#I hate the fucking way every article I could find tried to smooth over the police being 4 hours late to a fucking shooting

[ejacutastic]

George Floyd’s four-year-old great niece Arianna Delane was shot at night while she was sleeping in what her father claimed was a targeted attack.

Arianna was one of the two children and four adults who were sleeping inside the second floor of their south Houston, Texas apartment when a shooter opened fire at around 3am on New Year’s day.

Arianna was sleeping in the front bedroom when gunfire broke out.

She survived the attack and is recovering after an emergency surgery for a punctured lung and liver. She also suffered three broken ribs.

Houston police in a statement said they do not know the possible motive of the firing or if the girl or other family members were targeted.

Mr Delane claimed it was a targeted shooting but did not elaborate.

“Why would my house get shot up?” he said.

“My daughter don’t know. I can’t explain that to her. As the father, you’re supposed to protect the kids.”

I hate the way they phrased this because that really is the obvious potential motive and tbh the most likely. ALSO police showed up 4 FUCKING HOURS AFTER

The family has accused the police of a delayed response and said officials did not arrive until 7am.

Houston’s police chief Troy Finner said in a statement that an Internal Affairs investigation has been launched into the late response.

“I am aware and have concerns regarding the delayed response time in this incident and have initiated an Internal Affairs investigation,” he said.

but it's okay they're doing an internal investigation. I'm sure that'll get that fixed right up!!

#I hate the fucking way every article I could find tried to smooth over the police being 4 hours late to a fucking shooting #racism #antiblackness #violence #the other post I saw on this linked to the daily mail

[heauxzenji]

could you do the nsfw alphabet for atsumu please? thank you :)

Aw shit, here we go again...

NSFW Alphabet: Miya Atsumu

gn!reader focused

A/N: She hasn’t written in awhile but you know what I’m proud of it- lol be nice to me or I’ll leave forever jk I won’t but still be nice to me ily 💕 Atsumu is a menace I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Obviously nasty below the cut so if you’re a kid fuck off

𝕬 - 𝕬𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊

He’s not the best, but certainly not the worst. He will take care of you, but… only after he takes care of himself first. Usually that just means he needs to take a shower. Once he does, he’s free to supply cuddles until you both fall asleep.

𝕭 - 𝕭𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙

He has abs so solid you could make a sharkcoochie board on them. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

𝕮 - 𝕮𝖚𝖒

When Atsumu cums… he cums hard. It’s like having an out of body experience- every nerve cell in his body is firing off as he tenses up, digging his nails into whatever flesh he can grab, and grinding his heels into the surface supporting him. He bites down so hard his teeth grind involuntarily as his face contorts in a strained statuesque vision. One low growl from deep in his chest comes out through gritted teeth as he sputters out mixtures of “that’s it,” and “don’t you dare fucking stop.”

The orgasm face of Atsumu Miya is one of the 7 wonders of the world.

𝕯 - 𝕯𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙

It’s not a secret per se, but he’s been exposed and clowned for eating ass… so he doesn’t wanna talk about it.

𝕰 - 𝕰𝖝𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊

So contrary to popular belief, I don’t think he’s that experienced... he’s just lucky! (Lmaoooo all of his experience is based on like 2 actual people that he maybe got to second base with (he says third but come on we know he’s lying) and then a litany of porn. Poor thing just wants some coochie I AM HERE KING and he has no trouble finding it, he just never seals the deal. He’s someone who just kind of, knows what to do naturally. He’s able to read someone’s body by touch alone, and so he knows what you like right off the bat based on how you react. He might try a couple of things at the start to see what really makes you squirm, but once he’s got it... holy hell has he ever got it.

𝕱 - 𝕱𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

I hate to say how easy this was- but I KNOW Atsumu is a guy who prefers doggy. I see him as a hair puller, so this is perfect for him. I also could see him being into mirrors, and this is the perfect position to make you look at what he’s doing to you, especially while he’s pulling your head back by your hair. He especially likes gripping his thumbs into the smalls of your back (he crosses his arms bc saw it in a porn once and he thinks it makes him look cool), and when he’s INTO it, he likes to smack your ass to encourage you.

𝕲 - 𝕲𝖔𝖔𝖋𝖞

Is goofy by accident. Like will sometimes try throwing in something new with his normal dirty talk that completely throws you off. He hates when you laugh at him for it, but you find it endearing.

𝕳 - 𝕳𝖆𝖎𝖗

I’m gonna… say something so controversial yet so bold:

What hair?

And yes I mean that. Smooth. He waxes. Monthly. No hair. (Besides like… legs and armpits… yah he doesn’t touch those) Naked mole rat dick but fuck it he’s Atsumu motherfucking Miya he can do what he wants.

𝕴 - 𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖈𝖞

While he’s not the most... romantic in general per se, he does want to make you feel appreciated. He’s very eager to get his, but he won’t allow himself to unless you have already. It takes restraint, but he cools himself down by having you get on top, or by leaving lingering kisses anywhere he can, saying you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

𝕵 - 𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝕺𝖋𝖋

When he’s away from you he loves to send you videos of himself or FaceTime you. He gets you worked up enough to join him no matter where you are. He just needs to see you, he needs you to see him stroking his cock to the thought of you- he can’t cum without you telling him to.

𝕶 - 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖐

I have to get this out but I KNOW he’s nasty. I imagine Atsumu as a huge dirty talker and also someone who’s into spitting. Both of those are just clear in my brain... like he would be pundinng you from behind, spit on your back, and then call you a slut all in 3 seconds flat but the way that you would cream? Ugh insanity he needs to be arrested he needs to be stopped

𝕷 - 𝕷𝖔𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Since he’s got money now- he’s a big fan of ordering Uber XLs or even just hiring a driver for a night on the town as a flex. But he especially loves telling his driver to put up the window partition while he annihilates you in the backseat. I just think he’s a fan of car sex in general- it just does it for him.

𝕸 - 𝕸𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Loves to hear his name. Whether you’re moaning it or screaming it like it’s the only word you know, he’s always going to ask you who you belong to, and the answer is always Atsumu.

𝕹 - 𝕹𝖔!

He totally eats ass. He’s just not gonna tell anyone bc he told Osamu ONCE and now his contact name is ASStumu and he lives in fear of that getting out.

𝕺 - 𝕺𝖗𝖆𝖑

Sloppppppyyyyyy. Loves giving ~slightly~ more than receiving, simply bc he loves the sight of seeing his spit dripping down your thighs while he goes down on you. Loves eye contact when you’re going down on him.

𝕻 - 𝕻𝖆𝖈𝖊

Though I wouldn’t say he’s super experienced, I know he’s relentless. He fucks. Literally just fucks. Not in the sense that he only treats you like a hole bc yikes, but in the sense that he just goes the speeds of fast or faster. There’s no slow with him.

𝕼 - 𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖎𝖊

Yeah. Lots of them. Anywhere, anytime. Particularly for him, a lot of them end up being in his car, simply because you’ll be out somewhere and the mood strikes. He’ll quickly take you out to the car for a few minutes, slut you out, and then return to the function like nothing happened. You’ve had many a quickie in a bathroom or closet in a party as well. When he wants you, he wants you, so he’s not afraid to take you.

𝕽 - 𝕽𝖎𝖘𝖐

Not as much of a risk-taker as people think. Mostly because he wants to protect you. He would hate for someone to see you in such a compromising position… but also, you’ve had your fair share of quickies in the bathrooms of various wedding receptions, so he’s lying.

𝕾 - 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆

Can last a decent amount of time, if he spreads it out over multiple rounds. I’m general, he can probably go about 2 or 3 rounds without needing a break. More if you draw out foreplay with him. He’s a pleaser, so really how long he lasts is up to you. He’s got the power and control to hold off on is own release until he’s certain you absolutely can’t take anymore.

𝕿 - 𝕿𝖔𝖞

One of those mfs who gets you the mold of his dick as a toy for your birthday for when he’s away because according to him “you’ll be so needy while I’m gone”

I hate him so much but I would use that shit every day he knows what he’s doing I’m so upset

𝖀 - 𝖀𝖓𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗

Speaking of being needy- he loves to egg you on when you are. He knows all the buttons to push, but he’ll never actually make the move until you’re begging. And of course he loves to turn that around in you, hitting you with that “god, ya just can’t get enough of me, can ya?”

𝖁 - 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖚𝖒𝖊

He’s more of a talker than a moaner. Not necessarily loud in bed- but very, very vocal. Commanding of you in a good way, and will definitely show his appreciation through praise.

𝖂 - 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖉

Actually has a Cosmo subscription bc he likes trying all the strange and obscure sex positions in the articles. Also likes taking the quizzes, and will casually have you do them with him at breakfast.

𝖃 - 𝖃-𝕽𝖆𝖞

he’s a little on the thicker side. Its probably a good 7 inches, so it’s enough to fill you, add in the stretch of his girth and it’s a good, mild burn when he first goes in, but he fills you just enough without it being way too much. He’s a shower, so he doesn’t get much longer, but you have a lot to work with. He also has a cute freckle on his left inner thigh.

𝖄 - 𝖄𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌

His sex drive is on the higher end, but really only when he’s in his off season. When he’s actively playing in games, he tries to curb his appetite a bit because he believes in the superstition that sex messes with players’ stamina on the court.

𝖅 - 𝖅𝖟𝖟

He’s gonna knock out, but not until he showers. He ALWAYS showers after. The water soothes his muscles and by the time he’s done it’s lights out.

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#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #hq headcanons #hq hcs #atsumu smut #atsumu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #daisy’s red light district 🚨

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Prompt: Vampire Chris drunk on blood?

CW: Drunkenness, drug addiction, blood drinking, vampirism, creepy abusive comfort, WWI-period-appropriate xenophobia and brief vague possible homophobia reference, dehumanization, war whump

"Now, that'll get you blotto faster'n French liquor," Kirk says, sinking back against the muddy trench wall, careless for the dirt caking itself into the hair at the nape of his neck.

His helmet lay beside him upside down on the ground, and his brown hair was free to explode in its wealth of curls, a kind of halo around his head. He had one arm out, sleeve rolled back. His hands were caked in mud and smeared with drying dirt - above the line of his sleeve, though, the skin was paper-white, almost clammy.

It was this white skin that the vampire's fangs were buried in.

"Shit, Holden, y'gotta have 'im bite you, too." Kirk's grin widens. The shells had gone silent but every man flinches, now and then, hearing a phantom sound or feeling a rumble beneath their feet.

At least it's finally stopped goddamn raining.

The venom rolls through Kirk's veins, soothing his jangled nerves. He can barely feel the trembling in his hands and it feels like his mind, when it's in him. He's a farm kid from western Nebraska, the second son and not needed so much as the first to bring the crops in. So here he is, learning to love the feeling of teeth in his skin.

Maybe when he gets shipped back home he'll stick to the cities. They say the vampires have their dens there, where they can hide. You can buy venom enough to quiet your mind for a day or two, the city boys tell him.

They're in it as deep as he is, now.

Feels like half the American army is itching for venom these days.

"No thank you. I'm not gonna get sent home and start chasing fangs like the rest of you." Holden squints, looking up into the dark sky, the rolling clouds that seem far too close to the ground. "It'll rain again soon."

"When isn't it going to rain again soon? Oh, right, when it's already bloody raining." That's a Brit, they just call him Tommy. No one knows his real name.

He claims to hate them all, but since half his unit was blasted apart two days ago, he's hung with the 'Yanks' close enough. Kirk thinks he's fond of them, even if he won't admit it. Or just scared to be alone. He can understand that. He's terrified of the thought himself. "Shove the little vamp over to me, Kirk, I want some."

The vampire pulls his fangs free, licking over the wounds he's made until they close. He's a skinny little thing, pale as paper with bright red hair they stuff under his helmet when he's running medic checks in No Man's Land, trying to make him less obvious. Sure, he can't die from gas, but he can be blown to bits by a whizz-bang fast as any living soldier can.

"Please," The vampire says, turning big green eyes up to Kirk. "I, I, I'm tired, please, can I sleep?"

He's got heavy dark circles under his eyes. It's kind of cute.

"No," Kirk answers, curt, shoving the vampire away by his head, watching him fall into the mud. His uniform is marked with it, now, a dab of dirt over the 'V' sewn next to his medic's cross. There's a satisfaction, in Kirk, just in seeing the little thing laid low.

He won't die in this war, and Kirk probably will, but before that happens he can at least hurt something he can see. You can't see old Fritz when you fire on him from a distance - but you can see a vampire flinch in the dirt. It's not much.

It's something.

"Must be daytime," Holden speaks up, still staring up at the clouds. "You can't tell, weather like this, but if the fangs're tryin' to sleep, must be day."

"He sleeps when we're done with him, and not a moment before." Kirk's voice is a murmur, eyes half-closed. He's drifting in it, the way the venom dulls and deadens the eternal ache in his back and legs. The Germans could come roaring over the bags right this second and Kirk wouldn't give a damn at all. Let them kill him, at least he can go with venom in his veins, not as a basket case carried off the field. "Not a second before. Go on, bloodsucker. Get over to Tommy and help him get some shut-eye, huh?"

"I've been drinking all night, pulled some rations off someone," Tommy groans, rubbing his fingers at his temples. "It's done no good at all." It's a funny little gesture, so oddly normal and casual. Reminds Kirk of home.

His throat tries to close, homesickness bowling him over. The wish to return to his mother's worn smile, sit down to dinner and have her ask him about his day, when his problems revolved around the harvest and the hard backs of the pews in church-

He takes a breath, forcing it back, and gives the vampire a vicious kick in the ribs, listening to his high-pitched cry and how he curls around himself with a smile of his own.

Oh, he'll die, probably. The others from his town already have. But he can remind himself he's still alive, for now. One way or another. He can cause pain he can't feel himself, for once.

"I said get over to Tommy and smooth out his sharp bits, bloodfuck."

"Yes, um, y-yes, Kirk," The vampire says, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. His fingers are smashed into the mud deep enough to nearly disappear. If they could only get a few days of sunlight to dry out all this dirt, it wouldn't be such hell.

As it is, his socks've been damp for weeks, his boots feel like they're caging his feet in a swamp. He's worried about trenchfoot and trying not to think about it. He stole these boots off a dead German when his own started to fall apart, anyway.

He could've probably gotten new ones, but... it had felt good, taking something from Fritz after Fritz took so much from him.

Kirk tries not to remember that the German soldiers he fights have never caused him a single moment's harm on purpose. They're only fighting for the same reasons he is - because someone higher up who doesn't give a damn about them said to.

Kirk had been all gung-ho for the war until he'd been sent over here to fight it. All those articles in the newspapers, all the speeches given by men standing in town squares... it had all made it seem so patriotic.

They never tell you, Kirk thinks bitterly, that you'll be sent into a slaughterhouse. They don't tell you you'll spend your day breaking a vampire's fingers one by one just to watch them heal back into place and listen to his little cries.

Just to pass the time.

"Trade me your flask while the fangs takes care of you," Kirk says, and Tommy hands it over easy enough.

He watches Tommy grab the vampire by one arm and yank him over, vicious and violent, making the vampire boy cry out again. The sound is starting to grate on Kirk's nerves. It makes him sound too human. He hates being reminded that every vampire used to be a person.

He drinks whatever's in the Brit's flask, and it burns down his throat just the way he needs it to. Wipes out his worries, relaxes shoulders that seem always to be tensed up nearly to his chin.

His mama's a teetotaler, back in Nebraska. He'd been one, too, until the first bombardment. Now he drinks anything he could get his hands on, and the officers mostly looked the other way.

"Bite," Tommy orders. Kirk raises his eyebrows when Tommy doesn't roll up his sleeve but pushes the vampire's face instead towards his neck, turning his head to the side to bare it.

His eyes meet Kirk's, and he smiles, bitterly. "Works faster this way," He explains. Kirk just watches as the vampire's fangs glint in the eternal dim twilight, hesitating before they bury themselves in Tommy's skin.

The little monster's back arches, pressing them chest-to-chest. A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside, the animal sound the vampire makes during a good feed. He doesn't do it much with the regular unit any longer, they mocked him for it and one day he stopped.

The vampire's throat works as he drinks, and Tommy's arm slides around the monster's thin shoulders, forcing him closer. He's nearly kissing his forehead, this way.

It's an embrace, and altogether more intimate of one than Kirk thought he'd ever see from the cold, standoffish Brit. He feels a blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks as Tommy lets his head fall back, groaning softly in a kind of contentment as the venom hits. The sound isn't quite like a groan at all, it's more like-

"Fucking hell, Tommy, are you an invert?"

"Invert suggests I give a damn what bites me," Tommy replies, without opening his eyes. His slurred speech deepens, goes slow. His hand curves around the vampire's shoulder, holding him tightly. "I'm after oblivion, lads. I don't care what parts the fangs have that give it to me."

"Fang-chaser," Holden says, good-naturedly. Clearly not bothered the way Kirk is. Maybe that's just his farmboy past talking, that he's even unsettled at all. Maybe Tommy's got a point - who cares what's between a vampire's legs if you're only interested in the damn thing's mouth in the first place? "Fucking fang-chaser, that's what you are. End up in a den getting your hips bit like Oscar Wilde."

"Who's Oscar Wilde?"

Holden laughs. "You should try reading a book or three sometime, Kirk."

"Sure, sure, whenever I get the damn time in-between running over this blasted nothing. In any case, Tommy's definitely a fang-chaser."

"Guilty as charged... just like you two." Tommy's hand slides up into the vampire's hair, gripping tight and gently pulling backwards. The vampire's fangs slide free, and it laps at the wounds, rapidly. Tommy groans again. Kirk finds himself unable to look away at the bob of Tommy's throat. How good does it feel, in the neck? He's never thought to try it. He thinks about it now. "Turn me in to face discipline for unnatural relations with the fangs and I'll do the same to you."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. Fucking Limey bastard." There's no real animosity in Kirk's voice. He's too distracted, drunkenly considering the vampire boy's mouth. Wondering if he knows how to kiss. "You shared your liquor, I shared our bloodsucker, we're both of us in it to our necks."

"Not me," Holden says, innocent and pure as the driven snow. As if he weren't the one to give Kirk the idea to use the venom in the first place.

Kirk throws a clot of mud at him, which he dodges, laughing. They're all laughing, soon enough, except for the fangs.

The vampire lays there, his head pressed to Tommy's chest and forcibly held in place by his arm. His eyes are slightly wide, unfocused, and Kirk leans forward.

"What's this, then? What'd you do to the fangs, Tommy?"

"Hm? Nothing. Oh, I'm pissed as can be, do they feel the liquor in your blood?"

"I'm guessing they sure do. You drunk, fangs?"

The vampire's eyes drift over to Kirk, move too far to one side, come back again. He swallows, thickly. "I... I think I, I, I am," He says, and tries to push back against Tommy's chest, to free himself.

The Brit's arm crushes him back into place, his other hand moving up to run through the vampire boy's dirt red hair, petting him like one of the ambulance dogs. Kirk and Holden laugh at the vampire's weakness. "Stay right where you are," Tommy murmurs. "Or I'll run you through with my bayonet and let you squirm all day."

"Christ," Kirk says, blinking. "That's a bit rough, isn't it?"

"He's not alive, what does it matter?" Tommy lets out a bitter little laugh. "Might as well get a preview of our own ends, shouldn't we?"

"You two, maybe." Holden crawls into the dugout, the little bed-space, a kind of cave dug in underneath the upper layers of the trench. He lays down on his back, closing his eyes, hands behind his head. "I'm going to go back home and never think of you lot ever again."

"I pray every night to make it home," Kirk says, nodding along. "Not sure anyone's listening, but I got to try, don't I?"

"What happens to the fangs, anyway?" The Brit looks up, rocking a little back and forth. As if the bloodsucker were a baby needing soothing. The vampire boy has relaxed against him, the liquor-laced blood he drank lulling him into a complacent bonelessness. Kirk watches the vampire boy's fingers start to tap over the Brit's chest, a strange movement he's seen the boy do before in his few relaxed moments between the scream of the shells. He hums, low in his throat, tuneless.

"Huh?" Kirk blinks. "What d'you mean, what happens to him?"

"After the war's done. What are they gonna do with the bloodsuckers? Can't exactly pin a bloody ribbon for valor on them and send them on their way, now can they?"

"Nope. I don't know what happens. Maybe they'll just stake them all and have done with them."

The vampire shudders, giving a little whimper. Tommy leans down, lips moving against the vampire's hair. "Ssssshhhh. Not to worry, little fangs. War's not over just yet, now is it?"

"N-... no. Not, not, not, not yet." The vampire's eyes close, pink-tinged tears creating pale tracks in his dirty face. He's a sad drunk, then, Kirk figures.

Aren't they all, these days.

"Maybe you'll outlive us all, and make fools of us for keeping you." Tommy speaks with a patronizing affection, as mocking as it is tender, petting through the creature's hair still. It's... unsettling to watch. Kirk had figured the Brits and French probably killed all their vamps, since they were all disturbed by the sight of the vampire medics when the doughboys first arrived in Europe.

This, though... this makes it seem like Tommy's known a vampire or two himself, in his life. And he's sure as fuck not unfamiliar to what venom is good for outside of giving relief from agony to the injured.

Kirk frowns, thoughtful.

He's turned into a thoughtful drunk, too, thanks to this goddamn war. Sad and thoughtful. What a fucking waste.

"Sleep," Tommy says, almost gently, to the drunk little vampire. "I've got you. Sleep, little one."

The vampire's eyes slip closed. He doesn't breathe - there's no sense of his chest rising and falling. Kirk has to look away before the sense of wrongness, watching Tommy cuddle a corpse, makes him sick.

He takes a long, long draught from the flask, and relishes the burn that reminds him he's human, and alive.

His own eyes slip shut, and he prays for an hour or two of sleep before the next screaming shell bursts overhead.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #creepy comf #creepy comfort #dehumanization #vampire chris au #chris the strawberry blond romantic #war whump #world war one #ww1 #drunkenness tw #alcohol use tw #blood drinking #vampirism #vampires #xenophobia #brief homophobic reference #period-appropriate #abusive behavior #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #captivity

[moldisgoodforyou]

on my mom's grave

wordcount: 3.7k

warnings: n/a

______

“How drunk do you think we’re going to get tonight?” Sophie asked, tipping back the last of a lemon White Claw as the two of them got ready for the night in her room.

“Dunno. I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

She paused, glancing back at him. “Do you not want to go?”

He shook his head and took the can from her, disappointed to realize there was nothing left. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m cool. Probably just won’t drink.”

“Is this about the phone call with your dad earlier?”

Rafe sighed, gritting his teeth. “It’s not - I’m fine, Soph.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him over, trying to get a read on his body language. “You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” After Rafe tugged his shirt over his head, ready much faster than Sophie, he paced around the room for a few seconds before speaking up. "Hey, so...Sarah's getting presented at the annual deb ball in spring."

Sophie seemed unbothered, turning her back to him as she wrestled her way into a crop top to get ready for the night. "Those are still a thing? Cool, so you're going home for it?" She paused, glancing over at him in his polo. "Undo another button."

He did so, then rocked back on his heels with his hands in his pockets, trying to figure out what to say next.

She slowly turned back to him, realizing he was still tense across his shoulders. "What?"

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign he was nervous and Sophie wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "Yeah...my dad wanted you to come home for it too."

"What? Ward? Why?"

"He, kinda, uh, wants you to be presented too?"

She just laughed, turning back to the mirror with her brow furrowed in slight concentration as she applied another coat of mascara. "Okay. Sure." But when he didn't elaborate, she turned back to him again, lips pursed. "Cameron. Tell me you told him no."

"...I didn't not not tell him no."

"Rafe."

He cracked under her stare. "I'm sorry, okay! Look, it's easy, all you have to do is throw on a pretty white dress and gloves -"

"A dress that costs thousands of dollars -"

"Hundreds, but - I'll cover you, obviously -"

"No." She turned back to the mirror, shaking her head. "Fuck no. I'm not going."

"Sophie." He nearly begged, stepping closer and running his hand through his hair. "Baby. C'mon."

"Don't call me that. No. I don’t fit into that part of your world.”

"Not even for me?" He pleaded, giving her a half-hearted grin. He ignored her last sentence, knowing any argument he had for her point would be dismissed in two seconds. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important, you know that."

She turned back to him with crossed arms, fixing him with a glare. "Do I know that?"

"Soph."

"Don't, Rafe." She warned, holding one hand out, but he stepped closer anyways.

"Angel. Please. For me." He forced a smile, tried cracking a joke. "I really don't want to have to call him up and get read the riot act."

She furrowed her brow and Rafe reached out and smoothed out the lines in between her eyebrows before he could stop himself, making her soften just a little. "If I were to say yes. What would I have to do?"

"Just wear the dress, attend a dinner, party the night before and party that night." He paused, thinking. "And stay at my house for the weekend. Be civil to my dad.” At her eyeroll, he fixed her with a more serious gaze. “Meet my grandparents. Hang with my sisters. C'mon, Wheezie adores you."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. She thinks you're cool. Sarah too, but she’s less likely to admit it." He kissed her forehead, hands going to her waist. "Please?"

"It's that important?"

"I swear. On my mom's grave."

Sophie frowned immediately, reaching up to fix his hair. "That's not necessary."

"You'll do it?"

"...Yes." When he made a small fist pump, she fixed him with a glare. "Only because I love you."

“I'll go down on you every night for the next two weeks -”

She rolled her eyes at his promise, shoving lightly at his chest. "You basically already do that anyways, Rafe -”

"Okay, fine, I'll tie you up, something, anything, god, thank you, Soph. You don't know how big of a favor this is. I mean it." He sighed in relief, the tension draining from his body.

She ignored him, turning back to the mirror to apply lip gloss, carefully smearing the wand across her lips. “Why does he want me to do this? I don’t understand.”

“Is that the sticky stuff? I hate that stuff, it gets all over me when we’re kissing -” He started, then quickly shut his mouth as she flipped him off without looking. “Uh, ‘to integrate you into our society.’ Direct quote.”

“Oh god.” She groaned, setting the lip gloss aside after applying it, then started searching through her jewelry case. “So I’m gonna have to be on my best kook behavior?”

He snorted. “Sophie Flint, a kook. Not likely.”

“Watch it.” She pointed a warning finger in his face. “You don’t see anything weird with this? Your dad hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Rose does.”

“That’s not true either.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, challenging him.

He shrugged, relenting with a sigh. “You’re not her favorite person, no, but neither am I.”

“You think this was more her idea? For Sarah to do it too?”

“Nah, actually, pretty sure it was my grandparents’ idea. Probably Granddad. My mom went through all this, so…”

She turned her back to him and gathered her hair, offering the clasp of her gold chain to him. “Your mom was a debutante?” She questioned with interest.

_______

Rafe rarely ever talked about his mom - Sophie had only found out how she died from a newspaper article in the online archives, and hadn’t wanted to bring it up since. All she knew was that Mrs. Cameron had passed away in a car accident when Rafe was fourteen.

Both Sophie and Rafe’s schools shared a building, despite them going to private academies, and overlapped for certain advanced placement classes. In freshman year, they were together for AP chemistry, with Sophie sitting proudly at the front of the class while Rafe sat in the back with a group of his friends, often cracking jokes at inappropriate times or throwing wads of paper at each other. Freshman year Sophie was the epitome of stuck-up - she resorted to insults instead of making friends and kept to herself, terrified someone might find out that she was on scholarship and wasn’t truly meant to be there.

The day after the car accident, Rafe was unusually quiet. Sophie hadn’t heard the news yet, it was barely second period and she wasn’t looped into the trail of gossip like the rest of the girls at Greenville. They were partnered for an experiment that day - Rafe had groaned when he heard Sophie’s name after his from the teacher, and Sophie barely suppressed a roll of her eyes. She took charge right away, getting all the supplies and set up their work station without even addressing him. After a few minutes, she slid the small glass of solution to Rafe, raising her eyebrows. “You can do the work too, you know.”

He was completely spaced out, only glancing up when she said something. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, lifting a beaker and extending it to him. “Yeah. I know. Just drop in 10 milliliters of the solution, it’s not hard.”

Rafe sighed as he rested his elbows on the edge of the table, rubbing his temples. “Look, can you just do it?”

She finally took note of the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders were slumped, but misinterpreted it all. She smirked, taking on a taunting tone. “What, you’re still drunk from last night or something?”

He gritted his jaw, his entire body growing tense, and tugged at the collar of his polo. “Fuck off, Flint. Not in the mood today.”

She recoiled immediately, setting the beaker down with a little too much force. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Don’t be a fucking bitch.” He spit back, standing abruptly. She winced as the stool squeaked across the floor, drawing everyone’s attention - as if they hadn’t had it already. Kelce stepped over and went to grab Rafe’s arm, possibly pull him away, but Rafe just wrenched his arm out of his grip. “I’m fine.” He growled, storming out of the classroom without looking back.

After a few moments of stunned silence, with Sophie on the verge of shocked tears, their teacher cleared her throat and redirected everyone’s attention, pointing one of the girls over to join Sophie instead. Molly made her way over, occupying Rafe’s seat in the space across from her. “Poor Rafe,” she murmured.

Sophie frowned, pulling her jacket tighter across her chest like a shield of armor. “Poor Rafe? What?”

Molly nodded, lowering her voice a little. “Yeah, you didn’t hear? I’m surprised he’s at school, honestly.”

“I didn’t...what happened?”

“Oh.” Molly frowned. “Um. You know that winding road, the one that goes downhill toward the ballet studio?”

Sophie didn’t, she didn’t even have a clue - the ballet studio was on the entire opposite side of the island from where she lived, the height of Figure 8, and she hadn’t ever had a reason to even venture that way. “Yeah? What does that have to do with Rafe?”

“Um, well, it was pouring last night, and his mom was driving down that road. I heard she lost control of the car and wrecked it. There was, like, a drunk driver that swerved into her lane, but she tried to avoid him and hit a tree.” Molly told her, careful on the details.

“I’m pretty sure the Camerons can replace a car.” Sophie replied, not wanting Molly to confirm where she thought she was going with the story. She dug her nails into the skin of her thigh anyways, feeling anxiety bubble up in her chest.

Molly shook her head, slowly. “Mrs. Cameron died, Sophie.”

Her heart dropped and she bit the inside of her cheek, hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the sirens last night, I saw like eight police cars last night headed toward his house. I heard Sarah was in the car too, I think -”

“Is Sarah okay?” She couldn’t concentrate on anything but her ears ringing, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Oh, yeah, I think so. But god, how awful, right? The funeral is next weekend, Ward Cameron told my dad this morning. Is your family going?”

“Um...I don’t know.” Sophie glanced toward the door, hoping to god he would come back through the door and Molly would confess that it was all a joke, that she hadn’t just started something with Rafe on that day of all days.

________

Rafe nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course she was. I think she really enjoyed it, actually, she’d always tell Sarah when she was little about how pretty she would look in the dress, how important it was to learn the right etiquette and -” He cut himself off, realizing he was sharing too much, and deftly fastened the clasp before pressing a kiss to the top of her head, letting her step away. “All that.”

“Huh.”

He smiled to himself, thinking about how his mom would let little Sarah play dress up in her old ballgown with gloves that went up to her armpits, wobbling around in high heels twice the size of her feet. His mom would tell Rafe he’d have to watch out for Sarah with her escort, keep him in line, and that when he was in college he’d be presenting a girl as well. But he was nine and didn’t think of girls in that way quite yet, so he always scowled and left the room.

“It’s kind of cool, I think. The tradition of it all.”

“The ball? Have you been?” She caught his eye in the mirror as she adjusted her top, not wanting to push for too much information before he’d shut down altogether.

“No...I was gonna present Brooklyn at the one here in Columbus, sophomore year’s normally when the girl gets presented, but. Yeah. No, I meant, it’s kind of cool that you’ll be doing something my mom did.” He rubbed the back of his neck, meeting her gaze for a moment then looked away.

“Yeah?”

“She would have liked you. I know it.”

Sophie perked up a little, cocking her head. “You really mean it?”

“Yeah. She would have liked that you have an attitude with me.” He grinned when she turned back around and took his hand, tugging him over to sit on the bed next to her. “She was always saying I needed to find someone to match my energy, keep me in check. I wish she could have met you.”

“I did meet her. Once.”

He perked up, cocking his head. “You did?”

“Yeah, I served her when I was working at the restaurant at the country club once, I was only fourteen. I remember she made some comment about me being too young to work and I told her I liked it. Then she asked my name, and I remember she seemed like she knew already when I told her.” Sophie nodded. “She was really nice, left way too big of a tip and wrote my name on the bill. I always thought that was funny.”

Of course she knew, Rafe thought as he smiled to himself. She knew, because Rafe had come home and complained about a girl getting on his nerves every single week since seventh grade. She knew, when the complaints turned to “why won’t just be nice to me” and his mom had quipped that Sophie probably liked him - he had scoffed and walked away. She knew, because his mom had come home from the country club and told him Sophie Flint was a much nicer girl than Rafe painted her to be, and Rafe had immediately turned bright red and been embarrassed that his mom sought her out.

“I like that.” She leaned into him, taking his hand to play with his rings. “Will your grandparents be there? At the ball?”

“Oh, yeah. They sit on the board, I’m pretty sure, it’s this gigantic charity event. I’ll introduce you, but don’t worry, they’re chill. Nothing like my dad.” He adjusted himself so she was comfortable, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, treading carefully. “I thought your dad grew up on the Cut.”

“He did. But my mom, no way. Kook through and through. That’s, uh, where a lot of my trust is from. After she died, um. She wanted to be sure me and Sarah were set.” He shrugged, ears turning red as he felt his throat getting tight.

Sophie frowned, feeling him closing off, and leaned closer to hug him, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff whenever, Rafe? I’d like to hear more about your mom. She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She was.” He nodded, settling his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thanks, Soph. This is a really big deal to me, that you’ll go. I know it’s not your scene.”

“Love you.” She murmured. “You’d better buy me a pretty dress.”

He laughed, leaning back just enough to tip up her chin with one finger and kiss her. “You’ll be the best looking one there. I swear.”

“Oh, I already knew that.”

“Okay, okay, big head -”

She swatted his arm, laughing as she ducked out from under him. “Watch it, or I won’t go -”

“I was kidding!” He exclaimed, wrestling with her for a moment before grabbing both her hands and pinning them above her head.

Sophie sucked in a breath, caught off guard. “We are going to be late.”

“We’re already late.” He pointed out, taking a moment to realize the lack of innocence in the position, then slowly smirked. “We could be later. They’re not gonna miss us.”

“Rafe.”

“Sophie.”

“No.”

“You’re positive?”

She just gave him a look, staring him dead in the eyes and willing herself not to react when he leaned down with a grin and kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Please?”

“Fine. The ball or sex right now. You choose.” She raised her eyebrows, arching her back a little on purpose, pressing her hips up against his.

“That’s not fair.” He frowned, immediately shifting his hips away and moving so both his knees were on either side of her instead. “This is blackmail.”

“Your choice.” She reminded him, biting her lip for good measure.

He faltered, sitting back on her thighs and letting go of her wrists. “Soph, it’s - it’s for my mom. I swear. Not for my dad, Rose, anyone else.”

Sophie dropped the teasing act right away, propping herself up on her elbows. “Right, right, sorry. I won’t push it.”

“It’s alright.” He climbed off her, standing, and offered his hands. “Five bucks James makes some joke about us being late because we were having sex.”

“I’m not taking you up on that.” She rolled her eyes, accepting his hand and pulled him into a hug. “Love you long time, Cameron.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you too, favorite girl.”

“What do the dresses look like?”

“Uh...white?” Rafe shrugged, tugging on her hand to get her to follow him downstairs. “I dunno. When we go home for Thanksgiving I’ll book you an appointment to get fitted, I think it’s at some bridal shop on the mainland.”

“Sounds expensive.” She muttered, shaking her head.

“It’s…yeah. It’s not cheap.” He admitted, then shrugged as she followed him out the door, starting their walk toward the bars. “I’ll take care of it though. All of it. By the way, have you booked your flight home for Thanksgiving yet?”

“Um...no. I was going to look this week, it’s probably too late now though.”

“Hm.”

“Hm? Why, are you going home?”

Rafe nodded, not looking her in the eye. “Taking the plane.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“The plane...that no one else will be on...and it’s kinda ridiculous for you to waste money and carbon emissions on a separate flight…” He tried convincing her, a small smile playing on his lips as she rolled her eyes.

“You need to learn how carbon emissions work if you’re going to use that as an argument with me.”

“So that’s a no to sex on the plane?”

Sophie stopped in her tracks, confused. “That wasn’t - Rafe, what?”

“You, me, alone on the plane. Sorry, was I not clear enough?”

“I didn’t even say yes -”

“Oh, so you’re going to leave me all by myself on our one-year anniversary -”

She raised her eyebrows, challenging him. “When’s our anniversary, Rafe?”

He raised his back, stopping on the sidewalk to face her. “On my terms or yours? Because if we’re going with mine, it’s Halloween -”

“No, I had to ask you to be my boyfriend, it’s November 18th -”

“That is such an arbitrary thing, Sophie -”

“Hey! Stop stealing my vocabulary.” She interjected, pushing at his chest. “It’s the 18th, because I had to ask you out.”

“Okay. Whatever story makes you happy.” He shrugged, laughing when she shoved at him again. “Come on the plane with me.”

“...Fine. Only because I don’t want to miss our class reunion party on Wednesday night, I’m pretty sure some people still don’t believe we’re together.”

Rafe laughed loud at that, looping his arm around her shoulders and started walking again. “Pretty sure Topper still thinks it’s all an elaborate lie.”

“Does he know that we nearly hooked up in his room last winter break?”

“No.” He grinned. “Are you forgetting that you had to sprint into his bathroom right when I was about to kiss you because of some tequila thing you had?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re remembering wrong. That was sophomore year, before we were dating, I barely drank last year...you almost kissed me?”

“What? No, I think...remember, we were arguing over something, then you whispered in my ear to go up to his room and left. I went up a couple minutes later.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to make a move, Brooklyn and I were together then.”

Sophie scowled at the mention of Brooklyn. “I must have been hammered, I don’t remember any of this.”

“You wanted me.” He smirked, trailing his fingers along her collarbone. “One might say desperate.”

“No, no. All I remember is waking up in Topper’s bed feeling like shit, I had some crewneck on from your academy.” She ignored the blush creeping up her neck.

“How do you think you got there and got the sweatshirt?” He frowned. “I took care of you, Sophie. You really don’t remember?”

“I think I blacked out.” She confessed, shaking her head. “You took care of me?”

“Of course I did. Plus, I thought I was about to get some, I would have done anything for you.” He grinned, laughing when she shoved his shoulder. “Really thought that was the night I’d finally win you over.”

“Yeah, well, you can blame Sarah for her heavy pour that night.” She shook her head, smiling fondly. “I really wish I remembered that.”

“I wish you remembered too. Maybe you would have given me a chance before then instead of setting me up with Julia.”

“I - no! She asked to be set up with you, no, I did not instigate that at all.” She defended herself straightaway, cheeks flushing pink. “She said if I wasn’t going to make a move, then she was going to.”

“Sure. Whatever you believe.” He teased, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as they arrived at the bar. “Hey, Soph.”

She rolled her eyes, going to get in the winding line outside until he tugged her wrist back, pulling her to his chest. “What?”

“Thank you. I mean it.”

Sophie softened, smiling as she rose up on her toes to kiss him. “Of course, baby. I’ve got your back.”

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46 @outerbankies

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfic #rafe x sophie #mine #college rafe #frat rafe

[fandom-imagination-ss]

Clark Kent imagine

Author note: I cannot remeber writing this..and since i haven’t wrote anything for a while. I figure hey why not!!!!! So Sorry if it doesn’t make sense LOL 😂😂 I will be posting more soon promise.!!

Did i proof read: .... I honestly dont remember writing this soo.. you BET your tooth i didn’t proof read

Rating: fluffy!

Fandom: DC

God your such a big Dork!”

Laughing loudly your sides hurt , Clark just tripped and slide right into a lamp and somehow managed for the shade too be on. His head. You reached over helping him chuckling softly tracing your hands over his broad shoulders making sure he wasn’t hurt. Those Hurting Clark was physically impossible. You still worry.

He chuckled softly saying sorry, you just laughed giving him a quick kiss on the shoulder as you shifted too move too your sofa.

Loving Superman had it’s perks and downsides, the biggest one was that Loris Lane was Furious that you “stole” her profit. Clark always said that Louis never abused their relationship too get articles or too gain more popularity. But she was literally the Only reporter in the entire City that Had Full access too the most talked about man in the entire world.Getting raises left and right when She got a “in-depth “ conversation with Superman and ally he deets on a attack. Whatever way Clark spelt it out. You hated that she abused her relationship for gain at work. It felt wrong. She was literally Sleepign with the subject too information.

It didn’t help that your relationship with her was tense even before you knew she knew about Clarks double life. You were one of the few humans too know about Clarks ability before he became Superman. You grew up right down the road from Clark, same grade, best friends all thru school. Clark would show off his powers too you when you were younger and you were the only one outside he’s family too know. After he left and ran off too find himself you stayed and helped his mom and then Superman arrived and you reconnected with your oldest friend and you moved toot he city after a awful breakup and you just always were around. And Louis hated it. You tried too be friendly towards her. But once Clark discovered she was In bed with lex Luther. (Right in the middle of the Act.) he was furious And heartbroken and he broke up with her and you were secretly glade you didn’t have too pretend too be friends with her anymore.

Dating the man of steel happened so naturally you can’t even remember when it started or how it started who made the first move it just felt Right. Clark was smiling cupping your face looking at you “what you thinking about?”

Poking his stoumch you look up at him grinning, “how I’m so lucky too have my Dork.” He chuckled reaching over kissing your head. “I have too go surveillance with Bruce you be alright tonight?”

Nodding your head weakly. You were use too having too share Clark with the world. Honestly how can you complain when he’s Saving the literally world?

“Oh Ask Bruce How The Hell do you connect the light too the speakers? Too do that flashy thing.he’s instructions Suck!”

He chuckled saying okay.

He walked off. As you grinned excited too have the apartment too yourself. You walked over too your room getting out of your Jeans and into Shorts and a shirt of clarks you always steal it had he’s favourite football team. Making dinner for you, and a dessert. You grabbed your Tablet (making sure too put sticky tack on both lenses after reading how easily the cameras’ are hacked you always put Sticky tack on it if your gonna watch something in the tub.

Getting the Tub ready you started binge watching a the musketeers. When you finished having a relaxing bath you got into your cloths again and watched it on the tv. The actors were Hot as Hell. And the voices. Melting! Clark had that affect on you. He’s voice was smooth and deep and Hot. Those every aspect of your boyfriend is Hot.

You looked around realizing the place was empty as you went too the freezer as you pulled out your container of Icing. Before retuning too the sofa and warming it up as you had your spoon from your ice cream and mixed it as you watched tv. An hour passed when jumped gasping at some scenes. Then you heard the deep chuckle of your boyfriend.

“what are you doing?” You turned looking at Clark seeing him in his uniform as you had a spoon sticking out of your mouth as you spoke, “I’m- what are you doing here? I thought you were going too be late?”

“I came too check on you- what are you watching?” Getting up as you grabbed the icing container as you spoke, “Mustkeers.- what- aren’t you suppose too be hanging with a bat?” He chuckled walking over pulling you into a deep kiss it was unexpected as he pulled back as he spoke, “good icing.” You laughed hitting his softly as he grinned holding your head. “You smell nice.”

“had a bath with my good stuff.” He chuckled softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“thank you.”

“For. Bathing?”

Clark chuckled kissing your forehead as he spoke, “No for being you.”

“thank you?”

He kissed you again before dashing off as you got ready for bed.

Standing in the shower in the morning getting cleaned you turned seeing Clark standing in the bathroom smiling as you spoke ‘what?”

Seeing him pulling off his Shirt, which even after a year of dating. Still left you breathless seeing him shirtless. He was curved and caved from the Gods! It still took you back that he was yours. That this guy. Who looks like a god, has powers As if he was one. Was your you giggled seeing him quickly undress and Joining you in the shower. Quickly pulling you into a deep Kiss,

Perfection can only last for so Long.

It was wrong place at the wrong time. You were In a Church helping your friend choose a location for her wedding when a machine came Crashing into the Chapel destroying it. And the impact flung you backwards and you were pierced thru the stoumch by a pipe it slipped thru you like butter. You were pinned too the wall as you looked up seeing Lex Luther appear from the robotic machine he laughed loudly seeing you.

Superman arrived instantly you saw him just in time too loose vision from loosing so much blood. You heard him screaming No! As you drift.

Clark Dashed over too you seeing you impaled and pinned too the wall. He’s screams broke windows of the church as he fell down onto his knees realizing that you were gone. The girl who Never treated him like anything then a boy. The boy she has known her whole life. Who once learning about everything about him. Simply asked if she kissed him could she get the ability too be super strong. The girl who use too help him practice how too control who would sneak over too play with him. Who was his first kiss. The women who idea of a fun night in is. Watching a fantasy show and be bare legged and as comfy as possible. Clark felt his soul breaking seeing you. The Girl he was going too marry.have a family with.

“Opps.”

Luther said giddy seeing Clark in so much pain. Before Clark could find the strength too move. Luther dissapeared.

Clark screamed NO. You were gone..

Weeks passed with No sighting of Luther, Bruce ended up going toot he funeral, so did Diana , and Berry who you once meeting the flash instantly wanted too bet that Clark was faster. And you and him would have in debut conversations about Harry Potter. Wonder women was close with you also. You worked in a museum , and she would telly you stories a bout the greek gods. And the Amazon women. Cyborg was amazed a girl of this time. Couldn’t figure out how too do anything technical. You were as clueless as a 80 year old man trying too make a call on a smart phone.

Arther arrived toot he funeral with the others as he stood up too talk.the funeral was beauitful, and the wake was Sad. Clark’s Mom invited all the justice league too her house. Where Clark was staying since Luther has been MIA.

“when I first met that feisty women. She asked if I could really talk too whales and asked what they liked talking about. Then she told me I this insane theory of whales being fictional. Apparently that girl lived on the coast for two years. And Never saw a whale.Clark took her too my dads lighthouse and I got a few too pop up too show them off. I never seen a happier person in my life. She acted like a kid on Christmas Day .she was- something special.”

They all chuckled as Clark was silent holding his hands tightly as Diana stood up. “When I first met Y/N. she was covered head too toe in dirt and Mud. She was playing football with Clark.- She looked like the happiest girl in the world. I knew excatly at that moment she was madly in love. I remember looking like that at Steve. She asked me too help scare Clark it was- apparently her mission in life too scare him Once.-“ Diana went quite Seeing Clark was stiff. She knew excatly how he felt. Hallow inside with going thru the motion.

Bruce was about too speak when the front door opened. Seeing Y/N covered in dirt. You stood in the front entrance covered in dirt wearing the dress you were buried in. You coughed loudly as Clark Rushed over too you griping your face tightly, “how- How is this possible?”

“what the hell happened?”

Everyone looked at each other stunned as Diana heard a fast beating sound.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Clark was crying too hard too hear anything as Diana stepped over as she kneeled down pressing her ear too your stomach.

“it’s a heartbeat.”

“WHAT?” Gasping loudly as Clark was too stunned too take any of that information in. But your ears were working. “Shut up no it’s not! I- I was. In the church wasn’t I when that bastered- how- I woke up in the graveyard what the fuck! Is going on?!”

“how did you get out of the grave.. you were just Barried this morning.”

Rolling your shoulders you shook your head, “I woke up up above ground.. I wans’t- you buried me? What the Hell why!” You hit Clark as he gripped your face tightly as he spoke, “you scared the Shit outta me! How- I don’t understand you were died.”

You rolled your shoulders, “Don’t look at me! The last thing I remember was being in the church.. what- what happened?”

“you died..But I think your baby protected you.”

That’s when Clarks ears started working as he turned too wonderwomen. “Excuse me? Baby?”

“Oh Boy..’

#Clark Kent #Clark Kent imagine #Superman #Superman imagine #Dc imagine #imagine #Fandom imagine

[homeformyheart]

threats - mason x f!detective (twc)

day 27 – crush

author’s note: oh, i was so excited for this idea when it popped into my head. i thank @quietsphere and @withbeautyandrage for the inspiration and support for our resident bad girl ria. enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – mason x f!detective (ria knight) rating/warnings: 16+; swearing, hints of violent threats word count: 1.2k based on/prompt: day 27 – crush from #28dateswithunitbravo challenge by @wayhavenmonthly summary: mason witnesses a darker side to ria as she deals with bobby fucking marks.

threats

ria flexed her fingers in and out of a fist under her crossed arms as she glared at bobby fucking marks. he was currently leaning against her file cabinets, droning on about his latest article and the attention it received. bobby didn’t seem to notice as she pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, wishing that she wasn’t on duty. at least as a civilian, she could try to put bobby in his place.

she remembered the lecture she received from both the mayor and the captain a few weeks ago, one of the few times she could recall that they were in agreement. all thanks to bobby asshole extraordinaire marks.

apparently, bobby had convinced both the mayor and captain that he’d consider going public with a story that ria had threatened him, however exaggerated it might have been, if he wasn’t shown more “respect” by the police department.

what ria wouldn’t do to be able to beat the living shit out of him.

he was probably the only person, aside from tina, who wasn’t intimidated by her. they had too much shared history, he knew too much of ria’s secrets, and he understood how to twist the proverbial knife in her stomach before it was even in her body. she was almost helpless against him.

and he loved reminding her of that.

she crossed her arms again, tucking one hand inside her leather jacket and wrapping it around the hilt of the dagger that she found in a box of her dad’s things in the attic and kept on her person at all times. her thumb stroked the intricate design carved into the hilt, an antique etching originating from a time beyond her knowledge but comforting all the same.

“bobby, if that’s all you needed to say, i really need to get to work,” she interrupted curtly, brushing past him.

“but angel, we haven’t talked about the real issues yet. like what is the police station’s stance on the recent uptick in strange sightings?” bobby asked slyly, trailing after ria as she exited the station.

she walked a few steps away from the square, towards where she knew mason was waiting for her in the shadow of the trees bordering the station, hoping bobby would get the point and leave on his own.

“the station does not comment on any investigations or reported happenings. you know that, bobby. now i have somewhere to be,” she said, mustering every last ounce of professionalism she had. which wasn’t even much to begin with.

she could see mason’s dark silhouette as she approached the trees and was taken aback by the sense of relief in her chest. her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked at him, his smirk sending a warm shiver down her spine and eliciting a rare smile from her.

mason settled on ria’s smile, one that he knew was rare and therefore precious, something he should treasure and appreciate, especially when it’s directed at him, before shifting his gaze up and behind her to the sandy-blonde reporter at her back.

a low growl caught in his throat at the sight, not because bobby posed any real physical threat to ria – she was more than capable of handling herself after all – but because he could sense that she was upset and rattled. he can tell her hands are shaking, fists punching the inside of her jacket pockets.

it had something to do with this reporter, who somehow has a hold on her that he doesn’t understand, and the thought made his skin prickle and hair stand on end.

bobby placed a hand on her shoulder and ria whirled around angrily.

“don’t touch me,” she growled through clenched teeth.

“come on angel, don’t be like that. you know i only want what’s best for you,” bobby purred, undeterred by ria’s angry glare and stepping closer into her personal space.

mason was at her back in three strides and she didn’t have to turn around to know. she could feel him behind her, not close enough where his breath will lightly catch in her hair, but enough to reassure her that he’s got her back.

“call me that one more time and you’ll regret it,” she seethed, absolutely loathing herself and him for the way he can still get under her skin.

“i think you’ll be the one to regret it when the mayor and captain find out how uncooperative their darling detective has been, don’t you?” bobby smirked. “but if you behave like a good little girl, maybe you’ll be in for a little treat later.”

that was all it took. he knew ria hated anything that sounded patronizing since she made a concerted effort to be the opposite of a “good little girl” for most of her life. it started as a rebellious ploy for attention from an absentee mother and evolved into an effective way of shutting out the world and protecting herself. especially after bobby fucking marks tore through her like a chainsaw.

she shoved bobby, hard, so that he stumbled a few feet backward, before reaching into her pocket and curling her fingers around her swiss army knife. she quickly closed the gap between them and grabbed bobby’s jacket with her left hand, drawing the knife from her pocket and resting it underneath the flap of his shirt collar, making sure the jacket blocked her hands from view.

to any passing bystanders, it would look like she was about to kiss him deeply.

mason knew he’d be able to hear, see, and smell everything that could happen in the next few minutes. but he’d try his hardest not to out of respect for her.

“you’d better fucking stay away from me and don’t ever mention anything from our history together to anyone, not even me. you got that?” ria said quietly, malice lacing every single word.

“or what? you act tough but we both know you’re too much of a girl to do anything about it. at the end of the day, you’re just a weak little girl who has to follow captain’s orders,” bobby smirked, although fear briefly flickered in his eyes.

ria’s eyes narrowed and she moved the edge of the knife to his top most button, slicing through the collar and the button in one smooth motion, so that only the two of them could hear the fabric and string ripping softly.

“do you really want to find out?” she asked quietly, her eyes going cold.

“you can’t threaten me like that, i’m a member of the press and you’re a police officer,” he tried to argue, but his arrogant demeanor from before had faded quickly.

“it’s your word against mine, and i have a witness to back me up,” she smirked, nodding over to where mason was standing a few feet away with his arms crossed. “let’s say it was... ‘self-defense’.”

bobby gulped nervously and he took a step back. “i’ll leave you alone,” he mumbled, before turning and nearly running away.

mason’s eyebrow rose at the expression on bobby’s face, a sense of pride swelling in his chest as ria walked back to him, tucking the knife back into her pocket.

he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in to murmur in her ear, “that was pretty hot. i might have a crush on you.”

“good to know murder might be a turn on for you,” she smirked, wrapping her arm around his waist as they made their way back to her apartment.

* * * * * permatag: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @vintage-vamp; @brooks-eden; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @ambrosykim; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart​;

#28DWUB #mason x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #specialist agent mason #twc mason #agent m #twc #twc fic #detective ria knight #my writing #my detective #mason x ria #mason x ria knight #twc fanfic #twc fanfiction #my prompt fill #twc prompt fills #not choices #28dateswithunitbravo #day 27 #crush

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 4

<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->

Summary: Chilton’s recovery is slow and painful, and he is a cranky traumatized bastard who might be determined to push you away.    

1,878 words

Twelve days. Six surgeries. Fifteen blood transfusions.

“Did you bring me something to eat?” he whined. Considering he could barely lift his voice above a whisper, it was an impressive feat that he could whine. “Tell me you smuggled something edible that does not go into a tube through my nose.”

“I’m sorry, honey-bear,” you pouted. “But you know I can’t until the doctors OK it.”

“I am a doctor.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re still at a high risk of going septic—no outside foods covered with outside bacteria. Besides, they won’t let you eat solids yet, anyway.”

“Sanguinaccio dolce. Mango smoothie. Crème brûlée. Yamakake Soba...” he listed off non-solid things you ought to have snuck in for his enjoyment.

“And how would I get them in there?” You rapped your knuckles on the clear acrylic of the hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber.

He scowled. “This is not a zoo. No tapping the glass.”

You grinned and pulled a chair alongside the chamber so you were sitting next to him.

“Did you bring the laptop?”

Slinging the messenger bag you were carrying off your shoulder, you pulled out a smooth rectangular object and held it up proudly. “That I did. I’m ready to write if you’re up for it,” you said, but added with some hesitation, “Are you sure you want to do this now? You should be resting, and… I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to relive what happened.”

“I am sure,” he snapped. “I may drop dead at any moment, so we will finish this now. While I still draw breath.”

You stiffened imperceptibly in your chair. The reminder that, despite making it this long, he was far from out of the woods was an unwelcome dagger in your chest, which you quickly plucked out and stuffed away in the box of things you weren’t going to think about.

“As for the wisdom of my reliving it—I feel his teeth every time I close my eyes. I may as well profit from the experience.”

Dr. Chilton was growing anxious that it had been nearly two weeks since his encounter with Francis “The Red Dragon” Dolarhyde, and he had not yet had the chance to publish on the subject. He had wasted far too much time being unconscious and dying—he needed to send a letter in to the American Journal of Psychiatry before some know-nothing crackpot took a swing.

He was the foremost authority on the Dragon—the only person to have communicated with him and lived who was not, himself, a fugitive for murder (or a blind girlfriend, but he doubted Reba was going to publish anything). This was his achievement. His way of staying relevant. The definitive analysis of the Red Dragon for the Journal, and then a spectacular ending for his book once he had his own hands to type with again. No one would take this opportunity from him.

After living with Frederick Chilton for over three years in relative domestic harmony, there were times you forgot what you ever used to dislike about him. Why you hated him so intensely when you first met.

This was not one of those times.

As you took dictation from your glass-encased fiance, you felt a crushing wave of empathy for the man’s poor secretary. He was demanding and fussy, making you read back every sentence to him line by line and mercilessly correcting any mistakes or omissions. He spoke slowly because of his weakened lungs and raw throat, and the thick glass and lack of lips made him difficult to understand, especially with nurses walking through and machinery beeping and whirring in the background—but when you tried explaining that to justify a transcription error, he took it as a personal affront.

You had to support him no matter what, you reminded yourself. This was much harder on him than you. You can always leave if you want you; he can’t. So when he was frustrated and cranky, you were patient and kind.

It took five hours and ten rewrites to get through two thousand words he was satisfied with submitting for publication, and you were nearly crying by the time you left.

***

Thirteen days.

High protein intake is critical to a speedy recovery in burn patients, but Frederick’s mangled digestive system could not tolerate protein very well. Keeping his kidney off the precipice of failure was a tightrope walk involving dietitians planning his every calorie intake, and daily blood work monitoring.

As a medical doctor, Frederick Chilton was aware of, and understood, these things. However he still rejected them as excuses when you once again did not bring him any outside food.

“Then what is the point of you coming?” he snapped, and immediately wished he had not. You stood frozen in the doorway of his recovery room unsure what you did wrong. You were right, of course—his throat felt like he had fellated broken glass. As much as he longed to chew something flavorful, with texture, he could not have swallowed solid food anyway. He closed his eyes. Softer, he asked, “Did you bring the March issue of the Journal of Psychiatry?”

You let out a held breath, unfreezing, and pulled the magazine out of your bag, presenting it with an upbeat flourish. “Delivered to your doorstep.”

“Would you read it to me?” He sighed, humiliated. It was not only that he could not hold the publication—even if you were to flip the pages for him, with only one working eye and no reading glasses, it was hopeless. He was completely dependent on you.

A cough shook his body as if to punctuate how completely he was broken. Useless. Weak.

The metal feet of the visitor’s chair scraped on the white floor like nails on a chalkboard as you dragged it close to his bedside, making him wince until you settled down and helped him browse for an article of interest.

He could barely make himself care about the content of the study. As you read, you rested one arm on the mattress right next to his, where it lay helplessly prone alongside his body, and he could feel the warm weight of you sinking into the cushion. The pressure was uncomfortable on his inflamed tissue, but soothing to something deeper. God, he wanted to be soothed. He wanted so badly to feel any kind of comfort. Anything to latch onto. He closed his eyes and got lost in your voice. For a moment, he could almost forget about the searing pain in each of his limbs and pretend he was at home, in his bed, with you.

The soothing, steady lull stopped, and he opened his eyes, horrified to find you looking intently at his ruined face. His nostrils flared painfully. “Do not stare,” he warned.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you said. “I finished the article. I thought you fell asleep.” You searched for somewhere else to settle your eyes—the metal bar at the edge of the bed. Your lap. A flower arrangement.

You made such a show of not staring at him that he was even more certain that you had been. He was hideous. Perhaps that entertained you. You were probably already planning for Halloween. Red-hot thoughts swirled around his head like cinders.

Before you could get through a second article, a nurse came in with a tray of mushy hospital food. Humiliation stung deep for you to even see the damned tray, and it annoyed him that you did not immediately excuse yourself. There was no way in Hell he would allow you to watch such a disgusting, embarrassing process—being spoon fed like a toddler, the nurse wiping off his toothy chin of the spillage meant to be kept in check by lips.

“Go home,” he grumbled, leaving no room for argument.

You had barely been there for half an hour.

***

Fourteen days.

“Do you want to look at venues?” you offered, tucking him in with the extra blanket you had a nurse bring because he was cold.

“Venues?” he repeated with clear exasperation. He let out a weak cough.

“It’ll be fun! It’ll take your mind off things.” You grabbed your laptop off the plastic visitor chair where you’d left it, and excitedly held it up so he could see the screen from his prone position. There was already a search typed into google with preview images of scenic gardens glowing with string lights and towering ancient library ballrooms.

“I thought it went without saying our wedding date is… postponed.”

Your shoulders deflated. “I know, but… you’ll be out of the hospital by next year,” barring complications, “so we can use the time to plan. We were going to have to postpone anyway if you couldn’t pick anywhere that was good enough for your standards,” you teased.

“It is pointless.” He laughed bitterly, humorlessly, and your brief smile dropped.

“It isn’t… pointless.”

“I will not be able to visit any of the locations.”

“But we could make a list of places you want to visit when—”

“Stop!” he hissed.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “OK.” You sounded small. Too small.

“I… uh...” Frederick tried to say something. Something to make you sound less small and wounded. Fragments of thoughts and half-formed apologies stuck in his sore throat. Fuck, his skin hurt. Parts of it were starting to heal, but in the short-term that only made it worse, because now it itched, too. Pain. Itch. Guilt. Cold. You deserved so much more than him. “You should go,” he said at last, finally settling on the only way to make it better.

“Wh-what?”

“Just… go,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. What do you want to talk about? Or, I can shut up and we can listen to music, or...”

You were apologizing. Again. Because he was being an asshole. It disgusted him how weak he made you. You used to be so fierce. Stubborn and unstoppable. But being with him was slowly killing your fire.

“Get out of this place. I want to be alone.”

It was better this way, he thought. It was better for you to get away from him.

You stared at him silently across what now felt like a vast distance of white laminate flooring. His beautiful, pale, mismatched eyes were fixed on the ceiling, hard and uncompromising. He blinked rapidly.

You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You wished you could fix it for him. But right now, as much as it pained you, he wanted you to leave, and maybe that was the best you could do.

“OK,” you relented. “I’ll be back tomorrow, all right? I love you.”

The only sound as you packed your laptop away and slipped your coat over your shoulders was his ragged breathing, the beeps and tones of hospital machines, and the occasional cough. He waited until you were almost out the door before replying, “I love you, too.”

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #hannibal #Raúl Esparza #angst #recovery angst #hospitals #here have your daily serving of pain #my writing

[antivirus-mh-au]

Antivirus - Chapter 2

TW: None Chapter 1 here Ao3 link If you like this, please leave a like, reblog, or send me an ask! It encourages me so much.

He blew the smoke from his mouth around the cigarette, the morning sun catching all the particles as they floated into the air. Tim drew the J on top of the fresh carton and dropped the pen onto the dashboard. Pulling the cigarette from his mouth, he drew in a deep breath of fresh air, fresh as you could get at a gas station by a highway. Looking around the parking lot, at the people filing in and out, he shook his head and gave a wry smile. Hard not to be in a good mood when you got some decent sleep for once.

Becca and Lukas were okay. Lukas's leg had been taken care of, and the two had set back off for Idaho, back to the families that loved them. Another success case for Timothy Kane. Another group of people adding to the myth of his existence. Seemed like every month there were more of them. The Operator never tired. The sickness never eased. In fact, it only grew worse.

But like hell was he going to start off a good morning with that depressing shit. He'd gotten paid, gotten rest, and he'd found out where the nearest library was with free internet. He was not going to let a rare moment of peace escape him. He'd lost too much for that.

The library wasn't far away from the gas station he'd refilled at. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, it was open, as were the windows on the front of the building. He spoke briefly to the clerk at the front desk, making sure he understood their internet rules and that it was okay for him to bring in his thermos of coffee, before finding a convenient spot by a power outlet. 

His laptop was getting old, it took a while for it to boot up. As Tim waited, he thumbed through a newspaper. Experts predicting a war with China for the third time in as many years, conflict in the Middle East, the royal family in Britain getting roped into some scandal or another. That was why he didn't read the news much, it was always the same. By the time he got to the comics (never his favorite part of the newspaper), his laptop had finished, and Tim traded the two without a second thought.

He could and did check his email on his phone but he was old-fashioned and preferred to use his laptop when he had the chance. Earlier Becca's mother replied to his report about her daughter returning home, a message he'd saved in a special folder he looked at when he felt particularly shitty. 

Another email was waiting for him now, from a 'Meridith Frederickson'. Another client, looking for her son and his missing best friend. He replied to that one, offering to schedule a Zoom meeting later that same day. By now he knew all too well what happened if he wasn't on top of his cases. 

And of course, he had new messages in the spam folder. Tim glanced over the subjects of the emails without opening any of them. Some didn't have any, but most were vaguely threatening, the kind he usually got from trolls and kids. 'Always watching', 'there's no escape', 'how could you', and on and on and on. People thought they could get a rise out of him by acting like totheark, but none of them even came close to what Brian had been all those years ago. 

Tim glanced at the tab next to his email, frowning. There was no sense in trying to put it off, even if he hated doing it. Everything on that site made him feel worse, and today had been a pretty good day. But if he didn't look, he'd regret it later, falling into a rabbit hole of updates that was guaranteed to fuck him over. So he opened YouTube.

The videos were taken down years ago, the channels involved with Marble Hornets wiped from the website. But that didn't mean they were gone, just hidden away on Google Drives and shock sites. What was on YouTube was... the fandom.

It made his skin crawl thinking about it. People from all over the world were obsessed with what he and Jay had been through. He'd seen hundreds of articles about the videos, from five minute listicles to long analysises about the events and the people involved. He'd seen other things, too, things he'd rather not remember. Like the fanart...

Out of everything, though, it was the YouTube community that unsettled him the most. The passionate, wide eyed college kids. The naive high schoolers. The older people, with their backgrounds in criminal science and forensics and cryptids and God knew what else. They picked over the videos and tweets and codes like vultures at a pile of bones. Like it was just a fictional web series, like people he knew and once liked weren't dead. And they spread the disease. It didn't take all of them, leaving the YouTubers alone, but claiming their followers. It made him sick thinking about all the people he couldn't save, the people who had no one left to try and find them, the people who vanished into Rosswood Park and were never seen again. It made him sick, watching these ignorant people talk about his pain as if they were all insects under microscopes.

But if he didn't pay attention, who knew what might happen. The Operator was watching all of them. One slip up was all it took.

He scrolled through both the front page and his subscriptions. The videos were, in the end, all the same. Speculation, discussion, analyzation. Some of them he could watch later. Others needed his attention now.

Tim’s eyes landed on a video, and his heart clenched. The Neophyte was streaming again.

The still image didn’t show much. Neophyte_Calling didn’t put much work into his channel. It was just a shot of what the streams normally showed, pale, unkempt hands poking free from black robes, resting on an old plastic table. That was what he expected to find once he opened the stream.

And he’d be correct, that was what awaited him once he got the courage to click. The hands twitched and clenched and dug at the table. It wasn’t the hands that were special though, it was what the owner of those hands were saying.

“Autumn after firestorm, the nights don’t listen and the butter is on the corn. Ten days or twenty paces of living guts wrapped around an old man’s neck. The water comes up to your waist but you don’t feel the attitude of denial inside the bastard daughter’s heart. Oh, god, eureka, industry was never so smooth…”

Complete nonsense. The ramblings of a man on some kind of drug, or lost to some unknown mental illness. Despite this, the chat flooded with messages. Donations popped up occasionally, attempts to get the Neophyte’s attention. He didn’t notice. He never noticed. He just kept talking. And he would keep talking until the stream ended on its own, or he passed out on the table.

People called him a prophet. Claimed every word he spoke had a double, or even a triple, meaning. They recorded every word he said and discussed them among themselves, coming up with ‘translations’ for his maddening dialogue. And to be fair, they could have a point. Sometimes, what the Neophyte said did seem to foretell events that happened not long after he spoke them. But the god the Neophyte channeled was not one Tim would ever ask someone to worship.

Silence. The man stopped talking, his fidgeting hands resting flat on the table. Dread filled Tim’s body. Speak of the devil, he was doing this again?

The Neophyte spoke again, his voice deeper now. The words came clumsy from his mouth, uncomfortable, heavy, as if he had never spoken before. The emphasis, the tone, it was all wrong. Tim had no trouble understanding them, however.

“You always fight,” It said through the Neophyte’s mouth. “You always resist. You tire, and exhaust, and fall. You continue to fight despite.”

The robes shifted, the head hidden from the camera’s view tilting.

“Tim,” It said. “You are a grain of sand. I am eternal. I am here. I will always be here. You understand. You continue despite.”

On the side of the screen, the chat surged with messages. It raced so quickly, Tim couldn’t have read any of them even if he tried. He didn’t look away from the livestream. 

“Tim,” It said again. “Enough. You have fought hard. You are getting old. That’s enough. It’s time to come home. To us. To all of us.”

The hair stood up on his arms, on the back of Tim’s neck. He shuddered.

“Like hell,” he whispered, and closed the tab.

But even though he closed the livestream, he could swear he heard the Neophyte, the thing puppeting him, whisper in his mind.

“Coward.”

When 2pm rolled around, Tim was back in his van in the library parking lot. Obviously he couldn’t do a Zoom call inside the quiet space, but their internet reached well past the parking lot. He sat on his bed, now folded up like a couch inside the converted van he lived in. His laptop open before him, the program open and ready. Now he just had to wait for her.

Hard to say what this Meredith Fredrickson would expect a private investigator like him to look like, but Tim did his best to look presentable anyway. Hair combed, beard trimmed, leather jacket kept to the side out of her line of sight - leather jackets weren’t worn by authority figures, and that was what he was trying to be right now. Not anyone could do this job, but who’s to say she knew that? If she didn’t like the way he looked, she could try to find someone else to find her son and his friend. And if she did that, by the time she realized only Tim could help her, it would be too late.

Thinking about it that way made him shudder.

Of course, while he was prepared to deal with what she thought he would look like, he wasn’t as ready for what she herself would look like. As the call began, and Meredith’s face came on screen, Tim hesitated. He looked at her closely again. Had he seen this woman before?

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fredrickson,” He greeted.

The woman shook her head, her curly brown hair tossing around her slim shoulders.

“Meredith is fine,” she said. “I haven’t been called ‘Mrs’ since my husband died. I changed back to my maiden name - my son’s last name will be his, not mine.”

“Of course,” Tim said. Odd information to include, but people tended to ramble when they were nervous.

He looked at her again, at the frown lines developing around her lips, and the worry and pain in her wide-set eyes. Behind her was a normal looking home, a few windows with pale curtains, a kitchen kept clean from what little he saw. Something was nagging at him. What was it?

“Did you fill out the information packet I requested?” He asked.

Meredith nodded.

“Yes.”

The file appeared, Tim half-listening to her as he opened it.

“I know this is a very strange thing to ask from you,” Meredith said. “But circumstances have changed in a way I really didn’t expect. I know it’s hard to believe that after ten years my son could be alive, but I don’t have any other explanation for…”

She trailed off. Tim didn’t look away from the document she’d sent. The names written on the very first line.

Missing People: Jay Merrick and Alex Kralie

Motherfucker, had he been tricked?

Tim shot the woman a sharp glance, examining her expression in seconds. She was not the first person to ask him to track down Jay and Alex, but she was the first he hadn’t screened out before it got this far. Most people were upfront about their intentions, or were obviously trolling, or he otherwise got weird vibes from them. This Meredith had slipped him by, and wasted his time in the process.

“He is my son,” Meredith said. “I’ve included his birth certificate, since I thought you might not believe me.”

“I don’t need it.” A birth certificate? Those weren’t easy to fake, but Tim was no expert on Photoshop either. 

“I would’ve included Alex’s, too,” Meredith continued. “After all the years he and Jay knew each other, you would’ve thought I’d have it too.” She laughed, and there was pain within it. “But his parents died in a car accident about six years back, and…”

“Wait.” Tim refocused. “Alex and Jay knew each other?”

“Since the first year of middle school,” Meredith said with a nod. “I have a lot of photos of them. You know, Jay went through a phase, where he wore all black, and listened to rock music with singers I couldn’t understand. He got a tattoo of one of the bands on his ankle behind my back. I was so angry...”

She laughed again, and her eyes went distant. Tim stared at her, his mind flashing back to all the conversations he’d had with Jay, things that didn’t go into the videos. Being Alex’s childhood friend, since middle school - the phases he went through as a teen - that damn tattoo he was so embarrassed of. None of these were known by the fandom.

Oh god, this woman was the real deal. Even her face, now that he looked at her, was just like Jay’s. The distant look in her eyes as she thought… Jay got that same expression.

“Meredith,” he said, his voice softer, kinder. “Do you know about Marble Hornets?”

“I can’t bring myself to watch them,” she said. Meredith folded her hands together. “But I know what… what was shown on the videos. I know that they are…” She swallowed. “Considered dead by most people. I was one of them.”

His gut twisted. By most people, including her. “But something… changed.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, and moved to wipe her eyes. “I got a package in the mail about a week ago. Inside was a flashdrive and a few printed photos. It had been placed in my mailbox - I don’t know who sent it.”

Oh no, Tim thought. Not this again. Please, don’t play this game with people again.

“What were the photos?” He asked, aware of the sound of his own voice more than anything else.

“I’ve included most of them in the document,” Meredith said. “I… I still can’t believe what I’ve seen, but… But they don’t look like they could’ve been faked.”

Dread pressed down on his shoulders. Dread and something else, some kind of energy buzzing through his nerves. Tim looked at the document, scrolled down, and opened the photos.

Some were blurry, taken from a distance and zoomed in before being printed. Some were clear as glass. It took him several seconds to process what he was seeing, what the subjects of the photos were. Tim blinked, looked again, and his pulse quickened.

Alex, standing on a street corner, gray in his hair, exhaustion on his face. Jay in a dark cloth jacket with a hood, looking over his shoulders. Alex, and Jay, Alex, and Jay, in all the photos, in every single one. The clothes were different, the faces aged, but there was no denying what he was seeing, and like Meredith said, no way to fake what he was looking at.

“Oh my god,” Tim mumbled.

Jay and Alex were alive.

#marble hornets #marble hornets fanfiction #marble hornets tim #Tim Wright #mh tim wright #mh tim #marble hornets alex #alex kralie #mh jay merrick #jay merrick #MH Jay #mh antivirus au #mh alex

[sincerelyreidburke]

won’t you lay me down

Hi, I wrote some CCU hurt/comfort fluff. I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but bear with me.

In which: Derek has a bad mental health day. Will has his back.

Also on ao3!

///

Will doesn’t see the text at first.

It’s not really his fault. Monday mornings are busy. After morning practice at 6:30 (Will likes that better than evening practice, and as captain he’s tried to keep the practice schedule relatively consistent), he has a meeting with Hall and Murray for thirty minutes while the rest of the team filters out to their respective morning activities and routines. It’s the last he sees of Derek until the afternoon, every Monday— because after Will’s meeting with the coaches, he’s straight off to his internship in Boston for the rest of the morning, then comes back to campus for his 2:30 CS 381 class.

So when the text comes in, he’s mid-transit from Boston to Samwell, sitting in traffic on 128. As a general rule, he doesn’t check his phone while driving. Also, why the fuck is there so much traffic in the middle of the day on a Monday.

He doesn’t understand Massachusetts drivers.

Anyway. It’s when he gets back to campus that he sees it, sitting in his lockscreen over the wallpaper of him and Derek.

18m ago

Derek: do u mind if i chill in the basement

Derek: can’t focus in my room, c is playing music

Oh. Will unlocks his phone, sitting in his student parking spot. He and Derek use each other’s rooms all the time, even outside of their constant sleeping-over in each other’s. Many a time has he returned from class, internship, or other obligation to find his boyfriend hanging out in the bungalow.

They have their own spaces in the Haus, but they do their fare share of, well. Sharing.

Sry just saw this , he sends back. Was drivung. Of cuorse you can use the basment

He looks at the text thread for a second, then sends a <3 after his message, and tucks his phone away again.

On to the next thing.

Class is sort of tedious today, but what’s worse than it is the actual trek back to the Haus from the compsci building, because it’s frigid outside, a chill that gets to his bones even in his winter jacket and the beanie he stole from Derek. In typical New England February fashion, it’s supposed to snow tonight, or at least that’s what he thinks he heard from someone at his internship this morning. He spent most of his shift working out a kink in his supervisor’s code, and he was lost in the numbers and symbols for hours.

He likes it. It’s satisfying to figure out a program.

When he reaches the Haus, finally , Whiskey and Ford are hanging out in the kitchen. He waves to them on his way by, then wonders if he should bake tonight. Maybe after his homework, he can make cookies. The pie he made this weekend is gone already, because all three of the freshmen were here yesterday, nothing he bakes lasts long in their presence.

Will heads straight downstairs, and the door to his room is closed; the lights inside look like they’re off. He eases it open, reaching for the light switch. Derek must have finished whatever he was doing.

Or— not.

Derek is here, and he can tell because he hears Dwayne Johnson singing. He freezes with his hand on the light-switch before he can turn it on, and steps all the way into the room instead, where he catches sight of him— or at least catches sight of what he knows is him, under several layers of cover.

Derek has burrowed himself into Will’s bed with his laptop, and he’s watching Moana , the light of the screen on his face the only source of any light in the room at all. He’s wearing Will’s Samwell hoodie, the good one with Poindexter and 24 and C on the sleeve, and its hood is pulled over his head, strings drawn to make his face look like a blue-lit mask poking out of it. He looks only half-invested in the movie, because he’s resting his face on his arm, scrunched up to the pillow.

Will’s stomach turns. Bedridden Derek in his stolen sweatshirt and Moana are a combination that can only mean one thing.

He closes the door, gently, behind himself. “Der?”

It appears that this is the first Derek actually notices that someone else has entered the room. Will hears the click of the space bar, and the Rock halts mid-chorus. “Oh,” comes Derek’s voice from his blanket cocoon, and it’s small and drawn, the opposite of his loud bravado. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi.” Will drops his backpack at the door, then goes directly to him, crouching on the steps that get him to the loft bed. “Hey,” he says, across the laptop. “Are you okay?”

Derek pauses. He purses his lips at his computer screen, then sighs and lowers it. “Ch’yeah,” he mumbles. “I’m alright.”

With the laptop closed, Will reaches for his face. He cups his stubbly cheek in one hand, runs his thumb across his cheekbone. Derek looks blank, drained. Will knows this demeanor well by now.

“No, you’re not,” he whispers. Without the light of the laptop, it’s nearly dark inside. The slivers of gray daylight from where Derek pulled the shade on the window are all that remain.

Derek breathes in like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. He nuzzles his face into Will’s pillow a little more.

“Der,” Will whispers. He kneels on the steps, pauses his thumb by Derek’s ear. “Gray day?”

Derek whimpers a little, like it pains him to admit it, but nods. “Yeah.”

Will keeps gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. “This morning?”

Derek bites his lip. “Didn’t feel it this morning.”

“Oh.” Will pauses. “When did it hit you?”

He closes his eyes. “When I got back to the Haus.”

Will frowns. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Derek’s eyes are still closed. He shakes his head. “You couldn’tve known, babe.”

For a moment, the room is quiet. Will pushes Derek’s laptop aside a little. “What can I do?”

Derek takes his time, answering. Will is patient. He knows how to do this. He slides his hand into his curls under the hood; they’re matted, and they’ll be worse if he just lays in bed for the rest of the day. “You want to tie your hair?”

Derek takes a long breath.

“You don’t have to,” Will adds. “But if it’ll help you for later…”

“My scarf’s upstairs,” Derek mumbles, weakly, like upstairs is a continent away.

“It’s okay,” Will tells him. “I can get it, baby.”

Derek’s face contorts a little, like he’s about to cry, but he doesn’t; he just opens his eyes. His eye contact is distant, like he’s staring more into space than back at Will, but he’s trying, and Will knows that. “I love you,” he whispers, and then, “I don’t feel well.”

“I know,” Will hushes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek groans.

“Never be sorry,” Will says. “Ever.” He kisses his forehead, feather-light, and then tells him, “I love you too. And I’m gonna go get your scarf, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Derek winces again, like something hurts. He nods, though, slowly, and rests his cheek on the pillow again. Will pulls back to go, but God, it’s hard, because he knows how much Derek hates being alone when he feels like this, and he’s already been in here by himself for God knows how long—

Okay, he’ll only be gone a minute. But even so, he feels the need to fill that space. He climbs down to his bookshelf, reaches onto its center shelf between Derek’s poetry books, and grabs hold of his oldest friend.

“Here,” he whispers, bringing Cromwell up so Derek can see. “Do you want a friend?”

Derek eyes the plush lobster, and though he doesn’t look like he has an ounce of energy to smile, his eyes soften. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Please.”

Will hands him over, and Derek engulfs the little red thing in his sea of blankets, resting him right under his nose. The visual would be cute, if Derek weren’t in such a bad spot. Will caresses his cheek again, then smooths the few curls that are poking out of the hood. “Be right back, baby,” he says. “Do you know where your scarf is?”

Derek pauses, then shakes his head.

“It’s alright,” Will assures him. “I’ll find it.”

This was hard, at first, being so new to this side of him, and not knowing how to help him. But they’ve been together for eight months, and Will knows Derek’s gray days by now, knows the tells for when he’s feeling down, knows a few remedies that help to ease the numbness.

He makes a beeline for Derek’s room upstairs as fast as his legs can carry him. The space itself is even evidence that Derek isn’t feeling himself; there are more clothes on the floor than usual, and the bed is unmade, and his desk looks like his notebook exploded. Will sifts through his dresser drawers, between Samwell shirts, pairs of gym shorts, random articles of Will’s own clothing that’ve been stolen, but there’s no sight of the green headscarf he wears sometimes to bed. He moves his search to the desk, and then to the actual bed, and he’s about to give up when he finds it tucked between the down comforter and the sheets.

Success. He heads back downstairs.

“Hey, Dex, is Nursey in your room?”

“Oh—” Will halts in the kitchen doorway. The question came from Ford; she’s still at the counter. “Yeah,” he replies, poking his head around the corner. Tango has now joined the kitchen gathering. “He’s just watching a movie.”

“Oh, cool.” Ford nods. “I just didn’t know if he was in the Haus. I thought I saw him go down there, like, two hours ago.”

“Yeah,” Will says, “he’s with me.”

Tango waves. “Hi, Dex!”

“Hey, Tango.” Will opens the basement stairs door.

Chowder knows this version of Derek as well as Will does, but the rest of the team doesn’t. It’s what’s buried under the chill, what he could never stand to let people know about himself.

Derek’s brain is awful to him sometimes.

Back in his room, he finally takes off his winter jacket and closes the door behind him, then climbs up the steps to his bed again. Derek is still snuggling with Cromwell, but his laptop has moved; he’s pushed it to the pouch adjacent to Will’s headboard where he keeps his phone, occasional book, and other random stuff while he sleeps.

Will unfolds the scarf. It’s silky smooth. “Gave up on Moana ?” he hums.

Derek rolls over and nods. Will kicks his sneakers off, then crawls onto the mattress, which squeaks a little under both their weight. He slides a hand under his back— Derek is very, very warm, but that’s the way he likes to be when he’s like this— and eases him up into a sitting position. “Sit up for me, babe?”

Derek moves with his touch, nice and easy, and when Will has him sitting up, he slots himself against his back, lets Derek lean on him. “You want me to talk?” he asks as he pulls the hood off his head. “Or do you like the quiet?”

Derek hums a little. “Talk. Please.”

“Okay.” Will combs through his curls, then pulls the scarf tight around them. He learned this on YouTube, after his third time hearing post-funk Derek lament that his depression was ruining his hair. “It’s supposed to snow,” he tells him. “Five inches.”

Derek groans. “Fuck that.”

“I know,” Will mumbles. “But if classes get cancelled, I’ll make cookies.”

“Mm.” Derek hums again, as Will pulls the knot at the back of his neck tight. “What kind?”

“Still deciding.” He hooks his arms around his neck, pulls him close, and kisses his cheek. “You can file a request, if you want.”

“Snickerdoodle.”

“Done.”

“Thank you.” Derek pauses. “For tying my hair.”

Will noses into his neck, drops a kiss there, and then moves back up to his face. “Of course, Der.” He turns him a little, cups his face in one hand. Derek still looks gray, and he looks, God, he looks so tired ; he always does when he’s like this, but it pains Will every time.

He wants to take every ounce of hurt away from him.

“What can I do?” he asks.

Derek takes a long breath while he thinks about it. His words, on these days, come slowly. “Um.” He nods to himself, like he’s thinking about it. “Do you have homework?”

Will shakes his head. “I have plenty of time to do it.”

“Okay.” Derek pauses, then, “Lay with me?”

“Yeah.” Will nods. “Ayuh. Of course.”

They wind up curled into the blanket pile, with Derek pressed tight against Will’s chest, a little further down the bed than him so he can tuck his face into his shoulder. Will presses a kiss to the top of his scarf, holds him as close as he can. He knows the pressure helps him, eases his brain a little. Cromwell rests on the pillow, somewhere near the both of them. He’s a little extra moral support.

“Thank you, Will,” Derek says, with an exhale, as he nuzzles into his chest.

“You’re welcome,” Will replies. “Always.”

“Mmf.” Derek wraps himself around him, arms and legs and all. His voice is muffled when he speaks again, but Will knows the words anywhere. “You and me.”

Will nods. “You and me.”

It’s a mantra and a promise. Hell or high water. Good days and gray ones.

“I’ve got you,” he tells him, and he’ll never let go.

#poindextears writes #ficlet #omgcp #omgcheckplease #omgcp fic #nurseydex #dexnursey #william poindexter #derek nurse #cromwell the stuffed lobster

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Banner Ch43: What’s In A Name?

Intro: Katie progresses through her pregnancy and as her due date looms, they get down to the task of picking a name. Easier said than done...

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut! (NSFW) No under 18s. Teeth rotting fluff…seriously!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist 

October 2019

Katie was adamant that whoever said pregnancy was an enjoyable time was a lying fucker. Her morning sickness was horrendous, only it wasn’t just morning sickness. As Dr Kellet had warned, it was 24 hour fucking sickness. And to top it off, whilst she had already found out certain smells made her heave, both Steve’s aftershave and his shower gel were amongst two of them.

Steve took it upon himself, as with anything, to do as much research as he possibly could, reading articles galore on the internet. It was in one of these that he stumbled across a suggestion that lemon and ginger tea could help with queasiness. He had immediately headed to the store and come back with about 20 boxes off the stuff, much to Emmy’s amusement, and he tried not to hover or fuss too much over Katie, he really, really did. Katie knew he found this hard, as he was so excited and worried, both for her and the baby, not entirely certain how to navigate this new situation – and he wasn’t the only one. Every day Katie had to remember to herself that she couldn’t drink this, couldn’t eat that, shouldn’t do this. Pepper had told her it would be strange, that she would feel like her body wasn’t her own anymore. It was frustrating, and she found herself in a constant state of irritation, questioning to herself why either of them had thought getting pregnant would be a good idea. But then she would think back to how heartbroken and devastated the pair of them had been when they had been robbed of their chance to be parents almost 18 months prior and all that frustration vanished.

Fourteen weeks in and she was still felling like crap. She lay in bed, trying to go back to sleep but the horrible feeling spread into her throat and she clamped her hand over her mouth, pushing back the covers. Steve watched as she dashed into the en-suite, dropped to her knees and puked into the toilet, groaning. Steve climbed out of bed and followed her, crouching besides her as she heaved and heaved again, gently holding her hair back out of the way, rubbing her back. Eventually she let out a sigh and slumped to sit on the floor looking up at him as he smoothed her hair back behind her ears.

“I don’t think I like being pregnant” she mumbled and he chuckled slightly.

“Oh doll” he sighed, his hand still on her face “Can I get you anything?” “Some water, please.”

He dropped a kiss to her head and stood up, heading out of the bathroom. When Katie was sure she was done being sick for the time being she stood up, washed her face and cleaned her teeth, glancing at her reflection. Some pitiful woman with a bright red face looked back at her and she rolled her eyes. If this was glowing then fuck that.

Steve came back a minute or so later with a bottle of water which he held out. She took it off him with a thanks and then headed back into the bedroom. Draining half the bottle she set it down on the dresser and pulled out some fresh underwear, pulling off Steve’s T-shirt as she went. Steve watched her for a second, and then as she fastened her bra she turned to grab a top from the drawer and he felt his eyes widen as he noticed for the first time the slight swell in her stomach. Katie felt her eyes on him and she turned to look at him.

“Just boobs Steve.”she said, sniggering “They’re gonna get bigger.” “Sweetheart it’s not that, you’re…” he swallowed “You’re showing.”

Katie glanced down and was raised her eyebrows before she moved over to where the full length mirror. Up until then she’d simply been putting on a bit of weight, finally giving in the week before when she couldn’t fasten her jeans up anymore, but it was nothing of major note. But now, almost as if it had appeared overnight, there was a slight curve sticking out between her pelvis bones. Not huge, but still there.

“I err…” she looked at Steve, smiling softly “Yeah, guess I am.”

“Stay right there!“ he dived onto the bed and picked up his phone which was charging on his nightstand

“Steve!” she laughed as he took a snap, knowing full well that there would likely be a sketch in his book of the photo later in the day. “Did you get my face in that?”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter because one is ever going to see you like this besides me.” He grinned back as he tossed his phone onto the bed as he stood up, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his hands coming to rest on her small bump.

“I love you, more than you can ever know.” He nuzzled at her neck as she pressed her back to his bare chest. He rest his chin on her shoulder and looked at her in the mirror and then their moment was ruined as the feeling rose in Katie’s throat again and she shifted, pushing him out of the way before running and vomiting once more into the toilet. Steve followed her again, handing her the bottle of water. She took a large gulp and thankfully it seemed to quell the last lingering queasiness she was feeling for the time being and she let out a sigh as she looked at him.

“You did this.” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I know, and I’d like to say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”  he said with a sheepish grin.

“Hmmmm” she shook her head as he helped her to her feet. “You will be in five months or so when he or she is giving you as much grief as they’re giving me now.” “Well then I give you full permission to say I told you so.” He smiled. “Do you want any breakfast?” “God no.” she shook her head.

“You have to eat.” he frowned

“I know but not at half seven am when I’ve just puked my guts up” she said, placating him  “I’ll eat in a little while, I promise, once we’ve sorted Emmy out for school.” “I’ll hold you to that.” He said, patting her ass.

The other downside to being pregnant was the tiredness. And she felt exhausted all the time. So, Steve wasn’t surprised to find her flaked out on the bed, Lucky by her side, when he returned later that afternoon after collecting Emmy. They’d detoured to the store on their way home as they’d run out of peanut butter- Katie’s craving- as she would sit there eating the stuff out of the jar with a spoon. Whilst in Target, Emmy’s new favourite place on the planet, the girl had gone wandering off nearly giving Steve a heart attack until he found her in the clothes section, grinning at a maternity t-shirt. It was light yellow with a digger on the front, and the words “Under Construction” over the top. They’d both laughed until tears were rolling down their faces and had thrown it in the trolley. 

He’d left Katie asleep for as long as he could, until it was almost six pm and he knew she’d have trouble sleeping later on so as Emmy headed down to the lab to meet Bruce about some science project she was working, with the promise that as it was Friday they could get take-out, he headed into their bedroom and gently lay down next to her, giving her a soft kiss.

“Baby.” he gently bumped his nose against hers “I’m sorry but it’s almost six…” She cracked open one eye with a groan and glanced at Steve, his face was inches from hers as he lay on the pillow. Over the last four weeks or so, the unfortunate implication of her being tired constantly was that their sex life wasn’t exactly thriving and Katie hated that. It had always been such an important part to their relationship, how they lost themselves with one another but frankly, on most occasions recently, it was the thing furthest from her mind. The first time she’d pushed Steve away a fortnight ago his face had literally looked like she’d slapped him until she’d tearfully explained she was tired and cranky and her boobs hurt and, well, just and. He’d simply sighed and pulled her to him, and since then hadn’t moaned or pestered or made any move on her whatsoever. He understood, even if he did feel a little inadequate so to speak, but had been nothing but the perfect gentleman, doting husband and she couldn’t love him more for that.

But now there was a familiar feeling spreading between her legs that she was fucking happy to welcome back and she squirmed slightly as he tucked her hair behind her ears as he was totally oblivious as usual.

“I said we’d sit with Nat tonight and get take-out. That ok?” he looked at her.

“Sounds good, but, there’s something else I want first.”

“What?” he frowned, before he realised what she was insinuating as her hand drifted to the waistband of his jeans. “Ohhh.” he grinned as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto his lips. “Are we finally at the point of pregnancy where you’re supposed to be insatiable?” he asked as she undid the buckle of his belt.

She shrugged as he rolled her onto her back gently, his mouth dropping to her neck as she let out a soft groan, his hand creeping crept up her top before he paused.

“How are the boobs today?” he gave a smirk and she laughed as he pulled her top off.

“Tender, be gentle.” she said as his eyes greedily drank her in before his lips returned back to hers, the contact breaking only when she grabbed at his dark blue henley, suddenly desperate to feel his skin on hers. He let her pull it over his head, lips back together as soon as it was off and his hand gently moved downwards and into the top of her leggings, finding her spot. Her hips bucked violently at his touch and he looked at her, arching an eyebrow at how responsive she was being.

“Shit.” she said, “Fuck that’s sensitive.”

“Easy, baby.” he chuckled, his mouth soft on her neck as she groaned, enjoying the feeling of his hand working at her. When she couldn’t take it anymore she sat up slightly, undoing the button on his jeans and pushing them down his thighs before he shrugged himself free of them, and his boxers as Katie shucked off the bottom half of her clothing, before she pushed on his shoulders gently and he obliged, laying back so she could straddle him. As she took him in they both groaned slightly, his hips flexing upwards as she pushed down. Katie found a slow, steady rhythm that felt good, riding him softly as he met her movements thrust for thrust, hands on either side of her hips.

Now, Steve wasn’t exactly a prude in bed. Years of being with Katie had put paid to that but if he was honest his favourite position was still missionary. He liked the way it felt, the fact that he was the one doing the work and unravelling her underneath him, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy it any other way. He did. A lot. And as he looked up at her seeing her slightly distended belly, her swollen breasts protruding over the top of her bra and the other changes in her body thanks to the fact she was growing his baby, it all lit a fire in his belly every single fucking time he looked at her, well, frankly her on top now, watching her, it felt incredible.

“God you’re beautiful.” he muttered as he sat up, pressing his lips to hers as she groaned at the change of angle, grinding down against him harder “I love you so fucking much.” “I love you too.”she panted, her nose rubbing against his as he pushed up harder, making her cry out. “Fuck Katie.” he whimpered a little as she continued to roll her hips groaning loudly once more as the heat began to rise in her belly. He read the signals right, as he always did, pulling her down onto him harder, again and again.

“Stevie, I’m gonna…” and then she let out a soft cry, throwing her head back as she came undone, her hands tightening on his shoulders as he held her close, guiding her through her orgasm as he thrust upwards a few more times before following her right over the edge as she collapsed forward, her head lolling against his shoulder. It hadn’t been long, little over ten minutes if that, but it had felt amazing and as she sat still on his lap, his hands gently tracing up her back, she realised she’d never felt so cherished and loved in her life.  

**** December 2019

As Katie’s bump grew bigger, so did Steve’s protectiveness. The urge to keep his unborn child and his wife safe was coursing through his veins like molten lava. They’d already discussed moving from the Compound, and as such had put an offer in on a house in Brooklyn, which they were waiting to hear back from the realtor about. Emmy and Natasha thought the whole thing was hilarious, watching the normally composed and stoic soldier running around like a small child, and Katie did to a point, but as the weeks went on she started to get a little frustrated.

Natasha had reminded her she should be grateful he was so interested, as a lot of women didn’t have the help she did. And Katie knew that, she really did, but that didn’t stop her feeling slightly suffocated at the way he didn’t want her to go out alone, or drive, or clean, or basically do anything, and it all came to a head after twenty four weeks on the evening before their second sexing scan. They’d had one a few weeks before and Baby Rogers was not playing ball and lying in the most awkward position possible, so they’d been unable to tell what they were having. As such, they’d booked another to see if this time the little monster would be more co-operative. Steve was like a kid on Christmas eve, restless, eager to find out whether he was getting a son or a daughter, which didn’t help the situation as his incessant need to be doing something was driving Katie insane so she’d retreated to the bedroom which was where Steve found her now, pulling the sheets off the bed when Steve found her. He crossed his arms and frowned.

“What are you doing?“

“Rowing the Atlantic.” she looked at him, as he rolled her eyes at her sarcasm “What does it look like?”

“I can do that.” “Steve!” she groaned exasperatedly “You’re driving me insane! I’m pregnant not injured, I’m perfectly capable of changing the fucking sheets on our fucking bed!”

Steve recoiled instantly and stood looking at her, not sure what to do. He’d pushed her too far, he could see that. He swallowed as she looked up at him, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“I just…” he stuttered, running his hands through his hair. “I want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

His face wore the expression of a puppy dog she’d just booted across the floor and she sighed, running her hand over her face and moved to give him a hug “I know and I shouldn’t have snapped, that was uncalled for.” “I’m going overboard aren’t I?” he asked, dropping a soft kiss to her head. “I know you mean well, I really do, but I’m capable of walking around and doing stuff on my own.” she leaned back to look at him. “And I adore the fact that you want to care for me I really do but-” she stopped dead as she felt something flutter inside her belly. She laid her hand on her bump and there it was again, like butterflies but stronger. She had never felt it before, Dr Kellet saying it wasn’t unusual for a first time pregnancy not to feel the baby quickening until nearer twenty-five weeks but she had definitely felt that.

“Oh my God.” She whispered, looking down and then back up at him.

“What is it?” he frowned, looking at her, concern across every line of his face.

“The baby, it’s moving.” she smiled at him.

Steve felt his eyes widen before he grinned and dropped to his knees, letting her position his eager hands on her body. For the longest moment he held his breath, waiting.

"Sweetheart, it was barely more than a flutter, I’ve never felt it before so I doubt you will be able to feel anything yet.” Katie looked down at him.

He looked crestfallen and began to move his hands away but she stopped him.

“Talk to them, he or she might be able to hear you now.”

Steve looked up at her “So soon?” “Yeah.” she nodded, encouragingly. “They say between twenty three and wenty seven weeks so give it a try.” Smiling he bent closer, Katie lacing the fingers of her hands through his hair gently as he addressed her stomach.

“Hey, kid” he spoke softly, and his hands shifted up to the side of her bump “How’s it going in there?”

Katie felt another faint stir, deep inside.

“They did it again.” she grinned, and he looked up at her, his eyes shining. “They know your voice, Daddy.”

Steve stayed on his knees, watching her for a second, the utter love he felt for this woman and the baby she was cooking scared him at times. It consumed him like nothing he had ever known before. He often wondered how he was going to fare as a father, never having known his own and Katie had softly confessed one night she was just as scared as she had never known her parents properly either. But Steve had known his mom, Katie had Tony to look up to and they’d both coped ok with Emmy for almost a year now so they’d figure it out together.

“You think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asked, looking up at Katie from where he was knelt, his hands sliding up the outside of her thighs.

She paused, considering. “Truthfully, I haven’t a clue. What about you?

Steve got up "No idea,” he admitted, “And I don’t particularly care” He ducked his head to give her a soft kiss.”

“I’m leaning towards a boy though.” Katie smiled.

“Yeah, why’s that then?” “Just a hunch.” she grinned, cheekily “Because it’s an awkward little shit just like its dad.” *****

A face swim into focus - streaked with static, but undeniably a face - a perfect little profile with a forehead and nose and chin. The little thing on the screen suddenly moved, turning its head and pulling one hand up beside its face.

Steve’s hand curled round Katie’s as the pair of them glanced at the screen, both of them immersed at their little world, right there, completely unaware of how much it was already loved. It had been four weeks since they had seen it last and it seemed so much more clear even as little as twenty eight days further on.  

“Everything is perfect!” Dr Kellet was talking. “And, I’m happy to say Baby is in a much more cooperative mood so I can tell you what it is this time.”

Steve looked at Katie, his eyes bright and they both nodded eagerly.

“Congratulations, Mom and Dad,” she announced, smiling. “It’s a boy”

“A boy.” Steve whispered, and Katie smiled as her raised her hand to press a kiss against her knuckles. She turned to look at him, his eyes were shining.

“This is real?” he suddenly demanded. “This - our baby - it is a he?”

Katie bit back the laugh at Steve’s astonished face. Dr Kellet smiled at Steve’s reaction and nodded reassuringly. “That’s your son.”

“You’re sure?” he asked for what felt like the thousandth time as they walked back to the car. “I mean, are those things accurate?”

Katie laughed, “Steve!”

“I know, I know.” he shook his head, still not quite able to believe it as he unlocked the car. Katie settled in the passenger seat as he climbed in next to her, and she glanced down at the image on the scan photo in her hands. “A son.” Steve smiled, looking out of the front window of the car. “We’re gonna have a boy.”

“Are you going to keep smiling like that all day?” she asked him.

“Probably.” Steve nodded, not an air of shame in his tone as he turned to face her. In all honestly he hadn’t cared what their baby was going to be, but as soon as they’d found out it was a boy he suddenly had visions of all the sorts of activities they could do together. Play fighting, baseball, football…not that he couldn’t do any of those with a girl but, well, it was his boy. A boy that would keep the Rogers name going once he was no longer there…

“Hey, now we can start thinking of names!” Katie grinned as he started the car up.

“Yeah.” He smiled, pulling out of the space “You had any ideas.” “Just one for a boy.”  Katie replied as he swung the car onto the main road.  She bit her lip, not sure how this was going to go down. “I thought about James.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed slightly. “After Bucky?” His voice was soft.

Katie nodded “That’s one person, yeah.”

Steve took a deep breath. If he was honest he’d had the same thought but he wasn’t completely sure about it. He didn’t want their kid named after Bucky because Katie simply thought it was what he wanted. He wanted it to be for the right reasons. Besides, it wasn’t like Bucky ever went by that name anyway. He shook his head and turned to look at Katie for a second.

“I’m not sure I could call a kid James. He went by Bucky after all.”

“I like it” Katie shrugged. “Plus, there are other nicknames for James, you know like Jim or Jamie.” "Jim?” he snorted, looking at her “He’s not an old man.” “No but his dad is.” she replied, playfully.

**** It was a week after Christmas when Steve finally got to feel his baby moving. They’d finally taken possession of the keys for the house in Brooklyn and after a long day of packing things into boxes, Katie had headed to the bedroom, jar of peanut butter and spoon in hand. Their son had been doing flips and kicking like a trooper all day, and she was exhausted.

Steve and Emmy stayed up to watch a film before calling it a night and after making sure Emmy was settled, Lucky assuming his place at the base of her bed, he climbed under the covers behind his wife, his hand straying to her bump as he hooked an arm round her, his thumb gently stroking to and fro when Katie rolled onto her back, looking up at him, biting her lip. Suddenly she wasn’t tired anymore and was craving the other thing she seemed to be constantly after which wasn’t peanut butter. And Steve was more than happy to comply.

“You are terrible.” he muttered with a grin, giving her a hard kiss and she squirmed as his hand touched her hip. She was extra sensitive to any touch he gave her at the moment, and he knew it. Grinning, he shuffled down slightly and she bit back a smile as he rest his forehead against her rounded abdomen.

“Hey son.” he cajoled. “Your mom says you’ve been pretty active all day today so how about a bit of something for your old man?”

And then Katie felt the jab, which was far stronger than anything she’d felt before, as their son really did give a kick or an elbow, whichever it was it had been harsh! Steve stilled as he thought he had felt something, but wasn’t sure. Quickly he looked up, holding the covers so that they were peaked around his head and he glanced up at Katie who nodded at him. He bowed his head once more against her stomach, hands resting either side as he felt their baby again. He took a shaky breath, simply staying there as Katie laced her fingers into his hair as their son continued to wriggle, Steve’s hand following every movement before they died down. It was incredible, and he couldn’t help but feel utterly in awe at the life growing inside his girl.

Fuck, she was incredible, being able to make that.

Eventually, after a moment or so of nothing Steve pressed a soft kiss to the side of her bump.

“I gotta help your mom out with something now so…” he looked up at Katie, grinning cheekily, before his head made its way further downwards and soon it was another feeling he was cherishing altogether.

"You know, betcha he’s gonna be super smart, like Tony or Banner smart” Steve said later that night as they lay together, her back pressed to his chest again. She couldn’t lie in her preferred position with her head on her chest anymore as her bump made it uncomfortable but if he was honest he preferred this way, he could simply rest his hand right over his son and stay there all night.

“Well he will be half Stark.” Katie mused as she lay her hand on top of Steve’s, her fingers skating over his wedding ring. “But I hope he looks just like you.”

Steve smiled and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, closing his eyes.

“You know, we really should try and make a bit more progress on the whole name front.” Katie sighed. "I still think we should call him James,”

Steve shook his head, eyes still closed.

“All right, then let’s name him after one of the other Commandos.” Katie said, turning her head to look at him.

Steve considered the matter for a second and then frowned. He cracked open an eye and gave his wife a dirty look as she started laughing. He had told her once that it had been a well-worn joke that all but three – him, Gabe, and Timothy - were named some variant of the name James.

“I assume you’re not suggesting we name him Gabriel,” he deadpanned, setting her off into another laugh.

“Emmy had a suggestion before.” Katie said, biting her lip. “Yeah?” “Horatio.” “What the...where the hell did she get that from?” Steve began as Katie threw her head back and laughed.

“I’ve no idea, but she couldn’t keep a straight face when she said it.” Katie said, before he pondered something “What about Joseph after your dad?”

“Joe...” Steve tried the name out before he grimaced and shook his head. “Joe DiMaggio played for the Yankees.“

“I’ll file that under the long list of no’s then.” Katie sighed, rolling her eyes.

******

February 2020

They moved into their house at the end of January. It wasn’t far from the place they had looked at a few years back, and was fairly similar. A large, L-shaped, red brick detached, in a quiet area with sprawling gardens, enough rooms to house an army and a pool area which sported bi-folding doors that completely retracted to reveal an enormous outside space complete with hot tub, dining area and a well-manicured garden.

It was perfect and even Tony failed to find anything to pick fault with. Being in the position they were in, they decided to get everything ready before they moved in fully. To be fair there wasn’t much to do bar a bit of decorating. They had someone come and do most of it, hiring the interior designer that had done the compound, but Steve was adamant he wanted to do the baby’s room himself, and Katie wasn’t going to deny him of that.

Steve barred her from the room, allowing no one in but Emmy who was helping him with the painting. She’d helped him pick the colours and all Katie was allowed to do was select the furniture much to her grumblings.

“She’s gonna love it.” Emmy said, looking around at the finished room. Steve dropped an arm round the girl’s shoulder.

“I hope so kiddo.” he said.

“Can we show her now?” Steve smiled, excitement flooding his system “Yeah, let’s do it.”

The two of them wandered out onto the landing and Steve called his wife. She came out of their room where she had been arranging throw cushions on their bed for the 1000th time that day, her nesting instinct kicking in.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“We wanna show you the baby’s room!” Emmy grinned. Katie’s face split into a grin and Steve leaned down to give her a soft kiss when she hissed as their son gave her an almighty boot in the ribs.

“Shit!” she hissed, rubbing at her side. “He kicked me then, really hard. That hurt!”

“Language!” Steve said grinning as he placed his hand on her stomach, gently feeling before he grinned and went to kiss her again, and she received another boot

“You know, I don’t think he likes you kissing me…” she pushed Steve away. “Listen, buddy.” he leaned down so his head was level with her bump. “We need to lay down some ground rules because in a month or so, you’re gonna be here demanding all your mom’s attention, but until then, she’s 100% mine, you got that?”

Emmy cackled out a laugh “Yeah you tell him Steve-o.” “Let’s hope he pays more attention to me than you do!” he shot the 12 year old a look and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah yeah, come on, I wanna show mom what we did.” The use of the word didn’t pass Katie by. Her eyes widened a little and she looked at Steve whose mouth had dropped open, but he hastily shut it, as Katie rearranged her face swiftly. They hadn’t even talked about what they would do if Emmy started calling them mom or dad, it hadn’t entered their minds. But it was too late, the young girl had spotted their faces and stood, frowning at them.

“What? Did I just say something that-” and then her eyes widened “Oh, I’m…sorry, it just, well, slipped out, I mean…”

Before she could say anything else Steve pulled her into a hug and shook his head “You know we love you like you’re our own.” “And if you feel the same then that’s fine by us, it’s more than fine.” Katie smiled.

Emmy sniffed a little and wiped away the tears that had sprung from her eyes and to save her any more embarrassment Steve nodded at the door to the room. “Do the honours then.” before he stood behind Katie gently placing his hands over her eyes. Emmy pushed the door open as Steve stepped forward, gently steering Katie into the room.

“Steve, I’m gonna fall.” she laughed, “My centre of gravity is way off on account of me being as big as a hippo.”

“I won’t let you fall, what you take me for?” he chuckled as the smell of fresh paint hit her nostrils.

“Ready?” Emmy asked, excitedly, looking at Steve who winked at him, his own exhilaration was radiating off him and Katie could feel it. She nodded and Steve moved his hands, so she could look round the room. It was a pale blue colour on all four walls, but on the third where the crib nestled it was slightly darker, and sported a quote painted in elegant darker blue letters that she recognised instantly as being from Peter Pan, one of Steve’s favourite childhood books: “Second star on the right and straight on ‘til morning.”  The same wall was also decorated with rows of silver and white stars. The gloss woodwork in the room was fresh and white, and the furniture was also assembled- a small wardrobe, dresser with drawers, crib, a changing unit and a rocking chair and she noticed Steve had stained the wood on the top of the changing unit a dark blue colour too, something she would never have thought to do. The entire room was an ode to the artist in him.

“Do you like it?” Steve asked after giving her enough time to take it all in. She turned to him and shook her head, and Steve felt his heart sink.

“No.” she whispered.

“You don’t?” Emmy asked, exchanging a look with Steve who’s face fell and Katie bit her lip and looked at him

“I love it.”

“Don’t do that!” he rolled his eyes as his hands locked behind her back whilst Emmy cackled.

“Honestly,” Katie said, looking round as she stood in his arms, “guys it’s amazing.”

“You’re amazing.” he said, glancing down at the bump which was now between them “Growing him in there.” “I’m also hungry.” she smiled, apologetically, and Steve laughed.

“Subs?” he asked.

His girls nodded and he looked at Emmy frowning “Chicken and bacon ranch…extra tomato” He knew she hated tomato but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease her.

She rolled her eyes, “You’re such a doofus dad…”

Dad.

Steve felt his voice catch, thick with emotion as he coughed to clear his throat “Oh, yeah, its extra cucumber, and…” he looked at Katie “Same?”

She nodded. “With cheese. And extra pickle.”

He kissed the side of Katie’s head before he left the room.

“I did the stars.” Emmy smiled, as her arm slid round Katie’s waist as they both looked round the room again “Dad did the stencil and showed me how to do it.”

Katie dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s fantastic.”

“I can’t believe he’s gonna be here in like seven weeks.” Emmy said, turning to look at Katie’s stomach when the pair of them jumped slightly as there was a rumble of thunder from outside. Katie glanced out of the window, frowning. It wasn’t the right time of year for storms but then again, since Thanos the entire weather front was still fucked up.

Downstairs, Steve was shrugging his jacket on, ready to head out to the sandwich shop. His head was still whirling from the fact Emmy had just called the pair of them mom and dad, but whirling in a good way. They’d come so far with the girl, it hadn’t been all plain sailing but she as a good kid and had settled well, even more so after they had assured her she was going nowhere when the baby was born. Smiling to himself, he pulled the heavy door open, the bottom catching slightly. He made a mental note to plane it down a little, and then he looked up colliding with something, the force of which bounced him back into the hall slightly. He looked up immediately, and felt his face drop into a look of shock as he saw the man standing in front of him.

“Thor.” he said, taking in his appearance. His hair was now shoulder length again, how it had been when they had first met him. His beard was back and slightly longer and Tony had been right, he was sporting the first signs of a beer belly. But he was clean and his eyes were bright, a great improvement on last time. “I err,” he looked nervously at Steve, “I came to see you and Little Stark…Natasha said you would be here so…” “Yeah, come in.” he said, stepping back. Thor stepped over the threshold and looked around appraisingly before he turned to Steve “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did…” Steve took the God’s hand and shook it “Look, we all say stuff we don’t mean in the heat of an argument, and it’s good of you to come.”

He shut the door and walked a little further into the hallway, gesturing for Thor to follow him.

“Honey!” he called up the stairs “We have a visitor.”

Katie appeared at the top of the stairs, Emmy in tow and she stopped as she looked down at the two men.

“Little Stark.” Thor looked up at her, the fingers of his left hand playing with the ones on his right nervously. “You’re not so little I see. Nice err, bump.”

“Hey Thunder God.” Katie said softly, making her way down the stairs. She glanced at Steve who was tactful enough to understand what she was suggesting, this was going to be a moment the two once close friends shared on their own.

“I’m just off out to fetch lunch.” Steve clapped Thor on the shoulder, “Can I get you anything?” “Tuna melt, extra pickle and chipotle sauce?” Katie asked, looking at Thor and he smiled, nodding.

“You got it. Emmy?” Steve jerked his head towards the door “Wanna come with me?” Emmy frowned “No.” “Let me rephrase that, you’re coming with me.”

She rolled her eyes “But-“ “No buts.” Steve opened the door and gestured out of it with his hand “Mush”

“Fine.” she grumbled “But I want a big slice of cake now too.” Steve shut the door behind them, Katie could hear the vague sounds of their arguing as they walked towards the car and Thor turned to her, puzzled.

“Oh, erm, she’s our foster daughter.” she supplied “You remember Emmy from the Christmas Party you came to? That’s her.”

Thor smiled “Your compassion never ceases to amaze me Little Stark.” he sighed.

“Come on.” she smiled, heading to the kitchen as he followed. She opened the fridge and he selected a beer before he looked at her as she opened it using the bottle opener set into the counter. He took a large drain from the bottle and glanced over at Katie who watched him carefully.

“So, I owe you an apology.” Thor said, awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that Katie thought was very Steve like, “I should not have talked to you the way I did last year, it was unforgivable…” “Yeah, well, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have punched you.” she offered.

“it was a good punch.” He mused, his hand touching his nose

“Almost broke my hand.” she smiled at him “So, shall we call it quits?” “I would like that.” Thor grinned and she stepped into his arms, allowing him to hug her

“You’re positively blooming.” he looked down as he released her. “May I?”

“Go ahead.” she grinned as Thor lightly placed the hand that wasn’t holding his bottle on her belly. Obligingly, her unborn son gave an almighty boot and Thor beamed up at her.

“Wow.” “Yeah, he’s a kicker.” “He?” Thor asked

“Yeah, it’s a boy.” Katie smiled “Wanna come see his nursery?” “I would very much like that, yes!”

And just like that, it was as if the last seven months hadn’t happened. In the end Katie gave Thor a complete tour and he looked round our house eagerly before Steve and Emmy returned with their food. The four of them ate in the kitchen, Thor patiently answering all of Emmy’s questions whilst filling Katie and Steve in on what was happening in New Asgard. Both of them were pleased to learn that he had been at the chair of the Elders now for 6 months, and they were currently underway with building a school. It was nice to see him so focussed again.

Eventually he announced it was time for him to go but before he did he grabbed his Axe from by the door. “Please, before I leave, I have a gift.” he nodded before he muttered something. There was a loud crack, which made them all jump and Thor grinned as he placed the item he was holding down on the floor. It was a beautiful pale yellow and white blanket, made from soft wool. Steve and Katie exchanged a glance as Katie took it, running her hands over the soft fabric.

“Thor its beautiful.” she whispered, looking at him.

“It has been made by the seamstresses in New Asgard.” He smiled “And I have worked every line of protection I know into the fabric. Your son will be safe while he sleeps.” Katie looked up at the God tears in her eyes before she hugged him once more “Thank you.”

*****

March 2020.

They were now into the last month of them being a family of three. And there was a huge elephant in the room, the fact that Baby Rogers still didn’t have a name.

Steve had been called away on business for a week again at the end of February, and had returned a few days ago, telling Rhodey he was done for the time being as the Doctors had said their baby was basically at full term size now and could arrive imminently, something that he knew was making his wife even more anxious that they hadn’t picked a name. But it was so damned hard, harder than anything he had thought about before. Every name each of them suggested the other had a reason not to use, and Katie kept coming back to the name James. Steve liked it too - he just thought it was unfair to Katie to name their child after his best friend.

But she wasn’t giving up so easily. She had one last card to play.

“You know, you were named after your Grandfather, weren’t you?” she asked one evening as she sat cross legged on the bed, eating from a jar of peanut butter.  “Let’s name him after mine, my mom’s dad. He was great.”

Steve aimed a doubtful eye at her as he walked out of the en-suite, "Please tell me his name wasn’t Horatio” he begged.

Katie laughed, biting her lip “No, it was Jim…”

Steve threw his hands up in exasperation, shaking his head as Katie continued to chuckle. He sighed, he was beat.

"You really like the name James?” he asked, dropping onto the bed and moved so he was led on his side behind her.

She nodded and suddenly felt a huge kick in her side.

“Ow!” she rubbed her palm across her large, rounded stomach, feeling her son’s strong kick.

Steve grinned, propped himself up on his right elbow and curled his left arm around his wife, hand resting on her bump, relishing the feel of their baby moving.

“I think he does too.” she smiled softly as she looked down at Steve. “Why are you so set against it?” “I’m not.” he sighed. “I just don’t want you naming him after Bucky just because of what he meant to me, and I’m still not sure I can call a baby James.”

“James is a nice, strong name for a little boy.” she shrugged, continuing before he could protest “Baby, let’s not forget Bucky saved my life, if it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And, if it makes you feel any better I want his middle name to be after someone who means the world to me.” she smiled, looking at him “Anthony.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly at the middle name before he smiled as their baby gave another huge kick.

“See?” Katie grinned as he looked down at her belly, his hand resting gently against his son who was now kicking with all his might and she knew from the look on his face that even before he was born their son had won Steve over.

“James Anthony Rogers.” Steve said, softly. It was a great way to honour both their bothers, but he couldn’t help but feel there was someone else deserving of it too. He looked up at Katie, cocking his head slightly to the right. “Could he have a third name?”

Katie frowned slightly. Neither Tony, her, or Steve for that matter, had a third name, but if Steve wanted to, then…

“What you thinking?” she asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer. He looked away from her for a moment and then cast his eyes to the framed photo on the wall in their bedroom, a photo taken at their wedding, the faces of all their friends and family beaming back at him. He looked back up at her and gave a little smile. “Samuel.”

Even though she had known it was coming, her eyes filled with tears- damned pregnancy hormones- as she looked at him, the memory of their lost friends springing into my mind. “James Anthony Samuel Rogers.” she whispered. “Jamie for short?”

The last part was a question more than anything but she knew he was on board when he beamed at her, tears of his own forming in his eyes as he leaned up to kiss her. “Perfect.”

Tags

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@marvelfansworld​

@cobalt-gear​

@asgardlover75​

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#stark spangled banner #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #captain america #tony stark #iron man #thor #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction #fanfic #fancfiction

[albapuella]

How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure (Chapter Two)

AO3

Fandom: Homestuck

Summary: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days AU Dave needs to win a bet; Karkat needs to write an article. Shenanigans ensue.

Tags: Humanstuck, alternate universe - no sburb session, POV switches galore, implied/referenced child abuse Author’s note: This story is the result of a jam session I did with aceAdoxography on the davekat thirst federation discord server. This one's a little out of my usual wheelhouse, but I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. New chapters every Saturday/Sunday. Didn’t bother with the formatting this time: You want the fancy formatting, go to AO3 :D

Day 1:

Despite his slacker appearance (and life-style, to be honest), Dave was always punctual. He'd even made an effort to look the part of a guy going on a date with another guy: jeans with only a few holes at the knees, his favorite record shirt, and a red hoodie—all freshly cleaned. So freshly cleaned that the sweater was still very slightly damp. Well, whatever, it'd be fine. They were having dinner first, and that meant he'd have plenty of time for the thing to dry out before they went to the movies where the main thrust of Dave's doki-doki plan would commence.

Karkat arrived a few minutes later. He wasn't dressed to the nines, but it was at least to the sevens. It occurred to Dave, as he watched him approach, that he hadn't known how tall Karkat was. The answer was slightly shorter than Dave but with a more solid build. Stocky. Or maybe that was just the black sweater he was wearing. Then again, his legs looked pretty solid in the black pants he was wearing, too. Either way, he looked good.

Dave gave him an appreciative whistle which made Karkat's eyes narrow. Not the reaction he'd wanted. “Looking good, Karkat,” he said quickly, hoping to smooth over any feathers he might have inadvertently ruffled. “I'm digging the whole sexy college professor thing you've got going.”

“Uh, thanks,” Karkat said with evident disbelief. “You, uh, you look good, too.” He straightened up. “You said we were doing dinner first.”

“Yep.” Dave held out his arm. “I’m taking you to my favorite place. A lot of people think it’s wack, but I’m buying, so if you really don’t like it, at least it didn’t cost you anything.” When his date didn't immediately take his offered arm, he shook it invitingly. “It's not too far from here.”

Karkat looked from Dave's arm to Dave, suspicious. Then he sighed and laid his hand on Dave's arm, his hold tighter than Dave had expected it to be considering his earlier hesitation. “Okay. Fine. Sounds great. Let's go.”

---

The first thing Karkat noticed when he took Dave's arm was that his sleeve was damp. Then he noticed the feeling of the arm beneath his fingers. Despite looking thin enough to break, there was some muscle here. As they walked to what was apparently Dave’s favorite restaurant, Dave just kept talking. If Karkat had been offered a thousand dollars, he doubted he could have remembered any specific details of the inanity he'd been subjected to. A nervous talker. He'd have to put that down in his notes.

Dinner went much the same. Dave talked at him while Karkat sat there trying to eat his food (overpriced, faux Italian—of all the places Dave could have chosen, he'd picked a fucking Olive Garden? That was going in his notes, too.). In all honesty, Karkat tried not to pay too much attention to what was being said. First, he'd already determined that most of what came out of this man's mouth was completely meaningless nonsense, and second, if he actually listened to any of it, he'd be hard pressed not to respond to the idiocy. While Dave had no evident compunction about swearing, Karkat wanted to get through at least this first date without screaming.

All right, so that was an exaggeration. Some of what Dave said was actually pretty funny. In a hopelessly awkward sort of way. Karkat hated that Dave's clumsy compliments were making him blush. Clearly, the man had brain damage... which also explained the rapping that Dave kept doing (completely unprovoked!). By the time dinner was over, Karkat was only too grateful that their next destination meant that Dave would have to stop talking.

---

Since Dave had picked the restaurant, Karkat had picked the movie. Some romantic comedy chick flick Dave couldn't be bothered to remember the title of. Still, it gave him an opportunity to sit right tight next to Karkat and eat his weight in popped, buttery goodness, so he really couldn't complain.

“What’s the deal with that dude?” Dave whispered. “I thought he was already tight with that other chick. What gives? Is he cheating on her?”

Karkat made a noise like a cat being stepped on but softer. “Dave,” he whispered back, his tone full of the same sing-songy patient impatience that Rose would use when she thought Dave was being particularly dim, “if you were paying attention, you'd already know that that 'dude' is that 'other chick's' cousin. They are probably not romantically involved. I know you're from Texas, but that's not how it works above the Mason Dixon line.” Then he ducked his head and took a long drink from his soda. “Sorry. Just-just watch the movie and be quiet.”

Dave blinked. He'd been starting to think Karkat wasn't going to open up at all. At least, he'd had fuck all to say during dinner. Even if it had been an incest joke at his expense, it still was nice to hear Karkat say something. Something that wasn't just non-committal noises or unenthusiastic agreements. He leaned against Karkat's shoulder to whisper, “It's not true, you know. About Texas. We don't fuck our cousins; I mean, we do, but not first cousins. We're strictly second cousins only. It's a rule. Of course, none of my second cousins are as hot as you, so I'd be willing to make an exception. Just this once.”

This earned him a light elbowing to the gut and a low growl, but Karkat didn't push him off.

By the end of the movie, Dave had gotten five more elbows to the gut, three startled bursts of laughter, two creative insults (quickly joined by muttered apologies), and one “Will you please just let me watch this movie?” Over all, Dave felt like he'd succeeded in charming the hell out of this motherfucker, thank you very much.

They'd walked out into the open air, a nice breeze whisking away the smell of popcorn and sweat from the movie theater. “I had a lot of fun, Karkat. Thanks for coming on this date with me. Do you think we could do this again sometime?”

Karkat blinked at him, a clear look of surprise on his face. “Oh, uh, sure.” He shook his head. “I mean, yes, I'd love to go on another date with you.”

Dave's heart leapt. “Awesome. You can hit me up on Pesterchum. Or I can hit you up. How about I hit you up?”

“Fine, that's... that's fine.” Karkat's smile seemed uneven. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

Although Dave was tempted to try for a kiss, he didn't think he ought to press his luck so far on the first date. Karkat had loosened up some while they'd been in the theater, but out here under the streetlight, he looked nervous again. The last thing Dave wanted to do was chase him away. “Okay then. I guess I'll see you later?”

A slow nod. “Yeah, later.” Karkat was stilted and contained again. Restricted, like a hermit crab stuck in a shell that was too tight. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Dave had caught a few glimpses of the real Karkat tonight, and the sight made him hungry to see more.

Dave watched him walk away, admiring the view with a new goal in mind: he was going to get Karkat Vantas out of his shell if it was the last thing he did. Getting to rub him in Rose’s face at her wedding was only going to be a bonus.

---

* Never shuts up. Not even during movies. Especially during movies. Attention span of a gnat. From Texas. Doesn't know how to use a dryer. Finds me attractive. Probable brain damage. Funny. Charming. Obnoxious. Never takes off sunglasses. Olive Garden.

Karkat sighed and set down his pen. He'd tried his best to be as cordial as he knew how to be, and he still hadn't managed to last for the entire four hours without insulting his date. Multiple times. Oh well. At least Dave was apparently brain damaged enough to find rudeness terribly amusing (if the way he'd kept bugging Karkat during the movie had been any indication).

He'd been surprised when Dave had actually asked if they could go on another date. Karkat knew he hadn't made the best impression, and yet Dave wanted to spend more time with him? He looked over his notes, trying to ignore the surge of happiness that filled him at the thought. It didn't mean anything: Dave was clearly an idiot, and after a few more days, Karkat was going to start on the offensive. Whatever meager promise there would have been in this fledgling romance, it was still doomed from the start: like all of Karkat's relationships.

Day 2:

It was all Dave could do to wait until the next day to pester Karkat. He didn't want to come off as too eager, after all. Didn't want to put Karkat off. But Dave was only so strong.

TG: so i was thinking TG: if youre not busy TG: we could go to the park this afternoon TG: watch the grifters and maybe get robbed TG: or you could come to my place and hang TG: is it too soon to do that? TG: asking for a friend TG: this is dave by the way TG: i dont know how many people youre talking to TG: not that its any of my business TG: i wouldnt want you up in my grill asking me who im talking to CG: IT IS SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING ON SUNDAY. TG: yea and youre up anyway CG: BECAUSE YOU WOKE ME UP. WITH YOUR TEXTS. THAT YOU SENT JUST NOW. TG: oh shit sorry CG: IT'S FINE. I NEEDED TO GET UP ANYWAY. CG: YOU WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME? WHY?

Dave frowned down at his phone. Was Karkat fishing for compliments or was he being serious?

TG: because its fun to hang out with you TG: thats how this works right? TG: i thought we could watch another movie TG: at my place TG: or your place i guess if that works better for you TG: ive got popcorn if that sweetens the deal at all CG: YES. BECAUSE THE WAY TO MY HEART IS MICROWAVED POPCORN. TG: fucking called it CG: … CG: FINE. I'LL MEET YOU AT THE PARK AT 2:30PM. IS THAT ACCEPTABLE? TG: perfect ill meet you by the giant yo CG: YOU MEAN THE OY/YO. TG: tomatoes tomotoes karkat

Dave watched the little “CG is typing” message run for almost a minute, feeling his nervousness grow. What had he said that required a novel length response? He managed to reign in the impulse to apologize preemptively, but it was a struggle.

CG: OKAY. WHATEVER. I'LL MEET YOU THERE.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Fine, good then. Nothing was wrong.

TG: im looking forward to it TG: its not hard to intuit TG: when we come out to debut TG: sit by the yo then well go round TG: downtown get the lowdown TG: before we get busy in the hissie TG: partake of the fizzie cause we got a duty TG: to watch the fuck out of this movie CG: RIGHT. SEE YOU THEN. BYE.

Dave shrugged. He couldn't expect Karkat to really appreciate his off the cuff rhymes so soon after waking up, he supposed. Maybe they'd land better later. Flat reception or not, the important thing was he'd gotten Karkat to agree to come to his apartment. He looked around, frowning. Maybe he should clean up a little.

---

Jesus Fucking Christ. Karkat tossed his phone on the bedside table with a groan. It had been all that he could do not to curse out Dave like there would never be a tomorrow. Considering the fact that he was currently planning to go to the apartment of a practical stranger, that much might just be true for him. He lay in bed a little longer, out of spite mostly—he could never get back to sleep after being woken up—, before getting out from under the covers. First things first: notes.

* Inconsiderate asshole. Horrible rapper. Calls the OY/YO “the YO”. Doesn't know the right way to express “tomatoes, tomahtos”. Wants to spend time with me. Insane. We have that much in common.

Thanks to Dave's wake-up call, Karkat had plenty of time to eat a hearty breakfast and start his article.

“How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure” BY KARKAT VANTAS

Since you have decided to read this article, I will assume that you are looking to learn the art of ruining your relationships without the mess of all that trial and error. Maybe you enjoy breaking hearts. Maybe you are the kind of masochist who enjoys getting their heart broken but is at a loss as to how to properly sabotage your relationship yourself. If you can manage to follow these simple steps, you will be well on your way to the same bitter loneliness that usually only the most unlucky in love get the privilege to experience. 

The first step is the victim. For the purposes of this article, I picked one that is particularly obnoxious and brain dead. You may have different qualities you are looking for in a potential short-term partner. Ultimately, the most important thing to consider when you plan to lose a guy (or gal or enby) is that you make certain they are one you do not mind losing. That way you can start the process without any regrets.

The second step is the hook. Laugh at their dumb jokes; accept their stupid compliments; ignore their mangling of the English language (in my case, his horrible rapping); and generally be as agreeable as you can manage. A severe lack of intelligence in your short-term partner can be a boon here, though you will find most people are not immune to flattery. You need to make certain that you have your short-term partner well and truly interested in you before you attempt to lose them. If you try to lose them too soon, you will miss out on the full relationship ruining experience.

A little too informal, maybe, but a fine start. Depending on how well this afternoon went (assuming he wasn't murdered and stuffed in a closet), maybe Karkat would be able to start on step three. He was able to stomp down his nascent guilt with ease. After all, Dave wouldn't have been interested in him after the novelty wore off anyway.

---

The afternoon was a little warmer than the evening had been, but Dave still wore his hoodie. It felt lucky, and it was still clean. More the latter than the former, but the point stood! He sat down on the bench next to the giant yellow YO installation and waited. While it was tempting to shoot a message to Karkat, he decided against it. He’d be seeing him in less than ten minutes, and he didn’t want him to think he was clingy. Which he wasn’t. Totally not. Dave Strider had never clung his whole life. Ask anyone. Except Jade. Don’t ask her. 

He noticed his leg was bouncing and put a stop to that noise. He was a cool operator. He had this thing on lock. The date yesterday had gone good, right? Karkat wouldn’t have agreed to see him again if he’d had a terrible time. He pushed back his hood and ran a hand through his hair. Nothing to worry about. He’d have a date for Rose’s wedding and continue sorting out the mystery that was Karkat Vantas.

Dave heard the crunch of gravel and looked over to see Karkat approaching. Another sweater combo, but gray this time. The guy had a style he preferred, clearly. It was fine: he looked great. He stood and closed the distance between them. “Hey, Karkat.”

“Hey,” Karkat returned, frowning. Of course, that seemed to be his default expression. “I brought a movie to watch,” he said gruffly. 

Although Dave had been hoping he’d be able to pick the movie this time, he wasn’t too cut up about it. It might be a little early in the relationship to bring out The Room anyway. He wouldn’t know. “Sounds great. My place isn’t too far from here.” He held his arm out. “Shall we?”

Again, Karkat regarded his arm with suspicion. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

Karkat opened his mouth before seeming to think better of whatever he’d planned to say. “Never mind.” He took Dave’s arm. “Let’s get going.”

As they walked to his apartment, Dave tried to keep the conversation flowing, but Karkat’s subdued responses quickly killed his enthusiasm. “I feel like I’m talking too much,” he said finally. 

Karkat mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like “You think?” before he shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m just a little too tired to, uh, participate, that’s all.”

Dave winced at the reminder of his first faux pas of the day. “No problem, dude. I got us covered. I got words for days.”

“Months even,” Karkat added before ducking his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

Nudging Karkat’s side, Dave laughed. “Nah, man it’s true. I’ve got words for fucking years.”

Karkat smiled slightly. “Decades.”

“Centuries.”

“Eons”

“Until the next motherfucking epoch, I’ve got words, Karkat. So many words. All the words even.”

Karkat snorted, covering his face with his free hand. “Damn it, Dave. Stop making yourself likeable.”

“I think that’s the point of this whole thing,” Dave pointed out reasonably. “Dating, I mean. It’s not like the old days where your dad and my dad decide if you’re worth enough chickens to trade me for, you know. These days I get to decide for myself how many chickens I want to be traded for.” He gave Karkat a mock critical eye. “How about it, Karkat? How many chickens could I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Karkat said, his mock serious tone almost too close to a serious tone for Dave’s comfort. “Let me look in my pocket.” He made a show of staring down at the pocket containing his free hand before sliding the hand out and flipping Dave the bird. “Is this enough for you?”

Dave laughed. “I’m sorry, Karkat. You must have at least five chickens to ride this ride.” He felt his face flush but pushed onward. “I guess you’ll have to settle for a movie, and maybe some pizza.”

Karkat was grinning, and Dave decided right then and there that he wanted to keep seeing it. “Maybe next time.” As though to intentionally spite him, Karkat frowned again. “Are we almost there?”

“Yeah, man, just a little further.” As they continued their journey to his apartment, Dave felt himself frown. What was Karkat’s deal? He was a lot more fun when he let himself be himself. Dave didn’t like meanness for meanness sake, but he enjoyed a good joke. For some reason, Karkat seemed to think he shouldn’t joke around? Why? His frown deepened. Karkat also apologized a lot. And he was so often deferential even when it was obvious he had OPINIONS he wasn’t sharing. The pieces were adding up to a disturbing picture. 

Maybe after he was done hanging out with Karkat today, he should hit up Rose. She’d know what to do.

---

Karkat’s expectations for Dave’s apartment had been fairly low, and he’d been pleasantly surprised. While not as meticulous as his own apartment, there at least weren’t empty food containers on every surface or dirty clothes everywhere. There was an overall shabbiness though: the feeling that the occupant didn’t care overly much about the apartment’s upkeep. The futon in front of the television was ancient and threadbare as were the carpets. The posters hung on the walls were dusty and faded, and there was a sort of mildewy smell. Still, as previously mentioned it was clean (more or less), and there were no obvious signs of a hidden murder dungeon (not that there would be if there were one, naturally). 

“Nice place,” he said for politeness’ sake. 

Dave beamed like a little boy who’d gotten just what he’d wanted for Christmas. “Thanks. It’s not much, but it keeps the rain off.” He gestured towards the futon. “Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got apple juice. And water from the tap, I guess. I could go pick up some beer if you want to go that route, or--”

Karkat held up his hand, hoping to stem the tide of suggestions. “Water’s fine, thank you.”

“You’ve got it,” Dave said before tilting his head and making twin awkward gestures with both hands involving his pointer fingers. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

It wasn’t until after he’d disappeared into, presumably, the kitchen that Karkat realized he’d been making finger guns. What a dork. Not that Karkat was any more suave, but he liked to think he was at least less childish. He tried to supplant the rush of fondness he felt by recalling just how pissed he’d been with this manchild this morning. It was not one hundred percent successful.

Dave returned with two glasses: water for Karkat, and apple juice for himself. “Take a seat,” he insisted as he set the glasses on the coffee table (sans coasters). “It won’t bite.”

Gingerly, Karkat took a seat on the ancient futon. The padding was so thin, he could feel the bars beneath. It was going to take a while to become unbearable, and he hoped this hang out? date? didn’t last long enough for that to happen. Just as he’d been about to reach for the water, suddenly uncertain whether he actually ought to drink anything Dave gave him, Dave flopped down onto the futon beside him like a sack of gangly flour. “Dave!”

“S’up?” Dave asked, grinning. 

“Don’t ‘s’up’ me--,” Karkat managed to stop himself from calling Dave an asshole, but only just. “Just don’t ‘s’up’ me. Speak like a normal person.” He realized he was making a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Sorry, I--”

“Dude,” Dave said, his grin dropping away, “Karkat, you don’t have to apologise for every kind of mean thing you say. I’m a big boy: I can take it.” 

Karkat supposed he shouldn’t be surprised: he’d never been good at pretending to be a good person. If he could have managed that feat for any length of time, he wouldn’t be in this position. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as dryly as he could. 

“I’m serious.” Dave sat up and turned to face Karkat head on, and Karkat saw his own annoyed expression mirrored in the black lenses. “I haven’t known you very long, and maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but--”

“You’re right,” Karkat interrupted, feeling his tenuous hold on his temper slipping. “You shouldn’t say anything.” After taking a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything he didn’t mean to, he spoke again. “Let’s just watch the movie and eat some microwaved popcorn. Does that sound like something we could do? Or would you like to keep pretending you have some deep insights into my character as though we’ve known each other longer than three days?”

Dave raised his hands, and Karkat realized he’d sounded far more aggressive than the situation warranted. At this rate, he wouldn’t even get a chance to lose this asshole! Nice job, Vantas: stellar work. “No, you’re right. I’ll step off.” Dave said softly. He got off of the futon with far more grace than he’d flopped onto it with. “You just put the movie in, and I’ll, uh, I’ll make the popcorn.”

Karkat watched him go before putting his head in his hands. Well, fuck. As though this whole situation hadn’t been awkward before. He should just leave. Just leave, forget about his stupid article, and stop dragging this stupidly likeable idiot down with him. He should. 

He stayed where he was. 

---

Dave took maybe longer than he absolutely needed to to prepare the popcorn. As much as he liked to consider himself a smooth operator, he could tell when he’d made a mistake, and he wanted to give the guy in the other room a chance to cool down. What made it made it worse was that Karkat had been right to get mad at him: Dave barely knew him. In his place, Dave would probably be pissed, too. 

Even so, Dave didn’t think he was wrong about the conclusions he’d come to. It was obvious that Karkat was, for whatever reason, putting on a show for Dave’s sake. Honestly, it was kind of creepy. If he understood why Karkat felt the need to do that, he’d feel better about it.

But it wasn’t his business. Not yet. Maybe you had to reach a certain level on the boyfriend echeladder before that kind of thing was something you talked about. It would probably help if they were actually boyfriends and not just newly dating, too. There seemed to be at least one obvious solution to that problem.

Dave could be patient. After all, he still had eleven days or so to get Karkat to at least like him enough to be his plus one at Rose’s wedding. It wasn’t all he wanted anymore, but it'd be enough to start with. As Rose had so often told him, start with small goals. 

He poured an obscene amount of butter over the popcorn in the bowl and headed out to the living room. Karkat was bent over, fiddling with the DVD player, and when he looked up at Dave, his mouth was curved somewhat upwards. “What movie do you have for us?”

Karkat stood. “Coming to America.” He made his way back to the futon and sat down as though worried he might fall through if he sat down too quickly. “It’s more comedy than romantic, so I thought you might enjoy it more.”

That sounded vaguely familiar. “Okay.” Dave joined him on the futon, taking care not to startle him this time. “Let’s get this party started.”

---

Karkat had hoped bringing a comedy would hold Dave’s attention enough to keep him from talking through the whole thing. He’d been mistaken. Yes, a lot of what Dave said was funny, but it just never fucking stopped. Finally, Karkat couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed the remote and paused the movie. Then he very deliberately set the remote back down. “I want you to listen to me, Dave. Are you listening?”

Dave looked confused, but he nodded. “Yeah, I’m listening. Do you have something you want to tell me? I’m all ears. Lay it on me.”

God, he couldn’t even listen without rambling! “Would it kill you to shut up?” He saw Dave’s eyebrows peek over the tops of his glasses. A part of him told him to reconsider his current course of action, but naturally, Karkat could never abide by a piece of good advice. “Would it literally cause you to drop dead if you couldn’t expel your idiocy out of your mouth like a goddamned septic pipe full of half-formed metaphors and bullshit? Would your head explode? Can we try that experiment and see what happens?” Karkat felt his fingernails biting into his palms and realized he’d clenched his fists. “What do you say, Dave? Wait, I’ve changed my mind: don’t say anything. Let me bask in the gentle ethereal glow of silence for a moment. Can you do that for me, Dave? Can you let me bask? Will the endless flow of words finally cease?”

‘No’ was clearly the answer to that question since Dave was already opening his mouth. Then, to Karkat’s utter shock, he shut it again. His expression wasn’t ever easy to read with those douche shades he insisted on wearing all the time, but now it was completely closed off. Even the eyebrows had lowered back to their original position.

Silence stretched between them. 

Karkat felt sick to his stomach. Shit. Shit. He really just couldn’t do it, could he? Couldn’t pretend even for a few hours that he was a normal person. Well, so much for this experiment. Time to write off this little adventure. Was it worth even trying to apologise? Before he could decide, Dave made the decision for him. 

He was clapping. “Damn, just got owned,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face. “You owned me, Karkat. You should feel proud. Not everyone gets own this,” he gestured to himself. “I just hope you know what you’re getting into: I’m barely house trained.”

For an embarrassingly high number of seconds, all Karkat could do was blink. “You’re not mad?”

“Fuck no,” Dave said, still grinning. “I’m a big kid now. I’ve graduated from diapers all the way to pull ups. It takes more than a finely crafted, well-deserved take down to take me down.” The grin softened. “This is what I was trying to say before: I want to date you, not some weird super agreeable version of you. If you want to tell me off for talking too much, fucking go for it. You’ve got a way with insults--it’s a gift. Frankly, I’m insulted you’ve been keeping it to yourself.”

“There’s more where that comes from, asshole,” Karkat said before he could stop himself. To his amazement, Dave still seemed more amused than anything. A strange mixture of anger and fondness welled up inside him. “Stop grinning at me, and watch the fucking movie.” He picked up the remote and hesitated. “You don’t have to be silent,” he said, still feeling a little guilty over his earlier outburst, “just maybe less talking?”

Dave made a big show of running a zipper over his lips. Then he immediately ruined it by saying, “Scouts honor, Karkat. My word is bond. You can cash that shit at the bank.”

Karkat tried to picture Dave as a boy scout and failed. “Right.” He pressed play and the movie resumed. Of course, Dave still talked during the movie, but the sheer volume of words had slowed to a moderate stream rather than the full-bore blasting Karkat had been subjected to earlier. As he sat there on the futon, occasionally answering Dave’s stupid comments with barbs of his own, he felt warm in a way that was only nominally connected to the temperature of the arm he was leaning against. He felt… content.

---

Overall, Operation Hang Out had been a big success. It had been rocky in places, but again, overall, Dave felt like he’d hit his major mission objectives. A movie was watched, pizza was consumed, and Karkat finally, finally, did something other than apologise every time a hint of the person he’d met at the cafe had come through. He didn’t necessarily want to keep pissing Karkat off, but that bitch fit he’d thrown had been epic. 

Karkat wasn’t the kind of guy Dave had expected to find himself interested in. At least, he’d never thought he’d have a grumpy asshole kink. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed the more quiet parts of Karkat’s visit, too. It had felt nice to sit on the futon with someone leaning against his shoulder. Dave wasn’t a sap, no, not a suave guy like him, but he couldn’t deny he’d like to do it again some time. 

He considered texting Rose as he’d planned to earlier before deciding not to. After all, he’d managed the first crisis all on his own, and she might consider it cheating if he got her help. No, for now at least, this bird was flying solo.

---

* Clean apartment. Finger guns. Puts too much butter on popcorn. Also talks during movies outside theater setting. Likes getting insulted. Kink?  Wants to date the “real” me. Delusional. Comfortable arm. Had a nice time. Had acceptable time. Clothes in his shower??? 

#Homestuck #Humanstuck #fan fic #my fic #wip

[messagefromtheveins]

Jetlag

A/N: Was this planned? No. Did it happen anyway? Apparently. Big shoutout to @crabbyabby83 I’d still be stuck with this if it wasn’t for you!

Words: 2153

Pairing: Shawn/reader

Warning: smut (cockwarming if you’re into that) 

If there was one 'version' of Shawn you hated the most it was definitely jetlagged Shawn. Moody Shawn? You could deal with that. The displeased little frown on his forehead was actually adorable. Angry Shawn? Also alright. He could never stay angry for too long, especially if it was directed towards you, and sometimes it turned you on a bit. Sad Shawn? Broke your heart, but you loved to be there for him, just like he always was for you. Drunk Shawn? The cutest thing ever. But when you finally had him home again after he had been gone too long and all plans you might have made got crushed because he was so exhausted was something that irritated you a bit, even though you knew that it wasn’t his fault at all. You had known what you had gotten yourself into all this time ago when he had first asked you out. You were just selfish and wanted him all to yourself when he was finally home again and not have him spending most of the day in bed, still used to a completely different time zone and knowing that it was useless to adjust to the current one seeing as he would be halfway across the world again in just a few days.

His eyes opened when you slowly pushed the slightly ajar bedroom door open, giving you a sleepy smile and fighting a hand free to reach it out to you. He made a grabby motion that had you grinning while you approached the bed, slipping out of your leggings while he held the covers up for you to join him. He hummed in content when you finally crawled into bed, immediately pushing his face into your chest and wrapping his arms and legs around you. You laughed softly and weaved a hand into his soft hair, a complete mess from when he had simply let it air dry after his shower and hadn't put any products in it. "Mmmhh, I missed you," he mumbled into your hoodie, his hands pushing under the piece of clothing and broad palms smoothing over your back.

You placed a kiss on his unruly hair and rubbed your free hand over his back in slow circles. "'missed you so much," you responded, your voice muffled against his hair. Keeping a hand on your back, he let the other trail down, over your butt that he squeezed briefly before he explored the bare skin of your thighs like he tried to find something that had changed while he had been gone.

You were aware of his semi pressing against your thigh but didn't say anything. It was often like this- the smallest touches turned him on when he hadn't gotten to feel you for a while, but he was usually too tired to do anything about it. "Hey, honey?" he mumbled, his hand pushing beneath the edge of your panties to cup your bare ass. You simply hummed in response and petted his hair while you waited for him to continue. "Can we try something?"

"Sure," you grinned, though you had no idea what he had in mind. You wordlessly followed his guiding hands as he pushed your underwear off and you kicked it off completely while he got out of his boxers before he pulled you close again. "Want me to take my hoodie off, too?" you asked while he placed soft kisses along your jaw. He stilled for a moment before he nodded. Sitting up, you felt a hand caress your back as you pulled your hoodie off and threw it aside, smiling when his fingertips traced up your spine before you turned back to him.

"Just tell me if you don't like any of this, okay?" he mumbled and guided your leg over his hip while tugging you as close as possible. You bit your lip as his length pushed against your clit, subconsciously bucking your hips to create a bit of friction that had both of you moaning softly. "C'mere, hon," he murmured and grasped your chin in his hand before he kissed you. It was slow and unhurried, lips moving perfectly together while he lazily shifted his hips back and forth so his tip rubbed over your clit on every move backwards.

Hands grasping at every inch of his body you could reach, you were desperate for him. It had been so long since you had last had him inside of you and you were impatient, but you also knew that he probably didn't have enough energy to give you the pleasure you were craving for. "Shawn," you mumbled against his lips. He reached for your thigh and hitched it up higher on his waist while he shifted, his head dipping to place tender kisses over your neck and shoulder. "Where are you going with this?"

"Shhh, just trust me," he whispered, your eyes falling closed with a gasp when his tip slowly pushed into you. You squirmed and moved so he could push in deeper, your toes curling against the back of his thigh as he let you feel every inch of him. He stopped when he was as deep as he could possibly go in this position, his body completely relaxing against yours while he tilted his head up to kiss you again.

You were confused when he didn't start moving and also kept you in place with a firm hand on your hip so you couldn't move either. It probably took you a minute too long to catch on, but when you did you couldn't help but grin. "Oh," you giggled as he rested his forehead against yours, simply enjoying the feeling of your warm and snug walls engulfing him while he got fully hard inside of you, "have you been watching porn while you were gone?"

He playfully rolled his eyes and let his hand caress every inch of your skin he could reach, his length filling you out perfectly. "How boring would cockwarming porn be?" he chuckled, the tip of his nose playfully rubbing against yours and drawing a soft grin from you. "I found this article about 'Intimate things you and your partner probably haven't done' or something like that," he explained and shrugged a little. His hand traced up your side, fingers caressing the side of your boob for a moment before he moved his flat palm to your back.

You silently looked at him for a moment before a smirk spread over your lips that already let him know that you were about to tease him for something. "Did you read Cosmopolitan?"

He blushed, which made you laugh loudly before it turned into a shriek of protest when he tried to bite your nose. Your body wriggled in his arms as you tried to move away but he kept you right where you were. "Fuck, you're so beautiful when you're laughing," he murmured, his fingertips lightly trailing along your spine while a smile spread over your lips.

Reaching up, you placed a hand on the side of his face and captured his lips in another tender kiss, his tongue licking over your bottom lip and a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips when you immediately parted your lips and granted him access. Arms tightening around you, he kept you as close as possible against him and released a really quiet sound into your mouth when your walls briefly clenched around him. His hands roamed your body, goosebumps breaking out all over your skin from the simple touch. You had missed him so much.

He pulled back with a deep inhale, his eyes surprisingly satisfied already while he gave you a warm smile before he placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. "Don't think we're through with this Cosmopolitan thing already," you warned, your voice nothing more but a mumble. He didn't respond, his lips peppering affectionate kisses down to your temple and all over your cheek while one of his hands trailed down to your butt. Unlike all the other times he didn't grab the cheeks and squeeze them, instead let his palm caress your soft curves.

He released a protesting sound when you lightly rocked your hips, immediately pulling you flush against him again and keeping you in place. "'jus' wanna feel you," he murmured and rested his head on the pillow again, his nose lightly touching yours while his hand snuck to your front. "'wanna feel you comin' around me," he added in a mumble when his fingers found your clit, drawing lazy circles over it. Moaning softly, you arched your back and pushed your chest against his, your eyes fluttering but you forced them to stay open. The smile he gave you was so full of love that your heart skipped a beat. "You okay?" he whispered, though you knew that he was more asking if you were okay with this. He always did that whenever you tried new things, kept checking if you were fine and while it might be a bit of a turn off for other people, it made you feel so loved and cared for that you wondered if it was possible to fall even more in love with him.

You nodded and bit your bottom lip, a hand grasping at his biceps. "Yeah," you breathed, "this is amazing." Your head moved to his neck, nibbling and lightly sucking on his skin while his fingers effortlessly traced over your clit in all the right ways.

He had always been proud of the fact that he knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew all the places to touch to get certain sounds out of you, knew all the ways to tease your clit to have you trembling against him quicker than you liked, small sounds leaving your lips. He often liked to think about all the times he had studied your body during lust-filled moments and had memorized all the reactions he got out of you and even now, when he was sure that he knew your body quite well, he often found new places that he hadn't discovered before.

But especially now, when you hadn't had him this close in months, it didn't take much to have you dripping wet for him. The simple feeling of his hands on you was enough to have your skin tingling in need for more. "C'mon, beautiful," he murmured when you were gasping and squirming in his arms, trying to get more friction as you were so close. His teeth gently nibbled on your earlobe while his fingers didn't stop their motions on your clit. "Let go for me."

It took a couple of more seconds before you came with a quiet cry of his name, your walls wildly fluttering and clenching around him while your thigh trembled on his hip. You clung to him while he worked you through it by tracing gentle patterns over your sensitive clit. Coming down from your high, you became aware of his heavy breathing next to your ear and the small movements of his hips, unable to hold back the moan yourself as he came moments later. He groaned your name, a low sound right beside your ear while he dug his blunt nails into your thigh as he twitched inside of you, his hips jerking a few times before he relaxed with a deep sigh. "Holy shit," you mumbled followed by a giggle, his chuckle joining just a second later.

He pulled back to look at you and gave you a dopey grin. "Holy shit indeed," he laughed softly and placed a kiss on your lips. "That definitely goes on the list of things to do when we're too lazy for actual sex." His hand caressed your thigh as you leaned in for a tender kiss, letting you take the lead while he felt completely relaxed, your fingers that were tracing over his chest calming his racing heart. His hips slowly moved back, your leg over his hip immediately tightening to keep him in place. The grin that spread over his lips broke the kiss, his nose playfully nudging yours while he pulled out of you. "No, don't go," he whined and tightened his arms around you as you tried to free yourself of his grip.

"I want to get cleaned up, Shawn," you laughed, sighing softly when he reached over you to the bedside table to hand you a tissue. "Are you serious right now?"

"Please?" he begged quietly, a bit of sadness washing over his satisfied features, "just give me ten more minutes of cuddles. I really missed you."

The last sentence broke your heart, taking the tissue and cleaning yourself up as much as possible and barely having placed it aside before he was pressed against you, limbs tangled with yours and head tucked into the crook of your neck.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes x reader #shawn peter raul mendes #writing

[ninaahelvar]

Chivalry Fell On Its Sword (5/?)

Summary: All Arya wanted so to feel normal and go outside of the damn castle. Now, through a series of unfortunate, she’s stuck with a bodyguard that she accidentally flirted with: Gendry Waters.

AO3

A/N: unbeta-ed...we post like men. ya know....male authors who talk about boobs in a weird way or like your vagina is a flower or some shit. we have that level confidence son! yeah....its been a while - sorry! got a job that keeps me busy and writing took a while. sorry!

Silence. 

Hollow echoes of noises filled the halls, soft and sharp, piercing into the frozen home. Gendry tried not to disturb it, moving in quiet footsteps to get to Arya’s room. But it still felt hollow. Stairways left barren, rooms left without a breath, spaces remained unoccupied. No one dared to disturb their tranquility of mourning. 

Yet, it wasn’t exacting mourning - it was fear, caution, worry.

Gendry stood outside of Arya’s room, her door cracked open enough to watch her sleep. She seemed to sleep better in mid-afternoon, so he let her. Watched as the fierce woman he knew and cared for, lay in bed, trying to find solace in sleep. 

No one had died, thankfully, but they were all hospitalised. The driver had a ruptured spleen and a few fractures in his arms and ribs from the airbag going off. Brienne broke her femur, a clean snap when the bonnet caved in as it crashed. She’d been stuck at the scene the longest - body completely pinned in place. She was calm through the whole thing - even with such a painful break.  

The Queen had superficial injuries compared to others; a broken wrist and a fracture in her leg. She was released the next day. But it didn’t mean she left the hospital. Bran was left in a fragile way. Gendry knew the kid would be fucked, but he didn’t know to what extent. Multiple spinal fractures. He hadn’t regained consciousness since the accident three days before. 

The king was another story. A broken rib that caused a collapsed lung - Gendry guessed that was why blood was pouring from the king’s mouth that night. When surgery came to repair it, complications arose, and a suspected swelling of the brain happened. Everything was so rushed, by the time things settled down, so to speak, the king was placed in an induced coma. 

And that was what had the house standing still. 

Robb was supposed to be covering all the kingly duties, but declined, stating that it was wrong to lay claim to a man’s title that wasn’t even dead. When Robb had said it on the news, the sisters were gathered to watch. Sansa broke down crying. Arya stormed out. Gendry later found her in the empty bathtub, curling her arms around herself and quietly sobbing. 

Gendry had found that she did that a lot - curled herself in the bathtub, softly crying or just sitting silently. He wasn’t sure why. But he left her - worrying himself with the possibilities of what was going through her head. 

Arya was the strongest person Gendry knew - she’d fight tooth and nail for just about anything she took the slightest pleasure in. He’d never seen her so...soft. Arya had a front, walls built so high, by the time you reached the top, she’d had built something even higher. Gendry didn’t want to break down her walls, didn’t want her to cave in every time he came near her - he just wanted her to be okay. 

It broke him to have to see her that way. 

It was also becoming a problem after what he said to her that night - that she was doing something to him that he couldn’t explain. And it was true, she was a whirlwind of a person, shooting through his life like a bullet, and all he wanted to do was chase after the disaster, being left in her wake. He’d crumble, and he didn’t care. She set him free. 

But so many things kept them apart. 

His job. 

Her title. 

Their age.

Although, that was a small stretch, it was something that had become clear to him - that he was the age of her oldest brothers, and there was quite a few years between he and Arya. She was only twenty-two, and he was just about to turn twenty-eight - and yes they were adults, there was still something strange about Gendry feeling this attraction his best friend’s little sister. 

And in the end, all he wanted to do was kiss her - to be able to finish what he started that night in the pub. 

But everything in the universe seemed content on stopping them from being close. Gendry fucking hated it. He deserved the fucking princess. 

Well, he thought he did. There was an undeniable connection, and any time they were close always seemed to lead to the same tension and lips so close to touching, it was as though they were inseparable. 

For the life of him, Gendry never wanted to be apart from her, not even for a few hours, as he had come to realise the night of the accident. 

He held her, and knew he was done for. 

The first night, he helped her put on her baggy clothes and sat at the edge of her bed as she cried herself to sleep. All Gendry knew to do was stroke her hair out of her face, and hold her hand when she reached for it. When she finally slept, it was morning, and the media was going insane. The press stood at the palace gates, shouting at all hours to try and get a glimpse of the grieving family. They didn’t get past a stern Tormund and Beric, who stared down the media - threatening them with a gaze and a trained hand on their hips.

Apart from everything, Gendry was concerned for Arya. She could protect and take care of herself, but it seemed she lacked the titular word - care. She didn’t shower until he told her too, she’d rarely eat, and most of all, she was barely sleeping. Afternoon naps were as much sleep as she got, as far as he knew. The rest of the family kept a fairly good sleeping schedule, but Arya seemed like a mess. He knew why - Bran, mostly - but no one blamed her, for any of it and it broke him to see her so fragile. 

For most of the day, Arya spent it in her room, looking over news articles that updated on the King’s wellbeing, as well as Bran’s. For the afternoon shift, he had Podrick looking after her. She would go take her nap, maybe ask for food and walk around the palace - Arya was locked into her routine and it had only been a few days. 

There was a spark that was lost from her, and Gendry felt it. 

He made sure she went to take a shower before he left that day. “I’m handing over to Podrick, okay?” he asked, waiting for her to acknowledge his words. She wandered into the bathroom in a daze, nodding slowly before escaping behind the bathroom door. Gendry sighed, hands on his hips as he left Arya’s room. Outside, he found Podrick waiting, giving a weak smile as they saw each other. “She’s taking a shower. I think she’ll go to sleep for a bit.” 

“Her walks have been longer. She sometimes just stands outside of the Prince’s room,” Podrick noted. 

“Fuck.” Gendry ran his hand over his head. “We’ll get her back. Any news on the king? Or Prince Bran?” 

“Nothing good.” 

“Alright. Try and keep me updated if you hear anything.” 

“Yes sir,” Pod replied, and Gendry clapped his shoulder before leaving. Gendry flicked out his earpiece, moving around the palace before he stopped at the young prince’s quarters. No one had touched it since that night. He broke open the door, untainted by days of grieving and let the light in.

It was dark, curtains drawn and nothing getting through. Gendry cautiously flipped the lights on, to see the room of a boy in his early twenties. It was a mess in some regard, clothes strewn around and a few pieces of garbage that had missed the bin. His bed was made, sort of, as the duvet was haphazardly thrown over the entire bed and not smoothed out to look pristine. On his desk, there were notes from Bran’s university course that was to start in a few months. He was doing an honours course after Oxford, now at Cambridge. From what Gendry knew, Bran decided this, as to not pick favourites amongst universities, and that both are a good fit for any student. 

Gendry had rarely interacted with the prince, but from what he knew, Bran was a great guy. 

Turning off the lights, Gendry firmly shut the door, as though nothing had disturbed the room at all. 

Gendry checked in on everyone before leaving - and although they were all in their respective rooms, he just liked to check in. The reality of the security situation was, Gendry wasn’t a personal bodyguard anymore. Since the crash, Ed prompted Gendry to his second, as Gendry had practically taken point. Once Brienne was back, Gendry would return to his full duties of protecting Arya. 

Yet, he couldn’t stop. Ed didn’t know that Gendry and Pod took turns watching Arya - keeping her well monitored. It was the only way that Gendry felt right about leaving her; that night broke her in a way that he couldn’t quite explain and the thought of leaving her at that moment was too hard to even contemplate.

Walking to the gates, Gendry turned back to the palace. It looked darker, the white colour seeming sadder, the imperfections from time and weather were more clear to him now, and it made leaving almost impossible. He did anyway, knowing he’d be reprimanded if he didn’t treat himself well - an unwell, sleep deprived bodyguard isn’t any use to its protectee, Gendry remembered. 

Wandering into town, he made his way towards the bar. The Stag Head. It was quiet during the day, just the day drunks and a few men trying to watch an old game of football. Behind the bar, a woman with long brown hair stood cleaning a spot on the bartop. She had a few greys starting to take roots in her hair, wrinkles becoming a little more defined, but she was beyond beautiful that hardly anyone noticed. She pushed her glasses up onto her forehead when Gendry walked in. 

“Hey mum,” he greeted, stretching across the bar to place a kiss on her cheek. His mother glanced behind her, looking at the clock on the wall. She wasn’t used to his new schedule. 

“Hey sweetie, what are you doing here?” she asked, turning back to him, a furrow knit between her brows. 

“I need some advice,” he said, sitting down across from her. She sighed, leaning to meet his eye across the bar. 

“What on?” She kept her gaze trained on him, squinting hard until Gendry laughed. He always did - ever since he was a kid. 

Combing his hand through his hair, he huffed, flattening himself against the bar’s surface. “How do...I make a girl know that I’m there to comfort her without seeming like a twat and making it seem like she can’t handle a situation?” he huffed, tracing patterns into the countertop and looking up at his mum with pleading eyes. He felt like he was asking her advice like when he was a teenager - some pathetic weak voice that came after and eyes that asked not to judge him. 

His mother straightened, hand moving over his head. “That’s quite an ask,” she sympathised, “who is she?” 

“A friend,” he said, tilting his head slightly. 

“Hmm,” she rolled her eyes, and before Gendry could protest, she spoke, “act like nothing has changed. Just smile more,” she tried, and Gendry shot up.

“What?” 

She scoffed, folding her arms in front of her chest, a raise in her brow as to challenge her again. “Look, Gendry, you’re a bit of a stubborn bull, and that means you look like you’re ready to fight in any moment,” she laughed and Gendry ran a hand over his face. He needed to rephrase it. He hated speaking. It was always so hard. 

“The thing is, this girl...she doesn’t like sentimental things. She’s strong, and she knows she is, but this thing has really thrown her. What do I do to have it be better?” he asked again, a little more determined. 

She stopped for a moment, thinking to herself. Gendry always looked up to his mum. Tailya was the youngest of four siblings - the only girl and was made tough because of it, but weaker after whatever happened with Gendry’s father. He was gone in a breath, no one besides his mum knew who he was. Tailya moved on with her life, raised Gendry, and that was all that ever mattered to either of them.  

Tailya finally sighed, reaching over the bar once more and touching his cheek. “The problem is, you can’t. Unless the thing that’s making her sad is easily reversible, then you just have to be beside her. Just being there will mean more than any gifts, or gestures,” she smiled sweetly and Gendry smiled kindly back. 

Wandering home, hands in his pockets, all Gendry could think of was Arya. He should have been concerned for the king - the protection of everyone within the confines of the palace walls. Yet, she was the only thing that worried him - whether she was sitting in bed, or was running around doing god-knows-what, and she was all he could think about. 

He stopped mid step and knew exactly what the fuck this all meant. 

Rain clouds loomed overhead. Droplets hit his face, and he stared up at the breaking sky. 

He was screwed.

~*~*~

Arya wasn’t used to being so sad. She understood everything; that her father was in a coma and needed to wake up, her mother was fine if not a little bruised, and her brother was probably never going to walk again. Yet, she didn’t understand why she felt so rotten. Arya could be better than all of this. Instead, she stayed in bed without sleeping and wandered the palace grounds because it seemed like the thing to do. She wanted to pull herself together, but she felt so torn from herself, that something was so violently taken from her and all she wanted to do was throw things until they shattered like her spirit. 

None of it seemed to matter in the end. 

Between the worry she felt and the constant eyes, she wasn’t sure where to start with recovery. Was recovery even the right word? She didn’t even know. She felt so tired, distant from anything and anyone. Not even Gendry seemed to reach her and it hurt her a little that they didn’t speak since that night.

Maybe she was different now. Maybe he didn’t see her the same. Maybe he wouldn’t look at her the same. 

As the afternoon became night, and night drifted into the pitch black of it all, Arya wandered the palace. No one was awake, the darkness invaded every space as though it were the only thing there that could possibly exist. She understood the darkness now - how it let sadness wallow within itself to let people grieve. 

Arya wasn’t sure what made her go there. She was so used to having Gendry by her side, that the middle of the night felt strange. She was used to being found by her dad, a night owl by nature, and talking with her until she was tired - but that wasn’t what life had in store for her anymore. Instead, she made her way to the kitchen. If she were lucky, she would find some alcohol that would knock her on her ass and keep her sedated until her dad woke up. 

It was quiet, but the lights were on and the ovens were still going. Arya could tell because it was blazing hot like it did when she used to sneak into the kitchen in her youth. She’d never been down there so early, so she wasn’t exactly sure if it was normal. Arya tried looking around for some form of life until a portly young man carrying things in his hands walked in. He jumped as he took sight of her, putting down his things on the countertop and bowing for her. 

“Sorry, your highness, I didn’t think anyone would be down here,” he said in a hurry, bowing again and trying to clean himself off. He had flour all over him and sweat on his brow. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Was just looking for some food,” she lied, moving around the counter to sit down. 

“I’ll make you something, Princess,” he offered, trying to seem calm, but it was obvious that he wasn’t used to interacting with the family as much as the other members of the household. 

Looking at the clock, Arya yawned, looking back at the perky baker. “Do you really need to bake this early?” 

“For fresh bread on the table, usually,” he said, pointing over to the other counter that had dough sitting on the tabletop. In total, there were five counters in the kitchen, and usually had many people working. But it was only Arya and the young baker. 

“4am? Seriously?” 

He moved over quickly to a machine the size of a large toaster, easily fitting two loafs of bread inside if you really wanted. “We have the machines that bake it, but I’ve still got to make the dough, and the royal majesties said they like the little patterns I leave on top, so it takes a little longer,” he explained, running a hand over his hair and cleaning it quickly with a with a teatowel. He went to get some tea cake from the cupboard and something in Arya perked. 

“Can I have some?” she asked quickly. 

“Of course!” he beamed, offering her the entire plate and handed her a knife to cute it with. She sliced it as he went over to the dough on the counter, beating it out and giving it a formless shape. 

She spoke with a mouthful of food. “You don’t have to treat me like royalty, by the way. I think we’re just a family...stuck here.” 

“How is your dad?” he asked, and Arya found the cake even harder to swallow than just having it dryly go down her throat. She coughed as she stomached it.

“What takes so long to make the bread anyhow?” she asked, and the moment the subject was changed, the boy nodded, moving along. 

“The yeast has to rise. And you have to check that it’s baking properly and not burning. Do you want me to show you?” he said in return, gesturing her over. 

“Yeah, sure,” she smiled, walking over to his side. There, she extended a hand to him. “I’m Arya.”

“Hot-pie,” he took it proudly as Arya’ brow furrowed. He laughed, pretending to get frustrated with her. “Yes it’s my name, stop lookin’ at me like that.” 

Over the course of the morning, Arya found out that Hot Pie was orphaned young, his birth mother calling him Hot Pie, and the name sticking. He often says its a nickname, but confessed it was his given name because it was the only thing he replied to when given up. His adoptive family moved to Winterfell only a few years prior, and also admitted to calling the place ‘WinterHell’ because he was so forgetful with the name. Even mentioned said he once said it in front of the king - to which he thought he was going to lose his head. Arya laughed when he said that. And it felt so nice to laugh again. 

Over the next week, it had become a little routine she kept in her schedule. Sleeping was hard - especially at night, and her midafternoon naps helped, but she heard some of the security guys talking about sending for the doctor to help her. A doctor was the last thing she wanted. When she heard Gendry one morning berate them for saying it, it gave her a sense of security - that he would protect her in all capacities. 

Maybe he didn’t see her any differently. 

When Gendry had left that night, she checked in on the news, and no further updates. It worried her. Arya had read up on things online - which she knew she shouldn’t have done - yet, the information said that in both cases, they should have woken up by now. It was so damn worrying. 

She was chewing on her nail when Hot Pie came into the kitchen that morning, a little tired by how wide his yawn went, then he got out all his ingredients before the two even acknowledged each other. Arya jumped up onto the countertop next to where Hot Pie was working, which made him grumble under his breath - he had told her off the day before about sitting on kitchen tables, because people eat there. If she remembered his words they were “Why would anyone want to eat something if they knew ass had been near it.” To which he apologised for saying ass. 

“What kinda bread you making this morning?” she asked, and Hot Pie grumbled to himself as he put on his apron. 

“Rye.” 

“Ugh, boring.” 

“What’s interesting to you?” 

“Wolves.” 

He scrunched up his entire face, which made Arya scoff. “What?” 

“Make a wolf. Dare ya!” she challenged and he merely shook his head.

“That isn’t -” he stopped before standing his ground. He had to swallow hard before he said it though, but he was certainly starting to treat her less like a princess. “Why do you have to stress me out? I’m here, having a good time,” he said, and Arya laughed. 

“How’s the coffee this morning?” a voice said, it was deep and familiar and it sent a chill down Arya’s spine. She turned to see Gendry walking into the kitchen, a little disheveled, but it was what he usually looked like in the morning before Brienne got to him. 

“Great, fresh pot and everything,” Hot Pie said, although Arya knew it to be a lie. He rushed off to get it started as Gendry stood opposite Arya, a soft grin on his face as he looked at her. 

“What are you doing here?” she said, a little more aggressive than she had intended. Maybe she was used to getting away with being unfound by security for a few hours. 

“I’m your fucking bodyguard, what do you expect?” he spat back, crossing his arms. 

A large and scandalised gasp came from Hot Pie as he walked over with Gendry’s coffee. “You’re allowed to talk to her like that?” 

Arya scoffed. “He’s not allowed to. But he does because he spends hours and hours with me. How would you like it if someone called you ‘your royal bakerness’ every two seconds of the day?” 

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Hot Pie considered. 

“See?” Gendry smirked, sipping at his cup. 

“You’re both against me and I know it,” she narrowed her eyes at both of them, and they exchanged a soft laugh. 

Gendry stood to the side, keeping a close eye on Arya as she and Hot Pie talked over crafting new things to have on the breakfast spread that morning. He didn’t interrupt, and barely paid attention to them when the sun started to rise. Once breakfast was completely ready and everyone was coming down for their meal, Arya helped set the table.

It was on her way back where she heard a conversation she was never supposed to hear. 

“What time does she usually come down?” Gendry asked. Arya stuck to the wall, hearing the pair talk. 

“She’s usually here before I get in at four. I just assume she’s waiting for me,” he replied. 

“She likes you, Hot-pie. Whatever you talk about, it helps,” Gendry said, a light thumping noise, as though a heavy hand met a shoulder. 

“We don’t really talk about anything,” Hot Pie huffed. 

“Maybe that’s enough.” 

“How did you know she was here, anyway?” Hot Pie asked, and Arya chewed on her lip, waiting. 

Gendry sighed, the light shift of his shoes on the tiles seemed to echo in her ear, even when it barely made a noise at all. “I always know where she is. I like knowing she’s okay,” he said simply, and there was a part of Arya that wanted to sigh, content with her life. 

She moved back into the kitchen once they got sidetracked with talking about food and gathered more things. They acted as though nothing had gone on and continued to get food to help set up for the breakfast meal for everyone. 

The next morning, Hot Pie seemed to have something on his mind. They had both been preparing things to serve at breakfast. Arya was making her first loaf of bread without any help and Hot Pie was making something special. Once her bread was all put in the machine, she sat up on the counter, nibbling at a biscuit with her hot tea. 

“Have you talked to anyone yet?” Hot Pie asked. In small conversations, they had talked about Arya’s family. They were stunted conversations, and Hot Pie had known where to draw the line in conversations about her father. 

“You. Gendry. Who else do I need?” 

“Your siblings,” Hot Pie spat, and Arya was about to protest.

“They…” 

Hot Pie was quick to discourage her sentence. “They’d probably get it more than he or I will.” 

“You’re right,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. She jumped off the counter and looked at the thing he was making. She laughed, pointing to the creation, “that looks like a fat donkey.” Arya gripped Hot Pie’s forearm and went off out of the kitchen. 

“It’s supposed to be a wolf!” he shouted, slamming down a mountain of dough to start his new attempt. 

Arya paced outside of the room for quite a while. She wasn’t sure where to start, or even if they’d talk. She didn’t want to cry, and it was a big probability, but it was the last thing Arya wanted. She didn’t know how to handle that! Emotions were hard sometimes. She stopped, squared up at the door, and gave three tentative knocks. When there was no reply, Arya slowly opened the door. 

On the bed, Arya found Sansa sitting with her phone in hand. She looked so elegant, even when she looked so sad. Sansa put her phone down, smiling as she took Arya in. The pair hadn’t seen each other since the night. It was mainly Arya’s doing - distance was what she needed and she kept it tightly. 

“Hey,” Sansa said, as though seeing her was so unexpected, the word couldn’t be anything but surprise. 

“Hey,” Arya sighed, sitting down next to her sister, relaxing into the comfort of the pillows, “you texting the guy?” 

“Yeah. He wanted to know how I was going with everything.” 

Arya slouched closer to her sister, seeing if she could pounce if the moment arose. “Am I ever going to know who he is?” 

“No,” Sansa smiled. As the two stared each other down, Arya jumped up, and Sansa’s arm shot into the air, keeping the phone out of reach. 

“Stop! I can’t reach,” Arya bellowed, essentially wrapping herself around her sister.

“That’s the point!” Sansa yelled, giggling as Arya eventually transform it into a tight hug. Sansa stopped struggling, her arm slowly moving around Arya. The pair took each other into an embrace that was unexpected but familiar. They held each other close and waited for what felt like hours to let go. “Thanks,” Sansa whispered, placing a kiss at Arya’s crown.  

“You too,” Arya whispered back, head in her sister’s chest and giving her another tight squeeze. 

When she made her way to Robb’s quarters, she was forced to wait. Unlike Sansa, who was able to pause her life to feel the tragedy that befell their family, Robb was required to keep moving and have his life shift gears. 

Arya walked into his study, papers pilled high and his laptop open with whatever news he was reading up on. Arya sat opposite him as he pushed things aside to take her in. He tried to smile, but there was something in his eye that was like guilt - that he was replacing something before it was even gone. It didn’t feel right for anyone. 

“How’s Talisa?” Arya started. He sighed, reclining back into his chair and throwing up his hands slightly. 

“She’s good. Keeps fretting about, but makes sure to tell me everything will be fine,” he shrugged. 

“She’d know,” Arya smiled, remembering that before they were engaged, Talisa was a nurse by trade. After engagement, however, she had to give most of that up. It wasn’t seen as proper, but Arya thought Robb would still let her work regardless of his role. “Why is she fretting?” 

“King.” 

One word and she knew. “Ah.” Arya chewed on her lip. “Is she scared to be Queen?” 

“No. Just wasn’t expecting it so soon. Neither of us were.” The pair sighed together. 

“You’re going to be fine. Now or later. But hopefully later.” Robb nodded, and Arya sucked in a breath for what she was considering. “I might go see them today, check in on how everyone is doing,” she said, standing up from her chair and waiting for Robb to confirm if it was the right thing to do. He smiled. 

“That’s great. I have a few meetings, so if you do, let me know everything you learn about their status,” he said, gathering up some papers as though what she said helped him more than she realised. Arya’s heart felt full at the sight. 

“See...you already sound like a King,” Arya gave over a sad smile and Robb returned it. 

“Thanks,” he nodded, getting straight back into work. 

Arya heard the sound from her youngest brother’s room before she even got to open his door. She pushed it open, finding Rickon’s room in an absolute mess, everything pilled up like it was a garbage heap. She honestly couldn’t tell if this was just because their mum wasn’t around to yell at him, or his room genuinely looked like this most of the time. 

“Hey Rick,” Arya grimaced as she waded through his room to his bed, finally seeing what the noise was about. He was playing Mario Kart very loudly. He paused it, panicking as Arya sat down beside him. 

“Hey Arya! I’ve finished all my assignments, so I’m allowed to -” he stopped as he remembered who he was speaking to. “Sorry. I feel like mum is gonna walk in at any second. I’m used to covering for myself,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, smiling weakly. 

“I know. I’ve been hiding my boots for days,” she laughed, and took up a controller from the ground. “What track are we playing?” she smiled and Rick smiled back, switching it to the right settings, allowing them both to play a few races. They each won a few rounds, lost a few, either way, they had fun. 

Jon was the easiest to sneak up on, she found, his hearing must being suffering. She crept into his room, sat on his bed and played with his phone without him even realising it. He walked in, jumping half way out of his skin as he saw her. 

“God, you’re so quiet,” he snapped. 

“I get that a lot,” Arya shrugged. Jon walked over, taking his phone from her hand, flicking through it as he spoke.

“Robb said you wanted to go see dad and Bran today.” 

“Yeah. Considering it.” 

He paused and knelt down in front of her. “I think you should,” he said solemnly.

“Probably,” she smiled. 

“Have you heard?” he asked, patting her knee. “Lannisters are coming,” he smirked, a joke lying beneath the words that years covered. Arya beamed back. 

“Really? Which ones?” 

“Jaime and Tyrion,” he confirmed and Arya scoffed. 

“Seriously?” 

“Apparently, your mum called for ‘em,” he stood, moving off to his desk, running over a few things. Since Robb had become busy, so had Jon. The pair worked hand in hand most days, and being in charge of the future king’s security detail was a hard thing to manage under the best of times - now it was the worst. 

“What for?” 

“Help Robb. We may not trust them, but since Tyrion has counselled the Targaryen Queen, she trusts him.” 

“What about Jaime?” 

“He’s rather good at gathering information, plus Tyrion needs a bodyguard and his brother is the best choice,” Jon shrugged. 

“Or…” Arya suggested, her hand going up as far as it would go, indicating a certain person’s height. 

“Or that, yes,” Jon laughed, shaking his head. 

“I could let her know through the grapevine. The security team likes to talk,” she offered and Jon shook his head again.

“It’s okay, I’m sure she knows,” Jon tried to wink, failing and making Arya scoff. “You want me to drive you to see dad?” he asked softly. 

“No, I’ll be okay,” she said, standing up and hugging onto her brother. Although they had little blood between them to actually make them siblings, they felt like it, and they loved each other like it. She held onto him with everything she had, and Jon did the same. 

When she left his room, she felt a pressure off her shoulders she couldn’t explain. Then, someone nearby cleared their throat. 

In the midst of her visits, she had completely forgotten that there was a shadow behind her, keeping her company - always watchful, caring without outwardly saying it. A comforting blanket surrounding her without her even realising. Gendry stood at the edge of Jon’s door, waiting for their next destination.

“Thank you for following me around today. It’s been a weird day. I need to go to the hospital later.” He nodded, and as she was about to walk off, his hand caught her wrist lightly. They hadn’t touched like that since that night, and it took Arya off guard. She stopped, turning back to him, swallowing hard as they faced each other. 

“Arya,” he said softly, and Arya’s heart was racing. He took a breath. “I know I haven’t outright said it to you, but I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what,” he said, keeping her focus on him entirely. There was a beat, and the words escaped her before she even realised. 

“I like it when you say my name.” Once she did, she felt like a little girl, giggling to herself, trying to catch it as he looked at her. 

“I like saying it,” he replied with a smile and she felt less self conscious than she had a moment before. 

“Then can you help me with something?” she said, trying to avoid him seeing the redness she knew was in her cheeks. 

“Anything.” 

“Do you have any idea how to start a royal charity?” she asked. 

“No, but I can definitely learn with you,” he shrugged, and they smiled to themselves, moving along as she explained what she wanted. 

By the time that was done, some discussions with Davos and a few new teams assigned to them, Arya felt ready to go see her parents. Gendry drove her into town, got her a safe way into the hospital without people wanting to get her photo, and a safe passage through the hospital like it was nothing at all. 

Gendry stood outside of the room as Arya went in to see her brother. Like she expected, her mother was by his bedside, looking far worse than anyone in the palace did. Her hair was all out of sorts, her clothes had definitely not been washed for a while - most likely worn for multiple days, which was never her mother’s way. 

“Hey mum,” Arya said quietly. Her mother shot up, almost darting across the room. 

“Darling, what are you -” she started, embracing Arya tightly. There was a cast on her wrist and she walked with a limp because of the heavy boot she was forced to wear. She took in Arya’s features and smiled down at her, “it’s lovey to see you.” 

“How are they?” Arya finally asked, biting her lip as she looked at Bran. He was wired up to machines, monitoring everything they could. It broke Arya a little - she could barely look at him for long. 

“Bran is doing well, but we won’t know more until he wakes up,” she sighed.

“And dad?” 

“He’s still in the coma,” her mother nodded, and Arya felt the spike of tears in her eyes. “Are you doing okay, darling?” 

Then, she started to rant quickly, trying to get it all out before the tears peaked in her eyes. “I told Bran to go with you. I told him to leave the car cause I was mad and frustrated and wanted to be by myself. This wouldn’t have happened if -” 

Her mother quickly embraced her again, soothing out Arya’s worries, and looking down at her again, comfort in her eyes. “Darling, you cannot blame yourself for what happened to Bran. Do you blame yourself for what happened to your father?” 

“No, but -” 

“It was an accident. One that we cannot take back and all must live with. Bran would never blame you for what’s happened to him. He loves you.” 

“I just…” 

“It’s okay,” her mother whispered, dashing away the tear that escaped Arya’s eye as quickly as it came down, “go see your father.” 

As Arya met at Gendry’s side, he guided her down the hall - the most heavily secured place in the hospital. Arya was worried that Gendry would be stopped, but he was allowed as far through the security zone as the door to her father’s room. Arya stopped alongside him.

“I don’t think I can -” 

He interrupted her. “I’ll be right outside, nothing’s gonna happen. I promise,” he said, hand on the small of her back. She nodded, moving into the room and sitting in the chair that was nearby his bed. She could tell her mother had been there fairly recently, with blankets strewn over the furniture and a few of her mother’s things scattered around. 

After a beat of just looking at her dad, the wires and tubes all hanging off of him, helping him breath and survive, she got the courage to speak. 

“Hey dad,” she started, voice so hoarse and scared, she wondered if anymore words would form. She sniffed before she could continue. “You know I don’t like talking much. I’m not good with words. I’m scared, ya’know? I think I finally get why you never liked me going out by myself. The fear I’ll never make it home. Or you might not ever speak to me again. So, I’m scared you’re not gonna come home, or that you’ll never speak to me again. I want you to come home. Please…” she stopped as she felt the tears on her cheeks. They wouldn’t stop coming and her chest felt so tight, like breathing was the hardest thing to do when she was trying to keep herself together. And she cried again. “Please?” she gave in a small beg, clutching at her father’s hand. All she wanted was a small sign that he was there. 

But Arya wasn’t going to get that in the moment, her hands could beg for as long as they wanted - but her father needed to rest. 

As Arya dried her eyes, she cleared the room, she looked at Gendry and she saw his tie undone and earpiece hanging on his shoulder. And the next words that left her, with a heavy sigh and a little desperate were met with a smile. 

“I need a drink.” 

“Come on,” he said, arm curling around her shoulder for a short hug before eyes could see them. Then, he led her back to the car.

They drove a short distance before Gendry got out and opened the door for her, leading her to the entrance of a bar. 

“Hey! I know this place!” she said, grabbing hold of Gendry’s elbow. “Isn’t this where we -” she started as they walked into the bar. 

“Gendry!” a feminine voice yelled. Gendry smiled, moving towards the bar. 

“Hey mum,” he greeted as he moved over the bar to kiss her cheek. Gendry looked at Arya and she beamed back. 

“Mum?” Arya mouthed. He went tight lipped as he got back to sit on the stool next to Arya. 

“Mum, this is Arya,” he introduced.

“Ah, the girlfriend!” And Arya looked over to Gendry who had wide eyes and straining in his seat. 

“No, mum, she’s -” 

“Yep, that’s me. The girlfriend,” Arya said, resting her chin on her palm, loving to watch Gendry squirm. 

“Beer on tap! On the house, honey,” she said, moving away from the pair. 

“Mum, come on!” Gendry tried, only to fall back into his seat. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” Arya smiled, and she watched as Gendry’s eyes closed tight before he turned to her. 

“I never said that. She’s assuming things. Why are you playing along?” he asked in a hushed voice. 

“Free drinks?” 

“Please pay my mother.” 

“I will, don’t worry. This is just going to be fun to torture you with.” She beamed back and Gendry rested his head on the bartop. 

Before she even knew it, the night had come in, and her day was done. Exhaustion echoed in her bones, chest feeling heavy and the day wearing on her. She’d been more productive that day than she had since the accident. She talked with Gendry’s mum for a little while, and Gendry sat at the side, staying sober and trying not to slowly die inside. Arya eventually paid for the one drink she had and stood up from the stool, yawning.

“Only one?” Gendry said, standing up beside her. 

“I just needed to get it out of my system, I’m good now. Let’s head back,” she nodded and he returned it lightly, moving outside to get the car. “Thank you, Ms Waters. You’ve been so lovely,” Arya said, grabbing hold of the bartenders hand and the woman smiled back, so wide that it felt comforting. Like Gendry’s smile. 

“It’s no problem, come back ‘round for dinner sometime!” She almost demanded it. 

“I’ll make sure Gendry gets the memo,” Arya laughed with her. The thought didn’t seem that bad either.

They got to the palace late, and Arya was so exhausted, she got dressed for bed quickly, falling into the comfort of the duvet that felt like a goddamn cloud. 

“You’re going to sleep?” Gendry scoffed, and Arya nodded, clinging to one of her pillows.

“I think so.” 

“We’re making progress,” he said, and Arya thought he might have forgotten himself as he combed a hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear with the lightness of a feather gracing skin. She shivered. Gendry smiled, moving off, and Arya’s heart lurched. 

“Wait,” she almost shouted, making Gendry stop. He turned to her, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Can you stay tonight?” 

“Sure.” He nodded, moving to the chair near her bed and she sat up quickly.

“I mean, can you sleep...here?” She pat the vacant spot in the bed beside her. She felt so nervous, as the air filled with such silence that it was like the entire earth stood still. Then, Gendry scratched the back of his head. 

“Princess, I -” 

“Can you just call me Arya tonight? Leave your pants on if you’re so concerned, I don’t care. Just…stay,” she sighed. He paused, as though he contemplated the moment. 

“Fine. But only because you asked.” 

He was saving his own ass by saying that. He discarded his suit jacket, tossing it over the chair and taking off his belt, tie and unpacking his earpiece. After it was all done, he rolled up his sleeves, unbuttoning his shirt to take off the vest underneath and slipping the loose dress shirt back on as he fell into bed beside Arya. 

Gendry kept the distance between them, staying strictly above the covers until the glare she was firmly pressing into his temple burned him enough to find himself under the sheets. The distance stayed for a short while before Gendry fell asleep, and Arya was able to lay herself on his chest. 

Within minutes, for the first time in what felt like weeks, she was able to sleep in the comfort of night, as a heartbeat rocked her to sleep and an arm that slowly brought her in, to keep her tight to him. Arya slept so soundly, she never felt so well rested, even as she was in the midst of her slumber. 

When she woke up, the day was only just starting, the remnants of pain still lingering in the air - yet, she found none within herself. She still felt sad and angry for the pain of her family, but she felt protected in the wake of it all. Arya was also sure that when she woke, she’d be by herself - cold, alone, a bed left empty save for herself, the staff all moving about and keeping the family on their toes. Yet, she found herself clinging to the warm body beside her, the soft puffs of air as he breathed in his sleep. Gendry had kept her warm and secure - his arm keeping her to him, rolling over to her, both clinging to one another as they slept. She felt so protected and safe. 

She knew she always would be. 

With Gendry.

#gendrya #gendrya fic #gendry x arya #arya x gendry #got fic #my fics

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Part XIV - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

THEN -- Day 1199

I was used to it, for the most part. I wasn’t fazed by the cameras or the flashing lights that seemed to follow me wherever I went. Sometimes, when I fell asleep, I could hear the clicking of cameras or see the bursts of light, probably burned into my retinas. 

But this was different. The yelling and screaming and shoving was too much. Sinead seemed to be just as alarmed beside me, her shoulder knocking into mine as the security personnel around us seemed to bark orders at the photographers to back up. 

My mom and Pete were nearby, too, but their voices were muffled by the questions that seemed to be thrown in every direction. 

Did you break up with Harry? Why were you in rehab? What happened? Are you addicted to drugs? Did you try to kill yourself, Margot? Where’s Harry? When is the next album coming out? How was your flight? Where are you going? 

I tried to breathe through it. That seemed to be the only option most days. I could feel Sinead’s grip tighten around my arm as we got closer to the car. I churned over the questions in my head. 

Yes, because, a lot, no, no, I don’t know, I don’t know, fine, home. 

I didn’t say any of that, though. I kept my sunglasses on and my hat pulled down, hoping to slip into the silence of the waiting car so I could let out the tears that were at the edge of my eyes the whole flight home. 

What did this mean? What did I do now? Home to California and home to my mom’s and home to the life that I had before all of this. But it wasn’t mine now. At least, it didn’t feel that way. 

I turned my phone on after a month of it being off. I’d made Sinead delete all the social media apps before I handed it over to her a month ago, and even when I got to a high enough privilege level based on my hard work in therapy, I didn’t want my phone back. 

Most of the other women seemed to claw for it like it was their lifeline. But I welcomed the reprieve of sitting in the day room with little to no connection with life beyond the trees that lined the property. Me and the horses in the fields and the noise machines that lined the hallways. That was plenty. 

I hadn’t even been photographed in a month. I’d managed (somehow) to make my way to Tennessee in the middle of the night with no photographic evidence. Maybe it was better that way. 

“Maya and Ben will be happy to see you,” my mom spoke now, her voice quiet as the driver put the car into gear, leaving the yelling and flashing behind as he pulled out onto the road the lined the LAX terminals. 

“Are they mad?” I asked quietly, bringing my eyes over to her. She seemed to tilt her head in confusion. 

“Why would they be mad?”

I shrugged my shoulders, almost feeling like I didn’t know where to start. “Because I suck and I spent a month in rehab and that probably didn’t make their lives easy.”

The guilt of being famous was bad enough. When my siblings were younger they milked my celebrity as much as they could. Maya was more than happy to brag to her elementary school friends when I had a popular sitcom and Ben was always asking to bring his middle school girlfriends backstage at my shows. 

But as we grew up it became more of a hassle for them. Maya resented the fact that I was away on tour and couldn’t always talk to her about boys. Ben hated the fact that his friends would ask for a selfie with me when they came over the house. 

So I get it. Me going to rehab likely led to a lot of questions. Questions that they couldn’t answer and questions that invaded their privacy too. 

“They don’t hate you,” my mom reassured, her eyes searching my face. I wiped at my eyes beneath my sunglasses, still not removing them in the dark interior in the car--still too embarrassed and ashamed and filled with emotion. “Are you nervous to see them?”

Sinead busied herself with her phone--pretending that she wasn’t listening to the conversation between a washed up popstar and her mother. 

“I’m nervous for everything,” I sighed. Which was true. I mean, how did I go back to a public life and expect people to just be okay with the fact that I disappeared and took time off and had no clue what was coming next? My life had been a predictable cycle of write, record, release, tour. 

Now I had no clue what tomorrow would bring and what was for dinner. 

“You’ve done such good work, honey,” my mom said, offering me a sympathetic smile. “You deserve a break. You need one.”

I knew that now. I knew that as soon as I walked into the room that was mine in Tennessee and I cried in bed for the first 12 hours. I knew it when I couldn’t even speak in group therapy out of fear that people would leak what I said to the press. 

But I guess it was really cemented now: the girl who had gone from tight lipped and emotionless was now a blubbering mess half of the time. Crying in therapy, crying on the phone to my mom. Crying in the backseat of a car as a Toyota Camry with two photographers inside seemed to weave through traffic to catch up to us. 

Because what on earth was I supposed to do about the fact that I made the worst mistake and didn’t have a clue as to how to make any of it better? What was I supposed to do? Call Harry up and apologize for ruining his summer and ruining his fall and now for ruining his winter? 

Sinead shifted beside me, the landscape outside the windows became more familiar as we made our way up the 405. 

My mom reached up a hand to smooth out my hair. “Let’s just take it day by day, okay?”

NOW -- Day 1743

I almost made it 24 hours. But after I’d tossed and turned in bed and woke up with a headache that was arguably as bad as the one after we broke up, I decided that I needed to be honest. I mean, that was the point of all of this, yeah?

She answered after two rings. It was earlier there--only 11am--and she her hair was up behind her head as she settled onto the couch in her living room. The quiet of my living room was a retreat from the hot London day.

“Hi,” she greeted with a smile--one that immediately faded when she realized something was wrong. The FaceTime image was somewhat grainy on my phone--likely due to the oceans between us. 

“Someone asked me about a guy in Tennessee.”

She blinked a few times, her eyes flickered to something off screen, lips parted as she seemed to stare blankly. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that someone asked me about your Tennessee Iover,” my tone was harsh, so much so that I had to look away from her to even finish the sentence. 

Her eyes were on mine and she blinked a few times, still seeming to hesitate. “I should probably call Claire.”

Her desire to smooth over her image before smoothing over our relationship felt too similar to before all of this happened. I let out a noise of displeasure and shook my head. 

“No, you should tell your boyfriend what the fuck happened and why there are articles from some asshole about your love affair in a fancy rehabilitation facility west of Nashville.”

“Harry don’t be a dick,” she said the words quickly, her emotion was surprising--seeing as only a few seconds ago she spoke in a monotone and didn’t seem to be having much of a reaction. “We weren’t together,” she was defensive, her eyes narrowed as I seemed to widen mine.

“So I’ll take his word as true?”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset--I kissed some guy. What does it matter? You had sex with someone, Harry.”

“That’s a completely separate conversation--”

“Is it?” She asked. “How so? You’re allowed to fuck some stranger but I so much as kiss a random guy and you’re all up in arms?”

“He wasn’t random Margot--he worked at the facility you were at.”

“I can’t talk to you about this if you’re going to judge me.”

“M’not judging you! M’trying to find out what the fuck happened because I had to hear about it from a woman on the red carpet last night. So there’s that. Enjoy the video of me trying to play it cool when I heard that.”

“Great,” she rolled her eyes. 

But what did she want from me? How was I supposed to play it cool when apparently my girlfriend was lying to me and we were trying to keep a low profile while we figured everything out?

“I have to go,” she said suddenly. 

“Margot don’t shut down,” I pleaded, trying to keep my voice calm. 

“I haven’t seen anything about it, Harry. I don’t know if Claire knows.”

“She knows.”

“What makes you say that?”

“There are hundreds of articles. I searched for them last night--they’re all over. Have you spoken to him since you left?”

“What?” She brought her hand up to her forehead, apparently irritated by my question. “No, Harry. We made out a few times. He wasn’t even working the day I was discharged. I don’t even know who he is.”

“What was his name?”

“Andrew.”

I rolled my eyes. She didn’t like that. 

“Stop, Harry. Okay? I’m not doing this right now. I have to go fucking deal with the fact that the first big story about me in a year is that I made out with an employee at my rehab place, okay?”

“Fine,” I let out a breath of air, wondering what it meant and where we’d go from here. 

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

I nodded, watching as she wiped her eyes. I couldn’t see any tears, but I didn’t doubt that they were coming. She let out a sigh and ended the call. 

My finger hit another name on the list of people I regularly called--again, it was only a few rings before his face became much more clear on the screen. 

“Hey,”

“Hi, have you seen everything about Margot?”

“What?” Niall tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows knitting together as he rubbed at his nose. “No. What happened? She okay?”

“She’s fine. I mean, her image might not be, but--”

“What happened?” He asked again, his voice more impatient now. I should have known that a conversation related to her would likely be awkward between us. I mean, he’d been fine when we’d had lunch with him and he was clearly more excited than either of us about us being back together. 

“I guess she had some kind of relationship with a person who worked at the place she went to.”

His eyes widened and he seemed to not know what to say. He looked past the phone, breaking eye contact with me in a telling way.

“You knew?” I asked, my voice deeper and more upset than it’d been before.

“I didn’t know, really. She mentioned somethin’ in passing--but, what did she tell you?”

“What did she tell you?!” I shot the question back in his direction and hoped for a good answer. 

He let out a groan and shifted on the couch he was sat on. “I dunno, Harry. Just that she kissed him. That’s all she said happened.”

I let out a sigh at that, thankful (at least) that her story lined up. 

“You weren’t together, Harry, you can’t really be mad.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, offended by his quick attempt to invalid my feelings. “Yes I can--especially because she didn’t tell me even after we had a whole conversation about when I--” I paused, not wanting to say more. 

“When ya what?” 

I groaned. “I slept with some girl in Jamaica, okay? It was stupid and Margot knows and I was just trying to get over her.”

“So maybe she was trying to do the same,” Niall defended, his eyes somewhat angry as he waited for me to speak. 

“Niall I’m not here to fight with you,” I dropped my head and pinched at the bridge of my nose. I wasn’t looking for his complete and total sympathy. More just a healthy dose of reassurance that some stranger in Tennessee wasn’t going to win my girlfriend over after I was just starting to get her back.

“Me neither.”

I brought my eyes back up to him, and when he saw the look of distress on my face, he let out a knowing laugh. “Harry--the worst thing you could do right now would be to pick a fight with her. You’re starting to get back to normal. Things happened in the span of a year and a half.”

I nodded--knowing he was right didn’t make it easier to hear. I also hated when he gave good advice. Something about it just felt so out of place. 

“Alright,” I said. “But if she calls you later make sure to tell her that that guy’s a prick and I’m the best thing that ever happened to her, yeah?”

Niall made a face at this immediately, pulling his head back. “I mean, I’ll tell her that she’s the greatest thing that ever happened to you, but okay.”

THEN - Day 1303

Being in a seedy bar in Ochos Rios felt fitting. My shirt stuck to my back in the heat and the ice in my drink that Mitch had handed me only a few minutes ago was already close to melted. I’d only had to take two pictures--which felt somewhat out of the norm seeing as I’d been secluded away for the last few weeks. 

It had started as curiosity--we just wanted to see the resorts and beaches on this part of the island. We had a nice dinner in a restaurant that seemed much more equipped to feed the 12 of us than the ones near the house. This beachside bar wasn’t air conditioned like the restaurant, but the drinks were strong and the music was loud and it was nice to be around more people than the group I’d grown accustomed to. 

So I ordered another drink when I finished the first, and I got a third after that one. Soon I felt more able to mingle with the people who crowded near us--maybe they knew who I was, maybe they just didn’t have anywhere else to go if they wanted to escape the setting sun. 

“Sorry,” I said, my shoulder knocking into someone as Jeffrey seemed to squeeze past me. I turned to assess the damage--hopefully this person’s drink wasn’t all over their shirt. 

I was met with a smile and eyes that weren’t quite as enchanting as hers--but they were enough to make me falter. “Hi, sorry, I hope it didn’t get on you.” I looked down at her drink as she reached for a napkin, cleaning off her hand but then placing it back on the bar. 

“All set--you’re good, I’m Katie,” she extended her free hand to meet mine and I shook it. Wondering if she recognized me or if she simply was playing it cool.

“Harry,” I nodded in response. She was quiet for a moment, maybe hoping for me to say more. “Are you staying here?” I pointed up at the resort nearby and leaned in closer  as she spoke--the laughter around us made it hard to hear. 

“Yeah--my sister’s bachelorette. S’our last night.”

“Has it been a successful trip so far?”

“I would say so,” she laughed. “Only two people have thrown up and no one has gotten abducted.”

“Sounds extremely successful,” I laughed, watching as she ran a hand through her hair. It wasn’t quite as long as I’d seen Margot’s--her eyes were darker and seemed to lack the caramel streaks that always seemed to glimmer at sunset. I wondered if Katie knew I was thinking about her. But she answered my question when I let my eyes scan the room and then fall back to her. 

“Been a year for you, huh?”

I opened my mouth to speak--but nothing came out. I laughed, sipping at my drink in hopes that it contained the answer to her question. “Yeah, s’been interesting.”

NOW - Day 1745

It felt, as I stared at the keys in front of me, like I was watching the possibility of us burn down. 

Claire had handled things well. She wasn’t mad, Nick was probably annoyed but didn’t show it. Sinead had known but acted surprised to not throw me under the bus.

Claire’s approach was simple. Deny. Deny his claims and keep smiling--there was no proof and if he continued to speak  about my time in rehab we could sue him for a breach of confidentiality. My lawyer had confirmed that he’d already been fired from the facility, but I didn’t find it worth it to tell Harry any of this. 

I’d texted him a few times but his answers were short--clearly not  interested in talking to me about much of anything. 

Which led me to the question: why was he mad? I mean, sure, I could have told him and I could have avoided the situation altogether. But he conveniently neglected that he was the one to actually be with someone else. 

We’d been building a life together over the last few weeks that felt like it was actually destined for somewhere other than failure. I felt, now, like I was left alone in the vision of our future, wondering how on earth things had caught flame and how I was supposed to make it out of this burning house alive.

I let my fingers find a chord--the noise echoed through the room quietly, the skies outside were dark and I wondered where this left us. 

Tell me you love her, and I’ll be gone, I sang into the room, my voice sounded like shit--too much caffeine and crying over the last two days. 

Tell me you love her, that my heart was simply wrong. 

Just say the words and I’ll turn a round, I’ll be gone without a sound. 

THEN -  Day 915

I was sitting in catering when Harry burst through the doors. He was angry--I could tell by the red on his face and the darkness in his eyes that something was wrong. He huffed his way over to the table, and Cara seemed to trail off as she took a bite of the food in front of her. 

It was always fun to have her visit on the road--and seeing as my tour was yet to start and Harry’s was well underway, having Cara tag along on a visit was sure to be fun. She’d never been to Asia, I was likely be bored a bit when the guys had to do press and promo, so sharing a hotel room with her once in a while was a welcomed escape from the loneliness of tagging along by myself. 

“What’s the matter?” I looked up at him as he neared the table, my eyes searching his face for an answer to my question. I immediately feared the worst--I knew his step dad was sick and that losing him would break Harry. 

“I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice somewhat quiet and steady, probably due to the fact that he’d made enough of a scene storming in that everyone’s eyes were now on us. I mean, it wasn’t like we weren’t used to it, it was mainly just that we didn’t love it. 

“Okay,” I stood from the table, my eyes flicking to Cara, who nodded in understanding as Harry  turned to head back for the door. I followed him out into the hallway--the concrete walls looked the same, even though we were thousands of miles away from home. 

He was more collected now, a deep breath left his lips as he waited for someone to pass by us in the hallway. “Uhm, Zayn is leaving.”

My face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he quit.”

“He what?” I left my mouth hang open, Harry’s eyes scanned the hallway again to ensure that no one could hear. 

“He practically lost his shit last night on Louis and Niall I guess and this morning he talked with Paul and then Paul told us and he was already on a flight back to London.”

“Wh--what are you guys gonna do? He’s just done?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders defeatedly and licked his lips. “Gonna say he’s taking a break, I guess. See if he changes his mind. If he doesn’t, we move on without him.”

It didn’t sound that simple. I don’t think it felt that simple to Harry.

I sighed and tried to gather my thoughts, a heavy weight in my stomach as I realized I was jealous. He could just leave? Up and walk away because he was tired and overwhelmed like the rest of us?

“Are you okay, lovie?” I reached forward to wrap my arms around him--which likely caught him somewhat off guard. I’d been less affectionate lately, largely due to my own exhaustion and anxiety pertaining to the never-ending feeling of stress. 

“M’fuckin’ pissed,” his accent was thicker than usual, typical for when he was angry. “I feel like he just fuckin’ walked away as if this hasn’t been hard on all of us. Like he’s had it the worst or something and--s’fuckin’ ridiculous.”

I peered around the hallway--unsure if others knew about the new development and wondering if Harry should be shit talking Zayn in the hallway so freely. 

“Come in here,” I said, pulling him towards an open room--some sort of makeshift storage room  for their racks of clothing. 

As soon as he was inside and the door was shut behind us, tears wet his cheeks and he seemed to wipe quickly at them to dispose of the evidence. 

There’d be distance between all of us. Me and Harry, Harry and Niall, Zayn and everyone. We  were all exhausted and up until now, I’d been under the assumption that we were all on the  same page. I mistakenly thought that the desire to quit and go into hiding was normal. I spent my nights thinking about how young is too young to retire. I guess Zayn just beat me to it.

I was under the assumption that they wanted out as much as I did. 

But maybe that was my mistake. 

NOW - Day 1750

Margot sat on the hotel bed beside me, absentmindedly tugging at her hair as her laptop tried to connect to Hilary. We’d had this visit planned before the new had broken--she insisted on coming and I was relieved she wanted to. 

I was less mad now than I’d been at first. As a few days passed and I was able to cool off, I  realized that moving forward with Margot required forgiveness on both ends. If she’d been able to move forward knowing I’d slept with someone, I figured I could do my best to ignore the burning urge in my stomach to find this kid and strangle him with my bare hands. 

Something told me that wouldn’t do us any good. 

“Hello,” Hilary greeted with a smile as she came into view on the screen. Margot shifted on the bed and said hello.

“It looks so sunny there,” she commented, causing Hilary to turn to look out the window behind her. It was nighttime here--somewhere south of Amsterdam, and I could see my tired reflection in the hotel window that gave us a view of the city lights. 

“It was rainy earlier this week, actually,” she remarked, turning to look at both of us again--but this time with a more inquisitive stare. “How are both of you?”

“Fine enough,” Margot  answered, looking to me as she waited for my reply. 

“Tired,” I laughed. 

Margot had sent Hilary an email explaining the whole thing--one that I’d read over before she pressed send and that was signed from the both of us. Doing  all of this couples counseling over Skype seemed to make it more difficult to communicate. Especially when we only got an hour every ten days. So much happened in between our sessions, it felt like it was hard to keep her in the loop. 

“How have things been with the story breaking and the media--I read the email.”

Margot looked to me--her silent nudge to answer the question. “S’been okay--I was pretty upset  about it all at first.”

“Sure,” Hilary nodded.

“It’s nice to be able to talk about it in the same place and not over the phone.”

Another nod. “What have you been able to talk about?”

I looked over to Margot--passing it back to her. “I guess just the hurt feelings we both have about the  things we did when we weren’t together.”

“Right,” she nodded--she knew all of our secrets. “And I’m glad that you can identify it as ‘hurt,’ I think it’s easy to focus on the angry feelings, but those are often a defense for the hurt and sadness underneath.”

“Yeah, I mean--I feel like that’s where I’ve always been. I was a little angry about Harry sleeping with someone--but it was always more hurt than anger.”

I nodded in response to Margot’s words--they felt true. She was angry that night and definitely emotional on the deck at her house above the cliffs. But since then--and ever since then--she’d done her best to drop it. I’d asked her to. 

“There are a lot of things that we would redo, I think, if we had the chance,” I laughed. 

“Sure,” Hilary nodded--her face told me she understood where I was coming from. “And I think at both of those points--when both of these things happened--neither of you knew you’d be here.”

I let out a laugh. “Certainly didn’t think we’d be here.”

Margot laughed too--she offered me a smirk as Hilary asked us something else, something about traveling and visiting and how it all was going. Margot said it was going well, which was a relief to hear. And when we hung up the call and she told me she loved me, I said it back, over and over, until the sun rose. 

THEN - Day 915

My feet took me down the hallway faster than I expected. My heart was in my ears and my face felt hot. Suddenly, something I thought I knew and something that seemed to be a constant was an abyss of unknown. Margot was sitting beside Cara in catering--laughing at something she said when I pushed the door open with force. 

Her eyes landed on me, her face immediately going white as I closed the distance between us and stood over her table. 

“What’s the matter?” she looked up at me, her eyes searching my face for an answer to her question. 

I didn’t know where to start. I had a thousand things to say and a million emotions  that were threatening  to spill over. The last thing I needed to do was to spill it all in front of our crew.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. There were more eyes on me now--which wasn’t surprising after the way I’d rushed into  the room.

“Okay,” she stood from the table, looking to Cara before back to me. I turned and headed for a different door, this time leading her to a hallway that was reminiscent of every other venue we’d played. 

I tried to breathe and find the right words. Someone passed by and Margot shifted awkwardly on  her feet until I spoke. “Uhm, Zayn is leaving.”

Her face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he quit.”

“He what?” Her mouth hung open, my eyes scanned the hallway again to ensure that no one could hear. 

“He practically lost his shit last night on Louis and Niall I guess and this morning he talked with Paul and then Paul told us and he was already on a flight back to London.”

“Wh--what are you guys gonna do? He’s just done?”

I shrugged my shoulders defeatedly and licked my lips. I spit out the words that Paul had said only thirty minutes earlier. “Gonna say he’s taking a break, I guess. See if he changes his mind. If he doesn’t, we move on without him.”

She sighed and shook her head slowly--words clearly escaping her. 

“Are you okay, lovie?” She reached forward to wrap her arms around me--catching me somewhat off guard. She’d been more distant lately. Her mood was low and the only thing that seemed to help was Cara’s recent visit. I knew she wasn’t  looking forward to her own tour, I knew the looming start date felt suffocating to her. 

“M’fuckin’ pissed,” I said, shaking my head as I felt the tears come to my eyes. “I feel like he just fuckin’ walked away as if this hasn’t been hard on all of us. Like he’s had it the worst or somethig and--s’fuckin’ ridiculous.”

She peered around the hallway. “Come in here,” she spoke quietly, pulling me towards an open room with lots of wardrobe cases. 

As soon as we were inside and the door was shut behind us, tears wet my cheeks and I wiped quickly at them to dispose of the evidence. Margot had seen me cry plenty--but I hated the vulnerability of crying when I was angry.

It’s not like we hadn’t seen any  shift. I mean--Zayn had long been expiring, almost. With each  show and interview he seemed more fed up with us, with the music, with the fans. It was hard to ignore it, truthfully. But we tried. We wanted to hope that it was temporary and that things  would soon get back to the way they once were. 

And staring at Margot--who looked guilty and afraid and completely unsure of what to say or do only made me fear for the future.  

Without the band, without her, who was I? I’d been defined by my relationships for so long that it seemed to be the only way I identified. And that scared me more than anything.

NOW - Day 1768

It was nice to stay at Margot’s house in Malibu rather than an unfamiliar hotel or rental house that smelled too clean. Waking up in bed with her and keeping clothes in her big closet felt reassuring. 

My toothbrush in her bathroom was a good sign. When I landed in Burbank and she asked if I was stopping anywhere before coming ‘home’ nearly sent me over the moon.

But it was nearly sunset now. We were sat alone on her deck--she was clad in a sweatshirt of mine from 2014, her hair in a bun as she fiddled with the speaker between us. 

I poured the last of the wine into our glasses--pretending that I wasn’t nervous to hear the song they’d decided would be the lead single off of her new album--one that hadn’t even been announced yet. 

She pressed play, an upbeat tempo and piano filled my ears as she looked nervously at me. I reached for my wine and hoped for the best. 

The rain starts falling when you’re calling me, why can’t you see?

I’m diving under water just to breathe.

I’m feeling lonely, I’m feeling blue, won’t you please give me something?

I don’t believe in  your sweet nothing. 

I kept my eyes on the ground--my glass clutched tightly in my hand as I listened carefully to the  words she sang. She was talking about me. I wasn’t shocked, I wasn’t surprised, but I was anxious.  

She could tell that I didn’t love it--she kept her eyes on my face as the song made its way into the  second chorus--her second recounting of the failure between us. 

I feel your arms around me, you say you feel the love, but oh, I feel alone.

You think you understand me but I don’t even understand me at all, I feel alone.

It ended just as fast-paced as it started--the track cut out and we were left with the sounds of  waves crashing below. 

I let out an awkward laugh when she asked what I thought. “S’brutal, Marg. But--it’s a good fucking song.”

#udos #harry styles fanfic #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fiction #harry styles fic #one direction fiction #one direction fic #1d fic #1d fiction #1d fanfic #1d fanfiction #1dff updates #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles story #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles masterlist

[blueymoons]

Fictober 2019 Day One: It will be fun. Trust me.

Strike groaned quietly as he watched her walk away. These days he felt like groaning anytime he was around his partner. He was almost positive she didn’t know that though. He’d tried so hard to hide it.

He was afraid he might be failing though.

In the last week alone, they’d had dinner together after work every night, save one.

They’d gone to dinner with Nick and Ilsa on Friday.

Then Saturday they’d both had surveillance and had both ended up back at the office around the same time, so they’d popped down to The Tottenham for a drink, that had turned into dinner.

Sunday, they hadn’t seen each other, but Robin had texted him an article about one of their targets and they’d ended up talking on the phone for two hours that evening. He’d never before enjoyed talking on the phone to anyone as much as he’d enjoyed talking to her. Her quiet laugh and the fact that he could sense that she was snuggled up in bed with her laptop on her lap…He’d enjoyed trying to imagine what she might sleep in.

Monday he’d woken up ashamed of himself over the dream he’d had, wherein he’d slid his hand beneath mint green lace to find smooth skin and the sweetest flavor. He’d spent most of the day out of the office but returned around 7 to find her at her desk, chopsticks in hand, and crispy duck waiting for him on the counter.

Tuesday they’d had an appointment with a client who’d asked to meet them both in a coffee shop around the corner from his office. Robin had slipped her arm through his companionably as they’d walked toward the Tube station, chattering away about the client’s request and how they might go about managing it. As they’d taken their seats on the way back to Tottenham Station, she’d turned to him, eyes sparkling and said, “Hungry?” And they’d strolled into the nearest diner and continued discussing the new case.

Wednesday they’d staked out a warehouse. Ordinarily Robin would pack their snacks but that night they’d ended up sharing a huge bowl of spag bol that Robin had packed in the back of the Land Rover. When she’d pulled it out, he’d laughed, but she’d just smiled and handed him a fork before passing the bowl to him for a bite. They’d spent that evening handing the bowl back and forth, chatting quietly as they kept an eye on the doors and windows of the warehouse, watching for their mark to make his move. He’d never in his life have thought that sharing a bowl of spaghetti, in the front seat of a Land Rover, while staking out a potential drug deal, would be remotely sexy to him, but by the time they’d finished and she’d driven him home, he’d been nearly overwhelmed with the need to kiss her.

Thursday, last night, Robin had had late surveillance and he’d ended up working late in his office, putting together their notes on the warehouse stakeout and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t waiting for her. But he knew he was. When she’d texted him that she was on her way back he’d sent back only, “Hungry?” When she’d replied in the affirmative, he’d informed her that he’d ordered pizza. She’d arrived back at the office fifteen minutes later, rosy cheeked and wrapped up tightly against the cold, and he’d gone upstairs and grabbed the bottle of chardonnay he’d bought ages ago, with the intention of giving it to her for her birthday, and a wine glass and they’d had wine, beer and pizza while she told him about her surveillance.

When they’d finished, she’d walked to the coat rack and started bundling herself up again while he’d started gathering the dishes and wine bottle and glass. She’d buttoned her coat as she’d walked across the room to where he stood at her desk. While his hands had been full of dishes and a pizza box she’d tiptoed up, laying a hand on his shoulder for balance, and kissed his cheek, just above where his bear was growing in. “Thanks for dinner Cormoran. The wine was wonderful.” Her voice had been just slightly above a whisper.

“You’re welcome. You’ve had dinner waiting for me a few times,” he’d shrugged, almost toppling the wine glass he’d balanced on the plates in his left hand. “I figured it was about time I paid you back.”

“Would you like to do it again tomorrow?” she’d asked. “Dinner, I mean?”

“Um…” They’d never really preplanned these things before.

“I’m in the office late tomorrow for a meeting with Sam about next week.” She’d stepped back but had allowed her hand to trail down his arm. “But if you want, I can meet you somewhere after.” He’d felt his head nod, though he’d not realized that’s what he’d been planning to do. “Or,” and she stepped closer to him, “We could order in again.”

“Um, sure, which would you prefer?” he’d asked, flummoxed and starting to panic. Had she been flirting?

“Why don’t I just meet you here and we’ll see what happens?”

“Sure.” He’d almost given himself a concussion with the force of his nodding at that. “Great.”

And now…here they were. She’d just walked away and down the stairs to meet the delivery man, leaving him aching for her.

She was wearing jeans and a soft blue jumper that was cut low enough to show her collarbones and most of her sternum. As always, she smelled like a garden. Her hair was braided to one side, though some strands had come loose and had been tucked behind her ear, occasionally falling in her face, only to be tucked back again.

She was enchanting and alluring and everything he wanted.

“Here we are!” she announced as she came through the door, arms laden with bags. “I hope this new place is good.” She paused and looked at him. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah. Sure…” There went the nodding again. Maybe he had concussed himself.

“Oh. Well…This should be fun. I love trying new places.”

“I’m just not so sure about Italian/Asian fusion,” he said wryly.

“Oh come on…worst case we hate it and we chuck it all in the bin and go to the chippy. But let’s give it a try first. It’ll be fun. Trust me.” She twinkled at him over her desk as she unpacked the bags.

And an hour later he had to agree. He hadn’t expected Crab Ravioli Rangoon to be so good, but it had been.

And now she was sitting cross legged on the couch, just one cushion over from him, facing him. Her wine glass almost empty and the bottle drained, her eyes glowing behind the sparkle and tempting him beyond reason.

“Cormoran?” Her voice was quiet.

He blinked and realized he’d been staring at her lips. “Yeah?”

“Were you still hungry?”

“No.”

“OK.”

She set her glass on the floor and stood up, stretching so that the bottom of her jumper rose above the waistband of her jeans, revealing a small strip of pale skin, for just a moment.

He licked his lips.

She moved to her desk and started gathering the empty boxes and cartons together and putting them in the bag to take to the trash. “Can I ask you something?” Her back was to him, her face hidden. But the tone of her voice told him this wasn’t a casual question.

He stood up and picked up her glass from the floor, carrying it, the empty wine bottle and his empty beer bottle to the kitchenette where he deposited them on the counter. “You know you can.”

“When are you going to kiss me?”

He stopped and swung around, “I’m sorry?” Her face was composed, but her fingers were twisting the handles of the carrying bag she’d filled with the remnants of their dinner.

“I just wondered.”

“You…Kiss?”

“Yes. Because I’d really like it if you would.” She tucked her hair behind her ear again.

“Really?” He was rooted to the floor. “You…”

She leaned back against the edge of her desk, crossing her arms across her chest. “Yes. Really.” She sighed and pushed away from the desk, moving toward him. “I’ve kept waiting for you to do it…but you never do. And I’m tired of waiting.”

“You’ve been waiting?”

“Yes.”

“For me to kiss you.”

“Yes Cormoran.”

“But…I didn’t…”

“For such a bloody great detective you sure are terrible at figuring out that I’m attracted to you.”

“You are?” He swallowed. He was pretty sure it was audible. What was happening?

She was right in front of him. Her hand lifting to the buttons of his shirt, but her head was slightly bowed.

“Well…yes.” She chuckled. “It seems I am.”

Her eyes met his and before he could take his next breath his lips were on hers.

Her hand fisted in his shirt as the other lifted, her fingers sliding through his curls. Her mouth opened beneath his and he took full advantage, only to moan desperately as she sucked lightly on his tongue.

“Fuck Robin,” he breathed as he broke away, pulling her tightly to him and resting his chin on her head. “God.”

“You OK?”

“I’m so far past OK. I’m…” He cupped his hand under her chin, tilting her face to his. “I’m fucking overwhelmed.”

“Oh.” Her eyes clouded with confusion and a tinge of uncertainty.

“But in the best way.” And he lowered his lips to hers again, fingers stroking the side of her neck, thumb tracing along her collarbone as she arched into him with a soft sigh.

When his alarm went off at eight the following morning, he opened his eyes to find a red gold head resting on his arm. He slapped the alarm off and buried his nose in Robin’s neck as she stroked the back of his head. “I told you it’d be fun.”

#strellacott fanfic #robin x cormoran #cormoran and robin #Cormoran Strike Series #Cormoran Strike #Robin Ellacott #strike fic #strike fanfic

[writerofmanyfandoms]

Insecurities

Summary: Requested!Han SoloxPlusSized!Reader! Set a little after Solo. The newest addition to the Han-Chewie team, Han somehow manages to wrangle you in to accompany him on a mission. Will things actually run as smoothly as everyone hopes? Probably not, but you have grown accustomed to things not working out exactly the way you would like.

Pairing: Han Solo x Reader

Word Count: 1870

Warnings: being insecure, language, suggestive at times, extra fluffy at the end

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Hope all is well! I have come down with a bitch of a sinus infection, but I wanted to make sure I could put a story out! I may be getting a new laptop or even a desktop soon, so let’s cross our fingers! I have never written a Plus Sized Reader before, so I hope this is good! I am plus sized myself, and I always enjoy reading Plus Sized reader inserts. Hopefully, I can do more of these in the future! Everyone deserves to feel included.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or the characters. Also, I do not own this GIF, found on GIPHY

You stared at your reflection for what seemed like hours. Somedays you felt so confident and loved every article of clothing you were. Other days it felt as if your clothes were too tight and you couldn’t stretch them enough. Unfortunately, today was one of those bad days. In the back of your mind, you knew you were gorgeous, as conceited as that sounded. You had curves and some extra body, sure, but it didn’t make you ugly.

Finally settling into a black flowy dress, you quickly pulled your hair up into a formal bun. As if on cue, you saw Han appear in the mirror behind you.

“About time, Y/N. I always end up waiting on you. You take forever.” He teased, looking at you. He couldn’t help but admire you, his eyes lingering far longer than they should have, which made you feel a bit self-conscious. Normally his glance would have been appreciative, as you normally had the ability to at least act confidence.

You were sure that Han still seemed unaware of your feelings, and if he had known he surely wasn’t bringing it up. Although, you were rather oblivious to his feelings. Ever since you first healed him and Chewie, he had been smitten. He acted as if he didn’t want you to travel along with him, and tried to act as if he was doing you a favor when he ‘finally’ caved.

“Well I am ready, so let’s go.” You said, although a bit too short which caused him to raise his eyebrows.

“Alrighty, someone woke up in a bad mood. Let me just remind you. As soon as we get off the ship, Chewie is going to park this somewhere hidden. We are going to find out as much information as we can on where the Imperial Captain keeps the fuel. I need to deliver that to a potential buyer. As soon as we get out, we will radio Chewie and meet back up with him.” Han told you, as the two of you began to exit.

You didn’t feel comfortable helping him smuggle, but when he asked for your help you practically melted. It hadn’t taken very long for the two of you to open up, which was surprising, especially after he told you about what he had recently been through. Deep in your mind, you wished you didn’t like Han the way you did. Guys like him didn’t want girls like you. You knew that almost better than anyone. You saw the way his eyes would look at those thin, tall, gorgeous women. If it wasn’t so expected. It probably would have hurt your feelings.

Being this deep in thought was never good for you. On your more insecure days, you tended to stay by yourself, but you couldn’t today. And it didn’t help that the top half of this dress was more fitted than you liked, but you were running out of time to change.

“You look really nice tonight,” Han said, his voice soft as the two of you approached the entrance, and he flashed the invites to the security guard.

“Oh shut up.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes as the guard waved you through. Despite wanting to believe him, you were scared that Han was only joking or even just saying that to trick you. You were no stranger to cruel jokes. When you were younger boys and girls would always pay you a compliment, only to run back to their group of friends and laugh it off.

Han could see it in your eyes that you didn’t really believe him. He wanted you to though because he truly meant it. He loved the way you looked, everything from the way your clothes fit your body, to the way your hair would fall down your back after taking it down. You were truly a magnificent sight, and he only wanted you to see it all of the time.

“Okay, so let’s split up. We will do some talking, try to find out whatever it is we can. We will meet up every twenty minutes or so to check on the progress. As soon as we find out what we need, we can get the hell out of here. Agree?” Han asked, you only nodding your head in approval.

The two of you drifted to other sides of the room, and you couldn’t think of how easy Han had it. All he had to do was flirt around with the pretty girls, and he could easily find out what he needed. Honestly, why would he even need you? You rolled your eyes at the thought. Of course, he could just flirt his way, who could blame him? He was definitely charming and good looking, and he could smooth talk any woman who wanted to hear his flattery.

Like clockwork, the two of you would meet up, but neither one of you had found out what you needed. It felt as if Han was so easy at this, you often would struggle at making small talk with large groups of strangers. Unlike Han, you were easy at blending in. You were used to people not noticing you, or forgetting you were around. It was exactly how you found out that he kept his fuel on Coruscant, in a little cantina that was owned by his brother. The ladies were gossiping about it, as you stood nearby.

All of a sudden music started playing, and everyone was pairing off. You couldn’t help but panic, dancing was definitely not your strong suit. You had thought you were in the clear until you felt a hand on your back and the familiar, yet very handsome face of Han Solo.

“Hey, hey Y/N. Not so fast, have this dance with me. Besides, we need to blend in and I am having no luck.” He said, pulling you in close and holding on to your hand.

As you wrapped an arm around him, you realized you didn’t want to tell him the information. Not yet. You knew it was stupid and silly, and probably not a good idea to hold on to it, but you wanted to enjoy this moment for a little while longer.

“Oh yeah? Me either. I figured you would, all of those girls look like they are ready to jump into bed with you.” You teased, faking a grin as he rolled his eyes.

“Just because I flirt with women does not mean I like them. I normally have an ulterior motive. I learned that sometimes it is the only way to get information or for them to lead me somewhere.” Han said, a bit too nonchalantly, and your eyes immediately stared down at your feet as the two of you danced. “But in all honesty, I do like someone. It’s you.” He admitted, surprised as you halted so suddenly.

“What the fuck Han? Is this some sort of sick joke? It isn’t funny.” You said, your voice low but definitely sounded angry.

“Wait, no? Why would I be joking?” Han asked, confusion plastered all over his face.

“Oh fuck off, don’t play dumb. You flirt with all of those women with smaller waists then me, who have the perfect body and can run around naked and no one would bat an eye. So don’t even try and play and act as if someone like me is your type.” You seethed, as you began to storm out. As soon as you got outside you took off running. It didn’t matter where you went, just as long as you were away from Han.

It didn’t take you very long to find a nice secluded park bench, and you quickly sat down. You definitely hated running, but all of the adrenaline you had made it seem a lot easier. It felt like forever until you felt a warm body near you, and you were too exhausted to argue.

“Y/N, why did you run off? And explode like that? Do you really think I am the type of guy to do something like that to you? Yeah, I can be a bit of an ass, but damn. I’m not cruel.” Han said, sitting down beside you.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you shook your head. You knew Han really wasn’t that way, it was just a part of your brain could not believe what he had been saying. You had been let down a lot in life, and you were just extremely guarded.

“Of course not. But you flirt with so many women, you never once have done that to me.” You said, kicking some gravel beneath your feet, thankful that you had opted for some comfortable flats.

Han couldn’t help but chuckle, rolling his eyes as he nudged you. “Of course I don’t do that to you. Why would I? I don’t flirt with those women because I like them. I do it because not only am I wonderful at it, but because I know some women respond well to my flattery. I knew you would never, and I liked you too much to want to flirt with you like that. I do flirt with you, Y/N, it just isn’t the way you are used to seeing. So you would have never expected it.”

“Okay then, well explain why you like me. Why me? Look at me. I have chub in all of the wrong spots, I can’t run a marathon, or flaunt around naked.” You said, but Han only shook his head.

“I mean, feel free to flaunt your naked body in front of me. I would definitely appreciate it.” He teased, smiling as you laughed and rolled your eyes. “See, that’s why. Because you don’t always see that you are beautiful. I know you can be confident, but I also know when you aren’t, and I want to help make you feel better. We all have insecurities. I don’t think you are fat, I think you are perfect. All sizes are beautiful, and I definitely do not discriminate. You also have the most wonderful smile, and every time you laugh it makes me happy. You are so many things, and I wish you could see those things all of the time.” Han said, leaning in close and cupping your face with his chin.

As soon as he finished talking, you couldn’t help but press your lips against his. Despite him wanting everyone to think he was some rough smuggler, he did have a soft heart. You wanted this moment to last forever, but unfortunately, the two of you pulled away.

“Come on, let’s get to the Falcon. I don’t want to hang around here too long. Plus it sucks that we couldn’t get that information.” Han said, hopping up, holding his hand out for you to take.

“About that, I actually did. It is at his brother’s night club. I just wanted to dance with you.” You said with a grin, laughing as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Y/N! You are the best.” Han said, giving you such a deep kiss that you could feel your insecurities melt away. Maybe some things do work out well after all.

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