#well i hope she falls down several flights of stairs! i NEED her to

[woundworship]

that shit i said on twitter is a lie i do desire taylor swifts death w moderate to high intensity on an average day. not sorry

#emmett.txt #'nooooo you dont get it she NEEDS to use her private jet and she NEEDS to sue the guy telling people its bad to use jets for 13 min flights' #well i hope she falls down several flights of stairs! i NEED her to

[chiefduckgarden]

Repeating Days.

Summary: You and Wanda keep falling into an endless cycle of lies, love and heartbreak. The worst thing is, you don't seem to mind. Based on the song: Repeating days from R5.

A/N: Heyy I'm back!! Tell me what you think, this is a little short but I really liked it! :)

It's almost 6 pm and you just reached your car in the parking lot. Your day has been as stressful as the rest of your week, but luckily it's Friday, so you'll get to rest for two whole days before coming back to the office.

You start the engine of your car, but before you begin to drive, you check your phone hoping to see a notification from Wanda. However, to your dismay, there's still no response from her. She hasn't even seen your message.

"Hey, it's friday, do you want to hang out? I can come by your apartment after work and watch a movie. Or we can go out for dinner."

You read your message once again, hoping that a "typing" bubble would magically appear on the screen. You rest your head on the steering wheel for a few more seconds until you decide that you'll go to her place.

You know the way to her apartment by heart. You've been there so many times that the doorman greets you before letting you in without any restrictions or obstacles. When you reach the elevator doors, the day keeps challenging you as you read the "out of order" sign. The doorman informs you that it has been out of service all day and guides you toward the stairs. You thank him with a half-smile and start walking. Wanda lives on the fourth floor of the building, in apartment 15.

As you're about to reach her floor, you begin to doubt whether you should have brought dinner with you, or at least a bouquet of flowers. You know that Wanda loves spontaneity and thoughtful gestures.

You step out into the hallway, and as you round a corner to finally reach her apartment, you see them. And you understand why Wanda hasn't responded to your messages.

Vision is someone you still haven't managed to completely decipher. His history with Wanda is long and complex, filled with drama you never bothered to fully understand. However, you know enough about him to realize that he loves Wanda. Perhaps as much as you do. The difference is that he had his chance with her and let her go. He held her in his arms and let her slip away.

You freeze for a few seconds. He speaks while she caresses his face. Both look tense. It might sound like a moment that would break your heart, but strangely, that's a scene you've seen several times, more than you'd like.

Perhaps you don't understand the reasons why Vision let go of a woman as spectacular as Wanda, but you do understand one thing: when Vision broke up with Wanda, he knew he could come back to her whenever he needed, and Wanda would accept him with open arms, always.

It seems like hours have passed, but it's only a matter of seconds until she notices your presence. She looks at you with concern and lets go of Vision's face, causing him to turn and look at you too. They both move away slightly before she starts walking towards you.

- Y/N, this is not... You know this isn't what you think... He's just...

You say nothing and start walking again towards the stairs. You run down the four flights of stairs while you hear Wanda shouting from her floor. But you don't stop until you're back in your car. This time you don't second-guess anything and start driving back to your home.

A feeling that you unfortunately know all too well starts filling your chest. Pain, in its purest expression. Disappointment, not just in Wanda, but in yourself too. You know it's not the first time this has happened. You've fled her apartment for the same reason so many times that it feels like deja vu. But Wanda always fixes it, she's very good at talking to you. She convinces you it's nothing, and for some reason, you keep coming back again.

You arrive at the safety of your home and immediately search for the photo of Wanda that's hanging next to your bed. Your entire room is a constant reminder of her existence, so you decide that you must get rid of everything that reminds you of her. You take photo after photo and tear them apart. At least ten photos are damaged before tears blind your eyes, and you collapse onto your bed, crying.

You don't realize you've drifted into slumber until the doorbell startles you awake. If it weren't for your familiarity with this routine, the urgency of the doorbell's sound might have alarmed you. However, you're acutely aware of who stands behind that desperate sound.

You walk through the darkness of your house to the door. A sigh escapes your lips before you open it. Maybe, this time, you shouldn't let her in. But you know yourself too well, so you simply turn the knob and step back as soon as you knob and step back as soon as you allow Wanda to enter. You're tired, both physically and emotionally, so you return to your bed without even looking her in the eyes.

You tangle yourself in your blankets once again, hearing her footsteps in the kitchen before she enters your room. You're not looking at her, but you know she's looking at you, feeling her gaze piercing your back. Wanda takes off her jacket and slips into your bed. Her cold body presses against yours from behind, her arms slipping into yours, seeking your hands. You feel her leave soft kisses at the base of your neck and trailing down to your shoulders.

Only a few seconds are enough for you to know that she's crying. She starts murmuring "I'm sorry" in your ear, leaving tender kisses along the way. You know what comes next. Finally, you turn your body, and she looks directly into your eyes.

-I'm so sorry, dear. Vision showed up unexpectedly and told me he got fired from his job this morning. He's devastated and needed someone to talk to. You know he doesn't have many friends and I... couldn't ask him to leave - she explains to you in a whisper. Due to her tears, you can hardly hear her, but it doesn't matter. You know it doesn't matter because you'll find your way back to her regardless.

You embrace her as you assure her that you understand he's her friend, and that you just had a tough time. She asks if you're okay. You tell her you are, even though you're lying. She knows you're lying, but she accepts it. You couldn't stop loving her even if you tried. Not after all this time.

Both of you know you could never leave her. You ask if you can kiss her, and she agrees. Hungry to have you again.

Two weeks go by and it seems like everything is repeating itself. Except this time, Vision hasn't been fired; instead, he's been evicted from his apartment due to non-payment.

In that moment, you hate that the elevator is still out of order. Going up and down four floors in less than five minutes is exhausting. Wanda chases you again, but you escape in your car once more. This time, your heart clenches at the memory of the two of them embracing. And at that stupid smile on his face.

Wanda knocks on your door, and this time you open it immediately. You want to hear her, you need that explanation to serve as a placebo to quell the pain in your chest. She tells you about hir housing issue. You feel better. You know that explanation will serve you in the coming weeks to alleviate your pain.

You can pretend everything is okay again.

She smiles at you, and you embrace her. She kisses you, and as the kiss becomes more intense, you start to claim her body. You kiss every part of her as if your life depends on it. She surrenders to you, lost in the pleasure your hands provide her. When the euphoria subsides and both of you are naked in your bed, you look into her eyes, and without a second thought, you assert the control you believe you have over her:

- You are mine - you whisper to her.

She looks at you for a few seconds. Wanda can read you like an open book. She knows you're lying when you say she's yours. You're lying to yourself. You're lying to her. But she doesn't tell you, she would never. Especially because she knows a part of you is aware of it. Nonetheless, she nods and you kiss her again.

It's the middle of the night; she's asleep in your arms, but insomnia prevents you from falling asleep. You gaze at her and accept your fate. In that moment, you understand Vision more than you ever had before. You realize that, just like him, you could never let go of Wanda. She has you, but you don't have her. You know that both of you are entwined in a dilemma. Your days repeat with her. You live half a life with a heart hollowed out by her fault, but that doesn't matter because you know she will fill it again. It will empty, and she will fill it again. All in an endless cycle from which you know you can never escape.

You. Wanda. Vision. Everyone. We all fear loneliness. We all fear dying alone. Living alone. You could never live without Wanda. You'd rather keep living in this hopeless cycle with her than live a day without her presence. Because even though she breaks your heart every time, you know you'd do it all over again. You'd live in repetition just to have her for a few hours and pretend she belongs to you. That you both belong to each other completely.

You'd do it all over again.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #marvel #wandavision #elizabeth olsen x reader #lizzie olsen #elizabeth olsen fanfic #elizabeth olsen x you #lizzie olsen x you #lizzie olsen fanfic #lizzie olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x female reader #marvel imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda imagine #mcu fanfiction #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

[clotpolesonly]

Six Of One

welcome to another episode of "Jess projects her experiences onto fictional characters" 😂 it's been a little while! (i strongly suspect that this experience of mine is the 'tism somehow, hence me subjecting my autistic king Declan to it) anyway, the title is a truncation of the phrase "six of one, half dozen of another" which means that two options are equal in value and, thus, it doesn't actually matter which you choose. one is as good as the other. | Jordeclan | Gen | 2.3k | Established Relationship | Verbal Shutdown | Accommodations | Fluff | (also on AO3)

The new studio space was spacious, well-lit, and blissfully free of vegetable-esque breasts. This one also had an elevator instead of three flights of stairs, thank God. Declan stepped out of it and into the familiar scent of turpentine and canvas, strong even though all the doors along the hallway were currently closed. A small, private smile tugged at his lips, despite his mood.

Perhaps it wasn’t right to call it a mood. By all accounts, Declan felt fine. His day had gone well so far, with a number of business transactions handled smoothly and efficiently, a phone number attained for a frustratingly difficult to track down associate-of-an-associate-of-an-associate, and several texts exchanged with Ronan with hardly any insults involved. It was breezy outside with just a hint of chill in the air signaling the incoming cold snap. The barista at the café had called him Derek again, but she’d finally gotten his coffee order just right. Matthew had only been five minutes late to soccer practice instead of his usual ten.

Declan had had far more stressful days than this one—he could practically see the look Ronan would give him for the sheer magnitude of that understatement—and yet he couldn’t help the tightness in his shoulders as he let himself into the studio.

Jordan was at her easel, engrossed in whatever she was working on today. Music spilled from her laptop, as it often did when she painted, and her voluminous cloud of curls jounced with every enthusiastic bop of her head. The baggy jean overalls she’d taken to wearing had been released from her shoulders, straps instead tied haphazardly around her waist to leave her in a mildly paint-splattered sports bra instead. She was barefoot.

Some of Declan’s tension eased.

The Artist Unbound, oil on canvas, he thought. Or perhaps pastels, to capture the soft haziness of the feeling that grew in his chest to see her like this. Not for the first time, he considered taking Jordan up on her offer to teach him how to actually make art himself, instead of only appreciating others’. It was always said with a teasing lilt, but she meant it. Every time, she meant it.

It wasn’t until one track flipped over to another less to Jordan’s liking that she noticed his presence. She immediately rerouted from the laptop to dance her way across the room, smiling, until she was close enough to kiss him.

“About time, Pozzi,” she said, arms sliding around Declan’s waist. “I was beginning to think you’d fallen down a manhole or slipped through a sewer grate or something equally cartoonish and ridiculous. Not because I thought it likely—I mean, let’s be honest, if anyone is going to fall prey to cartoon physics in this, the real world, it would definitely be Ronan—but I’ll admit, I did get a certain amount of schadenfreude from the mental image. Hope you don’t mind, love you lots, anyway, what took you so long? Did Matthew lose a fight with his cleats again?”

Declan opened his mouth to tell her about the Masshole who cut him off right when he needed to change lanes to catch his exit. He was going to tell her about the lady’s flowery “Choose Kindness” bumper sticker and make a quip about irony. “If only I could be that lacking in self-awareness,” he planned to say, “it’s probably so much easier to live that way.”

He didn’t say any of it. He thought it. He thought it clearly and fluently, all the words lined up and ready to go. Then he opened his mouth and nothing came out.

His shoulders inched back up toward his ears. Jordan’s fingers dug into his back, no doubt feeling the tension creep in there as well, and she pulled back a bit to look at him.

“Alright, bruv?”

Declan closed his mouth. He nodded. It both was and was not the truth.

Jordan tilted her head to the side, lips pursing. She didn’t look concerned, which Declan appreciated, but the scrutiny brought more color to his cheeks than he would’ve liked.

Tone light and easy, she said, “Hand-Cat got your tongue with its weird little hands?”

That mental image, every bit as cartoonish as Ronan falling down a manhole and twice as disturbing, yanked a laugh out of him. Jordan’s smile was smug, like it always was when she managed to make Declan laugh in a way that would embarrass him if he’d done it in public, but she was still watching him carefully. Looking for clues, maybe, or for an explanation.

Declan wanted to tell her, It’s fine.

He wanted to tell her, You don’t need to worry, it’s only that my mouth has spontaneously developed a dysfunction where it refuses to produce sound.

He wanted to tell her, This happens sometimes. No, I don’t know why.

He wanted to tell her, All the words are still in here, I just can’t seem to get them out.

Instead, he fished his phone out of his pocket. He opened up their text thread and typed out a message, turning it around for her to read instead of sending it.

[Do you mind if I talk like this?]

Jordan had to pull back further to squint at the small screen, tightening her grip on his waist to keep from tipping over backwards. A crease appeared between her eyebrows, lips pursing again. Her eyes darted to his face for a mere second, assessing, and then her face cleared. She shrugged expansively.

“Doesn’t make any difference to me, Pozzi. Words in air, words on a screen—six of one, if you know what I mean. Call it a baker’s dozen if you throw in emojis. Did Matthew teach you about those yet? The silly little pictures the kids are using these days?”

Declan rolled his eyes. He typed out another message.

[I’m acquainted with the concept of emojis, yes. I didn’t even need Matthew’s tutelage in them.]

He included a little old man emoji to punctuate the statement. It might have been the first time he had ever actually utilized an emoji in a text message, but Jordan didn’t need to know that. It made her laugh, anyway, which was the important thing.

She stepped back out of their embrace, her hands taking a brief detour to squeeze his ass before letting him go completely, and dug her own phone out of one of her overall pockets. She held it up with a jaunty little shake.

“Mind if I respond out loud?” she asked, walking backwards in the direction of her half-finished painting. “Only, this shit’s messy, and touchscreens and fingerpainting don’t get along very well. Though I suppose I could make something avant garde out of it. Statement about the sanitization of the internet and corporate whatever-you-like killing the creative spirit and whatnot. You’d have to buy me a new phone after, if I sacrificed this one to the art gods, but I know you’re good for it.”

[You can talk normally.]

Declan sent this text, since Jordan had retreated too far to read it from his screen. She checked the message and nodded. Then she spent a minute fiddling with her phone, humming along to the laptop’s next selection. She propped it up on the edge of her easel, far enough away from the canvas to not be in danger of getting splattered, with an air of triumph.

“Futzed with the settings,” she explained. “So it won’t time out and turn off as fast and I won’t have to keep trying to unlock it with messy fingers. If you say something and I don’t notice for too long, whistle or some shit.”

Declan watched as she picked up her abandoned brush, loaded it with paint, and set about her work without further ado. It took him a moment to recalibrate. He wasn’t certain exactly what reaction he’d expected, but an absence of questions, comments, or concerns apparently had not been it. Eventually, he shucked off his jacket and took up his usual position on the couch, angled just so to have the best view of Jordan herself and also a glimpse of her piece as it came together under her deft hand.

Normally, this was the part of the evening when Declan would talk. Well, he spent a lot of every day talking, but this was when he would actually say things. Things that mattered to him, stories he wanted to tell, jokes too inappropriate to make in a business setting, anecdotes no one else in his life would’ve cared to hear but Jordan always did. Now, he turned his phone over in his hand a few times before typing out, [Missed my exit. Some Masshole with a “choose kindness” bumper sticker cut me off in traffic, if you can believe that.]

Jordan’s phone buzzed with the incoming text. He watched as she finished a careful stroke of the brush before glancing down at the screen, still lit up. She snorted.

“Choose kindness? The irony’s killing me, mate. D’you think she takes selfies sipping $18 frappuccinos and captions them with Love Is Love and #positivity?”

[Almost certainly.] He added a peace sign emoji. It made Jordan laugh. [But Matthew was very nearly on time today, I’ll have you know.]

Jordan’s gasp was theatrical. “Really? He does learn!”

[Miracle of miracles. He didn’t even bitch when I said we didn’t have time to stop for McDonald’s. Truly, a day of firsts.]

Part of Declan thought that maybe Matthew had chosen to let it go on purpose—one of those rare moments of perceptiveness that were growing less rare with time, now that Matthew was making an effort toward, as he put it, “learning how to think better”. On the way to soccer practice had been when Declan’s mouth had started to betray him. He’d had to think “Matthew, put your seatbelt on” six times before he’d managed to actually communicate it audibly. The McDonald’s question had been met with a curt “no time for that”, forced out with far more effort than made any kind of sense for four very simple words that Declan said on a regular basis. By the time they’d reached the school, it had been a true struggle to muster up a goodbye, and once he had, he’d known there would be no more verbalizing tonight.

Matthew hadn’t seemed upset or like he thought Declan was mad at him, which was a relief because he wasn’t. There had been nothing wrong. Declan wasn’t even anxious about anything, beyond his general baseline. He’d thought plenty of perfectly amiable thoughts in Matthew’s direction on that trip. He’d told himself to say them instead, over and over. The rest of him just hadn’t cooperated.

He wondered now if, had he not been driving, Matthew would have minded him texting instead. Matthew wasn’t text-phobic like Ronan. He probably would’ve been over the moon about the opportunity to introduce emoji usage into their conversations, regardless of whatever malfunction of Declan’s speech capabilities had provided it.

Jordan certainly didn’t seem to mind. She chatted away the same way she always did, with only a slight delay when her eyes were too busy to spare. Text wasn’t a particularly expressive medium for conveying tone, but she knew him well enough to infer when he was being wry. She did send him an amused look for how long it took him to type out several paragraphs’ worth of commentary on the Henry Wallis wannabe from down the hall, but she put down her brush to read it all eagerly enough that he didn’t feel judged for it.

Despite the alteration to their routine, it felt just the same as it always did.

Declan wanted to tell her, I love you.

Instead, he texted, [You’re really not going to ask, are you?]

He’d been quiet—so to speak—for long enough that Jordan had to double-tap at her screen with the back of her cleanest knuckle to access the notification. She didn’t need clarification or context. She just wiped some carmine paint onto the thigh of her overalls and said, “Is it something that needs asking about?”

Declan turned that question over in his head. He would have asked, if he’d been in her position. He’d been asking himself for hours. Hell, he’d been asking himself for years, what this was and why it happened and why he couldn’t just spit it out when he got like this. He’d yet to find an answer or a solution.

But Jordan hadn’t needed one. All she’d needed was a way to keep hearing him.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He couldn’t say it right now, but he could wrap his arms around Jordan’s waist and press a kiss to her shoulder. She set down her brush in favor of reaching up to bury her fingers in his curls, cupping the back of his head to keep him close. She was undoubtedly getting in his hair. He decided that he didn’t care very much. They stayed like that for most of a song, swaying gently, Jordan humming along contentedly despite this particular track not being of a genre that easily lent itself to humming.

On the easel, Jordan’s phone screen dimmed, sleep mode impending. Declan picked it up before it could go fully dark. He typed in a text and held it up for Jordan to see.

[Thank you.]

Jordan wiggled around to face him properly, settling her arms around his neck and somehow managing to trap the phone between their chests. She kissed him, sweet and slow.

“Anytime, Pozzi,” she murmured against his lips. “Six of one, know what I mean?”

Declan thought, I’m starting to.

#Jordeclan #Declan Lynch #Jordan #TRC #TDT #fics by me #autistic!Declan #which is not said explicitly IN the fic so i didn't tag it on AO3 #but it's true in my heart and is part of my projecting LMAO so i'm tagging it that way here for my sake XD

[george-weasleys-girl]

North Star Series

Chapter 29 ‐ Homecoming

Warnings: things get a little spicy, nothing graphic, Fred being Fred

Summary: Y/N and George are reunited after a long year apart.

Start here:

~•~

Eyes peeked out at her from the occasional dusty, darkened window only to disappear behind tightly closed curtains the moment she turned her gaze toward them. It was very unusual and very dangerous for someone to be walking here alone at night.

Unless she was one of them.

The return of Voldemort had sent most of Diagon Alley's proprietors into hiding. Only a few brave souls were left, and of those, only two had the nerve to blatantly thumb their noses in the Dark Lord's face.

The shop shone like a beacon of hope, drawing in droves of customers searching for a brief respite from the growing darkness. Y/N stood in the shadows for a while, watching as people bustled in and out of the busy joke shop. Most entered hunched over, their eyes darting in every direction. But when they came out, they stood taller, eyes sparkling and laughter falling from their lips.

~•~

She wasn't supposed to arrive for another two days, but her grandma gifted her a ticket for an earlier flight out.

However, rather than sending a letter alerting George of her early arrival, she decided to surprise him instead. Y/N waited until there were only a few remaining stragglers in the shop before making her way across the road, stopping just outside to watch George, his back to her, fiddling with a display. He, of course, had no idea she was there when she opened the door, little bells tinkling in her ears.

"Sorry friend, but we're closing up." George said, his back still turned. "We open tomorrow morning at ten."

"Well, if that's what you'd really prefer..." Y/N said, grinning from ear to ear.

George turned slowly to face her, eyes blinking in disbelief.

"Hi, honey," she grinned. "I'm home."

Y/N saw a blur of movement, and suddenly, she was lifted off her feet into a hug that took her breath away, followed by a kiss that turned her legs into jello and illicited a few whistles and applause from Fred and the remaining customers. She and George pulled apart, hands clasped, sheepish grins gracing their crimson faces.

Fred came down the stairs and engulfed Y/N in a hug. "Good to have you back, sis." Then turning to George, "Verity and me can take care of this rabble. Why don't you show Y/N around?"

George didn't have to be told twice. Grabbing her hand again, they bounced from one display to another. Y/N followed along in complete awe. Everywhere she turned, there was a new sight to behold. The shop was a magical wonderland that far exceeded anything she could've imagined. "This is so amazing!" Y/N marveled. "I'm so proud of you and Fred!"

George's eyes sparkled even brighter, and a wide grin spread across his face. "You haven't seen everything yet. I have a surprise for you," he said. "C'mon!"

Pulling her up the stairs and through a doorway that led to a long hallway, he gave her the whirlwind behind-the-scenes tour. "Here's the warehouse, and over there is where Fred and I work on new inventions," George explained before they stepped back out into the hall. "And this is our office," he said, leading her through an open door into a cramped room with two large desks facing each other piled high with paperwork. "It's a mess right now."

Y/N barely had time to register what he was saying before she found herself being whisked away to the next room. "This is your surprise," he winked and opened the door with a sweeping gesture. "Your lab, milady."

Y/N put a hand to heart. Shelves lined the walls, several cauldrons sitting in a neat row on one, with the rest empty, waiting to be filled with whatever she might need.

In the center of the room sat a large worktable and then a smaller one against the back wall, facing a huge window. "With everything going on, I didn't like the idea of you working alone somewhere else. And we had the room, so--what do you think?"

"Oh Georgie, this is perfect!" Y/N turned in a slow circle, taking everything in.

"You really like it?"

"I love it!" Y/N turned and planted a long, deep kiss on his lips that silenced all of his lingering doubts.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said a few moments later. He lifted a velvet cloth covering a muggle microscope. It wasn't just any microscope. It was a top of the line, bleeding edge, professional microscope. It was better than the one she used during her apprenticeship.

The floor suddenly shifted under her, and she had to sit down. Y/N knew how much these cost. She'd done her research and had already begun saving up for one. "This--how--I--when?" Words failed her as George knelt down next to her, grinning. "I did good, yeah?"

"Oh yeah--you did better than good, lovey, but--"

George placed a finger on her lips. "No buts. We can more than easily afford this. Okay?"

Y/N nodded, "Okay."

He chuckled at her dazed expression. "What do you say I show you around the apartment?"

Y/N blinked, "The apartment? I forgot about the apartment!"

George couldn't help but laugh. "C'mon, my silly girl," he said, pulling her up out of the chair.

~•~

The apartment was sparsely furnished. The living room held a sofa and a bean bag chair, and the kitchen only had a few chairs scattered around the long counter. "We haven't done much with the place yet." George said. Y/N smiled and squeezed his hand. She didn't mind. As long as they were together, she would've happily sat on the floor.

Their bedroom was a different story. The simple wooden bed sat under an open window. It was flanked on both sides by two small tables, while pillows of all shapes and sizes lay haphazardly along the top and a soft, downy comforter covered the rest of the unmade bed.

A chest of drawers stood in one corner, and a small dresser with a mirror sat across from the bed. But it was the long windowless wall that drew her attention. George had covered it with framed moving and non-moving photographs of the two of them, a few standing out more than the others. There was the first photo ever taken of them together while they celebrated Harry's survival in the first trial of the Triwizard Tournament, then there was the picture of her sickly self in her Yule Ball gown and next to it was the photo of the two of them smiling like a couple of lunatics on Valentines Day. Below that were the ones of them laughing with Ginny while dying Easter eggs at the Burrow, and the one Fred covertly took of them dancing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Tears welled up in her eyes, thinking of the love and care he poured into putting it together.

"This‐‐it's so beautiful."

"I was missing you so much," George replied, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "And I wanted to do something that would make you feel a little closer to me."

"Did it help?"

"Some. Not as much as this," he mummered, trailing kisses down her neck.

"I can see how this is much, much better," Y/N had turned her head to meet his lips, both sighing into the kiss, when a large crash reverberated up from the shop, causing them both to jump.

George and Y/N pulled back a little, giggling. "Of course there'd be a catastrophe right about now," he said.

"You'd better go find out what happened." Y/N replied. "We'll have plenty of time for this later."

"Indeed," George grinned, giving her a quick peck on the lips before sprinting out of the apartment.

Y/N watched him disappear out the door before venturing into the kitchen to scrounge up some dinner. She had no doubts that the boys would be starved when they got back. And the sooner she got everybody fed, the sooner she and George could pick up where they left off.

Rummaging through the cabinets, she found two cans of beans, a can of mushroom soup, and an unopened box of spaghetti. Y/N prided herself on being a creative cook, but she wasn't that good.

Next up was the fridge, which contained a bottle of ketchup, a few butterbeers, a couple bottles of Coke, and some leftover Chinese food that was well on its way to becoming a science experiment. Y/N sighed and shook her head.

After tossing away the fuzzy remains, she turned her attention to the freezer.

Jackpot.

Two frozen pizzas.

~•~

An hour later, they sat at the kitchen counter, devouring the pizzas. "Wait," George looked up from the pile of pizza slices perched precariously on his plate. "How did you get here?"

"On an airplane--," Y/N replied slowly.

"No, I mean here. To Diagon Alley."

"Oh, that. I got in touch with Angie and she met me at the airport."

Fred's head shot up at the mention of Angelina's name. But George was so focused on Y/N that he failed to notice Fred's sudden rapt attention.

"Left most of my stuff there." Y/N said. "I'm gonna apparate over tomorrow and get it."

George narrowed his eyes at her. "You still haven't told me how you got to Diagon Alley."

Y/N sighed and put down the slice of pizza she was attempting to eat. She'd hoped he would've been too happy to see her to wonder about that particular bit.

"I apparated down the way a little and walked up here," she answered with a nonchalant shrug, hoping that would quell her boyfriend's curiosity.

"Down the--how far a away?"

"Ollivander's," she answered, pointedly avoiding his eyes.

At this revelation, both of the twin's mouths fell open. "What?!" They asked in unison.

"All that way?! Y/N, baby, do you have any idea how dangerous that was? To walk that far alone. At night." George implored.

"Kinda--"

"Did Angie know what you were going to do?!" Fred asked.

"Kinda--" Y/N looked from one twin to the other. "I told her I was apparating outside the shop. Which wasn't a lie, by the way. I just left out the part about where exactly outside."

George groaned. "There are Death Eaters everywhere! You could've been kidnapped or killed or--"

"But I wasn't," Y/N interrupted. "I didn't see anyone but a few scared people peeking out their windows at me. And I had my wand out the entire time." She paused, chewing on her lip as two sets of eyes bored into hers. "I just wanted to see everything for myself."

George and Fred glanced at each other, then back to her. "You could've waited, and I would've walked out with you." George said.

"Both of us would've," added Fred.

"Well, yeah. But I know how busy you are these days, and it was less than a two minute walk."

George rubbed his forehead. "This isn't the same place you remember, Y/N. It's barely safe to walk alone around here during the day." The younger twin paused, then added," Just promise me that you won't do something like that again? Please?"

Y/N took one of his hands in both of hers, giving it a kiss. "I'm sorry, love. I guess I didn't think things through properly. I promise I won't do it again."

Her boyfriend searched her eyes for a few long moments, then nodded to himself. "Ok, good," he said, then dug into his mountain of pizza.

~•~

After dinner was finished and cleaned up, Y/N and George were eager to call it a night.

"I reckoned you two would've already taken care of...preliminaries," Fred joked.

George and Y/N both cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Ok, ok. I get it," Fred laughed, throwing his hands in the air in a conciliatory gesture. "Go, then. Shoo." He waved them toward the bedroom.

The happy couple chuckled and turned to go. "Goodnight, Freddie." George said.

~•~

"Goodnight, my little lovebirds," Fred replied, "And don't forget to cast an EXTRA STRONG silencing spell," he added with a wink, causing a matching blush to bloom across the lovers' faces.

Next Chapter:

@milivanili99 @slytherclaw1978 @quackitysdrugdealer @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @fancy-pantaloons @samberriejams @totalwitch2 @aslanvez @mrsgweasley @morally-grey-obsessed @dori-and-gray

#george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley headcanon #george weasley x you #george weasley x oc

[caspers-multifandom]

Runaway Damsel | Monster!AU

AN: Righty O! First little idea that I had for a world full of our beloved 141 boys and their monstery goodness. Now they aren't fully monsters, they're part of what are Enhanced - people who were born with mutations (kinda sounds like x-men, I'll work on it :]) Hope you enjoy! Word Count: 1,747

Summary: Cass is the human transfer into the 141 taskforce. How well is she going to be within the team?

____

Cass panted as she bolted up the stairwell; her heels were long forgotten on the sixth floor as she bounded up the stairs bare foot. She clutched onto the handgun as she aimed to the door opening just as she reached the thirteenth floor and shot the armed man before he could recognise her standing there.

She immediately took off up the stairs, no time to waste as she heard multiple men shouting as they ran up after her. She had thanked the stars for the head start she had on them all after Soap had all but tore apart the men that had cornered her in the lobby. He had only half turned and used his claws and fangs to help fight their way through before he left her to run up the flights of stairs to the roof.

She had thought this would be an easy extraction, go into the charity event disguised as another simple patron, meet the informate, get the drive of evidence of extremist activities and get out of there. But something just had to go wrong. Luckily these things were planned for and she had Soap as back up after he was uncover as a waiter. After the informate had been shot through the window from a rooftop across the street, Cass had made sure to secure the drive as the event became chaos. She had made it out to the lobby before she’d been cornered by several extremists with their rifles at the ready. Soap came barreling through and had yelled for her to get to the extraction.

Now she was running as fast as her worn out legs would let her. She really needs to up her obstacle course training. Ghost and Gaz were outside covering the innocents from getting mowed down by extremist forces on rooftops and on the streets. Price was on the way in the halo to the extraction point but Cass knew that he was most likely chewing himself out for not being closer.

“Simon get down to Cass, get her to the roof, move!” Price demanded over the comms.

“On it.” The gravelly tone of Ghost’s tone crackled through the comms and Cass knew what to look out for.

She reached the floor just below the roof access, her legs burning and lungs heaving from the many stairs she’d climbed before she heard the echoing roar coming from below. She looked over the rail and caught a glance of brown fur before two men went flying over the rail and fell to the ground floor – Cass looked away before she could see their heads crack against the solid concrete.

“Soap’s shifted, repeat Johnny is enhanced.” Cass gasped into the comms before looking up to the roof access.

Just as she goes to finish the final lot of stairs, the door on her floor slams open, smashing into her causing her to stumble back into the rail. She fights against the sudden hands on her throat and gripping her wrist to the hand holding the handgun. She grunts as her attacker slams her wrist into the railing and her gun falls helplessly down the stairwell. She punches and slaps in her struggle to get the hands from around her throat but the brute seems unaffected as his hands clasp tighter and black dots appear in the corners of her vision. But those black dots turn into mist as the brutes strength wains as he inhales a thick mist and his eyes go wide as he begins to choke.

The attacker stumbles back as he claws at his own throat, gasping and choking for air as Cass coughs and watches the brute be strangled from the inside. When the attacker collapses, the black mist forms a thick cloud as it formed a solid matter before the skull bone stared back at Cass.

“I’ll be fine, you need to get to Johnny.” She said, shortly followed by a howl as gunfire rang throughout the stairwell.

“Go!” Ghost growled.

He descended the stairwell over the railing and Cass didn’t wait as she heard the blood curdling screams that followed.

She flew through the door to the roof and immediately ducked down as bullets darted past her. She dove for cover behind an air duct as more bullets wizzed past her. The gunfire was coming from the same roof and was periodic – one man fired and as he reloaded another fired in his place – keeping Cass from making a run for better cover.

“I’m under fire!” Cass called out. “Can’t see how many but their on the same roof!”

“I’ve got men in the street shooting at civilians, Ghost how copy?!” Gaz grunted.

“He’s with Soap, too many coming up to the roof.” Cass replied when no response came from the other man. “Price where the fuck is that halo?!”

Silence was all that followed on the comms.

Cass never panicked. She’d been captured before, tortured but this didn’t look like a hostage situation. These people were out to kill her for whatever was on the drive – and her only escape right now wasn’t responding. The gunfire was still raining down heavy upon her and she didn’t have her gun as it was probably joined by several others at the bottom of the building.

“Cass get off the roof now! They’ve got-” The comms cut out with a high screech that made Cass rip it out of her ear. She looked to her left just as a rocket was hurling towards her rooftop. She cursed as she ran forward to the edge of the building. This was the only option as she jumped and the heat hit her back as the explosion rung out behind her.

She was falling. Fast. She couldn’t scream as the air rushed past her, stealing with it the air from her lungs. She couldn’t scream for help, she couldn’t reach out to stop herself, she was falling and the ground was going to cave her body into a bloody fucking mess. She closed her eyes and accepted that this was the final one.

She grunted as she was forcefully stopped in the air by a solid object slamming into her and shooting her back into the air.

Wait, up?!

She opened her eyes and recognised the scaled wings that curled and straightened.

“That was too fucking close!” Price gruffed as his arms gripped Cass tighter against his broad chest as he levelled them out and then flew down to the streets below. Cass couldn’t stop staring at the side of Price’s face as he focused on getting her to the ground without becoming a puddle of blood and bone. She didn’t notice they had landed until he looked down at her and her knees nearly gave out beneath her.

She watched his wings curl around them, cocooning them from the rest of the world. A shield from the impeding doom of their mission. But Price’s blue eyes were all she could think of – all she could focus her manic mind on.

“Speak to me, Dove. You broken?” He asks her.

She could hear her own heart in her ears, feel her body trembling with adrenaline – but her knees really couldn’t hold her weight.

“I hate heights.” Cass chokes out.

Price chuckles as he holds her up and then turns his head to watch Gaz land.

“Bout time you showed up, Captain.” He scolds and then Price was off Cass. His wings no longer keeping her safe against his hold and her legs had to adjust quickly to the shift. Gaz held out a rifle for her to take and she did so without thought.

“What’s the situation?” Price demands.

“We’ve civilians running from extremists, police have this entire block surrounded. Soap and Ghost are inside.” Gaz reports as they all round the truck and shot extremist forces before ducking behind cover again.

“Just another day at the office.” Price grunts. “Dove, you receive the drive?”

“It’s sitting comfortably in my bra, sir.” Cass replies and grins at the look of surprise on Gaz’s face.

“Right, we deal with this lot and try to contact the others.” Price directed.

“Right behind you, sir.” Gaz responded.

“Cass, you still with us?”

“Always.”

_

The gunfire had quietened, the fight was over. Ghost and Soap had rejoined them on the street – Soap in tattered clothing and trousers that were basically a loin cloth.

“Cass!” Soap had called as soon as he saw her. He ran up to her and embraced her and Cass had to pat him on the shoulder to signal a loss of air from his vice grip. Simon slowly approached them, weakened by the amount of exposure his power had taken on him. Gaz and Soap caught him as he nearly collapsed.

“We need to get moving, Laswell has clean up on its way.” Price ordered.

They were picked up in the halo and were off back to base.

Gaz had gone up into the cockpit to speak with the pilot; a habit caused by his last experience with Nik. Soap and Simon were bickering over Soap using Simon’s jumper to at least cover up – but Soap being himself refused. Price kept a close eye on Cass as she sat across from Simon and Soap. She had gone quiet since they had sat and she would periodically check on each of them. She was watching the pair across from them as they argued about Soap’s habit of near full nudity.

“House rules.” The simple statement from her had Soap huffing as he took the offered jumper from Simon and covering himself up. Simon then lifted his balaclava up over his nose, the closest he would come for the moment in reclaiming himself and falling into the Ghost.

“You ain’t told ol’ man off yet.” Soap huffed as he gestured to Price; who in return raised an eyebrow in response.

“He’s keeping me warm for now, the moment we hit the ground he can cool off.” Cass responded and then leant closer to Price.

Soap huffed again as Simon chuckled. Price hadn’t realised he was burning up until he felt the freezing skin on Cass’s shoulders touch his bare arm. Had they been anywhere else the small woman would’ve made Price go release the pent up fire within him. Cool off. For now she was contented with using him as a blanket as she let exhaustion wash over her and drag her into its depths.

#john price #captain john price #captain price #captain price x oc #john price x oc #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #monster!au

[hufflepuffwithaslytherinkink]

Transmogrification of a Not Yet Lord - Chapter 2 Snippet

Amelia’s quickly pulled from her thoughts by someone clearing their throat. She jumps at the unexpected sound turning to see the young man who was reading the magazine suddenly leaning against the doorframe of the room he was occupying, his eyes scrutinising her suspiciously.

“Can I help you?” He asks in a tone that says he really can’t be arsed helping her, so she better say no. Be that as it may, Amelia does need help and he seems to work here. Or he’s a resident and can point her in the direction of someone who can.

“Hello, yes, I’m Amelia Smith. There should have been a letter sent about me. My other orphanage was destroyed in the bombings. I’m meant to move in here.” She says as cheerfully as she can though she feels timid as the man looks down his nose at her.

She starts to fidget uncomfortably, the man not showing any sign he’d heard her never mind any intention to help her. She’s just about to ask if there’s someone she can talk to when he shuffles towards her his lips pursed.

“Well Miss Amelia Smith. I think I do know about you. Wait here and I’ll get Mrs Cole. She’s the matron.” He tells her before shuffling off.

Amelia sighs a breath of relief; she doesn’t know why but he put her on edge. Perhaps that was his intention, she thinks, he wanted to let her know where she stood and that, according to him, was beneath him.

Amelia takes the time to once again look around herself, to get acquainted with her new home. She doesn’t hold much hope for it. It’s as grey inside as it is outside, the faded wallpaper is falling down, there’s cracks in the ceilings and a smell of damp wafts through the room. Plus everything seems to echo around her, as though she’s stood inside a large, cold cave. A chill goes through her at the thought. She doesn’t like the way it makes her feel empty and cold, as though she’s alone in the world.

“Miss Smith?” A sharp voice calls out. Amelia spins around to see a woman who appears to be in her late 30s or early 40s, with dark greying hair pulled back into a severe bun and an overall strict appearance, march towards her.

“Yes.” Amelia mumbles nervously. This woman doesn’t seem like someone to trifle with.

“It’s yes matron.” She snaps at Amelia, her eyes narrowing into a glare that causes Amelia’s legs to tremble slightly. “Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”

Amelia barely has time to process her words before hurrying after whom she assumes is Mrs Cole, considering the stern woman didn’t introduce herself. She’s already half way up the stairs before Amelia has even reached the bottom. Mrs Cole does not seem like a woman to cross.

They climb toward the second floor, Amelia glad she’s used to the stairs at Hogwarts considering Mrs Cole practically ran up both flights without checking Amelia was following, before heading to a small room with a single, uncomfortable looking bed in one corner and a basic wooden wardrobe in the other.

“This is yours. Keep your things in here, nowhere else. There are three uniforms assigned to you to wear, do not wreck them because you won’t get more. You may wear your own clothes on occasion, but we discourage it.” She says gruffly before turning and walking back out into the hallway. Amelia isn’t sure whether to stay put or follow her, she quickly decides to follow, it might be worse if Mrs Cole has to come back for her rather than just telling her to get lost.

“This is the bathroom. You will leave your wash things in your room, or the other children will use them.” She quickly leaves the bathroom starting back down the hall. Amelia doesn’t even get a chance to look at the bathroom properly. “Don’t worry boys are on the third floor, so there won’t be any chance of them coming into this bathroom. If they do you’ll tell me or one of the other staff members.”

Amelia nods. Although she hadn’t been worried, she assumed there was a lock. Is there not a lock?

“Mealtimes are 8 for breakfast, 12 for lunch and 5.30 for dinner. Do not be late, you won’t get food any other time. Do not waste any of your food, the rations we get are sparse and I won’t abide by fussers or those that don’t eat what they’re given.” She snaps. Normally that type of attitude would annoy Amelia, but she supposes it’s more than fair considering they don’t have food to waist whilst on rations. The realisation she’s currently residing in an orphanage in the middle of London during World War 2 sending a horrifying shudder down Amelia’s spine.

“You’ll go to your room at 9, lights out by 10 the latest. Sundays are wash days.” Wash days? I hope she doesn’t mean one shower a week, Amelia thinks in horror. “Chores are to be completed. We’ll tell you what you got to do each week, you get up and you do your job daily, no moaning. Is that understood?”

Amelia nods weakly. Mrs Cole glares at her, her nostrils flaring.

Amelia clears her throat before stammering out a nervous. “Y-yes Matron.”

Thankfully Mrs Cole seemed appeased by her respond and briskly walks away. Amelia following behind.

“What are you following me for girl? Go and get settled in your room. You can rest today but tomorrow you’ll start helping around here.” She orders before storming off.

Amelia sighs feeling unwelcome. Sadness grips her as she walks back to her small room, chewing the inside of her cheek. She’d left her sad life, the one where her friends and family suffered daily and so many of her loved one were hurt but is this any better? She’s alone, in the middle of a war with nothing but a dictator as a guardian.

Just as Amelia steps onto the staircase heading back towards her room, she almost collides into someone.

She looks up with wide eyes to a see a handsome young man, gorgeous actually, staring at her. His eyes are a beautiful deep blue, contrasting beautifully against his pale complexion and dark curly hair, his face chiselled and mesmerising. He’s very tall too, Amelia – who’s not exactly small – has to crane her neck to stare up at him, she sends him an apologetic smile a blush coating her cheeks at his appearance. She’s about to apologise when she sees his face contort into a snarl.

“Watch where you’re going.” He spits at her.

Amelia’s mouth drops open at his rude attitude. She stunned into silence at his rudeness, she almost falls as he shoves past her without even looking her way. What a rude prick, she thinks glaring at his back before continuing to her room.

She hopes she isn’t going to see more of that idiot. He might be beautiful but he’s not someone she wants to spend time around. She can’t abide but horrid people.

She manages to stumble back to her small room, she needs to wrap her head around everything that’s happening, of where she is and what’s going on.

#tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x original character #tom riddle #ao3fic #hufflepuff x slytherin #slytherin x hufflepuff #transmogrification of a not yet lord #transmogrification chapter 2 #time travel

[mermaidsirennikita]

Caro's July 2023 Book Rec Wrap Up

I can't believe this month is over. It's been rough out here, and I'm not feeling great still, but reading always offers a bit of respite.

I feel like my tastes were fairly varied this month. I loved dipping more into fantasy romance, and I really hope to see more of it published soon!

Tastes like Shakkar by Nisha Sharma. ARC; full review here

Marry Me by Midnight by Felicia Grossman. ARC; full review here.

The Winter King by C.L. Wilson.

Ugh, just an amazing book. Exactly what I want from a high fantasy romance: a fun world full of magic and court politics; a couple forced together by circumstance and distrusting one another while also being super attracted to each other; a powerful hero and a kickass heroine. High stakes! Passion! Twists and turns! There are ice powers in this, lightning powers, bangathons on a bearskin rug, the intense need for an Heir (otherwise known as: breeding vibes), the possibility that the hero might just throw the heroine out onto a glacier. People feel feelings and refuse to cop to them because trauma. I had so much fun. A must read. (As is The Sea King, but generally speaking I would say reading them in order is a good idea.)

We Could Be So Good by Cat Sebastian.

Cat Sebastian just does what she wants, and I appreciate that so much. How many historical romances are a) set in the 1950s and b) centered on a pair of opposite-personality male reporters living together (as friends!) after one of them gets dumped by his fiancee? There is so much fucking tension built between Nick and Andy. And so much fondness too, with practical Nick basically making sure that Andy doesn't trip and fall down a proverbial flight of stairs at any given moment. It's funny, it's a little angsty without being overwhelming, and it's so, so tender.

An Earl to Remember by Stacy Reid. ARC; full review here.

Servant to the Spidae by Ruby Dixon.

This is the fourth in Dixon's Aspects and Anchors series, and in many ways it's basically a novella, though she doesn't categorize it as such. It's closer to the length of her Ice Planet Barbarians books than the previous novels in this series, and it's basically a feel your feelings plotless love story about a former sex worker falling in love with the three creepy spider gods (very human-looking, but they.... shoot web...........) she's pledged herself to in service. It's a lot of sex, a lot of emotion, and while swords do not cross, there is a scene in which every hole is filled. It's what you want out of this kind of story (though I will say, I don't loooove how this series deals with Yulenna's status as a sex worker, and never have; it's not egregious, but it's clumsy).

The Making of a Highlander by Elisa Braden.

I love love love several of Braden's Rescued from Ruin (straight up English Regency, connected to this series) series, but I do think it went on for a bit too long and the heroines especially became repetitive. That's why I didn't rush to begin her Midnight in Scotland series. I am glad that I took the break, because I went into this fresh, and I found it so strong. It's funny, it's got just the right amount of angst, it's a bit bonkers, the hero is absolutely deranged for his heroine.. Like John Huxley is starving. It's what you want out of a lighter (but not too light) historical romance. Special shoutouts to a fabulous Pretty Woman homage, and one of the best "Oh I WANT her" realizations I've read in a long time.

The Taming of a Highlander by Elisa Braden.

Ugh, so good! I love a scarred hero, especially if he's a former golden boy, and this novel deals with Broderick's trauma and scars so well. It does take a little longer to get into the love story than the previous book, but once it kicks into gear, it really goes for the full nine yards. You have batshit shenanigans, a heroine who literally watches this man's erection get bigger and bigger through his pants while she talks about how many babies she's willing to give him, and mortal peril. This series gives such good Scotland content. Also? It's hilarious. The heroine literally bops into this guy's bedroom with breakfast singing a made-up song about his dick coming out to play. She's thrilled.

The Basilisk of Star Manor by Kathryn Moon.

I really liked this little novella, my first basilisk book. And I loved the heroine--a blind, virginal woman who's decided to become a sex worker for monsters. There is a lot of descriptive dirty talk, sensation play, orgasms on horseback... But it's all surprisingly sweet. I had a good time. Also, effective use of a monster tail!

The Temptation of a Highlander by Elisa Braden.

I am nothing if not a sucker for "Scottish Man Big" historicals, and this is nothing if not that. It may or may not be the first historical I've read wherein the heroine has a psycho stalker, and that does give way to an excellent bodyguard romance. Clarissa's inability to say anything without letting slip a double entendre is classic Elisa Braden hilarity, and while there are some quibbles I have with the story... It's just so old school, in a way. I mean, they have shared sex dreams. What's not to like about that?

The Wrong Guy by Kate Canterbary.

I feel like I'm the only person in the world who didn't love In a Jam, but this book was a total turn around for me. Snappy, snarky, super sexy contemporary enemies to lovers with a 39 year old heroine and a 42 year old hero. I mean... come on. The hate sex is legit, the feelings are even more so once they develop (and they don't develop instantly) and it feels like these are real people with flaws and dreams and pain and love. Also, she gets her period during one sex scene and he's like "what do you think I am??? A child???" and just. Goes to town.

One Season with the Duke by Addy Du Lac.

A fun, emotional, and super romantic interracial historical romance, and the rare friends to lovers book that works for me. I think this book's quality is a testament to why it is important to build a world within your historical romance. While I'm not a stickler for accuracy by any means, having the sense of the Scottish with this book really added to its overall sense of space and stakes. And ultimately, it was just heartwarming to see two people sort of brought together by necessity working to make a life with one another.

Since the Surrender by Julie Anne Long.

A rare book in which the couple knows each other because they cheated together while her husband was alive! Cheating is probably a strong-ish word--I mean, they did make out, but otherwise it was largely an emotional thing, and temptation. But it makes the beef real (because our hero actually super liked and respected said dead husband) when these two come back together, and the tension is thick. There's a bit of a mystery and a bit of an adventure, and ultimately two people desperately trying to convince themselves that they don't want to jump into bed together at a moment's notice. NICE.

A Lesson in Thorns by Sierra Simone.

I mean... Good God. Sierra is really making her own specific space in romance, and I respect it so fucking much. She knows what she's about, she's uncompromising in her vision, and she just goes balls to the wall. This is like... an occult... romance? Fantasy? Paranormal? Definitely super erotic, and not a little dark. Oh, and there's an orgy. And over half of our six-person group is made up of virgins (though uh, we're down to one virgin left standing by the end). It's intensely emotional and the ties that bind and the messages left unsaid are thick. I am fucking hooked, and a bit blown away.

#romance novel blogging #book recs #reading wrap up #books #book reviews

[sunfish-studies]

Flight Down

✄・・・ Crisp Leaves [Aoba Johsai Manager Series]

➜ Pairing: Aoba Johsai x Manager! Reader

➜ Warning: attempt murder (???). Jealous, borderline crazy fangirls. Hospital. Injury. Blood. Slurs

➜ Notes: Manager in this story will be portrayed as a girl. She will be tall, around 170.5 cm.

↷ SUMMARY ↶

More than a time, things went out of control–not only because of us, but others could be held responsible for it too.

You couldn’t always keep everything under your command–that is life and you understand that aspect very well. The perfect scenario planned in your head will always be interrupted by something–nothing is called ‘run smoothly’ all the time in this world.

That’s why you always tried to prepare–still with that, sometimes things went out of your control league. No, it’s not because of you–factors from the third party successfully caught you off-guard, however you tried to settle everything down as best as you could.

Except this.

“Quit being the manager. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“And how many times do I need to let you know that it won’t happen.”

Intimidation of Oikawa’s fangirls–they never did it in the light of the day because they had it done via underground and dirty ways. One of them was cornering you.

“You disgust me.” She gritted her teeth. “Really that thirsty for attention, huh, whore?”

You held your head high. “I should be the one saying that.”

“Why you-!”

“Wait, Mako-!”

The next thing you knew, your feet didn’t touch the ground anymore–everything flashed, but at the same time fell into slow motion in your head. Your head went blank before it was immediately dragged back to reality by excoriating pain hammered onto your body.

Opening your eyes–you didn’t even know when you closed them–the world was blurry, the first thing in your line of sight were stairs. All you heard was intense ringing in your eardrums, failing to comprehend anything went through your hearings.

“What did you do!? This isn’t the part of the plan!”

“You’re a murderer! I can’t believe this!”

“I-It was an accident!”

“I don’t want to be involve!”

“S-someone call an ambulance!!“

Everything hurts.

                                                        ✎ . . . .

Oikawa goofed around most of the time, however there are times he discarded that personality and turned into someone who could be mistaken as someone else or another person possessing him.

You weren’t back from filling the water bottles for quite some time and the team started to get dehydrated. So, as a captain, he went to fetch you–already arranging a set of teasing complete with its plan B if somehow all of them failed.

He was ready to teased the heck out of you, he was ready to annoyed you with the most recent useless gossip he managed to hear during class, he was ready to be smacked on the back because you’re so done with his antics.

But, he was never ready to see you lying on the ground at the bottom of the stairs motionless–small splatters of red visible beside your head.

He swore he lost several beats of his heart from the view. And everything went blur for him–running in extremely fast pace his brain failed to comprehend fully to every detail.

He remembered screaming so loud the team could hear him from the gym.

He remembered rushing towards you, harshly fell onto his knees–trying his best to pick you up into his arms from the floor gently even though his hands trembling greatly.

He remembered the sticky and wet sensation on his palm once he placed a hand on your head–when he pulled back, thick crimson color decorated.

Iwaizumi was the one who answered to his desperate screaming for help–borderline of panic and hysteric. Once he arrived, he could hear blood roaring in his ears and his mind blanking for a few seconds. The precious few seconds he could use to call an ambulance or screaming for the coach instead of being frozen on the spot–eyes widening in horror.

Hanamaki joined the screaming parade almost automatically–panic drenched him instantly when his eyes found your battered form in Oikawa’s arms. The captain had tears running down his cheeks and he swore he felt the same. But he welcomed the panic, because it grounded him to reality and went to his captain–asking questions. Is it for his sanity or Oikawa’s he didn’t know.

Matsukawa had to lean onto the wall–somehow, his legs lost their strength to keep him standing. He even had to punch the wall as hard as he could–no, it wasn’t because he’s angry, it’s because he needed the pain to assure himself that this was indeed reality. Even if he knew it was real, his mind was still trying to deny the truth.

If Matsukawa leaned onto the wall, then Yahaba slumped to the ground once he witnessed the horrifying scene. He couldn’t move an inch–as if his body was chained to the ground. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing or not–his mind went white without anything present. Trembling heavily on the ground, he could hear his ears ringing–blocking Hanamaki and Oikawa’s screams.

Watari instantly put a hand upon his mouth–if he didn’t, his lunch would be out of his stomach from the intense paranoia and panic crashing onto him. With shaking hands, he snatched his phone from his pocket–pressing the emergency call button in order to seek for medical help.

Kyotani was no better than Iwaizumi or Matsukawa. The boy was rooted to the ground, eyes widening. He knew he need to do something, anything to get this sort immediately. The sooner you got help, the better it will be. However, no matter how he screamed to his own mind, his body wouldn’t move an inch.

Kindaichi was instantly by your side. His body and mind didn’t synchronize–he couldn’t hear what he said, all he felt was his lips moving however all he heard was the beating of his heart trying to wrench its way out of his chest. His mind supplied him with endless questions–how on earth did this happen? Who did it? Why?

Kunimi almost retched on the spot–seeing thick red line running from your head to your chin was enough to nearly forced itself to be emptied. His breath went out of control–his mind was consumed in panic, his brain was numbed by shock, his body felt as if there were mountains holding it down.

Coach Irihata barked at the medical team to immediately take you to the hospital–not minding anything about practice at the moment. Coach Mizoguchi tried his best to ground the other boys, giving his shoulder to lean on.

Thankfully, after hospital and several detailed vital check-ups, you didn’t appear to receive heavy concussion. Still, you had to suffer a mild one because the height wasn’t something you would laugh about. The doctor listed everything–bruises, light sprain on your left leg, gratefully none of broken bones, absence from school for at least a week.

The team never failed to give you a visit almost every day after practice–the coaches even went with them for the sake of seeing you. They brought along sweets and small gifts to wish you well (and you never thought Kyotani would give you a bouquet of fresh irises, he’s really thoughtful).

While they put up a façade as if nothing happened, truthfully they flipped the school upside down. The Coach Irihata reported the incident to the principal, demanding a throughout search for the culprit. At first they deemed it was some sort of accident, however if you were to fall from the stairs from tripping you would at least protected your head and conscious–thus calling someone for help via phone or else.

Fortunately, someone heard some girls talking about the incident the other day–something in line about ‘what should they do?’, ‘what if Otohaku reported them?’. The team didn’t want to question you, seeing how you trembled slightly after Coach Mizoguchi asked gently of what’s truly happening.

They immediately reported it to the volleyball team, although promising to keep their name anonymous because they didn’t want to be involve.

If the three girls went unscratched from the volleyball team’s confrontation physically, it would leave a huge scar mentally. Well, would it be a prank if tall boys suddenly barged into your classroom to slap a hand upon your desk? Their looks were nothing less than menacing.

At the end, the culprits blubbered out an apology–even as far as kneeling on the ground from Oikawa’s glowering stare. He felt a sickening satisfaction from the view–though he hoped he could make her pay more for hurting you out of ugly jealousy.

#haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #aoba josai x reader #aoba josai headcanons #aoba jōsai #oikawa torū #oikawa x y/n #oikawa toru x y/n #oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hanamaki x reader #matsukawa x reader #yahaba x reader #kyotani x reader #kindaichi x reader #kunimi x reader #watari x reader #haikyu manager #haikyuu manager

[saphirered]

Hey! You asked for individual character requests, so how about Vex x Reader (I thought I’d give you a break from EXU as well), where the reader has a massive crush on Vex, but is unfortunately really scared of Trinket? And maybe something about Vex helping them to relax and bond? Thanks regardless! I love your writing x

Thanks for requesting! This was definitely a fun one to write so I hope you enjoy! 😘

-

You may or may not like Vex. Okay, maybe a but more than just like, closer to a major crush but how could you not? Vex’s intelligent, quick-witted, drop dead gorgeous and don’t even get started on the woman’s charm or you might just swoon. Gods above, you’ve fallen for the half-elf hard. The worst part; you know she likes you too. She’s stated so several times, flirting with you more than anyone else and not just to get something from you. She’s not shy about it and takes every opportunity she can get to make you blush. It’s great, or would be great were it not for your very reasonable fear for big hulking bears and Vex just happens to call one such bear her closest of buddies if not closer to a fur baby.

You’re not sure what to do. Trinket, you know, is nothing short of lovely but you cannot get over your fears no matter how much you may like Vex. You’ve kept your distance and retreated within your shell every time the big grizzly is around. Bears are scary. Sharp claws and teeth, super strong. They can climb, swim and run. They’re great trackers too so there’s really no getting away from them.

“Darling, do you have a moment?” You’re seated at the table scribbling away on some paperwork you needed to take care of. Someone has to assure there’s any food and drink left after Grog has one of his solo exclusive parties again. They’re not really parties and only consist of him inviting Scanlan and Vax for a night of binging food and ale until the sun comes up but you’re always out of groceries right after.

Vex peaks around the corner leaning on the doorpost arms crossed. You put down your pen and nod. Vex nods her own head to the hallways behind her and you get the message getting up and following her to wherever she’s leading you. There’s a determination in her step but she tries to cover everything else which leaves you worried just a bit. What’s she up to?

“Vex, where are we going?” You fall in line next to her as you begin to ascend the stairs.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ve found the perfect sight I think you might enjoy and simply wouldn’t want you to miss out before the weather changes. I’d like to discuss some things with you too so, two birds one stone?” Okay that does sound like a reasonable explanation. Maybe almost a little too reasonable now you think of it. You continue walking until you’re stopped in front of a door, Vex opens it and allows you to step in.

Immediately you see the late afternoon sun shine through the clouds, casting rays of golden light upon the landscape contrasting with the darkened grey of the rain ahead. It’s an absolutely beautiful sight. You enter the room walking up to the window as Vex steps in and closes the door behind her. You hear a grumble and a soft but forceful ‘shh’ behind you.

“Just my stomach. I’m afraid I haven’t had lunch yet. Would you like to enjoy some with me?” You turn around at the offer, seeing the table to the side set with lunch for two and a huge plate of fresh fish. A brown grizzly tries to nibble on the tail of one fish in an attempt to pull it off the plates without his momma noticing and is quickly scolded.

“Trinket! What did I say! Stay hidden!” Vex scolds the bear as you squeal making a break for the door but Vex is quicker and grabs you by the arms stroking your shoulders in a calming motion as Trinket growls in shame, for disappointing Vex and being tempted by the delicious fish.

“Let me go, Vex.” You almost beg and Vex offers you a sad smile.

“I’m afraid I can’t just yet. I wanted to ease you into this but as we’re a bit short on time, we’ll have to take this route. Now calm down, just breathe, in and out. That’s it.” You do as she says, Vex guiding you and preventing a mental breakdown of being face to face with your fear in an enclosed space. Her presence makes it a little better knowing she at least is able to control Trinket to an extend and you know he won’t attack you outright but doesn’t get rid of the fear.

“Now, are you alright to sit down or am I going to have to tie you up to prevent you from running? I’m not opposed to the latter but I think we’d both prefer better circumstances.” Vex jokes, or half jokes. You know her well enough for that. You nod and she guides you over to the table, sitting you down on one chair while taking the other next to you, rubbing circles in your back to keep some nerves at bay as trinket makes himself comfortable, laying down, eyes closed but occasionally peaking, pretending to be asleep, much akin to a young child having been told to go to bed.

“Shall we eat?” Vex gestures to the set table and you have to admit the food does look divine, maybe minus the plate of fish though. You look between her and Trinket. You can do this. You’ve been in the same space as Trinket plenty of times before. Granted, those times the spaces were much bigger and there were several people between you and the bear at all times.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I could do with some food.” Your voice shakes but Vex smiles anyway. Small steps are better than none at all. She half expected you to have made a break for the window. She took all the precautions and ‘fear-proofed’ the room just in case. Awkwardly you’re eating and if Vex has learned one thing from animals is they don’t eat when they really mistrust the company, so people can’t be much different right? Vex attempts small talk asking you about your day and such and while you replied you always keep an eye on Trinket not so successfully pretending to be a sleep even mustering a fake snore.

Halfway through Vex keeps staring at you absentmindedly playing with her food leaning her chin upon her enclosed fist. She’s got plenty of ideas running through her head but all are circumstantial. Maybe she’ll go for a hail Mary.

“Darling, do you trust me?” The question makes you look at her confused. Have you done anything to show that you don’t? You don’t think so.

“Of course I do. You’ve saved my life more than I can count. I trust you more than anyone.” You admit a bit wary of where this is going but it’s Vex and what you said is true.

“Could you close your eyes for me?” You look between her and Trinket biting your lip. You do trust Vex but within your own head a battle between that love and trust for her and your fear for the big fuzzy animal rages on. What are you supposed to do?

Vex sees your struggle and gets up from her seat. She gracefully walks around the table making sure your eyes stay focussed on her and kneels down in front of you. Taking both of your hands in hers she squeezes them softly and gives you a gentle comforting smile.

“I want you to know your trust is not misplaced so I’ll give you this.” Vex takes the necklace from her neck and puts it around yours.

“Now I want this back when we leave this room but for now you’re in control of it. Will you close your eyes for me?” She asks once more. Her expression says enough to let you know if you don’t want this you don’t have to and literally anything but closing your eyes will show her you’re not ready yet and that would be okay. There’s no shame in taking small steps or finding a different approach. She’d come to terms with that too but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved and happy when you nodded and closed your eyes.

Darkness. That’s all you see, and the occasional movement of light outside bleeding through distorting that darkness from time to time. You’re hyper focused on your other senses and you’re unsure wether that be because of closing one sense off or because you’re practically shaking with fear awaiting for that fight or flight reaction to kick in. You smell the sweet fruit from your plate, the gentle kick of the fermented grape juice, and of course the slight saltiness of fresh fish. You hear a grumbled moan and the sound of paws-no sharp nails hitting the fine stone floor step by step almost drowned out by the soft whispers of encouragement of Vex.

Trinket, as quietly and carefully as he can makes his way over to you. Vex shushes him a couple of times and the bear loyalty obeys the commands, laying down at your side. Vex takes one of your hands and you jump a little when she does so she turns to rubbing circles in the back of it as she guides your hand away from your lap towards Trinket.

“You’re doing great.” Vex can feel the gentle shake of your hand but you don’t resist so very slowly she guides you towards Trinket until your fingers touch his fur. You breathe in sharply holding your breath upon contact and freeze up, waiting for something to happen, be that a sharp claw slashing out at you, teeth munching down on you, a roar in your face but none of these come. Even Trinket awaits in suspense for your responses, his bear senses giving him enough insight in your discomfort.

Once you’ve gotten a moment to adjust Vex takes her hand off yours watching both you and Trinket. You don’t dare open your eyes yet but in the back of your mind you hear words of encouragement. You’re doing great. You got this and before you know it your fingers glide, all be it a little rigid and awkwardly, through Trinket’s fur.

“Perfect, darling. You’re doing absolutely wonderful.” You nod afraid to speak and break the spell you definitely must be under with this newfound courage.

Vex couldn’t be more proud of you. When you walked in here she wasn’t even sure she could have you be in the same room as Trinket for more than ten minutes and now you’re petting the bear. She watches as you slowly peak through one eye and when you deem the coast clear open the other too watching in amazement.

“He’s so soft…” You breathe barely audible and Vex laughs. Trinket grumbles at the compliment making you pull away your hand and jump a little but when no repercussion comes you put it back and continue petting the bear, who begins purring softly almost akin to an oversized cat. You can still feel your heartbeat in your throat but this is going relatively okay until you begin seeing spots and you start feeling dizzy. Vex notices and pulls your hand away from Trinket offering you your glass.

“Maybe that’s enough for now? We’ll take it easy.” You nod and feel the nerves subside as Trinket returns to his comfy spot by the window. It may be best not to push your luck and drive yourself into a panic attack.

“Don’t worry, darling. Before you know it we’ll have you riding into battle on Trinket’s back. Won’t you like that Trinket?” She shouts over her shoulder to the bear who replies in a happy moan. Vex pours you another glass of wine after she watches the colour drain from your face. Let’s stick to small steps. But for now, the first ones have been taken. Besides, she can’t deny you’ll look absolutely marvellous riding into battle on her favourite Trinket.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #vox machina x reader #vex x reader #vex'ahlia x reader #critical role #vox machina #vex’ahlia

[dirtykpopsnaps]

Tiny and Feisty - Johnny Suh smut

Warnings: This fic contains 18+ material. Anyone under 18 seen interacting with this fic will be blocked!

Contains: tiny!reader. feisty!reader. bulge kink. size kink.

Requested: yes

Words: 2, 367

———————————————————————

I stare in the mirror, taking in the sight of my slightly baggy t-shirt and ripped jeans. My hair is thrown up in a ponytail and it’s all over the place, but there’s not much I can do about that. I nod once at myself and head out of the bathroom, into the living room of the dorm. Several of the boys are all gathered in the living room, waiting for me to get back. Doyoung and Jaehyun are having a comfortable conversation, Taeyong throwing in comments here and there. From the kitchen, I hear my boyfriend, Johnny, clattering around. “You guys ready to go?” I ask. They all look up at me and Johnny pokes his head out of the kitchen.

“Just grabbing some waters,” he states.

In the living room, the other three boys get off the couches and stand by the door. Johnny comes back a moment later with five waters and hands one to me, throwing his arm over my shoulder. In his other hand, he’s holding a leather football (American). Earlier, we all decided that it would be nice to get out of the house and go for a walk to the nearby park. It’s not usually too crowded where the dorm is, so we’re hoping not to get mobbed. I move Johnny’s hand off of my shoulder and take his hand in mine, instead, entwining our fingers. Doyoung makes a gagging noise and I glare at him, smacking his shoulder. Jaehyun and Taeyong both laugh heartily.

Together, the five of us make our way down the flight of stairs and out onto the street. As predicted, not too many people are out and those who do just ignore us mostly. There are a few stares here and there, but we aren’t asked for any autographs. The walk to the park is fairly uneventful. We’re all just walking along, trying to bring as little attention to ourselves as possible. Obviously, a few eyes are drawn to us since there are so many of us, but we’re mostly able to go unnoticed.

At the park, it’s pretty quiet. There are a couple families scattered here and there, some people ride their bikes along the patches. However, the large field is open and almost completely barren. Johnny looks around at his friends, smiling. “Anyone wanna play football?” He asks, holding up the football in his hands. I look up at him happily and nod.

“Yeah, football would be fun!” I say excitedly. Johnny’s eyes drift down to mine and he has a look on his face that I can’t quite decipher.

“Uh...Y/N...are you sure you wanna play? You’re kinda...” he trails off. However, I know what he was going to say. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at him.

“Suh Young-ho, are you actually saying that I can’t play football with you guys because I’m *short*?!” I ask heatedly. Johnny stares at me with wide eyes, looking around at his friends for help. He knows that I only call him by his Korean name when I’m very upset.

In our group, Jaehyun cringes lightly at my tone. “John...it might be best to just let her play,” he advises softly.

“Ah, o-okay, yeah, sure. You can play with us, Y/N,” he laughs awkwardly, trying to brush off what he just said. I roll my eyes, taking the ball out of his hand and heading over to the open field. Johnny and the others follow soon after. Taeyong looks around the group, furrowing his eyebrows.

“How are we going to play? There’s an odd number,” he comments. Just as Johnny is about to say something, Jaehyun backs out.

“I don’t mind watching for a little bit,” he shrugs. Johnny’s eyes flit over to me and I smile sarcastically at him. I know that he was going to suggest I sit out.

“How about we do teams? Taeyong and Johnny versus Doyoung and I?” I suggest.

Instantly, Johnny gives me an betrayed look. Just by those team suggestions he can tell how frustrated I am. “Y/N, I—,” he starts, but I hold up my hand.

“Young-ho, I suggest you shut up before I get more upset,” I say sharply. Johnny snaps his mouth shut, walking a little ways off into the field with Taeyong. Doyoung and I talk a little bit about tactics before we walk back over to Johnny and Taeyong.

“Okay...those trees at the end there, and the edge of the picnic area are the two goals,” Taeyong says, pointing in either direction. I nod my head softly and cradle the ball in my arms.

After a few moment of talking, we set up to start the game. Doyoung and I start with the ball, and Doyoung is directly behind me. “Hut hut!” I call, throwing the ball through my legs and back to Doyoung. For the most part, the game goes pretty well. Everyone is working pretty well together and, after about half an hour, the score is 2-3, Doyoung and I. At around the 45 minute mark, something happens that makes me leave the game. Doyoung had just thrown the ball to me and I was running down the field toward our goal. Taeyong was right in front of me and I was about to swerve when he accidentally tripped and fell on top of me.

Instantly, I’m crushed to the ground, the ball still in my arms. “Y/N!” I hear Johnny shout. Taeyong is pulled off of me and I see Johnny kneeling next to me. “Are you alright?” He asks, giving me a very worried look. I sit up from the ground, groaning at the aching all over my body.

“Yeah, I’m fine, John,” I say plainly.

“Are you sure?” He asks, helping me stand up and then checking me all over as if looking for any injuries. I furrow my eyebrow and push him away a little.

“Yes, Johnny, I’m fine,” I say, firmer this time. Johnny finally stands to his full height and turns on Taeyong, glaring at him.

“Taeyong, you need to be more careful!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” He says, holding up his hands in defense. Johnny sighs, wiping his hand over his face.

“I know you didn’t, Tae, but she’s so—,” Johnny stops mid-sentence, his gaze flirting over to me. I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms.

“I’m. So. What?” I ask, gritting my teeth.

“You’re so...so...so...” Johnny stumbles for words, trying to think of what to say.

“So. Tiny,” I fill in.

Johnny tries to correct me, but finally sighs and hangs his head, nodding. I groan again and stomp my foot on the ground. “God fucking dammit, Young-ho! Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I need to be protected!” I exclaim. He starts to say something, but I just drop the ball on the ground and walk off.

“Jaehyun, fill in for me. I don’t feel like playing anymore,” I say coldly. Jaehyun jumps off the ground, obviously trying to avoid my wrath.

Taking deep breaths to try and calm myself, I walk over to the swing set and sit down. For a while, I sit and swing, keeping an eye on the game from afar. I slowly allow myself to calm down as I swing. After a while, someone comes up to the swing set. I slow down and look up at them. Standing at the edge of the swing set, his head hanging low, is Johnny. I sigh softly and stand up, walking over to him. Calmly, I cup his face in my hands and look up at him. “It’s okay, Johnny. I know you just want to protect me,” I say softly. He leans into my touch, sighing quietly.

“Let’s go home, okay?” He asks, looking up again. I nod my head, taking his hand in mine and entwining our fingers. Johnny smiles softly and we make our way over to the group.

On the walk back, everything is completely silent. The boys know that I’m not upset anymore (I made sure of that), but we don’t have much to talk about and none of us mind the silence. Heading back into the dorm, everyone breaks off to do their own things. Johnny leads me back to his bedroom and closes the door behind us. As soon as the door closes, Johnny stands close to me and kneels down, pressing his ear against my stomach. I giggle lightly, pulling my fingers through his hair. He looks up at me with wide, brown eyes. “Can I make it up to you?” He asks. I nod my head lightly, smiling down at him.

“As you long as you don’t treat me like I’ll completely break, we can absolutely have some makeup sex,” I giggle.

Looking up at me, Johnny shakes his head and stands up to his full height. “‘Like you won’t break’? Let’s be honest. The first time we were together, I nearly split you in two,” he says. I laugh loudly and hug him tightly.

“Not my fault my boyfriend is a 6 foot skyscraper,” I point out. Johnny shrugs it off, smiling proudly at his comment. Slowly, he leans down and connects our lips, resting his hands on my waist. I sigh into the kiss, leaning up on my tiptoes to kiss him properly.

After a few seconds we pull away and I pull my shirt over my head, throwing it across the room. Johnny stares down at me, my breasts almost completely bare to him. He leans down and unhooks my bra with ease. I let it fall off my arms and down to the floor. He sighs happily, reaching out and taking my boobs into his large hands. He rubs his thumb over my nipples and I sigh contentedly, leaning into his touch. Seconds later, his touch leaves my breasts and I peel my eyes back open in confusion. I’m just able to catch a glimpse of his shirt flying across the room to join mine.

Johnny steps forward, moving me back towards the bed. When I feel the bed dig into the back of my knees, I flop down on it. He chuckles and kneels down between my legs. I open them to accommodate his body. “I’m sorry, babygirl, I really am. I know I shouldn’t be treating you like you can’t take care of yourself,” he sighs, hanging his head. I smile softly, cupping his face again.

“It’s okay, John, I understand. It’s just frustrating sometimes, that’s all,” I admit. He nods his head softly.

“Honestly,” he mutters, “I kinda like how small you are compared to me. It’s hot.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“It’s...hot?” I ask skeptically. He nods his head enthusiastically.

“Absolutely! And when I fuck you, I can see the bulge of my cock going in and out of you. I can’t watch it for too long, or I feel like I’m gonna blow my load right there.” I giggle lightly, opening my legs wider.

“Well, why don’t you show me what you mean?” I smirk. Johnny groans softly, his head falling back.

“What are you doing to me?”

Quickly, Johnny and I shed our jeans on the floor. I love further up the bed and Johnny joins me, hovering over me. He rubs his cock through my folds, gathering the essence there. A few seconds later, he lines himself at my hole. “Okay, just watch for a little,” he says slowly. I nod my head and he starts pushing into me. I feel the familiar stretch and my immediate instinct is for my head to fall back against the pillows. However, I keep my eyes open and trained on my lower stomach. Johnny slowly works his way in, taking shallow and shaky breaths as he goes. Finally, he bottoms out. “Th-There, s-see?” He asks, holding back a moan.

Looking down my lower stomach again, I see a small raised bump just were his cock would be. I give him a shocked look, looking up. “Oh, wow! I didn’t even realize that that happens!” I say honestly. He laughs shakily, his hair plastered to his forehead as he begins sweating.

“Y-Yeah, it does. E-Every time, sweetheart,” he stammers. I hum sweetly and wrap my arms around his neck, looking into his big brown eyes.

“Johnny, fuck me, please,” I say softly, pouting at him. He immediately pulls back and slams back in. I moan loudly, my head falling back against the pillows.

Slowly, Johnny’s rhythm starts building up. He progressively becomes faster and faster and I hold tightly to him. Once he finds my g spot, he aims for it and hits it almost every time. “J-Johnny, please, I need more. Play with my clit, p-play with nipples, please, something!” I whine needily. Johnny leans down and takes one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking hard. It takes all of my effort not to scream out in pleasure. The knot in my stomach keeps winding tighter and tighter until it’s about to snap. “Johnny, I’m gonna come!” I exclaim.

“Come for me, babygirl. Be a good girl,” he growls, pulling one of my nipples back into his mouth.

With one last suck, waves of pleasure crash over me. I can feel my cunt squeezing around Johnny’s cock and he groans loudly, throwing his head back in pleasure. “F-Fuck, Jesus Christ!” He moans, quickly pulling out. Over my stomach, he pumps his cock quickly and, seconds later, his load spills out and over my stomach. He takes in deep, shaking breaths as he slowly comes down from his high. I sit up a little and pull him in for a kiss.

When we pull back, Johnny grabs a t-shirt from off the floor and uses it to wipe of his cum. When cleans his cock a little, then comes back to bed and we both climb under the covers. “Johnny?” I ask softly.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He asks, grogginess starting to makes it’s way into his voice.

“I love you...a lot,” I say, pressing a kiss to his temple. He chuckles, nuzzling his face into my chest.

“I love you, too, babygirl...a lot.”

#dirty kpop snaps #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #johnny suh #johnny suh smut #johnny seo #johnny seo smut #nct johnny #nct johnny smut #johnny x reader smut #johnny x y/n #tiny!reader #feisty!reader #bulge kink #size kink #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct fanfic

[anna-justice]

come back (be here)

part one of upstead: but make it taylor swift

summary: I guess you're in New York today, I don't wanna need you this way (or: hailey is in new york and jay misses her more than you could ever imagine). read on ao3

…

and this is when the feeling sinks in, I don't wanna miss you like this,

come back...be here, 

come back...be here

I guess you're in New York today, I don't wanna need you this way,

come back...be here,

come back...be here

taxi cabs and busy streets,

that never bring you back to me,

I can't help but wish you took me with you

this is falling in love in the cruelest way,

this is falling for you and you are worlds away,

in New York, be here

~ come back...be here by taylor swift

…

day one

It had been 12 hours since Jay dropped her off at the airport, 12 hours since she gave him a teary smile and jumped out of the cab, 12 hours since he watched her disappear behind the glass doors, and it felt like it had been forever. 

He walked in the district with a new darkness looming over his head, he felt like a storm cloud was following him around. It had only been 12 hours, but he already felt like the life had been sucked out of him. He loved his job, he loved his team, but there was something missing and he couldn’t shake it. He wasn’t sure he would until she was sitting in front of him again. 

As he climbed the stairs to the bullpen - ignoring the knowing look from his desk sergeant - he gave the room a once over. It was like he was taken back in time. The familiar feeling of dread settling in his stomach as he ascended the stairs alone, it had been many years since he felt a similar sense of loneliness. 

Erin was an afterthought now, but in that moment he felt like a child again. The same dumb kid who lied and slept with his “informants,” who always took it too far and leaped before he even thought to look. He hadn’t been that person in a long time, not since Hailey. He still leaped but now he had someone who took the jump with him and she always made sure that he looked first. There was part of him that was scared with her gone, he would have no one to keep him from falling off the deep end. 

“Earth to Halstead.” He heard and then was startled by a hand waving in front of his face. He picked his head up out of his hands and laid back into his chair, feigning a stretch. “You good man? You look like death.” It was Kevin, who had a tiny smirk on his face. 

Jay nodded, chuckling nervously. “Yeah, uh, just didn’t sleep well.” 

Kim stifled a laugh across the room, Vanessa gave him a knowing look  and Adam shook his head, leaning on his desk. “Yeah, okay…” He waltzed across the room to Jay and Kevin, motioning to Hailey’s empty desk, “She have an okay flight?” He asked, knowing that Jay knew.

It caught him off guard, he wasn’t lying about not sleeping well, but he didn’t say that it was because he stayed up all night waiting for Hailey to say that she made it safely to her hotel. He nodded, “Yeah, she landed at like 3:00 this morning, said the room they put her up in was nice.” 

“Good,” Kevin said, nudging Jay’s shoulder. “Glad they are taking care of our girl.” The words made Jay crack a smile, the first one since he had bid Hailey goodbye the night before. 

He glanced at the empty desk again, picking up his phone and snapping a picture of it. He clicked on his partner’s contact info and drafted a text. 

Jay: My pens miss you. 

It was short, and could be taken as sweet, but it was still enough to make his heart beat a little faster as he hit send. The nerves started to set in immediately after he flipped his phone over. Everyone in the room knew that Hailey would reach across their computer screens to steal a pen or pencil whenever she needed, hers were lost as soon as she got them: whether they had fallen from behind her ear or were dropped on the floor. She never had one, but Jay found himself worried that she would think it was a little weird that he had noticed all those things too. 

His phone buzzed against the fake wood not long after, and he turned it over a little faster than he would like to admit. 

Hailey: I miss them too, you buy the good kind. 

A grin across his face as soon as he read it, and he coughed out a subtle laugh. For a second - only a second - he let himself pretend they weren’t talking about pens, but they were. 

Jay: Have a good day :) 

Her response came almost immediately. 

Hailey: You too Jay :)

He leaned back in seat, sighing. It wasn’t the same as watching her from across their desks or clearing a scene together, or even just hearing her voice. But, it was the first day, he needed to pace himself. There would be plenty of time to miss her, and for now, this was enough.

day two

Jay poured himself another cup of coffee, he hadn’t been able to focus all day. He was telling everyone else that he had a headache, but he knew it was from Hailey’s words still ringing in his head. 

“I miss the wind, and you.” 

It was literally all he could think about since their conversation early that morning as they both walked into work - unfortunately - 800 miles apart. He would admit, it was much better than his lonely walk into the district the day before, it was almost like she was with him, but not close enough. 

He took a big sip of his coffee, pinching the bridge of his nose (okay, so maybe he really did have a headache). The bullpen was buzzing, everyone else seemingly unaffected by his partner’s absence. He made his way back towards his desk, dodging Kevin, who scored against Adam in their game of trashketball (their favorite pass times on slow days). 

“You wanna play the winner?” Kevin asked, stepping back for Adam to make a free throw (Kim called a foul). 

Jay shook his head, “Nah man, I’m good.” He stood over her desk, staring down at the stack of files that were left there. She was gone in such a hurry that she didn’t even get the chance to clean it off. He picked up the one on top, pretending to read it. 

“Hey,” He heard from behind him. He flinched, spinning to face the brunette behind him. “You good?” Vanessa asked. 

Jay sighed, “Uh, yeah, just looking at Hailey’s paperwork. It needs to be filed.” He threw the folder back down and leaned against it. “I just hope it’s done.” He joked weakly. 

Vanessa looked down at the pile and smirked at him, laying a hand over the top. “I’m sure it is, it’s not like Hailey to leave unfinished business.” Jay didn’t dare raise his gaze to look at her, he knew there was shock written all over his face. Not that he should be surprised, it wasn’t like Vanessa to beat around the bush. 

Maybe he was reading into things, but he was almost 100% sure they weren’t talking about paperwork. He laughed it off, “Yeah, she always finishes before me and then proof reads mine. She doesn’t trust me to do it right.” 

The brunette shook her head, chuckling with him. She shrugged, “Or maybe it’s just an excuse to spend time with you.” With that she waltzed into the break room, throwing a wink over her shoulder at a stunned Jay. 

He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings (or really even acknowledge them) and the thought of being as open as Vanessa had just been was making him want to vomit. It was so easy for her to throw that at him - that Hailey likes spending time with him - why was it so hard for him to say it? It’s not like he didn’t know, she did too, they were each other’s favorite people. It had just ever been said so directly. 

His feet carried him faster than his brain could catch up and he followed Vanessa, closing the door behind him. “What Jay?” She asked, without even turning around. 

Jay took a breath, he hadn’t really thought about what to say here, but he needed something. It had only been two days, but he was going crazy. He missed her like crazy. “You are being cryptic.” 

“Actually,” Vanessa said, turning to face him. “I’m being the opposite of cryptic.”

Jay shook his head, “Really? I don’t think so. I just feel like I’m reading into what you are saying or that you are implying something-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, before you completely eat your own foot.” She smiled softly, “I’m not implying or saying anything Jay. I’m just saying that it’s okay to miss her and it’s okay to worry about her, she’s your partner. You’ve got to have her back.” She winked at him and headed for the door, “Just, don’t be afraid to tell her that. Tell her what you are feeling.” 

After she left the room, Jay let out a sigh. He muttered under his breath, “And she says she’s not being cryptic.” But, even if Vanessa was talking in riddles, she was right. He pulled out his phone and clicked on her name. 

Jay: Just so you know, I miss you too. A lot. 

The typing bubble appeared on the screen seconds later.

Hailey: Me too. A lot. 

day three

The third day was Tuesday, which was the day that he and Hailey normally had off, just not from each other. They would meet at her place at eight and go to the gym together then grab breakfast, then from there it was a toss up depending on each of their days. However, almost every time they ended up at the shooting range. Today was no different. 

Jay left his apartment 10 minutes later than normal, arriving at their gym alone at 8:15. It was weird walking in alone. Sure, he went to workout plenty without her, but never on a Tuesday, never at that time of day and never at that gym. There was one right around the corner from his apartment, but Hailey was weird about working out in front of people and she felt more comfortable on her own, so he just got another membership. He never really thought anything of it.

Not until now, walking into Hailey’s gym alone felt wrong. But, what felt worse was that it hadn’t even accrued to him to just go to his own. No, Tuesday’s were different, and he liked them. He just wasn’t sure if he liked them without her.

He walked in, ran several miles on the treadmill and had moved to the weight station when a random girl approached him. He continued his reps as he noticed her making her way towards him. “Hey macho,” She said, smiling brightly, “You mind spotting me?” 

Jay looked around him - he was kind of in the middle of something - but he didn’t really mind. So, he shrugged and set his weight down before following her. 

She laid down on the bench and positioned herself under the metal bar, signaling to Jay to help her lift it off. She lowered it slowly, taking a breath before pushing it back up, “So,” She huffed, “Where’s your girlfriend?” 

Jay’s eyebrows laced together, “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He said matter of factly. 

“Then who is that blonde girl you are always here with?” She asked, starting to struggle at pushing the bar back up. 

Jay realized two things. One: this girl had been watching him for a bit and decided to make a move when his “girlfriend” wasn’t around. That’s off putting. And two: she thought Hailey was his girlfriend, and that made him smile. “That’s my partner, I’m a cop. Detective really.” 

He caught the bar with ease as she lost steam, watching her cautiously as she sat up. “Good to know.” She grabbed her water bottle from beside the bench and gave him a smirk, “Thank you.” Jay gave her a short nod before retreating back to his bench, he was ready to be done and get out of there.

About 30 minutes later, Jay walked into the locker room to grab his bag from his locker, when he got there, there was a note taped to the door. 

If that really isn’t your girlfriend, give me a call ;) 

~ Maddie (xxx-xxx-xxxx) 

Jay peeled it off and shook his head before grabbing his grab, tossing it in the trash as he left the room. He made his way to his truck, figuring he had time to shower at home before heading to the shooting range. He and Hailey hadn’t been in a few weeks, and he was due for recertification (honestly, he didn’t even know why they bothered, he got a perfect score everytime). 

About an hour later he was on his way there, and the familiar drive felt strange coming from a different place. If he was being honest, everything felt strange. 

When he pulled in the parking lot, he parked in his normal spot and jumped out. It was almost never busy at 10 on a Tuesday. He looked up and took in the sign out front The Old Chicago Range, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture, sending it to Hailey. 

Jay: Be jealous :)

As he pulled the door open, he met familiar faces. That was their favorite thing about this place. He would admit, maybe a shooting range isn’t exactly the kind of family business you would want to pass down, but it had worked for the owners. The same four men had been working there for the past three years, and long before Hailey and Jay started going there. The place was relatively small, but they were always in great company. It was owned by 2 brothers and their cousins, whose fathers had passed it to them. All of them were ex-military or retired CPD officers, so Jay felt right at home. 

“Jay!” One of the brothers, Robbie, said from behind the counter. He jumped out of his seat and rounded it to shake Jay’s hand. 

Jay took it, squeezing it firmly, the way they were both taught. “Hey Rob, good to see you.” 

The older man headed back towards the computer, “Same as always?” He asked.

He almost said yes, but then he realized Hailey wasn’t getting their guns out of the truck. “No, uh, just me today.” 

Robbie looked up, it seemed a little dramatic, but they had never come without each other before. “Oh, is everything alright?” 

Jay quickly jumped in, “Yeah, Hailey is just on assignment in New York, she’ll be back soon.” As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted saying them. Would she be back soon?

“Well good,” Robbie said. “You wanna go try out the new glock?”

“Hell yeah.” 

Jay followed Robbie through the narrow hallway and to the back where the actual indoor range was, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket. 

Hailey: Don’t worry, I am

Hailey: Are you taking your side partner to our place??

Jay chuckled to himself, trying to control his heartbeat. Our place. Their place. He liked the thought of that, a lot.

Jay: No, never

Hailey: Good

Hailey: Don’t have too much fun without me

Jay: Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to send you a picture of my perfect score

Hailey: Yeah ok whatever

They made it to the window and Jay was about to put his phone away when it buzzed again. 

Hailey: Text me when you’re done

Jay: I will

He smiled bigger, ignoring Robbie’s and now his brother Tim’s sideways glances. He picked up the headphones and secured them, taking the gun in his hand and watched the marker slide back to the other end of the room. Jay raised the gun and fired the first shot, picturing what he always did.

When he was in Ranger training and long after, they were taught to kill with no remorse. That was their job: to take out the enemy to save the masses. But, Jay had never been good at taking a life, innocent or not. They had trained them to have no emotional attachment, they were going after combattants, terrorists, truly horrible people in the eyes of all soldiers, but it didn’t matter. Jay had a big heart, even if he didn’t show it, so he came up with his own way to cope. 

Maybe it was unhealthy, but every time he had to shoot his gun overseas, he would imagine that his mom’s life was at risk, that she was the one in danger, not him or anyone else. And that made it easier, in the moment, at least. Somewhere along the way, he stopped imagining his mom and he started imagining Hailey. She was something that he would protect at all costs, no questions asked. 

When he finished, the marker slid forward so he could see, and much to his surprise, he scored a 99. Something that hadn’t happened since before Erin left, he was stunned. Jay didn’t care about the score, but something deep in his chest was making him squirm. Was he really this much of a mess without her? 

When he got back to his truck a little while later, he pulled out his phone, texting his partner. 

Jay: You missed out, the new glock they got in is a beauty

Hailey: I’ll have to try it when I get back

Jay took a deep breath, she’s coming back, she’s coming back, she’s coming back. Even she knows that, why couldn’t he get that through his head.

Jay: For sure

Hailey: So, no score gloating?

Jay: Not today, I got a 99

Hailey: WHAT

Hailey: That’s never happened 

Jay: Yeah, I know

Jay: Something was missing.

day four

Jay poured over the set of photos and stacks of reports for the third or fourth time, he didn’t find anything, but there was no way he wasn’t missing something. He needed another set of eyes, he needed Hailey’s eyes. 

It was just him and Trudy left, not that Trudy ever really went home when Mouch was on shift, everyone else had taken their frustration over the case in stride and gone home, but Jay couldn’t let it go. 

They were stuck on a string of robberies involving department stores, with multiple casualties, some of them kids. They just couldn’t find the connection between the stores. They were scattered all across the district, sold different things and nothing specific was ever stolen. And the crew, they were ruthless, they didn’t care who got hurt, if they were in the way, they were taken out. 

Jay heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, perking up in his seat. It was Trudy with a white takeout box in her hand. “Serge.” Jay said, smiling, “Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite person in the world?” 

“Haha,” Trudy laughed, giving him a faked stink eye. “No you have not, but it’s a good thing Upton’s not here to hear you say that.” She joked. 

She watched Jay’s face fall immediately, “Good thing.” He said with a forced smile. 

Trudy sat the box down on his desk and perched herself on Hailey’s empty one across from him. “You miss her don’t you?” She asked, a small smirk playing on her lips. 

Jay sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Of course I do.” He said, the words tumbling out of his mouth with ease. Trudy’s smirk grew and Jay just shrugged, “She’s my partner.” 

Trudy stood, taking in the man that she had watched grow so much. She couldn’t explain the amount of pride she felt when she thought of the men and women in intelligence. She and Mouch didn’t get the chance to have their own children, so she always saw Hank’s unit as her own little family. She was proud of Jay especially, he had turned into an incredible cop and an even better man. She rested a hand on his shoulder, “Yeah, I know.” She sighed, “Go home soon okay? Get some sleep.” 

“Yes ma’am,” He said, squeezing her hand. As Trudy headed for the stairs, Jay watched her go. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but Trudy became someone that he could really count on. And she was the closest thing he had to a mom, and he really needed his mom right now. “Hey Trudy.” He called and she spun around. 

“Yeah,” She said. 

Jay shook his head a bit, his voice coming out quiet, “She’s coming back right?” 

Trudy was taken aback by Jay’s forwardness, and she wished she had an answer for him, but she didn’t. The feds had a way of holding on to good people, and Hailey was the best. But for all their sakes, especially his, she hoped Hailey would come home, despite the fancy suits, despite the better pay and the sleek and shiny offices, she hoped she would choose Chicago. But she couldn’t really say that to Jay. “She better, she owes me a bottle of Tequila.” 

That got Jay to laugh a bit, looking down at his desk as he smiled, remembering the bet that Hailey lost one day when they were all Tailgating a few months before, she had yet to pay up. “Yeah, she does. Thanks Serge.” 

“Anytime,” Trudy said, “Goodnight Chuckles.” She joked, and then she was gone. 

Jay set the box to the side, no longer feeling like eating. His stomach was in knots. He returned to his previous position, pouring over the files once again. He couldn’t figure out what he was missing. 

He caught sight of his phone on his desk, making a split second decision and calling his partner. She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey,” He said, just enjoying hearing her voice for a moment. He snapped out of it, “How’s working with the feds?” Is it wrong that a small part of him wanted her to say that she hated it.

“Good.” She said quickly. “Different, but good.” Jay heard a door click over the line. “Actually, you have great timing. I was getting off the elevator when you called me.” 

Jay glanced at the clock on his monitor, it read 12:04. “Damn, that’s late.” 

“Yeah, anyway. What’s up?” She asked. Suddenly, Jay felt bad asking her for help, she had just finished her day and she probably needed sleep. “Jay?” 

“Oh, uh, I was just gonna ask for your opinion on a case, but you need sleep. I’ll let you-”

“No.” Hailey said, cutting him off. “I’m wired, I won’t be able to sleep, it’s been a crazy night. What do you need?” 

Great. A crazy night. They were probably doing a big raid or something else with their big budget and fancy tech stuff. And Hailey was probably really good at it. “I just can’t find the connection between the stores in this string of robberies. People are dying, we’re running out of time.” 

“Do you have the digital files?” She asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Alright, send them to me. I’ll call you back.” 

Jay did what he was told and not even five minutes later, she called him back. But this time, it was a facetime notification. Jay cautiously slid it open, immediately taking in Hailey’s appearance. She had her phone propped up facing her as she sat on a bed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with her computer in lap. “Hey.” Jay said, propping his up on his monitor.

“Hey.” She said back, smiling her big, bright, Hailey smile that he didn’t realize he missed so much. It had only been four days, he really needed to pull it together. They stared at each other for a moment, before Hailey visibly tensed. “So, run me through the facts.” 

So he did, he talked her through the case while she looked through photos and reports. Jay was hoping that he would think of something as he explained it all, but he didn’t. 

After a few minutes or silence, Hailey spoke up, “Did you check the security companies?” 

“Yeah, they all use different ones.” He said.

“Ok,” Hailey said, “Wait, check and see if there is some sort of backing. Like a mother company or something.” 

Jay typed for a while before shouting, “Bingo!” He smiled at her through the phone, “Hailey, you got it. They are all financed partially by Graham Consolidated, a big tech company.” 

“Perfect, so what do you think? Personal vendetta against the CEO/Company and they are coming after it’s partners? Maybe it’s Graham’s way of completely taking over the smaller companies?” Hailey said, throwing out ideas.

Jay shrugged, a smile still on his face. “I don’t know, but now I have a place to start. Thank you.” 

“Of course, anytime.” She said. There was a beat. “I really miss you guys, I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s different here.” 

“We - he should have said I - miss you too.” He couldn't help himself, “Different, as in bad?”

Hailey shrugged, trying to find the words, “I don’t know, it’s just more structured. More rules potentially break, but -” She stopped for a second, taking him in and deciding if she really wanted to tell him this. She didn’t want him to look at her any differently. “- maybe that was the point, I guess it need it.” 

She needed it? How could he compete with that? Maybe she was reconsidering her decision, it had only been four days. Jay smiled weakly, “Well, they are lucky to have you.” He said, genuinely.

“Thanks.” She said softly, looking a little disappointed. Had she wanted him to tell her that she better come home? Does she want him to tell her he couldn’t live without her? No way, he couldn’t. A job with the FBI is a big deal, and Hailey was definitely on the path of being offered one. He couldn't get in the way of that. 

Jay took a breath, “I should go. I’ve got lots to do.” He said, forcing a smile. 

“Yeah, ok.” Hailey said, “Goodnight Jay, go home soon.” 

“Goodnight Hailey.” Come home soon. 

day five

“Contrary to popular belief Jay, your body is not bulletproof.” Will said, pressing the bandage flush against his brother's arm. 

Jay rolled his eyes, sighing, “It barely grazed me, there won’t even be a scar…” 

Will huffed, standing straighter and glaring at his brother, he looked at Kim who was standing in the corner of the room. “Hey Kim, when was the last time Jay got shot?”

Kim feigned inquiry, tapping her chin with her finger. “Oh, I don’t know, not even six months ago?” She said, a bit too aggressively. 

“You guys are being dramatic. I’m fine.” Jay insisted. 

“Jay!” Will snapped, “You have gotten shot twice in the past six months. Three times in two years! That’s not normal!” He was obviously frustrated, running his hand through his hair. He didn’t understand what Jay didn’t get, they were all each other had. “You’re not bulletproof, you’re like a damn bullet magnet.” 

Jay held up his hands, “Ok, now you’re being ridiculous -” He was cut off by his phone buzzing on the bed next to him, he picked it up glaring at his brother and temporary partner. The ID ready Hailey Upton. “Which one of you told?” He snapped. Will and Kim both held their hand up in surrender before backing out of the room to give Jay some privacy,  neither of them had spilled the beans. Jay sighed, hitting the green button and answering. “Hey.” 

He was expecting her to scream at him, to be angry, but instead, “Thank God you’re okay.” She sighed out, Jay was taken aback.��

“Yeah Hailey, I’m okay.” 

He heard her soft sniffles over the line. Had she been crying? He felt a pang of guilt in his chest at the thought. “I just got back to the office and I had a text from Adam that just said “Jay got shot” and he wasn’t answering and all I could think about was last time, and -” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter, I-I was just worried.”

“I’m fine, I promise.” Jay said calmly, sensing her panic even 800 miles away. 

“Okay,” She said, sounding defeated. “What happened?” 

Jay shrugged, immediately regretting it. He would never admit it out loud, but his arm was really sore. “It was a run of the mill shoot out, I just jumped out of the way too slow. It just grazed my arm, there was barely any blood.” That was a lie, there was a lot of blood. He had to change his clothes, they were pretty much ruined. 

He wasn’t sure what he was trying to do by omitting how bad it could have been, maybe he was protecting her, but he couldn’t bear her blaming herself for this. He knew he would. If he was stuck in New York and Hailey got hurt in Chicago without him there to back, he would blame himself too. “Which arm?” She asked quickly. 

“Left.” He sighed out, hoping that maybe she would ignore it.

“Jay!” She shouted, “You aren’t even done with PT for your left shoulder!”

“Hailey.” He said, only slightly mocking her, “The bad guys don’t have a copy of my line of duty injuries report.” 

He heard her stifle a laugh and he smiled to himself. Bingo. He knew she wasn’t really mad at him, she was just worried. He would have reacted the exact same way. “Okay, fair enough. But, seriously, you have to be more careful.” There was a beat, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

Jay literally felt his heart stop in his chest. He didn’t know what he would do without her either, and this was the closest he ever wanted to be to finding out. “Hailey, you won’t have to find out. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hailey sighed audibly, “You can’t promise me that.” 

“No, but I can sure as hell try.” He joked.

That earned a laugh from her, causing a small smile to grace his face. “Yeah, you better.” They sat there in silence for a while, finding comfort in only the assurance of the other one's presence. “Don’t scare me like that again.” 

“I won’t Hailes.” Jay couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about this felt different than the last time. He thought back to the day he was released, what his phone had interrupted. It seemed kind of ironic how they were having all of their important conversations that way now. The words were different, but the rest was the same. The pain in her voice, the fear, it made everything all too real. It terrified him, because maybe - just maybe - she needed him just as much as he needed her.

Maybe there was a chance for them after all.

day six

By the next night, Jay was so exhausted that he was sure he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. His arm was still sore and he had slept terribly the night before. The shooting, however minor it was, had done a number on him. Nightmares of Hailey being shot plagued his mind all night long.

He had just turned out his light when his phone buzzed on the bedside table, he silently prayed that they hadn’t caught a case. When he flipped it over, he saw it wasn’t from his boss, but from his partner. 

Hailey: Facetime?

Jay was a little embarrassed by how fast he clicked the call button, all his tiredness being thrown out the window, but he would be a fool to waste her forwardness. She picked up on the first ring. “Eager aren’t we?” 

Jay was going something clever back, but he was startled by how beautiful she looked in the shitty hotel lighting. He reached over and switched his lamp on, pretending not to notice the shocked look on Hailey’s face when she realized he was shirtless. However, her gaze didn’t shift away. “See something you like, Upton?” 

Hailey smirked, taking his jab in stride, “What if I say yes?” 

Jay smiled big. Was she flirting with him? “Then I would tell you that I see something I like too.” 

Hailey blushed and Jay’s grin grew three sizes, he wanted to make that happen again, and again, and again. “Good to know.” Her expression softened when she noticed the bandage on his left arm, “How’s your arm?”

Jay shrugged, “Sore, but fine.” She didn’t look convinced. “Hailey, look at me.” She lifted her gaze from her lap, to his eyes on the screen. “I’m okay.” 

She nodded, “Good.” 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, not that he didn’t enjoy it, but he was a little confused on why she had asked him to facetime out of the blue. 

She nodded again, “Yeah actually, everything’s great...I just miss you.” 

“I miss you too Hailes.” He wasn’t exactly sure when he started calling her that, but he liked it a lot. It felt special, like a step forward. “Have you heard anything about coming home?” He knew it was a loaded question, but he was practicing self preservation. If she was changing her mind and staying, he needed time to prepare, no matter how unlikely it was. 

Hailey shrugged, “I don’t know, at least a few more weeks. The girl whose spot I’m in is deep undercover, so we don’t exactly have a timeline.” 

“Okay.”

“I hope it’s soon though, if that counts for anything.” She said quietly. 

“It does,” Jay said, letting out a breath. “A lot actually.” 

“I need to come home, I don’t know how much more of this wheat thin style pizza I can take.” 

Jay laughed out loud, “Oh I get it, you don’t miss me, you just miss deep dish.”

“Finally, it took you long enough.” She said, joking with him. Jay pressed a hand to his chest, feigning being offended. Hailey grinned, rolling over on her side and resting her phone against the pillow next to her. “Shut up, you know I miss you.” 

Jay smiled softly, giving her a small nod of understanding. He did know she missed him, and he missed her like crazy too. He looked into her bright blue eyes, “I wish you took me with you.” He said. 

He could tell he caught her off guard, the shocked expression on her face said it all, and he almost regretted saying it, but not quite. He meant it with his whole heart. “Me too.” She said finally. “OA’s great, but...but he’s not you Jay.” She shook her head, smiling softly to herself. “There’s no one else like you.”

Jay’s heart was pounding in his chest at her words, he was half convinced he was dreaming. “Well that’s good, there’s only enough room for one partner in your life, and I intend on keeping the spot.”

“You better,” She said, staring at him shamelessly. “I don’t want anyone else.” 

“I don’t want anyone else either.” In any way, he thought. 

“Come to New York.” She said quickly, a nervous expression crossing her face for a split second as he watched her realize what she just said. 

Jay cocked an eyebrow, “What?” He breathed out.

“Come to New York.” She said again, this time with more confidence. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, and it felt like the simple question meant so much more. Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you want me there? Are you sure that you want me too?

Hailey nodded, “Yes. Buy the ticket Jay.” She said, “Be here.” 

“Okay.”

day seven

Jay felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest as he walked to baggage claim. 

The last 12 hours had been quite the whirlwind. He had texted Voight immediately after he hung up with Hailey asking for the next day off. Thankfully he had said yes, and Jay booked the next flight that wasn’t full. It left O’Hare at 12:15 the next day. 

He couldn’t believe what he was doing, flying to New York to see Hailey. It had only been a week and he was buying an overpriced plane ticket? He really did have it bad. 

It wasn’t lost on him how familiar the situation was, losing a partner, a friend, someone he loved to the city, to the FBI even. He knew the feeling well, but his walk through the crowded terminal proved to him just how much things had changed. He never bought a ticket to see Erin, not after a week, not after a month, never. The thought never really even crossed his mind. She was gone and that was that, time to move on. But not with Hailey. 

Hailey was different, the thought moving on, the thought of forgetting her ripped through him like a knife. He wasn’t sure he’d survive without her. And even though it had only been seven days, he was ecstatic to see her. He missed watching her blonde ponytail swing as she walked, he missed her telling him his handwriting sucked, he missed never having any pens, he missed her laugh, her voice, her smile (well that he had seen, but it’s not the same). He missed everything about her. 

His flight landed around three, and he was meeting Hailey at her hotel. She had told the front desk to leave him a key to let himself in, and that she would be there as soon as she could. She couldn’t exactly ask for time off when she had only been there a few days.

Jay had decided on the plan that he was going to tell her how he felt, he owed it to himself to put himself out there again, and he couldn’t pretend that she was just his partner anymore. They both knew that they were more than that. However, when he made that decision, he thought he was going to have hours to decide what he was going to say. Not the 30 seconds it was going to take to walk over to the petite blonde woman holding a sign that read Jay Halstead.

He was taken aback, letting his mouth fall open as he stifled a laugh. She had surprised him. He was barely ten feet away when Hailey abandoned her sign and ran to wrap her arms around him. The closest that had been to each other since he had tackled her down in the surveillance van, almost a year before. “Hi Jay.” She said, her voice loud and clear without the static in between them.

“Hi Hailes.” He said, hugging her tightly to him. Definitely something he could get used to. 

Eventually - and much to his dismay - she took a step back, nervously pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “How was your flight?” She asked.

“Good, went by fast.” Not true, it was painfully slow, the anticipation was too much. “Thanks for picking me up.” He said. 

“Of course. What are partners for?” She joked, rocking back and forth on her heels. 

Jay laughed, “I don’t think Kim would ever pick me up from the airport.” 

Hailey shrugged, smirking, “I guess it’s a good thing that she’s only your temporary partner then. I’m obviously the better one.” 

“Yeah, you are.” Jay tried not to show his disappointment on his face, but he was really starting to hate the word partner. It was just a constant reminder that that was all he was, her partner. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, he wasn’t someone to daydream about passionate first kisses in airports or running down a terminal to greet someone, but for some reason he thought that now was their moment. Maybe he was wrong. 

Jay watched at Hailey’s face mirroring his own, realizing he was thinking the same thing she was. Won’t he just say it already. But she knew him better than that, she knew that he was too stuck in his own head to ever say what he was really feeling. He could never find the words to describe it, and that had been what was different all week. The 800 miles between them gave him an edge, something to use to keep her at an arm's length but still let her in. He was the most open he had ever been about his feelings with her this past week, and she wasn’t ready for that to be over. She never wanted it to stop. 

So, she did the only thing she could. “Jay,” She said quietly, taking a step forward. “You have to know that it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you as just my partner.” 

It took him a moment to process what she said, but once he did, he swept down and pulled her into his arms, pressing his lips to hers. Her hand cupped his neck as he gently held her up, a hand snaking around her waist. There they were, having a passionate first kiss in the middle of baggage claim, no doubt scandalizing everyone around them, but they didn’t care. All that mattered was each other. 

Hailey pulled away breathless, resting her forehead against his. “I missed you so much.” She said quietly, wiping the stray tear that had fallen off her cheek. She was feeling a little overwhelmed by her emotions. 

Jay smiled, leaning down to kiss her once again. “I missed you too, so much.” He pecked her cheek, making her smile. “I never want to miss you like that again, especially now.” She eyed her suggestively.

Hailey laughed against his chest, “Just a few more weeks.”

“It’s not fair,” He said quietly, running his thumb over her cheek, “That I have to leave tomorrow, after this.” 

“Well,” Hailey said, intertwining their hands, “That's tomorrow's problem.” 

“I like the way you think.” He said.

Hailey reached up, kissing him gently, “Then let’s get out of here.” 

The two of them walked out of JFK hand in hand, hailing a taxi and climbing in together. The action was foreign, and so was the city, it wasn’t what either of them wanted. But being there together, even if it was just for a day, it felt like home. 

…

A/N: Oh My Gosh I have been working on this fic for SO LONG and I am so so so happy to have finally finished it. If you haven’t guessed, my new series will be writing Upstead (and possibly other OC couples) as T'S songs because some of them for SO FREAKING WELL! Come back...be here is a bonus track off of red that I found a few weeks after 8x03 aired, and this fic has been a WIP since then, you don’t understand how excited I am to write these! Thank you SO MUCH for reading! Hope you enjoyed <3

taglist: @anniesardors @joy-meathiel @stephanie708 @carissalizz @snowwhite013 @imjustwritingg @benharmonsupremacy @angelsjedi @onechicago-upsteadrhekker

#jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #upstead but make it taylor swift #upstead fic #kim burgess #vanessa rojas #kevin atwater #trudy platt #adam ruzek #will halstead

[spencers-renaissance]

dry me off and hold me close

Summary: Derek has finally relented and is bringing his boyfriend Spencer to meet the rest of the team. That means, though, he has to finally tell them about his boyfriend's disability. Terrified that they'll react badly, he puts it off until he can't anymore. Turns out he was worried for nothing.

Tags: so much fluff, protective derek, disabled spencer, caretaker derek, au: spencer is not in the bau, team as family, hurt/comfort, light angst, est. rel, day to day disabled life, physical disability/chronic illness

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 5.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Hello! I am nervous to share this one, I won't lie. It's incredibly personal. It was a pain in the arse to write but I love how it turned out and I hope you do, too. Just a note: this may be triggering for some people - there is description of nausea and severe chronic pain, as well as frequent references to ableism towards wheelchair users.

As soon as Rossi brings up the prospect of a fully-catered family dinner at his ‘mansion’ this weekend, Derek’s heart sinks. They’re on their way home from a pretty gruelling case and it’s well-deserved of course, but he knows what comes next, knows what question will be asked of him, and he’s dreading it. There’s only so long he can go on avoiding answering. 

“Please tell me you’ll finally let us meet Spencer, Derek,” JJ asks, levelling him with a look to rival one of Penelope’s. “At this point I’m starting to think you’ve made him up.” 

Spencer is very real. He’s a very real, very sexy, very intelligent man who Derek has no doubt would get on brilliantly with the team. But Spencer also happens to be disabled. And while his boyfriend has had decades to get to terms with broaching such a sensitive, taboo topic, Derek has not. He’s far from ashamed of Spencer — that’s not it at all — he’s just so protective of him, and the idea of others being touchy or patronising or outright rude around him is an idea he’s never been able to get used to, no matter how many times he’s witnessed it.

Derek’s laugh is strained as he rubs his face awkwardly, trying to find the words to politely decline, but the others are pouncing on him before he can speak. 

“You’ve put it off enough times now, Morgan,” Emily says, siding with JJ. “If he’s even half of what you say he is then we’ll love him. Just bring him along. Rossi doesn’t mind.”

“Oh no, I’m dying to meet the man who could finally tie Derek Morgan, ladies man extraordinaire, down,” Rossi chimes in.

“He definitely sounds like my kind of guy,” Alex agrees. “I’m impressed you managed to land such an educated man, Derek.”

He looks sort of desperately towards Hotch who raises his hands guiltily. “I would actually like to meet him, too, Morgan,” he says reluctantly, a rare smile playing across his face.

Derek groans and throws his head back against his plane seat. He can only be glad Penelope isn’t on the flight because she’d be absolutely relentless in such a conversation. 

As hesitant as he is to let his team in, maybe it is time to finally get over himself and bring Spencer to meet them. After all, none of them have ever given him actual cause to be so nervous, and he knows they’d all inevitably fall in love with him almost as quickly as Derek did, so really it’s his own fears and fierce protective instincts keeping Spencer away from his second family. 

“Fine,” he relents, anxious butterflies not easing. “He’s home this weekend, and apart from planning lectures I think he’s free, so I’ll ask him. But I can only promise to ask, I won’t promise he’ll agree.” It’s a pointless caveat; Spencer’s been bugging him to meet the team almost as long as they’ve been bugging him to meet Spencer, he’ll jump at the chance to go to dinner with them. 

“Finally,” JJ groans, pretending to collapse against Emily in relief, who giggles fondly at her antics.

“I’m sure we’ll love him, Derek,” Rossi says reassuringly, a proud fatherly look on his face that has his chest clenching painfully. 

As everyone settles down, his stomach churns anxiously as he stares back out of the jet window. He knows everyone will love Spencer; he just doesn’t know how to tell them what to expect. What if Spencer has a fainting episode or gets nauseous at dinner time? What if he can’t keep his energy up or is too photosensitive to have the lights on? What if meeting that many people at once overwhelms him? Spencer always tells him he worries too much, but he can’t help it — not when the love of his life is involved. 

He’s brought out of his nervous stewing by Hotch. “You know, Morgan, if you really don’t want to bring Spencer, you don’t have to,” he says softly, making him look up to see everyone staring at him guiltily. 

“We didn’t mean to pressure you,” JJ says hesitantly, and the others agree, all clearly having noticed his pensive expression.

He forces himself to take a calming breath and bite the damn bullet already. Spencer would be rolling his eyes at him. “Okay. There’s something I haven’t told you,” he starts carefully. He hasn’t had to introduce the concept of Spencer’s disability to anybody since he told his family. “Spencer is disabled. He has a chronic condition that impairs his mobility along with bringing a whole host of other symptoms, and while he’s had it for most of his adult life, I’m still not used to broaching the topic and I didn’t know how you would react. He already experienced enough difficulties in life, he doesn’t need my co-workers, hypothetically, being patronising or weird about it. So, I put it off.”

It feels like a weight off his chest once it’s out in the air, but the surprised looks on his team’s face make him briefly wonder whether telling them was a mistake after all. “Spencer will really look forward to coming though,” he rushes to continue. “He’s on his own a lot of the time and struggles to make it out of the house except for work if I’m not there, so he can feel quite isolated. It will be nice for him to spend time with other people, and finally meet you guys.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, everyone seems to have mostly recovered from their immediate shock, and look relaxed and intrigued again — far more appreciated expressions on Derek’s end. 

“Well,” Rossi starts, and he feels like holding his breath in anticipation, “will he need any accommodations?” Relief spreads warm and thick across Derek’s chest as he feels himself physically relax. Of course immediate support would be the response from his team; he was stupid to think otherwise. 

“His mobility fluctuates daily. Sometimes he can walk small distances okay, other times — and more frequently — he needs aids like forearm crutches or his wheelchair. Can I text you on the day and let you know?”

“Of course,” Rossi promises, a warm smile on his face, “whatever you and Spencer need.”

“There is one more thing, if Spencer’s coming it will need to be earlier in the evening… think more six rather than eight. He’ll be too exhausted later in the evening and he needs to be home early to get the amount of sleep he needs.”

“That’s fine,” Rossi agrees immediately, “six it is.”

“Sorry for pressuring you, Derek,” JJ says, tilting her head as she looks across the table at him. “But we’ll love Spencer, this won’t change anything.”

“Yeah, fuck you for thinking we’d be assholes about it,” Emily chuckles, punching him softly in the arm. 

Derek grins at her before shaking his head. “I’m just too protective of him,” he explains a little guiltily. “He thinks it’s ridiculous but I can’t help it. We’ve been together nearly five years now and I’ve seen the things he has to go through, professionally and in his day to day life. I just saw an area for potential harm, no matter how slim the chances, and immediately bricked it up in my mind. It’s hard to tear walls down like that.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Alex says in her signature gentle tone, smiling at him.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Hotch agrees and Derek gives them all another quick smile before they settle in for the rest of the flight. 

It’s late by the time Derek unlocks the door to his and Spencer’s home and he knows his boyfriend will already be in bed. It had been a weird adjustment when they’d first started dating, Spencer having to be home by 10pm so Spencer could get at least nine hours of sleep, topped up by regular naps during the day. Now though, he’s completely used to operating around Spencer’s sleep schedule; it’s just routine. 

He makes his way through the house quietly, toeing his shoes off and shedding his coat before dumping his bag in the living room and padding up the stairs. The house is dark but their room is dimly lit by Spencer’s night lamps, there to ease him off to sleep and keep him company when bouts of painful insomnia torment him. There was a time Derek used to mind, but those days seem so long ago now. He climbs carefully onto the mattress, taking off his trousers and socks but not bothering to change into anything new.

As gentle as he is with his movement, Spencer still stirs beside him. “Derek?” He blinks sleepily over at him in the soft light of the bedroom and Derek immediately scoots over and wraps him in a hug. It might be gone midnight but he misses Spencer like crazy when he’s away and physical contact is very much essential business right now.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers as he relishes the feeling of Spencer’s small frame against his own. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay. Just glad you’re home. Missed you.”

“I promise I missed you more,” Derek murmurs as the warmth of the room and comforting presence of his boyfriend wrapped around him finally break down the walls he’s been holding back the sleepiness working a 5 day case inevitably brings. 

“Make me pancakes in the morning?” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask, it’s a tradition for Derek to make pancakes for breakfast the day he gets back from the case, but it makes him smile anyway. “Anything for you, baby boy,” he yawns. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

⭐️

Derek waits until dinner the next evening to bring up the subject of the dinner party. It’s just a simple takeaway on the sofa of the house Derek had renovated for them, but even five years into their relationship, every moment shared with Spencer feels like a date. 

“How would you feel about going to a dinner party with the team?” Derek asks when there’s a lull in their conversation. Spencer’s just finished explaining a complicated debate he’s having with one of his colleagues about kinetic particle theory and Derek has no idea how to respond. Moments like these used to make him feel stupid and inadequete when they first got together, but now he just stares fondly at his genius boyfriend and wonders how on earth he got so lucky. 

Spencer lowers his fork. They’re eating chinese but he still hasn’t mastered chopsticks, and it never fails to make Derek smile. “Are you serious?” he says, an excited grin spreading across his face.

“I am.” He quirks an amused eyebrow as he takes in Spencer’s eager expression. God, he’s so fucking in love.

“Well obviously I want to go,” he giggles, “you know that. When is it?”

“Saturday.”

Spencer just launches himself into Derek’s lap in lieu of response, not that he has far to move on their cosy sofa, slotting himself against his body as they melt into one another. “Thank you for finally getting over yourself,” he says with his face buried in Derek’s neck.

Derek’s responding laugh jostles both of them as he wraps his arms around Spencer’s small frame, loving the way he fits in the palms of his hands. “I’m sorry it took me so long, baby,” he says, tone transitioning into sincerity. “But they can’t wait to meet you, and you’re going to love them.”

“I know,” Spencer says drily, pulling back to look him in his eyes. “Why do you think I’ve been pushing to meet them for the last five years?”

Derek answers with a squeeze to Spencer’s waist and a kiss to his shoulder. “Go on,” he says, lifting him off his lap to sit on the sofa next to him. “Finish your dinner.” 

“Mm, I think I’ve had enough,” Spencer hums nonchalantly, busying himself with putting the carton on the coffee table as if Derek doesn’t know him like the back of his hands. 

“This is your favourite dish from your favourite Chinese and you’re expecting me to believe you’ve just had enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” Spencer says, but he sounds winded and Derek isn’t stupid. He levels him with a look. “Okay… I just feel a bit sick is all.”

“Floor, sofa, or bed?” He’s aware of the nausea protocol, and he moves his own dinner aside as he springs into action. 

“Floor.” He’d been surprised the first time his boyfriend had crawled onto the floor and lay curled up until the nausea passed, but it was second-nature now. Apparently, the flat, firm surface was the most comfortable when such intense sickness consumed him.

“Okay, baby, let’s go.” He gently lifts Spencer off the sofa and down onto the floor, taking care not to jostle him too much. His eyes stay closed, face screwed up as he tries to weather the waves of nausea crashing over him. It never fails to make Derek’s heart twist in pain. “Are you actually going to be sick?” The majority of nausea spells usually pass on their own with no vomit to speak of, and Spencer’s usually very good at telling which kind it is.

“No,” he whispers, reaching his hand slowly towards Derek’s and gripping it tightly. He gets the message and lays down next to him, stroking his hair softly as they wait in silence for Spencer’s body to right itself. It only takes about twenty minutes to pass, and when it does, Derek carries him to bed, bringing him his toothbrush and a flannel as they follow another of their set routines that have been established over so many years of being together. 

“I love you so much, Spencer Reid,” Derek murmurs as they lay in bed together that night, the soft light of their bedroom catching on Spencer’s cheekbones.

“I love you more, Derek Morgan,” Spencer whispers back, voice slurred as he cuddles further into the arms of his boyfriend. 

“Not possible,” Derek insists, but Spencer’s already dropping off to sleep. 

⭐️

Spencer wakes up on the day of the dinner party in what Derek can clearly see is nothing short of agony. He doesn’t try to hide it, they’re mostly past that now — although he still sometimes convinces himself he can handle smaller symptoms by himself, no matter how many times Derek insists they’re a team — but he doesn’t say much either. The morning is spent on the sofa, using numerous heated blankets and painkiller combinations until he can at least think straight. 

“How do you feel about this evening?” Derek asks as lunchtime approaches, rubbing Spencer’s good arm gently as he leans against him, legs outstretched on the chaise. 

Spencer hums. “I’m gonna take a nap after lunch,” he decides after a moment of deliberation, “and then decide. I think with meds and the wheelchair, I’ll be okay.” He pauses for a moment as he nibbles nervously on his bottom lip. “Do you think they’ll be weird about the chair?”

“No, baby,” Derek says decisively. Really, he can’t believe he ever thought anything different, but he was scared and fear easily spirals into irrationality. “They won’t even blink. Especially since I warned them about the mobility aids. I think they’d be more surprised if you walked into the Rossi mansion.”

“You sure?”

It hurts Derek’s heart to hear him so anxious and uncertain, and it’s only more painful because he knows it's rooted in experience. He’s had to fight for most of his life to be seen as a competent adult, equal to his peers despite his disability, and people can be cruel. “I’m sure. And even if for some reason they were dicks about it, I’m there, okay? Nobody’s gonna get away with being anything other than an angel towards you when I’m around.”

Spencer giggles at that, turning his head into Derek’s chest. “You turn into the hulk when you’re protecting me.” 

“I do,” he agrees, chuckling at the sound of Spencer’s adorable laugh, “and for good reason. No-one hurts my baby. You know that, and everyone else knows it, too. We’re gonna be just fine, pretty boy.”

Spencer sighs, reassured by Derek’s words. “Love you,” he whispers, twisting a bit to press a kiss to the side of Derek’s neck. 

“I love you more,” Derek promises, lifting a hand to rest on Spencer’s cheek.

“Not possible.”

The rest of the day passes slowly as Spencer takes it easy, deciding that he’s definitely up to it after a decent nap curled up against a reading Derek. They get ready together, Derek helping him shower when his arms hurt too much to wash his hair and getting him dressed in his favourite outfit before dressing himself. 

By the time six thirty rolls around, Spencer’s feeling a little bit better, his meds are hitting the spot and they’ve mastered all the wheelchair adaptations to make his life as easy as possible over the years. His cushions and heated seats connected to the wheelchair’s motor, which he uses to help self-propell at work, ease the pain as much as they can and the built in phone charger always makes him popular whenever they go out with friends. Plus, his cane and crutches connect neatly to the back of the chair, giving him more options, which is especially helpful on nights like this. 

“Comfy?” Derek asks as he pushes him out of the apartment and into the hallway, locking the door behind them. 

Spencer hums in affirmation, wiggling a little as he settles into the warm support of the chair. They have a ground floor apartment for safety reasons: Spencer needs to be able to exit the building if the lifts stop working, but it’s also convenient. They get down to the garage quickly and Derek helps him into the passenger seat before packing the wheelchair in the boot.

He spends the journey in contemplative silence and Derek can’t keep himself from shooting worried looks his way. His hand makes its way onto Spencer’s knee and he rubs his thumb gently against the skin, before stilling the digit, all too conscious of how painful repetitive stimulus can be, especially on days like these. 

“Stop worrying, baby,” he says, ten minutes into the drive when Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His bottom lip is chapped from the worried chewing it has endured for most of the day. “They’re going to love you, I promise.” 

“You really think so?” 

Derek’s about to answer quickly but he looks over and sees how absolutely dead serious Spencer is. He sighs. “Let me tell you exactly why. Alex is a fellow academic with the softest streak of anyone in the BAU field team. Emily and JJ have the ability to befriend literally anyone, and Penelope already is in love with you, just from what I’ve said about you. She’s told me so multiple times. Rossi immediately accommodated you and wasn’t at all fazed when I mentioned your disability. Hotch is a gentle fatherly type when he’s talking to good people and the rest of the team, so he’ll just be interested in you as a person. There’s no-one I’m worried about, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer whispers eventually, finally sounding like he actually believes him. 

“Besides, you’ve already got one member of this team whipped,” Derek smirks, glancing over at him again. 

He considers it a win when Spencer rolls his eyes, and his grin couldn’t be wider when he hears him mumble, “arrogant asshole” under his breath.

Derek’s grateful Rossi doesn’t have a gravel driveway as he gets Spencer out of the car and into his wheelchair, before pushing him the short way to the front door. They’d battled some tough terrain over the years, and gravel was absolutely his least favourite. As they approach the house, though, he notices that Spencer’s grip on his armrest is tight enough that his knuckles are white, and it hurts Derek’s heart that he’s only this nervous because real people and real experiences have given him genuine reason to be. 

Before he gets to knock, though, the door is thrown open by an uncontainably excited Penelope. “You’re here!” she shouts, and completely bypasses Derek to shake Spencer’s hand. He’s glad she doesn’t crouch, just leans down a little so he doesn't have to reach up so far. “You must be Spencer. I’m Penelope. It is a crime that Derek has kept us apart for so long, but none of that matters now. Would you like me to push you in through to meet the others?”

“Um, it’s nice to finally meet you, Penelope,” he says, smiling at her genuinely. “Would you mind if Derek keeps pushing me, though?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine!” Her smile doesn’t drop a bit. “Come through, everyone’s already in the living room. Oh, and hi Chocolate Thunder.” She sends him a quick wink. 

“Hi, Mama,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s grinning, though. So far, so good. 

They follow Penelope further into the house after Derek closes the door behind them, and the girls get up first. “Spencer, oh it’s so good to meet you,” Emily says, coming up and shaking his hand. “I’m Emily, this is JJ.”

“Hi,” JJ says, shaking his hand too, giving him a conspiratorial look. “I’m glad we finally bullied Derek into bringing his oh-so-secret beau to meet us.” 

Derek just grins. “What can I say? I’m protective of my baby.” He reaches down and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. 

“Ignore this caveman,” Spencer laughs, and Derek is sure he rolls his eyes again. “I’ve been dying to meet you all, too.”

“Well, it’s our pleasure,” Alex says, coming up for her turn. “I’m Alex. Your paper ‘How Thinking Makes Us Write’ you published a couple of years ago is incredible; I used it in my Psychology of Writing class last year and only just realised it was written by Derek’s top-secret boyfriend! I’d love to talk to you more about that later.”

“That’s so cool, wow, yeah I’d love that.” He smiles at her, clearly feeling a little flattered by the immediate praise of his work. Derek thinks it’s the least he deserves.

“I’m Aaron, but everyone calls me Hotch,” Hotch says as he and Rossi step forward, a warm smile on his face. “Sorry to overwhelm you with all these introductions, but it’s lovely to meet you. It really is a shame Derek’s been so secretive.” 

Spencer smiles up at him. “Are we all going to dunk on Derek all night? Because if that’s the case, I’m glad I came,” he laughs, twisting around slightly to look at Derek. 

“Yeah, yeah, keep talking, pretty boy,” he says, raising a brow. “Two can play at that game.”

“You’re too whipped, I’m not worried,” Spencer dismisses him, before touching his hand lovingly, letting him know that he’s only teasing. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Rossi says. “I’m Dave, or Rossi, whichever you prefer. I actually own this house, despite being the last in line for a formal introduction. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you at the door, Penelope had been waiting on the stairs for half an hour so she could be the first to greet you.”

“That true, baby girl?” Derek chuckles, looking over at her. 

She doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, but then Derek doesn’t know what else he expected. “This is on you,” she defends herself, “if you hadn’t waited so long to introduce me to baby genius here, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to meet him.” 

Spencer laughs at their interaction, turning his attention back to Rossi. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “Derek told me you were really accommodating, so thank you for that.”

He waves the thanks aside with a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Speaking of which, though, would you rather eat in your wheelchair or transfer to one of the dining chairs.”

Derek knows what’s about to happen even before he sees Spencer tense up. “Give us one second,” he says, wheeling him out into the hallway. Decisions are really hard for Spencer to make on bad days, especially those that pertain to his health or needs, and being under the eyes of so many people was not about to make that an easy interaction.

“Derek…” Spencer says anxiously, looking at him for help as he feels his mind spiral into fogginess at the question. 

“Okay, it’s okay, baby,” he says soothingly, crouching down in front of him to be at eye level. He takes his hand and kisses it gently. “Do your hips need a break from the chair or would it be more painful to transfer?” 

Phrasing questions like Rossi’s as directly applicable choices is always more digestible for Spencer and he sees him visibly relax at his words. “Hips need a break.”

“Great,” Derek says. “Do you want to go back in or do you need a minute to yourself?”

“No, I’m fine,” Spencer says, and he believes him. He instantly relaxed at having made a decision. “Let’s go back in.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

They walk back into a room full of vibrant conversation and laughter. “Oh, Spencer, Spencer,” Emily says, immediately roping him back into the conversation without making a big deal of him having to leave the room, “we’re debating whether Derek’s really the slob Alex insists he is. You need to help us settle it.”

“I shared a room with him once, okay,” she says, “it was a state!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Spencer agrees. “At home, he’s so anal about ‘everything in it’s place’ and won’t even let a mug sit on the counter without being washed up. But whenever we go away, he can’t keep the place clean, it’s the weirdest thing. It’s like his suitcase vomits its contents all over the room.”

“Hey, I didn’t know this dinner was gonna be all about airing my dirty laundry,” Derek laughs.

“Literally,” JJ points out.

“Right,” Rossi says, interrupting the laughter filling the room. “Dinner is ready, so we should eat. Did you come to a decision about seating, Spencer?” Derek’s impressed at how much he knows about accommodating disabilities. He probably has someone close to him who’s been through something similar to Spencer.

“I’ll transfer,” he confirms.

“Great, we can just move your wheelchair to the hall once you’re settled so it’s not in the way, if that’s okay?”

At Spencer’s nod, they all file into the kitchen/dining area and choose their places. Penelope bags the seat to Spencer’s left, Derek sitting to his right, as the other girls sit opposite them. Hotch and Rossi sit at Derek's end of the table. He holds hands with Spencer under the table all through the delicious pasta primavera, helping to ground him, reminding him he’s right there. 

Conversation and laughter flows with the wine Rossi serves, and Derek doesn’t even mind his embarrassing stories being shared with the team, because it’s Spencer, and he’s so far gone for this man that he could slice him open and with his dying breath, Derek would thank him. 

“I love you, really,” Spencer grins up at him, after he’s just revealed his Nina Simone shower concerts to everyone sitting around the table, everyone cracking up as the tough exterior Derek’s built up at work over the years slowly disintegrates, his own boyfriend fuelling the fire. 

“And I love you, baby,” he says, leaning over to kiss him briefly, before pulling back. “Even when you spill my deepest darkest secrets.”

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest,” Alex says fondly. “You’re a lucky man, Derek.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” Spencer insists. “Do you know what he said when we first met? We were at the supermarket, and I was reaching for some baby carrots. He said ‘whoa, pretty boy, don’t get those ones. They go off far too quickly. Someone as beautiful as you deserves better than that’. No mention of the wheelchair or bags under my eyes. He didn’t see Disabled Spencer, he just saw Spencer. Asked for my number then and there.”

“You were irresistible,” Derek says fondly, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “I knew right at that moment I would spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“Stop,” Penelope begs, “my heart is literally a puddle on the floor. This world needs more Derek Morgans.”

“I’ll toast to that,” JJ says, her face just as soft as Penelope’s. 

“A real toast,” Hotch says, raising his glass with a happy smile on his face. Derek very rarely sees such a relaxed expression on his face, and as much as they have their disagreements, it’s a nice thing to see. “A toast to Derek and Spencer. May your happiness live long and be as contagious as it is tonight.”

Everyone toasts to his words, and Spencer buries his face in Derek’s shoulder, a little embarrassed at the attention. They sit around the table a little longer, but Spencer slowly sags against his body, finding it painful to keep himself upright. 

Noticing this, Penelope claps her hands. “Shall we move back to the living room? I bought chocolate and Rossi has wine.”

“This is true,” Rossi says as they all get up. He grabs Spencer’s wheelchair from the hall and Derek helps him back into it as they head back to the sofas.

“It’s weird using my chair inside,” Spencer laughs as Derek pulls him into his chest so he doesn’t have to keep himself steady upright, everyone else settling themselves around the room.

“Do you not need it often?” Hotch asks. 

“No, I need it quite a lot. I just don’t usually have to. Derek’s usually fairly insistent on carrying me around our apartment.”

“We’ll never live in a big house,” Derek says, chuckling along with anyone else. “I couldn’t haul this big lug around a Rossi mansion, now could I?”

“Hey!” Spencer smacks his side lightly. 

“You’re 6 foot tall, baby,” Derek defends himself. “You might be tiny but there’s still a lot of you.”

“Fair enough,” Spencer acquiesces, laying his head just under Derek’s chin. 

“Right,” Rossi says, coming back into the room, “I have more of your non-alcoholic wine, Spencer, and more of the real stuff for everyone else. Hand out the chocolates, Penelope, and we’ll have ourselves some satisfied guests.”

“I don’t live here, old man,” Penelope says, raising an eyebrow but getting up from her seat cuddled against Emily and JJ anyway. 

“Hey, you answered the door to pretty much everyone today; you’re co-hosting.”

“Can’t argue with that, Penelope,” Emily says drily, looking on amusedly as she huffs but hands out the chocolates anyway.

Derek discreetly pops two painkillers out in his pocket and hands it to Spencer, who swallows them down with a sip of his non-alcoholic wine, relaxing as they start to take effect. They all chat leisurely for a while, enjoying each other’s company in a non-pressured environment where they’re not surrounded by high profile cases and serial killers. 

Eventually, though, Spencer starts to fall asleep on his chest, clearly feeling relaxed enough in the warm room, pressed up against his boyfriend and surrounded by the reassuring conversation of people he trusts. As soon as Derek notices, though, he knows it’s time to get him home and into bed before any true crisis of pain or fatigue takes place. 

“I think we’ll need to get going, guys,” he says quietly, drawing everyone’s attention to Spencer’s dozing form. He watches as their faces soften and conversation quietens, everyone clearly enamoured with his boyfriend. It occurs to him that he feels no jealousy, only pride that he gets to call this wonderful man his, that he’ll be going home with him tonight, tucking him into bed and cuddling him until he falls asleep. 

He shakes Spencer gently, and the others start to get up, tidying or just moving through to the kitchen so as not to embarrass him when he opens his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmurs sleepily, as he looks up at Derek. “I’m tired.”

“I know, baby,” he says softly, feeling so fond his heart could burst. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Everyone’s sad to see him go, gathering at the front door to say their goodbyes. 

“You are invited to every BAU event from hereon in,” Penelope asserts confidently as she leans down for a gentle hug. She whispers, “you’re better company than Derek, anyway.”

“I heard that, Mama,” he says, poking her in the side.

“You were meant to,” she says, sending him a pointed look, before dropping the act and wrapping him in a hug as the others say goodbye to Spencer. 

“It was so nice to finally meet you, Spencer,” Hotch says warmly. “Derek had better not keep us from seeing anymore of you.”

“I’m not sure I could possibly get away with that anymore,” he sighs. “Guess I’ll have to share my baby with you assholes.”

Spencer rolls his eyes at that, stifling a yawn. “Come on, caveman,” he says, rolling his eyes again. “I need to get home.”

“Anything for you, my highness,” he chuckles, before lifting his chin with his knuckle and bending down to kiss him briefly. 

“Bye, lovebirds,” Emily calls as they make their way to their car.

“Drive safely,” JJ shouts, which makes Derek laugh fondly. He does love his team.

“See you on Monday,” he calls back as he helps Spencer into the passenger seat. They drive home in the comforting darkness of night, illuminated by the car and street lights of the city, and satisfaction pools in his stomach as he reflects on such a perfect evening as Spencer falls asleep against the passenger window. It really couldn’t have gone any better, and the relief he feels is staggering: the two most important facets of his life finally integrated after far too long.

While his whole life feels like it’s finally falling into place, all that really matters is that the man who is his entire world is happy, a small smile on his sleeping face as the shadows of the city brush their way over his cheekbones. He has to force his eyes back to the road, but he can’t resist the hand he slips into Spencer’s, or the smile that lights up his face as even in his sleep, Spencer’s fingers curl themselves around his.

Spencer's symptoms in this fic could fit any number of neurological conditions, but his unnamed condition was modelled on my own experience with fibromyalgia. I have a rather severe case, as would Spencer if he was diagnosed with this illness. The symptoms could also fit these conditions in one way or another: Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E.), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis or Axial Spondyloarthritis, as well as others I'm sure I'm forgetting.

Everything about Spencer’s disability is true to the chronically ill/disabled experience as I know it, and to learn more please visit the end notes on AO3 where I explain in a little more detail some of the features of Spencer’s symptoms and condition.

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taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith

#my writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #moreid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fluff #moreid au #criminal minds au #disabled spencer reid

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Nine

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 9 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: strong language; use of a derogatory slur/racist language (not said by any main character); mentions of blood and injuries; angst!  

Word Count: 11,200+

A/N: One more chapter after this - I should really stop labeling this as a mini-series considering it’s already over 100,000 total words lmao. Thank you for staying with me this long! I love you guys soooo much!!!

~

Utah Merry Hotel, January 2025, 2:09pm

     “I’m being an ol’ sport, why can’t you?” You whine, stomping your feet as you trudged up the stairs to the hotel roof. “It’s our first serious stakeout in forever! I’m pretty sure Wanda shaved her legs for this.”

Steve shoots a flustered and unsettled look over his shoulder. He’s lugging the rifles and extra equipment on both his shoulders so you know he’s truly baffled because to even attempt a look over… well, that required real effort. He doesn’t answer, however; he continues upward. 

Bucky and Clint are following close behind. They’re tired, huffing every few steps and grunting while doing so. Finally, Bucky whines and throws himself against the wall dramatically. “Remind me why we couldn’t just get Wanda and Sam to lift us up there?”

Steve readjusts one of the rifle straps while he replies, “Buck, I told you not to skip leg day.”

“I skip ‘everything’ day. I’m just now employed as a superhero, thank you very much. The serum should be enough.”

“Are we even close?” Clint asks and passes Bucky on a few steps. Bucky takes that as a challenge though and hoists himself more steps before giving up again. 

You just watch in pure amusement. Makes you really proud that your thighs are stronger than theirs. “Just a few more flights.”

They both groan in unison. Steve has already rounded the next flight, no longer waiting on the three of you. It takes several more minutes until you kick open the roof door Steve had left slightly ajar. It’s cold outside, wind howling with icy droplets whipping through your hair. It’s only fifty stories up but it’s pretty high - you can see the tops of the trees, or branches really. It’s winter in Utah and most of the trees are naked and covered in snow. You hope Bucky and Clint, the dynamic duo no one saw coming, still have good aim in this wind after a year of vacation. 

“Alright. Buck - Clint, set up over there. Y/N, you’re over there.” 

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

You set up where Steve instructed. You’ve got a simple magnifier and some binoculars - you won’t have to do any shooting today, thank the Gods. Clint’s got his arrows and Bucky’s got his sniper. Steve’s waiting for a signal from Sam if need be - he won’t need to shoot today either. 

“Wanda and Sam will let us know when the cars pass the barrier. The tech cannot, under any circumstances, pass through the gate right over there.” Steve points to the giant, black coated metal gate. There’s no one on duty. You made sure to evacuate the area and any staff before. The tech these goons are bringing in is all stolen Stark Tech. And according to Happy, strict instructions are to ‘blow it to Hell’.  

“And if it does?” Bucky asks, grinning mischievously at Steve’s pointed look. 

“What’d I just say?”

Bucky laughs and puts his hands up in surrender. “Damn, Stevie. Calm thyne tits.” He goes back to fiddling with his rifle. “Blow the tires before they reach the gates but after they pass the barrier. Got it.”

“Peter, you in position?” Steve asks and adjusts his earpiece. 

You can hear Peter over your own mic. “Seatbelts look easy enough to break. I’m in position, I can easily pull them from the trucks.”

“Five minutes then.”

You all settle in. The cold has passed through the leather of your boots and your toes are paying the price. It makes you miss the rain of spring and the sprinkles of fall, when everything is drenched rather than frozen and your toes still have mobility. Your jacket is big enough but it scratches your neck every time you lean down to look through the magnifier. As the minutes tick by, you brave the cold and take it off. You’d rather conduct your part efficiently and without the constant distraction. 

“It’s almost forty degrees out,” Steve mumbles beside you. He’s looking over the roof balcony and into the trees. He’s squints and refuses your offer of binoculars. 

“So I get a sore throat.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Tony put a heater in all our suits. You should have worn yours.”

“My suit is half nano. It’s excessive for a stakeout.”

He huffs but you ignore him, choosing to look through the rejected binoculars instead. He shuffles, and then there’s a warm weight enveloping your shoulders. It’s his sweater, cotton and baby blue, and he lifts the hood to cover your cheeks and ears. Your stomach flip-flops.

“Uh, thank you,” you say and zip it closed.

Steve shrugs lightly, “Don’t mention it.”

So you don’t. He doesn’t look cold besides or he’s just really good at masking it. It’s quiet now; you can’t really hear the quiet mutters of Clint and Bucky enough to join in and to not mention the jacket is eating at you. You opt for a casual conversation instead while you wait. 

“Soooo… how’d your date go last week?”

Steve clears his throat and turns to you, a forced grin on his face. “They, uh, they were sweet.”

“Sweet,” you repeat, nodding at nothing and cursing yourself for creating such an awkward moment. “Going on a second one?”

He sighs and his expression actually turns truthful. “No, don’t see that happening.”

For a second, you’re appalled. Who wouldn’t give Steve a second date? He’s an absolute catch and being a famous superhero wasn’t exactly a dealbreaker for many. Or maybe it was and Steve was blaming his alias once again for no fairytale ending. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t want you?”

The words leave your mouth too quickly to reel them back in. Steve’s cheeks turn pinker, both from your words and the chill, and he ducks his head low as he answers. “It’s my fault, really. They were sweet but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Mm, on your phone? Daydreaming? Were they a bore?”

Steve chuckles, “I pulled out my phone, like, once to answer a text but I was a proper gentleman!”

The tension is slowly melting and there’s a soft twinkle in his eye as he laughs. It’s been so long since he’s looked at you this way: on his own accord and not on order. “Bucky said they were, and I quote,” you lower your voice and look over at Bucky to make sure he’s distracted. “‘Cute as hell’.”

Steve gives Bucky a warm look. “Eh, it’s fine. Wasn’t the one.”

“The one,” you mock in a deep voice. “Who texted you that it was so important to ignore someone cute as hell?”

Steve hesitates and looks over the balcony as if wishing for an interruption. But the trucks aren’t near yet and Sam hasn’t given the signal. “Uh, it was Peter.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that. He’ll feel incredibly guilty if he ruined your chances at getting laid.”

Steve shoves your shoulder a bit harder than he intended and it makes you stumble back. He quickly catches you by the arm and holds you still, a sheepish smile painting his pink face. He mumbles a quick ‘sorry’, and goes back to lean over the railing. “It’s cool, he knew.”

You fake a surprised gasp, “Even worse!”

“He needed me to stop by the compound and I did. Really, it’s okay,” Steve assures and he’s speaking a little quicker. He fidgets with his thumbs and it looks like he wants to wrap up that portion of the conversation. But he looks over at you and sighs deeply, and he rolls his eyes as his upper lip tilts upward. “Ask.”

“What’d he want?” It makes your belly all warm to know he expects this enthusiasm from you.

“Wanted me around. Buck and Wanda were out getting dinner.”

“Yeah, but like, what for?”

He gives you a knowing smile, like you walked right into that trap. “You made dinner but Peter was too nice to say he didn’t enjoy it, so he texted me knowing I would like it. Knowing I had it before. He didn’t want there to be leftovers because then you’d be sad.”

You step back and shake your head like there’s a fly swarming around. It startles you. “You left your date… during dinner… to come to the compound to eat the dinner I made instead?”

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“How not?”

It’s five minutes when Sam calls it in. You groan in frustration and give Steve a look that says the conversation isn’t over. 

There are four armored vehicles and the magnifier illuminates three bodies per car. The targets will be hit starting from the last to keep the explosions out of each driver’s line of sight. 

“Target acquired,” Bucky mumbles and clicks off his safety. He closes one eye and settles comfortably as he awaits Steve’s signal.         

Clint tugs back an arrow, “Same here, Cap.”

“Wanda, you ready?” Steve’s voice is lower when he’s focused. He looks over at you, your hand up with an index finger raised, and waits. Wanda answers that she’s ready and Sam counts it down. The first truck crosses the barrier, then the next, next, and finally the fourth and you drop your hand in a fast swipe. 

“Fire! Go Parker!”

Bucky shoots the back tires of all four vehicles and Clint shoots his arrows to penetrate through the passenger doors. Peter works fast, webs slinging from side to side grabbing one passenger right after the other. Once the trucks are empty, Clint activates the arrows and you all prepare for the explosions. The fourth car catches flame first and Wanda contains the explosion perfectly, balling it up into a weak bundle of light and string. She does the same to the third and second, bundles extinguishing just as quickly as they burst. But the first car swings out of control on manual and the explosion is delayed.

“Clint?”

Clint leans over the balcony and squints, as if it would help. “I don’t know. It’s not going off.” He’s clicking the detonator repeatedly, holding it up for all of you to see. 

“Wanda, the truck! The truck! Sam!” You scream as the truck crashes through the gate and hurls closer to the hotel. The commotion is enough for Bucky to pop out from his cover and the four of you watch in horror as the truck still doesn’t stop. Clint has stopped clicking the button, but it’s no use. The truck finally explodes in an outbreak of debris and electricity. The Stark Tech reacts poorly to the strain, electric gusts of smoke fire left and right and rattle the building. It feels like an earthquake, shaking the already weak foundations and old brick. Wanda catches the bottom to better contain it and tries desperately to smother it. But the shaking doesn’t stop and the corners of the roof are collapsing. 

Steve leaps to grab and pull you away and just as quickly to catch Clint’s leg before he falls over the edge. Clint is thrown back rather harshly but Steve isn’t thinking about the abuse of strength right now - no, not while Bucky slips and hangs on to a rogue pipe. Steve crawls and latches onto his hand before the pipe gives way. He yells as he tugs Bucky up with only one arm, the other having to hold onto undisturbed brick. He won't let Bucky fall. Not again.

Bucky throws his leg up and over solid ground, and you go to help Steve pull him up. Bucky’s heavy and his metal hand pinches your skin bad but he’s safe. Wanda struggles to contain the electricity but she’s succeeding. The rumbling slows until nothing moves anymore. You collapse back in exhaustion.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Bucky gasps as he rubs his face. 

“Is Wanda okay?” You mumble more to yourself and struggle to pull yourself back up. But the sudden weight of your body proves too much for the edge and in a horrible wave, you’re falling through. You practically file your nails as you try to latch onto falling brick.

“No!” You feel the scratch of someone’s fingers along your forearm and soon they’re digging into your skin, and it hurts but you figure it’s better than splitting your skull open. Pebbles of concrete are falling down onto your face and the smoke from the explosion is clogging your nostrils. You hang for a few seconds, like the person can’t believe they actually caught you. Then they begin pulling you up, lifting you to safety, and you claw the rest of the way only to tumble into Steve’s chest, shaking. 

He pulls you into his arms but they’re restless, roaming over your shoulders and through your knotted hair clumsily. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice wavers and he’s on the verge of tears, it seems. His waterline is glossy and his lips are quivering. “Answer me.”

“I’m fine, hey. Steve? I’m good.”

He pulls away and his hands hover you like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m sorry. I should have kept you close. I-” His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “You sure you’re okay?”

Disregarding his words is difficult, especially when you feel a second meaning to them, but you force yourself to do so. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him like this. And each time you have, it was never because of anything good. “Y-yeah. I’m good, Rogers.”

Bucky and Clint look at each other, they look at Steve, to you, and back to each other. Finally, Clint breaks the silence and huffs a light chuckle. “Are we really THAT rusty?”

Present Day, 2025, 11:45pm

    The Montana skies are clear and free of passenger planes, allowing the Quinjet to swift easily on autopilot. You could never drive this thing and the building anxiety of that reality bubbles each time it makes an unsteady bounce. 

Steve’s laying in the makeshift medical wing and though it’s against protocol, he’s on a secure line with Dr. Cho. She takes her time, albeit working as fast as possible too, and her light voice is fairly calm. It settles you to hear her speak this way. 

‘I need you to use this disinfectant, Captain Rogers. Do not pour it on all at once… Good, now dig through gently and make sure the pliers are sanitized.’

Steve digs out the bullets himself and bites down on a clean towel. He’s biting down hard enough that his teeth make a squeaking sound against it. It takes every ounce of your willpower to not do it for him. The Montana skies are beautiful, at least. It’s a good distraction. 

Steve gives a rather painful yell as he finally plucks the second bullet, cursing as a stream of blood drips onto the table. He’s got such tough skin - miracle or serum - that the bullets didn’t pass all the way through. Dr. Cho moves on to how to properly bandage the wound but Steve begins to tune her out. 

Two years mucking through mud and bodies and getting patched up every other day has prepared him for whatever life may throw during this new century. Not much has changed, it seems. 

When the line disconnects, Steve can finally just relax. He focuses on the soft rumble of the engine and your steady breaths. 

     You hold your breath as you settle the Quinjet on the open field, only half of you actually trusting automatic tech. Steve coaches you the whole time too, the little shit, and promises you’ll never be doing that again. 

Steve stumbles and teeters and falls on the porch steps with a low groan. You let him fall because you know you’d only fall with him. He catches himself with the hand he’s been pressing over the bandage while the other still holds on to you. You fight the urge to crash down with him and bite your lip as you look up to the night sky. 

“C’mon, Rogers,” you swallow down the increasing worry, “We’re almost inside.”

Steve huffs a pained laugh and nods. He grabs your arm again and with his remaining strength, pulls himself up,

The inside of the cabin looks comfier than the outside. You help Steve to the couch closest to the unlit fireplace before going out back to turn on the power. There’s a thin layer of ice in the grass so just in case, you scope out the garage and make sure there are snow supplies. Not that you really know what the hell snow supplies actually look like, but there’s a shovel and you figure that’s as much as your brain is going to piece together. 

When you get back inside, Steve’s fumbling with the coffee maker and leaving tiny fingerprints of blood over every surface he touches. You don’t comment on them, just step back and discreetly wipe the counters each time he passes. 

“Figured you’d like a pot,” Steve says. 

It damn near breaks your heart how small his voice sounds. The fact he’s stumbling around the cabin making sure you’ve got your coffee fix while he’s nursing two bullet wounds damn near snaps it in two.

“Thank you,” you respond and go to lead him back to the couch. He moans quietly when he sits and again as you lay him down. “I hope you don’t think I’m sleeping here,” Steve laughs and tries to hide his wince due the uncomfortable rumble. 

You smile and touch your hand to his hot cheek. His body is working overtime fighting off infection and regenerating tissue. His cheeks are a lovely scarlet red and so is the beautiful bulb of his crooked nose. He’s a little shiny, like varnish over light paint strokes, and taking the fever like a champ. “I’ll help you to the bed in a little bit. Let’s get that fever down first.”

Steve sighs, defeated, but nods. He lays his head back on the pillow and once he shuts his eyes, you get to work. The bathroom is stocked with the simple necessities: aloe vera, vapor rub, heating and cold pads, dozens of towels, and painkillers. You pop two painkillers yourself before gathering everything and dropping it on a nearby table in the kitchen. The coffee is about done brewing so you fill up a mug with bottled water and set it in the microwave for two minutes. You dip a chamomile tea bag a few times once the water is heated. There’s no teapot - you’ll apologize to Steve later. 

Once Steve’s happily sipping his tea, you start on the medicine. You wet the small towels and lay them over his forehead and bare chest. You rub aloe vera on the other cuts he obtained from hand-to-hand and finally rub the vapor rub in the dip of his neck and just below his nose. Steve gives you this funny smile as you do so, scrunching his nose and wiggling it back and forth. 

“Vicks,” you say as you show him the small container. “Heal you right up.”

“I bet,” he laughs. “Stuff smells like what I think liquid morphine would taste.” A laugh bursts from your chest, your first real instance of calm during these last few hours. You ignore his protests and smother more across his chest. 

Steve settles deeper into the couch and returns to his tea. He’s got less sweat on his skin now but he’s still red. You go to pour yourself that coffee and return to his side. The nanotech is growing stiffer and scratching your skin but you refuse to get comfortable until Steve’s fever breaks. You’re still covered in Ernesto’s blood, the red now a hellish brown, and you try not to move your face much for risk of feeling the dry pull of it. 

“Steve,” you try, but Steve shakes his head and makes sure to meet your gaze before he speaks. 

“No. The less I know the better.”

It surprises you, makes you feel more guilty, but you understand. Not telling him the full truth would be beneficial in the long run. Still, your hands hug the mug closer to your chest. “Do you think I did something bad?”

His upper lip tugs upward, “Do you think you did something bad?”

You don’t think for long. There’s not much need to. “No.”

He nods, “But you care what I think?”

“Of course I do. You’re not just my Captain anymore - you’re my friend. I care even when I’m asking you if my eggs need more salt.”

“You trust me enough to correct your cooking?” He teases, but it’s a question disguised as another. 

“I trust you enough to tell me if I need more salt. You’re not correcting it.” He laughs and dips deeper into the couch. The bandage is bleeding through, only slightly, so you move to find the first-aid kit. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

You hum your disagreement. “I’m gonna keep it clean until you’re strong enough to shower.”

“You can always help me shower,” he mumbles into his tea. 

Rolling your eyes, you gently nudge his shoulder as you sit back down with the kit. “If you fall, I can’t catch you, you big lug. We’d have to tell everyone we screwed in there because you falling on top of me, injured, is somehow more embarrassing.”

He allows you to remove the soiled bandage and dab around the healing wounds. He’s bruising around the sides, multiple shades of green and yellow already, and the holes are stitched rather poorly. It makes you feel a little better about your own criss-cross work - even Steve sucks at it. 

“I’m sorry I had to go and get myself shot,” Steve apologizes and sucks in a deep breath when the towel drags a little too roughly. 

“Yeah, what the hell happened there?”

He almost mimics you in the way he shrugs his shoulders and lifts his arms in that ‘well, fuck if I know’ position, pursing his lips and expelling a chuckle. “Had my gun trained on Ernesto. Ernesto had his own on Ramirez. Then Seda came in and Ernesto ordered Ramirez to hand his over to Seda. Played right into Seda’s hands.”

You process the explanation slowly and dab his wound a few more times before unwrapping the clean bandage. “And the damn shield?”

Steve’s embarrassed by that small detail, he’ll admit it, because he truly was blindsided by Seda’s appearance. You were supposed to be holding him down after all. “In my defense! When it’s shrunk down and in your pocket rather than latched onto one’s arm, it’s easily forgettable.”

You clean around the wound softly before placing and taping the new bandage. The conversation settles and you’re both quiet for a long, long minute. He thanks you for cleaning him up by rubbing sweet circles into the knuckles of your right hand. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. It’s like a wave of irrefutable worry and rage, all bunched together with each emotion trying to outweigh the other. That goddamn riptide, sucking you in and keeping your head below water just for the hell of it. Breathing in harshly, you fail to keep yourself from stuttering over your words. “I’m sorry.”

Steve bites back a groan of pain as he leans over to take your cheeks in his palms. The brush of his fingertips lets you know that you’ve already started crying. You don’t much care about the facade anymore. “Doll, listen to me. Listen.”

“I never meant to leave you alone.”

“You never did.”

You bark out a wet laugh, sarcastic. “I should have run faster. I should have killed him all those years ago. I should have never brought you into this.”

“You did what you had to do,” he says, fiercely. He forgets his own strength for a second, only slightly diminished from the healing process, and loosens his tight grip against your cheeks. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“I wanted to hate you,” you admit. Your bottom lip is trembling and your hands clench together over your thighs. “I wanted to hate you so much. If I did, then you getting hurt or killed on this mission wouldn’t hurt so bad. I hated you for what you did. Because it made me realize that I could never hate you at all.”

“Hey,” he tries, hands now lowering to clutch at your own. “Stop apologizing for having a heart. Stop thinking you’re not worthy of even having one.”

Your face crumbles and Steve realizes for the first time in a long time just how much you’ve been holding in. “Why didn’t you use the stones?”

Steve’s heart clenches at the sound of the crack in your voice. He hasn’t heard that crack since Clint fell to his knees without Natasha by his side. He holds onto you tighter and prepares himself for an admission he never thought he would ever have to give. “Because Peggy told me not to.”

Something confusing happens in the middle of your chest. It clenches with anger but understanding. The answer to your question was always this simple but it looks like it’s tearing Steve apart from the inside-out.

    She’s as beautiful as the day he went into the ice. All he has to do is whisper her name so sweetly, delicately, and she turns her head like she’s answering the prayer. First her knees buckle, eyes watering and blotching her vision, and she collapses on the soft grass of her backyard. Steve’s holding her the very next second, repeating that he’s real, he’s here. 

“Steve,” Peggy gasps, hands shaking as she brings them to his wet cheeks. She grips and pokes and does everything so comically that Steve laughs a wet laugh when she starts smacking him. “What is going on?”

And he tells her. Everything he can remember: the good, the bad, the wretched. He spills everything, and he spills the most delicate information of their time: he’s alive, just frozen; Bucky’s alive, just hurt; the world is saved, just broken. Whether she believes it or not Steve’s not sure, but he’s so goddamn happy to see her again that he chokes every other word. 

“And you? You’re happy?”

His eyebrows come together and he looks at Peggy like she’s speaking another language. She’s got the same red lipstick, same curl in her hair even if it’s longer now, and she’s filling out her dresses more. “Pegs, don’t ask me that.”

She detaches herself slowly from his arms, pausing their dance as she speaks. “Why not? You can’t expect me to accept that you stopped by to see me all willy-nilly after saving the universe.” Her lips twitch into a knowing smile and Steve melts. Her voice is sending him into a spiral, a world he never thought he would see again, and he realizes just how much he loves accents on women  - especially this woman. 

“I just,” he chokes out, and brushes his index finger down her cheek. “I had to see you again.”

“I get that,” Peggy says and pays no mind that the record player has stopped; she still sways gently with Steve. “But you’ve just mentioned a whole other world you’ve been a part of. You’ve got your best guy back, that Wilson fellow sounds like the life of the party, and this Agent Y/N certainly sounds like she’s been by your side through it all.”

Steve stutters in his step and holds her closer. Her stomach presses against his, and he stops abruptly. He looks down between them and runs his hand from her shoulder, down, to lay across her growing belly. “Pegs.”

She gives him the same wide and proud smile she gave him when he returned with the 107th. She lays her hand over his. “I know.” She laughs and tilts her head lovingly. “I’m happy, too.”

Steve bites his lip to keep from sobbing. He was so stupid for coming to this timeline, for ruining Peggy’s chance at happiness, for interrupting the life he already knew she created for herself. He inputted the wrong year, he suddenly realizes, and steps back arms-length from her. “I’m sorry, I was stupid to come here. I just wanted to see you and then I did, and I… I still love you, Pegs.”

“Oh,” Peggy gasps, bottom lip trembling. “Darling, do not mistake yourself, even for a second, into thinking that I do not love you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for having a heart.”

He wants to argue, say he’s stupid a million more times, but he finds himself listening to her gentle words. It’s Peggy, Steve thinks. She’s always been right.

“In this world you live in, you have James?” He nods. She continues, “In this world you live in, you just lost two of your most loved friends?” He nods again. He wipes his face from forehead to chin. “In this world you live in, you have met a woman who has the same stubbornness as you; has the same self-sacrificing streak, who has your heart in such shambles that you dare call her one of your best friends?”

Steve thinks of you and how broken your smile was as you waved him goodbye, hand clenching Sam’s as Steve gathered the stones and Mjolnir. He thinks of the times you’d leap onto his back and demand a ride; the times he’s saved your ass in a firefight; how his sleep has definitely improved ever since he started calming you from nightmares - he hasn’t slept so well since before the war. He nods again.

Her eyes go soft. “Steve,” she starts and Steve knows. He doesn’t want to know. “Don’t abandon the world you’ve built for yourself. Surround yourself with the people you love. Do this for me.”

“There’s so much hate and blood waiting for me when I get back, Pegs. I don’t want to-”

“There is a difference between you not wanting to and you having to.” He drops his head and focuses on the floor. Peggy isn’t done grilling him, however, and he looks back up to grant her the respect. “You must not abandon the world you helped create. I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m saying this because I know you don’t want to.”

“Pegs.”

“I see right through you, Steve. We marched together through mud and blood before. We’ve got two years of fighting side by side under our belts. I’ve seen you at your worst, and you I. I know that face anywhere.”

“I missed you, Pegs,” Steve breathes. She cups his face with her hands and draws their foreheads together.

“The stars weren’t written in our favor. But to know that you’re alive, and that you make it, and that you actually get to live,” she bites back a sob. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“It isn’t my world to begin with.”

“No, you’re a man out of time. But so is James. You won’t abandon him now, will you?”

He chuckles low and their noses touch. “Stop making me feel guilty for wanting to find you, Peggy.”

She presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and finally breaks away. “And you won’t abandon that sweet girl who has put up with your nonsense for the last five years, you say?”

Steve shakes his head and meets Peggy’s gaze. “I’m just tired.”

“They are too, I bet.” He turns to the door and to Peggy, and she figures it’s almost time for him to leave. “You have been the archer and the brave, Steve. I’m absolutely certain you’ve been more. You will be more.”

Steve says his final goodbyes and stops to remember the fine details of Peggy’s face. The fifties are treating her well. Steve expected nothing less. Bright lights flash around him and he’s back to the world he wanted to leave, to hide from, and he sees you - and your mouth parts in shock.

     “And you listened to her?” you ask. 

Steve smiles, although it’s hard for him to remember that conversation. “I came back. I didn’t listen to her when she said to surround myself with people who love me, and who I love in return.”

“No, you made damn sure of that.”

“Hey,” Steve chuckles. “Don’t take smacks at me when you’re down.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s just too easy sometimes.” Laughing about the two years of missed chances and spoiled friendship was not on your bingo card for this week. 

“I don’t know how this is going to play out,” you admit. Steve looks so young with a somber expression: his eyebrow creases gently without wrinkling the rest of his forehead, the side of his mouth tilts downward, and his eyelashes kiss the pink of cheeks. “I decided in the moment. So I’m fuck all out of ideas on how to proceed.”

He nods in understanding. “Guess we just have to look over our shoulders three times instead of two now.”

“Simple like that?” You scrub a hand over your face and curse inwardly when you smudge your lipstick down to your chin. You ignore it. “I know we’re Avengers, but.”

“No buts,” Steve says and moves to sit up. You help him by pushing his shoulders and he accepts your help as you struggle to the bathroom. “You helped the guy and his daughter. I’m sure he’s going to be watching our backs from now on.”

You help Steve strip from his dress pants and shoes and finally remove your suit as well. The graze on your arm is covered in brown, dried blood but the wound isn’t deep. It’ll sting like a sunburn, you know that, but it’s better than being shot through. You watch Steve enter the shower and leave the curtain drawn. His bandage is soaked again but thankfully it’s from the water and not more blood. You grab a spare towel and soak it with water and soap, and rub it across your lips and chin. 

“Let me do that,” Steve calls. You strip bare and bring the towel with you into the shower. Steve takes it and scrubs over your face, gently but more rough as he gets to your eyes. It’s an innocent moment of ‘ouch, scrub softer!’ and ‘surprised I didn’t take all your lashes off’. He helps clean your wound as well and once you’re both clean, he bandages you up and you him. 

The master bedroom is the only room without electricity so you gather some candles. It’s like the two of you won’t admit you’re currently afraid of the dark or what may lie in it. They illuminate the room in a delicate orange and it’s such a peaceful color to briefly see before falling asleep, head tucked into Steve’s chest and his heartbeat thrumming gently with your breath. 

     It’s a wonder what a night’s sleep can do. Steve’s wounds are sealed and his fever is gone, but there’s a signature left behind. A pink and white patch of skin as tender as a newborn’s, a memory. Steve pours your coffee and his tea while you trace your fingers over it.

Two hours after eating a small breakfast and securing the perimeter, a soft ding startles you from the random book you’re reading. Steve’s phone shines with a message from Sam. It simply reads: ‘Clear’. Grabbing the phone and walking out onto the porch, you find Steve sitting on one of the steps he tripped over just yesterday. He’s sketching the sky and the trees, taking his time on the lines of the branches, the strokes of the leaves, and the frost over them. He looks up, studies his surroundings, and looks back down to add a detail he previously missed. He sniffs, rubs his nose, and finally notices you leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hey,” he says, soft. “Any news?”

You hold up his phone and nod. “Sam says we’re clear to fly in.”

Steve looks back to his drawing. You hesitate before speaking, knowing damn well an all clear means get your ass back as soon as possible. “Finish your drawing. I’ll pack whatever we need to.” Steve’s mouth parts but he shuts it just as quickly. Slowly, he nods. 

     There isn’t much to pack since you brought nothing but the clothes on your backs. Everything at the hotel was collected before the wedding and should have flown back with Scott and the others. It feels awkward stealing bottled water and processed foods to hoard on the quinjet, but it’s a necessity. Steve meets you at the quinjet doors, shows you his drawing, and volunteers to take the wheel. 

“You’re not volunteering. You’re ordering.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No license, no drive.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“Don’t think for one second I won’t actually hand the wheels over and happily crash while screaming ‘I told you so’.” 

Steve steers for the duration of your flight. The next few hours are spent just enjoying each other’s company, speaking of all things and simply catching up. It’s amazing how much you two missed from one another’s lives those two years.

      The landing base is clear and it’s Sam who’s waiting for you as the Quinjet manually lands itself. He shoots you a gap-toothed smile and extends his arms, pulling the two of you in at the same time for a strong hug. He’s talking a mile a minute about how successful the mission was, how Fury is over the moon that it’s finally over, how the DEA is thinking of congratulating everyone one by one. It’s enough to distract Steve, who’s just happy to see his best friend again, but it isn’t enough for you. The large metal doors sealing the storage facility from the rest of the compound are thrown open. Bucky stumbles through and practically sprints over to the three of you. 

“Get back on the jet,” he orders, already pulling you by the arm. You all look at one another like he’s gone mad but that’s impossible. Bucky’s paranoia isn’t something to take lightly; he’s right nine out of ten times. 

“Buck, what-?”

“Rhodes couldn’t hold them. They have warrants, Steve.”

Steve hauls Sam onto the jet as well. “Warrants for who?”

“Get down from the jet without a fight and this will all go smoothly.”

There are about twenty uniformed officers surrounding the jet. They spread out in case anyone decides to run but it seems pointless to even try. Secretary Ross points his gun directly at you, proud and tall and looking just the same as you remember him. Last time you saw him was at Tony’s funeral. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you bite, and raise your hands in cooperation. Ross shakes his head and his expression contorts into one of disgust. There are red beams coming from each gun but your friends are clean - the beams are only pointed at you.

“Agent Y/N Y/LN, you’re under arrest for multiple charges of drug smuggling, trafficking of illegal goods, the murder of Ernesto Vega and Daniel Seda, aiding and abetting drug-lord Omar Ramirez, and for conspiracy against the United States of America. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court of law...”

You drone out half way through. Ross finishes up the speech but no one is listening. Sam is already yelling over your Miranda Rights and Bucky’s frozen in place. Steve’s fighting his way through to Ross, pushing through the muscle until he’s face to face with him. But Ross isn’t fazed. There’s nothing left to do but exit the jet. 

Immediately there are handcuffs slapped to your wrists. Two men drag you over to the containment car that’s enforced with so much indestructible material it’s almost insulting. You weren’t enhanced - they were doing this for fun.

“You’ve got it all wrong! Y/N! Y/N!”

You don’t fight. Conspiracy… you’re surprised they didn’t just shoot you dead. Steve’s still yelling, begging to be heard, but you try to block him out. It’s not your first time being arrested but it is your first time being charged with something you didn’t do. As funny as that sounds, it’s terrifying. 

“Steve,” you say, and Steve breaks through some more hired muscle so he’s within earshot. “It’s okay.”

His face pulls up in pain, “No, you didn’t do this! They’re not listening!”

One of the officers pushes your head down roughly and tries to shove you in the backseat. You’re still looking at Steve. And those eyes, wounded and vulnerable, haunt him even after the door shuts and the car drives away.

     There’s a privilege attached to the mantle of Captain America. Perhaps he was too blind to see it during the war or just too proud he was finally being heard and respected, but now he sees it for what it really is. It’s a mantle this country has never truly associated with the person but with the purpose. Steve was manufactured to help protect this country under government orders and when he defied that purpose, he disgraced the mantle. Seems like some people idolize the role a little too much. 

But he’s still Captain America. This reality has continued to clear his name from stunts he pulls and laws he breaks. And once Steve is able to walk away without so much as a scratch, he leaves bodies behind.

Sharon. Sam. Bucky. Wanda. And now you. All people who fought his fight and weren’t granted the quick privilege of that perceived pureness and holiness. He was always ready for combat, he was built for it, but he didn’t really want it. 

Did he?

Ripping that star off his chest was one thing. Accepting his new shield cemented his continual legacy as the Star-Spangled Man. He deserved to be in that cell with you. But if he learned anything about how the world works, it’s that cruelty doesn’t just win in the movies. All of his enemies started out friends and if he had to bet, he’d bet the reason they’re labeled as such is partially because of him. 

So he sits and listens to everyone’s ideas and plans, vetoing and dismissing one right after the other, his mind doing jumping jacks. He’s both there and not, drowning in the fact that he made it home and you didn’t. He doesn’t know how to sleep without the sound of your snoring anymore. 

He sits and listens. 

    The cell isn’t one you would expect for someone who has been charged for betraying her country. It’s modestly furnished: a black cot in the far right corner with a mini table beside it, a desk with some paper, and a door that leads to the private bathroom. All in all, the room’s size is that of a child’s bedroom; there’s no actual pens and pencils for risk of violent behavior and there’s a bulb camera that moves when you move. 

You’ve been trapped in worse. 

Countless detectives and investigators have visited already. They all ask the same questions: Why did you do it? Did Captain Rogers know? Who are you, really? 

You give the same answers: I didn’t do it. Of course, every single person knows. Who do you think I am?

Every time they leave more discouraged than the one before them, refusing to compare notes with one another in case they were in possession of gold. They all ignore you when you try to ask for Steve and his wellbeing. Their faces contort, they whisper to their partners, and they shake their heads in disappointment. One even goes as far as to threaten you, warning you to keep Captain Roger’s name out of your wetback mouth or else, until he’s escorted from the cell. Not that it really matters - the manipulated ideals of these people will always blur their search for the truth. And when the truth fails to satisfy such greedy manipulations, they choose to create their own.

There is one agent who peaks your interest. He offers you gum when he settles in the chair near the door. His name badge reads ‘Kavert’; it glares in the bright lights overhead and he makes no other attempt at small talk once he gets comfortable and opens his little notepad. 

That goddamn notepad, you think. Every single person before has prided themselves over it, scribbling little notes about your tone of voice, body movement, and vague answers. You never give much, Natasha had taught you better, so they always end up writing less than two bullet points before giving up. 

But Agent Kavert surprises you by opening up to a blank page, spitting his chewed gum in the middle, and then he shuts it closed. He offers you a real smile, one that doesn’t look practiced or forced. It lets you study him without being so guarded or uncomfortable. He seems young, not really a rookie but it’s obvious he’s spent more time behind a desk than out in the field. His dark hair is short, sprinkled grays near his temples, and his attire screams upper level. His build is lean, his gun is in the holster on his right hip, and a part of you knows he’d put up a hell of a fight if you tried to escape. 

“I was gonna comment on what lovely weather we’re having, but I don’t think you get out much.” 

You’re startled into a real laugh. Satisfaction washes over his face. 

“I think you’re wasting your time, Agent Kavert.”

He grins and moves to proudly pull at his jacket and present his badge. He sets the notebook to the side and leans forward to cup his hands together on his knees. 

You squint at him. There’s nothing interesting about you right now: back against the wall as you sit criss-crossed on the cot, sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hair brushed but a little greasy. Your last shower was two days ago and you figure they’ll let you have one tonight. 

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s no point in hoping you’ll tell me anything you haven’t shared yet.”

“Nope.”

He hums low in his throat and tilts his head to the left. Now, he squints at you. “I just don’t get it. How did you do it? Not show up on our radar, I mean?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s calling you guilty or innocent. Already he’s one-hundred percent different from the other agents. “I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

He sits up to lean back in the chair, “Different last name, government and Avenger protection, covering your tracks so carefully even the DEA missed you.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Yes, but,” he starts. He acts like he’s having a normal conversation on his front porch. “It still doesn’t make sense. How could Nick Fury miss this? Tony Stark? After the whole Obadiah situation, I expected him to-”

“It’s simple, really. Do you want to know or do you want to keep making assumptions?”

He’s watched the other agents leave by this point. Some couldn’t even make you talk. So he shuts up and waves his hand for you to continue. 

“Cool,” you breathe out. “First of all, I’m literally only telling you this because I’ve already been refused a lawyer or some crap like that and I highly doubt this is going to actual court. The publicity would be horrible.” 

He bites his lip but you catch the little smile forming. You continue, “And I have nothing to hide. I’m sure my Captain, my teammates, and Fury himself have given their sides. Am I right?”

Agent Kavert adjusts himself in the seat and nods in response. He doesn’t dare interrupt you now. 

“Good, then I’ll keep it sweet. They knew who I was. I was recruited to be an inside source, a double agent, and this wedding was the perfect chance to corner those men,” you declare, turning your hands palm up and shrugging your shoulders. “There, happy?”

“Double agent.” Agent Kavert chews over the words, rolling them around on his tongue a few more times. He’s squinting harder and you can see his brain working. The next sound to leave his lips is a heavy sigh and a feeling of immense irritation washes over you. It wasn’t enough.  “Are we going to be truthful yet, Agent?”

Chuckling lightly, you rest the back of your skull on the wall. It was wrong to assume he’d be any different from the others. “Of course you don’t believe me. You want more, they all do. I don’t suppose I have anything better to do.”

He claps his hands on his thighs and leans forward again, loud and restless. “Then let’s get started, really: Did you or did you not let Omar Ramirez, Mexican drug-lord involved with Ernesto Vega, your father... imagine that, run away from a crime scene, evade arrest, and possibly leave the country?”

“You expect me to follow all those questions?”

“It’s not the time to be funny.”

“You were enjoying it just a second ago,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows, still waiting for an answer.  “Then let me put it simply: no, I did not.”

“Did you or did you not assassinate Ernesto Vega?”

“I would have remembered such a brilliant kill if it came from my gun.”

“So that’s a no… Daniel Seda?”

“His gun was pointed at my Captain. Yes.”

“Against orders, then?”

Confusion is written all over your face and you make sure the camera knows it too. There are only so many times you can repeat yourself. “Don’t you have Steve’s report? Scott’s?”

“We have to hear the story from you, Agent.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You don’t believe me.”

He shrugs and quickly scans you up and down. Even if he doesn’t have the tangible notepad in his hands, he’s getting away with making mental notes. “The story just isn’t piecing together the way it should be. Why would Daniel Seda murder his greatest ally and friend?”

“Our mics have already transcribed that answer for you, sir. I’m sure of it. And I’ve got sources outside of the DEA and Avengers-”

“Like Maribel Rodrigo? Another smuggler who has operated inside the cartel, HYDRA, Madripoor…”

You cut him off, angry. “Not the full story.” 

Tone of voice: defensive.

“Then that leads me to my next question.”

“Oh, fun.”

Tone of voice: sarcastic.

He speaks with a tinge of astonishment hidden in every syllable. “Why didn’t you do it? Kill Ernesto, I mean.”

“I was disarmed at the time. The Captain and I both were,” you answer, growing more impatient by the second.

He uses his hands to speak now, finger pointing along an invisible timeline detailing the order of events. “So you admit you were going to kill him if you had your weapon.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Body movement: rigid.

“Or maybe you weren’t. Maybe my boss is right, maybe the FBI is right in thinking that you are a double agent leaning more towards your roots than our boys in blue.” He says this like its scripture; like it’s some holy conspiracy he’s just found evidence for. He wants you to plant words in your mouth and in this discussion so he can pluck the evidence from the ground and water it with fire.

You scoff hard, “I hardly ever wear blue when doing your job for you.”

“Was letting Omar Ramirez escape our job or just yours?”

Telling him the truth would mean losing all credibility, all titles, all trust in your work. You know what you’ve done and you don’t regret it. Ramirez was never the biggest fish and if you spun this right, then he was simply a fish who got his meal and promptly swam away. “You assume I let him go. What evidence tells you that?”

He ignores the question and instead asks another of his. “Why were your relations kept hidden from SHIELD and the FBI?”

“That’s a question for you know who.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“I bet I am. But this is not some precinct where you can get my team to turn on me so easily. And this is not a situation in which they’re lying for me. I trust that whatever the Captain has said is the answer to all your questions.”

“We’re gonna unravel this case. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of sleepiness. These past two weeks have been exhausting even if you haven’t moved more than five feet from wall to wall. Having to repeat yourself to people who have already written the story for themselves is tiring. “I don’t know why you guys can’t just believe the words of myself and everyone vouching for me. We got you all the evidence. We have given you more names and connections that you’ll ever know what to do with. You don’t need to unravel anything; it’s all there! But because we weren’t able to arrest the one person you wanted, that being Ernesto, you go after me. You have White but I guess he’s not talking. And you’ll believe what you want to believe.”

“I trust my gut.”

“As simple as that, huh?” You sigh deeply and cross your arms over your chest. “You know, there’s a saying the late Agent Carter used to tell all SHIELD agents when they first started out and when they came back from missions. When she retired, it was Fury who then eased our minds.” 

Agent Kavert has a harsh line creasing through the middle of his forehead and he looks deeply interested. 

“There are three sides to every story,” you recite. “Your side, my side, and the truth.” A gentle shrug of the shoulders feels like all you’re allowed to give him. “I’m not lying to you but I’m not telling you the full truth either. Just my side.”

Agent Kavert shuts his eyes and bounces his left leg. He looks conflicted and unable to formulate a response at all. He’s shaking like he’s at war with himself or with the suits on the other side of the door, but no one has come knocking yet. “Let’s say I believe you. Just for a second.”

You nod. 

“Daniel Seda murders Vega at his own daughter’s wedding. We managed to catch Marcus White and because of fault entirely, Omar Ramirez gets away. Because from what I heard, Ramirez was working with you.” He paints the picture rather mundane, but you shoot him a smile that tells him he’s on the right track. “And you and all the other Avengers were blindsided by Ramirez. You gathered all the evidence you were told to gather, worked together and played your cards right, infiltrated one of the most secure estates in the country, and fucked up so badly that you managed to let two of your biggest giants die?”

“I really think you got it spot on.”

He laughs dryly, “But it still doesn’t make sense. Once Vega was gone and Seda survived, where would you have fallen in this tree?”

He wants to retract his question the moment he sees your face fall with such a sincerity he wasn’t ready for. “That’s just it, Agent Kavert. I would have fallen.”

“And the other two? How would business work? Would Daniel Seda have been the head of it now?”

“Your answers are in the evidence we gathered. I know you guys aren’t touching it because you think I’m compromised.”

He stands from the chair and dusts off his jacket. “Your side, my side, and the truth,” he repeats. He goes to open the door but you speak quickly before he can leave. 

“They think I infiltrated SHIELD, the Avengers, and am in bed with HYDRA because they’ve been helping Ernesto’s vision all along.” Agent Kavert stops and turns back to you. “I am a double agent whose identity was kept secret to aid this country and not raise suspicions from your part. I have seen a lot of things, have done things I’m not proud of, but I’ve done it all for a reason.”

Agent Kavert looks almost ashamed. Tone of voice: sincere.

“Me and my Captain saved lives, our own as well, and we stopped three of the most notorious drug-lords who have been at large since the eighties. We got your giants for you. And the truth is, I have discovered: through all my pain and experience... that it’s excellent to have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”

Agent Kavert doesn’t know if you’re talking about Ernesto, the U.S Government, yourself, or him. His eyebrows pinch together and he slowly moves to leave the room.

    It’s another week before you’re visited by someone who isn’t bringing you food or extra toilet paper. You’re picking at your cuticles when the vents above your cell begin rattling with the obvious weight of a human being. You sit dumbly on the bed, straining your ears and trying hard not to laugh as each rattle is returned with a muffled curse. The vent on the ceiling right outside your cell drops to the concrete floor. 

Ernesto’s men wouldn’t go through all that trouble to kill you James Bond style. They would have just bribed a guard. So it’s a treat when the door swings open quickly and in comes a staggering Clint, keys in one hand and his phone in the other. The screen is illuminated, showcasing what looks to be blueprints. He’s got a bandaid over his left eyebrow and dust all over his clothes.

Your upper lip twitches into a silly smile. “You’re ridiculous if you thought you wouldn’t be heard in those damn vents.”

Clint makes a noise that sounds like he’s saying ‘maaaf’ and he plops down beside you on the cot. It’s absolutely hilarious he traveled in the vents and that the team approved this when in reality, they could have just sent Scott. “Just had to get past the first line of security. Plus, the blueprints said they were wider... I figure we’ve got a good three minutes before they check the cameras.”

It’s not the first time you sit in a cell with a time crunch. 

     The Raft is nothing special. They have you all separated by rank, meaning you were in the same vicinity as Clint, Sam, and Scott. Wanda was moved to a more secure location and you haven’t seen her since they brought you in. 

There isn’t much to do in a place like this. You tried counting how many strands of hair you had but gave up once you counted two hundred; you tried seeing if the others could hear you when you yelled out to them but the cells were soundproof; you even tried filing your nails against the uneven paint on the wall. It’s like they made life in these cells purposefully horrible - like you didn’t save the world a couple times over, c’mon. 

The camera fidgets over your head where you’re laying down and after a few seconds, it stops. The red light slowly fades and turns a bright yellow. You move to stand on the bed and reach for it, but a voice startles you from doing so. 

“Don’t mess with my magic!”

You topple over the single pillow you were given and fall flat on the bed, scrambling to shield yourself from whoever intruded. “Jesus!”

“Oh, I met him. Strange lad, didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

There’s a moment where you think you must be dreaming. His hair is longer and hits his shoulders and he’s added some blue and yellow to his usual attire. But other than that, he’s alive. Truly, brilliantly, really alive. 

“Loki, what the fuck?”

“Right!” Loki claps his hands and extends them outwards, smiling.  “Ta-da!”

A few beats pass. You blink a few times just in case you’re hallucinating. Barely a week in containment… 

“I’m sorry… I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re still alive!”

He scoffs low and goes to sit at the edge of the bed. “A God never truly dies, darling.”

“Well in Greek mythology-”

“Greek mythology and I have this unsettled beef that’s been going on for about five hundred years. Do not mention Greek mythology to me.”

“Excuse me, right, I should have known that was a sensitive topic.”

Loki swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and expels a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your restraint is gone and you lunge forward to envelope him in the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. He returns it, sighing into your shoulder and holding you close. You pull away just to stare at him, watching his features as they move ever so slightly. It’s really him. 

“I-” Loki tries but stutters. He’s studying you too and he almost looks sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Does Thor know?” Loki shakes his head at your question and winces when you smack his shoulder. “Loki, Thor has been grieving you for months!”

“I’m planning on it!” You don’t believe him. He goes to rub his shoulder. “Gods, I forgot you had excellent aim.”

You look back at the camera and find that the yellow light is still glowing, dim. Loki’s magic is blocking footage out or putting footage in, you really don’t know. But it’s allowing you a few moments with the man you thought you’d never see again. “Spontaneous reincarnation aside, what are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

“I’m on this planet for five-FIVE minutes, and the television has all these reports about you and everyone fighting each other?”

“Mm, right, right.”

Loki stares at you, amused. “... Care to explain?”

Your face contorts into a hundred different expressions until you finally settle on one of gentle guilt. “The person we were after was a friend of a friend. I made a judgement call and let him go.”

“You went against orders?”

“I went against the law.”

“Even better.”

With an eyebrow cocked, you give him a judging look. “Loki.”

His eyes crinkle from the intensity of his smile and you’ve missed him, you missed him so much. “That’s what I love about you. Barely starting out as an Avenger and you’re already realizing you can do more good in your own way.”

You groan quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I mainly did it for Steve. Wasn’t like it was a big ‘fuck you’ to one-hundred and seventeen nations for the hell of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Spoken like a true anti-hero.”

“You comparing me to yourself?”

Loki chuckles and runs his fingers through the strands of hair closest to your cheek. “Darling, I’m a God. No one comes close.” He sighs, serious again. “All I’m saying is that it’s refreshing to see the young break the rules.”

“I missed you,” you softly say. You can feel the nudge of his cheek turning upward against your head. 

“Always nice to hear.”

Rolling your eyes, you move to meet his gaze. “So, no reason why you came to visit me specifically?”

Loki takes one cautious look at the camera, to outside your cell, and back to you. “I too do things for your lovely Captain.” His smile grows wider. 

“What?”

He winks and tilts his head over to the giant metal doors that are starting to pry open. “See you in a minute.” 

The alarms begin blazing; there is fog filling the room, and Steve emerges from that fog with a winning smirk.

     You look over at Clint, half selfishly wishing he was Loki on another one of his midnight visits, and quickly do away with the thought. “So how’s life without me?”

“Oh, it’s great! The flowers are in bloom, the kitchen isn’t always a mess, and my bow and arrow aren’t misplaced because you wanted to have some fun with it,” he jokes, stretching far enough that his feet dig into your thigh like he’s trying to make more room for himself.  

“Not like it’s your only bow and arrow.”

He chuckles and sits up. He does a once over of the room and adjusts the frequency on his hearing aid. “They read you your rights at least?”

You wait to respond until he finishes fixing it. You speak and sign the words slowly,  “I don’t think any lawyer in America will want to take this case anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a career killer.”

Trying to refrain from smiling around Clint was nearly impossible. You look to the door quickly, “Two minutes?”

He shoots up straighter as he watches your hands, “Right! So we’re currently tracking down your sister-”

“My sister?”

“Steve thinks she’s our only hope at clearing your name.”

“Why is that? I told her to get as far away as possible.”

Clint sighs and scratches the skin just above the bandaid. “She stayed in Mexico all those years you were gone. By all accounts, Ernesto adored her. Because of that, her influence might clear your name.”

“But she stayed. All the more reason to believe she was involved as well,” you say, shaking your head.

“She’s barely out of her teens. Everything that happened, happened when she was a minor. She has a first hand account of the abuse Ernesto caused you. And Steve thinks that the Julian fellow might even come clean and admit to the arranged marriage. Shows a pattern of abuse by Ernesto to his own children. Could spin it to make it seem like you had no other choice but to follow his orders.”

You follow his hands slowly, some signs difficult to read but you latch onto the gist of his argument. You groan and lean your head back on the wall with a small thump. “They go against Ernesto and they have targets on their backs. Even my other siblings who are still involved with all of this won’t let it go.”

“Y/N… Ernesto’s dead. You know that.”

“His influence isn’t.”

There’s minimal commotion a few doors down. Clint realizes it’s time to leave. “It might never be. But we don’t get to live in the future.” He stands with another small groan and stretches as he prepares to lift himself back into the vent. “We’re living now, and it’s all any of us can do.”

“Clint?” You also stand and have to wave in his peripheral to get his attention. He turns and knows what you’re about to say even without the hand gestures. “They won’t answer me when I ask.”

His lips pull into a perceptive smile, “He’s okay. Doing what he does best - blaming himself.”

“Oh, okay, good.”

He’s had enough practice reading your lips to notice the sarcasm that drips from them. He hurries to lift himself up. “We’ve got about a million tricks up our sleeve. If Jackeline’s word or the evidence isn’t enough, we’ve always got Fury and his blackmail.”

“Yeah, half the guys who interviewed me look like they cheat on their wives, so.”

He genuinely laughs and jumps high, muttering more to himself than to you. “Up we go…”

     The team locates Jackeline just a few days after your run-in with Clint. The building saw a triple rise in security but even then it didn’t prevent undercover agents passing all the checkpoints and sliding notes with your meals. They’d leave the tray, tip their hats, and smile like they knew the cameras wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

The first note is from Bucky, with the simple message of ‘I watched a few episodes of The Crown without you… I’m sorry.’

The second comes on the same day at dinner time, this one from Wanda. ‘I think Peter is trying to flirt with your sister.’

The third isn’t slipped through with any meal, but rather through the tiny opening beneath the door. ‘Surprised we did this the legal way this time! See you soon! - Rhodey’

The final one is actually hand delivered when several guards come in to tell you you’re free to go. They’re mumbling amongst themselves, cursing the system and the privileges Avengers always get, when the smallest of the five turns to you and hands you the note. ‘I owe you one. You owe me one. Who’s counting anymore? - Joaquin’

Jackeline had been able to track down Maribel and the two of them, with such accuracy in their stories and their timelines, constructed your defense perfectly. They showed them phone records, all of the recordings from that week, had proof that you never signed a thing, and made several special deals. Jackeline promised to reveal where bodies were buried, where business was dealt with, who else was involved with Ernesto and Seda. Maribel managed to get a message to them from Ramirez, which basically cleared you from the crime they were trying to stick. Ramirez was a damn good liar, you’ll give him that, and it made you the tiniest bit sad that you’d probably never see him again. 

The tipping point was when Steve turned himself in. There was no evidence that you did anything, never signed anything, never conspired behind your teammates backs. Fury made sure not to keep a paper or electronic trail. But there was evidence that implicated Steve - the contract. No matter how badly the FBI and CIA tried to make it go away, to absolve Steve from it, he didn’t back down. It was like the story they originally wanted toppled in on itself and it was actually Steve who forced you into all of this - playing your connections and forcing your hand. The contract hadn’t been voided, still hasn’t, and they really couldn’t risk another SHIELD fiasco. So it was destroyed to protect the Stars and Stripes, and in return they promised to let you go if you didn’t tell a soul. The image you’d come to despise, that tacky red, white and blue, is starting to grow on you.

‘Let me think about that and get back to you,’ you had joked. You think they let you go sooner because they feared the truth in your joke. 

But there wasn’t anything to think about, ever, still isn’t. Steve pulled another sacrifice play and you wanted to get out as soon as possible to kick his ass. 

You leave the prison with the same clothes you had on when you entered. They smell washed and you’re thankful they allowed you to shower before you left. You ignore the looks guards and prisoners aim at you, each trying to somehow get their hits in without actually pulling their punches. This would be a media disaster either way, didn’t matter the outcome of a supposed trial, and PR was most likely struggling to prepare their defense. 

You resist the embarrassing urge to run into his arms. He’s standing right outside the gates, leaning back on the passenger side of his rusty old blue pickup, positively glowing underneath the blazing sun. You’re blinded by it, skin thanking the dangerous rays for its first touch in weeks, but it only takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. He still hasn’t shaved and his hair is getting longer, and instead of his usual tucked-in dress shirt, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a faded graphic tee that reads AC/DC. It was Tony’s.

You’ve only got the broken burner phone and a hair tie in your possession; it’s what was on you when you were arrested. You drop the burner in a nearby trashcan and head on over to the truck. Steve’s wide smile buckles your knees and it damn near breaks your heart. Even when the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, you still saw each other at least twice a week. Going two weeks without seeing him feels like a lifetime. 

Once you're a few feet away, you stop in front of him. There are no immediate words you know to say, so you simply shrug your shoulders and give him a look that asks ‘What now?’

“Home.”

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer​ @justab-eautifulmess​ @supraveng​ @mycosmicparadise​ @missnighttigress​

#captainsimagines #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel masterlist #marvel fanfiction #mob fanfic #reader insert #trigger warnings listed #you x steve rogers

[qianinterprises]

Among the Horses {Part One}

Pairing: farm boy!Jaehyun x female!Reader

Other Characters: OC's, Haechan (sorta, kinda, not really), Renjun (sorta, kinda, not really)

Genre: fluff, angst, country au, farmboys and lady's au, falling in love, slow burn, friends to lovers

Warnings: verbally abusive aunt, yelling, degrading (not the fun kind)

Word Count: 3.8k

Overall Synopsis: Being sent to live with your aunt isn't exactly something wonderful, especially because she's verbally abusive and downright determined to turn you into a "proper lady" who a wealthy man will want to marry. However, perhaps living there won't be so bad. After all, you've got a handsome farm boy teaching you to ride horses.

Part One Synopsis: Arriving at your aunts is very challenging and trying. After being put through the ringer with your attire, you finally get a chance to explore the green world, and spend more time with the farm boy who'd picked you up from the airport.

Author's Notes: So I started this a while ago and didn't really do anything with it, but I love it and I really wanna write more so yeah... Also, I've posted this on a03 as well.

Tagging: @treasuretaeil @hachanbaecon @hwangful

A white, dirty pick-up truck pulled off the main road and onto a long, winding dirt road, leading them closer to a grand house that you had only been to a few times in your life. The place you’d be living for the next year or two.

The truck bumped along the loose gravel, crashing over potholes, sending you bouncing on the very worn cloth of the cab, your eyes glancing worriedly to the male beside you, one of his hands planted firmly on the hard steering wheel, the other loosely placed on the stick shifter in the center of the bench.

“Are you sure the tires won’t… fall off?” your voice was thick and laiden with worry.

He glanced over at you, warm brown eyes gazing intently into yours, the opticals flecked with curiosity and amusement. Embarrassment crept under your skin.

“You haven’t been out here in awhile? Have you miss?” he asked, tone filled with friendly amusement.

You awkwardly scratched at your nose, a bit of a nervous habit she’d picked up over the years.

“No. My parents never had the money to travel.”

Your voice was small, etched in nervousness and anxiety.

He cast you a gentle smile as he pulled the truck around a sharp curve in the road, and there it was.

The house was huge, at least three stories high and stretched across the land it was perched upon. The foundation red brick that looked freshly cleaned (it probably had been), a contrast to the pearly white of the rest of the structure. The curves and contours of the slightly oddly shaped house made it more enchanting and nerve-wracking, especially as you grew closer, tires hitting the smooth cement before your driver moved the shifter and parked the truck.

“Head on in, miss, I’ll get your bags.”

His accent was a combination of Asian mixed with southern, an odd mix that somehow seemed so delicately smooth and perfect, especially the way he drawled over the “r’s”

“Miss?”

You’d been stuck in your thoughts, eyes wide as you surveyed the prospects of your new home.

“Right, yes, thank you,” you said softly, moving to get out, the door creaking as it was opened.

Your black, falling apart sneakers hit the tan pavement of the driveway, the hooks of your overalls rattling loosely against your torso as they accommodated your movements; the loose denim legs falling just above your knees as you pushed the dingy door closed.

The male you’d ridden with, Jaehyun, he said his name was, pulled the latch of the truck bed and reached up to grab your mismatched luggage, his sturdy frame pressing into the hot metal of the truck.

“Do you need some help?”

Your voice was small, mixed with worry and hesitation.

You’d do just about anything to prolong the inevitable.

“That’s quite alright, miss,” he began. “You should head on inside. The heat is a harsh place for a lady,” he answered.

You looked down, playing with your fingers, but you didn’t reply. Instead, slowly moving toward the brick steps that would lead to the entrance of the beautiful home.

~

Anina Lee was a strict lady. She liked things just a certain way and she got them how she wanted. She didn’t tolerate bad behavior or disobedience. And she had a strong dislike for people that got in her way. Thus, she had never been married.

She lived alone, if you count having two live-in maids, a chef, and a stable hand that slept in the barn as living alone.

Alina was your aunt. Your mother’s elder sister who had alienated your mother when she’d married a man of lower class. That same man later had a wife who blessed him with three kids to care for, spending his days fixing the cars of those more fortunate than him, hoping to make a buck for his family.

That’s why you were here. A young girl, coming of age to be married off and starting a family of your very own. Your family couldn’t support you any longer, and as you prepared to move away in hopes of finding some sort of job or a life, your aunt had hastlessly offered to take you in. Your mother had all too happily obliged, hoping her only and eldest daughter would learn a thing or two from the elder woman, maybe turn you into the lady your mother and father had tried for years to make you.

The stainless white door slowly opened and an older woman stood in the frame. She was clearly in her 50s, stress lines drawn thickly in her forehead, wrinkles in the corners of her dull gray eyes, deep lines around her nose and mouth, her neck sagging just a little beneath her sharp jaw. She was a small lady. On first glance one may have a hard time understanding what makes her so fierce. She was small in stature, small in size and in frame, but she had the tongue of a snake, the heart of a lioness, and the skill of a chimp.

“(Y/N)! You’re finally here!”

You stood a good few inches taller than the woman, but that made you more nervous if anything. You made her way up the steps and, as you reached the woman in the door, you were promptly pulled into a proper hug that severely lacked warmth.

“I can’t believe you got on a plane and sat amongst all those people in that ghastly attire. You must change at once!”

The woman’s voice was so shrill it could pierce glass, but you held back the flinch.

“Martha!” the same voice called into the house as she pulled you in, shutting the door and encompassing them in the cool air conditioning.

A larger lady appeared, dressed in stained blue jeans and an ugly yellow shirt.

“Please show my niece to her room and help her change into something more… feminine and lady-like,” her aunt’s voice commanded.

“When you’re finished dear, have Martha show you to my study.”

There was no endearing term in the word “dear.” Simply an icy addition to a perfectly manicured sentence.

You watched your aunts receding form, pencil skirt tight on her legs, black heels sharply hitting the hardwood intimidatingly.

“Come with me, dear. Let’s get you changed,” the larger lady spoke softly.

She was older, maybe 60 or so, her skin dark tan, although you couldn’t tell if it was the sun or her natural skin pigmentation. Her voice was grainy, but soft and endearing. Motherly she’d dare say. And you thought that this woman may actually make living here bearable.

You followed the lady up the grand staircase, up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway until you reached the end. The lady pushed open the thick white door and stepped inside, you following her closely.

Inside, the room was surprisingly rustic. A simple, full-sized bed with an obviously homemade comforter thrown across it. A light gray plush rug beside the bed. The hardwood floors were surprisingly and delightfully bare. One large section of the wall was home to a large bay window that stretched from the ceiling to the plush gray cushion of the bench. There were a few flower paintings and other pointless nicknacks scattered on obsolete surfaces around the room, but you paid no mind to them as your attention was drawn to the lady opening the large mahogany grand dresser and plucking out two cloths.

She unfolded both neatly, placing them on the bed and you sighed. The skirt was long and pleated, patterns of red and white stretched in an annoying kaleidoscope arrangement across the nearly pointless garment and the white shirt appeared to be partly transparent.

“Go ahead and get changed dear, I’ll help you when you finish,” she said kindly and turned her back.

You waited for her to leave the room but it was apparent she had no intention to. Awkwardly, you began unhooking the straps of your overalls, letting the fabric clang to the floor. Your skin heated up, feeling all too exposed before sliding into the skirt, the itchy elastic clinging to your hips uncomfortably. You pulled your stained blue t-shirt off, swapping it for the crisp white one that you feared you’d stain in the next few moments.

The lady turned around, her wide hips bumping into the dresser slightly. The dresser was sturdy enough not to jostle, but it was obvious the corner was sharp and painful. You almost felt bad at the way the lady’s face winced, but it was quickly pushed away as calloused hands began gripping the delicate skin of your arms, squeezing along the skin up your arms.

She tsked and turned around, rummaging through the dresser once again, only to turn around with a black, light cardigan.

You gawked. Why on earth would you wear that atrocious thing in this weather? It was the middle of August! Not December!

“I know. But if your aunt were to see your arms, she’d have a fit. She probably still will,” she said.

You sighed. Your aunt hadn’t changed one bit. Your skin was fragile. The tops of your forearms lightly tanned, a pigment passed on from your father. The rest of your arms and body entirely was light. Lady’s should be gorgeously sunkissed to be beautiful and to be taken seriously.

With a huff, you put on the long black sleeves, the intricately designed cotton draping over your shoulders perfectly. But that didn’t mean it was any more comfortable. You could already feel the added heat seeping onto your skin. You’d be sweaty and uncomfortable soon.

“Now let’s do something about your feet.”

You looked down; your worn socks had holes all through them, mud permanently stained to the sweaty fabric.

Bustling from the room, you were left stunned in the wake of the surprisingly fast woman, watching her round the corner and disappear down the hall to fetch something to apparently “fix your feet.”

You thought you’d do something to speed along the process. The more time spent getting you dressed in these ridiculous clothes, the less time you had to explore the outside world. You made your way to the bay window, taking a seat on the plush cushion that accommodated you nicely. You pressed your back against the edge of the wall and turned your gaze to the picturesque green world filled with surprisingly lush looking grass, dips and hills along the valley, and the tops of trees further off in the distance. All this land was yours for the roaming. You couldn’t wait to get out those doors and go exploring.

The sound of water sloshing in a pot brought your attention back from the window, glancing curiously as the large lady placed the pot down in front of the window.

“Put your feet in.”

You didn’t argue. You were hesitant, but thought better than to argue and have your aunt boil you alive in this pot.

As soon as your dingy, dirty, mud pasted feet hit the water, you hissed. The temperature felt that it could boil the skin right off.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s hot, but your aunt is expecting you down soon and I have to do this as quickly as possible,” the lady said.

Grabbing your left foot, she picked the appendage up from the water along with a suds coated dish sponge and began mercilessly scrubbing away at the tender flesh. You whined and howled, tears pricking to your eyes as your skin was scrubbed and abused by the harsh bristles of the brush. You attempted to yank your foot away, but the tight grip on your ankle prevented much movement. You were stuck suffering as the skin became reddened from the irritation.

~

As soon as the painful experience came to a close, your now pink feet were dried with a towel before being slid into a pair of eccentrically beaded, golden strapped sandals that accentuated the rest of the over-the-top outfit nicely.

“You seem presentable enough now, although I’m sure the mistress of the house would have a few unkind things to say about your wild mane.”

You tried not to take offense. You liked your hair. It was an untamed mop that curved wildly carefree, blowing in the breeze that picked up the thick tufts.

“Thank you for your help ma’am.”

She bowed at the waist, a kind smile on her lips.

“No need for the ma’am dear. Call me Martha, or Mrs. Rivera if you must.”

And with no more haste, Martha Rivera led you back down the grand staircase to the bottom floor, the tight flats biting at your heels and ankles with every step you took, fighting off the winces that followed. You rounded a few sharp corners, venturing into a large sitting room with an extravagant flat screen high on the wall and couches that looked brand new. Through a dining room, table decorated with a sequined bronze cloth and the finest China you’d ever seen, although that wasn’t really a stretch. Finally, they made it to a large oak door, cracked just enough that you could see your aunt’s silhouette sitting behind an elegant red desk, glasses perched on her nose, pen in hand, eyes married to the computer screen. Mrs. Rivera left you by the door, and you almost spun on your heel and walked away. But of course, that would be too easy.

“Come in child. Stop standing in the doorway.”

Your blood froze in your veins. You pushed the door open and stolled in, tripping over the lion skin rug, stumbling a bit before catching your balance. Harsh wisps of breath rushed past your aunt's lips and the chair creaked as the weight lifted from it.

You straightened your back, staring fearfully into the cold gray eyes that trailed over your face and down your clothes.

The woman began moving slowly around you, manicured nails and boney fingers tracing over the outline of your clothes and jaw, running through your wild mane and down your hands, inspecting the bitten off nails. As she walked, she muttered things like “hair won’t do” and “horrible posture” before she stood back in front of you.

“You simply won’t do,” she said sternly.

The words hit hard. You may have been expecting something like this, but it didn’t make the words hurt any less.

“You look like you’ve been sleeping with the horses. Your nails are pitiful. Your skin is far too light.”

She gripped your jaw, tilting your head up harshly to expose your still slightly chubby neck.

“Can you ride a horse?”

The question was sudden and it caught you off guard, but you answered as quickly as your brain would allow.

“N-no. I’ve never ridden before.”

The woman sighed loudly, hot puffs of air pouring out of her flared nostrils.

“That’ll have to change. Starting tomorrow, you will be taking riding lessons from the stable boy. Every lady should have the basic skills of riding,” her tone was cold and brisk as she looked away and perched back at her desk.

“You’re dismissed. Dinner is at 6. Don’t be late. You may roam the grounds.”

With a wave of her hand, she dismissed her niece and immediately went back to work, not bating another eyelash as you fled hastlessly from the room, your eyes welling with tears as stress and fear washed over you, although more relieved that it was over and you could finally do something for yourself. You’d start by ditching these God forsaken shoes.

You made your way around the back door of the house, more by pure necessity than memory, simply logically thinking the best way around in the expansive flooring. When you made it, a smile broke across your face as you unfastened the painful shoes, kicking them off in a sloppy jumble by the door before opening the heavy door, the heat of the afternoon hitting your face, not that you minded.

As you stepped out, bare feeting meeting hot cement, you stripped the cardigan from your shoulders, draping it over a random, sun baked chair. You tore off through the grass, laughing giddily, breeze blowing wisps of your hair, skirt fluttering delicately over your skin. It would be difficult to do anything in the blasted thing, but you wouldn’t give yourself enough time to strip down into something better, opting to enjoy the last of the day while you could. And you’d start in the bright red barn your eyes immediately fell on.

~

Making your way through the soft grass that squished under the weight of your feet, you strolled into the half open barn, the soft snorts of animals bringing a smile to your lips. Just because you couldn’t ride, doesn’t mean you didn’t love the animals. You loved horses especially. They were such beautiful and majestic creatures. You’d always wanted a horse, but your family had never been able to afford one. You’d always wanted to ride, and now you could, although you didn’t understand why it was so important to your aunt.

The cool concrete felt rough beneath your feet, stray straws of hay littering the floor. It could have been a picture straight out of one of the Country Living magazines you’d kept hidden away at your parents home.

The first horse you came upon was a tall brown animal, head hung over the stall door, ears perked to attention, eyes trained on the new invader inside the barnhouse. He snorted at you and his hoof hit the barn door lightly in an attempt at getting closer. You stepped closer, slowly offering your hand out, letting the animal sniff searchingly.

“He’s looking for some sugar cubes.”

The voice came out of nowhere, interrupting your serenity, a yelp leaving your lips as your whole body jolted in the sudden fright.

You turned your head to the barn door where your driver was standing, taunt arms crossed over a broad chest, veiled from prying eyes by a lightweight flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His long legs were clad in dusty denim, mud and hay from his knees to the tops of the worn work boots.

“I’m sorry. I just like horses-”

“And you thought you’d come visit them?” he finished your sentence.

You immediately began shuffling your feet, eyes turning back to study the fading paint on the stall to keep from facing him.

Heavy footsteps hit the floor as the male moved closer until he was close enough to touch. His large, rough hand gripped your wrist lightly, bringing it up toward him. You let out a little yelp, riddled with confusion and curiosity until three small blocks were placed in your palm.

“Hold your palm out to him and don’t jerk away,” he spoke calmly, slowly urging you.

You nodded, having some sort of unkempt trust in his words as you turned back to the animal and extended your arm, palm flat, cubed sugar offered to the horse, who greedily munched them right out of your hands.

“His name’s Haechan. He’s a bit of a character.”

You nodded, drawing your now horse-slobbered hand away, opting to stroke the animal's fur from his nose to between his eyes.

“That’s an interesting name,” you said.

He hummed behind you and you heard his boots hitting the concrete as he moved away.

“Do you like animals?” he asked.

You spun around, eyes wide and shining.

“Yes! I love them! Sometimes I prefer animals over humans!”

His smile was gentle as he surveyed your physique, a dusty pink tinting his cheeks, although you thought nothing of it.

“Come on, I want to show you something,”he said, walking past you to the opposite exit of the barn.

You followed close behind, curious as to where he was taking her. Your feet fell back onto the grass, the long blades sliding between your toes as you followed in his wake. As they walked, a white picket fence came into view, not far from the barn, but oddly well hidden beneath the crest of a hill rolling through the land. Once you reached the fence, his hands curled around the boards, hoisting himself up, foot balanced on the bottom board as he climbed up, throwing a leg over one side, then the other, and jumping down. You stared at him in awestruck confusion.

“Climb over, I’ll catch you on this side.”

You didn’t know why you blindly trusted him. You didn’t know him from a random stranger in the town, but you complied, placing your foot onto the same board he had, pulling yourself up and swinging a leg over, then another. The skirt snagged in the boards a few times, one of your feet nearly slipping off the boards as you attempted to keep it pushed down. This proved to be more of a challenge as you balanced on your heels, hands clutching the top piece of wood as you contemplated how to get down now. That is, until his arms outstretched, slightly bent at the elbow, fingers parted, palms facing one another, and you knew what he wanted you to do. Taking a deep breath, you pushed off with your left foot, hands releasing your grip on the fence, letting yourself drop, eyes squeezing in slight fear that you’d soon flop hard against the green earth. But when strong hands caught your waist, arms drawing you in, broad chest breaking your fall, you braced herself against him, feet carefully being lowered until they pressed back into the earth.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.”

His teasing tone had you pulling away, glaring playfully at him before turning and pretending to walk away, leaving him in your path.

At least, until you heard a rustling in the long grass inside the fence.

You squeaked as it grew closer taking a step back as your harsh gaze followed the rustling of the grass, positive a snake would wrap itself around your leg as it dug its venomous fangs into your soft flesh.

Needless to say, you were in for quite a shock when the small head of a brown and white calf popped up from the grass.

And you were sinking to your knees.

The calf moved toward your lowered body, sniffing at your arms until you reached out to run a hand down it’s small head and back, cooing quietly, eyes brimming with unfiltered delight as you wrapped your arms around the baby, stroking the fur of its back lovingly.

“This is Renjun. He’s my little cousin's calf.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. Your cooes of joy were enough to show every emotion you were currently feeling.

Horrible aunt or not. You could certainly find worse places to be trapped. At least here you had rolling hills of green, beautiful animals to fawn over, and Jaehyun, handsome stableboy who you couldn’t wait to get to know.

#ficscafe #klibrary #kdinernet #supermwritersnet #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #farm au #farm living #horses #cows #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x you #original character #friends to lovers #slow burn #series #nct series #jaehyun series

[clouditae]

First Love | Prologue

Yoongi x reader | 18+ | college au | tattoo artist au | angst | fluff | swearing

Word: 2.4k

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi

Chapter Index

You drag your suitcase up the first flight of stairs, always hating the fact that you're not first to pick rooms when it comes to the date. Your roommate has an earlier time when it comes to picking a room, and she never picks the first floor. You only have one more flight until you reach the second floor, but you are tired from having to carry all your luggage up the stairs from the rental car you are going to have to return tomorrow. If only your parents weren’t so far away. 

“Do you need some help?” a voice asks from behind you, startling you. 

You almost drop your suitcase if it weren’t for the figure behind you stopping it from falling back down the stairs. “I’m so sorry,” you say, taking the suitcase back from the stranger. 

He laughs. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t know you had not heard me walk up the steps. I should be louder.” 

“No, it’s okay,” you begin, finally looking at him and all words are forgotten, “I’m…” He has an oval shape like head, his red beanie, that hid his dark blond hair, stood out compared to his sun kissed skin. When he smiles at you, his chestnut colored eyes almost disappear. He’s wearing a gray sweatshirt and dark gray sweats that are cut to his knees. “I’m the one who is walking slow,” you finally manage, forcing yourself to stop staring. 

“It’s move in day. Everyone is slow when it comes to moving. No one wants to unpack,” he answers, following you up the rest of the stairs until the two of you reach the second floor. You turn to face him, unsure of what else to say. You aren’t a very social person. “What floor do you live on?” he suddenly asks. 

“This one.” 

He smiles again, this one bigger than the last. “I do, too. Maybe we’ll see each other around,” he tells you, sounding so friendly it makes you question if he is being honest or humoring you. You nod, not sure as to what the best reply is. “Well, it was nice meeting you…”

Understanding the way he trailed off, you answer, “Y/N.” 

“Ah. Y/N. Nice to meet you, I’m Hoseok.” He extends his hand out towards you. 

You slowly took his hand sputtering, “Nice to meet you as well.” 

He points at the door next to the other flight of stairs that led to the third floor. The direction you’re going. “I’m headed that way.”

You honestly don’t want to say it, but you reply, “Me too.” 

“Really? Are we hallmates?” he questions, his voice showing signs of excitement. 

“I suppose we are,” you acknowledge. 

“That’s exciting.” You watch as Hoseok opens the door that leads you to the center hall, gesturing for you to enter first. You thank him and enter the hallway. He walks alongside you as the two of you walk a short distance until he stops at the first set of doors. He points to the second door closest to the exit towards the stairs. “This is me,” he begins, patting his pockets, “I hope to see you around, Y/N.” He frowns as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just realized I never grabbed my key off my desk when I left earlier,” he chuckles, knocking on his door. Immediately the door swings open, and you thought you felt your heart stop. He looks as if he had just woken up. His jet black hair disheveled, eyes barely open, and his lips in a little pout. The corner of his black, short sleeved shirt lifted as he rubbed his eye. “You’re awake,” Hoseok says in delight. 

“Well you were knocking so damn loud,” he grumbles in a gravelly voice. 

“It wasn’t that loud,” Hoseok protests.

Before Yoongi can argue, a familiar voice calls out, “There you are, Y/N. I thought you died or something.” Coming out of your own little world, your attention is now on your best friend, and roommate, Ari. “I finished unpacking a while ago, so I made your bed for you.” 

You open your mouth to reply, but Hoseok interrupts, “You’re our neighbor?” You can only nod, eyes meeting Yoongi briefly before looking at Hoseok. “That’s even better! Our chances of seeing each other are a lot higher.” 

“I should go,” you mumble, heading down as you quickly walk towards Ari. 

“Bye, Y/N,” Hoseok calls. 

You wave and enter your dorm, the door closing behind Ari as you set your luggage on your bed. Your heart is racing, cheeks most likely a blush color. “What’s up with you?” Ari asks, climbing into her bed as she watches you place a hand over your heart. 

“It’s him,” you reply in a whisper. 

“Who?”

You look at her, her strawberry blond hair coming loose from her bun. “Him.” 

You can see the cranks working in her eyes before they light up in realization. “Oh, you mean your crush for two years?”

“He has a name you know,” you remind her. 

Watching her as she places her finger to her rosy cheek. “Ah, yes. Fuckboy Yoongi,” she avows. 

“He is not a fuckboy,” you object.

“Have you heard the rumors about him? If he’s our neighbor, then those rumors are about to be confirmed soon enough,” Ari implies. 

“They’re just rumors.”

Ari sighs, “I just don’t want your feelings to get hurt if they are true.” 

“They won’t,” you promise her. 

With that, you continue to unpack, listening to your roommate complain about a professor she hasn’t met yet. She rants long after you have finished packing and the two of you are making your way downstairs to the dining hall to grab dinner. When the two of you enter the dining hall, you wait in line as the woman behind the counter takes the student’s ID and swipe it along the card reader. The line goes from four, and four goes to one. When the woman gives the card back to the person in front of you, you hand her your ID. 

“He is making us write three essays, and they’re only worth 13% of our grade,” Ari whines, handing her ID after you received yours back. “Our midterm and final are worth more, and you know I suck at taking tests. I’m not going to pass this class. I can already feel it.” 

The two of you enter the separate room where the food is displayed. A salad bar in the center, drinks to the right, and sweets to the left. Different types of foods are shown everywhere else. 

“What class is this?” you ask her, grabbing a plate from the stack by the salad bar. 

“Psycho,” she cries, taking a plate you hand her. “I actually have to show up to every class, participate, and probably kiss his ass a little so he knows I’m desperate.” 

You giggle. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, Ari. You passed syntax last semester.” 

“And I did everything I had just told you. Maybe a little more. Hell, I even laughed at his jokes I didn’t understand,” Ari tells you before she wanders off to the direction where the pasta is. You follow in suit, eyes on the fettuccine alfredo. “Guess I’ll just have to read the textbook more than once.” 

“Have faith in yourself,” you tell her, handing your plate to the server who places a spoonful of pasta on it before giving it back. 

“I guess,” she sighs, taking her plate and drags her feet towards the salad bar, clearly disappointed with her decision to take the class. 

You don’t bother comforting her and instead you grab a bottle of water. Entering the dining room once again, you scan the area for an empty table. In the back of the room, you can see an empty table in the corner. Ari walks up next to you, letting out a sigh. “School sucks.”

You laugh, gesturing towards the table you found. “Let’s eat.” Leading her past the occupied tables, you set your food down, taking a seat. “You’ve passed all your classes before. You can pass this class, too. Have more faith in yourself, Ari,” you point out. 

Ari hums in response as the two of you eat in a comfortable silence. Your eyes wander around the room, watching as everyone sits at their tables and happily chats with one another. You’ve been living in the dorms for three years and you aren’t all that social like everyone else was. You watch as they greet one another as they pass by. It’s like they all know each other, and all you know is Ari. She’s been your friend and roommate for three years, and you wouldn’t trade her for the world. 

“If it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” a voice calls. You look up to see Hoseok smiling down at you as he holds a plate of food in his hand. “Mind if I join you guys?”

You glance at Ari who only shrugs. “Sure,” you say. 

He smiles, taking a seat next to you. “My roommate wouldn’t come eat with me, and I didn’t want to be by myself. I’m lucky I saw you guys,” he says, taking a bite of his pizza. He looks at Ari. “Ah. Right.” He sticks his hand out towards her. “I’m Hoseok.” 

Ari smiles, shaking his hand. “Ari.” 

“Well, Ari. Y/N. There’s a party happening on the third floor if you guys want to come. It’s several rooms that are having it, but it’s one big one,” he says, taking a bigger bite of his pizza. “Plus it’ll be nice to have someone I know there. Even if I only met you two today.”

“A party? I am so in,” Ari says, an excited smile on her face. “You going, Y/N?”

You shake your head. “I need to fix my camera,” you tell her, giving her a small, apologetic smile. 

“Camera? Is that a hobby?” Hoseok asks, finishing his first pizza. 

You shake your head again. “Major.” 

“Oh, really? You must be a pro at it.” 

“I’m really not,” you reply sheepishly, your face flushing. 

“She’s lying. She’s really good at it,” Ari tells Hoseok, dismissing your comment. You kick her under the table, but she ignores you completely. “I’ll show you some time.”

 “No one will be showing anything,” you state in a threatening tone but it doesn’t come out all that threatening. They clearly don’t take you seriously, but say nothing more about it. 

By the time you’re done eating, you and Ari are in your room, Ari is currently deciding which dress she likes more. You watch her as she switches between dresses, each hovering over her body as she tilts her head to the side in question. “Which looks better on me?” she asks you, her eyes meeting yours through the closet mirror. 

“Why are you dressing up? Isn’t it just a party upstairs?” you question. 

“It is just a party upstairs, but it’s a party where I plan to find a boyfriend. A better one than my ex,” she says. “Now which one do you think looks better?”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “The black one. It makes your hair stand out compared to the red one.”  

She smiles at you. “I knew I could trust your opinion.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not a fashion designer, and it’s common sense.” 

“Either way, you’re the expert.” Ari walks to the bathroom door in the corner of the room next to the sink. She gives a quick knock before entering the bathroom. You’ve known her for three years now, and you still find it funny how the two of you change in the shared bathroom rather than in front of each other. You guess it was a habit by now. 

A minute or so later, Ari comes out of the bathroom wearing the black dress you picked out. It’s a form-fitting dress, the straps as big as your index finger. The dress fits her curves perfectly, showing all that she has to give. Sometimes you wish you had her confidence in wearing such a dress, but then again you’re perfectly fine in your seaweed green sweats and big, black shirt that can pass as a dress. 

“And you’re sure that if you bend over, nothing will show?” you ask in concern, staring down at how short the dress was. 

“I’ve bent over quite a few times, so no, nothing will be revealed.” She glances at you as she slips on her heels. “Would you like to confirm?”

You shake your head. “I trust you.” Ari does a quick lookover in the mirror before grabbing her room key and phone. “Have fun, and be safe,” you tell her as she opens the door. 

“Don’t work too hard on your camera,” she says before leaving you alone in the room. 

You can hear the clicks of her heels against the floor until you can no longer hear her. Stretching your arms out, you stare at the camera that lies on your desk. You honestly don’t want to work on it. At least, not tonight when you’re already in bed and all you have to do is switch off the light and close your eyes. You think for a second or two before finally deciding to just go to sleep. Today has been a long day of unpacking, and going to sleep before having to wake up to go to some mandatory meeting sounds a lot better with each passing second.

Switching the light off next to your bed, you get under your covers and lie there in silence, counting sheep. So much has happened today, and the one that repeats in your head the most is that Yoongi is your neighbor. 

Yoongi. The guy you’ve had a crush on for three years now is your neighbor. That means a possible opportunity to talk to him. Especially now that Hoseok seems to want to be friends, maybe you’ll see Yoongi a lot more now. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a light tapping sound on the wall next to you. It’s a rhythmic tapping sound. Then slowly, ever so slowly, the light tapping turns louder and harder, and with that loud pounding sound, a girl's voice can be heard. 

You lie in bed frozen. 

“I just don’t want your feelings to get hurt if they are true.”

#bangtanuniversity #thebtswritersclub #bangtanhq #bts #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts au #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi au

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch5)

AO3

“Uncle Jamie, mam says ye’ve tae come doon i’ stair!”

Jamie Fraser gave himself a final once over in the mirror, making sure that he hadn’t missed any areas when he’d shaved and that his hair was swept back without it looking too done. The shirt that Jenny had ironed for him, despite his insistence that he would manage just fine, was properly tucked into his jeans, the cuffs of which had been neatly tucked into his beaten-up pair of brown Doc Marten boots that had seen the better part of a few years.

“Nae bad, Fraser, nae bad,” he muttered to himself as he pulled his favourite leather jacket from his bed and opened his bedroom door to find his niece hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.

“Ye’ve nae to mess this up, ken?” Maggie said sternly, her little hands planted on her hips. With a sudden shriek of delight, Jamie pulled her into the air by her arms and plonked her on top of his shoulders.

“Yer like yer mother’s wee parrot, d’ye ken that?” He laughed as he descended the stairs at Lallybroch, setting Maggie back onto her feet as the girl scowled at him.

“Am no’, am like my da,” she huffed, furthering the likeness between her and the woman that gave birth to her.

Jamie smiled down at her, ruffling her dark hair in his hand, “Aye, ye are the both of them. Equal parts Fraser and Murray.”

It was then that he caught sight of Jenny in the doorway, her face full of palpable excitement that nearly made Jamie roll his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was maybe too invested in this whole thing. It was just one date after all.

“Jamie, ye mind Mary, aye?” She gestured to the woman stood in at the door, wringing her scarf in her hands as though she was as nervous as Jamie was himself.

“Aye,” he smiled kindly at the stranger stood in his house, only really remembering her from the days of their childhood. Mary McNab looked nice enough and there was no doubt that she was a pretty wee thing but she seemed small, as if she was unsure of the space that she was taking up. “It’s nice tae see ye again, Mary. I have to apologise for my sister dragging ye all the way here, I was happy to pick ye up from the village.”

Mary smiled at him in response, looking at him from underneath her eyelashes as though she was nervous to look at him directly, “It’s no bother, really. My brother gave me a lift up.”

“Aye well, shall we?” Jamie shrugged his shoulders into his jacket, trying his hardest to avoid Jenny’s darting eyes between the two of them as he put his hand in the space just shy of Mary’s shoulder, herding her out of the door.

“Have fun!” Jenny shouted, her voice thick with expectation as Jamie opened the door of his Landrover for his date, offering a gentlemanly hand as she made the slight jump up to the passenger seat. Shutting the door behind her, he shot a death glare to his sister who was practically vibrating on the doorstep and got into the vehicle himself, setting off down the track that took him away from the Lallybroch estate and prying eyes.

The restaurant was fine. Dinner was fine. Mary was nice enough and Jamie had tried to be his most charming self but there was still a cloud of awkwardness hanging over the table. Mary was a quiet wee thing and the phrase ‘like getting blood from a stone’ was ringing around Jamie’s head. There had been more than one uncomfortable silence, neither of them able to bring up a topic of conversation that successfully piqued the other’s interest past a solitary follow-up question. It also didn’t help that Jamie had the constant distraction of his phone buzzing audibly against his thigh the entire time, no doubt Jenny was constantly texting him to ask how things were going.

Once the coffees had been drunk and dessert turned down, Jamie had insisted on paying the bill and held the door open for Mary as they left the restaurant. When they walked to his car, Jamie had held the door open again but this time, Mary halted. With a shy peek up at his confused face, she closed the space between them and pressed a kiss to his mouth. It hadn’t registered in Jamie’s consciousness until he felt her push her body against his with a little more force. He flinched, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushing her away slightly to see her gasp for a breath that had alluded her.

A bright red descended over her cheeks, “I’m sorry, I’m-“

“No, lass, it’s fine. Really, it’s…” he trailed off, realising that he was looking at her mouth, open and inviting. How long it had been that he’d kissed a woman and not been half gone with drink? Steeling himself, his hands went to her waist and he pressed her gently against the car, letting his mouth fall onto hers as she whimpered and relaxed beneath him.

Jamie kissed her. He tried his best to be present as his mouth moved against hers, eliciting noises that he hadn’t heard from a woman in a long time. He let his hands drift upwards, cupping her face in his palms and he felt her instinctively move towards him and press herself against him, more boldly this time, her hands coming to the small of his back and pulling him closer to her.

A persistent buzz from his pocket threw cold water over a lukewarm situation. Pulling away, he looked at Mary, ragged breaths bursting from her lungs as he managed to settle himself quickly, retrieving the phone from his pocket and throwing it a quick glance.

Claire calling… Claire (Eight unread messages)

His stomach dropped as he ignored the call and threw it into the car behind Mary, still standing in the open passenger door with something in her eyes that Jamie prayed wasn’t hope.

“Best get ye home, lass,” he said quietly, immediately walking around the bonnet of the car as poor Mary McNab scrambled to collect herself, sitting quietly in the passenger seat.

He drove Mary to her home in silence, tightened his hand on hers once as he said goodnight with a polite smile that he hoped she would understand as an apology and began the drive home, the single-track country roads twisting and turning along with the myriad of thoughts that were running through his head.

The last thing he needed after a frustrating evening was to get stuck behind a baler on the road but he knew better than to swear at the farmer who was driving the huge piece of machinery as fast as he possibly could. As he tawdled along behind the tractor, his ears strained to hear if his phone was vibrating in its holder, eyes darting to check if the screen was going to light up with her name again.

“Mac na galla,” he grumbled to himself as he pulled into a lay-by and watched as the baler trundled down the road. Within seconds, the cab of his car was illuminated against the black of the night outside. He tried his best to ignore the shake in his fingers as he unlocked his phone and opened his messages.

Jenny: Careful and nae wake the bairns when you stumble in!

Jamie fought the urge to rest his forehead against the steering wheel and worried about how he could possibly tell Jenny that the date had been a bust.

Had been, until he’d kissed wee Mary McNab back. Probably confused the poor woman to no end. Why had he done that? She was a nice enough person and he hadn’t had a bad time but there definitely hadn’t been any spark. And that had been before he’d found out that the incessant texts he’d been receiving during their date weren’t actually from his sister, they were from her.

“Swear to Christ, Claire,” he hissed, screwing his eyes shut before they opened again, entirely of their own volition, to look at the other messages he hadn’t read from the evening.

Claire: Hey! I know it’s been ages but don’t kill me! Busy, y’know. Anyway, have you seen the email? Claire: I think I’m going to come over for it, what are you thinking? Claire: Jamie! Claire: Please say you’re going, I don’t want to go stag! Claire: I’m not going to book a flight unless you say you’re going to be there. Claire: Jamieeeeeee! I’ve had a bottle of wine and I am making rash decisions! Claire: Okay, I’m doing it and I hope you know that I blame you entirely. Claire: Flight booked.

His brain was going a mile a minute, sat in his car engulfed by the pitch blackness of the countryside as his fingers furiously clicked onto his emails, eyes scanning through the deluge of special offer gym memberships and an invite to like an old friend’s new business facebook page when he finally saw it.

A reunion of the Graduating Class of 2012!

He gleaned over the information, passing the cheap graphic that had been plastered to the start of the email invite as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

There was to be a reunion of their whole graduating year in two month’s time. Everyone from Alumni to Fellows and tutors invited, partners and families welcome.

Back to rubbing shoulders with some of the best and worst people he’d had the pleasure of knowing, not even able to say that he’d made something of himself five years on from when they’d seen him last. He had graduated with a First, that was true. But he hadn’t moved from his home at Lallybroch and God knows there wasn’t much work for anyone who spoke fluent French and German in the rural Highlands of Scotland. It was true that he’d done a bit of consulting and translating work for the Scottish Government, lending a hand as they began their push for the inclusion of Gael culture into the national curriculum after the introduction of the Gaelic Language Act. But he would’ve been able to do that even without his degree, having grown up speaking both Gaelic and English. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, the knowledge that simply having an Oxford degree had got him on the board in the first place.

Still, he tried to keep his heart from racing as a single thought repeated in his mind.

Claire would be there. And it sounded like she’d be coming alone.

Jamie fought the urge to return her call immediately, his thoughts too scattered to try and figure out what time it was in Boston. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had even spoken on the phone. Although they had both promised to keep their phone calls regular after that first one when she’d called to say thank you for the flowers, they had become less and less frequent over the five years since they’d last seen each other. And when they did speak, there was always a tension that would hide in the spaces between their words, one which Jamie was terrified of acknowledging. So he watched what he said and eventually the conversations became routine and dull, neither of them willing to drop a crumb that could potentially lead the other down a path that would end with unspoken truths. Jamie felt drained after every call, lying in bed at night and going over the way her laugh sounded and whether it would have reached her eyes. After a few missed opportunities, the calls became texts which then dissolved into the odd tag on a funny Facebook post and a casual like on Instagram. But nothing of worth shared between two people who, at one point, had been everything to each other.

Two months later, Jamie found himself sat at a large table in the hall of Merton College, where it all began. The fingers of his left hand tapped rapidly against the muscles of his thigh, fingertips numb from rubbing against the scratchy wool of his kilt. He had gone all out, donned his traditional clothing with pride swelling his heart at the sight of the modern Fraser tartan, and sent a prayer of thanks to his parents when he slipped on his Prince Charlie jacket to find that it still fit him across the shoulders. It felt like a lifetime since he’d been at university having parties and society nights in this very hall, the standard stereo system being replaced by the more sophisticated option of a small band situated in the corner, fronted by a beautiful blonde woman who was crooning about it being a marvellous night for a moondance. Jamie certainly wasn’t trying to get drunk but he was already on his second whisky in an attempt to quell the nerves that were brewing in his stomach. He was powerless to the constant roving of his eyes, unable to relax until they found their target amongst the throng of people.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Jamie looked towards the sound of John’s exasperated voice, ever the perfect Lord in his coat and tails.

John Grey was one of the only people besides Claire that Jamie had kept in contact with since leaving Oxford. The two of them had met on the rugby pitch and had immediately taken a liking to each other. John had been the only person besides Jenny that knew of Jamie’s feelings for Claire although he had once termed it a ‘soft spot’ and Jamie hadn’t corrected him, not wanting him to know how deep the feelings went. He knew that John was gay himself and it had taken an uncouth joke from another member of the rugby team at the expense of John’s sexuality that had seen Jamie ramming a knee a little too hard during a ruck that had fused the two of them as good friends.

“Sorry, I’m wi’ ye now,” Jamie huffed, letting his shoulders relax slightly as he turned his body towards the man sitting across the table from him. “What is it ye were sayin’?”

John’s faux-irritated expression softened as something behind Jamie caught his eye before he smiled at him.

“Looks like you got your wish.”

Jamie could feel the air in the room as it changed, shifted to one full of static energy and promise. Without looking back, he got to his feet and smoothed out his kilt making sure that the pleats were sitting properly.

John rolled his eyes knowingly, “You look fine, stop fidgeting.”

Breath left Jamie’s lungs in a shaky sigh as he expelled the nerves that were sitting in his throat and turned to look upon her for the first time in years.

She was radiant. Not that he was surprised by the fact but he found that he was counting himself lucky just to be in the same room as her. Claire, his Sorcha, dressed in a deep red gown that was cut daringly low at her bust, a neckline that perfectly showed off her bonny wee shoulders and contrasted against her pale velvet skin. He knew that she would’ve paid good money to have someone wrestle her curls into a loose bun on top of her hair but she hadn’t bothered with too much make-up, just a simple blush on her cheeks that almost matched the colour of her lips. Jamie felt something tug in the dead space beneath his ribs, as though the tether that had been separated years ago was suddenly trying to fight its way back to her.

He had the priviledge of seeing her reaction at the moment she caught sight of him, shoulders rise sharply in a quick inhale of breath that she wasn’t in control of. Jamie couldn’t move, finding himself instantly fixed to the spot as she smiled at him, huge and beatific, before making her way across the room to stand in front of him.

“You’re here,” she said simply.

“Of course I’m here. Wouldnae miss it fer the world.”

He immediately cringed at his words as he saw her smile softly. He had forgotten, just for a moment, that this woman knew him and would be able to infer what he was really saying—that he wouldn’t miss her for the world. Suddenly shy, Claire looked away as she offered her open arms. He greedily accepted, crushing her into his chest and fighting the insurmountable urge to bury his nose in her curls and breathe like he was coming up for air.

“It’s so good to see you,” she whispered against his chest, her breath dampening against the material of his crisp white Oxford shirt.

“Aye, it’s good to see ye as well.”

At the sound of someone clearing their throat, Jamie reluctantly let her go so Claire could beam at the sight of John Grey, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder as she kissed him on the cheek in greeting.

“My dear, you look transcendent,” John remarked as a blush of mild rage began to creep up Jamie’s neck. Of course Lord John would have the proper words for this situation, not the awkwardness that tumbled out of Jamie’s mouth. He glared at John who raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘well, you weren’t going to say it’ and Jamie resisted the urge to clip him around the back of his perfectly coiffed head. “Would you like a drink, Claire? Champagne?”

“Please,” she breathed a sigh of relief as John excused himself to the bar.

They were in a room of hundreds of people but in that moment, Jamie felt like they were truly alone. Claire was standing in front of only him and he let his eyes feast on every minute detail, how she was different and how she was exactly the same. Hazel eyes roamed over his face and he tried to control the tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers that were fighting to reach out and touch her.

“How is everyone? Jenny and Ian, the little ones?” Claire asked after clearing her throat.

“Aye aye, they’re all braw. Young Jamie is in school now and wee Maggie is the spit of her mother.”

“I miss them,” she said in earnest, her brows sloping upwards on her forehead, “I think of them from time to time, even if they were too young to remember me.”

“Yer none sae easily forgotten, Sassenach,” he said it without thinking and heard her take a sharp inhale at the sound of his pet name for her. It had been years since the name had left his lips.

“Now there’s something I don’t get called in Boston.”

“No, I imagine not, Doctor Beauchamp,” he grinned as he placed a hand on her elbow and lead her back towards the table. “Tell me everything, I want to know it all.”

The air around them was full of the words that poured out of their mouths, quickly falling into the same groove that had developed between them. It was so easy with her, Jamie thought to himself, like breathing air or falling into bed along the longest day. He was grateful to find that there were no awkward pauses or worries about what to say and what to keep to himself. The first time she hit him on the knee with her bonny wee hand, he nearly felt it jerk towards her involuntarily as if to catch the pressure of her touch again. If she noticed, she didn’t let on and tipped her head backwards to laugh at something he wasn’t even aware of saying.

John returned after a slightly longer than normal trip to the bar, apologising for the delay with the explanation of getting caught with an old friend but the look that he shot to Jamie told him it had been intentional to allow Jamie time with Claire. Jamie thanked him with his eyes but noticed an uneasy look on John’s face as he handed Claire’s champagne to her, placed Jamie’s whisky in front of him and took a deep sip from his own gin and tonic while cradling a fourth glass in his hand.

“There you are, darling.”

The sound of his voice made the whisky in Jamie’s throat burn that little bit more as it went down. Jamie tore his eyes from Claire’s face to see Frank settling himself into a chair, taking his drink graciously from John’s hand.

“Ah James, John mentioned you were here,” Frank nodded his head and glass towards Jamie in a small toast of greeting and Jamie nodded back, trying his hard to smile through the grimace.

“Nice to see ye again, Frank,” he lied.

“Yes, you too. Serendipitous, actually, I wonder if I could pick your brain about a few things?”

Claire cleared her throat and placed a gentle hand on Frank’s knee, “Darling, I don’t think Jamie wants to talk about your work, we’re here to enjoy ourselves.”

“Nonsense, I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear. You see, I’m away to specialise in the immigration of the Scots to the Americas after the Clearances,” Frank leaned across Claire and planted his forearms on the table, effectively blocking her off from the topic of conversation. Jamie tried his best not to glare at him in response and caught a small smile from Claire that told him not to bother, she was used to it.

“Fuadaichean nan Gàidheal,” Jamie muttered before knocking back his whisky in frustration and watching as Frank’s eyes lit up. Claire’s mouth twitched and Jamie had to resist the temptation to smile, knowing that she enjoyed hearing him speak in his mother tongue.

“Oh, wonderful! You speak Gaelic then?”

“Aye. We were speakin’ the Gàidhlig in the house before English, really.”

“Jamie is on a board that’s implementing the legislation that protects the use of Gaelic in Scotland,” Claire chimed in, much to Jamie’s surprise. He hadn’t told her anything about it.

“Keepin’ tabs on me, have ye?” Jamie smirked and she simply winked at him over the rim of her drink before bringing it to her mouth. “Aye, I’m part of the Bòrd na Gàidhlig. Just advising here and there.”

“He’s being modest. He’s been involved in writing a National plan for the Gaelic language over the next five years,” John added, refusing to let Jamie talk down his achievements.

Frank’s eyebrows raised into his forehead, creating deep lines in their wake, trying not to sound too surprised when he said, “That’s very impressive.”

“None sae impressive as a Harvard lecturer and a surgeon,” Jamie beamed at Claire who rolled her eyes in response.

Their collective heads turned towards the corner of the hall as the singer in the band announced the arrival of the President of the university. Welcomes were offered, donors were thanked and information provided about the up and coming renovation of a library that sorely needed funding. Jamie really tried to pay attention to the speech but at the mention of money, he was happy to find himself distracted by the sight of Claire in front of him. She was sat facing away from him and it allowed Jamie to look more closely without her being aware. He followed the line of her neck until it disappeared into her hair line and was struck by a vivid memory of pressing his lips there the night they shared in Amsterdam.

Of course he knew that it was going to be a shock to his system, seeing her in person after so many years. And he had stared his reflection down in the mirror that night, willing his fingers to stop shaking as he tried to fasten the belt that held his sporran, having to consciously take steadying breaths. He had wondered over the years if he had imagined it, had built up their connection in his mind in an attempt to not feel so alone. To have the knowledge that somewhere, out there in the world, there was someone who knew the bones of him, all his black and twisted bits, and not only accepted them but loved him for it.

But being in her presence, even after all these years, simply confirmed what he knew in his heart. What he felt for Claire Beauchamp was painfully real.

The room filled with polite applause and the band started up again with an upbeat song, inviting people to take to the dance floor. Jamie took a sip from his drink and watched as Frank’s eyes caught someone across the room.

“I’m just away to say hello to some friends,” Frank announced as he sent Jamie a wink that slithered sickeningly down his spine. “Keep the old girl out of trouble for me, boys?”

He was off with a shot and John was soon to follow, clearing his throat politely and smoothing down his coat as he stood.

“I believe I’m also overdue with making the rounds, please excuse me you two,” he said with a gracious bow of the head, leaving the two of them alone.

Just as Jamie was thinking of the perfect thing to say, the tone of Claire’s voice shocked him.

“Not very subtle, is he?” Claire remarked as her eyes found Frank across the room, watching as his hand fixed around the elbow of a very pretty blonde woman and his lips came to her cheek, just a little too close to the corner of her mouth. As Jamie looked on confused, he turned to see Claire downing the last of her champagne, something burning behind her eyes that he couldn’t put his finger on. His heart twisted as he realised that he didn’t know her tells anymore.

“What d’ye mean-“

“Dance?” She sent him a dazzling smile that he made his heart stutter but she hadn’t become so alien to him that he couldn’t see the look across her face that said ‘please, don’t ask’. He mumbled something about having two left feet as he stood, the skin of his hand becoming afire when she took it in hers.

Claire settled them on the dance floor, confidently wrapping his arm around the small of her back as she held his other in her hand. He didn’t recognise the song that the band were playing and realised that he couldn’t care less, fervently trying to keep his head even though her body was pressing against his in a way that he realised he’d been starving of since the last time he saw her.

“So, tell me what’s new with you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his lips following its trajectory upwards, “Sounds like ye were keeping an eye on what I was gettin’ up tae anyway.”

“Well, I can’t deny the odd google here and there. Can you blame me? Its not like we know each other like we used to and when I knew that I’d be seeing you again, I refused to act like a stranger.”

He heard the honesty in her tone of voice and nodded soberly, unable to bring himself to look at her and so he pulled her that little bit closer, the added height from her heels allowing her to tuck her chin into the space between his shoulder and his ear.

“Aye, we’ve no’ been great at keepin’ in touch,” he acquiesced. “Mebbe we should try to make more of an effort? I ken yer busy wi’ yer work-“

“I’d like that.”

He let her pull away from his body and look at him, that sad smile playing on her lips that he hated to see.

“Aye, me too, Sassenach.”

As soon as her pet name left his lips, her glass face betrayed her feelings as a huge smile split across her lips, her eyes twinkling.

“I didn’t realise how much I missed that.”

He laughed at her then, spinning her under his arm in a feat of grace that surprised even him and earning a delighted burst of laughter from her mouth before she tucked herself back against him, closer than before. With a strength that he didn’t know that he possessed, he stopped himself from pressing his cheek to the crown of her head.

The upbeat song that they she had dragged him onto the floor to dance to ended and a slower one took its place. He felt the muscles in her body change and melt into his grip as Jamie tried his best to lead her through the dance even though he knew that he wasn’t moving in time with the music. She let him anyway, not seeming to care that they weren’t moving with the same grace as the other couples. Before he even realised that they were shut, Jamie’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Claire gasping.

“Did I step on your toes?” He asked jokingly as he went to look at her, seeing that her eyes were transfixed on something over his shoulder. He craned his neck, following her eyeline to the set of double doors that the skinny blonde was heading through, Frank following closely behind with what could only be described as a ‘shit-eating grin’ on his face.

Jamie’s head swivelled back to her as he searched her eyes for the fury that he knew must be brewing in the pit of her stomach. He was shocked when all that he found was defeat.

“Claire?”

His Sassenach shook her head once before casting her eyes downward and muttering under her breath. The next second, she was looking at him again, her teeth showing in what was meant to be a smile but looked more like a grimace.

“Huh?” she feigned ignorance. Jamie was having none of it.

“Claire, tell me what’s going on.”

She pulled away from him, fully, leaving him bereft. He watched as he squared her shoulders, her eyes determined on the doors that she had just watched her boyfriend disappear through with another woman.

“It’s nothing, I just need to grab Frank and-“

He stopped her as she made to rush past him, closed his hand gently around her wrist to stop her from running after the man that clearly didn’t deserve her.

“Talk to me,” he implored.

Claire looked at him, the rage that had been missing from her eyes now well and truly present. But the surprise was when he realised that it was being aimed at him.

“Let me go, I need to find Frank. Before he-“

“Shags someone else?” Jamie said without thinking, immediately regretting his words at the sight of Claire’s chin lifting into the air in defiance. She tensed the muscles of her arm as if to test the grip he held on her and Jamie immediately let her go, horrified at the concept of her attempting to see how tightly he was holding her. Trying in vain not to jump to conclusions about the dynamics of Claire’s relationship with Frank, he immediately raised his hands, hoping that she would understand what he was trying to say — that nobody should ever be touching her with any sort of force behind it. The look in her eyes made his stomach turn with revulsion.

He moved to close the distance that she had created, wanting to keep her safe, and saw her recoil from him instinctively.

Eyes wide and full of shame, Jamie quickly rectified his error and gave back the gap that he’d made to close.

“It’s just me, Claire. Talk to me, please.”

Christ, she looked like an animal ready to bolt from a burning barn. He could see the frisson of adrenaline moving through her body, her muscles waking up and ready to act, whether the reaction was fight, flight or freeze.

“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t need your pity,” she spat the words at him and Jamie felt his head spin from the speed of which the situation had changed.

“It’s not pity, Sassenach, it’s concern. Tell me yer nae livin’ on the other side of the world wi’ a man who’s— who’s playin’ ye false.”

It might have been because of the fact that Claire had never allowed herself to say it out loud, let alone be on the receiving end of it from someone else, but the rage flamed its way through her body. And Jamie has in the firing line.

“And what am I supposed to do, leave him and live in Boston on my own? I don’t have anyone.”

He couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth even if he’d tried, “Ye have me.”

Jamie felt his stomach turn to stone at the sight of the fear that passed across her face.

“It was nice seeing you,” she muttered under her breath as she made to leave.

The frustration bubbled in the pit of his stomach as he seethed, “Dinna do that.”

Claire bristled with indignation as her eyes fixed on him, “Do what?”

“Nice to see me, aye? Fucking hell, Claire.” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, the hand that had been wedged in the space between her ribs and her hip bone just a few moments before. “Ye ken fine well ye deserve better.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ye heard me jus’ fine, dinna pretend. Ye deserve better than a man who’d play ye false,” Jamie took a step towards her, lowering his voice so it was barely a whisper. “Ye ken, if ye were mine, it wouldnae even be a question in yer mind.”

The palm of her hand landed on his cheek as a bolt of lightning before he even registered that it happened. Stars burst into his vision but when they finally began to fade, all he could see was the broken look on her face and he immediately regretted his words.

“Fuck you, James Fraser.”

Before his brain could form a response, an apology for speaking out of turn, she was gone from him and he could only watch as she left through the doors that Frank had disappeared through moments before. Jamie made to go after her but was stopped when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Not here. She’ll be more angry for you making a scene,” John said quietly before nodding a polite smile to the couple that had been closest on the dance floor and had no doubt heard the entire thing. Jamie sighed angrily, forgetting that he was around people that would love to go home with the tawdry gossip of what happened at their university’s five year reunion party. Well, he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. And he definitely wasn’t going to do it at the cost of Claire’s reputation.

John’s hand exerted a firm pressure on Jamie and he allowed it, letting himself be lead back to their table. Miraculously, John had another whisky waiting for Jamie as he sipped his own drink, closely watching his friend with gentle eyes.

“I thought it might just be a crush but seeing you tonight… I understand.”

Jamie rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to dull the war in his brain that was pulling him between the notion of chasing after her, making her listen, and giving her the space that she had asked for.

“It’s no’ a crush. Hasnae been fer years.”

“Yes, I can see that now. I do know how that feels, you know,” John agreed quietly causing Jamie to pull his eyes up to meet him.

The look on John’s face told Jamie everything he already knew. John had admitted his feelings about Jamie during their time on the rugby team together, the two drunkenly stumbling to a taxi rank after a night of celebrating a win. John had managed to secure the win by way of a miraculous drop kick, only having the space and time to do so because of Jamie’s perfect blocking. Jamie hoped he’d been gentle in his rejection of John, placing his large hands on either side of the smaller man’s ribcage and keeping him at a distance that stopped him from landing the kiss that he’d tried to deliver.

“Aye, mebbe ye do,” Jamie admitted, smiling slightly at the man who simply laughed. “Does it ever get easier?”

Unsteadied at being on the end of Jamie’s typical Scottish directness, the corners of John’s eyes crinkled as he answered truthfully.

“Not really, no.”

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au