" you say, getting in front of them. you give their heads a little slap, getting their attention. "let's look everywhere again, starting with the apartment."

yuji, megumi and nobara look at you, feeling motivated again. (maybe megumi wasn't, but he wouldn't ruin the mood for his friends). the three of you scream together, ready for another hunting round (megumi think that you lost your mind).

nobara is the first to run around, throwing the cushions off the cushion crazy searching for a cat. yuji follows her, checking the living room cabinet. you look absolutely proud of them (megumi is sure that all of you lost your minds).

itadori is on all fours looking under the sofa. nobara is searching inside the fridge. megumi is almost falling off the window trying to see if angeline is outside. you are standing in the middle of the living room, phone in hand, the screen showing gojo's contact, you were ready to ask for his help. maybe he could expand his cursed energy and search for angeline.

a little meow coming from the door get your attention. four pair of eyes turn to where the sound came from.

a pretty cat sitting by the door. her pink tongue slowly cleaning her little paws.

your world pause for a moment. 'thank you' you thank no one at all.

"hellooooo, why are you calling the stronger sorcerer?" gojo finally answer your call, but now you didn't need him anymore. you just end the call without saying anything.

you walk to angeline, quickly cupping her on your arms, afraid that maybe she could run away again. megumi closes the door, a heavy sigh leaving his throat.

the cat in question only innocent look at you, like she didn't almost killed four (five if you want to count nanami) people from a heart attack.

the cat in question only innocent look at you, like she didn't almost kill four (five if you want to count nanami) people from a heart attack.

"angelineeee!" yuji is... crying? you see the tears running down his face. happy tears. he tried to hug angeline, but she didn't want his fluids on her fresh cleaned fur.

"MEOW!" she protested squirming on your arms, and you giggle getting her message.

"get off from the cat with your catarrh" nobara says pointing to yuji's dirty nose.

itadori stops, and a devilish idea appears on his mind. "then give me a hug yourself, kugisaki." he hums walking to his friend.

you laugh, seeing that even megumi got caught on the little chase. finally able to breathe again, you smile to yourself. angeline was safe. kento would be so happy.

---

"i'm never trusting any of your advices again" nanami murmur to you. he was finally back to home. angeline was on his arms again. "trust people more, you say" he was still a bit irritated.

you roll your eyes, getting comfortable against his shoulder, happy to smell his cologne. "yuji did a good job. in the final moments he screwed up a bit, but in overall, he was great." you defended him as always.

angeline meows at you, almost like she was agreeing with you. even kento was caught by surprise.

"it doesn't matter, next time i'm bringing you with me." nanami says kissing the cat head, but looking right into your eyes.

tilting your head to the side, you ask "are you talking to me, or with angeline?"

"both." he is quick to answer.

---

bonus

yesterday, itadori and kugisaki were searching for angeline

"i found her!" nobara happily says, holding a cat on the air.

yuji looks on her direction, surprised, until he saw the animal she was holding.

a random cat, not even the colors mach.

"kugisaki, this cat looks nothing like angeline." he screams, mad at her.

nobara just put the stray animal on the floor. "i tried.".

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento #nanami x you #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #yuji itadori #jjk itadori #nobara kugisaki #jjk nobara #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro

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ginnsbaker · 11 months

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (5/?)

Chapter summary: The "calm" before the storm. Wanda’s tentative friendship with you is off to a good start

Chapter word count: 5.4k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader (heavy on this chapter)

Notes: don't need to squint for fluff in this one, also kind of a filler before we get to the much dreaded part 6

AO3 | Masterlist

Next Chapter: Six

Five

Wanda’s tentative friendship with you is off to a good start. There’s a silly smile on her face as she puts the harness on Sparky; and the energetic pupper struggles only slightly when Wanda coos at him.

“We’re going to see Y/N,” Wanda says, and Sparky wags his tail hard at the mention of your name. “Who’s an excited little boy?”

She proceeds to hook the leash on the harness and then temporarily secure the hand loop around the doorknob.

“Stay there while mommy puts on makeup.” Wanda commands and feeds him a treat from her hand.

Wanda studies herself in front of the mirror. It’s a problem putting on the liquid foundation because she can’t stop smiling, the product caking along her laugh lines as a result.The last time she was drunk on happiness was when she got that job at the art gallery and you surprised her by taking her to a romantic dinner cruise around the island. While there, you both mapped out the plan for her to eventually be the senior art curator–a position that eventually went to Agatha Harkness. Wanda had been bold to give herself only two years to work her way to the top, and it wasn’t purely of her own accord. It was being with you that she felt she could dream anything. It was you that removed all her fears and doubts.

If anything happens, let them happen, she thought to herself. As long as she had you, the rest was just confetti.

It didn’t mean that Wanda’s ambition and everything else outside of you were just background noise; it only meant she knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she failed.

Wanda ends up just applying a bit of lip gloss on her lips, recalling how often you used to tell that you prefer her more natural look.

Her phone buzzes with a notification. Wanda unlocks it to find a text from Pietro, who she asked to man the cafe until afternoon.

You owe me a free batch of those macadamia cookies for this. - P

I’ll bake all the cookies you want for a discount. - W

Thank you for doing this. - W

Agatha agreed to help in the morning. - P

You text with Agatha??? - W

:p - P

Please don’t flirt in front of my customers. - W

No promises. Enjoy your date with Y/N. - P

Wanda grins from ear-to-ear.

It’s not a date. - W

You wish it was. - P

Wanda chooses not to answer that and slips her phone back in her purse. Then she turns to Sparky who’s been fiercely watching her all this time.

“Ready to go, bud?”

–

“You look nice.”

It’s offhandedly delivered after you take the reins on Sparky, yet the speed at which she blushes from the compliment is almost embarrassing. Like always, she makes it a point to look good for you.

You and Wanda chose to meet at the Conservatory Garden in Central park, taking advantage of the spring weather. Its main path is littered with trees and benches, and an overall perfect spot for people watching. Sparky was the first to spot you, and he started barking the second he picked up your scent and ran towards your direction, dragging Wanda along with his leash. Tears almost fell from her eyes when she watched your touching reunion. You fell to your knees to gather Sparky in your arms, while he made sure to lick every part of your face.

“I missed you too, bud.” Wanda heard you whisper over the back of Sparky’s furry head. Sparky made a whining noise, and you knew he understood.

“I was surprised you’re available on a Wednesday,” you say. You and Wanda are strolling side by side, Sparky in tow, moving in circles around you and occasionally around Wanda too.

“Pietro covered for me.”

“I didn’t know he could bake or make good coffee for that matter.” you say with a light chuckle.

“I baked everything in advance this morning, so all he has to do is take care of the register. Also, he’s caffeine dependent and very particular about his coffee, so he already knows how to make the ones on the menu.”

Though, what Wanda really wants you to know is that she woke up at 3AM just to be able to walk Sparky together.

You raise your eyebrows, half-impressed and half-skeptic. “I’m curious if he’d make them as good as yours. I mean, you make pretty darn good coffee.”

Wanda bites her tongue to maintain her neutral expression. Another compliment. She wonders how many more she can squeeze out of you. The reality is she’s a nervous ball of energy. Worse than College Wanda was nervous when she first realized her feelings for you.

“Thanks, Y/N. It means a lot, coming from you.”

“Aren’t you worried I’m just being biased?” you quip with a devious smirk. Wanda feels a strong urge to wipe it away with her lips. “After all, you did train my tongue to like your cooking.”

“I did not!” Wanda passionately protests, blushing when her mind wanders to what else she trained your tongue to do in the past.

You surprise her by letting loose a laugh; a real one, blissful and unrestrained; playfully challenging her with a, “Then explain why I love overcooked chicken.”

Wanda’s still thinking of a smart comeback, when your ringtone goes off in your pocket.

“Excuse me, I should take this.” you say, handing back the leash to Wanda.

“Hey, stranger,” you happily receive the call, and Wanda curiously watches you from the corner of her eyes.

“This Friday? Yeah. Aside from dinner…? No, I don’t think I have anything else planned.”

Plans this Friday? Wanda muses, trying to figure out if said plans are platonic or not. The thing is, she can’t tell with the tone of your voice alone.

“I’m a Knicks fan, yes,” you confirm something Wanda already knows. “You cheer for Brooklyn? You’ve got to be shitting me.”

You only talk that way to your best friend. Were you talking to Natasha?

“A long time fan, huh? So you’re saying you’ve been rooting for New Jersey all this time,” you laugh. “Nope, you can’t take that back cause I’m recording this call.”

The cheeky way you’re addressing this person is not sitting well with Wanda. Sparky comes up to Wanda and jumps at her, poking her knee with his paw.

“Not now, Sparks.” Wanda hisses at him the way someone would scold a child.

“Count me in. How much does the ticket cost? What? I can’t let you do that… Fine, popcorn’s on me then. Uh, huh. We’ll see about that. Simmons is not who he used to be. Alright, we’ll continue this in the game. Yes, you have me for the whole night, I promise,” you say, your mouth splitting into an amused grin.

Wanda’s head cranes towards you, no longer bothering to pretend she’s not eavesdropping. You catch Wanda’s green orbs and lower your voice as you end the conversation with, “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll see you. Bye.”

“That was Yelena,” you say after tucking away your phone. “Natasha’s sister. I think Nat’s mentioned her to you.”

“Natasha doesn’t talk to me.” Wanda says, keeping her tone light.

You gawk at her. “That’s insane. Of course, she does. I mean not now, because of, you know, what happened.”

“No, she doesn’t. Whenever the three of us are together, we talk to you.”

You hum in confusion, your mind drifting through countless dinners the three of you shared in the past. You suppose Wanda’s claim had basis; Natasha’s seems more reserved in Wanda’s presence.

“Well, I–maybe you heard about her from me?”

“I just know that Natasha has a sister. I never knew her name, though.”

“Ah,” you say, face warming up and sweat gathering around your upper lip. The heat of the sun is at its peak, making you feel incredibly hot. “I thought I'd mentioned her before.”

“So, Yelena,” Wanda starts, wanting to know more about this person despite the pang of jealousy that has crept into her chest. “What’s her story?”

What’s on Friday? Why does she have you for the whole night?

You stop and sit on one of the benches. Wanda follows and plops next to you, leaving just a few inches of space between your bodies. Sparky immediately stands on his hindlegs, trying to jump into your lap. With care, you scoop him up into your arms and cradle him like a baby.

“She’s Natasha’s sister.” You dumbly repeat, not really knowing where you should start telling your ex-wife about the woman who just asked you out on a date.

“You said that already.” Wanda says; though she manages a smile that’s convincing enough, her tone is clipped and rather distasteful.

“What do you want to know?”.

Wanda looks pensive for a moment, before she says, “How come I’m only hearing about her now?”

“She flew to England right before freshman year and then we lost contact right away.” you say.

“And when did she get back?”

Your eyes flit away from her for a moment. “Two years ago.”

“You’re saying you’ve been friends again for the last two years?”

You refuse to let it bother you that she’s obviously jealous even though she has no right to be.

Sighing, you say, “Why does this feel like an interrogation?”

“I’m just curious.” Wanda shrugs, scratching Sparky in the area near his tail. He seemingly looks like he’s fallen asleep on you, but his tail still wags at Wanda’s attention.

“Were you?” Wanda prods. “Were you in touch with her in the last two years?”

For a while you don’t say anything. The thing is, you could lie. You don’t owe Wanda anything anymore. But with Wanda’s line of questioning, it's like she’s almost trying to assert herself and redefine history; perhaps even make it seem like you weren’t so innocent in all of this after all.

Except you were innocent. You never flirted with the idea of other people. Not even that time you ran into the other great love of your life. So with confidence, you tell Wanda the truth.

“We ran into each other five or six months ago. But we recently just reconnected again.” you say.

Wanda does the math in her head.

Oh.

“You didn’t mention that when we–that was before we–”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” you say coolly, your patience wearing thin. “It happened that day you asked me to retrieve a painting from Agatha.”

It’s Wanda’s turn to be speechless. Though you never talked about what really went on that Tuesday afternoon when you clobbered Vision with a vase, Wanda had an inkling that you had something to do with the missing paintings in his room: the one he was working on for his final project and the one she gave him.

It’s still a sour topic; seeing the way your jaw hardens at the mention of the paintings. Wanda backpedals, reeling in the possessiveness she still feels towards you.

“I see…” she trails off.

Badly, she wants to know more about this Yelena, but she’s afraid that she might push you too hard for answers; answers that you don’t have to provide in the first place. Wanda feels somewhat ashamed of having taken advantage of your kindness (yet, again) to get what she wants.

But where does she draw the line?

Wanda wanted you still. She needed to know if there were other people in your life competing for the same thing. She couldn’t just stand meekly in the corner and watch you fall in love with someone new.

“Sparky looks chunkier. Is he chunkier?” you say all of a sudden, rubbing his belly.

Wanda is more than grateful for the change in topic.

“He is. He gained five pounds last time I checked.” she says, smiling fondly at the scene before her.

“So he’s basically happy without me?” you ask, more relieved than downhearted by the fact.

Wanda shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe he’s just eating his feelings, you know? Like I sometimes would.”

You cast a funny look at Wanda. “That sounds implausible.”

Wanda’s laugh fills the air with its melodic resonance. “Why don’t you find out? Take him from me for the weekend. See if he’ll miss me enough to gain a few more.”

It must be so blatant how she’s trying you get you to see her again so soon after today. Though it doesn’t seem like you noticed.

“This weekend?” You pause to think about your schedule despite having all the time in the world to do absolutely nothing. Aside from cleaning up the apartment and doing laundry as part of your Saturday routine, you’ve been wanting to visit your mother in Montauk.

It definitely wouldn’t be a problem if you take Sparky with you.

“Sure, why not?” you say.

“Great,” Wanda beams at you. “I’ll drop him off at your apartment before I open the shop?” she inquires softly, hoping she could get your address.

“Sounds good. Did I already give you my address?”

Wanda does a little victory dance in her head. “You haven’t.”

You text her the details right away.

“Listen, do you want to have lunch before I go?” you ask, getting up and putting Spark back on his feet. “And thank you for this time with Sparky.”

“No problem.”

You’re still ridiculously polite. Still kind.

Still her Y/N.

“You’re late.” Pietro grumbles as soon as Wanda arrives at the cafe.

He has an overly-complicated coffee order waiting, and two customers waiting for their food orders. Agatha has already left two hours ago.

Wanda shrugs her shoulders, placing the eco bags she’s carrying in both hands on the counter. “I went to the grocery store to buy some supplies.”

Pietro mutely hands Wanda her apron and she quickly starts working the espresso machine.

“How did your date go?”

Wanda doesn’t bother to correct him this time.

“It was okay.”

Pietro doesn’t look convinced at the very least. “That’s it?”

“We walked Sparky and had lunch.” comes Wanda’s nonchalant reply.

“Ah, lunch,” Pietro flashes a leering smile at his clearly smitten sister. “Were you the one to ask her?”

Wanda grins with a dazed look. “Nope.”

“Congrats, sis. You’re on your way to getting back with your ex-wife. Which, if I may add, was your plan all along even when you agreed to a divorce in the first place.”

On any other day, Pietro’s sarcastic humor would normally push her buttons in a snap, but right now Wanda couldn’t care less if she tries. The memory of her time with you and the scent of your perfume is still fresh. There’s nothing that could ruin her perfect day.

The door chime sings to signify the arrival of a customer. Wanda quickly draws a simple latte art on a coffee order, and then proceeds to serve it to the customer by the window. Her eyes briefly brushes the customer who just came in, and is taken aback when she finds the woman staring at her expectantly.

Wanda carefully places the mug on the table for her other customer, before very quickly fixing her hair to greet the new arrival.

“Hi, welcome to Second Chances. Dine-in or take-out?”

“I’m here to get Pietro.” The woman says with a bored expression.

Wanda grits her teeth. Her brother really knows how to choose them. “And you are?”

“Shannon,” she drawls. “His fiancé.”

“His what? I mean, that’s–” Wanda is stunned beyond belief, and looks over at Pietro who’s pointedly trying to avoid her gaze. “–amazing news. Congratulations.”

“He proposed months ago.” Shannon deadpans, like she’s used to Pietro’s people not knowing he has a fiancé or a girlfriend for that matter.

“He didn’t tell me.” Wanda says.

Shannon doesn’t acknowledge that information. Instead, she says, “Nice little cafe you have here.”

“Thanks.”

“Though the Spanish Latte needs more sugar. I had it earlier this morning.”

Wanda has to ball her fist to refrain from using them on this woman.

“Actually, we have a suggestion box.” Wanda says, gesturing to the aforementioned box by the counter, designed to look like a mini treasure chest. “If you could write it down, we’ll get to it as soon as we can.”

Shannon forces a smile that’s undeniably fake, possibly for lack of trying.

Pietro approaches them slowly, his rounded eyes reminding Wanda of a wounded puppy.

“Hey, babe,” Pietro mumbles and pecks Shannon on the lips. “I’m ready to go. Let me just change, okay?”

“Five minutes.” Shannon prompts in a stern voice.

At this point, Wanda would rather see Pietro flirting with Agatha than have to watch him be pushed around by this woman with his tail between his legs. A barrage of questions run through her mind, starting with why her brother is marrying this bitch.

“You’re wondering why he’s marrying someone like me.” Shannon says wryly.

“You read minds?” Wanda tries to joke.

Shannon isn’t having it. “It’s a mystery. I, myself, am wondering why I’m still hell-bent on marrying him.”

Wanda tilts her head at her with a quizzical look.

“Oh, you don’t know.” Shannon’s laugh is devoid of humor of any kind.

“Know what?”

“I caught your brother in bed with different women… more times than I can count with one hand.” Shannon explains so casually like she could have just been talking about the weather.

“And I still won’t quit him.” she adds as an afterthought.

“If you’re telling me this because you think I can talk some sense into him–”

“I don’t expect you to do that.”

“Then why are you telling me this?” Wanda asks, no longer holding back her ire.

“Pietro told me what happened with you and your ex.”

“He had no business telling you that.” Wanda says through bared teeth.

Shannon looks unnerved by the evident irritation of her future sister-in-law, and says, “He’s your brother and we do run out of things to talk about.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?”

Shannon drops her gaze to the floor in thought, before they flit up back to Wanda’s eyes which have narrowed into slits.

“Pietro cares about you. The reason he refuses to go back to LA is because he’s worried about you. I just want to give you something to think about that might help all of us.”

Wanda says nothing and merely waits with her hands on her hips. She already doesn’t trust whatever piece of advice she’s going to hear from this stranger.

“Love is forgiveness. If your ex couldn’t forgive you for straying once, then you’re better off with someone else who will accept you for your mistakes. Because believe me, you’ll never run out of them.”

Wanda’s anger slowly ebbs away until all that’s left is bafflement at the insinuation that you’re not good enough for her.

That you’re not worth it. That she’s stupid to chase a love that should overcome anything including infidelity.

“And you’re that person for my brother?” Wanda says, smiling in contempt.

Shannon lifts her chin. No, she wouldn’t go as far as verbally claim it, but the Alpha behavior more than proves that she thinks so highly of her capability to love. Wanda feels an overwhelming urge to throw this woman out. Instead, she turns her back on Shannon to stalk towards the staff room where Pietro is changing.

“I don’t like her.” Wanda states as soon as the door swings open, expecting a half-naked Pietro.

He’s cross-legged on the floor, watching YouTube videos on his phone.

“Which is why you’ve never met her. And before you say anything, I did try very hard to keep it that way. It’s not my fault that you came back so late.”

“What do you see in her, Piet? You haven’t eloped, right? You can still get out of this.”

Pietro shrugs his broad shoulders; shoulders that would have taken him to superstardom, if not for the series of injuries that plagued his short career.

“Look at me,” Pietro says in a languid manner. “I’m a fuck up, Wands. I’ll always be a fuck up. It’s in my nature. And she loves me anyway. Maybe I just want someone who will always have my back no matter what.”

“That’s not love. That’s codependency, you idiot.”

“No offense, sis. But it’s not like you have the moral high ground to lecture me about relationships.”

Wanda’s lips press together into a hard line at the proverbial mirror in front of her. They were both fuck ups. The only difference is one of them has already embraced it with open arms.

After a beat, Wanda asks, “Are you, at least, happy?”

Pietro considers it for a moment, before saying, “She’s not so bad once you get to know her.”

The Knicks versus Nets game is starting in thirty minutes, and the thick crowd is scrambling to get their pre-game ritual done; long lines in the restroom, the merchandise stores and the snack bars, fans taking group photos in-front of giant cutouts of NBA players. You stand in the middle of it all, a giant bag of popcorn in each of your arms, when Yelena shows up alone at the assigned gate for your seats.

Her blonde hair is up in a tight bun, with just a few stray strands falling in front of her eyes. She’s wearing considerably less makeup than she wore in the club, which you think makes her even more beautiful.

Not that your preference has anything to do with how Yelena presents herself, and you certainly wouldn’t let her know that.

“Where are your friends?” you ask, eyes darting everywhere behind her..

“They canceled at the last minute. Kate got called on an assignment.” Yelena says with a huff.

“What a waste.”

“Kate sponsored the tickets and she doesn’t mind. It’s just her change.”

“Kate, huh?” you teasingly look at Yelena.

“Really, Y/N?” Yelena mutters, feigning offense. “You’re breaking my heart, you know? I said I like you. Don’t pawn me off to someone else.”

Your cheeks warm at her directness.

“Shit, sorry. You’re right. I was being a jerk.”

“You were.”

You offer her one of your priced popcorn. “Will this make it better?” you ask, lower lip jutting out into what you hope is an adorable pout.

Yelena takes your peace offering and then candidly says, “Fine. But stop being so cute or you’re going to regret it.”

You flush even further and feel a jolt deep in the pit of your stomach.

Somehow, the game is the last thing on your mind right now.

The Knicks are down ten at the half, and Yelena’s trash talk isn’t letting up anytime soon. You’re on your third bottle of beer, and the intimacy of how Yelena is half-leaning on your side, her weight solid against your own body, is keeping you tethered more than anything.

You positively look like a couple, despite the fact that neither of you has acknowledged that this has turned into a date.

“Wanna bet on how many bricks your team will make in the second half?” Yelena goads with a self-satisfied smirk.

“They’ll find their shooting, you’ll see.” you say with a toothy grin, unfazed. Truthfully, the games’ outcome is the farthest of your concerns now that Yelena’s fingers are inching towards your lap as she shares an anecdote about her workmates. She tells the story rather animatedly, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the girl you practically grew up with.

Towards the end of Yelena’s story, the crowd around you goes wild. You look up to see the kiss cam land on you and Yelena.

You both shake your head in refusal, gazing up at yourselves on the huge monitor in the middle of the arena. People start booing at the two of you, and as a consolation, you put your arm around Yelena’s shoulders and kiss her on the forehead. It’s enough to pacify the crowd and the kiss cam moves on to another couple who gamely makes out in front of everyone.

When the moment passes, you suddenly realize what you’ve just done. The line has been dangerously toed, and you sheepishly retract your arm the same time Yelena straightens her posture.

“I’m s–”

“Don’t,” Yelena stops you before you could utter an apology. “I wanted to kiss you, but I was worried about overstepping any boundaries.”

“Nat won’t be happy about this.” you murmur, still keeping a respectable distance.

“For once, don’t think about what other people want. Think about what you want.”

The remaining two quarters is not enough to think just that.

You see Yelena off to her apartment after the game. Sharing a ride is cheaper, since your own apartment is less than thirty minutes away by foot.

“...and that’s how Kate and I met,” Yelena concludes after a minute-long summary of how she ended up crashing with her current bestfriend. “Why do I feel like I’ve been talking too much about myself for the last hour?”

“There’s more than a decade of stuff for us to catch up on,” you say, feeling a bit regretful about the time that has passed of not being in each other’s life. “There’s a lot I don’t know about this new you.”

“What “new” me? It doesn’t feel like I’ve changed too much.”

“You have,” you say. “But you’re different in a good way. I like both Yelenas.”

Yelena ducks her head. “You’ve changed as well. But judging from how much fun we had in each other’s company, I say the important bits of us remained the same.” she says.

Your eyes sweep over her. She’s right. She’s just Yelena, Natasha’s younger sister and your first love. Beneath the changes that had accumulated over the years, your soul still recognizes her soul.

“I had a really great time.” you say before you both turn the corner to her place.

Through the remainder of the distance to her apartment, your pace slows down to a crawl. It’s a familiar ritual: the walk to her doorstep, fishing out for keys, playing for a while with those keys, an exchange of awkward smiles, and then–

The pinnacle of a first date, where the magic happens.

Yelena shuffles her feet, fiddling with her keychain. “This is a date, right?”

You swallow dryly. “Yelena–”

“If you mention my sister’s name again, I might have to strangle you.”

“It’s not just Nat,” Out of habit, you thoughtlessly reach for your left ring finger to play with the wedding band that is no longer there. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Yelena.

��Is it Wanda?” Yelena crosses her arms in a slightly defensive stance. “Are you still in love with her?”

The question has been plaguing you long before Yelena drew it out in the open.

Shaking your head, you lean in and kiss her.

The next morning, Wanda’s at your door at exactly six. She texted you thirty minutes ago to inform you that she’s on her way but received no reply. Now she’s worried that she might wake some of your neighbors with her forceful knocks. If not, then Sparky’s yelps certainly would.

It takes a few more seconds before she hears your familiar footsteps on the other side of the door. The door swings open and Wanda’s heart skips a beat at the sight of you; in your pajamas; hair messy from sleep; fabric marks on the left side of your face, indicating that you still sleep on your side in the direction of where Wanda used to be when she slept next to you.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Wanda can’t help how quickly her smile reaches her eyes.

“Wanda? What are you doing here?” you mumble, rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes.

Wanda frowns. Did you forget?

Sparky takes it upon himself to remind you with a small whine as he lifts his paw to scratch at your leg.

You look down to find him with his tail a blur, wagging from side to side, and it automatically puts a lazy smile on your lips. “Hey, buddy!”

“You agreed to take him for the weekend.” Wanda says slowly, gauging your reaction. “But if the plan has changed, then–”

Your eyes widen when, at last, the realization sinks in. “No. Sorry. I just lost track of time. I didn’t know it’s Saturday already. I still want to take him.” you say, flushing in embarrassment.

“Great,” Wanda breathes out, and then motioning inside your apartment, says, “Can I, uhm, use the toilet before I–”

“Of course!” you exclaim, opening the door wider to let her in. “Sorry, I’m still out of sorts.”

“Rough night?”

“Hmm,” You hum pleasantly. “Something like that. The bathroom’s that way.”

Wanda doesn’t miss your little indulgement in reminiscing last night’s affairs. Definitely not ‘something like that’. She heads to the bathroom with Sparky following behind her. He curls on the floor as he waits for Wanda to finish her business.

“Do you want some coffee? Or maybe not coffee. I have…” you yell out, searching the fridge. “Beer and soda.”

“Water is fine.” Wanda says as she approaches the kitchen.

She picks a chair that’s nearest to the counter where you’re busy making coffee and pouring Wanda a glass of water.

Wanda surveys your new home. The lack of decor and the monochromatic paint job screams Natasha; the best friend who’s attached to your hip, but is obviously not present at the moment.

“Where’s Natasha?” you hear Wanda ask.

You think whether or not you should disclose the news about Natasha. You figure it’s not necessary anymore for Wanda to keep tabs on your friends. “She’s visiting a family member upstate.”

“Oh, I didn’t know she had family,” Wanda states, feeling a little silly. Natasha’s an important person in your life, and this is the kind of information she’s supposed to know already.

“It’s good she’s spending time with them.” she adds.

“Yeah.” you mumble, feeling remorseful about the little lie. “Made me think of mom. I’m actually heading to Montauk later. I’m taking Sparky there if that’s okay with you?”

Wanda gives an enthusiastic nod. “Just don’t forget to pack some water on the trip.”

“And some healthy treats too, I know. I’ve got it, Sparky’s Mom.” you say with a quiet chuckle as you bring over a tray of water and two large mugs of black coffee.

Wanda rolls her eyes at the nickname, secretly elated.

“It’s like we’re co-parenting him.” she blurts out without thinking.

By the look on your face, the idea of it hits you in a different way.

“Is…that what we’re doing here?” you say, only half-teasing.

“I’m not insinuating anything. It’s just somewhat comparable if you think about it.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and it drives Wanda on the edge.

“I know I’m the one who wanted kids, but I’m glad we didn’t have them when it happened.” you say, and it surprises Wanda beyond anything–the trivial way in which you said it.

“I don’t know, Y/N, ” Wanda whispers. “Maybe if we had kids, things would’ve been different.”

Your eyes are unreadable as you ask, “Different how?”

Wanda couldn’t think of anything to say except what’s really on her mind.

“Maybe we could’ve avoided separating altogether.”

“Because you think having kids would have made me stay married to you?” you say, in a tone of voice that makes Wanda’s knees buckle and her heart squeeze in regret of her words.

“Because maybe it would have stopped me,” Wanda says in a rush. It’s the wrong thing to say, but it might even be more wrong if she chooses to lie about it. “Maybe it would have given me a different purpose. Would have made me into someone who isn’t selfish and didn’t lose sight of what truly mattered–”

“You’re saying that our childlessness is what motivated you to cheat on me.” you say, and Wanda watches you flex your fingers; shaking away some numbness.

“That’s not–” Wanda grapples for words.

There’s none.

“I didn’t think this through.” you whisper to yourself, eerily calm and collected.

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks frantically.

In the absence of words, you merely look at her with a pained expression.

“Y/n?” Wanda gapes at you and her soulful green eyes widen in panic. “Wait, please, I’m sorry. If we can just–”

“I’ll drop Sparky at your apartment on Monday.”

Wanda pauses momentarily at the door; but you’re already walking back to your room, indifferent to what she chooses to do.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen

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justmystyles · 10 months

Text

Good News All Around

ask (sent via message from my darling friend @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite): So reader is dating Harry and she calls him while he’s on tour and she’s just really excited to tell him something. So she bought a car and it’s her first one and he was the first one she wanted to tell and he’s just so proud of her. And then the second he’s home he insists on going on a ride in her car.

read my other work here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 947

warnings: a couple of curse words, but other than that, it's tame.

summary: you reach a big milestone in your life, but feel overshadowed when you call to tell Harry about it.

a/n: nothing of note, enjoy!

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

“Here you go, miss. It’s right out front waiting for you!” The salesman said cheerfully as he dropped the keys in your hand.

The keys to your new car.

With an extra swing in your step, you hurried outside to your new baby. You had been waiting for this moment for months. Sure it wasn’t technically your first car, but it was the first car that was yours. You parents had been generous enough to give you a car as a graduation gift. You loved it so much, and you were so grateful for the gift. But this was your car, you did the research, you negotiated with salesmen, and you spent your money. You were also going to spend the next few years in debt, but you didn’t care because you did it by yourself.

Once you got in the car, you watched as the airplay system connected to your phone, they were kind enough at the dealership to get all of that set up for you. As your phone linked, you smiled and hit the voice command button.

“Call Harry.”

Of course your boyfriend was going to be your first call in your new car. This was a huge deal for you, he knew that, and he was so proud of you. He had offered to help, or even just outright buy you a car, but you kindly refused. Harry was always giving you things, and you allowed it to a point, but a car was way too much. Besides, this was your first grown up purchase, you needed to do it yourself. Harry understood that, and was beyond supportive.

“Hey beautiful,” Harry greeted you. Though you could barely hear him over the commotion on the other end of the phone.

“Hi… hey, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, sorry, hold on.” He says as you hear the background noise start to fade away. “Sorry, is that better?”

“Much,” you say with a smile as you put the car in drive and start your dive. “Everything okay?”

“Better than okay,” you could hear him beaming on the other end of the phone. “They announced the Grammy nominations this morning. We got three!”

“Baby, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, my love. I know I don’t do this for the recognition, but I must say it feels nice to get it.” He chuckles. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your lovely voice?”

You’re silent for a moment. Just a second ago, you were ready to gush to Harry about your big exciting news, but now it seemed silly compared to being nominated for three Grammy’s. “Oh nothing, I just missed you. Wanted to hear your voice and tell you I’m excited to see you tomorrow.”

“Me too, this celebration is fun and all, but I know I’ll have much more fun celebrating privately with you.” You heard the hint of heat in his tone, knowing exactly what kind of celebration he was expecting. “Are you going to be able to pick me up at the airport, or should I arrange a car?”

“No, I can grab you. I’ll meet you in the usual spot.” You confirm. “Now go get back to your party, you deserve it.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow baby. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

The next day, you were waiting in the airport parking garage, the section where you always waited for Harry. You saw his eyes travel the area looking for you, and realized he wouldn’t recognize your new car. You opened the driver’s side door, getting out and calling his name. His eyes locked on you and he broke out into a run dropping his bags at your feet and lifting you by the waist when he got to you.

“Hey,” you giggle against his neck.

He sets you down, peppering kisses all over your face until he lands on your lips, kissing you deeply. “Hey yourself.” He finally says. Kissing you once more before pulling back and looking at the car. “Yours finally shit the bed, eh? Had to spring for a rental?”

You smile bashfully, trying to contain your excitement, afraid it’ll come off silly compared to his news. “No, it’s uh… that’s my new car.”

Harry froze in place, eyes going wide. “Baby,” he looked over at the car, then back to you. “You finally got it? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I got it yesterday, I called to tell you right after, from my new bluetooth hookup, but you were celebrating your nominations. This seemed silly in comparison, I didn’t want to interrupt your moment.” You shrugged, your gaze dropping to the floor.

“Hey,�� Harry chastised softly, lifting your face to lock eyes with him. “Baby, this is a huge deal. Just because our accomplishments are different doesn’t mean that one is any better than the other. You worked so hard for this, and I am so incredibly proud of you.”

“Really?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Of course, darling.” He says with a smile, placing a quick peck on your lips. “Now show me all of it. I want to know every in and out of this car.”

You proceed to explain and demonstrate all of the features as he listens and watches on with the utmost admiration. You pause a few times just to stop and think about how much you love this man.

He’s out there selling out arenas and getting nominated for awards, but right now, he’s standing here with you, acting like your new car is the most important thing in the world. Because it’s important to you, and you are his world.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles fluff #harry's house #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic

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bubblegum-cherry-lips · 5 months

Text

decorations ✨

summary: the boys love all of you, even when you go a bit crazy over the holiday decorations

prompt: day 2 - decorating (prompts from this post)

pairing: poly marauders x (gender neutral) reader

cw: none

word count: 661

•

“No, you need to move i- Rem, babe, it’s not supposed to go there.”

“But look how pretty it looks here.”

“Remus, I think you should do as Y/N says before you end up murdered.”

Sirius mumbles, in between one handful of popcorns and the other, entirely unbothered by the chaos going on around him, or the glare he keeps receiving from Remus. James keeps his mouth shut and tries to hide the grin behind the second box of decorations he had brought from the attic, but you still notice it and give him a small smile when he winks at you.

The bitter taste on your tongue seems to linger, though, and you have to remind yourself to tone down the controlling tendencies, when it comes to house decorations. You know that you can be too much for people sometimes, especially with the things that excite you - but that’s an issue you need to work on yourself, and the boys don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it.

“It looks great there Rem, you’re right.” You can’t help but laugh at his smug face, and it makes it a little bit easier to let it go, and instead concentrate on finishing your own task - which is pulling out all the festive mugs and glasses, and replacing the old, plain ones.

You’re not left alone for too long, however.

“You know I can move them where you want them, right?” Sweet Remus, with his big heart and the infallible power to know when one of his lovers is sad, hugs you around your waist and rests his chin on the space between your neck and shoulder, mindful of the mugs you’re currently holding in your hands. He doesn’t push you to speak - it’s something he never does, no matter what. His presence is always calming, always patient, waiting for you to come for him when you’re ready. And because of that, you’re finding it easier to be completely honest with him.

“I know, but it really does look good there. I was just being silly.”

“Whatever is worrying you is never silly.”

That’s something you’re trying to believe in, but it doesn’t come to you that easy.

“I just want the place to look homey. Perfect.”

“And it does. Look how perfect you’ve made it.”

When he spins you around, you allow it, and you get to see the entire living room from your spot by the kitchen counter. The door and window frames are surrounded by fairy lights, bathing the entire room in that soft, gentle glow. It makes the moon and the stars outside even more beautiful, and the way Sirius and James look under that light, as they cuddle on the couch, is breathtaking.

“It does look good, doesn’t it?”

“It looks great. Right boys?"

“Yep. Not that we expected anything else, love.” The bowl of popcorn is left abandoned on the coffee table, Sirius’ next task being to wrap himself around James until the other man can barely breathe. Judging by the redness of James’ cheeks, he won’t survive for too long underneath all those blankets.

Remus reads your mind, and grabs your hand to drag you to the couch, where James opens his arms and you snuggle into them, blowing a kiss in Sirius’ direction when he starts pouting. It doesn’t last for too long because Remus pulls Sirius into his lap and the other man melts, the movie they’ve played an hour ago for the background noise still softly playing.

“I’m sorry for being a handful, and too much.” You whisper the apology, but you know they still hear it - James’ hands tighten around you, and Sirius’ hand finds your knee as Remus opens his mouth to speak.

“You are not a handful, and you are not too much. You’re just perfect for us.”

And snuggled like that, you realize that you have finally found a place where you truly belong.

#DecemberEvent2023 #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #marauders x reader #marauders x you #marauders x y/n #poly marauders x reader

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beautifulfuckup99 · 9 months

Note

May you please write a Yoongi imagine, doesn’t matter what the premise is, I just want a fluffy husband Yoongi<3!!!🫶🏼

Sure Thing!

Title: I've Got It From Here

Rating: G

Warning(s): Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Yoongi's Accident, Talks of PTSD, Anxiety, and yes there will be FLUFF.

Author's Note: I hope you all enjoy! Keep the requests comin!

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

He doesn't know what triggered it, really. Maybe it was sleeping on it wrong? Maybe it was the cold weather of Seattle, where he was touring currently? Maybe it was performing so hard every night?

No matter the real cause, this morning Yoongi woke with a stiff shoulder and a tightness in his chest like he usually got when experiencing this pain. It's like with the pain came the memories, came the flashbacks of the tire...

Yoongi shuts his eyes, wanting to push the image away. Days like this convinced him that he, indeed, was not over the past. But he had to be. For the fans, for the sake of the tour, and more importantly, for you.

You had finally gotten a free schedule to come visit your husband on tour and Yoongi would be damned if this trip was ruined by his damn shoulder. Damnit.

And so, with a deep breath, and slight wince, Yoongi got out of bed and proceeded to get ready to meet you at the airport.

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

It's all a rush of cameras and screaming fans and the flash, God the flash. It was broad daylight, why the hell did they need the flash on?!

And then as quickly as it's all too much for him, it becomes background noise the second your arms wrap around him. And he bears the pain so he can hold you back as you laugh in pure delight at being back in your husband's arms.

"God, this feels good..." You laugh happily as you snuggle more into his chest, kissing his shoulder softly as usually, and Yoongi bites back a soft hiss.

"Tell me about it..." He sighs softly as he puts his face in your hair, breathing in your scent with a deep and full whiff. You'd never know how much he needed this. Needed you. He felt calmer already.

"Let's go! I've been looking forward to this for weeks!" You laugh as you hold his arm while bouncing towards baggage claim. Yoongi stiffens and shuts his eyes. You pause instantly. "Baby?" You ask in concern.

"I-I'm good." He says fast. "Didn't get enough sleep last night." He says. You'd been hard at work these past few months while he's been gone. This was your vacation. And he was not going to ruin that. He could take it. He could endure. The smile on your face would be worth it.

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

As soon as you're settled in the hotel room, you're dragging Yoongi around the hotel and find a display of activity brochures. You gush over the different restaurants, museums, and live concerts they have this week. You playfully hold up a 'Folklore Concert in the Park' pamphlet. "Maybe you'll get inspiration for the next album..." You joke and he smiles a thin lipped smile.

"Maybe. Do a whole country folklore album. Hat, boots, and horse." He teases along and you giggle as you nudge him. He holds his arm when you're not looking and when you gasp, he straightens up.

"Festival! Winter Festival! Happening tonight. We can go, right? It's ok?" You ask hopefully as you look up at your husband with the same big eyes that always get him.

He looks you in the eyes. Getting lost in them was better than any coping mechanism. You were the best distraction and anxiety reducer. How could you not know how much those eyes meant to him? He finally hums. "I think we can stop by, look around..." He gives in softly.

"This is gonna be the best vacation ever!" You giggle and hug him tightly. He squeezes his eyes to stop the tears. "I love you!" You giggle and he lets out a soft sigh. "I love you..." He whispers.

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

Later that evening, you're led into the Winter Festival that was taking place at some park by a river. Families, couples, and groups of friends of all ages are running around. Christmas lights adorned the trees, and the freshly laid snow on the ground looked like something out of a movie.

You're wearing a casual outfit with your sweater and one of Yoongi's leather jackets with fur inside of it on top. Layers were the most important thing in the winter, so you didn't mind the wool hat and scarf you were nuzzled in. Yoongi holds your hand to the best of his ability, but the cold weather and the heavy winter coat was not helping. And the scarf around his neck felt like a noose.

And, oh my god, was he breathing? When was his last breath? This coat was so damn heavy. He couldn't focus on what you were sayin-wait. You were speaking?

He finally blinks, trying to focus on you as you joke about the huge inflatable decorations. "They'd look good in front of our place. Of course, I think if we ever posted our house looking like this, Taehyung would be the first to mock us for it." You giggle as you enjoy the 'Winter Wonderland' aesthetic.

Yoongi hums and you eye him a bit. Something was wrong with your husband. You could feel it in your heart. He'd been quiet the whole day. Barely eating, barely laughing. He was deep in his own thoughts. Something that only happened when he was either thinking of a new song, or when his anxiety got really bad.

You grip his hand a bit firmer to try and ground him, but he barely reacts. You finally move in front of him and stop, causing him to bump into you. He curses at the suddenness, and you watch him in concern.

"Yoongi..." You try as you make him look at you. "I'm fine." He says fast. "You want... Decorations." He says to prove he's been paying attention, but his voice comes out in soft pants. His skin is pale, his lips are trembling, his eyes show the panic in his head.

"Baby. Stay here, I'm gonna get you something to drink." You say fast before you walk off, pulling out your phone to check the time and to see if you could text the driver to come around for you two.

You're busy on your phone and Yoongi watches you walk away but is thrown further into his panic when he sees a black car swerve around the corner to enter the parking lot. The same parking lot you were about to cross to get to the refreshments table.

Flashes of that day runs through his mind as he takes off after you. "Y/N!" He screams in horror. You stop in your tracks and turn fast to face him with wide eyes. He grabs your arm and yanks you out of the street as the car full of teenagers speeds past.

"What is the matter with you?! You didn't see that car?! It could have-" You cut Yoongi off as you try and get him to focus, but he continues his panicked rambles. "I won't lose you. I won't lose you." He repeats fast, over and over again as you grab his face hard.

"Baby!" You say finally and his bottom lip begins to quiver a bit as he looks at you. His walls, his prideful stubbornness, his 'don't worry about me' attitude... it all crumbles down right in front of your eyes. You stroke his cheeks gently. "What's wrong, baby?" You whisper as tears slowly slide down his puffy cheeks that are pink from the cold.

"It hurts." He finally admits and your heart breaks as the realization dawns on you.

"I've got you, baby..." You sigh and carefully pull in his 5-foot 9 frame like he's the smallest thing. "I've got you..." You sigh as you nod at security to lead you two away.

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

"Ah... Ah... Ow!" Yoongi groans as you focus on putting some muscle relaxer cream on his shoulder and then wrapping it, so the lidocaine cream doesn't get anywhere else.

"Why didn't you tell me? You could've really made the pain worse..." You whisper as you carefully lay him back on a pile of pillows to hopefully help him rest.

"This was supposed to be your vacation..." He whispers and you sigh deeply. "If you weren't already hurt, I'd hurt you for being so dumb. This was our vacation. And it's not a good one if you're in pain. Marriage is a give and take game, Yoongi." You say.

"Yeah, 50/50..." He mutters and you roll your eyes. "No. Not 50/50. Sometimes it's 70/30. Sometimes it's 40/60. But the whole point of this arrangement is we take turns. You're always all in. Give me a chance to show I can be the 80 in this relationship and go down to 20." You say as you stroke his hair out of his face. He shuts his eyes at that.

"I don't want you getting tired of carrying me around..." He whispers and you stroke his soft skin before leaning in. "These shoulders can carry whatever your shoulders can't. Gladly. Any day of the week..." You whisper as you gently nudge your nose with his.

He looks into your eyes, his eyes teary. "You're not there anymore..." You whisper, knowing where his mind was. He closes his eyes, saying nothing, but nodding along.

You play with his hair a bit more and watch as he slowly starts to relax. "Rest, baby. I've got it from here..." You promise gently as he drifts off to sleep.

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

Hope you liked it!

#min yoogni #yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi imagine #bts suga #suga #suga x reader #suga imagine #bts imagine

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wardenparker · 1 month

Note

You know I need me some Connie forehead kisses, so Detective Tim Rockford and “Wait! Don’t leave.”

I mean, there’s so many options so I’m tossin’ that one up there, but I’m also gonna say “Connie’s Choice”! You hit a massive milestone so you should getta celebrate however you see fit, darlin’.

Detective Tim Rockford and “____” <- You fill in the prompt.

*points to my forehead*

Right here! When you’re ready. No pressure. 😁😘🥰

My darling Dax 🧡 You get ALL the forehead kisses, but unfortunately also a very sad microfic.

Tim Rockford. 2,332 words. "Wait! Please don't leave!" Co-written with @absurdthirst Warnings: Explicit descriptions of crime scene, death, murder, domestic dispute (verbal), angst

The rain beats against the windshield, his knuckles tight against the steering wheel as the headlights slice through the inky black of the night. Tim doesn’t pay attention, he can’t. The blare of the police radio cuts through the silence in the car, his thoughts racing in circles as he drives as if he’s on autopilot.

Sharp winds whip around his car outside, an annoyance of white noise in the background that only makes his blood pressure rise when it shakes his little car. He knows the address he’s driving to. He knows it by heart.

******

“I just wish you would put me first once.” You express as he jams the loose items that are scattered across the dresser into his pockets. Two dollars and thirty-seven cents in change, a pocket knife, a losing scratch off ticket, a receipt from Jimmy’s Hot Dogs, a random mint, the ever present cigarette lighter and his wallet. The badge is tucked into his jacket, along with his car keys, hanging on the coat tree near the front door.

“I got a call.” He huffs, annoyed by the guilt that is settling on his shoulders. “You know the drill.”

“Can you even tell me the last time you ate dinner at home?” The last thing you want is to be cruel to him but you’re trying to make a point. Your husband of seven years and partner of ten has been slipping further and further from your fingers with every passing day and you’re at your wits end with how to get it to stop.

Your name is like a sigh of frustration and he pauses, turning tired eyes on you. He’s tired of the same arguments over and over again. “I’ll be back.” He tells you, turning and walking towards the door.

“Tim, wait!” The anguish that cracks your voice comes with tears — guilty, burning ones that you were trying not to let free. “Please don’t go.”

His resolve cracks and he turns, his hand on the door knob. “Babe, I have to go.” He doesn’t— not really. It’s not his case, but he feels like it’s connected to that fucking mystery that has taken over his life. As soon as he can solve it, he will fix this gully between the two of you. “I’ll be back in a few hours and we can talk, okay?” You don’t answer, but he takes that as your agreement. “I love you.”

“Be safe.” Unable to even bring yourself to say that you love him back — because you do, you absolutely fucking do but right now it feels like he’s just saying the words to placate you — you turn away and slip back into the kitchen. Tim is never home and you work a 9-5, so the chores pile up relentlessly. Maybe you’ll put dishes in the dishwasher and clothes in the dryer and go to bed early.

Walking out the door feels like he is fighting against himself, but the urge to close this case, to finish things off is too great to ignore. He pushes back the sight of your hurt face out of his mind and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. Walking towards his car, he’s not Tim, your husband, he’s changed into Detective Rockford.

******

“Detective Rockford?” The primary on the case is already there, and he wasn’t expecting back up. But the seasoned detective that he knows well is a welcome sight, even if Rockford doesn’t quite look himself.

“Hey Jimmy.” Tim gives a wan smile before looking towards the tape. “What do we got?”

The young detective has worked hard for his place on the force and seen plenty, but this one is a lot even for him. “Female. Forties. Stabbed to death in her own living room. Pretty gruesome stuff, honestly, and you know these things don’t usually get to me.”

Tim swallows, closing his eyes and swaying where he stands. “Do—” he chokes out and his voice falters. “Do we have the guy?” He manages after a moment, trying not to cry right there.

“We have tire tracks, finger prints, and plenty of detritus under the vic’s fingernails. She fought hard.” Jimmy shuffles, not used to seeing his mentor this emotional. “Some of the wounds look defensive. And the weapon was left at the scene.”

His lip trembles and he inhales sharply. “Are you— are you sure it’s the homeowner?” He asks shakily, praying for a miracle.

“ID in her purse matches.” The younger man confirms. “Seems like she had barely gotten home. Might’ve been a robbery gone bad, but we need to take a more thorough look before that call gets made.”

Tim shakes his head, body trembling and he screams out your name, rushing towards the house. “Baby! Baby, come out!” He shouts, ducking under the tape and bolting through the door. “Sweetheart? Baby? Answer me!”

“Detective Rockford!” Jimmy swirls to run after him, not understanding what’s caused such a monumental break in his colleague’s behavior. Obviously he knows the victim, otherwise it makes even less sense.

Tim can’t stop, doesn’t even hear Detective Fallon as he rushes into the house and over to the body that is draped in a white sheet, the thick material slowly being soaked red with blood. Choking as he drops to his knees, he reaches up to draw the sheet back.

“Ma’am, you really can’t be—” Detective Fallon’s voice is part of a sea of white noise, unheard and unnoticed by Tim as he reaches for the corner of the sheet he absolutely shouldn’t be touching. “Ma’am, this is an active crime scene!”

But you don’t hear him, blasting past the young detective to stumble into your own living room, where the figure of your sister is crumpled in the middle of the carpet and covered in a sheet. “Get away from her!” Is all you can think to say, burning tears choking anything but fear and anguish out of existence.

Your voice makes him freeze, head whipping up to see you and his eyes widen. Choking out your name, he then whispers— “Is it— are you?”

“Tim?” He’s the last person you ever expected to see again, let alone in this house, but suddenly you’re actually glad for it. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, but you’re shaking with fear for the reality of who is under that sheet.

You are alive. His eyes dart back to the sheet and he looks back at you with a small frown. “You’re here.” He breathes out, immediately understanding. Since the divorce, you had lived with your sister. He stands and moves over towards you. “Baby.” He knows this will hurt you and he wants to take away the pain if he can.

“Is that…” You don’t have to finish the question. The boot poking out from under the sheet is the pair she borrowed from you, and the blood spattered purse with an evidence tag next to it is so familiar you would know it in your sleep. “She accidentally grabbed my purse when she left for work this morning.” You choke out the explanation but lurch forward when your knees buckle and your heart squeezes up into your throat. “Was it—were they—was it supposed to be me?”

“I don’t know.” You are about to break, he’s witnessed enough families to know. Stepping closer, he strokes your arm and looks into your beautiful, devastated eyes. “I don’t know baby, but I’m going to find them. I’m going to find who did this.” He promises.

******

The fluorescent lights of the station are harsh and the coffee in your hand is burnt, but it's better than being in your house. At this point you doubt you can ever go back there again and you're definitely trying to figure out where you're going to go or what you're going to do once you leave the station.

Tim comes back with a bottle of water for you, offering it to you when he walks up, and exchanges it for the coffee that you aren’t really interested in. “Preliminaries look like it was a mugging/burglary gone wrong.” Tim tells you quietly, aware that he probably shouldn’t say anything about this, period, but this is your sister. And you used to be his wife. “Camera footage from the neighbors show that the suspect approached her when she opened the door.”

"I don't–" Your head bobs in thanks when he takes the coffee from your hands and replaces it with the water bottle, though you still don't do anything but hold it. For your whole life you were always the person to be able to take charge and provide comfort in a crisis. Now that the crisis is your own, you're drawing a blank. "Will they let me go back? For–for clothes and stuff, I mean? I need to find a hotel..."

Tim grimaces. “It’s….still a crime scene.” He tells you reluctantly. “No one goes in right now.” He bites his lip, knowing that the DA would be pissed, but he would log a record of it in the case file. “If you want to make a list, I could get you some things.” He wants to offer to let you stay with him, in the old house you used to share, but that might be too much for you.

"No, I...I don't want you to get in trouble for me." There are strict rules for crime scenes. You were a cop's girlfriend and then wife for long enough to know that. "I can just get some stuff from Target tomorrow. Temporary stuff..."

“I can.” He offers, squatting down to look at you. “Do you have a friend…a boyfriend, where you can stay with them?” He asks, even if the idea makes him sick. He lost you, he has no right to be upset if you’ve moved on. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

"No." For as long as you and Tim were together, he knows you never really had an extensive circle of people close to you. You're an introvert and most of your friends were either his coworkers or the spouses of those coworkers. The friends you made in college have all gone their separate ways by now, and you had had your best friend in your sister. "No it's just Liz and me..." It was just the two of you, anyway.

Tim sighs softly and his brow furrows in concern. “You can— you don’t have to— but, you can stay with me.” He offers, unsure of how you would take his offer. You had told him during the divorce that you couldn’t wait to be done so you would never have to see him again, and circumstance had changed that. He still hasn’t told you he hadn’t had to be at that crime scene. He had just memorized your address and when it came over the radio, his heart had dropped.

"Wouldn't you get in trouble?" That has to be a conflict of interest or something, but the idea of being safe tonight has you shaking all over again when you suddenly jolt at the memory of why you even need safety in the first place.

“No.” Tim shakes his head. “You aren’t a suspect, never were. And the captain knows who you are.” He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around you, keep you safe, but he doesn’t want to overstep. “Or I can get you a hotel. Wherever you want.”

For maybe the first time since you walked into your house to see him standing there, you actually look up a little and meet Tim's eyes. "I don't think I should be alone, either," you admit quietly.

His heart breaks at the loss in your eyes, the sense that you are adrift and unsure of your course. He nods. “Then you don’t have to be alone, sweetheart.”

"There's not...not anyone at home who would be upset?" You have no business being upset if there is – after all you're the one who filed for divorce, not him – but you still stop your hand for reaching for him when it's halfway out.

He doesn’t miss the gesture and reaches out to take your hand. “No.” He promises. “Just a really lazy cat named Twix.” He licks his lips, heart pounding at the touch of your skin against his and he pushes those feelings down. He just means to comfort you. “No one since you left. Your blanket is still on the couch.”

“I—” There's no reason to refuse, and you're a little too shell-shocked at the moment to know whether or not you could actually manage all the logistics of a hotel on your own. Besides – again – the idea of being alone doesn't sit well with you. "Thank you." you manage finally, gripping his hand tightly in gratitude.

“You’re welcomed.” He knows he should get you home, his home, and he squeezes your one last time before letting it go. “Let me go finish up for the night, and we’ll get you settled.”

"Wait." Your hand tightens instinctively, holding him beside you. "Please don't leave?" Even in a room full of bustling people doing their jobs, without Tim beside you, you feel completely alone. And even though you know he has to do his job, you just – you need that comfort for a few minutes more.

It’s the same words that have haunted him for years, the ones you had uttered one desperate night that he had disregarded, signaling the end of your relationship. He regretted that night in the middle of the lonely nights that followed, wishing that he could somehow go back, do things different. He can’t change the past, but he can show you the compassion you need. Shifting to his knees in front of you, Tim looks up at you, his eyes wider than normal as he gives you his promise. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Tim Rockford #Tim Rockford x you #Tim Rockford x reader #Tim Rockford x female reader #Tim Rockford x f!reader #angst #murder #this microfic contains death

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