#man if me from 5 years ago could see me now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

babygirl-riley · 8 months

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Welcome Home

You surprise Simon at the base instead of being at home. You also think about how far he has come to acceptance.

Warnings: mentions of sexual acts, fluff, dad!simon, angst, pregnancy

“I’ve fallen for it, I’ve fallen for it somehow.”

A/N: THE PART TWO DAD!SIMON FROM @ave661 IS KILLLINGGGG ME! Seriously chokehold she has me in ALL the time with her art. 😭

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family edition

You called Price beforehand, asked him if it was alright to surprise Simon. You wanted to show up at the base with your baby girl waiting for him. Like you always do. Thankfully and full heartedly he agreed, he even added that he is excited to see his niece. On the way to the base you felt excitement as you played music for both you and your baby.

Your baby gabbles as she plays with hanging baby toys on her car seat. Simon has been gone for a month, it has been so long and you were so excited. He missed having her first tooth, which he will be so excited to see.

Once you got you and your child out of the car you headed to the inside of the base. “141 will be landing in 5 minutes ma’am.” A man said guiding you to the tarmac. “Captain Price said to meet them there.”

You followed the solider to the direction of the tarmac. You knew very well where it was at, a year ago you were on the team for 141 but decided to retire once you found out you were pregnant. Memories littered the hallways as you held your baby close.

“No.” He mumbled as you both stood in your room. He didn’t move for a moment, you thought he was going to leave and not come back for hours. Simon doesn’t do well with emotions but the last couple of months, he has been able to open up more. Now this. You didn’t know how he was going to react let alone what he was going to do.

It was clear, two lines, one word, 6 tests. You and Simon have been in secret for 2 years, established a relationship in a year. You played with your hands as nerves started to kick in. “I thought you were on birth control.” Simon said looking up at you, his eyes only to be shown. The skull mask looking at you.

“I am.” You said your heart slowly hurting, you knew that he never wanted a kid. You knew of his past so this was a joke for the both of you. It was frowned upon when a lieutenant would be sleeping with their sergeant. Hell damn near court marshaled.

Simon looked back down at the tests. He can’t. He won’t. His mind racing a million miles an hour. How could he explain this one to Price? How could you hide a belly on the force? Is there a way for it to be a secret anymore? He cursed himself for loving the fact that he could breed you. It was a new found kink, with him thinking of his cum coating your walls. Simon never broadcast it to you. Telling you that seeing a belly got him feral, thinking about how your body would react to his gift. But…It’s just…is it too soon? Was he ready? Surely he couldn’t be.

“I can get…”

“No,” He cut you off before looking up at you. “This…Not that. ‘M,” his voice trailed. No abortion, he won’t put your body through hell just because both of you didn’t want to wrap it. “I just-I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t either,” You whispered walking slowly up to him. “But we can figure this out?”

Simon nodded once still looking at the tests. You waited as he stood there and sighed. “We have to tell Price now.”

“Here is the tarmac,” The solider said breaking you from your thoughts. “It looks like they have just landed.”

You mumbled a thank you as soldiers came out one by one from the plane. All covered in dirt or blood, tired written on their faces. You frowned knowing that Simon felt the same, it couldn’t have gone the way it suppose to.

You smiled as you walked out watching Gaz come out first, happy surprise on his face. He looked to the side of him to see Soap, who smiled at you nodded. Price smiled, heading towards the direction you were before stopping. Simon, walked out last, almost stopped in his tracks.

Smile beaming on his face underneath the skull mask. His girls. He be-lined to you and your baby girl. His heart beating quickly, as excitement coursed through his veins.

Price stood as both of his teammates broke the news. He had his suspicions of them fucking around but not together. He itches his beard as your tears start to mellow out. Simon was not looking at him but folding his arms while leaning against the wall.

It was like two of his kids came home after school to get hounded at. It was amusing if Price wasn’t angry. Yes. He was at first, his lieutenant and his best sniper in a bit of a bind. She has to be discharged no way will Price NOR Simon let her go out in the field. Especially since they voiced they are keeping the kid.

“We keep it low,” Price finally spoke watched as both of you looked up. “We have to slowly discharge you, not try to have eyes on the situation until then. No missions for you.”

You nodded, first time every has he seen you so shy. Timid. Usually you had confidence written all over you. “Yes sir.” You mumbled looking away.

Price looked at Simon. “I want to have a discussion with you,” He looked at you as you stared at him. You both are young, younger than him anyway. He seen how Simon’s demeanor changed throughout the years when you came on the force. Of course no one else saw it, but Price did. He always knew. “Dismissed Sargent.”

Your baby squealed with delight as she bounced in your arms. “Da! Da!” She yelled as Simon walked over, having heads turn to see the little baby showed her excitement. Simon did take note that she knew who he was and in fact used ‘dada.’

Simon almost damn near sprinted as he walked up to both of you. You let him take your baby as he grabbed her, she screamed laughed, as he rose her to the air. Holding her sides gently but firm. She is so tiny compared to him, she kicked her feet softly in the air, laughing her little head off. Simon loves that sound, the sound of pure joy coming from her. To the point he didn’t give a damn who was around them. Simon was never a shower when it came to his private life, but when she was around wow, he would make sure everyone knew who she was.

Simon sat across the table from you, your bump more noticeable, 6 months to be exact. He still couldn’t believe that what was growing inside you was his. Part of him. Something that he would have never thought would be done. Or have. You have become more aware and accepting of having the child. Yet he still hasn’t.

“I know it will take time Si,” You said knowing always what he was thinking. Simon snapped his eyes up at you, he felt guilt for sure. You were just honorable discharged and he stayed in the force. “I can’t make you feel happy about this. But…But I know eventually you will.”

He didn’t believe you until one night he laid between your legs as you rubbed the back of his head. Simon chuckled lightly at the tv show you were both watching right when it happened,felt a small poke to his head, he froze, you felt him tense. “What…what that?”

You giggled lowly as you rubbed your belly. “It’s the baby,” He still didn’t move when he felt it again. “She moves a lot when you make any sort of noise.” Simon rose slightly, looking up at you, curiously. You grabbed his hand and placed it where she was. His eyes trained on his hand. “Say something.” You whispered.

Simon looked at you unsure before clearing his throat. “Uh, hello baby girl.” It took a second before he felt the bump move to his hand. A soft graze. He snapped his eyes up at you and tears brimming your eyes, nodding. Encouraging him to continue. Simon’s eyes started to water, everything hitting, even when she isn’t out here she was wanting him. Knowing that he is her dad. And she was his baby.

His hand rubbed your belly. “‘Ight ass kicker. I’m happy to hear ya too.”

“Hello my angels,” He said as slowly held her close to him. Her head cradled inside of his neck. Her hands gripping his uniform. He placed a hand on the back of her hand holding her close. You smiled as he placed his other gloved hand on your cheek. “Why ya ‘ere?”

“I couldn’t wait at home,” You stated as people passed the both of you. “She couldn’t either,” you bumped your shoulder against his. “Told you it was dada.” You teased talking about the last time you both were on the phone. Her screaming ‘da da da,’ knowing damn well it was her daddy on the phone. Simon would tease and say that she got your intelligence since she was only 5 months.

Simon chuckled rolling his eyes, turning his head as she rose from his shoulder. She started towards his skull mask gripping the bottom of it. “Not yet sweethear,’” he whispered gently grabbing her hands. “We are gonna debrief it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Lass,” You laughed as the scottish came up from behind Simon. Slapping his back. “Oh well hello little miss.” He scratched softly underneath her chin. She laughed again shaking her head as she clung onto her dad. “Yer playing hard to get now?” He teased and looked at you.

“Hey Johnny,” You laughed reaching for your baby. She came to you with ease, which you mentally sighed in relief, hoping that she wouldn’t ball her little eyes out when she watched her dad leave. “We will wait on the cafeteria.”

Simon placed his forehead against yours. “It will be quick.” He whispered.

You nodded as you watched them all file into the base. Your baby holding onto you cooing. “Why don’t you ever get that excited to see me,” You playfully glared poking her stomach. She giggled swatting your finger away. “Brat.” You laughed taking her and you to the cafeteria.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had.

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you.

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.”

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered.

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.”

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse.

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!”

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains.

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest.

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away.

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you.

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive.

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours.

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second.

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds.

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood.

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through.

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did.

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming.

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips.

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest.

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them.

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas.

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar.

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too.

Everything would be done if another city fell.

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry.

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down.

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him.

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another.

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm.

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike.

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that.

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do.

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness.

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up.

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did.

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!”

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock.

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious.

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream.

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static.��

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead.

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out.

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t.

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life.

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.”

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile?

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky.

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him.

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine.

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact.

Your face gains heat.

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment.

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow.

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?”

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began.

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died.

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar.

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found.

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.”

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk.

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls.

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.”

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around.

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more.

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water.

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering.

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet.

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important.

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything.

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course.

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious.

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years.

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place.

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet.

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds.

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?”

You weren’t going to stop until you found it.

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet.

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him.

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you.

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you.

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard.

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?”

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it.

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.”

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.”

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after.

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question.

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile.

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building.

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told.

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood.

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch.

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago.

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system.

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real.

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three.

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices.

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.”

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible.

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet.

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?”

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years.

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?”

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh.

The man forces a weak huff.

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you.

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same.

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you.

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck.

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?”

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.”

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you.

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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planeteroticaaa · 2 months

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— ATTENTION

“let’s just go, my dear. cause the way you put it on, made me wanna take it off you.”

nanami was typically a rather patient man, but tonight he couldn’t help the twitch in his eye or the deep scowl on his face as he watched you make conversation with a group of his colleagues. you weren’t aware of the way they gawked at you in that long, black body con dress you wore—their eyes flickering from the generous amount of cleavage the low v-neck flashed to the way the wind blew the slit of the garment to show more of your legs each time your eyes closed when smiling that same smile that wooed him 5 years ago just as it was doing them now.

it wasn’t intentional, he knew it wasn’t. you just wanted to make a good impression, especially because you knew it could tarnish the way people at his job viewed him, but fuck were you doing too good of a job at pretending to care about what that arrogant, asshole of a boss had to say.

nanami hadn’t wished to go to this work party, ready to lie his way out of it and while you chalked it up to your husband not wishing to socialize, his worried were rooted deeper than that…you. he knew his collages would waste no time surrounding you in disbelief that nanami had a wife and in even more disbelief on just how beautiful you were.

how was it that you were the center of attention everywhere you went? that you turned this party from something everyone felt obligated to attend to wishing that it didn’t have to end at 12am because now it was about to be 2am and nanami was in the corner messing with his now loosened tie, waiting for you to finish your last drink so you could leave as he wanted to take that dress off of you just as much as his boss did.

he himself was surrounded by his female colleagues—each in his ear about how you “left him to flirt with other men right in his face,” their words full of malicious intent that would make any other man question had it not been nanami. he didn’t care for these women—hell, nobody did when you were here, hypnotizing everybody with the way that dress hugged your curves or how contagious your laugh was, the sound blessing their ears, the sway of your hips when you walked, that damn smile luring them in like a moth to a flame.

his resolve was slowly crumbling—checking the time on his expensive watch each time these women opened their mouth to throw another jab at you, staring at you from afar, eyes asking—no, begging you to leave for it was late and he didn’t know how much more patient he could be with you looking like that and them looking at you like that. he’s adjusted himself for the nth time tonight, uncomfortable by the strain in his dress pants. you were driving him insane and he hadn’t even realized he started making his way over to you until he grabbed your wrist.

“you ready to go, my love?” he asked, but something about the way he stared at you—his usual kind, brown eyes now narrowed and dark—that he wasn’t asking you. “ken—” “y/n.” was all he said, voice low and sturn, shutting down any chance of argument, tension so thick it left everyone around you quiet.

he was tired, pissed, and needed you more than anything right now and you couldn’t help but to hook your arms around his stronger one, your smaller frame against his with his bicep pressed up against your breast. “i thought you’d never ask,” you said after smiling and pulling him down to your level by his tie so that your lips brushed against his. yeah, he knew you were all his.

“i see the tension rising…i feel the temperature rising.”

in honor of my man dropping this HEAVEN SENT album🤭! but in all seriousness, i wanted to give you guys a little something because school has been kicking my ASSSS, but i got yall again soon! — ♱. erotica

— tags list!: @kashxyou, @lame-xxx, @ninacutebee16, @ynishalee, @im-a-simp-4-2d-men (submit your tumblr username here if you wish to be added!)

#planeteroticaaa #jjk #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #husband nanami #nanami x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen

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helen-with-an-a · 11 days

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I am an adult part 5

Hiya, so this is the penultimate part of this series. It's a little angstier than what I had originally planned and I'm not entirely sure it'll get much better ahahaha. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it. And shout out to @lyak12 for helping me out with the plot a little ahahah

Barça Femeni x Reader ; Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 3.5 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6

Word Count: 5.3k

TW: A bit of bad mental health; R is a little shitty

It wasn’t until the Pokal Final that you actually got to see Lena again. It hadn’t really been a planned visit, but you had to get away. You had to see her, feel her again. You needed her to keep the darkness at bay. It was a random Monday morning when you received a phone call from your agent.

“Hey, pet, are you free to chat?” Paul said, his Geordie accent sounding slightly thicker than usual. “Yeh, yeh. I’ve just got home – what’s up?” You asked happily, not knowing the devastation that was about to come your way. “Um, look … there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna come right out and say it …” he paused, clearly psyching himself up for whatever he was about to say. You sat up from where you were slouched over the kitchen counter. This sounded important. Really important. And that scared you. “You know Barça have been having …” He searched for the right word. “Financial issues,” he settled on, hoping to give you an indication of where this conversation might be going. You did know the financial issues the club was having – it had been plastered all over various social media. You had tried not to let it worry you, but there had been a little niggle in the back of your head. “I’m so sorry, pet. They aren’t offering an extension. I’ve just received the information; they cannot afford to keep you on next season. You’re being let go. Your last match as a Barcelona Femeni player will be the 16th of June.”

Your world broke. What did they mean they could not afford to keep you? Were you not worth it to them? Of course, you weren’t worth the money. You were just a kid in their eyes. Why would they keep you instead of Alexia? A lifelong player that bled Barcelona and had multiple Ballon d'Ors to her name. Or Lucy? A multiple-time Champion League winner in her own right, with numerous individual accolades too. You were expendable. You were lucky they had even taken you on all those years ago. How naïve had you become to allow yourself to get comfortable? Was it because of the issues with the government last year? You knew you had seriously fucked up then, but everything seemed to be behind you. Nothing more had been said about the incident.

You cleared your throat, a futile attempt to dislodge the heavy lump that had formed. “Right … um …” You managed to croak out, your voice sounding foreign and weak to your own ears. “Pet, I know this is not what you wanted to hear. And I’m so, so sorry.” “It’s fine.” It was very much not fine. But you were too numb to do anything, really. The thoughts swirling dangerously across your mind were not something you wanted to process right now. “No, it’s not.” Paul's replied solemnly, his voice heavy. “I’ve tried to negotiate; I’ve just come back from a meeting with them, actually. I had hoped to have some kind of agreement made but they aren’t budging.” He paused, the silence echoing the futility of his efforts. “But you’ve got offers,” he reassured you, his words a feeble attempt to lighten the heavy disappointment. “Name the continent and you’ve got an offer. Portland, Houston, Gotham, Kansas, Tigres, Bayern, Wolfsburg, Lyon, PSG, Melbourne, Sydney, Chelsea, Man City,-”

It was too much. Information overload.

“C-can we not do this right now? I … I just need a minute.” Your voice was thick with suppressed tears. “Absolutely, of course. How about I get all the offers and whatnot up and into a document for you and I’ll email it over to you. You read over it, and I’ll schedule a meeting for, let’s say, next Monday? We can talk it all through then, yeah?” “Yeah,” you agreed absently. You didn’t want to look over offers. You wanted to stay in Barcelona. You were happy here; you had friends, and people you considered family were here. But they didn’t want you. They were more than happy to throw you to the wind without a second doubt. The phone call ended and that was that. Barça didn’t want you. You weren’t worth it.

Conflicting emotions raging a war in your mind; pain, hurt, anger, sadness, defeat, fear, anxiety, dread, disappointment, helplessness, embarrassment, shame. The first hour after the phone call you had stayed by the counter, watching each message from all of your teammates and Lena buzz. You prayed one of them would be Paul, telling you that Barça had reconsidered, that they had miraculously found the money and would offer you an extension. He never did. You knew the adult thing would be to let yourself feel … something … anything. But you didn’t want to be an adult right now. Adult, you would be sad; look over the document Paul sent over and view this as an opportunity. Adult you would phone up Ona and Alexia and ask them to come round and help you through this. Adult you would call Lena. But you weren’t an adult right now. Right now, you were scared and ashamed, and angry and in so much pain. You didn’t want to do what adults should do. You didn’t know what you wanted … but you knew being an adult was not one of them.

Eventually, you moved to the couch. The couch that you had forced Ona, Patri and Pina to help you pick out. The couch that had witnessed so many memories – you had cried on this couch, you had laughed on this couch, you had fucked on this couch, you had loved on this couch. And now you had to find a new couch. You had to leave this couch behind. Slowly, the darkness crept in. With every passing hour a new part of your house was in shadow, another memory gone. The suncatcher in the window, the candles on the coffee table, the pictures on the wall … all disappearing in the blackness and soon to be forgotten. That is what would happen to you; you were sure of it. Alexia would move on and find a new Pequeña. Ona would move in with Lucy. Patri and Pina would have dinner-and-movie dates together without you. Marta, Sandra and Irene would go back to their own lives and stop worrying about you.

What were you going to tell Lena? Sorry, Liebe, your girlfriend’s unemployed. Sorry, Liebe, your long-distance girlfriend is potentially moving further away, and you’ll never play against her again. Barcelona had witnessed so much of your first steps to a tentative relationship. Barcelona had seen your first meetings, your first date, your butterflies, your excitement when you returned home, your confusion as unknown feelings of love swirled around in your chest.

Your phone buzzed. Speak of the devil. You didn’t want to speak to her right now. You knew that talking to her would make you cry. And you were trying really hard not to cry. But all you wanted to hear was her voice, her laughter, her reassurances. Your body moved before you had even noticed. “Hey, Schatz.” “H-,” you cleared your throat. “Hey, Liebe.” “Was ist los mit dir?” You could hear the panic in her voice, the shuffling of fabric as she sat up, attentive to what was happening. Your phone beeped again.

L 💚 is requesting a switch to video call

You clicked yes without thinking about it. Her face filled your screen; even in pixels, she looked beautiful. You, on the other hand, looked like a mess. Had you been crying? You didn’t think so, but you must have been, as another tear rolled silently down your cheek. Your eyes were red, your skin splotchy, and your face swollen and puffy. “Oh, Schatz,” Lena cooed. “What’s wrong?” Her soft voice was filled with earnest. You could feel her willing you to speak to her. You shook your head as the lump grew in your throat. “Schatz … bitte.” You made eye contact through the phone. “Barça … Barça aren’t offering a new contract. I have to leave at the end of the season.” Silence. A heartbeat of pure torture. Lena didn’t know what to say. She was angry for you – how could they not want you? Talent aside, you were the most incredible human in the world. Why would they not want you? But one look at you told her you didn’t need her anger; you needed her comfort. “Oh, Schatz,” she cooed. You shook your head, trying to fight back the overwhelming force of tears. “It’s ok to cry,” she reminded you. Her permission was all you needed. Hot, wet tears streamed down your face; the sobs hurt your chest. How? How could they do this? It took a while, filled with Lena’s comforting words and gentle reassurance, for you to calm down. When you were coherent enough to see the screen properly, you could tell Lena had been crying, too. Great, now you had made your girlfriend cry. “Ha-have you spoken to your agent?” She asked quietly, humming when you nodded. There was another pause, this time not as painful but still hard to get through. “Schatz, I want to come see you. Or you to see me. Please…” she pleaded. “No, Liebe, you’re busy. You’ve,” you sniffed, wiping your nosy unattractively on your sleeve. God, you’d be lucky if she still wanted to be with you after this. “You’ve got the Pokal final in like 3 days.” You so desperately wanted to see her, though. “Then you come to me,” she implored. “I’ve got matches, too,” you whimpered. The last thing you wanted to do was play for a club that didn’t want you. “Schatz, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but fuck them.” That made you laugh … well, not laugh per se, more like a weird huff or snort. But Lena could tell it was a gesture of humour nonetheless, she couldn’t help but respond with a similar smile. “I’m being honest. You’ve basically won the league; you can skip one game. You need a break and time to get your head around everything. Tell them it’s for mental health or whatever. Just … please, Schatz. I need to see you. I need to know you’re ok,” she said more seriously. “If you don’t come to Germany, I’m coming to you.”

You mulled it over, and Lena could tell you were thinking properly. You stared off out of the camera, your teeth sinking into your lip. You had your thinking face on. You really didn’t want to see anyone at Barça for the next few days. You needed to step back and have time to process, but you couldn’t do that with training and having to face the girls again. And it was true that you had already won the league; you didn’t need to play this particular match. And a break might do you some good. With the Copa de la Reina and Champion’s League finals coming up, seeing Lena again was something that would definitely help you relax a little. But you had the Copa de la Reina and Champion’s League finals coming up. You couldn’t miss valuable days of training. Barça were on for the quadruple. Should you do it? “The matches …” you finally said. “Mean nothing if it’s at the expense of your mental well-being,” Lena said emphatically. That was true. Winning the Copa de la Reina and Champion’s League would mean the world to you, only … you wouldn’t, couldn’t, be able to truly enjoy the experience. Not with this sword dangling over your head.

Less than 6 hours later, you found yourself on a plane. You had booked the first available flight out of Barcelona, hastily stuffing random hoodies and comfy joggers into a bag and snatching your passport. A curt text to Jona was all it took. You had made your decision, and a sense of relief washed over you. Lena would help you make sense of everything. You would take some time, give yourself a few days away from it all and then return with a plan. At least, that's what you told yourself.

Y/F/N Y/S/N: Hi. Unfortunately, I won’t be at training this week due to personal reasons. I would also appreciate if my name taken off the match list this weekend. Thanks Y/N.

Jonatan Giráldez: Hola, Y/N. I’m so sorry to hear that. Of course, take as much time as you need and yes, your name is off the squad list. If there is anything the club can do to help, please let me know. I hope you feel better soon, J.

If there’s anything the club can do to help? After they threw you away like you were nothing? After they brought you here as a child and then washed their hands of you? Not even having the decency to tell you with more than a month until your contract expired. Why would you go to the club? And surely Jonatan would know about your agent's conversations with the club? The staff always had a say in who was staying and who wasn’t; he must have known that the meeting was happening. That you were being told that you were no longer considered a valuable squad member – or at least one that warranted the cost to keep on … right?

One thing you hadn’t really considered, or maybe you had subconsciously but didn’t care, was the rest of the team. In their eyes, you had finished the recovery session on the Sunday as happy as Larry, and then you had dropped off the face of the earth. No one had heard from you, and then suddenly, at training, Jona said that you were taking some time off due to personal reasons. And no, he genuinely didn’t know what the personal reasons were. He even went so far as to show the Captains your text message. Short and to the point, no elaboration. Patri could feel the iciness through the words. Something was wrong.

Alexia’s phone call went straight to voicemail, as did Patri’s … Sandra’s, Irene’s, and Marta’s. They had Ona try, Pina, Cata, and Lucy. Every member of the team tried phoning you, and they all received the same response: straight to voicemail. So, you had turned your phone off. “Is she at her house?” Keira asked, watching as Ona pulled up your location. Ingrid stood off to the side, watching with worry as the girls descended into chaos over your unknown whereabouts. “Ok, everyone, enough,” she shouted, drawing all attention to her. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Ona, Ale and I will go to Y/N’s and check if she’s there. If she is, we'll stay and help her out with whatever she needs. If she isn’t, we’ll come back to mine, and we think of what to do next, ok? Everyone else, you are more than welcome to come to go home with María and wait, or you can do whatever you want. I don’t really care. We’ll keep you all updated on what’s happening, yeh?”

The plan was simple, really. Everyone knew what they had to do. The anxiety in the car was high, but calm and sensible Ingrid helped break the tension. “Her cars here,” Ona pointed out, nodding her head towards your designated space. “That’s good,” Ale smiled, squeezing Ona’s shoulder, but shared a look with Ingrid. They knew that that meant little in the grand scheme of things, you often ordered an Uber to take you places instead of driving. The hallway was unusually dark as they approached your apartment door. It was shut and locked, ruling out a break-in at least. Letting themselves in, it was starkly evident that you had left in a hurry – wherever you had gone. A blanket was carelessly left on the couch, a half-drunk cold cup of tea on the counter, your wardrobe door open and hangers on the bed. You were conspicuously absent. Ona was deeply unsettled; this was not like you at all. You never left without a word. Even if you were just going to the shops, you always texted her or sent her a silly selfie – it was a habit she cherished about you. Something was seriously, truly amiss.

Seeing Lena, the stone pressing on your chest felt lifted slightly. You walked straight into her arms as you hurried through the exit. Her soft skin, cinnamon smell, warm arms, and strong heartbeat soothed the storm. “Schatz,” she cooed, not mentioning the tears she felt dropping onto her shoulder. Come on, we’ll get a taxi back to my hotel, ja?” She ushered you towards the taxi rank. It was a little awkward for you both as she kept her arm tightly around you, silently thanking the heavens that you had brought only a carry-on backpack and not an actual suitcase.

After speaking to Tommy and signing a totally unnecessary NDA, you were allowed to sit in on the Wolfsburg training. You were reluctant to leave Lena; she wanted you as close as possible. It was obvious to everyone that you were not ok as you kept your eyes trailing to the floor and a firm grip on Lena. You were always seen with your arm around her waist, her hand in yours or your head resting on her shoulder. To those who didn’t know you, it would just look like long-distance lovers finally reunited; to everyone else, though, you were clearly going through something. Jule hadn’t even said anything before pulling you into a hug, squeezing nice and tightly before passing you to Sveindís. She had just pressed a kiss to your forehead before continuing the conversation as if it was normal for you to be there. Alex and Svenja had pulled you aside as you walked into breakfast the first morning you were there. When they heard from Lena that you were watching the final, they thought it would be perfect timing for the talk. They prepared a speech and everything, promising painful retribution if you stepped a foot out of line. An hour watching you and Lena interact silently, automatically knowing what the other needed without ever speaking, made them throw their plan straight out the window.

“Hey, Y/N. Can we talk for a minute?” Alex asked, putting a gentle hand on your elbow. You looked up wildly at Lena, relaxing slightly as she smiled and kissed your cheek, moving away to give you privacy. “Whose behinds do we need to kick?” Svenja jumped straight to it. “Huh?” You furrowed your brows in confusion. “We’ve seen the way you interact on the pitch. We’ve been in the room when you call Lena. You clearly are not yourself, so I’ll ask again. Whose needs a good kick up the bum?” It was something about the pair of them. You knew they were the motherly figures of the team, especially for Lena. She always sang their praises whenever she had the chance. You took a deep breath. “The whole of Barça?” You don’t know why you said it as a question. “Barça as in the city of Barcelona? Or just the team?” Alex quizzed “Um … well, they aren’t renewing my contract in the summer. They said they can’t afford it. But the first time either me or my agent heard about it was when they formally told us. I guess it just … knocked me a little.” You confessed. It was the first time you had explained what had happened since you first told Lena. Your heart clenched as you said the words, every syllable making it more and more real. “Oh, mausi. It’s ok.” Alex pulled you into a hug, gently squeezing you. “Take as much time as you need, ja? And talk to Obi, lean on her, let her be there for you.” Svenja added, rubbing your back comfortingly. You nodded, smiling gratefully at the two women.

You tried to keep a low profile, you successfully stayed out of the camera as you sat in the stands during Wolfsburg’s practices. You had spent most of the training looking over the documents your manager had sent over. A lot of the offers seemed really good. A very nice salary from most of them, some offered flats and houses, others offered cars and expenses. But there was one that stood out for you. It was no different than any of the other offers. But it lingered in your mind; it danced across your thoughts as you tried to fall asleep in Lena’s arms; it flicked as you ate breakfast; it appeared randomly as you waited for Lena to return from the showers. Should you? Logically, you knew you had to go somewhere. And you would have to move out of Barcelona and probably out of Spain too. There was one thing that this offer had that the others didn’t. Well, not a thing, but a person.

Inevitably, for all your efforts to hide yourself away, you were caught at the match. You had a black hoodie of Lena’s on and sunglasses, hoping it was enough to keep you from being recognised, but the fans were too good. You were picked up by hundreds of phones, all snapping photos of you. You knew it was kind of stupid to go to Lena’s match after withdrawing from your own, but you wanted to watch a football that didn’t impact you in any way beyond that of a fan. You were desperate to watch the game you loved as a fan again, to rediscover your love for the sport you dedicated your whole life to.

Ona was absolutely beside herself with worry. She was convinced you were dead. Or seriously injured, at the very least. “Si us plau, si us plau, Lucia. Por favor. Please,” she begged Lucy. For what, Lucy was unsure. “I don’t know what to do.” “I know, my love. I know.” Lucy ran her hands through Ona’s loose hair, twisting the strands around her fingers in a way she knew should bring her comfort. “What if she’s dead? I can’t lose her, not like this. Not without saying goodbye,” Ona sobbed. “She’s not, I promise you. She isn’t dead.” Despite her attempts, she didn’t know that. Not definitely. You could be lying in a ditch somewhere or in a hospital bed, unable to wake up and tell someone your name. Of course, she was worried for you, but she was more concerned for Ona. She was inconsolable. You had disappeared from her life without a trace.

Next to Lucy, her phone buzzed. She was going to ignore it; her girlfriend needed her more than whoever was messaging her. But when Ona’s tinged and then both started to ring, she sat up slightly. “Sí?” “She’s alive.” Ingrid breathed, sighing out in relief. That made Lucy sit up. “Hold on, let me put you on speaker, I’m with Oni.” “She’s alive. She’s in Germany. It’s on Instagram and Twitter. She’s at the Pokal final.” Mapí said, her tone a mix of relief and anger. “Què?” Ona sniffled, sitting up and leaning into Lucy more. “Some accounts have photos of her, it's all over social media. Ingrid’s trying to reach anyone from Wolfsburg. So’s Frido.” Mapí explained. “Lena,” Ona said, realisation dawning on her. If you were at a game in Germany, you would be watching Lena play.

Rumour: Y/F/N Y/S/N to transfer to Wolfsburg or Bayern Munich.

After being spotted at the DFB-Pokal Frauen 2024 Final, F.C. Barcelona midfielder Y/F/N Y/S/N is rumoured to make the intercontinental move next season. To which club is yet to be confirmed, but all signs point to the young player leaving Barcelona in the summer. With her presence at the Pokal Final, can we assume that she will be going to either Wolfsburg or Bayern?

Keep reading to find out more …..

Ona stared at her phone in shock. There was no way, no way in hell you were leaving Barça, especially not without telling her. You were happy here; you loved it here. Why would you go? You had friends here; you had your best friend here; you had your family here. She couldn’t help the tears that welled in her eyes. You weren’t leaving her, were you? It would explain why you were MIA for the past three days. Whilst she was at home, worried sick that you were lying dead in a ditch or in some ICU in a coma, your name unknown, you were off in Germany, living life and meeting your new teammates. And you had abandoned training and asked to be taken off the match squad. This couldn’t be the personal reasons you had mentioned in your text. There had to be more to it. There had to be a simple explanation. And yet, none was forthcoming. You had hopped on a plane and flew to Germany. No message, no phone call, no email. Just upped and left the country. So you could meet with your new team.

How could you do this to Ona? After all that you two had been through, after all that you had shared with each other. You were the first person she told about Lucy. You were the first person outside the Spanish national players she confessed to about what truly happened behind closed doors. You were there for her in ways no one else was or could be. And yet, you were leaving her without saying goodbye.

Leaving Lena was hard; you didn't really want to go back to Barcelona and face what was awaiting you. When you finally switched your phone back on, you were met with thousands of messages and missed calls. They started off concerned, then really worried and then they turned angry. You couldn't fault them; your behaviour was shitty. You would be just as angry if one of them had done that to you. But you needed a few days without anyone related to Barcelona. You needed the distance to clear your head and gather a game plan to present to your agent when you next spoke. You didn't even know about the article that was making its way around the internet. You weren't too big on social media unless it was to make your monthly Instagram posts. You followed the necessary people and uploaded the right things, but you didn't scroll for hours. You had been there before, been down that path and knew that only badness lay ahead. You had read the comments, seen the nastiness, heard the bitterness. So, you stayed clear, away from the world of social media trolls and online negativity. You didn't know of the absolute hell that was awaiting you.

Maybe going straight from the airport to training was a bad idea. Perhaps you should have taken the time to phone someone and let them know you were returning. Possibly, you should have spoken to Alexia and Ona first so you could explain yourself properly. Potentially you should have checked social media. But you didn’t. You didn’t do any of that.

You arrived at the training ground with your headphones in and hood up. You hurried passed reception, ignoring the glares from the receptionist and physios. You had hoped to catch Ona or Alexia before training, to pull them aside and explain everything to them (hopefully without crying).

“So, you’re transferring then?” Lucy called, her face stern and eyes blazing in anger. You hummed, confused and slightly shocked at her tone, but opted to walk straight to your cubby. “Oh, no, you don’t. Turn around.” Your headphones were still blasting music, so you never heard her. Lucy grabbed your shoulder roughly, swinging you back around to face. “What the fuck,” you flinched, pulling your headphones out and taking a step back. “You don’t get to do this. Not after I watched Ona cry herself to sleep ‘cos you were missing.” You felt your heart sink. Had she really done that? “I-” You felt guilty. You really, really felt horrible about what you had done to your … friends … ex-friends … teammates … ex-teammates. Ona especially. She was your best friend, and to see her puffy eyes and solemn expression from across the room made you feel even worse. And it bubbled up into anger. Mainly at yourself, but you couldn’t help but explode when Lucy started shouting. “Got nothing to say, have you?” She took a step closer. “We’re not good enough for you, now? You’ve found yourself a little girlfriend, and suddenly, your friends aren’t enough.” You squared up to her. “Leave Lena out of this,” you said menacingly, matching her energy. If she wanted a fight, she'd get one. “Please, you’re a fucking joke. You don’t get to waltz back in here like nothing happened. You were missing for 4 days. Not a single text to us to tell us what was going on.” “I don’t have to tell you everything.” She was right, though, and you knew it. A simple message to someone, anyone, to let them know would have solved a lot of issues. “What about Ona? Is she no longer your best friend? Or Ale, the woman who took you in when you first arrived?” She pressed. You were basically nose-to-nose at this point. “Why did you even bother coming back?” You recoiled as if she had just slapped you. It stung like she had. Why had you bothered coming back? Barça didn’t want you. And now the team didn’t want you either. “Fuck you, Bronze.” Your voice cracked slightly, your jaw clenched, and your mouth set in a harsh line. You were trying really hard not to cry. “Are you trying to burn all your bridges before you abandon us? If you are, it’s working.” She looked you up and down, the disdain in her eyes obvious. “You don’t deserve to be here anymore, let alone have us as friends.” You knew Lucy got angry when she was hurt, but hearing those words confirmed everything you already thought about yourself and this situation. Lena had spent days trying to glue your fragile mind back together, and with a single sentence, you had shattered into a thousand pieces again.

You hadn’t noticed the crowd gathering around you, the semi-circle blocking your exit and forcing you to keep up your façade. To most of the others, Lucy just echoed their hurt feelings, saying precisely what they were thinking. But Alexia and Ona could see the pain swirling behind your eyes before Lucy started the argument. The pair of them could also see your heartbreak as the words echoed around the silent changing rooms despite the mask you had on. You took a moment to gather yourself. Taking a breath, you said lowly. “You know what? If this is how you treat everyone that’s leaving, I’m glad Barça aren’t renewing my contract. I don’t want to be on a pitch with someone that thinks so little of me.”

I hope you enjoyed <3<3<3<3<3

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lovifie · 2 months

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Newdad!Ghost and Newmom! Reader having their child’s first fever…

I did ramble a bit about this before having the baby, I hope you don't mind ❤️ Also, I have no experience with babies so I hope I didn't write anything completely nonsense

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Simon Riley thought that he was no longer a coward.

That the years spent in the military were enough to make him a brave man.

That there was nothing left to make him stutter on his words or feel his knees wobble.

That's what he thought though.

Because ever since the second you came out of the bathroom, positive pregnancy test on hand; he's been terrified, elated but terrified.

Terrified of something bad happening, to you, to the baby, to him... The thought of leaving you alone terrified him the worst.

But nothing happened.

You were already in the last trimester, almost past your due date and everything was perfect.

Whenever you saw the nerves getting the best of Simon you jumped to console him, reassuring him everything would be fine.

He felt horrible, he should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around. So plush and round with his offspring, the baby already sucking your energy.

"Big fucking bairn." As Soap once called it before getting smacked on the back of the head.

It was true, nonetheless, but still.

It was one day, when he saw you wobbling your way to the kitchen that it finally set on his mind.

He was about to be a father.

And fuck if he wasn't going to be the best one out there.

Now that it was the third trimester he could finally put in his parental leave, going home to you and helping with everything.

He finally got to building the crib, fixing the leaky faucet, changing the clothes in the closet for the winter one.

Everything was ready.

He wasn't, of course; when the contractions finally started. And he panicked when you said it was too early to go to the hospital.

5:40. That was the rule you keep repeating.

40 seconds contraction, every 5 minutes.

But he still struggled to stay strong whenever you would groan, holding onto the sink to steady yourself to breathe.

Once he finally managed to get you to the hospital, everything became a blur. He barely managed to send your family a message about the baby coming, and when he went to notify his family, he simply sent Price a message that said: "Baby now. Hospital."

Everything went smoothly, pride overflowing from his heart whenever he would look at you. He was hypnotized by the baby; looking so much like you but his features still looking back at him.

He kissed your forehead, thanking you for reviving Simon Riley. The man he buried so long ago, now rebirth as your daughter's dad.

He could feel people coming in and out of the room but completely ignored them, too busy staring at you and the baby.

Gaz even made you laugh, talking about how he thought pregnancy brain only happened to moms and that he thought Simon must have hit his head on the way in.

The look of unfiltered fear on the four men when the newborn started fussing around from the crib made you laugh. They quickly turned to see what the threat was, only for the baby to start crying at the top of her tiny lungs making the four men jump.

"She must be hungry." You say, leaning forward and looking at Simon. "Can you hand her to me, Si?"

He immediately did, holding the tiny baby with all the care the mountain of a man could muster. Passing her to you, and turning to the men talking about decency and giving you privacy.

They walked out, Price dropping a kiss on your head congratulating you once more on the job well done, leaving you, Simon and the baby.

The three of you.

His tiny family.

That he would kill and die in order to protect.

So he found himself useless, looking at you trying to calm the baby down when she wouldn't stop crying and her fever would keep rising.

He was at the door frame, seeing you pace the room, cleaning the baby's face with a damp cloth. He could see it on your face, the worry, the exhaustion, the fear... How have you hidden it so well? How has he not seen it before?

"She's over 39°, Si." You say, voice trembling with the knot in your throat.

"Let's go to the hospital." He said, grabbing the baby bag and your coat, and opening the door. He could see your doubt, the fear of what taking the baby back to the hospital meant for you. "C'mon, mama. The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll be back."

He needed to be strong right now, he has laid back for long enough. He saw the little cracks on you and he was going to fill them before you noticed them.

Simon Riley thought he was brave.

But he has never been as afraid as when he was driving, baby in the car seat and you sitting beside him in the back. Silent tears sliding down your face as you apologised to the crying baby.

It made him want to skip every red light, get there as soon as possible, so the doctors could tell you that you made the right choice, that you did a good job.

But he would rather relive his nightmare of a life a thousand times before doing such a stupid thing of putting you both at risk.

He sees the way you hug yourself when the nurse takes the baby away, and he quickly engulfs you in a hug. Protecting you from the cold of the night, protecting you from every danger outside and protecting you from every thought inside your brain.

"Everything is going to be alright, mama." He says, kissing your head. Heart sinking when he hears you sob and hug him back. "Everything will be alright, this happens, babies get sick sometimes. It doesn't mean you aren't doing a hell of a job, alright?"

You sob on his chest, tugging his shirt on your hands.

"You are an amazing mother, love. You are doing an amazing job. Our little tadpole has the best mom in the world." He says, swinging softly side to side, rocking you, petting your head. "She'll be fine. She's brave just like you, love. She'll be fine. We'll be fine."

Because Simon Riley always thought he was brave, but as long as you two were alive; he was a coward and losing you both was his biggest fear.

Hi, my lovelies! 🩷

Look at me, two posts on a day! who would have thought? Not me!

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#call of duty #ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod #ghost cod #simon riley imagine #call of duty x reader #cod modern warfare #simon imagine #ghost imagine #simon ghost imagine #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader #female reader #x female reader

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imaginesmai · 8 months

Text

Right around the corner - Azriel (5)

AHHHHH this is the final part and let me tell you I'm SAD. It was so hard to write the ending you all deserve after all this love, so I tried my best. Let me know what you think! Also, you deserve A LOT, so I made it long hehehe. Don't worry, a request about the RATH universe is coming soon! If you want one too, drop it in my inbox!

(1), (2), (3), (4)

Plot: The story of how Azriel fixed what was broken, and how you forgave him.

Warnings: this is sad, but has a happy ending! Also, mental health issues.

No one expected the sidra to froze that year, and against everyone expectation, one day Velaris had woken up to see the riven covered by a silver layer. Children had missed school to skate in the solid surface, parents watching carefully from the edge. Some couples were skating too, holding hands and giggling endlessly.

You had been watching the new scene unfold all morning. And while you usually loved snow and ice as much as any child in town, you were starting to get a little sick of all the noise.

It wasn’t your new employee situation, who had been staring at the river all morning. She had already finished her duties, but always the polite and nice girl, Elain Archeron was keeping you company.

When you spotted for the third time the familiar red-head through the glass and she didn’t say anything, just sighed, you decided you had enough.

“You should tell him to get in before he freezes to death” you commented, still busy with measuring the ingredients.

“Oh, no” Elain blushed and looked away from the window. “No. He’s just… He can wait”

“He can, but doesn’t have to. You and Lucien should head out, rent ice skates and have a fun day. You already finished here” you smiled kindly at her, and before she could reply, you added. “I’m fine, I don’t even like cold weather. And I still need to finish this, which you can’t help me with. So, go”

Elain stared at you with uncertainty, and you tried to look as convinced as possible. Would you have liked her to stay? After all, she was one of the few people you socialized with these days. She had turned in when you opened the bakery again, right after you posted the sign about looking for a new partner.

And even if you had had your doubts when you discovered she was Feyre’s sister and Azriel’s friend, you considered her your own friend.

So, yeah, you would have liked her to stay. Because you were still awfully sad all the time, and her company was one of the few things that made your day better. But you being sad didn’t excuse her missing a wonderful day with her mate.

“It’s not closing time yet” her eyes danced between the glass and you. “He was supposed to wait for me at the house”

“Guess he’s too eager to see you. He’s been dancing around the bakery for a good hour” you chuckled. “Elain, I mean it. Go. Have fun. I’ll see you on Monday”

“Y/N, I promise I don’t mind waiting. It’s not like it will unfreeze”

“And I promise I don’t mind at all. So, go, have fun and tell me about it on Monday” you gripped her hand softly over the counter, nodding to the waiting mal outside. “Come on, go”

Lucien was once more outside the bakery, the only visible part of him his red hair. He was covered in thick layers, but still managed to smile when Elain kissed your cheek and took her coat on the way out.

You didn’t have it in you to watch them be affectionate with each other, so you looked down at your task and decided it would be the last of the day.

It was hard watching all those couples walking hand in hand and remembering the feel of his warm, scarred hand in yours. To hear a man laughing and remember the unexpected laughs you dragged out of him sometimes. Even looking at the river was painful, because you could almost see the ghost of Azriel and you learning how to skate in a frozen lake in the Illyrian mountains a few years ago.

You had seen Azriel around a few times now, walking through your bakery and waving at you through the glass. Two times he had been waiting at the door when it was late at night, silently walking you home from afar without talking. Almost two months had passed by and your feelings were still as messed up as before.

Though you didn’t cry as much as before, and you were starting to get better, you still wondered.

If Azriel getting help would mean your relationship would be fixed, or if it was broken permanently. Deep in your thoughts, and used as you were to Azriel’s shadows, you didn’t notice how they tugged on your apron until the door sounded again.

Elain’s name didn’t leave your lips, because as soon as the door opened, you lost your breath. As if you had summoned him, Azriel walked through the door, beautiful as ever. He wasn’t in his usual training leather, but winter clothes that fit him as a glove. Instantly, you noticed he had lost weight. His shoulders were slumped and his body didn’t carry the usual grace of an Illyrian warrior.

“Hi”

His scarred hands, that had held you so many times and slaughtered so many enemies, were tucked in his coat’s pockets. You could feel the nervousness through the bond, the hesitance. Too stunned to answer, you only stared at him.

You had known that, eventually, he would talk to you. That you would have to do more than just wave at each other through the glass and stay silent when he sent you details through Elain. But still, you hadn’t expected it.

Unable to move, you only blinked.

“I saw Elain and Lucien heading out” he added, not looking away from you. “It’s a nice day outside”

Azriel hadn’t finished before one of his new shadows scaped his control, sneaking around the counter. The familiar ones, that had been by your side since he left, danced around the new intrusion. It lifted your apron, and crawled up your neck.

The cool feeling was the last of your worries, because no matter how much you willed yourself to say something, you couldn’t even tear your eyes from him.

The bond flickered between the two of you, once more. Knowing that it was one-sided, that he didn’t wear it like you did, made break your trance.

“She’s finished for the day” you explained, sounding way more confident that what you felt.

“It’s a nice day, yeah” he repeated, not giving you time to feel awkward before he continued “I thought that maybe you wanted to take a walk with me. It’s cold, but we could… get coffee. Or chocolate, if you want”

Azriel gave you a half, broken smile. Hearing his voice again made you take ten steps backward.

“I have things to do”

You looked down to your current task, which could be easily discarded. You had left much important things half-done because of him, and you would have done it normally without a second thoughts. But no matter how heartful the conversation at your door had been, you just knew you weren’t ready to have a conversation without getting angry.

You knew you weren’t ready to forgive him.

His new shadow gripped your wrist tightly before disappearing, and you heard Azriel’s doubt. He wanted to say something else, and you wanted too. Still, you fell back to your measuring and ignored the way your vision blurred, how your knees became weak again.

Maybe going back to your duties was the only way not to break down again.

The silence continued for a long minute. You couldn’t not feel his presence, the way his scent filled the bakery and made your stomach turn. Your heart recognized what you needed, what you wanted, and threatened to jump out of your chest.

Before you could regret your words, Azriel opened the door again.

“You’re forgetting the yeast” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

When you looked up again, he only smiled. You opened your mouth to tell him to wait, maybe to fuck off and never come again. You didn’t have time, because Azriel closed the door behind him and he was gone.

The first tear fell against the unformed dough, followed by many more. You wouldn’t be finishing the blueberry cake that afternoon, you realized, as you crunched behind the counter and cried.

There was a storm coming, and everyone in Velaris had had the same idea – run to the market, buy everything they needed for a few days, and crowd themselves at home with their loved ones. You were trying to follow the first part of the plan, not having anyone to go home anymore. And if that wasn’t enough reason to drag you down, the crowd was getting intense.

Velaris’ market was a beautiful place, full of shops and nice vendors. But that day, the space felt too small.

You already had a few bags with you, yet there were a few more to go. Wanting to finish as soon as possible, you had ignored the rational part of your brain and had gotten in the middle of the crowd. You had only managed to buy milk and pasta, and still had a long way to go.

After Azriel’s brief appearance, your life had been messier than before. He had come by the bakery at least five times more, always offering you some kind of plan you rejected. Going to the park, for a flight or to a coffee shop. Taking walks, watching the sunset or training together.

You lived now half-prepared to see him walking through your door again, and not having the heart to tell him no. You weren’t sure if that thought frightened or comforted you.

In your haste, you had almost forgotten to buy provisions for the storm, and had found yourself on the worst day to do them. Crowded, loud and suffocating, that was how you would describe the market at that moment.

The fact that most people ran with their children and family wasn’t helpful at all.

Most of the times, it was Azriel who did the last-minute shopping for you. He knew you didn’t like crowds, loud places, that you did best in your bakery where only five people were allowed at a time.

Another shove broke you down from your daydreaming, and you looked back to see a pregnant woman staring with her eyebrows furrowed.

“The line is moving” she spatted, pointing to the small space ahead of you. “If you don’t move with it, you should step out”

“Oh, no” you chuckled softly. You picked up the bags on the ground and took the two small steps that you were supposed to. “Sorry, I just thought I could take a little bit more space. It’s crowded here”

“I don’t mind crowds, so if you want to step back, let me get first. I’m in a hurry”

“Me too” you gave her a polite smile, mindful of her state.

The short distance that separated you from the customer on the front was certainly not enough, and she knew it. Still, she looked at you with disapproval. There were only five more people to go until it was your turn, you could buy your snacks and run to the next stall.

You thought you could ignore the glare at the back of your neck, and you did for a few minutes. Without meaning to, you thought how everything with Azriel was easier. Not only people wouldn’t dare to talk to him like that, but also, he assured you a good meter of distance between you two and the rest of the world with his wings.

The snacks on your hands almost fell when, not even two seconds after the man took three steps forward, you were shoved again.

That time, when you looked back, the woman was accompanied by her mate. His wings covered her from the people behind them.

“You should really step out of the line” she repeated. “You might have all the time in the word, but we are in a hurry”

“Me too. You can’t expect me to be glued to that man” you tried to explain, anxiety coiling in your stomach. “He just moved”

“And you didn’t, which proves my point. Besides, it’s obvious you only have a few things. We have more”

“Which should be enough reason to let me go first, not only because I was here before you” you shrugged, feeling even more uncomfortable when the male huffed a laugh. “Maybe it’s you who shouldn’t have come here today if you can’t wait in a line”

You weren’t a threat for the woman, and you were trying really hard to be polite and prove your point. Besides, being pregnant wasn’t an easy task, and you could tell she was far along. Maybe you should have let her pass, or maybe told her to fuck off.

But before you could argue further, something clicked in the male’s eyes, wide with recognition.

And you would have preferred for him to go full berserk mode on you. Because you recognized that look, you had been receiving them for a while now.

The male elbowed the woman’s side softly, pointing with his chin towards you. You didn’t have time to turn back and avoid the conversation, because he spoke.

“You’re the shadowsinger’s mate” he announced, loud enough to make a few heads turn.

“Oh” the woman finally connected the dots and lunged forward to grab your arm so tight you couldn’t shake her off. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry” you pushed your arm back, trying to let go.

While the woman apologized, you couldn’t help but listen to the whispers. The same ones you had heard in your bakery and through the streets. Some of them thrown in your face by rude or nosy customers that didn’t understand the concept of privacy, others by bystanders.

At the end, it was the woman who said it out loud, confirming what everyone in the small circle that had formed at the cue was wondering about. She finally let go of your arm and crossed hers in front of her body.

The look of pity wasn’t as bad as the confirmation.

“He rejected you, right?” it wasn’t a question, not when you didn’t answer and she continued. “We heard you’ve been mated for almost a century and he doesn’t want the bond. Is that true?”

It wasn’t true, but you didn’t have the heart to correct her. Instead, you turned around and used your wing-less privileges to sneak through the crowd. You kept your head down, as if that could stop you from hearing the comments or feeling the stares.

People had come up with an alternative version where Azriel and you had been mated for decades, for centuries. Where you had cheated on him or he had changed you for someone else. You had even heard that he had bonded with another person and had kicked you out of the house, and that you had been the one rejecting the bond.

Each version was farthest from the truth than the last one, but they all hurt the same. The crowd didn’t seem to get thinner no matter how deep you got in the market. Once the people who had heard the conversation were left behind, new people crowded you, worried about the girl panicking and running through the middle of the market.

There were a few occasions where you thought you would fall, where you tripped and almost embarrassed yourself farther. You had almost made it to the back entrance of the market when you finally realized you were tripping no more. There was no longer a crowd around you, nor whispers or hands reaching your way.

It took you another few steps to fully stop and assess the situation. When you looked back to see where the crowd was, you were met with a broad chest inches away from you. Through tearful eyes, you recognized Azriel’s wings tucking you away from people, his mere presence pushing them away.

You met his hazel eyes, full of worry and regret. His hair was longer, covering his brow, but you found comfort in his crooked nose, in his freckles, that you knew so well.

You noticed in his hands your bags that had been left in the stall, a new one with the snacks you were about to buy.

“What – what are you doing here?” you choked out, too grateful for the sudden moment of peace to wonder about anything else.

“I felt you through the bond, a few hours ago. Anxious and…” he stopped himself, his eyes scanning every tear that marked your cheeks. “I was just getting here when it got worse. I heard most of it. I’m –”

“Don’t say you’re sorry” you interrupted him. “It’s not your fault”

Out of the many things that were indeed his fault, people not minding their own business wasn’t his. You were used to him blaming himself for everything, from wars in other courts to people fighting in the street. The response came naturally.

Your nose was cold and runny, your hands frozen in your pockets, and your feet hurt. Besides all of that, you felt all wrong. Because you enjoyed his presence, because what they said, and because you couldn’t help but calm down when he was close.

Azriel didn’t say anything when you took the bags from his hands, thanking him quietly. He didn’t say anything as more people walked away from him, either because of his wings or because they recognized him.

“You don’t like last minute shopping”

It was a pointless observation, but it was better than to comment on how afraid he had been when, just outside the market, he felt the bond snap with urgence. His shadows knew where you were, and that you needed him, but even he had trouble running through crowds. Azriel also couldn’t talk about how mad he had been at everyone in that stall, how his new shadows had turned off every light and almost chocked them to death.

Azriel wanted to say that you were probably cold because you didn’t like your own coats, and most of the times wore one of his. He wanted to hug you, too, to feel you between his arms after what felt like an eternity and promise you that it would end well.

But he couldn’t say anything more than the obvious.

“I had to” you answered.

With a furious fist, frustrated at life, at him and at you, you brushed the tears off your cheeks. You could tell that he wanted to keep talking, and you did too. Since your last encounter, you had come up with more conversations you should have.

You stared at each other for what seemed forever. There were details that you had almost forgotten in your sorrow – like his long lashes, that you teased him about. Or the freckle that snuck up to the corner of his left eye. The way his mouth rose higher from the right, and the small scar on his ear from where Cassian dared him to wear an earring.

Only his face was enchanting enough to help you forget about the day, about the weight of your chest. It was the first closing call from the market, that sounded through the public speakers, that broke you away.

“I should go”

You talked at the same time, and you smiled softly when you pointed to different directions. You didn’t miss how his eyes fell to your mouth, how his own lifted up too.

“I could walk you back” he offered, not tearing his eyes away from your mouth. “If you let me”

You didn’t answer immediately. Those last words, that he had repeated so often lately, almost had you saying yes. You could almost imagine how it would go – him walking by your side, one of his wings behind your back. His elbow brushing yours, and his gaze fixed on you.

Your smile dropped when you remembered the times you had walked just like that, tucked together. The times you had waked by yourself through Velaris with his imprint on you, and the times he had left without a trace of your presence.

Azriel knew the answer before you said it, and his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Sorry”

That time, you decided to turn away before he could. Taking the back exit was a poor choice, knowing it was farther from your house than the main one, but you couldn’t picture yourself walking through the market without Azriel keeping the crowds a step away.

So you turned around, gripped your bags tight and didn’t tear your eyes from the ground during the whole way back.

It wasn’t Azriel who found you the time everything changed, but you.

The cold and winter were over, the streets were clean and the sun was out. It was a perfect day to spend outside, and Elain seemed fixed in throwing you out of your own shop. She claimed that the bags under your eyes were as dark as the night, and that your skin was so pale that she couldn’t tell the flour stains apart from it.

“Just for the record, you’re kicking the owner of the bakery out of the bakery” you stated, looking at her once more from the door. “You do realize that shouldn’t happen, right?”

“I’m helping a friend come out of her ghost-like season” she replied, still decorating muffins. “And you do realize that most shops close on Sunday’s, right?”

“Certainly not a bakery” you looked to the empty fountain at her right. “If we do it together, we will – “

“If you touch one single item of this bakery, I’m banning you from the kitchen for a month”

You doubted she meant it, she could. But still, you sighed and turned around to open the door. You weren’t an extrovert, certainly not an outsider. Since you were a child, you liked your kitchen, your house, and your space. And none of those things were outside the door.

But you actually feared what the fae you left behind would do if you turned back. Elain had already hidden your apron so you couldn’t put it on, and had threatened to mismatch the soy milk with normal one.

Giving her a last, tight smile through the glass, you walked towards the center of Velaris.

Not many people were outside that soon on a Sunday morning, but you were glad for her insistence the moment the sun kissed your face. The cold weather was disappearing and you could feel warmth across your cheeks. It was still cold, and it would be for at least another week, but the change in the weather promised a happy spring.

You walked aimlessly around Velaris, stopping to watch the Sidra move every now and then. Your feet carried you through unfamiliar streets, all of them filled with colors and smells. The longer you walked, the healthier you felt. Each step felt like a weight lifted from your chest, and you even smiled to a few usuals you found in the streets.

The main square peeked through the streets. It wasn’t your usual destination, too crowded and not as pretty as other parts of the town. But you still walked through it, feeling at ease and happy.

It had happened before, usually the days before you started your cycle, and you should have known the feeling of ease had nothing to do with the weather or the walk. It had happened and it happened again, just as you rounded a corner to walk in the square.

If, by any chance, Azriel hadn’t noticed you coming, the shadows that tugged him away from where he was standing would have made it obvious.

His eyes widened when he saw you, and you felt that peaceful feeling making its home for the day. There was no sorrow, no sadness, and none of the usual feelings that lately you felt when it came to him.

You cursed yourself stupid when you realized that you cycle was coming, and that every year you were in a mood until Azriel showed up, your hormones demanding your mate.

“Y/N”

Your name fell from your mouth and just by hearing it you noticed something different. It was new, and at the same time, you thought you recognized it somehow. You looked to his empty hands, to the syphons on his shoulders and chest and truth-teller on his side.

It looked like you had interrupted something important to him. But instead of running away from him like the last two times, you took a step closer.

“Are you going on a mission?” you pointed with your chin to his leather, eyes stopping at his chest. There was that thing, that you couldn’t name.

“Just came back. I was…”

Azriel looked to the building he just exited and for a moment, in silence. You had met a bunch of times since the incident in the market, and you had started having longer conversations. About the weather, about your bakery, and even about his family, who you finally knew officially.

Certainly, your relationship had improved, although it wasn’t just fixed yet. When he didn’t answer, you were reminded of all the times he had kept things to himself, either out of fear or doubt.

He seemed to doubt between telling you and keeping it to himself. Any other time, you knew, he would have kept it to himself. He had done it, in the past – when you asked him about his job, or tried to understand his past. Many times where he had evaded the truth or his emotions.

Your mood, that had been in a rush since you left the bakery, fell a little at his silence. He looked torn and you were ready to leave, before he answered.

“This is Madja’s house. I meet her here so we can talk, usually during the week” he looked back at you, watching the surprise of his statement. “But something happened and I needed to talk to her”

“What happened?”

Azriel’s lips were pressed tight, debating on whether he should tell you or not. He wouldn’t have doubted about it a year ago – he wouldn’t tell you, because in his eyes, it would only hurt you more than he already had. But he had learnt new things, and had realized that a relationship was built on trust. And that his fears, his perception of the reality, had broken yours.

He had cut the mission short when he had noticed, though he wasn’t sure he had ever done something like that. Azriel didn’t know what had triggered it, why it happened in the Winter court and not anytime sooner.

Madja, of course, had had an answer ready – an answer that had left him staring at her door for long twenty minutes before you appeared.

“Kallias should have sent something to Rhysand, but he didn’t” he started, not sure why he was traveling so far from the event. “So I went to check. Turns out someone must have taken it and, well, I tried to…”

He trailed off before he could finish, aware of your confusion. You never talked about what he did for Rhysand, in any court. No matter how big or small was the assignment, he didn’t tell you about it.

But that wasn’t what your confusion was about, at least not all of it. You couldn’t possibly notice because you had given it for granted since the beginning, but Azriel did notice. He noticed the change as soon as it happened, and babbled when he explained to Rhysand what he should have been feeling for years.

Had explained to Madja moments ago, who had given him a knowing smile and a proud nod.

“I accepted the bond” he confessed, continuing before you could say anything else. “I don’t know how, or why, but I was there and suddenly I was hit with – with this in my chest, and I don’t know why it wouldn’t happen sooner”

“You accepted the bond” you repeated, looking between his chest and face.

“I don’t know how, or why now. I was, thinking… And it hit me” Azriel smiled sadly, not saying what his thoughts were about – what they had been about since that night. “I didn’t want to tell you, because, this is, you don’t have to do anything now. Me accepting the bond doesn’t change what I did”

Azriel hadn’t meant to tell you, neither to be so vague and ridiculously nervous about it.

It had been a surprise when, in the middle of a conversation, he felt it. He had been thinking about you, because there were flowers and they were pretty against the cold weather, and to him, you were the prettiest thing the Cauldron had made. One moment Kallias had been going through the last movements of the package and the next the high lord was looking at him with raised brows.

Congratulating him for something that should have happened six years ago.

“It’s not that I didn’t want the bond before, Y/N” he continued when you didn’t say anything. “I promise you, I didn’t know how to accept it. I didn’t know that I deserved it”

Azriel had thought, and he still wanted to, that you so pretty that you were meant for someone else. That it was borrowed time, that he didn’t deserve the bond just as he didn’t deserve you. With Madja and Rhys, they had had deep conversations about his mental health, about his version of life where he lived through a glass of pain and rejection.

As he stared at your surprised form, he tried not to let hope leak into his heart. He knew it didn’t fix what was broken, but he hoped it was the first step of a long recovery to win you back.

Only if you could confirm or deny, instead of stare at him.

“Say something” Azriel finally broke, almost begged. “Whatever you want. Just say something”

And you wanted to, because wasn’t that what you had wanted? You had fooled yourself lately thinking about may what ifs. What if he had accepted the bond in the bagging, what if he had told you that he wasn’t fine, that he was broken and needed help.

What if you had helped him and not rushed things when he wasn’t ready. Now, it felt like the Cauldron was giving you that opportunity, only that you didn’t know how to react.

You finally looked away from him and decided to give an experimental tug on the bond, to see if anything had changed.

It had.

“Az”

It was a chuckle, maybe the beginning of a cry. It was anger but also relief because what came back from that tug wasn’t what you usually felt. It was stronger, solid, as if there was a physical string between your bodies that kept you linked.

Usually, it was just an intense feeling that was enough for you. But now that you felt him tugging back, felt him loving you, you couldn’t hold back another laugh. He shoved down through it everything he felt – adoration, love, joy. Many fears that had you stumbling towards him, and pain.

So much pain that your smile dropped. His dropped too, and you felt the bond getting fainter.

“That’s another reason. I didn’t want you to feel… that” Azriel retreated the bond farther. “I have so many fears and pains here that I couldn’t even imagine sharing them with you. And that – “

“You don’t have to feel ashamed” you cut him off, your voice hoarse. “I love you the same”

Words were unnecessary when you hugged his middle and buried yourself in his chest. He curled around you, like he had done so many times.

The channel snapped open again, and you just closed your eyes tightly. It was an endless source of emotions, and it broke you that most of them were bad. There was rejection, from so many people that it felt like an angry, black bull coming your way. Sadness that felt overwhelming and never ending, always coming in waves when Azriel didn’t expect it.

You also felt disgust, and you only held him tighter when you discovered it was self-disgust. Not only at the things that he had done, but also at what had been done to him. The scars on his hands, the shadows around him. He had hated himself for so long he had forgotten how to love.

But then, at the bottom, there was something bright, and that part you realized it was only dedicated to you. There was his family too, but it wasn’t as intense as his love for you. Everything that he lacked during his life, that he yearned for, was tucked where it mattered the most.

“I love you” he whispered against your head, softly. “I love you”

You didn’t answer, just raised your head until you could brush your lips against him. Later, you would have time to blame the cycle, which you wouldn’t get for another two months, or the emotions of the moment. But you knew it was just what you needed, what you both deserved, when you felt him kissing back.

At the beginning, it was just his lips against yours, and it was enough. Your noses brushed each other, you got on your tiptoes and his wing cocooned both of you. His hands only pressed you tighter against his body when you moved your lips against his, brushing the edge of your tongue against his bottom one.

Azriel could barely keep himself straight when you silently asked for permission to open his mouth, which he happily obliged.

From that moment, it was crashing. The kiss was only a physical proof of your feelings traveling through the mated bond, so wild and intense you couldn’t tell which one was his or yours.

“I’m sorry, darling” he whispered against your lips, giving you no time to reply. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for being a coward. I’m sorry”

“I forgive you. We don’t keep secrets anymore” you managed to say between kisses.

“Never” Azriel answered while leaving kisses on your cheeks and nose.”

“And we’ll talk about our emotions, and feelings. You’ll tell me about your life when I ask”

“Always”

“You won’t close off to me” you pulled his head away and made him look at you.

While you held his face between your hands, Azriel smiled. It was a different smile from the previous ones, from the ones you had seen so far. It was carefree, loving, and yours.

Your thumb brushed the corner of his eye, his upper cheek, the border of his nose.

“I’m here, Azriel. Always. So you don’t have to hide anything from me, or to be ashamed or afraid. I’m here” you closed the distance once more, controlling the kiss by holding onto his face. “Right around the corner”

“Right around the corner” he repeated, dipping his head and sealing all his promises with another kiss.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Right around the corner taglist:

@lesliemurillo @impossibelle @polli05927 @florencemtrash @going-through-shit @minakay @setayeshmohseni @torchbearerkyle @esposadomd @amysangel @kennedy-brooke @originalcrusadetrash @luvmoo @historygeekqueen @marriedtolike18fictionalmen @wallacewillow0773638 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kristalhi @knmendiola @nikt-wazny-y @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @wallacewillow0773638 @clara-geekhime @kalulakunundrum @saltedcoffeescotch @originalcrusadetrash @mel-wcst @ailyr92 @bubybubsters @chickensrock3 @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @wallacewillow0773638 @just-m-2 @theravenphoenix26 @glitterypirateduck @a-frog-with-a-laptop @justdreamstars

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cheralith · 1 year

Text

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part ii) 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, some fluff if you squint

word count ; 4.3k

notes ; at long last, here's the much waited part two! truly didn't expect the first part to blow up like it did, but i'm ever so grateful for all the support and the patience for those still here!

parts ; one two three (tba)

“Lyla, show me the nearest florist from here.”

“The nearest flower shop? That’s gonna be Business is Blooming on 27th Street—”

“27th Street?!” Miguel exclaims, his shock at the distance startling him and making his hands accidentally tighten the belt he was fixing much too tightly. He lets out a strangled choking sound and quickly loosens it before his legs lose oxygen, a feat that he’d hate to do just minutes prior to an event that could possibly change his life for the better. “That’s at least fifteen minutes away and on the opposite side of Clark! I’m already late, aren’t there any other ones closer?”

Lyla’s smaller holographic form pieces together on top of his full-body mirror that displays him in a formal-casual attire consisting of a cream turtleneck, black dress pants buckled with a coffee brown belt and topped altogether with a sepia overcoat that hadn’t seen the light of day since he bought it all those years ago. She puckers her grinning lips, a little amused at the rarity of Miguel in such an outfit and thinking he looks like a cup of coffee.

“Well, there’s always that crowded grocery store on Main?” she suggests as she examines her fingernails, instantly changing the pattern of them with a snap of her fingers. “But that’s gonna cost ya another twenty minutes and you’re already what—? Ten minutes late?”

Miguel fights off a groan at her teasing. “Lyla, I’m serious. Are there genuinely not any other ones around here? Any local ones? C’mon, this is Nueva York, there has to be at least one.”

“You could always try the marketplace. But then again, it’s Sunday so might not really be wise to take your chances,” Lyla shrugs.

Miguel even wonders if men these days still even have the dignity to give their partners flowers after realizing there is a significant lack of florists in today’s day and age. He wouldn’t be like them; flowers are a timeless gift everyone enjoys and he thinks if he can’t get it for you, he might as well not call himself a man at all.

His eyes go to spot the window in the reflection of the mirror where the sun is beginning to finally set and the city’s nightlife is rising from the dead. Buildings of all heights buster from every corner and the open road that eradicates much of the land dissolves a weary pit in his stomach, obviously annoyed at the many obstacles that block his path. Miguel takes another glance at the clock, the minute hand inching closer and closer and closer to 6:00. The initial plans were to leave the apartment by 5:30, acquire some gifts for you and then travel to the restaurant by 6:00, but seeing as how he’s still trapped in his abode, Miguel thinks that he can only do so much.

But he realizes that’s for Miguel O’Hara, renowned Alchemax geneticist and full-time father. Miguel O’Hara, an everyday citizen, couldn’t possibly crunch so much in such little time.

For Spider-Man, however…

Lyla eyes him suspiciously and purses her lips when Miguel looks at his wrists and then at the window again. “I don’t think that’s wise, Miguel.”

“What’s wise?” he replies coyly, going to quickly shovel off his clothes to replace them with a familiar blue and red attire.

“I know whatcha gonna do,” Lyla says and glitches around him as he searches for his suit. “But it’s not gonna end well, I’m tellin’ ya right now, mister!”

Miguel shakes her caution off, too occupied with shuffling on his superhero suit onto his body before neatly tucking his other outfit into his hammerspaced pocket. “It’ll be quick, I swear. I just need to get her some flowers and then I’ll be on my way. Lock up the house for me, yeah?”

“You’re not gonna make it,” Lyla shakes her head. “Just ditch the flowers and get her something on the way instead.”

But the last of Lyla’s words don’t make it to Miguel’s ears, as he’s already slinging and gliding himself out of the window and toward the given address of the florist. Lyla can only watch in artificial disdain as Miguel’s figure grows smaller and smaller through the passing seconds. She sighs, rolling her eyes as she flickers off the apartment lights before disintegrating.

The roar of the city life grows louder and louder the more Miguel comes closer to the center of it where the flower shop lays. People gather in clusters bustling about all over, making him a little weary of himself as he stares at them from above a high tower. He’s not exactly an ordinary passerby that can easily maneuver their way through so easily—especially not with this getup. Spider-Man is also a name that rather became widespread across the city of Nueva York, meaning that even if one person were to see the flash of blue and red, he’s up for trouble.

The evildoers tonight seem to be at cease, thankfully. He hasn’t heard of any malicious plotting or future events that will take place today by any of the supervillains that hunt him down like deer recently. Then again, there’s always smaller crimes still waiting to be stopped, but he’s sure the cops will come around for those. Miguel convinces himself it’ll just be a one time thing.

Yet when the familiar song of police sirens blare through the city, he twitches at the thought of leaving such miscreants in the hands of police when he’s sure he can take them down like an army of ten men.

But the police have ten men on them, so truly he can just leave it alone, right? He’s essentially in front of the flower shop that’s seated below an apartment building. All he has to do is just jump down, get the flowers, and leave in the nick of time. He doesn’t have time to dilly dally with low-rated criminals.

Then again, when he spots the gang of robbers in two white vans speeding down the road at a blistering speed without any caution for pedestrians, Miguel grits his teeth. On their tail is a rally of five police cars that keep gaining and losing them by the second and Miguel isn’t sure whether the irritation was from his indecisiveness or the fact that if he didn’t do anything, there will be consequences.

Perhaps do both to ease his mind? No, he can’t do that. You’re most likely on your way to the restaurant, all dolled up and fresh-faced. He still would need the time to fix himself up in some dingy public bathroom. A cop car that’s been hiding in the corner joins the chase—that’s surely more than enough to take care of them?

Miguel’s eyes go back and forth... back and forth between the two sights. Anxiety is doing little to help his situation and a mist of sweat begins to form on his skin the more the seconds tick by, making the innermost part of his suit much more uncomfortable and moist. A clock hangs by an awning nearby that displays the haunting time of 6:03 PM, just twenty-seven minutes shy of the designated 6:30 meeting time.

He glances one more time at the chase, swallowing a thick lump in his throat when he sees the vans hurdle full speed toward an open street of walking pedestrians, all ignorant of the fact to what beholds them in just mere seconds.

Miguel curses under his breath.

It’ll only be this for today, no more after that.

Fatigued eyes go to watch as the last people leave the restaurant, leaving you isolated in your little corner both embarrassed and hungry due to the heavy lack of food served on your platter for tonight. The other waiters begin to scrub the tables and booths free of crumbs and topple the chairs onto them, indicating that tonight has drawn to its close. You think you’ve memorized the entirety of the menu at this point, considering it’s really all you’ve been averting your eyes towards to avoid the looks of others.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see the waiters and waitresses pitifully gossiping about you and a heat flashes onto your face by how incredibly desolate you’ve looked in the past three hours. Internally, you thank them for their patience and how they’ve tolerated your excuses for your date’s tardiness-turned-absence, knowing that it must be a pain to look after someone that hadn’t even ordered anything besides water for the time she had been here.

You don’t even wait for your waitress to come to your table for the nth time tonight, going by your own initiative to pack up your things. Your phone is still devoid of any notifications from Miguel, as well, even after the four calls, occasional text checkups, and last minute voicemailed question of a needed rescheduling if he so desired.

What remains is just a grayed out Read, 7:47 PM underneath all the text bubbles.

“I… sincerely apologize if I loitered at all,” you murmur with your head half-down to the young host who shuffles the menus back into the lectern. “This was truly the last thing that I had expected from him…”

You instantly take back that statement the moment it leaves your lips. If anything, you should’ve known that this would’ve happened. Foolish you were—you’ve been with Miguel for the past three years, this was everyday behavior for him. You suppose this is how Gabriella must feel constantly and another heartache pits itself within you at the shared feeling.

The host shakes his head sympathetically. “You wouldn’t be our first case, I’m sure you didn’t have any ill intent. If anything, I’m the one sorry that he made you wait that long,” he replies with evident pity. “Whoever he is, he must be a dick for leaving such a pretty thing like you alone all night, ma’am.”

“Oh, he’s—” you fall short on your words, not even having the energy to sorely defend Miguel’s name. “Never mind…” you mutter.

“Do you need a cab?” asks the host, “Well actually, I’m about to clock out for tonight. I can drive you home, if you want. It’s the least I can do for you after tonight.”

You’re about to reply to him to turn down the offer, as you suspect he’s the type of guy to use women in these situations to his advantage, but the doors suddenly burst open to reveal the one and only in a hazy state and what seems to… flowers clutched in his hands? The petals, however, are corrugated and some have even completely drooped down from their stem. The paper that is supposed to guard them is wrinkled and torn at the corners. Almost all of the bouquet is wilted, much like your own composure for tonight.

Miguel isn’t much better. Hair and clothes a little damp, he’s frazzled and evidently guilty, as his face pales when he sees your contrasting appearance. You’re adorned in an a-lined, half-sleeved royal blue dress that made you look so regal in comparison to your daily white blouse-black pants outfit that he's seen too much of. Not to mention additional details of your styled hair and accessories just brought out the best of your beauty that was wasted on essentially nothing this evening.

“Mr. O’Hara…” you breathe when he passes through the door. The first thing that you notice automatically when his face properly comes into view is a sharply jagged, yet thin cut on the side of his cheek. “Did someth—”

“(Y/N), I’m so… so sorry,” he chokes out. “Something c-came up at work and they asked me to help them out… I’m sorry, I know I should’ve said no, but they were kind of on my ass about it and I got so caught up with it, so I wasn’t able to text you and—”

“She waited three hours,” the host drones and juts his thumb toward the dining area where all the chairs are laid atop the tables. Its lights flicker out, leaving only the foyer and smaller hallways lit so dismally in the night. “Until closing. She didn’t order anything in the meantime, so not only you left her alone tonight, you left her alone and hungry.”

“Hey listen, bud,” Miguel snaps at the host. He points a finger at him with irate in his eyes. “Not your business, so stay out of it.”

The host scoffs with a smirk on his face. “Not the first time I’ve heard that and certainly not the first time I’ve seen this happen. Guys like you always—”

You raise a hand to stop their bickering, afraid of what might happen if things escalate further as you really didn’t desire to do anything more than just sleep off your feelings. Both men stop and turn to look at you with concern on their faces.

“Do you still need that ride home?”

“Are you still hungry?”

A frustrated head shake finally silences the both of them.

“I’m fine, thank you for the offer, though,” you say quietly to the host. You turn to Miguel, who swallows at the sight of your tired eyes. “May we talk outside? I’d hate to stay here any longer than I need to.”

Miguel attempts to excuse himself one more time, but when you begin to pace yourself toward the door without waiting for him, he realizes he can’t exactly make any more decisions of his own any more this evening. Not after choosing his heroic duties again and again for tonight instead of tending to you.

The moon and stars tonight have made their presence with the special guest of light rain coming in for a visit. The whisper of a drizzle ghosts itself on your goosebumps skin and the chill of a wind nips at your flesh.

Miguel is quick to follow you. “I’m really sorry again, (Y/N),” he utters so softly that it makes your heart ache with familiarity. It’s the same tone of voice he’s used with Gabriella when at times, he wasn’t able to make it to her events or practices like he promised. “Are you still hungry by any chance? I know a good 24/7 diner that’s pretty close here.”

Without turning around, you politely shake your head and begin to search for any cabs coming your way. “I’ll be okay. I think I have some leftovers in the fridge that can suffice.”

The thought of you eating alone like he did on a night that you shouldn’t be sends shivers of guilt down Miguel’s spine. He curses himself at his past actions—deciding that it was stupid to catch those robbers who didn’t even put up much of a fight, to stop that gang brawl that was happening on the corner of 5th that was resolved the moment the elderly shopkeeper began to yell, to help that old lady that was certainly taking her sweet time to cross the street. They were such unbelievably mild crimes that he didn’t need to attend to, but did anyway even with the thought of you in mind.

Perhaps he should’ve had more faith in technology, because he’s sure Lyla was going to have much fun taunting him for the rest of the week.

“You can keep the flowers, too,” you say softly when a cab begins to pull up. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think I have a vase to store them in unfortunately.”

Miguel’s grip on the dismal bouquet tightens, not even trying to fight your refusal as you get into a cab. He stops the door from closing just as you’re about to, trying one last time to make up for his actions.

“At least let me pay for your cab,” Miguel whispers.

You know he’s sorry. You can see in his eyes the familiar gleam of woe that he’s given to his daughter. Your eyes go to flicker at the cut again, but you know that if you ask, he’s sure to give one his many excuses because it isn’t the first time he’s shown up with an injury before. And you don’t want to put yourself through that wall of verbal familiarity.

With sorrow gentleness, you pry his fingers off the edge of the car and shut it, putting a physical barrier between you and Miguel. The eyes of the driver goes to pitifully glance at your state before beginning to rev up the engine.

You don’t even have the courage to share a glance towards Miguel one last time before the cab begins to drive off—your wallow of disappointment is deep enough as it is.

The rest of the week is agonizingly slow; Miguel dares to say it’s torturous, even.

He’s thankful you’re still acknowledging his existence and talking with him, but your conversations lack the usual warmth and gentle playfulness they often had. It was already lonely enough dealing with the lack of a third person like him at home, but the feeling of isolation felt even more scarring this time because when he came home late after your babysitting session, you didn’t bother with small talk with him, the only thing that made him realize he didn't have to do everything by himself alone.

You didn’t ask how the late shift was, how were the bosses treating him, if he was getting enough rest… no, you only kept him updated on his daughter's schoolwork and any future events regarding her and her only. Your words never included him or you, only finishing off with a goodbye and have a nice night.

At least you were still kind enough to fix him the usual leftovers.

Work itself wasn’t much better. Conversations were brief and the lab in which you two worked privately was filled with silence that was only broken with the occasional demands and directions of lab work. Sometimes a forced cough would sneak its way through Miguel’s lips if the silence began to disturb him too much. He attempted to make some at the beginning, asking how your day was and whether your father was on your tail again, but he was met with short, sharp responses.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m not sure.”

Never have such words been so agonizing before. Ironic that they are because Miguel often hated it when people rambled and preferred it when conversations got to the point. He supposes, though, you get to the point too fast for his liking nowadays.

When he tried bringing up an explanation for Sunday’s events, you’d quickly shut it down as tenderly as possible, saying things along the lines of “It’s alright, your schedule is hectic. I can understand.” or “I just hope your work didn’t give you too much trouble.” You’re so polite about it that it hurts him. Miguel would much rather have you lash out and insult him than have you soften the landing that does barely anything to ease him because it feels like you’ve put on that mask you put in front of others—professional and orderly—and Miguel didn’t want to be seen as just a mere coworker, let alone your boss, to you.

His pride bites at his ankles. Lies coming out of his lips too regularly, he had to fib to Gabriella the morning after her sleepover when she asked about the date that you had fallen sick and weren’t able to make it. The disappointment on her face mimicked yours too eerily. She asked him if they were going to reschedule it. Miguel could only shrug his shoulders—he wasn’t even sure if you wanted anything to do with him after that event.

At least nothing changed with you and his daughter. He’d still home to an apartment with you helping with homework or her helping with dinner or tucking her into bed. That’s all he could ask for right now.

Miguel still had the chance to redeem himself this week. There was the annual banquet held at a banquet hall to celebrate the yearly achievements Alchemax and those associated had accomplished, as well as discussing major plans for the future. It was a boring, yet formal event used for connections and idle chatter, something Miguel usually didn’t look forward to. Lyla suggested to him to convince you to go and that Gabriella would just have a one-time babysitter while you got to enjoy (or in your case, put up) with his company as he redeemed himself best as possible. You’re not one to talk with others you’ve never met, so he knew that you would most likely stick by his side for a sense of familiarity.

It took a while, but you murmured you’d go under your breath to shake him off your tail. Miguel was elated, but it was quickly shut down halfheartedly by the reminder that you were still somewhat upset by Sunday’s incident, saying you’d take a cab to the banquet instead of driving with him like he offered.

No matter, as long as you were there by his side.

Miguel made sure that this time, he’d be out the door much earlier than the last, promising to never keep you waiting longer than a minute. A text on his phone pings that you’re near the back entrance, where the parking lot was so it’d be easier to find you. He swerves a little too harshly into the lot—either from nervousness or excitement or both—at the mention and had spotted you near the staircase adorned in a floor-length blushed, ivory pink halter gown with luminescent tulle, making you look like the human embodiment of an ocean pearl.

His eyes are so fixed on you that he didn’t realize he almost knocked himself straight into an oncoming BMW. The owner, a crabby old man he recognizes from human resources, swears and honks at him, making Miguel hide his face before hurriedly parking a little more safely.

When he approaches you, he drinks you in your full glory. Everything about you is so fresh… so exhilarating. You’ve done your hair with a couple of clips this time, with more subtle jewelry this time. Your makeup looks tidy and perfect and Miguel enjoys the way it emphasizes your best features instead of morphing them. If only he was wiser on Sunday, he would’ve been able to savor a different version of you in blue.

Nevertheless, you still manage to take his breath away with just a simple breath like you always have. It’s just that it was only recently had Miguel realized you had that ability and he’d be alright experiencing it again and again if it was with you.

“Mr. O’Hara?” you say and wave a soft wave in front of his face to break his trance. Somehow, you begin to grow self-conscious. Perhaps he didn’t like it? Maybe it was too revealing… the slit at the halter neckline did somewhat peek at your cleavage and you weren’t used to baring your shoulders out. “I-is everything okay?”

Miguel blinks a couple of times. His surroundings finally come into focus like your figure, making him realize how long he had been staring. “Apologies. I… never got to tell you this on Sunday, but I hope to do it now, (Y/N)... ” he clears his throat and straightens his posture, remembering to act everything out as practiced, before softly whispering with evident fondness that, “You look beautiful, tonight.”

A spark of surprise shocks your features for a brief moment, before your usual modesty is displayed again. Eye contact is broken, for you can’t fathom the thought of someone like Miguel O’Hara, favored in every possible way, would be complimenting you so casually. “Oh um. Thank you,” you choke out halfheartedly.

Miguel leans over slightly over your figure and tucks a lock of stray hair behind your ear. If he wanted to truly make up for what happened, he was going to have to go all out tonight, even if that meant rocketing out of his comfort zone. He just barely catches you hitching a breath at the semi-intimate of physical contact as he tries his best to hide his own when he murmurs in your ear again.

“I’m not saying it out of manners, I’m saying it factually,” he mumbles, eyeing the passersby that stare in wonder at you. Some ego swells inside of him at the jealous looks that are given to him. “You’ve bewitched me and many others already.”

You stray your gaze away at him with your hands fiddling at the skirt of your dress. “You didn’t have to, but thank you for the dress, by the way,” you murmur timidly. “I’ve never heard of a brand called Lyla, but I admit, this dress of theirs is rather nice.”

Miguel furrows his brows at the mention before Lyla briefly appears on your head, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up before disappearing. It doesn’t take Miguel long to realize that Lyla had shipped something so pristine to you without his permission, though he supposes that she had done him and you a favor given how majestic you look tonight.

He lets out a soft breath of a chuckle before shaking his head. Maybe he’ll give her some upgrades in return.

You turn your head behind you, not knowing what he was looking at. “Is something wrong? Is there something in my hair?”

“No, no. Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts…” Miguel interjects before offering his arm to you. “We should get going. I’d hate for a dress like this to go to waste for only my eyes.”

Internally, Miguel wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be greedy and have you all for himself, savor your every move tonight, have you and him be the only ones in this place. He didn’t want anyone to look towards your direction and have you look at anyone else besides him. A little venomous thought of people not realizing you had so much more potential than they realized embeds in himself, and that their awe for tonight was too artificial. He wanted more and to give you more, but then again, he’s still Spider-Man at the end of the day, the impossible man that somehow does it all and faces the consequences head on. He can only offer a regular day citizen like you so much.

But for now, he’ll make do with what he can. Not as Spider-Man this time, but as Miguel O’Hara.

a/n ; hi yeah don't panic, there'll be a part three lmfao i lied lolol. most likely it'll be the last part to this little series i've got going, too, since i think making it a fully fledged series would kind of lead some things astray for me. that doesn't mean the end of the miggy o'hare writings, however! still will most definitely attempt to write for him bc bro's GLORIOUS

thank you all for the patience for part ii, and i hope to see that part iii comes out asap! i'll give updates for it as always, but in the meantime, thank you for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and infinitely appreciated ( ˘ ³˘) ♡ !

taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @toofsfairys @raeisthebae (for those with strikethroughs, i'm not able to tag you for some reason :(!)

#spider man: across the spider verse #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv miguel #across the spider verse x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #fem!reader

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dreamauri · 12 days

Text

♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part five max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous | next )

Max felt like he was going to throw up when he read your newest messag

y/n — call! i can't believe what just happened

He's just dropped you off at your hotel 5 minutes ago, at this point you should be in your room packing for your flight. The ducth was anxious for a several amount of reasons. He didn't think he could call you so soon without you recognizing his voice.

And two, the thought of logging in as Amilian again was making him feel like he's seriously sick. He can't go back to hiding behind a name and a fake profile. He wanted to be normal the way you were with him.

amilian — i can't speak, but i can listen if you still want to talk

Max was glad he was back in his apartment, phone disgarded on the floor with the unsent message as he threw up the creps you had made in the morning. He felt like shit. One, he was lying to you. Two, he felt like Amilian was an imposter in his life that was slowly eating him.

And three, he threw up the food that you put effort in and was so happy to eat. He stared at the half digested food, feeling like he was going to cry. He dreamed about eating your cooking for two years and a half and when he finally does he throws it up in addition to wasting food.

Max sat on the floor of the bathroom, wiping his mouth and flushing the toilet as he sent the message, the 'you're getting a phone call' icon appearing sooner than he'd like.

"I made a friend." You say relieved as soo as the man picked up. Max nodded to himself even though you couldn't see. "You were right about clubbing. I shouldn't have went alone." Something bad would've happened but it didn't thankfully." Max sighed in relief even though he knew the whole gist because he was there.

amilian — are you okay?

"Yeah, I'm okay." you breath out. "Someone stepped in." Max nodded again and wiped his eyes. "He uh, he's a good guy. He let me stay at his for the night and gave me a bed. I was passed out so he got his sister to put me in something comfortable. I'm . . . I really appreciate him."

amilian — im glad you're safe

amilian — where are you now?

"I'm in my hotel room." You sighed, putting the phone on speaker as you looked around your room. "My flight's in three hours so I have to leave in a few."

And now Max felt even worse. He didn't want you to leave and be so far again from him. Now that he's gotten a taste he want's the whole serving. He needs you in a way that pains him. His apartment that's empty for more than three quarters of a year felt even emptier once your lively energy showed him what could be.

he stayed silent, pressing the phone to his ear as he listened to you, wiping the occasional tear as one of his cats came to lay on his lap. At least he wasn't fully alone in this world.

Max has to put Amilian away. This is not right. He's lost touch of the real world.

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deliciousangelfestival · 21 days

Text

Nothing Has Changed - 1

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 ,-

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

The clink of the spoon against the teacup echoed in the room. Your father, Tom, stared down at the tea, trying to keep his composure, but his heart ached for you.

He looked up at you sitting across from him. You could see the worry in his eyes, yet he seemed more concerned about you thinking he needed support, when it was supposed to be the other way around.

“Eat the cookies. You need to eat. You’ve lost a lot of weight,” Tom said, pushing the plate of cookies closer to you. His voice was gentle but firm.

The cold plate touched your skin, jolting you back to reality. You couldn’t believe that you had once promised never to come back home. Your father looked so much older than the last time you saw him, seven years ago.

As you watched him, you could see the lines on his face, the graying hair, the tiredness in his eyes. He looked fragile, contrasting to the robust and indifferent man you remembered.

He used to be so distant and reserved, his eyes always seeming to look through you rather than at you. His mind was always elsewhere, consumed by his work. You remember feeling invisible as if you were never a priority in his life.

He doesn’t know that you were an outcast and bullied the whole time you grew up in this town. It was all because of his job and the house you lived in.

Flashback Starts

In this town, there was only one mortician—your dad. And the funeral home was connected to your house.

Kids your age made fun of you relentlessly. They called your father the angel of death and labeled your home as hell. The bullying started early and only intensified as you got older. By high school, it felt like there was no escape.

But then, a glimmer of hope arrived when a new kid from the city transferred to your school.

His name was Ransom Drysdale-Thrombey. He was sent to this small-town school because he was a troublemaker. The principal asked you to help Ransom, hoping you could help him.

At first, it was tough. Ransom was resistant, and his rough exterior matched the rumors about him. But you stayed patient and persistent.

Over time, Ransom began to open up to you. His academic performance started to improve, and slowly, a bond formed between you.

Because of Ransom’s improvement, you met his family for the first time. It turned out that Drysdale was a mighty name. His family owned a big bank.

This was the turning point. Ransom introduced you to his grandfather, Harlan Drysdale. “Grandpa, my friend here is a genius. She’s the one who solved the issues you’ve been stressing about. I just showed it to her to ask her opinion, and she solved it.”

Harlan, the patriarch of the company, exuded a charisma you had never seen before. He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and respect.

You felt nervous, your hands trembling slightly as you stood there. Harlan’s presence was intimidating, but there was a kindness in his eyes that put you at ease.

“Is that so?” Harlan said, a smile spreading across his face. “I’d like to hear more about this solution of yours.”

Ransom beamed with pride as he gestured for you to explain. You took a deep breath and started to talk about your idea, feeling a strange sense of confidence growing inside you. Harlan listened intently, nodding along, his expression thoughtful.

When you finished, Harlan leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. “You have a remarkable mind,” he said. “Ransom is lucky to have you as a friend.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt seen and appreciated. You glanced at Ransom, who gave you an encouraging nod.

Meeting Harlan and the Drysdale family marked the beginning of a new chapter. You were no longer just the mortician’s kid. You were someone with potential, someone who could make a difference.

The years of bullying and isolation started to feel like a distant memory, replaced by a newfound sense of hope and possibility.

He looked at you and slowly nodded. “For a high school student to solve a credit issue is amazing. I’m glad my grandson found a hidden talent.”

Your heart felt warm. You had never received such a compliment in your life.

“You will be a valuable asset in the future. Dear, are you interested in working with me?” Harlan asked.

“Yes, sir!” you replied quickly.

This was your golden ticket to leaving this town, having a better life, and succeeding.

After graduating high school, you packed your bags, said goodbye to your dad, and jumped into Ransom's car. As the car started moving, you didn’t glance back even once.

You had made your decision to leave everything behind.

You received a scholarship for college from the Drysdale charity, supported by a glowing recommendation letter from Harlan himself. You studied hard, like a person possessed, determined to graduate quickly and start working at the Drysdale company.

You graduated in two years and fulfilled your promise to work with Harlan. You gave it your all, becoming a workaholic to prove yourself.

Your hard work paid off, and you made a name for yourself in the finance world. They called you the “female Midas” because every company's stock you bought saw its price soar.

Harlan was proud of you; you could see it in his eyes.

Then everything changed after Harlan died.

The company's business structure changed too, with Ransom in charge. You tried to talk to him, but he didn’t listen.

One day, the FBI raided your office and accused you of insider trading. You hadn’t done it, but the accusation hit hard. Even without proof, you lost friends, and your trading and financial licenses were revoked.

You called Ransom, but he didn’t pick up. You tried contacting the other Drysdales, but nobody wanted to help.

You had spent seven years celebrating Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with them, but they still hadn’t accepted you.

You had poured your sweat, blood, and tears into this company, only to be thrown away. After everything, they still hadn’t accepted you. The way they made you feel like family, only to discard you, was a sick joke.

Even a wolf would accept a dog into its pack.

You sat alone in your empty apartment, your hands trembling with anger and betrayal. The silence was deafening, starkly contrasting to the lively gatherings you once shared with the Drysdales. The warmth you once felt from their acceptance had turned cold and hollow.

You looked at the framed photo on your desk, a picture of you and Harlan on the day you graduated. His proud smile felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the harsh reality of your present.

You picked up your phone one last time, scrolling through the countless unanswered messages to Ransom and the Drysdales. Each one felt like a dagger, a reminder of the trust and loyalty you had given, only to be met with silence and abandonment.

You have lost everything. The court has taken your apartment, your car, and blocked your bank account until the investigation is done.

You feel ashamed and don’t have any close friends to turn to.

Your last hope is your hometown. With your small amount of cash, you pack your laptop and a few outfits and take the last train home.

When you call your dad, his voice sounds uncertain when he hears you’re coming home and ask if he can pick you up.

It’s late at night when you arrive. It’s just you and your dad. You’re grateful no one else is around to see you.

Tom looks nervous. He tries to ask you on the car ride home, “Did something happen?”

You close your eyes and lean your head against the window. “I’m tired. I’ll tell you tomorrow morning.”

“Ah. Right. You must be tired,” Tom says, his voice shaky.

The silence in the car is heavy, filled with unspoken words. Tom glances at you occasionally, his worry evident in the rearview mirror. You can feel the weight of his concern, but you can’t bring yourself to talk about it yet.

When you finally pull up to the house, it looks the same as when you left. The familiarity is both comforting and painful. Tom helps you with your bags, his hands trembling slightly.

You only brought one bag, but he wanted to carry it, as if carrying your burden. He could feel that you were going through something.

Inside, the house is quiet. You head straight to your old room, which hasn’t changed much. The sight of it brings a lump to your throat.

You drop your bags and sit on the edge of the bed, feeling exhausted and defeated.

Tom lingers in the doorway, unsure of what to do. “If you need anything, just let me know,” he says softly.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, managing a weak smile. He nods and gently closes the door, leaving you with your thoughts. The weight of your situation presses down on you, but at least here, in this small room, you feel a glimmer of safety.

Flashback End

*******

The next morning, you woke up with no desire to move on. But seeing your dad already waiting for you, you couldn’t make him wait for an answer.

So you told him about the struggle you're facing right now.

Tom wasn’t ready for this. He thought you returned because your heart was broken by Ransom or you missed home. Or, you missed him.

After hearing every word that came out of your mouth, he couldn’t believe it. His only daughter had been betrayed like this.

“I need to stay here for a while,” you said. You would stay until you heard from the court. You had sent them evidence proving your innocence.

"Why did you say that like you're asking for permission? This is your home," Tom replied. He didn’t care if you were a criminal or a murderer. If you needed a place to hide, he would provide it for you.

"Thanks, Dad," you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

'Knock. Knock.'

You and Tom looked at the door. Only he stood up. It seemed like he was already expecting someone.

He opened the door. "You're here early," he said.

You sipped your tea, assuming the newcomer was just another guest of your dad's.

"Nothing ever goes wrong when you do things early," the voice said cheerfully and friendly.

You almost choked on your tea. The voice sounded all too familiar, and you prayed it wasn't who you thought it was.

"Thanks. I'll meet you at the morgue in 5 minutes," said Tom as he moved to close the door.

"Are you having a guest?" the person asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Tom replied, his voice a little tense.

"Why are you nervous? Do you have a special friend?" The teasing tone drew closer.

You closed your eyes and clenched your fists. You knew your dad, short and not as physically imposing, wouldn't be able to stop the tall, athletic man approaching.

"Y/N?" the voice said, confirming your worst fears.

You opened your eyes and saw the new guest. Locking gazes with him, you felt a surge of apprehension and dread. He was Bucky Barnes, the embodiment of your past torment.

You, the quiet, bookish nerd, and he, the charismatic, popular guy—Bucky represented everything you had once dreaded in high school. His group of friends constantly tormented you.

Crossing your arms tightly, you couldn't mask the edge in your voice. "What is he doing here?"

Tom's hesitant introduction only added fuel to the fire. "He's my apprentice," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"What does that mean?" you asked, your tone sharp.

Tom cleared his throat nervously. "Um, well... after I retire, I'll be passing the business on to Bucky."

You raised your eyebrows, not saying anything. Tom seemed nervous, perhaps worried that you were angry he hadn’t told you about this sooner.

Meanwhile, Bucky still looked stunned to see you standing there.

Leaning forward, you couldn't contain the resentment in your voice. "Him? Are you sure? He and his group made a mockery of this business every single day, taunting me whenever I set foot in school!"

The room fell silent, the tension thickening with each passing moment.

You had hoped to find refuge here, but now you were having second thoughts. The person who had bullied you was now working with your father and set to inherit the business. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

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auspicioustidings · 7 days

Text

Flinch

Summary: You thought you would die trying the day you tried to escape your abusive husband, but destiny has other plans. Words: 5.2k TWs: domestic abuse, rape

(I read this book months ago, forgot all about it and today it burrowed into my head again and I assume caused this so if you wanna read a good version of this concept I'd recommend it!)

You would die trying today. You had to.

The 20 week scan had been yesterday and while your husband was away on a work trip he would return this evening. You knew your bodyguard had already told him that the baby inside you was a girl. He did not want a girl. You shook at the memory of when he left 3 days ago.

He had taken you on your hands and knees, no less cruel in how he did it than before you were pregnant, and told you about how his son would be his legacy. His hot, wet breath had been in your ear as he spilled inside of you. You’d better give me a son, wife. If you misbehave and grow a female I’ll need to fuck myself into your womb to get rid of the little slut and try again.

The baby had saved you the most severe beatings the last 4 months, but your husband found other ways to torture you. You could barely even look at your guard anymore knowing that he had been witness to the week your husband had made you spend in an open room penned in by glass. It had been a luxurious prison cell where everybody could see your every move, the bathroom facilities not hidden from view at all and your body on full display. He said it was so they could make sure you were healthy and happy during your pregnancy and then he had fucked your arse in front of his men and smacked you hard across the cheek when he was finished for being such a cry baby.

He would certainly beat you black and blue for failing to bear him a son. But you didn’t really care about that, you had agreed to be his wife 6 years ago when you were 17 and thought he had hung the stars. But this baby who at first you had hated you had come to love. He would kill her. He would kill any of her sisters after her. You could take any punishment he gave you, maybe you’d get lucky and he’d finally kill you, but your daughter deserved a chance to live.

So you would do something you had not done since your 3rd attempt 5 years ago had ended with broken ribs, a broken nose and a concussion that had made you dizzy and sick for months after. You were going to try and leave.

It would be difficult. Your guard was loyal to your husband and never flinched at his treatment of you, so you did not expect help from him. Your left leg hadn’t quite healed right after it had been hurt a few weeks ago during a particularly rough fulfilment of your marital duties so you couldn’t put weight on it very well.

Plus you knew you were ugly now. Your eyes had sunken in and were smudged underneath with purple from too many sleepless nights. One side of your face was mottled with bruises. The rest of your body was too thin but for your protruding stomach and covered in marks. You remembered your father yelling at you about beauty being the only thing women were worth when you were a child. Your parents had been happy when you got engaged to such a wealthy man and you had not heard from them since the day they handed you over. You had been pretty then. You wondered how disgusted your father would be with how you looked now. He certainly wouldn’t help you in such a state.

There wasn’t much time. Your guard was stuck to your side but for one hour in the afternoon where you were expected to thoroughly clean yourself and prepare yourself for your husband's return. The rules of that never changed regardless of your condition. You would spend the hour making yourself perfect, your holes clean and ready, your skin soft and fragrant, your hair braided how he liked it and a thin nightgown perfectly draping on your body. If he found fault with you then you could expect a great deal of pain before he brought in his men to redo the whole process. It was not pleasant when they did it.

The fear made your mouth dry. Not only would you be punished for trying to escape, but you would be found lacking in your appearance and preparation and that would carry its own punishment. You could not do this.

A kick from your daughter argued that you could and it spurred you into action. This was it, your last chance to save her.

–

“I’m gaggin’ for a pint.”

Ghost snorted a laugh.

“You’re always gagging for something Johnny” he quipped, Gaz elbowing Soap teasingly while Price just rolled his eyes from behind the wheel.

“You’ll behave back there. This truck has a no gagging on anything rule in place. Bunch of bloody moppets” he barked.

The Captain was mostly just glad to be heading back home. Some therapist would have a field day with him considering home to be a small off-the-record safe house on the edges of a tiny fishing village, but then he was sure they would quit long before he had gotten to that part with the amount of shite he had been through.

His team had their own flats dotted around the UK, but they seemed to prefer to spend most of their down time together in the safe house. Maybe one day they would all admit that the safe house was just their actual house now, but it was unlikely to be anytime soon. It was still spartan after all, looking drab from the outside and as regimented and dull as any other military base on the inside. Not really homey. Garrick had sincerely attempted to start a little vegetable garden last year but it had been a resounding failure, meaning the little cottage was surrounded by weeds that choked the path. At this point the locals probably thought it was haunted.

It was still a long way off. Two more hours to base where they could switch out the army issued truck for his own modern and well kept pick up and MacTavish’s frankly ridiculous little hatchback that should really not be able to handle the country roads leading to the safe house but was somehow still kicking. He swore he was some sort of car witch.

“Don’t worry Captain, I’m too classy to have a gag reflex!” Gaz shouted over to him with Soap snickering in the background.

“That right? Lieutenant.”

Price laughed at the carnage happening in the back of the truck as Ghost pounced on Gaz and tried to shove fingers down his throat to get him to gag while Soap took Gaz’s side as he almost always did when it came to a fight with Ghost and tried to fight him off. The rough housing in the back at least kept them occupied for a little bit while Price lit up a cigar.

He wasn’t paying as much attention to the road as he ought to, but then this stretch of road was almost always empty. They were more or less in the middle of nowhere, the nearest civilisation being some fancy gated community out past the right side of the forest this road cut through.

Only 5 hours to go now and at least 3 of those would be done in his much more comfortable truck with climate control and not this tin can.

Ghost chuckled as Johnny grabbed at Gaz’s top, trying to pull him back into the truck as Ghost was shoving him out. Poor Gaz’s top half was dangling precariously out the back and he could barely breathe through the wheezing laughter. Ghost was someone with fast instincts, so he felt Gaz tense and was immediately on guard even before the man yelled out and started scrambling to launch himself out of the back of the truck and onto the road before Price had a chance to properly stop the thing.

“Stop the truck!”

“Bloody hell, Garrick get your arse back in here!” Price yelled and cursed as he brought the truck to a stop a little ahead of where Gaz had jumped out.

Ghost had a hand locked around Soap’s nape, the Lieutenant knowing if he didn’t keep the man grounded he would be out of this truck and by Gaz’s side without even stopping to check for danger. Price trusted him enough that he stayed put, watching the two of them who were watching out the back to see what Garrick did.

–

There was a man on the road. You were so sore and so tired, your adrenaline nearly exhausted. You had gotten so close, the road was right there. But he was one of your husband's you thought. Not one you recognised, but the casual clothes with military gear was just like your guards.

The choice now was how hard to fight. It hardly felt like you could fight anymore, but somewhere in the woods you had made the decision that you were not going back. Better you die with your daughter than allow her to die alone. You hoped this man was ruthless and efficient about it, that he made this quick. You had to make sure he killed you. You were not going back.

“Hey, it’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Kyle and I can help. Are you hurt?”

He sounded painfully kind and that felt unfair. It had been so long since you had been afforded kindness, why now? Maybe this was your last meal.

“I- I won’t go back” you said, screwing up your courage and trying to stand as straight and strong as you could with the exhaustion and pain blanketing your body.

The man slowly moved one hand to take off his cap while the other was stretched open in front of him. He was showing you he wasn’t armed you thought as his cap was put on the ground and he raised his other hand to show it was also empty and crouched a little lower than his full height.

“Ok, I’m not going to make you go back anywhere. I just want to help” he said, gentle.

Throughout the years you had learned not to trust. When you were 10 and your mother had promised you a birthday party but then spent the money on a night out to the pub for her and your father instead. When you got your first period and you asked your father what you should do but he just smacked you for telling him something so disgusting. When your husband promised he would be gentle on your wedding night and it wouldn’t hurt, but he broke both promises. When a maid promised to help you escape but instead told your guard your plan. Your husband had fucked her in front of you while you were laying unable to move from the beating. You had never seen him be so gentle.

You so wanted to trust someone and not have it backfire. Just once. Just enough to give you some hope that your daughter could have a good life with people who would look out for her. But when he shuffled a little closer you flinched and stepped back. It was too hard to try and trust him.

The movement put you more in the dappled early evening sunlight. It would be dark soon.

–

Kyle fought to keep himself relaxed even when the light revealed what he had missed before. The scared woman in front of him was pregnant. Couldn’t have been very far along with how small she was. Her face was a mess of bruises. He wanted to hunt down whatever useless piece of shit had done this to her.

But he had to stay calm for her sake. He couldn’t start demanding information when he hadn't even managed to get close enough to examine her. He needed to get her far away from the danger first, get her medical attention and then get justice once she was happy and healthy and safe.

It also needed to be quick. This was a woman who was running, so it stood to reason there was somebody chasing. But how did he convince her to get into a truck with a bunch of armed strangers?

She startled, looking like she had seen… ah fuck, Ghost had hopped out of the truck and walked over.

“You know how to use a gun?” he asked her, almost casual despite the grit behind it.

She shook her head and her eyes widened as Ghost lifted his sidearm into his hands. Kyle thought perhaps his Lieutenant had lost his damn mind when he started calmly explaining the basics of the gun before stepping forward, putting it on the ground and stepping back again.

“Sergeant, back up” he ordered and Kyle reluctantly took a few steps back. “You need help and we can give it. You pick up that gun, get in the truck and if any of us touches you without your permission you point and shoot. We’re about two hours out from a military base, there’s a doctor there who can check you over, make sure the baby is ok.”

Maybe Ghost was a genius or maybe he was a maniac, but then it wasn’t the first time he had flirted with that line. Kyle watched the woman hesitantly move forward. She reminded him of a little mouse approaching a piece of cheese. When she got close enough she darted suddenly and grabbed the gun, holding it up to them. Her arms were shaking.

He was used to the sounds of a bullet firing by now, but he still felt himself jump when she fired out into the woods on the other side of them.

“Y-you actually gave me a loaded gun?” she said breathlessly, seeming almost outraged that Ghost would truly do such a thing. Kyle sympathised.

“You feel better?” Ghost answered, nodding his head to the truck where Soap was watching with rapt attention.

“...yes” the woman said before walking (although he noted it was more limping) over to the truck and letting Ghost help her in only after trying herself and realising she wouldn’t be able to hop up and keep ahold of the gun at the same time.

–

The man in the skull mask didn’t ask any questions and he seemed entirely nonplussed about the gun pointed at him as the eerily silent truck took off. The other two in the back seemed nervous and the man driving hadn’t interacted with you at all, instead keeping his attention on the road.

Skull mask made a call and his voice sounded like a shout with how quiet it was.

“I need you at Stirling Lines in 2 hours… yeah, needs to be you for this… send me the standard form and I’ll get the answers over to you… she doesn’t need delicate from me, she needs help… thanks for this, see you then.”

The one that shared a bench on your side with the mohawk looked increasingly alarmed at the conversation.

“LT…” he started, some worried warning in his tone.

The LT ignored him, looked at his phone and then looked up to you after seemingly finding what he was looking for.

“Name, gender and birth date?”

“I… what?”

“Jesus Christ LT!”

“I need to get information for the nurse I have meeting us at base” the LT said, ignoring the mohawk man’s outrage and staring at you with those unsettling eyes sunken behind the mask. “The questions are going to be invasive. The exam is going to be worse and it’s going to take hours.”

“That’s enough Lieutenant” the man driving hissed, only to be equally as ignored as the Lieutenant's eyes stayed on you.

“Get through it. Get through it to spite the bastard.”

You felt a flutter of panic try to take hold. Your adrenaline was gone so it was hard to even feel that, but he thought… they all thought you had been raped.

“It’s not… I’m married” you said by way of explanation.

The atmosphere was tense, but after you said that there was a distinct feeling of sadness coming from mohawk and Kyle, a feeling of pity. The skull mask had no such pity emanating from him.

“He told you that because you’re married you couldn’t say no. Reinforced that. It’s brainwashing and you can break that. It wasn’t marriage they used as a reason for me, but they tried to brainwash me to think I consented to it just the same. I didn’t and neither did you. Spite the bastard.”

Nobody else spoke for the next 2 hours but you and the man in the skullmask. He asked questions and you answered them. At the start you took time to answer, hesitant from the humiliation coursing through you and making you feel sick. An hour in and you had no emotions left to give, only cold answers that floated through the truck and hung in the air like the twisted body of the saviour had hung on your bedroom wall, watching and judging.

By the time the truck was pulling through to a base you felt rinsed of everything, numb. The only shred of warmth came from the hand holding yours and you could not remember exactly when the man with the mohawk had put it there.

–

“Simon…”

“It’s not like you hadn’t read my file sir.”

Price had read his file. He knew what Roba had done to this man. It didn’t make it any less jarring to hear his Lieutenant say it out loud in the back of a damn truck with a strange beaten woman and his two Sergeants who until now had no real idea of his past.

“You solid?” he asked, not wanting to push him to talk about anything he didn’t want to.

“I’m angry.”

He knew that from Simon’s record too. It had taken a while for him to be cleared after Roba because he was so angry all the time, his aggression too volatile for even the military. This whole situation was bringing up old wounds in his Lieutenant and he was lost with what to do about it.

“Lieutenant Riley” came a call from the nurse finally leaving the exam room. She had an American accent, Southern. He suspected she was probably the one who saw Simon after Roba considering that had been in Texas.

“Appreciate you coming on short notice” Simon replied with a nod of thanks.

“Consider it payback for getting me my visa. No point in mincing words, it’s bad.”

“Consider it a matter of national security” Price said.

Technically he shouldn’t be told anything about the state of the woman in that exam room without her consent, but then it would not be the first time he got around GDPR citing national security. The nurse was clearly versed in how the military worked and handed over the clipboard she was holding. Simon read along with him over his shoulder.

“Bleeding Christ. She’s 21 weeks?” he asked, shocked.

“Long term malnutrition. She wasn’t given any control over her food. They gave her enough to keep her alive, but nowhere near healthy.”

“This…” Simon started, looking at the results from the x-rays.

“Consistent with prolonged torture. Some of the breaks never healed right. She’s still healing from a fracture and some ligament tearing in the left leg, a few broken ribs and a crack in her orbital bone. She said he had been more careful with her since finding out she was pregnant.”

Price swore loudly. He saw plenty of civilian casualties. He had caused the deaths of innocent people in the pursuit of saving other innocents. He was no stranger to evil. But this wasn’t a terrorist attack. It wasn’t a hostage in a facility. The woman was just an ordinary person who was being tortured for no large cause, not for the advancement of some twisted doctrine. She was being tortured for the crime of being a wife.

“Can you keep it off record?”

He was a bit taken aback that Simon was asking that. Surely they wanted this on record? But then he followed that action to its conclusion. They found her near a community that very rich people lived in, it followed that this husband had money to spare. They would know she was missing by now and they would know the radius of where she could have reached by car or train.

The second she was admitted to a hospital as a malnourished and beaten pregnant woman she would go missing. He wouldn’t trust the police as far as he could throw them to protect a domestic abuse victim when the perpetrator was rich and powerful enough to track her down and pay them off. The military wasn’t any better. Hell he knew of monsters in his own department who would insist on taking her for a spin before handing her over.

“I’ll talk with her” he said, Simon giving him a grateful nod.

Somehow he needed to convince that woman that she was coming to the safehouse with them until they could deal with her husband along with every single one of his accomplices. They wouldn’t make it to prison.

–

You wanted so badly to sleep but the alarm in your head wouldn’t let you. You couldn’t possibly be safe. You were never safe.

The nurse had been kind in her examination. She said this was specifically what she was trained for, that you were not alone. Others had been through this and survived. Others had went on to have brilliant and bright lives while their attackers had turned into insignificant, small creatures in their memories. You still found it hard to think of your husband as your attacker. All you had known growing up was that the man of the household owned the women in it and it was his prerogative how he handled them.

You hadn’t been allowed to shower first even though you wanted to. It was strange to think that it was deemed lucky that you weren’t permitted to shower outside of your hour preparation time and that you hadn’t been given that hour since your husband had last used you for his pleasure. He knew you desperately hated having to lay with his spend inside of you. You had begged your guard to let you clean up properly before getting your ultrasound, but he had only smiled as he said no. Of course he had. He was well versed in experiencing your humiliation and your husband was well versed in creating situations for him to do so.

It was painful when she had examined you internally. She told you that it shouldn’t be, that you associated penetration with pain now so your body was seizing up making the speculum feel much worse than it normally would. She apologised, said that was something that wouldn’t happen forever once you got healthier and knew you were safe. You could hardly believe it when she told you sex wasn’t supposed to hurt for women.

You hadn’t thought you were capable of it after today, but you still cried when she did the ultrasound. There she was, still alive and well. You wanted to tell her it would be ok now, that you had done it, you had gotten away and she would be safe. But it didn’t seem real.

The exam had taken such a long time. Your clothes had been taken from you and the thin gown did nothing to make you feel less exposed. She wanted to take the bank notes stuffed into your pocket as well, promising that they would be replaced, but you had begged to keep them and she had let you. The MRI wasn’t mentioned when the nurse had first explained everything, but part way through she had asked if it would be ok for one to be taken. She made sure that you didn’t have to interact with anyone else but her which calmed you a little.

Now you were alone. She told you that she would let you gather your thoughts and then a shower and clothes could be organised.

You needed to figure out your next move. £410 wasn’t a lot of money, but it would have to be enough to get your daughter somewhere safe. You could work. Your last job had been as a waitress when you were a teenager, but you were good at cooking and cleaning and willing to learn just about anything so you were determined you would find something. You didn’t have much choice.

There was a knock at the door and you told them to come in. Your voice sounded awful, scratchy and hoarse.

It was not the nurse.

The man from the front of the car didn’t look at you unkindly, but it did not stop you from flinching as he stepped towards you. You wished you hadn’t let Kyle take the gun from you when you arrived.

He immediately stopped and showed his hands just like Kyle had on the road.

“My name is Captain John Price, the men in the truck are my team. You’ve been brave today and I know it’s been hard. I can get you a shower and some hot food, how does that sound?”

You felt yourself shrivel and shrink. A shower with him. You hated being in a shower with your husband, he always forced you to your knees. Whenever he gave you a chance to breathe it was only under the high pressure spray of the water and it made you feel like you were suffocating. He liked that.

Could you get on your knees for this man? If it was for your daughter, if it kept her safe, then yes. It wasn’t so bad was it? You had survived worse. It was just your mouth.

You stood shakily and nodded, eyes fixed on the ground as you picked up the bank notes on the side table and held them tightly in your hand.

“Where did that come from?”

“I…” you started, taking a moment to try and think of a lie before giving in to the mental exhaustion and just telling the truth. “I stole it from my guard’s wallet.”

“Atta girl.”

The praise made your ears feel hot. You had half expected to be arrested on the spot, but the man, Captain John Price, just started leading you out of the room and down the hall to the showers.

“Soap, that’s the moppet with the mohawk from the truck, volunteered some of his things. He’s a bit of a peacock, so there should be everything you need. It’s a communal shower but I’ll stand guard at the door for you so nobody will come in. You can lock the door, but if I knock I need you to answer so I can confirm you’re ok. Towels are here, clothes here. We don’t have anything for maternity so we’ve guessed on what size will fit.”

You were taken aback. He wasn’t going to be in here with you. You didn’t need to service him. Your grip tightened around the cash in your hand before loosening as you looked at it.

“Don’t even think about it. You don’t owe anyone here a damn thing. Go shower.”

With that he left. You locked the door and waited for 10 minutes to see if he would unlock it from the other side and come in. He only knocked once and when you responded that you were fine he was silent again.

Satisfied that at least you didn’t think he would come in you stripped off and finally had a shower. The hair products and shower gel left by Soap (you thought that was a funny coincidence) smelled nice, like pine and maybe a hint of something sweet. Your husband only ever let you use things with a heavy smell of roses.

The nurse had asked what you meant by preparing yourself when you mentioned that you hadn’t done so and escaped instead. She told you that you didn’t need to do that here, but then there wasn’t any of the equipment you were used to anyway. It felt luxurious in a way, to clean yourself just for yourself.

The next time Captain Price knocked and you confirmed that you were ok, he kept speaking with you.

“I would like you to come with me and my team. We are heading to a safehouse a few hours from here and it’ll be the safest place for you to recover. You would have your own room with a lock on the door.”

You were glad nobody could see the way your face screwed up in some grotesque mixture of fear, confusion and, worst of all, hope.

“I… have money. I can pay rent.”

“...ok.”

He sounded somewhat reluctant to accept that but you couldn’t not pay for this. You would constantly be waiting for one of them to collect in some other way if you didn’t give them cash.

You touched your stomach, silently asking your daughter if it was ok to trust this man. She gave a kick.

–

Johnny didn’t think he had ever seen anyone so fragile. She had fought it Price had said, but eventually their new housemate had fallen into an exhausted sleep in the passenger seat of his truck.

When they arrived it had been him who bundled her in his arms and carried her to bed. God she was so small for someone who was supposed to be halfway through a pregnancy.

He had watched her since Gaz had jumped out of that truck. She had flinched then, she had flinched when Si got out of the truck, she had flinched when Price had went into the room (he probably shouldn’t have been hiding out in the hallway watching through the open door, but he just couldn’t stop himself).

She hadn’t flinched at all when he threaded his fingers through hers in the truck. Her hand was so tiny. Too tiny, much like the rest of her.

He put her to bed in his room since the spare was a bit of a wreck and he bunked with Gaz. They could sort it all out tomorrow after he had gotten her a massive breakfast. He was shite at cooking anything but a greasy fry up but he wanted only the best for her, so he’d already fired off a message to the girl who owned the best cafe in town and asked for a priority breakfast delivery that he was going to be paying a fortune for since it was last minute and out of the ordinary.

He didn’t know this woman, but he knew intrinsically that he would.

–

You dreamt sweet dreams. A cottage made cosy. Cooking whatever meals you wanted with ingredients you grew yourself in the garden outside. The gentle pleasure of careful hands and tongues, opening you up to a new world you never thought existed, one where your pleasure was first and foremost and the press of a body into yours didn’t hurt. The give beneath your fingers when you touched your own body, fat and soft rolls that reminded you of how safe you felt, how happy and healthy you were.

And a little girl running towards a returning hero, being swept up and laughing delightedly about it.

Best of all in that wonderful dream, you didn’t flinch once.

#mhairiwrites #tf 141 x reader #well well well #look who has dissociated and written something jumbled and nonsensical in one go #I am once again asking my brain to do this with the series I am trying to finish instead of with a random completely different concept

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gegewrites · 1 year

Text

Dr.house- working after hours. (Smut)

Currently obsessed with this man, he’s been in my dreams for the past 4 days. Barely edited. I’m not a Med student, I’m a film kid. So my two hours of spotty research are prob not all that right.

5/21/23

Your pov-

It was about twelve am, maybe even one. I was sitting in Dr.Houses office. Seated directly in his chair, my elbows resting on the glass top desk, my chin sitting on top of my hands as I looked down at the file in front of me.

Our current patient, Craig Sanders, forty-five, male. He travels often for work. Earlier today he had a heart attack at home, in the garage. Pronounced dead for 7 minutes. Gotta be some kind of record. He’s loosing vision and feeling in his limbs, loss of memory but none of it stays. It comes and goes.

Because I had clinic duty today I didn’t get to fully focus on the patient, only for the beginning. I got to view the scans quickly but was paged to the clinic, so now I’m catching up.

I didn’t look up when the glass door opened, it knew it was house because who else would just walk into a office that has its blinds closed, let alone at 1 am.

“In my chair, now I really can’t ignore you.” He commented, I gave a light scoff as ket my eyes at the paper, not really reading it, just thinking,”shouldn’t you be home?”

“Shouldn’t you?” I looked up at him. he was standing in front of the desk, leaning on his left leg, his grip of his cane shifting, he gazed down at the file in front of me.

“Touché.” He stood for a few seconds longer before we walked away. I didn’t watch him, but I heard his bottle of whiskey open as he poured it into a glass.

“How much sense does this case make to you?” I asked, leaning back in the chair, we was leaning against the desk behind me glass in hand,”his heart is finally semi stable, so It’s not having sn effect of anything at the moment, but , his brains loosing funct-“

“I think I’d be able to think better if you got out of my chair, hiked that pretty skirt up, and sat down on me.” He clicked his tongue,”Should really get my brain going.”

I was kind of taken by surprise, house and I have fucked more times then you can count on one hand. In The Broom closets, his car, his house, on his piano, but never in his office.

I knew from the moment I walked into the office today this skirt was gonna get him. pencil skirt, stopped just above my knees. A dark grey so you could see any lines, which he didn’t. I caught him looking on more then one occasion.

Earlier/11 am-

Houses Pov-

My grip on the head of my cane shifted as I watched (l/n) write on the board. Her writing on the board was fine, she’s been here for nine years, she knows what she’s doing and she picked up this patient. But, I couldn’t keep my eyes in the board or my attention on foreman, Cameron, or chase. No, my eyes and brain were more focused on her ass. I’d occasionally look the board or around to cover it but I kept getting pulled back.

Pencil skirt, Dark grey, tight…and short.

It’s not like she hasn’t worn pencil skirts before, I’ve seen her with one hiked up around her waist as she gets it from behind. first “date” two years ago actually. Wine Red. Nice color on her.

You see this one, this one was different. usually you can see panty lines under tight clothing like dresses or skirts, she’s usually got a slight thong line, and I’ve been looking for it.

“What do you think?” I was taken out by (l/n) question. I looked at her, hands sturdily placed in her hips, and I looked at the white board.

Memory loss, weakened heart muscles, low blood cell count, numbness in fingers and toes, and loss of eye sight, intermittently.

Those were just the main ones.

“EKG, stress test, keep an eye on his ECGs.” I stood up,” get all the cardiac makers. Dementia, Alzheimer’s, and multiple sclerosis. Let’s start there.” They didn’t move, just looked at me,”move, I have to get to the clinic or Cuddy will have my balls.”

“Alright.” Foreman said as he got up from his chair, Cameron and chase followed. (l/n) stuck around for a bit and looked at the board before she followed.

“Hey.” I called to catch her attention, she stopped and looked at me,”that new?”

“What?”

“The skirt, it’s nice.” I let my eyes fall from her face to her hips, where her black button up was tucked in. She grabbed her white coat from the chair at the end of the table.

“Thank you.” She smiled as she turned around,”I saw you looking the whole time,” she started to walk away,”we all saw.”

“Hard not too, especially when it seems like youre not wearing anything under it.” I followed her into my office, she was already at the open door.

“I am, it’s just thin.”

Now-

Your pov-

“Perfect, just Fuckin perfect.” He groaned, relaxed into the rolling chair, his hands placed on my waist. His finger tips pressed in and out of my clothed skin. My pussy was clenched around his cock, buried inside of me as I was sitting tightly on his lap. My thong moved to the side. The record player was on, playing one of his blues records, mainly instrumental.

He popped two of his Vicodin right before he yanked up my skirt, he was definitely enjoying all of this right now. The door wasn’t locked, but the blinds were closed. A little risky considering Wilson is still around, his wife is gonna be mad when he gets home but he’s got reports to do.

I went to rock my hips to get some pleasure but his grip stopped me.

“Greg.” I sighed out and he hummed, pressing his chest against my back.

“Just sit, go over the information.” His hands ran up my shirt, over my breasts as he started unbuttoning it, exposing my skin and black bra. His lips kissed my neck, his beard tickling my skin as he untucked my shirt from my skirt,”you changed a hair product.”

“My conditioner.” I answered as I switched between tests, comparing and contrasting, trying to make things fit.

He stopped talking after that, running his hands up and down my sides, grazing over fabric and my skin.

I drowned out into the music and the feeling of his cock deep inside me, the littlest shift and he’s rubbing into my gspot. He was relaxed back into the chair, glass of whiskey in his hand as the other held onto my waist.

I looked over to the light board, scans of his heart and brain trying to pick it apart from where I was seated…at least I was. I stopped paying attention when I felt his hand slip from my waist, down to my thigh. His middle finger slipped through my lips and started slowly rubbing my clit in a circular motion.

“Please don’t stop.” I begged out in a breath.

“But what’s the fun in that?” He leaned forward, putting his glass in the desk while making sure he was pressed firmly inside me, making a pitiful whimper leave my mouth,”look at his temporal and parietal lobe in the lateral view,” he turned the chair, I grabbed onto the arms,” along with his cerebellum in the inferior view. Look hard.”

“It’s dying, we know that.” My voice had a slight shiver to it, my legs were also starting to tremble, he still hasn’t stopped rubbing my clit.

“Why?” He started rubbing harder, I was getting wetter, my walls fluttering around him, I stayed nearly silent, besides the small gasps which were starting to turn into moans,”he’s started loosing control of his limbs, impulsive reflex’s cause by the brain, loss of vision intermittently, why?”

“Brain death?” My eyes shot from the lateral view to his inferior view,”His brain stem…he had a heart attack a-alone….” My breathing became deeper,”took the family two minutes to get to him, another five before the para-Ah fuck- medics came.” I answered,”the brain lost oxygen when his heart stopped.”

“Alright, keep going.” He rocked his hips up into me, being extra sure to use his good leg only. Now I was feeling it, my hips started rocking down onto him, his finger was moving fast and hard, I could feel my mind slipping from me.

“There’s no-othing we can do.” I kept the moan that was trying to escape out, wouldve felt wrong saying it with a moan.

“Sure it’s brain death?”

“Yes greg.” My eyes closed on their own, my back arched slightly. He stopped moving, completely,”fuck, come on.” He grabbed into my waist, keeping me still.

“You wanna cum, then give me the right answer, his brain is going to die if you don’t. Key word, going. It hasn’t yet.” He spoke close to my ear,”this is why clinic duty sucks, you get lost in the progress of a patient.”

“What?”

“He had a heart attack, we know that. The heart attack is not closely connected to this, so get that out of your head.” His tone was stern,”he’s slowly declining at the moment, recount his history, what does he do for work?” My eyes shifted around as I thought,”is your brain going dead by how deep my cock is inside of you? Should I take it out? Let you think?”

“No!” I yelped out,” he travels for business but he gets his shots.”

“Not all.” He reached to the desk and then handed me the folder whilst pulling me flush against his chest, his palm pressed to my lower stomach as I flipped through to find his travel history,”were was he a few months ago?”

“Mexico.”

“What vaccine is he missing?”

“I don’t know.”

“He got sick in Mexico, had what seemed like a cold, so he was required to get a flu vaccine by his work. It’s not on the list he didn’t feel like he needed to list it.” I blinked a few times.

“So it’s from the vaccine?” The recorded fades out and started playing a new song. He grabbed his glass of whiskey.

“Ding ding.” He threw back the rest of the glass and put it on the desk,” AMAN, found mostly in children. It causing damage to the nerve fibers, which instead of staying in his limbs, progressed to his brain-“

“Which was set off by the heart attack? Being dead for that amount of time set off his immune system?” He rolled his hips into me.

“What do we have to do?” He took the file from me and put it back on the desk,”we don’t act within the next 2 hours, he’s gonna die”.

“His brain is being paralyzed which is mimicking it dying,.plasmapheresis or IVIG, remove the antibodies from the blood.” His finger went back to my clit, regaining the speed and pressure from before.

“Perfect.” He started moving my hips so I started moving them faster, rocking up and down,”oh fuck.”

It felt like electricity was shooting up my spine, simply having his cock inside me gets me so worked up. Moans left my mouth with no warning or control. Slick coated the inside of my thighs and the sounds coming from where we were connected were obscene, but they turned me on even more.

“Gotta start doin’ this to you more, so fucking wet.” He groaned,”Fuckin squeezing me,”

I couldn’t respond, just nodded quickly while ecstasy started taking over my body, my nerves felt like they were on fire. I just kept riding him , my brain focused on finally reaching my climax.

“Greg, m’ close.” I sighed out and he let out a throaty groan. his breathing became a bit faster and so did my movements.

“I can feel it.” His index finger joined his middle finger as he rubbed my clit harshly and quickly,”I know you’re there so just let go. Cum all over my Fuckin cock like I know you want to.”

“Perfect!” I moaned out as my muscles tightened, my grip on the arms of the chair were tight, knuckles turning white. I threw my head back, my eyes were clamped shut, my movements started slowly so he took hold of my hips and kept my pace for me, even with the lack of pleasure to clit, my orgasm was still running through me.

I felt his cock start twitching, his groans becoming louder and more noticeable.

“Hope you took the pill this morning.” He commented, his nails digging into my skin as he finally came. Spilling deep inside of me, keeping most of his cock inside as he filled me up.

Soon he stopped moving me, kept me sat on his lap as his arms wrapped around my waist, holding his hands together as I grabbed one of his wrists. We were both catching our breath in the dim lit office. My body had a tremble to it, and he placed a kiss against my shoulder.

“I’d love to sit here and savor the feeling of your amazing pussy, but I have to clear a businessman’s blood so his brain can start working again.”

I let out a sigh as I shakily got off of him, his cock slid out of me and immediately I felt his cum drip down the inside of my thighs. I grabbed the edge of the desk as he fixed my thong and pulled my skirt back down. I turned around and leaned against the desk as he stood up fixing his boxers and pants.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he grabbed his cane and started walking away,”we’ll go to my house tonight.”

He left me with that, the door closed behind him and he walked away to the patients room. I sat down in the chair, my thighs pressing together and my head resting on the head of the chair. I don’t think working after hours is gonna be such a bad thing anymore.

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