Grem's Library

Curtis doesn't usually take part in the sporty games at summer outings. He prefers to read in the shade and helping set up or cook. Seeing you get so riled up at Johnny (and now Colin's) teasing remarks made him smile - you should know better than to let them taunt you.

"Fine!" You say, throwing up your hands before placing them firmly on your hips. "Shirts and Skins."

"We can be shirts," Johnny says wiggling his eyebrows and you almost hit him.

"Just pick your third and then we can pick a ref." You harrumph.

Johnny's smile morphs into a grinch-like grin as he points at Curtis. You hope the dread doesn't show on your face as you glance over. Curtis has locked eyes with Johnny and is getting to his feet. Then he does the unthinkable - he peels his shirt over his head as he walks over and tosses it to the ground.

He's leaner than you thought he'd be but still bulky. Covered head to toe in dark hair that made him look more bear than man. You knew you were staring - you just hoped you weren't drooling.

You swallow a thick lump in your throat. "You almost never play."

Curtis shrugs.

"What, scared you're gonna lose?" Johnny taunts, patting Curtis' thick arm.

You bolster. "Absolutely not."

"Then let the game begin."

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Touch rugby was never your forté, however, when Johnny Storm riles you up enough about how boys are better; you just had to prove him wrong.

Jake was the best person to step in as ref, and once the opposite team was ready, the games began. It was Johnny, Colin and Curtis versus you, Natasha and Anna.

Nat and Anna were lighter and more agile than you were, making them perfect to avoid Johnny and Colin's attempts at touching them. They scored twice in ten minutes; but once Johnny had assessed their movements, he somehow managed to maneuver them near Curtis, who stood like a pillar when he reaches out to tap them.

They scored three goals in five minutes.

By the half-time whistle, you're worried you may actually win. You huddle with Nat and Anna, trying to come up with a strategy to win.

"We need two goals to win and that's if they don't get any more goals." Nat sighs. "We have to get past Curtis."

"I have an idea." You say, heat rising to your cheeks. "Have you guys ever seen She's the Man?"

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The plan was working. At least, it was in part.

Stopping Colin and Johnny from scoring was difficult but managable. For fifteen, gruelling minutes, you and your team kept them from scoring. Now, in the last five minutes, you needed to even the playing field or win two goals.

All was going according to plan.

Curtis wasn't quick but because of his build he had a further reach and would be able to catch either one of your teammates if they tried to get past. Unless, of course, there was a distraction.

You nodded at Nat as Jake's whistle sounded, leaping down the field trying to keep up with Nat, with Anna not far behind. You encroach on Curtis, ignoring Colin and Johnny's hoots and hollers for Curtis to nab Nat.

Nat looks to you, looking like she's about to throw the ball your way. Curtis turns his head to you, in anticipation of you catching a well-timed throw.

Instead you lift your shirt, and bra, to your chin.

It's only seconds before it's down again but Nat has already scored. Curtis is frozen in place, cheeks a pretty pink.

"No fair!" Johnny pouts. "That's cheating!"

"Says who?" You counter. "I was way too hot. You guys are topless."

"Aw, ref," Colin calls to Jake. "Come on, man, red card!"

Jake scratches his goattee thoughtfully. "It isn't really against the rules..."

You smirk over at the boys before Jake continues. "But that was dirty. I'll allow it but don't do it again."

You salute at Jake and promise you won't do it again, much to Johnny and Colin's complaints. Curtis on the other hand, doesn't complain. Your cheeks grow warm as you approach him again.

"Sorry." You say in a hushed tone as you pass him. "I've gotta prove a point."

Curtis nods but says nothing, staring at the grass beneath his feet.

Now, two minutes are left. The whistle blows. You race off - determined to keep another goal from being scored. Nat passes to you, avoiding Cole. You weave past Johnny. The goal is in sight. Then the world slows as a giant hand reaches out, past your waist.

You throw the ball with a shout of Anna's name, launching it far over head as you're scooped up into Curtis' arms, and held against his chest as Anna scores the winning goal.

You cheer loudly, hands balled into fists as you throw them upwards, uncaring that Curtis has lifted you over his shoulders like a caveman. You're unsure whose more victorious but as you watch Curtis' butt as he walks you both away from prying eyes; you can't help but feel that it's you.

End

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

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There is no better feeling than waking to the conifer-ash scent of your husband, pinned to him by his own strong, tattooed arms. You trace the blue lines that knot intricately from his wrist upwards, disappearing under your cheek. Curtis stirs but doesn't wake and you smile as you softly tickle the crook of his elbow; causing him huff in his sleep.

You'd had the most restful sleep you have had since marrying Curtis - and you were surprised to find yourself up earlier than him. Clearly, the days of waking early to avoid you had taken their toll, and it hadn't taken long for Curtis to fall straight to sleep cuddled next to you.

When you begin to trace the tattoos again Curtis grumbles in annoyance, and shifts to press further into you, practically pinning you on your stomach. You bury your face into your pillow to conceal your soft whimper as Curtis' hard cock rubs against the thin material of your nightdress. The selfish part of you doesn't want to wake him; the closeness between you, something that you've waited patiently for, is now within your reach. The more reasonable part of you, however, values Curtis' wants more than yours; and you make attempts to wake him - though futile.

With Curtis no longer plagued by his own worries about your future, it seemed he was a ridiculously heavy sleeper. And what was, for a moment, a bit of selfish indulgence on your part, was now growing panic as you wriggled beneath him - unable to shake him from his slumber. Curtis groaned low in his throat as his hips rolled into yours and you yelped as your nightdress was tugged up centimetre by centimetre, with his cock slotted between your ass cheeks. It throbbed and wept, and you felt heat bloom both across your face and between your legs as you attempted to kick your husband's shins.

All of the progress you had made only for his subconscience to throw it out of the window. No doubt Curtis would avoid you for at least week when he woke up.

"Husband," you hiss, turning to face him, only to be buried in his beard. "Curtis!"

Curtis rolls his hips again and nuzzles into your shoulder with a murmur of gibberish. You think you hear the word 'wife' but you can't be certain. Does he know what he's doing?

"Curtis!" You make sure you're louder this time, throwing your gentle caution to the wind.

It seems to work. Icy blue eyes blink open, still groggy, and look at you. You can see the rapid range of emotions cross his face; happiness at waking next to you, mild confusion and then dawning horror at the realisation of what he had begun to do in his sleep.

His cheeks grow red and he sputters, pushing his arms up to release you from beneath him. But you don't move. Instead you start to laugh, making Curtis turn more red.

"You really did not tell him about our agreement." You giggle, pressing a kiss against the back of the hand closest to you. He relaxes slightly, but doesn't put his full weight on you again.

He clears his throat. "I'm sorry. I think after last night-"

You hold your hand up to him and cut him off. "Don't apologise. I was enjoying cuddling and admiring you whilst you were asleep. Perhaps I should have tried to wake you sooner."

"Admiring me?" Curtis smiles shyly. "How so?"

"You actually look peaceful when you sleep, chieftain." You joke, entwining your arm around his strong forearm and resting your head against it. "And I have never seen your tattoos before."

"You haven't?"

You fix him with a look that undoubtedly says "are you being serious ?" and Curtis smiles sheepishly.

"Of course you haven't." He corrects. "My apologies."

You huff playfully and kiss his arm. "It's no matter. I can think about admiring them on our second wedding night." The insinuation isn't lost on him as he sputters to try and think of a response, but you are too quick for him. "How are your hands feeling today? Better?"

"Yes."

"You haven't even looked at them!"

"No, but I cannot have you touching me again or else I may forgo our agreement." Curtis grits out, and with a quick peck, he jumps out of bed insistent on starting breakfast.

You blow on your spoon watching Curtis carefully as he shovels his porridge in an attempt to not have to speak further on what had transpired earlier in the morning. Although, you were having fun still teasing him for it.

"Curtis, you'll make yourself sick if you keep eating like that." It slows him for a moment until you continue. "Save it for our wedding night."

He grips his spoon so hard you could've sworn it bends in his hand. You smirk as you take a bite of your own porridge and fix him with a sly look.

"Dear husband, you're too easy to tease." You tell him. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not." Curtis mutters, stirring the remainder of porridge in his bowl. "You're enjoying this far too much."

You grin. "I am."

Curtis shakes his head with a small chuckle and you're about to ask about what his plans are for the day when the most surprising thing happens; Curtis hiccups.

His gigantic frame jolts in its seat across from you and the teeniest, tiniest hic sound emits from your husband. Your wide-as-he-is-tall, bearded, tattooed, husband hiccups like a toddler.

You bite your lips, desperately. This was the best day you have had in a long while. Curtis' eyes meet yours across the table.

"Don- hic," his body jolts again, and afterwards, he hide his face his hands as you laugh at him.

As soon as you think you have your laughter under control, he hiccups again, making you lose composure. You're wiping away tears of laughter after a few minutes - his hiccupping mildly under control - when he finally manages to speak again.

"You have definitely been sent to test me."

After bidding Curtis goodbye with a kiss on his burning cheek, you headed to Tannya's. The next step for your wedding was the planning. After your next dress fitting with Tannya, she gathered every woman and child she could and ordered them to go to river nearby. You shrugged when Curtis looked over quizzically, and shook his head with a smile before going back to speaking with Edgar.

One of the younger men tried to trail behind the group but Tannya's eagle eyes spotted him within mere minutes, and gave him a hushed talking to. You couldn't make out what was said but he did not look nearly as sullen as Curtis had when Tannya had given him an earful. Though you couldn't prove it, you could have sworn that Tannya was planning something. However, you were too distracted by excitable children to pay it much mind.

"So, chieftainess," Another woman, Sonia, begins. "What plans do you have for the wedding?"

"Plans?" You echo.

"Yes!" Brienna, a fiery-haired young woman exclaimed. "What flowers will you have? What food would you like?"

"Erm," you swallow awkwardly. You hadn't given your plans any thought. You had, naievely, assumed that you wouldn't have any say in the preparation beyond showing up; much like your last wedding.

"Ladies!" Tannya's voice booms, as she flaps her hands. "Let her be. Curtis hasn't decided if he's going on his stag yet - so we need to have a plan first."

"Stag?" You question, and all of the women look at you like youve grown a second head.

"Do you not know what a stag is?" Brienna asks, face serious. Her question earns her a rap around the head from her mother, Sara.

"Of course she doesn't," Sara huffs. "She's from another tribe, you fool."

"A stag is where the chieftain and a few of his closest men venture out into the wilds for a few days." Tannya explains helpfully. "To drink, share stories, and hunt for the main meat of the feast." Then she shrugs. "Curtis is too anxious to be away for so long."

Another woman sighs wistfully. "You're such a lucky woman. To have a fiancé too anxious to leave you."

"Husband." Brienna corrects haughtily, forcing you to conceal a snort. "And I think Curtis is too anxious to leave in case something happens to us."

"Curtis does care for you all so much," you add diplomatically and Tannya chortles.

"But you know as well as I do that he needs to learn to relax." Tannya smiles as the children run Brienna down and are subsequentally chased away. "But enough about him. What flowers do you want in your flower crown?"

"Erm," you shrug your shoulders haplessly as one of the children has a small coughing fit. His mother rushes over and rubs his back, you turn to Tannya. "What flowers are in season here?"

Tannya shrugs. "I only know of the wildflowers, but their stems are both easy and tricky to weave because of how thin they are."

You nod contemplatively. "Wildflowers are in abundance too."

"You'll be followed by bees all day." Brienna points out impatiently, and her mother hushes her as another child sniffles and races after their friends. "I will not sit in the front if there are bees surrounding you."

"Brienna-" Her mother attempts to scold her but is silence when you laugh.

"I can't imagine my husband would take to kindly to ward off bees when he has to kiss me." You tell them, which earns snorts all-round. "I'll have to think carefully about what I what prefer more."

The rest of the day goes quickly; wedding planning and chasing children really takes it out of you. Your mind is made up, however, on convincing Curtis to take the few days away to relax. During a moment of blessed quiet from the other women and children, you gather a mixture of herbs and wildflowers by the river.

There's more green in your bunch than you would have liked and a strong smell of onion that, you agree with yourself, is a far worse option than bees swarming you on your wedding day. However, the herbs would make for a good medicine. One that would hopefully stop the sniffling and coughing of the children.

As you kneel to pick a sun-yellow iris poking between a thicket of reeds, careful to avoid the muddy riverbank sand on your dress, you notice a strange marking in the sand. It's a paw of some sort. And big. It spans almost twice the width of your hand, with five dots above the paw pad - claws.

You frown at the mark. There is only one other, half melted away into the river sand. You wrack your brain. You've not seen a track like this before; not in a book or near your old village. But it sends a chill down your back, settling an a cold, uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"Chieftainess!" Timmy barrels into you, hugging you tight. "I found you! Where did you go?"

With your concentration broken, you turn to smile at Timmy. "I was collecting herbs for-"

He interupts you to cough harshly.

"-that." You stand up and take his hand. "Come on, let's go back to everyone. I'm sure it's almost time for supper."

Curtis has a light supper waiting for you when you return. It's bread, butter, cheese and mead by candlelight; nothing fanciful yet it makes your heart soar. Curtis had waited until you were home so that he could eat with you - another thing that squeezed your heart despite you chastising him gently for it - and you happily sat across from him tearing into your bread.

Curtis' day had been filled with stock taking and preparation. Boring yet essential. Everything was on task and would continue to be for a while, according to everyone else. Curtis, however, was worried. You had asked him the cause of his worry, yet he couldn't seem to pinpoint it.

"I cannot explain it," he tells you as he butters a small piece of bread. "Something does not feel right."

"I suppose no would be a bad time to mention your stag." You say over your tankard. When he looks at you quizically, you clarify. "Before our wedding."

"Oh." He blinks. "Oh."

"I think you should go," you add calmly, setting your tankard down and picking at some bread. "I think you beget your own worry and a short break might do you some good. Besides," you smirk over at him. "It may be only time for a long while where you may actually have some respite."

"Respite?" Curtis' brows furrow fir a second before his eyes meet yours and he sees the glimmer of mischief he has grown so fond of.

"Oh, hush." He huffs, cheeks glowing.

"I didn't even suggest anything!" You protest despite grinning ear to ear.

Curtis mutters to himself as he shrinks into his chair. "But you're probably right."

"I know that I am." You say firmly. "And I know that with the people's help, I'll be just fine."

Curtis hums, still unsure.

"And," you hastily add. "I will be able to make the final preparations for my dress away from prying eyes."

This seems to convince your husband, albeit reluctantly, to venture forth to the wilderness for three days. "Very well. I know Tannya and Gwilliam would give me an earful if I did not go."

"Then it's settled." You bite into a sliver of cheese. "Tell me what you need for your journey and I will help you get ready."

By the time you are getting ready for bed, Curtis' small bag is packed and a gathering of some twenty men have been gathered. You heard the excited shouts of Edgar and some of the younger men when Curtis announced he'd be following the tradition of every engaged man by going on the three day hunting celebration. Surprised by how quickly the men had prepared to go, you could only assume that someone else was planning on convincing Curtis to follow the tradition had it not been you. Curtis seemed to think the same, and he told you as much once he returned, along with the unfortunate news that they wanted to leave immediately the following morning.

"They don't want to dally." You told him, splashing your face with water. "I cannot say I don't blame them."

"Is that a joke, wife?" Curtis asks, shocking his outer clothes. "Or do you wish me gone that badly?"

Since you aren't looking at him, for a terrifying moment you thought he was serious. However, upon facing him, you're relieved to see a small smile almost hidden by the shadows of night.

"I want you to return quickly," you say, moving towards your shared bed. "The sooner you are back, the sooner my bed is warm again."

Curtis chuckles. "Ah. I am merely a means of warmth then? I should have known."

You curl up against your side of the bed, waiting for Curtis to join you under the furs. "Of course." You reply. "Now, quick. It's cold."

Curtid huffs in such a way that you know means he's smiling and sure enough, moments later, the bed dips.

"Face me." Curtis says quietly, not cuddling into you as usual. You sit up and turn towards him and he streches his right arm out, half under your pillow, so that you may rest your head upon it. "I want your face to be the last thing I see before I fall asleep if I'm leaving at first light."

"What about your no-touch rule?"

"Shut up and come here."

Your cheeks grow warm as you nestle down beside him - his bicep far comfier than any pillow you have slept on. His conifer scent envelops you, his calloused but gentle fingers tracing your face as he looks at you with an intense gaze that would be the envy of a thousand suns.

You want to ask him if he's still worried about leaving - if there's something else on his mind. You want to tell him you love him - but settle for a meager, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too Kærasta." His voice is quiet and as warm as he is; and it makes your eyes grow heavy far too quickly for your liking.

"Come back to me." You whisper. "I still want to marry you."

Curtis' chest rumbles with a laugh and a kiss is placed delicately onto your forehead. "I promise, Kærasta."

Your hum sounds closer to a purr this time as you drift away to sleep. "Good, I will hold you to it."

Part of your brain fight sleep, eager to speak more of what had passed during the day; the flowers, the games and the pawprint. But all is forgotten as you fall asleep in your husband's arms.

Part 4 End

A/N: Kærasta = darling (in Icelandic)

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"AAAH!"

"HOLD STILL!"

"It's cold!"

"It's for your own protection!" You puff out your cheeks at Jake, like a small angry chipmunk. "I'll even warm it up in my hands for you first if you're going to be such a baby about it."

Jake pouts and makes a noise in the back of his throat, unsure of how truthful you're being. You huff and rub the cream on your palms before showing them to him in a means of truce.

"Come on, honey." You plead, already seeing the red marks under his eyes where the glass of his glasses has amplified the power of the sun on his skin. "Whose gonna be there to protect me from all the water balloons if you're catatonic with sunstroke?"

This, it seems, makes Jake concede. He can't leave you to fend for yourself against his friends and family.

He gives you a resigned sigh. "Alright. Fine."

You try not to smile, cupping his face and running your thumbs along his burned cheeks. Trails of sunscreen are left in your wake, until you gently rub it in. It quickly becomes a make shift massage. Your hands trail from his face to his neck, then his shoulders; where a short squeeze of the shoulder muscles makes your boyfriend suppress a sound you know to well.

"Oh," you tease softly, pumping more suncream into your palm. "Bet you're wishing you hand this sooner, huh?"

"Shut up." Jake mumbles, half-heartedly annoyed. He jumps with a squeal when you press, cold creamy hands onto his bare back.

"What was that, babe?" You taunt, furiously rubbing the cream in as he tries to flail miserably away from you.

"Ahh no!" He wriggles beneath you, laughing. "No fair! No fair!"

He flops, then flips, so that you are beneath him instead. He tries to catch his breath but you steal it when you run your hands down his bare torso with a wicked grin.

"There." You say, booping a small blob of cream onto his nose. "Now it's just your legs."

"My-" Jake shivers and shakes his head with a broad grin. "Yes. My legs."

You snort. "Then we will be outside."

"Yes. Outside." Jake nods, moving off of you. "Of course."

"Jake," you narrow your eyes playfully. "Then outside."

"Yeah, yeah. Then outside, I heard you."

Suffice to say, by the time you got outside it was already much, much cooler. And Jake needed another dousing of sunscreen.

End

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Make sure y'all wear hats and sunscreen - and DRINK SOME WATER 😡

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'Twas swooning season, apparently.

Your face is set like stone as you stroll behind your lady, who is deep in conversation and light laughter with the Prince of Angieon; Steve Rogers. Although you know your lady is not prone to fainting, nor does she hold much stead in pathetic courting rituals; she has still brought her fan with her, and occasionally flutters it - prompting the prince's cheeks to go pink each time.

Whatever fan-signal she sends her husband-to-be works - because the prince seems ready to swoon at her feet. However, just as you make a mental note to tease her for it later, an annoying sound pierces your ears and you're forced to glance to your left.

Bucky, the prince's knight and best friend, was attempting to make small talk again.

"It's a lovely day for a walk." He says flexing his right arm over the hilt of sword.

"Yes. Indeed." You say coolly focusing back on your Lady and her prince.

"Heard it was your idea." Bucky continues. "The walk."

"Yes."

"You still haven't forgiven me, have you?" Bucky sighs.

"My, whatever gave you that impression?" Your body is taught, head and neck stiff as you keep your eyes forward.

Steve says something in a hushed tone and your Lady laughs. A pang of jealousy strikes your chest. If only you could have experienced something so pure.

"I've apologised countless times already." Bucky says in a desperate whisper.

"Quiet." You hiss over at him. "I don't need my Lady to know about her servant's business. Nor do I want to discuss it further."

Bucky clamps his mouth shut with a frown. "Courting you isn't... it's not..."

You suck in a sharp breath and glower at him with the fury of a thousand suns. "Your cowardice is none of my concern."

You snap your head and beam at your Lady when she addresses you, answering her politely with an inclination of your head. When she turns away, your frown is back and your voice drips contempt.

"I'm not one of your love-sick damsels, Bucky." You snap. "Go and bay at some other poor creature's window and let her take pity on you instead."

You take a few long strides to get ahead of him, leaving him to sulk behind you. You don't look back. You don't need him to see how your eyes are full to the brim with tears.

Your words struck harder than any blow a man could have dealt him and they echo in Bucky's mind long after the walk has finished and Steve gushes about his future wife-to-be.

"Isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" Steve sighs dreamily.

"Yes, your highness." Bucky replies, remembering how you'd looked at him with such gentle care - like he'd break into a thousand pieces at your soft touch.

And then he'd scorned you.

"She's so- so- gah! I can't think of an adjective fitting enough!" Steve is practically frolicking from each side of the room.

Bucky can't remember the last time he himself had frolicked. Or if he ever would. "Yes, your highness."

Steve's frolicking ceases suddenly as he turns to look at his best friend, who's sitting sullen in a dark corner, growing mushrooms. Steve had never seen him look so glum.

"I take it you're mystery woman didn't work out?" Steve questions, sitting backwards on a chaor opposite Bucky.

"Something like that, your-"

"If you say your highness once more I'll throw something at you." Steve sighs, crossing his arms across the top of the chair and resting his head on top of them. "You know you can refer to me by my name in private."

Bucky sighs, slumping further into himself. "Sorry. But yes, the mystery woman didn't work out."

Steve studies Bucky for a moment. "May I ask how come? I've never seen you this upset over a woman before. Surely, a woman didn't finally break your heart?"

"No." Bucky replies and Steve grins. "But I ruined everything."

That wipes the smile off Steve's face. "How so?"

"I said I cannot be with her." Bucky sighs. "My duty is to you and the Kingdom. A knight-"

Steve looks utterly aghast. "You said what?"

"I- well," Bucky shrugs helplessly. "It would never have worked out."

Steve's mouth hangs open. "You mean to tell me that this mystery woman you have been chasing for months... you- you-" Steve runs his hands over his face and groans loudly. "You're such a fool."

"Surprisingly," Bucky chuckles wryly. "She has been telling me similar."

"No wonder." Steve harrumphs, slumping into a chair. "There is no rule for you not to marry." He says finally, eyes closed and brows furrowed. "I'm not understanding your logic, Buck."

Bucky rolls his shoulders, half shrug, half releasing the tension in his muscles. It didn't make sense out loud - not really. However, Bucky knew that his dedication to the kingdom and to Steve would always trump whoever he would be married to. And when it came to you in particular, he didn't think he would be able to fulfill his duty.

You would always, always, come first.

Well, up until a fortnight ago.

He had thought that it was best if he put an end to your secret courtship; best for the both of you. Best for him. Stupidly, he had not expected that your warm demeanour would shift to cold. Gone was the kindness and the gentle caresses of your hand brushing against his when he'd accompany you to the market to give the prince and his fianceé some privacy. Instead, he felt as if you were now leagues apart - the look of irreprable despair on your face when he told you things had to end haunting every waking moment. The fact of the matter was he loved you and that he could not do anything about it.

He tells Steve as much, who throws up his hands in exasperation.

"Why did you not tell me?" He huffs and Bucky smiles. Of course his best friend would be upset over a secret romance.

"Because you are so in love," Bucky replies coolly. "I didn't want to trouble you with this trivial matter."

"Love is not trivial." Steve argues. "She's unlike your other flings, correct?"

Bucky nods. "Entirely different."

"And she feels the same way?"

"She did," Bucky sighs. "I wouldn't be surprised if she hates my guts at present."

"Then all is not lost." Steve says jumping up. "If she truly loved you, her heart would not be fickle. Her anger at you demonstrates as much."

Bucky blinks at him in disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

"Deathly." Steve says seriously. "Now, tell me. Who is she? I wish to help you devise a plan to win her back."

Your Lady had been at afternoon tea with the Queen the following day, dismissing you from your usual duties. The day had been warm enough to read in the sunshine, the evening cold enough to hurry you inside; yet, the sky remained clear enough to see the stars. You sat in the stone crevice of you window gazing up into the night, thanking the powers that be from thwarting further emotional investment on such a cowardly knight.

You may have wished upon a star that there was a different outcome, and you sigh away thoughts of what could have been.

That is, until, a voice beckons you from the darkness below. You squint downward and a warm firey glow from a torch illuminatws a man's face.

"Bucky?"

He grins up at you. "Good evening, my lady."

You roll your eyes and pull a sour face. "How did you get in?"

"I'm a future king's knight." He says, as if it answers your question entirely.

"Very well," you snap. "What are you doing here?"

His face falters for a second - struggling to keep his smile under your hard gaze. "To see you. I wish to speak with you." He pauses to swallow a lump in his throat. "To make ammends."

"Oh," you say, faux-excited. "Here is something for you to make ammends with."

Bucky tactfully dodges the silver jug you launch at him and watches ruefully as you close the wooden windows, shielding yourself from him. A quick glance to the darkness to his left with a shrug, has Steve pointing furiously at the trellis that clings to the wall, leading to your chambers. Bucky sighs.

You pace angrily. How dare he! It isn't enough to have embarassed you, but to get your hopes up too! You thump a pillow angrily, before hugging it to your body, and continue your pacing. A soft knock at your wooden shutters stops you.

No. He couldn't- he wouldn't- have.

You throw the shutters open and there is Bucky, half-hanging onto your window ledge. He looks sheepish, covered in scratches from the roses that trail the trellis but somehow still manages a smile.

"Please," he says quietly. "Listen to what I have to say."

You fold your arms and make no move to help into your room. He sighs in defeat and begins to talk.

"I was a fool. I am so incredibly sorry for hurting you." He dips his head. "But you must understand that my duty would be to the prince first and foremost."

You harrumph in response but he continues.

"However, the prince has informed me that I am also an incredibly small-minded fool amd that I would make a better court jester than a knight - if I do not make it right by you."

You raise an eyebrow and he wiggles slightly. Something snaps under his foot and his body slips slightly. Tensing, you sigh and reach over to him to help him up. He thanks you, and smiles like he hasn't ripped out your heart once already.

"You have apologised many times already." You tell him, picking a stay leaf from his mail.

"I wish to make it right, not apologise." He says firmly. He takes your hand in his softly, cautiously, careful not to break you. "I want you to be my wife."

You stare at him incredulous, heart beating like a cornered beast's. "Bucky you-"

"-are a fool? A wretch?" He interjects, holding your hand tighter. His eyes are fierce. He was serious. "I cannot for a moment think of my life without you. I wish to be selfish. Even if it means forgoing my duties."

"You- but the prince-"

"I have Steve's blessing." He says quickly. "I would be lying if I said that this entire evening was my idea."

It clicks. That was how he got in. The prince pulled strings; which meant...

"My lady also knows about this?"

"By morning, I will let everyone know." Bucky says. "I will shout it from the rooftops if I must; let everyone know that I am yours." He glances at you, eyes hopeful and voice low. "If you will have me?"

It is the longest moment of your life, until you remember to breathe again and fling your arms around his neck. "Of course, my beautiful fool!" You kiss his cheeks as he picks you up and spins you around your room. "Don't you ever be so stupid ever again!"

"Now that, my dear, I can promise."

END

Maybe we will see these two again! I quite like Knight!Bucky hehe 😈

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When Frank had invited you to the annual summer barbecue with a nervous, but charming smile, you had been over the moon. You hoped that you looked calm and collected when you had smiled and said yes; in your mind, you were excitedly squealing and already thinking of fifteen different dishes to bring with you.

The excitement for the barbecue didn't dissipate until five hours after your arrival. You had tried to put on a brave face after seeing Frank's ex-girlfriend and her pals hanging around, reminding yourself you hadn't even been on three dates with Frank.

You knew Frank had many flings over the years of living in the small seaside town, as well as being the most eligible bachelor in a twenty mile radius. Single dad uncle, insanely smart, handsome and a handyman that was good with his hands in every sense of the phrase? Yep. Frank Adler was one hell of a catch. If you could catch him.

Unfortunately for you, Bonnie thought she'd be the one to do it.

What started as small, gossiping looks amongst friends turned more bitchy as the day drew on. After seeing Frank give you a small peck on the cheek in greeting, Bonnie telepathically declared war on you. She intentionally monopolised Frank's attention - not that you minded so much since you got to chat with people you hadn't seen since high school and you got to say hello to Roberta, Frank's neighbour.

When her friends insulted your dish within ear shot, sneering over at you, you ignored it; relishing the fact that Frank had taken probably the majority of it and was happily wolfing it down. That's all that mattered.

The straw that broke the camels back, however, was when you went to get some water and somehow Bonnie managed to trip and spill sangria over your white, albeit floral, summer dress. You may have thought it was a genuine accident, had it not been for her small smirk and the other transgressions over the last few hours.

Still; you smiled, accepted her faux apology with grace and walked inside, straight-backed to the bathroom. Once locked away, the tears brimmed as you looked at the state of your dress. You were sticky and wet with big, fat red stain trailing down your back. You sniffed. You thought the high school experience was over. Clearly not.

You wait for water from the faucet to turn warm, and cup a small amount to wipe the sticky sweetness of sangria from your skin; considering for a moment whether you should just abandon the barbecue altogether.

A soft knock at the door startles you from your thoughts.

"Hey." It's Frank. "You doing okay?"

You throat tightens but you muster up the energy to sound bright and peppy. You watch your reflection in the mirror wipe away stray tears as you speak. "Yeah! Bonnie bumped into me with some sangria and I don't want to attract any wasps."

There's silence on the other side of the door. Then, "Yeah, I saw."

You turn off the faucet. "My dress is pretty damp." And stained. "I think I may go home to change."

You don't like how your voice grows quieter, nor how Frank doesn't say anything for another long moment.

"Mary and I will give you a ride." He says finally.

"No, you don't-" You clear your throat. He was so sweet. "You don't need to do that. Let Mary stay and have fun."

"Um, about that," Frank chuckles. "Mary may or may not have also seen what happened.... and may or may not have had a few choice words."

"Oh." You bite back a smile.

"Yeah, oh." You can hear the smile in Frank's voice. "Now, open the door please."

You peek around the door to your man in plaid with a shy smile that meets his lazy one.

"Hey." He says.

"Hey." You say back before you both snort.

You step out of the bathroom, closer to Frank. He doesn't move away.

"I'm sorry. About today." His eyes don't leave your face. "I thought it would be a good, chill way for you and Mary to meet. Something low stakes." He sighs, brows furrowed. "I guess that was stupid of me."

"It was a good idea," you reassure him gently. "You can't control how others will act." You let the statement hang for a beat before continuing. "We could go to the park sometime, or the beach, instead?"

Frank's head shoots up and his blue eyes brighten. "That- Yeah. I'd like that. A lot." He breathes a sigh of relief this time. "I'm sorry about all this. On the bright side though, your food was amazing."

You wipe away tear streaks with a stuffy snort. "Yeah, I saw you inhaling it."

Frank smiles sheepishly at you. "Ah. Yeah, well it was delicious."

"Let me take you home and get you some dry clothes." He offers his hand out to you and you take it, before he jerks his head in the direction of the stairs. "Come on. I promised Mary I'd get her some ice cream on the way home."

You smile, following him down the stairs. "What did she even say?"

"Ehh, a lovely alliterating nickname for Bonnie." He says dismissively. "That may have included the word bitch."

You throw your free hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh, heart swelling as you imagine the little blonde loudly declaring the nickname in front of everyone. She definitely deserves whatever icecream she wants.

End

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

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Frank: @stargazingfangirl18 @irishhappiness @Cieraboobear @doodooslay @shamrockqueen @alicedopey @awkwardgiraffe726 @late-to-the-party-81 @moonfairy182 @thechrysalisdiaries @lexie983 @stephstar28 @mommad @marvellover91

It took longer than you cared to admit to get back to sleep. Jake's presence was somehow still comforting, yet, your mind was buzzing with a thousand thoughts that wouldn't quiet. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly and you had to remind yourself to breathe normally multiple times as you patiently waited for Jake's snoring to start. It made you smile knowing he snored as both a man and a dog.

The predicament you know found yourself in created more upon more questions that you didn't think Jake was best suited to answer, or even know. Like, for example, was he born a shifter or created? And would it be rude to ask him that in the morning?

You tried not to toss and turn as you struggled to keep your thoughts at bay, eventually succumbing to sleep. But not before you had a mental list of questions to bring to Jake and multiple plans to ensure your safety - just in case.

You forgot all but three questions to ask when you awoke the next morning, and only one contingency plan which so happened to be run away. You also knew that that plan was about as useful as a chocolate mug since Jake looked like he could run faster than you in human form, not just as a dog.

Sighing as you swing your legs out of bed, you can smell a sweet scent in the air. Pancakes.

As you enter the kitchen, Jake was wearing a blanket around his waist and not much else, as he flipped another pancake onto a pile of perfectly golden ones on a plate next to him. You stared at the muscles on his back as he worked before he shot you a smile and said good morning.

You really hoped he hadn't noticed your staring as you took your seat, muttering a bashful good morning of your own before he set the giant stack in front of you.

"Oh, thanks." You pick up the syrup the was waiting for you on the table and drowned your pancakes, before adding a blob of butter. You ignore the tightness in your chest when Jake does the same. "I have a bathrobe upstairs. It's way too big for me if you want to wear that."

"Really?" Jake asks, syrup sliding over his chin. "You wouldn't mind?"

You shake your head. "Not at all."

Not if it stops me from going all goo-goo-eyed.

"Thanks." Jake pauses as he spears one of his pancakes. "How are you feeling? About our... situation?"

"I kinda feel weird about it." You admit taking a bite of a syrupy pancake. "I mean, you were my dog and secretly you were this hot guy all along. It's like that Supernatural episode-"

"But you think I'm hot." Jake interupts and your eyes narrow over at him as your cheeks burn. His head dips and he gives you an apologetic look through his lashes. "Sorry. Continue."

"I keep forgetting that you're not-" You're about to say a dog but instead say, "-that you're a human being. Sorta. Kinda? What-" you shake your head as if physically shaking the question of what are you, actually? away from your tongue. It seemed rude. You sigh at your pancake. "Nevermind."

"It's ok." Jake says with a smile. "I don't really know either."

You manage a meager smile back. "Well, you make really good pancakes."

Jake's smile broadens and he's about to say something when there's a knock at the front door.

"Miss L/N?" A male voice calls out. "It's Officer Jones."

"Uhhh, yeah!" You shout back. "I'll be right-" you go to shoot Jake a look of panic but when you look around he's disappeared. "-there."

You try to act as calm as possible when you answer the door and let the officer in. He's in plain clothes, like the others before and flashes you his police badge from under his jacket. He scans the room as he enters, before he settles on you and you try to look innocent (although you're not sure what you'd be guilty of) whilst your mind races about where Jake disappeared to.

Is he okay? Would he have changed back in time? Where was he?

"You good?" Officer Jones asks, handing you over a small bag of groceries. It was only the weekly must-haves; bread, eggs milk. Survivable things.

"Uh, yeah, um…" You shake your head and smile nervously. "I just… I had some pretty bad nightmares last night and I'm a bit frazzled."

It's not a total lie. You were prone to nightmares.

Officer Jones seems to believe you and nods seriously. "Good news is perimeter looks fine, though so you can put your mind at ease." He gives you a reassuring smile before adding, "Besides, don't you have that dog to protect you?"

"I- yes!" You clap your hands together, hoping Officer Jones didn't notice the look of bafflement at the mention of Jake's dog form. You'd almost forgotten everyone else thought he was just a dog. "I do. Yes."

"Have you come up with a name for him yet?" Officer Jones chuckles. "Back at the precinct everyone tells me you call him Goldie."

"Aha…" You begin awkwardly. "My golden boy."

"That's it!" Jones says, snapping his fingers. "You have to have thought of a better name by now."

"Uh - yeah. It's Jake." You say, immediately feeling stupid.

Who's going to know? Or even guess?

"Jake?" Officer Jones pulls a face. "A human name for a dog?"

You shrug comically. "He acts more human than dog."

More than you'll ever know.

The officer chuckles,"Yeah, my dog is exactly the same."

"Ohhh, what dog do you have?" You ask, inviting him further inside. "I really need some pointers."

Officer Jones closes the door quietly and follows you through to the kitchen, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, actually, it's my girlfriend's dog. And she's hardly trained."

He goes onto explain that Muffin is a very happy, very pampered pooch Lassa Lapso who lives in the city centre, and her tricks include sleeping and knowing whether or not the food she is given is high quality, expensive chow.

"Sounds like you've got your hands full." You tease, hurriedly clearing away the two plates that were left out before he notices. "Jake will eat anything."

As if on cue, Jake appears, shiny golden coat reflecting the middle morning sun. He makes a disgruntled sound, obviously catching the last part of your statement, before giving Officer Jones a cautionary sniff.

Officer Jones squats and ruffles Jake's fur. Knowing what you now know about him, you aren't sure if you should find the affectionate cooing Officer Jones makes over your dog-not-dog endearing or downright strange. It makes you wonder if Jake feels uncomfortable by the constant attention - but from his lolling tongue and wagging tail it doesn't seem to.

"He's real handsome." Officer Jones says finally before standing. "It's good you've got something to protect you and keep you company."

"Yeah," you say, subconsciously fussing Jake when he comes to sit next to you. "I'm really lucky I found him."

"Definitely." Officer Jones smiles again - friendliness rolling from him. He was much nicer to deal with than Officer Chuckles. "If there's nothing you want to report, if you haven't noticed anything strange recently or if you're not settling in, I'll just do a quick walk round the perimeter and report back to the precinct?"

"Yeah, sure." You nod. "I've not noticed anything recently - and I'm doing much better with Jake around."

Officer Jones nods. "Alrighty. I'll stay out of your hair and let you know once the ." He flashes a smile down at Jake. "Nice to finally meet you, bud."

Jake does his usual excited happy dance and a short howl that makes you both laugh. Officer Jones buds you both goodbye and begins a quick perimeter search, leaving both you and Jake in the kitchen.

It's extremely strange. The behaviours he now exhibits are no longer cute but entirely human. He doesn't brush up against you for more scritches, but waits patiently next to you for the officer to come back with the all clear. You half expect him to start speaking to you in dog-form any second.

His gold ears move and twitch to sounds you can't hear, nostrils occasionally flaring at the scent of something new. New questions begin to take form in your head and so many more when he turns to look at you quizically with big brown eyes you were sure were blue when he was human.

Today was going to be a long day.

Once officer Jones had given the all clear and the hum of the undercover car became nonexistent, Jake politely toddled upstairs. You sat patiently on the couch, stroking the sides of your warm mug of tea in an effort to soothe your nerves. You didn't know why you felt anxious but you were glad that it was more of an excitable anxiety than terror.

When Jake reappeared, he was human again and donning the bathrobe you mentioned. It seemed to fit him perfectly - even if it was just a tad short on his legs.

"Hey," you smile awkwardly, knowing you're trying so hard to act normal in such an un-normal situation.

"Hey." Jake says and rubs the back of his head, eyes to the floor. Seems he was just as awkward as you.

"So, um," you shrug, attempting nonchalance. And failing miserably. "The whole-" you gesture vaguely to his body. "-shifter thing. Honestly? Not the worst thing in the world."

Jake beams at you, and playfully tugs at the collar of the robe in a proud, mayoral fashion. "That's reassuring to hear. And look, I swear, I wasn't trying to be weird or a creep or-"

You cut him off with a small wave of your hand. You're smiling softly, genuinely, but you can't help that it's bitter. "You were trying to survive. I can't judge you for that."

Jake makes a gentle hum sound - between a thank you and an I'm sorry you went through that - that makes your heart warm. You're glad he doesn't try to apologise or speak further on the matter. You don't want to confront that demon yet.

Your eyes flicker back to his and you're taken by surprise to see that he's squinting down at the book you'd picked off the shelf while waiting for Officer Jones to finish his checks.

"You... ok?" You ask.

"Sorry- erm..." Jake looks sheepish. "I usually have glasses."

"Glasses?" Now that he mentions it, you can't look away from his face trying to imagine him with glasses.

It's a mistake. You remembered him being hot, though you'd been to pre-occupied by the fact your dog was suddenly a man to really appreciate his features. He had a perfectly chiseled nose that you found hard to imagine glasses sitting a top of, pink pouted lips that you knew would melt your heart if he paired them with that puppy-dog look he's mastered and, worse still; his body was lean but muscular - and covered in dark golden hair. He was built like he was pulled from a romance novel.

"Yeah, I usually have them in a safe area so I can see when I shift back." Jake continues, seemingly unaware of your inner-processing.

"Is that why your eyes change colour?"

"You noticed?" Jake blinks at you and you can feel heat rise up your neck as he smiles. "Yeah - dogs eyes are almost always brown. So, I guess as an evolutionary thing I always have brown eyes as a golden since it would look weird if I didn't."

"Makes sense." You nod. "Is your eyesight better when you're a dog?"

"Yeah," Jake shrugs. "Most of my senses are heightened as a human but all are increased as a dog."

"That's-" you catch Jake's look of worry and smile. "-really cool."

"You think so?" He brightens.

"Yeah," You say trying not to laugh - but his energy is infectious. "Is it the same for all shifters?"

"Mostly. Eyesight being the biggest issue - really depends on what you shift into." The more he talks the more animated he becomes, clearly excited by getting to share this information. "Like I knew a guy who shifted into a cat. Man, that was so awkward - I chased him up a tree. His eyesight was fine but he suffered with chronic fatigue."

Jake eyes the spot on the sofa beside you cautiously and on impulse you smack to call him up; immediately recoiling. However, Jake chuckles and plops down ungracefully next to you whilst still maintaining a respectful distance.

You take a sip of your coffee thoughtfully. "Do you know many shifters?"

Jake shakes his head. "It was mainly my family. The community is small and so far as I know many shifters like keeping to themselves."

You hum distantly. "So you didn't really have a big support system for all of these changes?"

Jake blows out a long breath as he thinks of what to say and you watch him carefully. It was nice to be able to have a conversation with someone that wasn't a cop or detective or lawyer. It was nice for your dog to talk back. Still, you didn't know him very well and you should be on your guard... but something about Jake told you you were safe with him. Something about him made you comfortable. Relaxed.

Even when you thought you shouldn't be.

"My mom did her best for me and my sister. She was great." He says finally. "That's all I needed."

You huff a little chuckle, somewhat envious. "I'm glad. And a sister? That's new."

"And a niece." Jake says proudly. "And before you ask, being a shifter is a genetic thing. I don't know how or why - but if you're worried I'll bite you to turn you it doesn't work like that."

"I wasn't," You say playfully. "Until you mentioned it."

Jake looks so terrified for a brief second you can't help but laugh. "I'm kidding! If you wanted to have bitten me, you'd have done so by now."

Jake breathes a sigh of relief and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry."

"It's fine." You wave him off dismissively with a smile. "Look, I could order some glasses online if you know your perscription and if I can get away with ordering an air-bed-"

"I'm happy sleeping on the floor!" Jake interjects. "I was in the special forces. Just gimme a pillow and a blanket and I'll sleep like a baby.

"Absolutely not!" You gasp. Jake only shrugs.

"Or I can sleep on the sofa - so long as I wake up early."

"I can take the sofa." You say defiantly. "And if you're not happy with that then we can take turns."

"Deal." Jake says quickly. "But I'll sleep down here tonight since you didn't get a fullnight's rest last night."

You roll your eyes but your heart skips at his thoughtfulness. "Okay, let's get you some glasses and I'll make a list of some snacks to stock up on."

Part 6 END

A/N: I finished this ages ago but never got around to posting it because i wanted more consecutive parts... I think y'all have waited long enough 🫠😅

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You want the ground to swallow you up. Digest you, even. It was bad enough that you were half dressed, hair tousled in an un-subtle way; there was no doubt what sent you here and even though the nurses were lovely - you knew you had made their night.

And then they sent in a sexy silver fox in a pair of scrubs to check you over. Worst. Night. Ever.

"Marcie tells me you took a tumble - you might be concussed?"

"Uh, yeah," You manage out, throat dry as all hell. You wished your partner had been considerate enough to grab you a drink and some snacks before heading for the hills. "Fell off my bed."

"I'm the night shift attending, Dr.Abbot." He says with a friendly smile. "I'm just going to shine a torch in your eyes and check that there's no swelling behind the eye or dilated pupils, okay?"

You nod. He makes a hissing sound as he sees the bruise swelling beneath your brow bone, where a small but deep cut sits. He shines a small torches into your eyes, moving it to and fro quickly, and you wince.

"That looks like a pretty nasty bruise for just falling off your bed." His voice is playful, however, there's a steely undertone you can't miss. An friendly opening for you to elaborate or perhaps confess the true nature of why you have such a nasty bruise.

No wonder your bed-friend had bolted.

Steeling yourself, you sigh but you can't help the heat that rises to your cheeks.

"I fell off my bed and hit the corner of my bedside table." You say candidly.

His eyebrows raise, mentally painting himself a picture, but before he can finish piecing it together, you're giving him the answer.

"During sex."

He stares at you. You stare back, frowning slightly. And then he cracks ever so slightly, with a huffed laugh and a wide grin.

"Ah. That would do it." He says matter-of-factly, trying not to laugh.

You smack your lips together. "Tell me about it."

"And your partner didn't-?" he raises a brow and you shake your head.

"No, he didn't do it. And no, he didn't stick around after dropping me off."

Abbot nods and then offers another warm smile. "Well, the good news you don't need stitches. I'd like to keep you for a little bit longer just to be safe. I'll send an a nurse around with tylenol and an ice pack."

"Thanks, Dr. Abbot." You smile weakly, sighing as you retire yourself to the uncomfortable hospital bed.

"No worries." Before he leaves, he flashes you another smile. "I'll try and check in on you later."

You watch casualties and emergencies of varying degrees of severity rush past your open room. Dr Abbot occasionally barks orders, but over the hub-bub his voice is drowned by beeps, bloops and screams of pain.

You manage to fall asleep once your ice pack melts to a lukewarm temperature, however, you are rudely awoken by the blaring alarms of a patient crashing in the next curtain cubicle over. There's a lot of commotion; shouts of medical jargon, shoes squeaking on linoleum, silence as a long beep stretches through the curtain to your ears.

Then it repeats.

After the third repetition, a familiar voice says "call it" and a soft, female voice announces the time of death of you curtain-neighbour. You don't realise you've been holding your breath or how tight your chest feels, despite not knowing the person that was less than two metres away from your sleeping body.

It's a strange sensation. You're still groggy, someone somewhere in the ER is screaming, more beeps, more yells and yet… there's an eerie quiet behind your curtain partition and next-door's. Your heart aches for the stranger. You wonder if they had family, if they were loved. You're overwhelmed with the urge to leave the ER. Someone else needs your bed. Someone out in the fray.

Someone who was screaming.

You were on your feet before you could talk yourself out of it, grabbing what few things your lover had managed to scrounge together for you before leaving you at the doors. The beeping persists, ringing in your ears as you throw back the curtain and walk straight into a hard back.

Dr Abbot turns slowly towards you, or at least it seems that way as you sway on your feet. A wave of nausea hits you so hard you stagger backwards but thankfully Dr Abbot already had his hands out to catch you and hold you steady. Could he really move that fast?

"Woah there," his voice is soft. "I was just about the check in on you. Where d'you think you're goin'?"

You blink slowly. Your head throbs. Your eyes hurt. You squint at him. He looks different. Why is that? Sluggishly, your brain orders you to drop your head and take him all in… His scrubs are covered in blood, so are his hands, and specks of it are on his face and neck. The voice, the one who commanded a T.O.D, was his.

You meet his eyes. How long had you been asleep? His eyes were now mirthless; still soft but serious.

Even when you puked over his shoes.

Head CTs weren't as cool as they looked in TV shows. You were cold, oddly vulnerable, and all alone. There were no speakers for the doctors to speak with you, no microphone for you to speak to them. Just you and the rumbling of the moving machine.

Dr Abbot had been a saint. You assumed he had to be because of his profession but you knew that once whatever drowsiness had passed, you would be re-living the moment puke was on his shoes forever. Even if he smiled and joked about it after.

God. That was embarassing.

Porters wheel you back to your small section of peace quickly once you're done with your CT. No one is speaking to you about the results and you cannot decide if that's a good or bad thing. Once you're back and safely nestled, you make a grab for your phone. No missed calls or texts from… Anyone.

Cool.

Great.

You wonder if you should let your family know and then opt against it. You don't need to worry them. It's nothing.

You hope.

An hour of doomscrolling passes by in a nauseating ebb and flow of ER casualties until Dr Abbot reappears with fresh scrubs and a small smile. You don't feel like smiling, but you somehow manage one.

"Good news," He says, coming to stand at the side closest to you. "CT is normal. So, most likely you had a concussion."

You raise an eyebrow at him and he looks sheepish. "Sometimes a concussion doesn't present for hours, sometimes days." Then he flashes you a grin. "Got me back good though. I needed a new pair of shoes."

You groan into the side of your pillow at the reminder. "You're welcome."

He snorts a little and presses some keys on the monitor beside you. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Puke is better than some other bodily fluids."

Like blood? You want to say, but press your lips together and hum non-committally. You doubt he needs that reminder.

"How are you feeling?"

"About as good as I look." You sigh, flexing your fingers in front of your face idly.

"Well, you look pretty good to me." Abbot says. He's not looking at you when you whip your head up. He taps something else into the monitor. "And you're awake and speaking, so that's a bonus."

You open your mouth and close it again. Did he just say what you thought he said?

"We'll up your fluids and monitor you a bit longer. You may be discharged tomorrow sometime or the day after."

"Okay." You say blinking at him like he's a dream.

He turns to you again. "Why were you trying to leave?"

"Huh?"

"Before," he says, resting his arms on the side of your cot. "You looked like you were in a hurry."

You swallow the last of the spittle in your mouth and look away from him. In the quietest voice you can muster, you tell him why.

"I heard what happened next door."

At first you don't think he heard you, and you're about to change your answer to something less honest when he sighs gently. His shoulders slump, his demeanour more exhausted than relaxed, and his hands open and close tightly.

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"I'm sorry." You blurt suddenly. "I... your job... it's..." You curse the concussion that muddles your brain. You want to be able to ease the burden of his role, but you know he's heard it all before. You sigh, slumping into your uncomfortable cot pillow. "You did the best you could. I just felt anxious. Like someone else could have needed this bed more than me."

"Thank you." There's a sincerity in his tone that warms your chest. A little something to ease the sounds of the E.R. "That's not entirely true though. If you'd left you could have collapsed in the street, or at home, and choked on your own vomit." He says matter-of-factly and then smiles a little. "At least with you here, I get to keep a close eye on you."

More beeps and bloops sound and someone calls his name but it feels like time stretches. You watch him. He watches you. And for a moment, you could swear this is a little more than a doctor-patient interaction. You dismiss your doctor with a half-hearted wave and a small smile when his name is called again. "Go get 'em, Doc. You're dismissed."

He snorts in disbelief before playfully saluting you as he steps out into the chaos. "Yes, ma'am."

Abbot returns another five times before the end of his shift. He says it's to check in on you but you think it's for reprieve of the cluster-bomb that is the emergency room. Each time, he arrives tired and each time he leaves slightly more envigorated.

"Why would he just leave?" Abbot says, brows furrowed in disgust. It was his third visit, clearly emboldened by the events that had transpired beyond your curtain partition.

"You gotta ask him that, Doc." You say with a half smile. He looks so sweetly baffled by the prospect of someone leaving you after being part of the cause that sent you to the E.R., that you feel a tug in your chest that you hope isn't an underlying condition.

"Oh, believe me. If he calls come find me. I have a few choice words for him." He harumphs.

"Easy Tiger," You tease with a knowing smirk. "I don't think he will be calling anytime soon."

He coughs, pretending to clear his throat as he checks your charts, but by the rosy cheeks and his smile - you know your tease was a success. Perhaps this thing you had going on wasn't all in your concussed head.

"Good." He swallows. "It isn't my place to say but if I were you, I'd be breaking up with my girlfriend over something this."

You raise your eyebrows at him and a half-manic grin spreads across your face. "He wasn't my boyfriend." You say.

"Oh." Abbot's eyebrows raise too.

"Yeah." You say, watching him. "I dodged a real loser."

"You most certainly did." He says, snapping the thin folder shut. Something about his expression seems strange; not in a bad way, more that his brain had realised there was a second option he had not yet considered. He opens his mouth to say something and grimaces as his name gets yelled from the ambulance bay doors. "I'll be right back."

You nod and watch him jog away, before hearing him intercept a patient on their way to a bay, cussing them out for yelling at the nurses. You bite back a smile; somehow the hospital visit is turning out to be better than you expected.

You've managed to sleep a little more and are far less nauseated than you had been earlier in the nigh; all good signs according to Dr Abbot, though you tell him you wished you had a cappuccino in hand. As the clock creeps closer to 7 a.m. you see Abbot less and less as he prepares handover for day shift. It's a strange feeling. You feel like you're going to miss him but you also feel stupid for feeling such a thing towards a doctor, whose literal job it is to take care of you.

The curtain opens and Abbot's face appears, grey curls sticking out in odd directions and a warm smile on his face. Behind him is another man, another doctor, of a similar age but with darker hair, a beard and a sad Droopy-esque demeanour. They play off eachother wonderfully.

"This is dayshift attending Dr Robinavitch," Abbot tells you, and Dr Robby nods behind him, hiding a smile into folded arms. "He'll watch over you for me."

"Call me Dr Robby," the doctor behind Abbot says.

You struggle to keep a straight face. "For a concussion?"

Dr Robby half turns away from you, unable to keep a grin underwraps and shakes his head. Dr Abbot shrugs and, at a very endearing attempt at acting nonchalant, tells you that it's protocol. When they leave, you can hear Robby's sarcastic tone carry back through the curtain,

"Protocol?"

Day-shift was somehow worse than night-shift. The noise was unbearable, and with only luke-warm hospital food to keep your hunger at bay and no Dr Abbot to brighten your mind-numbing hours in the hospital bed, you were so far beyond agitated you didn't know what to do.

To Dr Robby's credit, he checked in where he could. But unlike his night-shift counterpart, he was curt and quick. Other, more pressing matters needed his attention.

At 2pm, you were asking every nurse or student doctor to be released. Each one told you they would ask Dr Robby. Each time, they never came back with an answer. It wasn't until 3pm that you heard there had been a major pile up and emergency traffic was being redirected to the hospital, as it was closest. At 4pm, you heard a familiar voice rushing in through the ambulance bay, emergency bed wheels squeaking as they were pushed and pulled around the E.R.

You got up to peek through the curtain, half convinced that you had made up hearing Abbot's voice. However, he was there, helping a patient breathe through a balloon and barking orders at student doctors. It was a sight to behold. You couldn't do what he was doing, but you respected it. You thought about when you'd last seen him hours ago. He looks a little rested, though not much. He must have been called back to help.

Once the patient was stable, Abbot handed the patient over to the nurses and porters to move them into a room. He sighed to himself and then glanced up, meeting your eyes across the E.R.

Then, he smiled.

Your hand gripped the curtain tight as you forced yourself to not whip it closed. Your face was burning up - but not from a fever - and you managed a smile that you knew looked incredibly bashful and waved with your free hand. He half raised his back when someone called his name and he was gone again. Hyperfocused on another patient.

You back into your cubicle, grateful you don’t have a heart monitor attached to you. You can't be making this up. But then again, even if you were reading into it too much, had you not already embarassed yourself to the point of no return? What would adding one little question to test the waters do?

You hum to yourself, mind made up, before marching out of your cubicle to the charge nurse.

Dana, the dayshift charge nurse, was a sassy blonde haired woman that instantly captured your heart. She commanded the E.R. and it's staff in way that left you awestruck, and she still managed to joke and tease along her way.

"I only have a concussion," you tell her as more casualties wheel in.

"Only a concussion?" Dana retorts sarcastically. "Where's your icepack?"

You wave her question away. The thought of another icepack gives you a headache. "I need to be out of that cubicle."

"No can do, honey." Dana sighs. "Head injury-"

"I'll sit in a chair, nearby." You interject quickly. "I won't leave. But-"

Abbot's voice cuts through, calling for a place for his next emergency patient. Before Dana can reply, you shout over pointing to your vacated cubicle.

"Use mine!"

He's about to argue, flabbergasted you're even suggesting such a thing, but Dana snorts from beside you and hurriedly directs to nurses in to whip away your old sheets and disinfect the bed. As Abbot pushes the cart past you, patient groaning in pain, he shoots you a concerned and almost disappointed look, before telling you to stay put.

The noises from behind the curtain blend into the monstrosity of noise where you stand, gripping the few of your belongings. You can't tell how long the minutes stretch, but then Abbot and two student doctors reappear relieved. Abbot directs them to the colourful screen before making a beeline for you.

"You shouldn't have-"

"He needs it more than me."

You both stare at eachother for a second before breaking into shy smiles. The flutter in your stomach this time around doesn't make you worried for Abbot's shoes.

"Thanks." Abbot says. "How're you feeling?"

"Better now that you're back." You instantly cringe at your response, but Abbot chuckles. You can feel at least three pairs of eyes watching you both, and a creeping sensation rises on your neck. You don't want to bottle out from nerves but with so many people around-

"Glad to hear it." His name is called again, and he looks agitated. "If you can wait around a little bit longer, I'll do a last check up and discharge you. Princess will find you a chair."

As he weaves through the busy rush of patients, visitors, doctors, nurses and porters, he turns back to look at you. "Don't go anywhere."

Don't plan to, you think as you watch him disappear.

Watching Abbot is mesmerising. Now that you're a bit more lucid, and have a front row seat to the E.R. chaos, you can truly appreciate the fast and strenuous work the doctors, nurses and porters do. Abbot hypes up his team, barks orders and then dips into room after room, dealing with case after case.

A couple of nurses gossip in hushed tones when Abbot comes past and shoots you a wink or a smile. You are well aware you're staring after him with a scorching face. If only you were hidden away behind your curtain again.

For a while, you don't see him. You're too busy doomscrolling again and messaging loved ones to let them know your condition, hoping they don't worry too much. Just as you begin wondering how much longer he'd be, Dr Abbot rounds a corner and holds up two to-go cups. He almost crashes into another patient being wheeled elsewhere in the building, only avoiding them by standing on his tiptoes and raising the cups above his head like a rather comical ballerina. When he reaches you, he checks the cups and hands one that has cap scrawled onto the side in black marker.

"You remembered." You say, taking the cup from him.

"I did." He says with a boyish smile. "But it may be cold by now. People just keep getting injured and it's almost like it's my job to fix it."

You chuckle lightly and take a sip. It is indeed cold but it's both the best and worst cappuccino you have ever had. "Thanks. For the coffee and, well," You shrug awkwardly. "Taking care of me."

Abbot taps his medical badge to where it reads doctor in block capital and you feel yourself smile again as you look at the cup in your hands.

"Well, as of," he checks his watch, "-Two minutes ago, you are no longer my patient."

"Ah." You're about to ask if you can go home but he continues.

"And as of two minutes ago, I'm on my break." He nods his head towards the exit doors. "I'll walk you out."

The evening air is lukewarm but it's cooler in comparison to the Emergency Room nevertheless.

You sip your cold coffee and fall into step alongside Abbot. "Will you be staying until your next shift is over?"

"Most likely." He says.

"Yikes." You shake your head in disbelief. "I do not envy you."

"Most people do." He says, sipping his drink. "I think it's the silver fox look I have going on rather than my shift pattern though."

You snort. "Mmhmm. That sounds about right."

"How're you feeling?" He asks after a beat. "Head ok?"

"I've been told my head's great," you joke and he half chokes on his coffee. "But yes, I feel a lot better being out in the fresh air."

"In that case, I can confidently send you on your way home." He says with a grin. "Although, I will say take some rest rather than romps for a few days."

"Where's the fun in that?" You say to the sky. Abbot huffs a half laugh. "I promise to be a good girl, Doc. No fun for me for a while."

"I didn't say anything about not having fun," Abbot says playfully. "And call me Jack. I'm not your doctor anymore."

You spare a glance over at him, eyebrows partially raised in questioning; Does that means what I think it means? He meets your glance with raised eyebrows of his own, a smile and a tilt of his head that says, "Yes - it's exactly what you think it means."

Nodding, you hide a satisfied smirk behind your cup. "So, what happens now?"

"For starters, you go home and rest." Jack says seriously. "Then when you feel up to it, give me a call." He points to your cup and you turn it slightly, where there's a number scrawled on the other side.

Oh, he's too smooth.

You can't believe you missed it and you shake your head with a laugh. "Do all of your patients get this special treatment?"

"Only the pretty ones." Jack says it playfully but from the glimmer in his eyes, something tells you it was a rare occurrence. "And not all of them get coffee."

"You are unbelievable." You scoff. "But I suppose having a doctor on-hand for other sex mishaps would be beneficial."

"If it means you boost my hospital rating then, yes, yes it is." Jack nods, placing a hand over his heart. "Patient care and comfort is the most important thing to me."

You chuckle, taking another sip of your drink. "I heard you telling a patient to shut the fuck up."

He shrugs, and swigs the dregs of his drink, before checking his watch. "Eh. Deserved it, he was insulting the nurses."

"Very deserved." You agree. "Need to head back?"

He looks disappointed but nods, resigning to his duty as a doctor. "Yeah. It's going to be a long shift. Let me know when you get home safe."

"I will." You tell him, loading up Uber on your phone. "And Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." He grins at you, and you can't help but grin back. "Again."

"You can thank me again over dinner sometime." He replies as he walks back towards the road. "Consider the coffee a free trial."

"A free-?" You laugh as he rushes across the road as an ambulance sounds in the distance. "Oh my God. What have I gotten myself into?"

End

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A bell rings out as another order is completed. Your sunglasses are dark enough to conceal what, or more namely who, your eyes follow.

The Pool Boy.

Or well, pool man may be more accurate.

From what you understood he was also the resort manager - why he was carting drinks to patrons you weren't sure. But you definitely were not complaining. The eye candy you were getting was the cherry on top of your sun kissed day.

You felt like a bit of a perv, sure, but hot damn - when life gives you lemons you put them in a marg and call it a day. Long legs flaunted by swim trunks; loose enough to be respectful but tight enough to leave little to the imagination, and thick arms that had a dusting of coarse hair that glowed hot copper in the sunlight. The hair on his arms matched that on his chest, travelling down a toned abdomen.

In a word; delicious.

You lick your lips subconsciously as he leans over to place a beer on a table, trying and failing to draw your attention back to your book. It's not until he begins walking in your direction that your eyes are pulled from the words on the page again.

He sets down another marg next to your half empty one. You look down at the drink and then back at him, your eyebrows raising over the top of your sunglasses.

"I didn't order this." You say lightly. The charming smile he offers in return just about knocks your flip flops off your feet.

"I know." He says. "On the house."

"I don't believe the resort would just hand out free drinks," you say teasingly, and lower your sunglasses enough to shoot him a quizical look. "Surely that's a bad business practice."

His grin broadens. "Alright, you got me. It's on me." He straightens, towering over you, providing more shade than your umbrella. "Management special."

"I didn't know favouritism in resort management was a thing." You say, pretending to focus back on your book. "Would I be allowed to make special requests?"

He shifts on his feet and huffs a chuckle. "Depends. What are they?"

"For you to come to my room again. Ditch the trunks." You respond nonchalantly, lifting your new, cold marg to sip. You revel when you awkwardly chuckles and shifts again, cheeks growing pink.

He lowers his voice, "That could be arranged for you."

"Good." You sigh, settling into your lounger again. "See that it does, Ari."

END

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The last thing Bucky remembers before diving into the ocean is the fireball. After that, it becomes murky.

He's in the water. The burns on his body sting as the black saltwater laps at him, swallows him and spits him out to the starry sky. One moment he hears the screams of his friends and brothers in arms; the next, he's below the surface where everything is muted and eerily silent. The final wail of the ship sounds as it descends to the depths and with it the soldiers still trapped within - lost forever to the sea.

He didn't know how far they were from England before the attack - maybe a day or so. He could hear shouts from other survivors - splashing until the noise stopped or became distant. He remembers swimming blindly. Remembers the vast black in every direction. He vaguely remembers giving up until he heard a woman's voice.

He swam towards her voice; ignoring how his muscles begged to him to stop, how his injuries scorned him. If his mind had gone so be it but he needed to find the woman whose voice called to him. Why was she out here? How?

The voice became closer and closer until Bucky felt arms wrap around his waist and yank him against a cold woman's body.

She says something he can't understand and he's too focused on trying to stabilise his breathing to care. Then there's a hand on his face, pushing wet hair from his eyes.

"Thank you," he breathes, his eyes fluttering. "Thank you."

And with one final gasp, he passes out.

Bucky wakes with a start; memories of the sinking ship plaguing his dreams. He doesn't know where he is, of course, but he vaguely remembers the golden light that cascades through the window. There's birdsong too - light and sweet - and the smell of salt drifts on the wind.

It's clear he's near a coast; but where would be the deciding factor in his fate. He tries to sit up but his body anchors him to the warm sheets that are wet with sweat from his nightmares. When he tries to move the blankets away with his left arm, it doesn't listen to him and he looks down to where his arm should be, he only finds a pink-tinted-bandaged stump.

He didn't realise he'd screamed until there's a rush of footsteps on wooden stairs followed by the door slamming open. A woman stands still in the doorway, staring at him with wide, wild eyes.

He stares at her, and she stares back, in complete silence for a moment before she says something incomprehensible.

"Bore da."

Despite his military training, and knowing that capture almost always resulted in death, Bucky couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "Where am I?"

The woman blinks and stands tall, hands on her hips. She's wearing a long skirt padded by underskirts and petticoat, and a fitted blouse with the sleeves rolled up, complete with a white apron around her waist. Her hair is off her face, tied back in a matronly fashion and she studies Bucky carefully before deciding to speak again. It takes another moment for him to realise that she is, in fact, speaking English.

"Well, you're not with the Germans that's for certain." Her voice has a lilt - a rise and fall that he's never heard in his life; and he's equally confused and mesmerised by it. She nods at him. "Name and rank."

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes with the 107th." He says automatically, before reciting his numbers.

The woman listens, nods again, and huffs before offering Bucky a bright grin. "I've just made a pot of tea - I'll bring you some and a slice of toast."

"You-"

She's gone before he can finish constructing a question, and he slumps awkwardly on his remaining arm. Bucky's mouth is dry but his stomach rolls - just like it had on the boat - and he isn't surprised to him he's trying to swallow back acidic bile. He needed to find out what happened to the rest of the men, the hundreds that gave their lives, and if there were any survivors. He needed to make sure he wrote back home; to his mother and Rebecca, to Steve. Tears sting and he tries to wipe them away with the ghost of his left arm, only further worsening his despair.

When the woman returns with a small tray, he is too emotionally drained to keep up the faux pas of American charm and silently allows her to place the tray beside him. The smell of toasted bread, golden and moist with fresh salted butter, has him salivating. She had even added a small side of jam in a small bowl that Bucky considered eating by the spoonful. She waved at him dismissively, telling him to eat as she pottered about; opening the windows, pulling out drawers… Not that he cared much as he devoured the basic delicacy.

The tea was sweet - far sweeter than he would have taken it - but the sugar-rich warmth felt like the comforting embrace of his mother, a feeling he hadn't experienced since being a young boy.

"Do you want another slice?"

Bucky peeks over the edge of his mug to where the woman smiles kindly. He nods. Her smiles grows wider.

"That's good!" She declares triumphantly. "Your body wants the energy to heal. I'll be right back." She lifts the tray and disappears downstairs again and leaves Bucky sipping his tea, daring not to think of anything else but the sounds of the ocean as he waits for her return.

After a few minutes of silence, he hears something. Downstairs, he can hear a conversation - clipped and in a foreign tongue - between two women. He can only recognise the one voice of his nurse.

It was the same melodic language as before, although the rise in volume signalled it was not a pleasant discussion.

"Mam!" Comes the voice of his nurse. "Peidiwch a ddeud hynny."

She sounded wounded, offended by whatever the other woman had said. There's a huff, a stopping of feet, a slam of a door and then a sigh. A few minutes later the woman returns, looking slightly dejected with the tray piles high with toast.

"I'm sorry if I'm causing you trouble." Bucky says, going to help with the tray automatically before remembering he's one limb short.

"No trouble." The woman says quickly, forcing a smile. Once the tray is back in his lap she pulls a stood across to sit beside him, only picking up a triangle slice of toast after he does. "That's just my mam being… my mam."

"Mam?" Bucky queries.

"Erm. Moooom." The word sounds comically drawled, and Bucky sputters a laugh.

"Your mom was giving you a hard time about me?" He chuckles, some of his charm easing back. "I wish I could say that's the first time that's happened."

The woman snorts and shrugs. "I'm her only girl in a set of boys. I think she wished I was a little bit less reckless."

"Reckless how?"

She looks a little startled - like she's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar - but quickly recovers with a charming grin that rivalled his own. "By inviting an American into our home."

"I'm not that scary." Bucky insists, gesturing to the stump of his left arm. "Look - you have more limbs than me!"

She gives him a small glare, but he can tell she's trying to keep her smile contained behind the slice of toast. He's still got it.

"Twpsyn." She mutters with a shake of her head. "After you're done I'll check your bandage."

"I can do it myself." Bucky says, earning him another glare; this one more serious.

"Of course. Because I like watching one-armed men attempt to change and clean their own dressings." She quips. "It'll take some gettin' used to. Eventually I'll leave you to do it you'self but for now, I'll be the one doing it."

Bucky clamps his mouth shut knowing there's no room for argument. Instead he ponders his next question, studying his new nurse carefully as she takes another bite of toast. It's not at all likely that they've met before. Yet he can't shake the feeling that they have.

"Do I know you?"

There it is again. The flash of guilt in her wide eyes. "You ask a lot of questions for a man who just woke up." She stands suddenly, wiping the crumbs from her hands in her apron. "I should get fresh bandages and hot water ready."

Although she doesn't answer his question directly, Bucky knows there's something she's hiding. And he'd have to bind his time to find out what.

Part 1 END

AN2: Translations

Bore Da - good morning

Mam - Mum/mother

Peidiwch a ddeud hynny - don't say that

Twpsyn - idiot (affectionate)

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"And this is the-" your sniffle interupts Lloyd. "This is the-" Another sniffle. "Oh my Gods, are you still crying? Haven't you ran out of tears yet? I'm trying to do a tour for my beautiful bride and yet all you've done is cry."

Your sobs were indeed tearless by now but Lloyd had been too busy talking about his beautiful castle and flaunting you to so many small pointed-teeth people in a variety of shades of green, you hadn't had time to comprehend much past your own misery.

"I don't want to be your bride." You say quietly, hiccuping out another sob. "You tricked me."

"Oh boo fuckin' hoo Mousekin," Lloyd sneers, spinning on his heel to face you. "You belong to me now. You get to be a queen who loves in a castle - isn't that better than whatever desolate, tiny shack you called home?"

Lloyd pulls you in close by the hips - his grip so hard it makes you wince. "Tell me honestly," he murmurs. "Isn't a castle with beautiful gardens and servants so much better?"

You don't answer, and instead try to pull away from his iron grip when his lips kiss up your neck. Cold settles in your stomach and bile rises as you try to keep him from kissing your lips and angling your head away - but when he commands you look at him, a new wave of fear takes over as your body moves of its own accord and you're forced to look into his eery blue eyes.

"Answer my question, Mousey."

You don't know what he does or how he does it but you give him your honest, heart breaking, answer.

"Yes." You respond, fresh tears welling and your lip quivering.

"Just as I thought." He says with a triumphant grin, before pecking your lips. He pulls back just enough to let you breathe but doesn't move away, swiping away your fat tears with his thumbs. His fingers press into the back of your head, not hard enough to cause pain but enough for discomfort. "Stop crying."

A shaky breath dries your eyes and clears your sinuses; your eyes still feel puffy but your body has once again betrayed you. And you have a sinking feeling it may happen more often than you would like.

"You're mine - you have no reason to cry now," Lloyd coos, caressing your now clean cheek. "Unless it's over my cock."

He fixes you with a salacious smirk and his eyes drop to your lips, his thumb now trailing over your pouty bottom lip. You try to keep your whimper of fear to yourself but you know he heard it, you can tell by the way his lips curve upward in a way that makes your skin crawl.

"Atta girl," Lloyd coos teasingly, before dropping his hands from your face and grasps one of your hands in a bone-cracking grip.

You wince again but Lloyd doesn't seem to notice, or care, as he whips around and practically drags you along behind him. He then resumes parading you through the castle, stopping at every single room to introduce to whatever creature was busy working away inside of it.

"She's mine." He announced proudly, chest puffing. "Isn't she just the prettiest thing you've ever laid your grotesque little eyes upon?"

Choruses of "Yes Milord!" ring out behind you, not that Lloyd sticks around to listen. He seems to become more and more excited with each room he shows you; and it's not until you reach the second floor on the other side of the castle that you realise why.

Lloyd looks smug as he marches you down the long corridor of bedrooms. It seems never ending, and to your surprise, he doesn't take you inside them only shows you their interior from the doorway. Most of the furniture is covered in white cloth to protect from dust, however, when you reach the final room at the end of the corridor Lloyd gently pushes you over the threshold.

The furniture in this is uncovered - and all of it beautiful beyond words. It's the biggest room of them all, decorated with ornate, carefully carved wooden furniture; one has a massive canopy bed fit for a king, two giant carved armoirs and even a vanity desk complete with a velvet stool tucked underneath.

"This is our room." Lloyd tells you as he guides you towards the centre of the room.

You try to swallow your worry down as you legs march against your will but you cannot help but be mesmerised by the view of the room. Candlelight accentuates every curve of the wood-carved furniture and when you look to the cieling, you're completely gobsmacked. Painted onto the ceiling is a forest scene, completely with fairies, animals, plants and flowers. However, Lloyd must have imbued it with magic because the scene moves. You think you're dreaming at first - the first sign you can escape this nightmare - but when Lloyd comes to stand next to you and waves his hand, the scene changes from emerald summer to golden autumn. The foxes and rabbits chase eachother as birds fly from tree to tree. It's magnificent.

"I try to change it often." Lloyd says, softer than he has spoken to you all day. "Change it up a bit. If you don't like it I can change it for you. Have something else on display."

"No - this is wonderful." You reply quickly. "Did you paint this?"

Lloyd chuckles, moving away from you to one of the armoirs on either side of the bed. It creaks as it opens and when you finally tear your eyes away from the ceiling long enough to peek, you see it's filled with expensive gowns and night dresses.

"No. I commissioned it from a human. But I used magic to bring it to life." Lloyd pulls out a night dress, scooping it in his arms before turning back to you, holding the top half up so you can see it.

It's beautiful - a kind of pure white you had never seen. You had only been blessed with hand-me-downs from your mother, or second-hand items from markets. This was new and top of the line - off-shoulder with a small silk bow in the centre of the chest, long bell sleeves that ended with ruched cuffs. It was all so overwhelming - especially when you looked down to the patchwork dress caked in mud and dirt you were wearing. It seemed down right offensive to be in the presence of such a breath-taking dress - a night dress at that.

"I think I picked well." Lloyd says studying your expression, and you don't know if he means you or the dress. You try not to think about it.

You move to touch it but Lloyd snatches it away before your fingers can graze it. You draw your hand back to your chest quickly, scared you may have offended your captor by almost-sullying his gift. However, when Lloyd grins at you - you know he's just teasing again.

"Ah, ah, ah," He says, nodding at your form. "Not before you have a bath."

He snaps his fingers, and a metal thunk sounds behind you. You turn to follow the noise and see a large copper tub sat in front of the fireplace. Your stomach flips - how did he do that?

It slowly fills with steaming water and Lloyd wrestles a small trunk from under the bed. Inside are bottles of what look like potions, and he inspects every label until he finds one that he deems satisfactory. He takes it to the tub before pouring the smallest amount into the water; the water ripples and sloshes quietly before changing colour from translucent to red to pink and back to translucent. You're about to ask what he's put in there when the smell hits you - strawberries. Fresh, ripe strawberries on a summer's day.

"Take off your dress, Mousey." Lloyd says taking a short step forward. "Show yourself to me."

Lloyd playfully tugs at the strings of your corset, pulling them apart. You suck in a breath, your body still not obeying you; despite how hard you will it to turn and run back down the long hallway. He steps back, taking a seat on the bed and watches you - clearly waiting for you to continue undressing. You make a sound between a choked sob and a whimper as you begin to finish untying your corset with shaking hands - almost as if your body had taken Lloyd’s early command to stop crying to heart.

When your corset drops to the floor, you undo the top of your dress and your eyes catch Lloyd biting his lip with an excited anticipation you could not begin to match. You wanted to be sick. You step out of your dress after slipping the sleeves from your arms, left only in your undergarments. Your face is as red hot as the flames in the fireplace and Lloyd makes a gesture with his hand, urging you to finish the removal of all of your clothes.

Once you're finished, your attempt to cover yourself is halted by an icy glare from Lloyd, who twirls his index finger in a circle. "Spin."

You obediently spin on the spot when he snaps at you. "Slower."

You comply, turning more slowly this time and Lloyd hums appreciatively. Averting your gaze as he palms his cock over his trousers.

"C-can I take my bath now, please?" You don't like how weak your voice sounds nor how the bridge of your nose continues to tickle like you might cry but are unable.

"Spoilsport." Lloyd snorts, getting to his feet and holding out his ringed hand. You cover yourself with one hand and shrink inward, taking his hand with your free one delicately. Lloyd looks over at you frowning, clearly unhappy you chose to attempt to cover yourself, but says nothing as he helps you into the water.

"You've been wandering through the forest all day - when was the last time you had a bath like this?" Lloyd asks softly as you slowly lower into the water.

You can smell strawberries again as the water ripples.The water is warm, perfectly warm, and you can't help but sigh as you settle into the tub. Lloyd kneels beside you, watching you as he swirls the water idly with a ringed finger. You try to keep your gazed fixed on your reflection but Lloyd soon tips your chin up so he can look upon your face. You're caught in his gaze like a rabbit that wandered to close to a foxhole - frozen with fear, mind racing.

You shared a bath with your mother and brother - it was rare you ever had clean or warm water to wash with, let alone fancy soaps or oils Lloyd seemed to have. But you think he must already know that about you.

"Never." You answer and feel a horrid wave of guilt for your mother and brother. What would happen to them without you there?

"You are just the prettiest little thing." He hums, wet fingers following the tear trails stained onto your cheeks. "A diamond in the rough."

You blink away from him and he chuckles, watching as you shudder when his fingers trail down your neck to your collar bone before scooping water over your shoulders. He repeats the motion a few more times and then moves to sit behind you, drawing your hair back.

"Lie back. Let me wash your hair."

You do as instructed, breathing growing more panicked as your back touches the water. You try to stay calm as his fingers work the back of your skull, contemplating what to do if he decided to push you below the surface and hold you there. Yet, he doesn't. He cups water to wet your crown, careful to avoid your face, humming a song you don't know.

The experience is oddly soothing... once you manage to relax. Lloyd's fingers massage a concoction into your scalp that smells like hyacinth and makes your hair feel as soft as rabbit pelt. Upon his instruction to sit up, you're graced with his fingers easing knots of tension from your neck and shoulders with an oil that smells like the hearth and it takes all of your willpower to keep groans of satisfaction at bay as the knots release.

"No one will care for you like I will." He says, gathering hair away from your neck to place a gentle kiss there. "You'll be a queen here with me. I'll make sure you want for nothing, my diamond."

His hand splays across your throat and although there is no pressure, the message is crystal clear: You won't be leaving Lloyd's company anytime soon.

"Now, how about I get you some food?"

PART 2 END

Lloyd: @stargazingfangirl18 @shamrockqueen @ledatheswann @queen-honeybee-stories @shamrockqueen @awkwardgiraffe726 @late-to-the-party-81 @moonfairy182 @thechrysalisdiaries @lexie983 @stephstar28 @mommad @marvellover91 @pandaxnienke @bottldcries @cinnamongirlxlovesong @the_Ruler _Of_Death @ghoulsgraveyard @thezombieprostitute @soupiemeowmeow

A/N: surprise :)

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Being friends since diapers had it's perks. You could read the indecipherable Curtis like a children's book - and he would bring you the snack you were craving just from looking at your face; like a kind of Charles Xavier of sweet treats.

You were inseperable - well, almost - save for the fact that neither of you, despite your inhuman connection with eachother, could see that both of you were madly in love with the eachother.

That's where the Lovehearts came in.

Every Valentine's you'd both hang out together - always. You'd have a sleepover where nothing but a cuddle while watching movies would happen. But this year - this year - you both decided you would enact on your feelings.

However, when the day came, it was entirely typical that you both had opted for the safe, testing-the-waters option rather than outright knock-your-socks-off-and-scare-the-other-away romantic gestures. And, given how well you know eachother, had unknowingly (and rather sweetly) came up with the exact same plan.

Lovehearts candy was everywhere on Valentine's; sweet sugary sweets that bordered on sour at times, stamped with phrases or the less popular emoji stamps, were the go-to for both of your plans. Every year you'd share a bag, so naturally, swapping a sweetie with a phrase like Be Mine on it would surely be enough to gauge interest from either party, right? Right?

Wrong.

When Curtis slips you a Be Mine candy he carefully selected, you're too pre-occupied with your own plan (and trying to pick out a phrase that isn't entirely daunting from your own pile of candy hearts) that you thank him and eat it without a second glance; crushing Curtis' spirit in a matter of seconds.

Finally, you settle on two candy hearts to offer, and not-so-casually slide one of the two over to his side of the table.

He's about to eat it when you announce he should read it first.

"Love you?" He reads aloud. "Yeah, love you too." He says, going back to idly moving his candy pile around. You pull a sour face.

You'd said I love you's before - it wasn't uncommon for best friend's to say that to eachother! - but it seemed that your confession had gone unnoticed. So, you instead slide the second heart to him.

Curtis looks down at the heart and is about to continue his dismal arrangement when he does a double take.

Kiss me.

He looks over at you with a small, disbelieving smile. Then he slides over his candy heart.

Kiss me.

You fight back a giggle. "I asked you first."

Curtis makes a show of thinking it over. "Well, I guess. If you're really going to twist my arm..."

His beard is soft as his lips brush against yours in the tenderest of kisses; testing to see if you're as hopelessly smitten as he is - as he has been for years.

And his prayers are answered when you kiss him back.

"I love you," you breathe when you break apart unwillingly (curse your lungs for needing oxygen). "Not like in a best friend way. In a-"

"I know." Curtis cuts you off, smiling now. "Me too."

There's one thing more romantic than having your anniversary on Valentine's Day of all days - and that's marrying your best friend two years later and picking a new anniversary date that won't stop you from getting a reservation at any restaurant you choose.

END

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It started with a lazy morning; Curtis always liked to sleep in anyway so getting up late was a given. Curtis made breakfast, then you watched an episode of your show together, and then you both showered; taking time to relax under the hot stream of water while you waited for your other boyfriend to come home from a late shift.

However, your horniness knew no bounds, and you spent your morning tormenting Curtis in a silky red camisole and back-chatting every chance you got. When you finally sauntered into the bedroom and flashed him when he was trying to read (and get away from your temptations) you were face down ass up in seconds.

Curtis made a point to not reward your behaviour, bottoming out immediately into your silky, welcoming pussy.

"Hah, knew you couldn't resist fucking me." You flash a satisfied grin over your shoulder and he starts to fuck you harder.

"You're such a mouthy little brat." Curtis growls as he pummels you into the mattres, holding your wrists above your head. His other hand is on your hip, gripping it tight, holding your ass up in order to fuck you deep and hard.

Just how you like it on Valentine's day.

"Aw come on, starting without me- on Valentine's day no less!" Jake harrumphs, dropping his work bag. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was mad, but he smiles as he strips out of his clothes and approaches the bed, rubbing his cock through his boxers.

You smile up at Jake when he frees his cock and pumps it a few times as Curtis fucks into you.

"'M sorry baby," you manage to purr. "Lemme make it up to you."

You open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue; a clear invitation that Jake can't resist. When you take him down your throat and bob your head eagerly, Jake sighs and lets his head fall back.

"Best. Valentine's gift. Ever." Jake tells the cieling. Curtis grunts in response, purposefully slowing to deep thrusts now that you had your mouth full.

"She was being a brat all day," Curtis huffs, groping your ass playfully.

"I'm surprised you held out so long." Jake chuckles, knotting a hand in your hair as he starts to thrust into your mouth. "I wouldn't have been able to resist stuffing this mouth full from the start."

You hum around Jake's cock and he pulls out suddenly, bending down to kiss your swollen lips.

"Did you get the gift?" Curtis asks, pulling your hips so you sit up a little bit more. Jake nods before stepping away to grab his work bag and pull out a box wrapped in crepe paper.

"Couldn't forget it." He grins as he rips it open to reveal a clit-suction toy, already filled with batteries. Curtis' arms snake around yours and pull you against his back; pinning you against him and bared to Jake, who has turned the toy on.

You suck in air as Jake moves closer, spreading your sticky folds with his fingers before allowing the toy to latch to your clit. The sensation his instantaneous. Air is stolen from your lungs and you struggle to catch your breath, hips bucking as the vibrations focused on your clit make you see stars.

Curtis groans from behind you, the pulse of your cunt mixed with the vibrations of the toy making him pump into you with jerky motion, holding himself back from chasing his own orgasm. Jake on the other hand, is too preoccupied with your tits and the reactions you have to his ministrations.

"This is the lowest setting and you're ready to cum?" Jake teases, pinching at one of your nipples. When you moan, his fingers hover over the + symbol on the toy. "I wonder what happens if I press this button?"

Jake doesn't press the button straight away, leaving you suspended in anticipation for a second before pressing down. The vibrations kick up a notch and you cum immediately with a half-sob of surprise, gripping Curtis' cock until he curses and pummels into you again. Your body shakes from the overstimulating. Wet sounds emmitting from between your legs as Curtis fucks you like a wild animal and Jake continues to tease you with dirty praises and your new toy.

"Honey, it's not even on the highest setting yet and you're already a mess." Jake tuts, kissing your cheek as you whine at him. "Maybe I'll have to wait a while before I ruin your cunt so I can see those pretty eyes roll back."

"Fuck," Curtis groans from beside your ear. "She's squeezing so tight you won't have to wait."

When you warn them that you're about to cum again, you're smothered with kisses, affectionate bites and urges to let go just for them. You half-shout as you cum over Curtis' cock for a second time and you can feel his cock twitch and stall as he paints your cunt with his cream.

The toy is removed with a wet pop but not switched off. Curtis pulls out of you gently and lowers your spent body backwards until your splayed on your back. He told your wrists again as Jake kneels onto the bed and runs his cock through your messy folds.

"Fuck, just look at you." He praises and you manage a weak, cheeky smile. He rolls his hips slowly into yours, sheathing his cock into you as Curtis adds,

"Our perfect cumslut."

You moan softly at Curtis' words, and gasp when Jake starts to fuck you faster. You're completely at their mercy - just how you like it - and Jake rewards your hushed whimpers by placing the toy on your clit again. The overstimulation makes your eyes roll - you have no energy to scream out - but your moth opens to an o and you arch your back.

"Oh, yes - just like that baby." Jake grunts, slamming his hips against yours."Knew you could take it."

"You just love us making you a mess." Curtis adds, kneading one of your tits with a large hand. "Right, hon?"

The sound you make is nowhere near human as you cum over Jake's cock so hard your legs lock around his hips. Jake isn't far behind, trying and failing to contain his gasping groan when he empties himself into your cunt. You must black out for a few seconds because when your eyes flutter open again, the toy is off and Jake and Curtis are cuddling into you; Jake still slightly breathless and Curtis stroking your hair.

"Happy Valentine's Day, hon." Curtis murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Yeah, what he said." Jake mumbles into with pillow, glasses askew.

You chuckle dreamily, unable to think of a more perfect way to spend the day. "Right back at ya."

END

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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@the_Ruler _Of_Death @ghoulsgraveyard

When your good eye creaks open, encrusted with what must be sleep or maybe even blood, you're not too sure where you are. The light is blinding and after a momentary panic that you were crossing over, your optical nerve comes to life and you blink a hospital room into existence.

It's overstimulating. The white light from the window. The beep of your heart monitor. The breathing of someone next to you. Someone? You turn your head, slowly, though it doesn't help the pain.

It's a man. Your heart leaps, monitor beeping a little faster - Bucky? - but when your brain registers that he has chubby proportions and Sheriff's hat over his sleeping eyes, you know it's Bodecker.

"Hey. Close the curtains." your voice is hoarse. Barely there. But Bodecker still startles awake.

"Jesus Christ." He hisses under his breath, hands gripping the arms of the chair. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he'd seen a ghost.

He gets up quickly and draws the curtains closed, crossing the room again with measured, quieter steps. The room is dark, blissfully dark again, save for the dim glow of the nightlight next to you. Your head sinks into the lumpy pillow and you sigh.

"It wasn't Bucky." Are the next words out of your mouth.

Bucky had admitted to you in passing once that, whilst Bodecker could be a lazy son of a bitch, he often helped Bucky and his gang and could be trusted with some things. Other more serious crimes, especially to do with women and kids, Bodecker tended to lock-in like a dog with a bone and would enlist the help of Bucky if need be. But circumstances like that were rare in Briarridge - a quiet scenic town. Bodecker was more likely

"I know it wasn't Bucky." Bodecker sighs. It's exasperated - lack of sleep making him grumpier than usual. "That dumbass is many things but a wife-beater ain't one. Besides," Bodecker snorts. "He was on the scene not long after us."

If you could blink in surprise, you would. "He was?"

"Yep." Bodecker says re-taking his seat, the small chair creaking uncomfortably beneath him. "And he's in holding 'til-" he checks his watch before flashing you a soft smile. "Ten a.m."

"Do I want to ask why he's in holding?" You try to keep your voice level, unsure if you wanted to smile or be furious with Bucky.

"One of my officers wouldn't let him through, you know, active crime scene and all." Bodecker leans back, laying his fingers together over the pudge of his stomach. "Y'can imagine how well that went down."

"I said I'd stick with you 'til you woke up. That seemed to calm him down." When you focus your blurry gaze you can see the sheriff smile kindly at you. "He's real sweet on you, darlin'. I don't think I've ever seen him like this about a woman before."

"Thanks." You say weakly.

You can't tell if the acidic feeling in your chest is fury at Bucky for not being here when you woke up, heartburn, or the anxious need to be held by your boyfriend. Boyfriend.

Before you can ruminate further on the word, it's meaning and the mess of feelings stirring in your gut, your room door slams open; startling you and the sheriff.

"Goddammit, Federson!" Bodecker barks furiously at his deputy, a young guy who looks like a skittish hare locked in the eyes of an oncoming truck. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Federson's eyes lock onto you and he visibly pales, stuttering out a response. You must look like hell. "I- I- um sorry, sheriff I was jus' wondering if I could get anything?"

Bodecker's lips twitch upwards into a cold smirk as he addresses his deputy. "Go 'n get some cocoa, Ferderson. Two cups."

Ferderson nods and backs out of the room, still looking a little green around the gills. It makes you want to laugh - but you don't know why. Bodecker turns back to you, his blue eyes cold and piercing through the dim light of your room - before softening.

"I'm sorry about him, darlin'. He's..." Bodecker tries to think of a polite word before settling on, "...young."

"It's alright," you try to smile, but it hurts too much. Bodecker seems to notice and his gaze hardens.

"I can't promise ya I'll find the sonuvabitch that did this," He half growls. "But believe me, I'll damn sure try."

You don't need to look at him to know he's telling the truth. You can hear it in his voice - the promise - and whilst you're too weak to answer more than a meager thank you, you know that Bodecker can see the fat tear of appreciation roll down your cheek.

Ferderson returns, awkwardly sloshing himself with cocoa as he enters. He hands a cocoa each to you and Bodecker, hands shaking, before wiping his hands on his perfectly pressed pants.

"Thanks Ferderson. I need you to speak with the nurses and start taking some statements."

"Sir?"

"If anyone has come in with any suspicious injuries lately. I doubt they have but we need to be thorough. I'll take her statement. When you're done, watch the door."

Ferderson looks like he's about to argue with his superior but thinks better of it and nods his head before disappearing again. Bodecker sighs. You know what's coming next. Bodecker has the decency to look pained to ask you about giving a statement, to relay the last few traumatic hours of your life onto a tiny voice recorder.

"'M sorry to have to ask you darlin' but are you feelin' up to givin' me your statement?"

The whole town would know about this by now. The new girl in town, who meddled with bikers, beaten and left for...

Well, you were unsure if they meant to leave you for dead or not.

The townsfolk would probably blame Bucky even though it wasn't him. So, that being said, you should probably make the statement and clear his name. Swallowing down bile, you nod, and begin to recount the evening.

You're not sure how you manage to hold it together. Bodecker is surprisingly sweet, handing you a hankie when he notices your lip quiver and a stray tear rolls down your cheek and he insists that it "ain't a problem, sugar" when you thank him for it.

When you finally reach the end of your beating, told with eerie calmness, Bodecker puts a warm hand over your cold one. He offers you a kind smile.

"It's okay, darlin'. You're doing great. You ain't got cameras or anything?" He asks gently.

Your eyes flicker from his to your handbag. "I was just about to tell you the rest..."

The masked men had taken you upstairs to where your apartment had been ransacked. You had kicked and screamed at first but after your foot had connected with the jaw of one of your assailants, you had been stunned to silence with a hard punch to the face and the threat of "giving you a real reason to cry."

The next two hours were brutal. Face bloodied from what you'd later find out was a broken nose, you endured a beating that left breaks and fractures when you couldn't and often refused to answer questions about Bucky and the White Wolves. The man who had threatened you with more than a beating was the main aggressor - taking great pleasure in your pain. He barked orders. A second was more stoic, joining in when the first got tired. And the third... he was meek. Scared. He was the one who finally convinced them to leave after two hours and no information could be pried from you.

"Tell Bucky that if doesn't leave this town, he'll have more than just one dead biker to grieve." The first one sneered, so close to your face that you could almost taste his rancid breath. Your blood turned to ice and you curled in on yourself and whimpered in terror and two of your assailants chuckled as they left.

You waited until they had descended the stairs and you heard the jingle of the bell above your door, before sobbing uncontrollably. It hurt. Everything hurt. Where was Bucky? You wanted him and needed him to be with you. You force yourself to sit up against the counter, the brief moment of vulnerability over. You shuffle painfully over to the stairs and, with your arms shaking, you lower yourself down onto the first step.

You either had a broken or bruised a rib because the pain that shot up through your nerves almost had you letting go of the stairs out of shock. Every step you lowered yourself down was agony. Cuts and bruises that had began to swell screamed everytime they brushed the wood but you persevered until you got to the foot of the stairs and took hollow breaths before dragging yourself to the café kitchen.

You kept your second laptop hidden in the café store cupboard in a fireproof lockbox with other important documents like the original copies of the deed to the café, insurances and your passport. It was only a cheap little thing, compact enough to fit in the lockbox and easy to access. You'd bought it not long after the fire at The Den, deciding it was better safe than sorry when you'd be housing and hooking up with the leader of a bike gang. You hadn't expected to be sorry so soon.

Another benefit of being with Bucky meant that you got to steal all of his good ideas like dummy cameras and after booting up the laptop, which took an unnecessarily long time, you logged in and brought up your security software. It wasn't a true security software - but nannycams were easily hidden, discreet cameras that could be placed in both your apartment, kitchen and café and go undetected... and were surprisingly easy to set up. You'd installed them your first week moving in, in fact the day after you first met Bucky. Thank God for self-preservation and modern technology.

The software flashes and six screens appear one by one. The kitchen, a camera in the store cupboard facing the lock box, three areas of your café (just above the counter, across the shop floor and facing the door) and the final shot of your tiny living room-cum-kitchen in your apartment.

Every camera still alive and well.

You breathe a painful sigh of relief and rummage the lockbox for your spare thumbdrives, another great idea you had implemented in case of an emergency such as this. You begin the painfully long process of downloading the last twelve hours of footage into a folder, struggling to steel yourself when flashes of your assailants or your broken body appear on the screen.

Standing with the help of the counter behind you, you hobble out to the kitchen and get yourself a glass of water, rinsing your mouth of blood. You contemplate calling Bucky for a second and decide against it. You don't know where your phone is other than upstairs, or if it's broken beyond repair. You swil out your mouth again. You also don't know if he'd answer.

Your body begs for a break, for respite. To cower in fear and to sleep on the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor but you refuse. You can't cry. It hurts too much, both emotionally and physically. You need to be strong. Resilient. You have to be what you need because no one else will help you but yourself.

You steel yourself against the counter as your legs threaten to betray you, adrenaline waning fast. You cross your arms and lean over the sink, crying out as your ribs take the weight of your body.

A hospital is what you need. Morphine. Darkness seeps to the corners of your vision. Goddammit. You're going to pass out again. You ease yourself to the floor and lie flat, letting the darkness claim you...

Thirty minutes. You're out cold for thirty minutes. It feels like an age. It takes you a moment to recognise your own café's kitchen; you're not used to seeing it from the floor. You feel more sluggish than earlier and your right eye swollen shut from one of the punches you'd had. Every move you make causes waves of pain and you swear up and down that you can hear bones grind together like crumpled paper.

The footage is almost finished transferring. Two copies. One for the cops. One for you. You can't trust anyone. You can't risk the footage vanishing like your assailants. You don't know who to trust from the police department. Bodecker seemed decent enough - but anyone with a vendetta against Bucky meant they couldn't be trusted to handle your case.

You silently promise yourself to omit the existence of a second copy in your statement to the police as you take a shaky sip of the remanants of luke-warm water in your glass. And to omit the existence of your lockbox. Those two pieces are need-to-know information for your closest allies and right now - that only seems to be you.

"A USB drive?" Bodecker looks wide eyed at the small thumb drive in your handbag. "You have cameras set up?"

"I'm a woman who lives alone." You say pointedly. "And last I checked a biker gang ran the town. Give me some credit, Sheriff."

Bodecker smiles sheepishly. "Well, props to you for being so conscientious, sugar. If we catch these guys we can make sure they go to jail. You have any family or friends you can call? Stay with?" Bodecker asks. "I know Bucky's dealin' with his own issues right now."

"'M not telling my family about this. If they knew they'd shackle me in the basement." You shake your head with a sigh. "Besides, I'm not about to be scared out of the town I built my business in. It ain't happening."

Bodecker's eyebrows raise and he smiles, impressed. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing till this blows over. But I can see why Bucky likes you. You're full of fighting spirit."

You manage a humorless smile that makes your jaw ache. "Thanks Sheriff. Just do me a favour?"

"Sure, sugar."

"Try to keep Bu-"

Before you can finish, there's a slam of doors followed by gasps and clatters of equipment.

"DOLL?!"

"Oh for God's sake." You groan, eyes fluttering shut as you lie back onto the uncomfortably lumpy hospital pillow. You don't know how Bucky managed to find your ward but he was the last person you wanted to see in this state after recounting hands-down the most traumatic event of your life.

Bodecker raises an eyebrow at you. "Want me to tell Ferderson to barricade the door?"

"You think that'll stop him?" You arch your crusty eyebrow at him and Bodecker sighs and shrugs, waving at his jittery deputy peeking through the small window to let Bucky through the door, hurriedly stuffing the USB into his breastpocket and getting to his feet.

Bucky all but shoves Ferderson out of the way to get to you but screeches to a halt once he sees your face. He visibly pales - just like Ferderson had - colour drained in an instant. God, you must really look like shit.

"I'll give you two some privacy." Bodecker glances at you one last time and nods curtly. "I'll be just outside - holler if you need anything."

You half-nod back, still unable to fully move your neck, and appreciate Bodecker's hidden meaning; that if you decide you don't want Bucky around, he'll remove him for you.

Bodecker claps Bucky on the shoulder as he passes and mumbles something to him, something that makes Bucky swallow harshly, blue eyes still wide and fixated on you. The sheriff nods again before giving Bucky a cautious once over, edging past and exiting the room. Your turn your head away to look at the wonderfully ugly hospital curtains over your window.

The room seems darker than you remember, colder too, and you find yourself unable to focus on the patterns of the curtains for very long without feeling sick. Instead you look at your bruised wrists and battered knuckles that attempted to block the blows and kicks of your assailants.

The silence is heavy, grounded in unspoken words. Minutes pass without a word between you.

"Who did this to you?"

You almost don't recognise Bucky's voice. It's quiet - too quiet - the dangerous undertone a growl away from being bone-chillingly calm. You don't bother looking up when you shrug.

"Don't know." You say, voice barely above a whisper. You don't trust yourself to speak louder for the same reason you can't look at Bucky; because you'd cry. "They wore masks."

What good was crying? Your fingers scrunch the thin material of your bedding and ache with pain but you can't bring yourself to care. Crying hurt too much.

"Did they say who they were?"

"Why the fuck would they tell me for?" You snap, whipping your head around regardless of the pain that sears down your neck, with eyes like a storm and you see Bucky visibly recoil at the sight of your swollen eye. Your lip quivers.

"I thought it was you." You say finally, voice jumping three octaves more than you would like. "I thought you had come back. I thought I was getting an apology. Or at least another argument."

Your voice wobbles as you recall stepping across the threshold of your home and hoping to see Bucky, only to find three masked men waiting for you. "And you weren't there."

Silence falls again, your words filled with venom and hatred although you know it's not Bucky's fault. Well - you supposed you could argue it wasn't if Bucky was normal - but then he wouldn't be Bucky.

You should tell him to get lost. You shouldn't let him stay. But after the night you've had, Bucky brings comfort and safety. He brings normal.

Your hands tremble with anger. Your ribs cage your heart and lungs squeezing hard, leaving no room for air. You want Bucky close, to feel those warm hands caress your swollen cheeks but you also wanted him out of your sight.

Looking across the room to your neatly folded, bloodied clothes on the sterile plastic armchair you let your body slump again. You're tired of fighting today. Tired of the games. It would do you no good to bite Bucky's head off for something out of his control. Still, it didn't change the fact that it happened because of him. The atrocity of your beating was a message intended for Bucky and the White Wolves and anyone else who stood by them.

You were a pawn in a game you weren't even playing. A game you very much didn't want to play and hadn't ever wanted to.

Your sigh fills the room. Bucky hasn't moved, hasn't spoken. You wonder what he's thinking.

Your anger isn't because you wanted him there to protect you - rather ironically, you had wanted him to be there in the aftermath as the comforting, unsung anti-hero of the hour like in a damn movie so that he would still remain safe. But this wasn't a movie. This was reality.

You blink away tears again. You weren't prepared to have this revelation today. You didn't want it and you certainly didn't need it.

"Why are you here?"

"To see you."

"You've seen me." Your voice holds no emotion only exhaustion.

"Not like this and you know it."

"How did you know I was here?"

"I came back."

You suck in a breath. "What do you mean?"

"I left Steve in charge. He was the one who convinced me to come back to you. To apologise." He explains. "Drove all the way without stopping. Thinkin' about where would be open to get you flowers, thinkin' of a real way to make it up to you... only to come back and find your café surrounded by cops and- and-"

He sniffs then and you purse your lips tight, willing yourself to hold back the dam of emotions threatening to overflow and overwhelm you. He came back. He came back.

"I'm sorry." He says finally, voice barely above a whisper. You hear the shuffle of biker boots across the sterile linoleum floor. "I should have been there. I should never have left. I should never had said it was just a café- God, I-"

Another step.

"Doll, I-" he sucks in a breath; harsh and quick. He soinds as broken as he looks. "God, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

A touch. Fingers on your arm. You flinch. The fingers retreat. You still can't look at him. It hurts too much. Your face. Your ribs. Your heart. Maybe your liver too.

"No one would tell me anything." His knuckles wrap around the metal frame of your bed, tightening with creak. "I was so fucking scared that you were-" He stops himself, like he's unable to finish the sentence. So you do it for him.

"Dead? Worse?" You look over at him again amd wish you hadn't. He looks like a mess - annoyingly, still a hot mess - but his hair is windswept and his eyes downcast, gripping the side of your bed like he's on a roller coaster he can't get off. Yet, you can't bring yourself to be angry at him.

"Yippee for you I'm one tough cookie then huh?" You joke, though your voice wavers and in that split second you see Bucky's periwinkle blue eyes glance up to yours, red and wet with tears, and your already broken heart shatters.

Part of you wants to reach out and touch him. To wipe away his tears and assure him you're fine despite how you look - despite what your chart says. And part of you wants to tell him it's his fault your here.

Your hand is heavy when you lift it to rest on his and you breathe a sigh of contentment when you feel the cool of his rings indent into your flesh.

"Don't beat yourself up over it." You tell him softly, resigning to listen to your better part. "And don't go and do something stupid either. Well, stupid-er." You give him the best sideways glance you can. "Bodecker told me you got put in holding overnight."

Tears still roll down his cheeks as he lets out a sharp laugh of surprise. "Yeah. I did." He turns serious again. "Cupcake, I-"

"James." You cut him off with a sad smile. "Don't do that either."

"You don't even know what I was going to say." Bucky murmurs, his other hand encapsulating yours, thumb gently grazing your bruised knuckles.

"You were going to apologise. Again." You say. "It's not your fault."

"It is." Bucky argues back, voice breaking. "It's because of who I am. And I dragged you right into this mess because I-... because I couldn't help myself. Fuck - I wanted you so bad and was so-"

"Reckless?" You offer with a chuckle. "Which one of us looked at the leader of a biker gang and decided to slash his tyres? And who and invited him to temporarily live with her?" You shake your head lightly and squeeze his hand weakly. "You're lucky I'm stupid enough to love you."

There's a sharp intake of breath and for a moment you can't tell if it's from you or Bucky, until quivering lips wet with tears, press against your knuckles.

"I love you too, doll." Bucky whispers. "God, so much." He sniffs as he wipes away some of your tears from your cheek with a touch as soft as velvet. "Can I… Could I stay for a while? Please?"

"Sure." You give him a cheeky smile, ignoring the ache it causes. "It's your turn to play nurse."

"I don't think I'd make a very good nurse." His bottom lip quivers again as he releases a shaky breath, rubbing his eyes with his left hand and trying to keep another sniff quiet. Bucky moves into the seat Bodecker was previously in and scooches forward closer to your bed.

"I don't know - I think if you asked to borrow some scrubs you'd look pretty sexy." You murmur, eyes fluttering. "Or maybe that's the morphine talkin'."

"Shh, Cupcake." Bucky coos. "Rest up. I'm not leaving you again." Then more firmly, adds. "I promise."

"I don't wanna go to sleep," you sigh, eyes fully closed. "You came back."

"And I'll be here when you wake up this time." Bucky assures you, kissing your hands. "Go to sleep doll. I'm right here."

You hum in acknowledgement before drifting to sleep with a small smile on your lips.

You & Bucky: Tied

Part 8 END

Tags for everything: @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @brianochka @looking1016 @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @waywardwifey @peaches1958 @michaeladmorris @alexxavicry @lexie983 @wint3rbarnes @sunday-bug @barnes-babydoll @alicedopey @cakesandtom

A/N 2: I was tempted to have the fight go on longer but I must be in a loving mood today because this was their first I Love You too. ❤️

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You had moved from under the bed to instead start pacing your room. Occaisonally you would stop to look at your dog, whose tail would wag as he watched you intensely, like he was waiting for you to say something more than just multiple beginnings of sentences. How do you even address this? You bite the fingernail of your thumb anxiously and begin to pace again.

You were certifiably insane.

You look over your shoulder and lo and behold, there is still a golden retriever sat there. You don't know what you expect to see everytime you look over to him but now your head hurts. It's a dog. And yet…

"Were you… " You begin for the umpteenth time, internally kicking yourself for sounding so insanely stupid. He probably just bobbed his head! He's a dog. "…in the shower?"

It takes a long moment, complete with eye contact, before something happens. You almost miss it but he most definitely nods his head again.

"You were in the shower?" You repeat - just to check you really weren't seeing things - and he nods his head again. You reel backwards, raking your hands into your hairline. Was this a trick someone had taught him? Maybe you should stop watching Supernatural before bed. "And you've been eating my food?"

This time, it's a sheepish nod - face down, eyes wide and apologetic.

"Have you been… " You take a breath, trying not to sound anxious. "…Watching me?"

You expect another nod - hoping for your theory that it's a trick he's been taught is correct. However, you recieve a vehement shake of the head. You exhale slowly, trying to gather fleeting thoughts as they hide in the wrinkles and corners of your brain. Do you want to know what he is? Or even who he is? Do you need to do some research on how to kill him? Or would he kill you first? What kind of a monster are you dealing with?

Or are you even dealing with a monster at all?

That thought stops your spiral in its tracks and you begin to recount everything he's done in the last two weeks since you found him. Someone still tied him up and left him in a storm - unless he did that himself - but then why be so distressed? You didn't know the dog's age other than the vet saying he was probably four or five - what if he was a child?

"That's the first time you've licked me." You say dumbly before looking down at him. "You lie at my feet at night. You check the perimeter twice a day. You-" Your eyes flicker to his and you take a short breath. "You protect me."

Your golden barks once - affirmative.

Swallowing nervously you continue. "Then I should show you some trust. Can you show me what- who you are? Please?"

The dog ponders a moment before nodding and gets to his feet - but jerks his head at you almost shyly when you're still watching him.

"Oh! Sorry!" You squeak, spinning to face the wall. Heat crawls up your cheeks from embarassment and you wonder if you're protective pooch will be as cute as a human as he was as a dog. There's a scratching sound of claws on wood, quiet grumbles against the sound of popping - which make you shift on your feet with unnease. There's a soft sound on fabric on fabric and when a human voice clears it's throat you take that as your cue to turn around.

Draped in one of the musty blankets folded across the end of your bed is a man. A tall one. So tall, in fact, that the blanket barely grazes his knees and you fight to keep your eyes upward and fixated and a flushed, handsome face with blond tips of hair damp and flat against his head. Blue eyes sheepishly try to maintain contact with yours but he looks ready to bolt if necessary - not that you can blame him.

"You're…" You start and realise your brain hasn't decided on what to say next and awkwardly try to play it cool as you finish with, "-Hotter than I expected."

His cheeks darken and you pull a face somewhere between mortified and disappointed at your own words.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. That was- weird. I shouldn't have said that." You blab hurriedly, flapping your hands. "Ignore me, um, er-"

"Jake." He blurts back, blue eyes back on your face. "And it's not that weird all things considered."

"Jake." You repeat and chuckle sheepishly. "Obviously you have a name."

"Obviously." Jake teases and offers a playful grin that immediately infects you with a bashful smile - and you could have sworn if he was still a dog his tail would be wagging. "So, um…" You clear your throat. "How long have you been able to…" you gesture vaguely. "Do that?"

"Turn into a dog?" Jake asks, his head tilting slightly. "Erm, since a kid, I guess. Happened more as a teen with hormones…and stuff."

"Ah. Makes sense." You say, then open your mouth to ask a question, seemingly think better of it, and close it again.

Jake shifts uncomfortably but says, "Ask."

"Is it always a dog?" You blurt. "Or can you impersonate other animals or-" you clamp your mouth shut but Jake knows you meant to say people.

"Just a dog - the same dog." He nods and then clears his own throat. "For the record I'm not some creep. I met you by complete chance."

"Uhhh…" You don't really know what to say. You don't want to admit you inexplicably believe and trust him. God knows you're too trusting. Instead you opt to ask him how he became tied to the tree in the first place.

"I was laying low for a while. It's a long story but the short version is that my friends and I are hiding from some bad people. Being a dog meant I could hide in plain sight." Jake shifts again, looking at his feet. "But I got taken to the pound… and then a gang that runs a dog-fighting ring got a hold of me. Because I would cause so much trouble, making escape attempts, howling all day and refusing to kill other dogs they decided I wasn't worth the effort to keep around."

"Oh my God. That's horrible!" You exclaim and then you give him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Continue."

Jake returns your smile and continues with new-found confidence. "Shooting me would have raised too much attention and the guy that tied me up didn't have the heart to harm me in any other way… And then a few hours later, just before I decide to shift and try to avoid an arrest for public indecency, you found me." Jake chuckles and clicks his tongue. "And I thought I could get away with being a domestic pet - lay low, keep my head down and leave in a few weeks. And then," Jake winces, as if bracing for you to yell at him but his voice drops to a growl. "I saw the email you got sent. And I realised I couldn't just leave you. Not with that monster still around."

His blue eyes peek up at you and despite being physically taller, he had mastered the apologetic puppy-dog eyes that made it impossible to even think of being mad at him. And you had to admit, the sweet yet protective human before you was incredibly endearing - even if the situation at hand made your brain a little bit mushy. However, when you say nothing, he continues to nervously babble.

"I was trying to contact my team to tell them I was okay! I wasn't being nosy, I promise. But if you want me to find him I can - I have a special set of skills - haha like Liam Neeson in Taken… Okay, okay. Erm-" He swallows. "I'm sorry. And sorry for lying and scaring you and I totally get it if you want me gone-"

"I don't want you gone!" You exclaim and then shyly turn in on yourself. "I feel safer with you around. It's so silly. I don't feel any less safe knowing you're not just a dog."

You hum and haw. "The whole shifters being real thing is hard to believe." You say slowly. "But I'll take what I can get right now."

Jake perks up immediately. "Really?"

You snort, imagining his tail wagging a mile a minute. "We'll have to figure out sleeping arrangements and everything but-"

"But I'm still happy to sleep on the floor." Jake blurts, shuffling slightly closer, huddled under the blanket.

"I was thinking more we could top and tail." You say trying to force a blush away from your cheeks. "Uh, with you like… this."

You gesture to his form and then look at the floor to save yourself from further embarassment. "Not because of what I said earlier or anything. Not that that's - oh God - erm - I just don't want to force you to be a dog all the time. Just when people visit… if that's okay with you?"

"More than okay."Jake nods but then adds. "But I still want to to do morning and evening patrols. Just for my peace of mind."

You nod back and bite your lip. "I feel that we have so much to talk about. I don't know if I even want to go to sleep yet."

Jake grins at you. "Ditto. Maybe after the visit tomorrow we can sit down and talk properly? About everything."

"That'd be… nice." You smile again and point to the bed. "Well. Let's, uh, get some shut eye before tomorrow. I have a feeling it will be a long day."

End

A/N: I wanted them to finally speak! Our little Birdie is so trusting of Jake but I'm hoping I can find the momentum to finish the next part (although I think @buck-star will help me with that!)

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Jake: @stargazingfangirl18 @irishhappiness @Cieraboobear @doodooslay @shamrockqueen @alicedopey @awkwardgiraffe726 @late-to-the-party-81 @moonfairy182 @thechrysalisdiaries @lexie983 @stephstar28 @mommad @marvellover91 @fangfoxy @vicmc624 @bottldcries @maydayfigment @steviebbboi @cinnamongirlxlovesong @the_Ruler _Of_Death @ghoulsgraveyard

Jake was used to seeing an array of post-its on his screen at work; reminders for different pieces of work, visitors, system checks, sometimes an obscene note left by one of his friends. However, among the fray this bright morning was one littered with hearts.

In typical Jake fashion he hadn't noticed it until Cougar pointed at it when they came back from the cafeteria with coffee.

"'Hope your day is as good as you look'?" Jake reads aloud, cheeks warming a little. "Man, remind me to ask Pooch to be his Valentine."

He doesn't think much else of it, brushing it off as a silly joke from his friend and puts it next to his mousepad; at the very least to remind him to give it back to Pooch when he saw him at lunch. However just before lunch, amidst remote laptop fixes and recording the repairs and issues into an online portal, a familiar face appears around the corner of the IT bar. Sheepish and bashful, you shuffle into the room holding your laptop.

"Hi Jake." Your voice is so quiet and soft he doesn't even jump, turning to look at you with a knowing smile.

"Please don't tell me you broke it again." He teases as you dutifully hand over your laptop.

Your cheeks burn. "I think I'm cursed."

"I think so too." Jake chuckles, opening the laptop and hitting the power button. No luck.

"Yes, I have put it on to charge. No, it shut down as usual yesterday evening and no I didn't spill anything on it." You rattle out the answers to the usual questions quickly, picking at the cuff of your sweater.

Somehow you were at the IT Bar every other day with some sort if technological issue. Your work phone would not register on the system. Then it got cut off. Then you got a new one that wouldn't even turn on. Then your laptop decided to deregister itself from the company cloud and you lost your files you'd been working on. This was your second laptop, one you watched Jake set up for you.

All of the above didn't even begin to account for the printers, coffee machines and sockets you had somehow managed to break; like the cutest hurricane dressed in oversized sweaters.

"Right okay, well, I'll give you a spare laptop for now and I'll hook it up and run diagnostics." Jake says and tries for a reassuring smile.

"Thanks." You give him a wry smile before your downcast eyes see his note. "Oh," you say pointing to the post-it. "Do you have an office sweetheart, Jensen?"

Jake feels the embarassment creep up his spine. Pooch will pay for this. "I, uh, no," he swallows. "I think it's Pooch playing a prank on me."

"Oh." You say, quietly. Jake couldn't tell if you sounded dejected or not.

"Yeah, he usually leaves me little notes- I-"

"Why do you think someone is playing a prank on you?" You ask, looking at him with a curious tilt to your head.

"Well, I mean, come on… look at me." You continue to watch him as he stumbles over his words and he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he gestures from his head down. "I look like this. No woman has ever shown interest in me so it's just weird to have it start now."

"I think you're cute!" You blurt and both you and Jake have to look away from eachother, trying to hide how hot your cheeks have become. "Sorry. But I don't find it surprising at all. Thanks for the laptop - I'll drop it off before I leave."

You hurry out before he can form a cohesive thought and he's light on his feet when he meets up with Pooch and his other friends in the cafeteria.

"You practically floated in." Clay chuckles taking a bite of his sandwich.

"And with that big dopey grin something good's got to have happened." Pooch adds, pulling out a neatly wrapped sandwich his wife had made him from his lunch bag.

Jake fills them in on the morning's events and all four - Clay, Pooch, Roque and Cougar - agree that the most likely suspect would be you.

"No- she - I-" Jake blusters, sagging in his chair. You only said he was cute right to spare his feelings, right? "No way."

"Uh, yes way." Roque snorts. "Didn't you say she asks for you by name now? Sends you direct emails when something goes wrong?"

Jake shrugs and murmurs, "It's just easier that way."

"A tech savant and a tech destroyer - a match made in heaven." Pooch adds with a laugh. "Isn't she the one you always say is cute too?"

Jake shrinks in his chair. "Yes."

Clay raises an eyebrow at him. "Then don't you think you should leave her a note back?"

"And say what? What if it's not her?" Jake asks, looking to each of his friends. "That would be humiliating."

"Not as humiliating as never asking her out in the first place." Roque says pointing a finger at Jake. Cougar nods in agreement.

Jake sighs. "Hrm. Maybe."

After lunch, Jake goes to enlist the help of the one person he knows could help him confirm without a shadow of a doubt it was you who left the note and help advise him on a potential office romance.

"Peeps, please. Can you ask Curtis and Mace to check the cameras?"

"For the last time, there are no cameras in the IT bar Jensen." Peeps says biting into her sandwich as she types one-handed. Eating through her lunch again - typical. "And you would have to ask security - not egineering - apart from the fact it would be a breach in security to let you look at staff through the cameras."

"It would only be for this morning." Jake pleads. "Pretty please?"

Peeps turns to him with a narrowed glare. "Why?"

Jake blushes. "It's not important. Just curious."

"I need to know if it's for security purposes." Peeps says after a cautious bite of her sandwich. "Is it?"

"No… Just a personal matter." Jake shifts on his feet and grabs the chair next to Peeps, shuffling closer. Peeps raises an eyebrow but waits for him to continue. "Look, I got a note on my desk this morning and I want to confirm it's who I think it's from."

"Was it bad?" You look aghast. "Because if that's the case I-"

"No! No, they're um…" Jake shrugs. "Complimentary."

Peeps snorts. "Sounds like a real pain."

"Can you help me?" Jake asks again, slightly desperate. "I just don't want to embarass myself."

Peeps sighs, setting her sandwich down. "No, I can't. It's against company policy unless it was a threat or an accusation of bullying - of which it is neither." Peeps gives Jake a knowing smile. "But I think I know who it may be. You said you wanted to ask me something else?"

Now it's Jake's turn to sigh. "Well, if speaking to her goes well - I'll ask you then."

Peeps gives him a reassuring smile and a pat on the arm. "Chin up, Jensen. If she's leaving you notes, I'd say you're in with a chance."

Peeps' smile widens as Curtis and Mace appear - although she seemingly doesn't notice how the burly engineers assess Jake with scowls. Jake quickly excuses himself to let Peeps and her (what did she call them again? Oh yeah-) dust mites to finish their lunches in peace.

As he walks back to his desk he subconsciously wanders past the bank of desks where you usually sit and when he looks over, you're sat alone eating your lunch with your headphones in, doomscrolling on your phone.

You're in your own little bubble - one he desperately wants to pop in order to ask you if you were the one to leave him that note. But you look too peaceful and he can't bring himself to do it; he instead continues walking back to his own little desk at the IT Bar, missing the way your eyes flicker up as he walks by.

After being swamped with work, Jake forgets to speak with you and you must have come in early to confirm the checkout of a loan-laptop because your name and signature is at the bottom of the sign-out sheet.

Jake nods in approval, taking a sip of coffee that ignites the seemingly useless two braincells he posseses, and checks the sign-out sheet again. It looks similar to the handwriting on the post-it but to be sure - he retrieves the post-it (because of course he didn't throw it away) and places it at the side of the sign-out sheet.

The writing is identical. Like you hadn't bothered to hide it.

Jake then realised that it was a rare occasion that you weren't at the office early… leaving you plenty of time to write the note, leave it at his desk and go back to yours long before he even arrived. He sits back in his chair holding his note, dumbfounded… before getting to work.

You're only gone from your desk for ten minutes max when you return to find your borrowed laptop with a note stuck to it from Jake reading: Mystery Solved :)

You smile to yourself and take your seat, setting your coffee off to the side as you open the lid. After logging in, your baffled to find that your screensaver isn't the company logo, as usual, but rather cute cartoon mice holding hands and big bright red letters across the screen:

Will you be my Valentine?

It takes a squiggle of your mouse to find two hidden check boxes of Yes and no, but you're so flustered it takes you a moment to click 'yes' after trying to cool your cheeks. Much to your horror, a loud triumphant sound screams from your laptop and you slam it shut but not before catching the attention of your coworkers; to whom you sheepishly apologise and rush off to the IT Bar where your Valentine awaits.

Although, you have to wonder what prompted such a sudden display of interest. You're glad, if not slightly peeved, Jake managed to ask you out before you asked him but you're not one to complain: especially when his face lights up when you arrive, grinning ear to ear when you answer his question in person with a resounding "Yes!"

END

❤️

Extra:

"Do you think the post-it was a bit much?"

"Nah," Peeps waves a hand at Clay. "She always tries to avoid Jensen 'cause she gets too shy. I think it was perfect."

"Told you it would work." Pooch huffs and then nudges Peeps' arm. "Tell Mace I said thanks for coming in so early to leave that note."

Peeps nods with a smile. "You betcha. Hopefully, now that we won't have the lovesick office sweethearts making goo-goo eyes at eachother every ten minutes, we can actually do some work."

That earns Peeps a few chuckles and a snort from Roque. "Yeah, keep dreaming."

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You had planned a steak dinner with all the trimmings. Fondant potatoes perfectly crisp baked with garlic and rosemary butter, green beans parboiled and tossed in the same butter but then tossed in grated parmesan and baked until there was the hint of a crunch and finally, the pist de resistance, a medium rare steak fillet.

Again, this is what you had planned for your husband's return after a month-long work trip. The current state of your planned meal was as follows; burnt green beans, fondant potatoes drowned in so much butter they were spongy, calorific messes and raw steak fillets abandoned on the counter. You had been in tears trying to fix your mess and had been sobbing on the kitchen floor for half an hour - wishing your husband was home.

But when your wish is granted, you cry harder. Lloyd double takes at the scene before him and isn't sure what to think. He'd missed you so much and whilst he was sure you felt the same, seeing you cry harder at his appearance made him wonder if maybe his choice in new shirt was as bad as Nick had said.

He tiptoes over to you, crouching to look you in the eyes. "Hi, honeybear." He coos. "I expected you to be a bit weepy but this is a bit much."

You sniffle and hiccup a few times before you manage to babble out that you're so happy to see him and you were trying to surprise him.

"It certainly is a surprise." Lloyd chuckles, brushing some hair from your face. "What even happened?"

"I was making your favourite," you say, voice quivering. "Everything was going well and then I touched the meat and- and-" your voice raises in pitch as you become hysterical again, and Lloyd shushes you softly.

"And what happened when you touched the meat honey?"

"It made me so sick. I couldn't stop throwing up." You cry into his shirt, feeling worse for ruining the surprise you had attempted to plan.

"Was the meat bad or something?" Lloyd queries, knowing he hadn't smelt anything but burnt beans and butter.

"No…" you sniff. "It just felt gross."

Lloyd blinks at you. "Raw meat tends to feel that way."

"But then I thought about eating it and -" you heave and Lloyd springs up, grabbing the nearest bowl-shaped item and rushing to get you a glass of water. He rubs your back as you heave and cry into the bowl and feels like he's missed something important - but can't place what.

"What's with all of these tears? You don't usually cry over meat unless it's mine." Lloyd says lightly earning him a glare. "That's my girl." He adds proudly and then more softly, "You're okay, I'm home now."

After you have calmed yourself and are not heaving anymore you slump against him and let your husband rub reassuring circles on your back.

"Thanks, baby." You murmur. "'M sorry I couldn't make your food."

"Don't be. I'm just glad you're not crying anymore." He says before chuckling to himself. "God, it's like you're pregnant or something."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, you tense in his arms - and suddenly, it all clicks into place. The sobbing over the food, the retching over raw meat, even wearing his old baggy college tee to hide the beginnings of a bump - not to mention the way you'd not shown him anything lower than your chest on videocalls for the last few weeks…

"Are you?"

You look up at him with wide eyes brimming with fresh tears and nod your head. Lloyd breaks into a smile as a burst of surprise laughter escapes him and a second later, he's smothering you in kisses until your laughing on the kitchen floor.

"We're gonna be parents!" He beams as you squeal under his tickling fingers. Then, in a lower voice he adds, "Ugh, you're gonna be such a fuckin' milf."

"Lloyd!" You swat at him as his touches turn more grabby and excitingly possessive.

"Nuh-Uh, sweetcheeks. My surprise is waiting in my pants and I have been dying to give it to you since I arrived home." He pecks kisses all over your face as you giggle at him, his moustache making your lips twitch. When his hands cup your face the World ceases to exist for a few seconds, his blue eyes boring into yours and with the sweetest smile on his face he murmurs, "You're going to be the best mom ever honey. I mean it. You're so beautiful and I can't wait for you to be extra crabby with me so I can tease you…. Maybe less crying over meat though. You won't ever have to touch it again - I'll hire someone."

You chuckle, putting a hand over his heart to heart the quick thud of its beat against your palm. "I love you so much. I couldn't imagine a better person to start a family with."

"Damn straight." Lloyd snorts before smirking down at you. "But, more importantly, my gift is waiting to be opened and I think there's some punishment in order for keeping such a big secret from me."

You go to protest but Lloyd silences you with a finger on your lips. "Ah-Ah. I'm not finished. And then after, you let me clean up the kitchen and buy you whatever you want. How's that sound?"

"Perfect." You nod your head, laughing as Lloyd helps you to your feet and chases you up the stairs, leaving your attempted menu long forgotten.

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