#but ive currently just been on my phone until ten minutes before i need to leave and doing the *absolute*bare minimum

[elibeeline]

In an attempt to crawl out of this depressive pit, im gonna wake up even earlier than i already do so i can actually do the things i need to do before i go to work

[tteokggukk]

summer heat → jjk

–pairing: twin!jungkook x reader

–genre: fluff, mature (? but no smut), drabble, a minor attempt at humor, best friend’s twin brother type of thing

–words: 2.9k

–warnings: explicit language, sexual tension, tiny bit of humiliation, a hint of jungkook and reader having some sort of “history” if u squint hard enough

–summary: in an attempt to calm you down and prevent your mood from swinging due to the blazing heat, your best friend decides to go out and buy you some ice cream. you’re shocked, however, when he quickly returns and looks different, making you see him in an entirely new light and leaving you trying to resist the urge to give in to your raging hormones and just jump on him.

–a/n: i was thinking of this scenario in the shower but didn’t have the brain power to turn it into a full length story so i might just add this to a pile of drabbles that i may or may not develop heh + ive been in my jungkook feels too lately sigh + also this is unedited 

permanent taglist: @100percent-dum-dum  @mochisjoon​ @boraength @rageyoudamnednerd​ 

It was a scorching hot summer’s day. Sweat was beginning to trickle down your temples and your shirt was getting stuck to your skin, causing an irking feeling of discomfort. Looking around, you quickly grabbed an empty long folder from your best friend’s messy desk and began fanning yourself to cool down. The two of you were just there, sitting in his room in a not-so-comfortable silence.

You were currently plopped down onto a chair with your legs resting on the desk in front of you, too lazy to come up with ideas to kill your boredom.

It was a tradition for your family to travel every summer and visit a new country you hadn’t been to, but this year you had to pass the plane tickets and sight-seeing due to your best friend, Junghan, asking begging you to help him out with a month-long film project. You didn’t have the heart to decline, so you told your parents you’d stay behind and help him out which resulted in you having to stay over at Junghan’s place for the rest of the summer.

You had to admit though, a small part of you felt disinclined to stay because the project sounded like it would’ve been a tedious workload, but working with your best friend was so much more fun than you’d imagined and even the project itself turned out to be enjoyable. So far, your summer break has been spent filming and hanging out with Junghan—though hanging out usually meant staying in his room and watching romcoms all day while crying over fictional characters, ranting about how you two would never meet such perfect men in real life. It was great.

Until the air conditioner broke down.

You glanced over at Junghan, who seemed to be just as spiritless as you were while he sat in front of a fan, eyes looking empty and distant.

“I told you the air conditioner needed to be fixed,” You sighed and looked up at the ceiling, completely missing the harsh glare he sent you.

“I said I was gonna get it fixed,” He replies and turns back to the fan, his voice quieting down a little, “But the number for repair wouldn’t answer.”

“Right,” You muttered absent-mindedly, eyes staring at the ceiling while your mind was too busy trying to come up with suggestions to beat the heat, “We could go to the pool?”

“Closed,” Junghan grunts, “The mall?”

“As if we’d both drive in this state,” You rolled your eyes as you tried to get your shirt to stop sticking to your skin. Junghan glances over at you when he hears you grumbling, one of the many cues that you were beginning to feel peevish. Deciding that it was pointless to keep tugging on your shirt, you opt to take it off instead.

“You don’t mind do you?” You asked before completely removing your shirt, only leaving you in your bralette. Though you knew he never did because of the countless times he’s helped you change and pick out different outfits, you always asked out of politeness. Additionally, his zero interest in women made you feel much safer and comfortable enough to undress around him.

“I really don’t care,” He says and stands up. You hear him rumbling for a moment while you were neatly folding your shirt, and seconds later you recognize the jingling sound of keys.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“The nearby grocery. You’re about to get grumpy and I am not going to listen to a rambling bitch for the rest of the day,” He says, rubbing his temples as he makes his way to the door.

“So you’re just gonna leave me here?” You asked, too exhausted to even glance at him. He probably wasn’t, you only asked for the dramatic effect.

“No, dumbass. I’m just gonna go and buy ice cream. See you in a bit.”

And with that Junghan leaves and closes the door shut. Only a few minutes later after the sound of the engine had gone did you decide to exert a little effort and move over to his previous spot to sit in front of the fan, the air immediately cooling your skin. You sighed in relief and grabbed a few tissues to wipe your temples dry before grabbing your phone and texting Junghan to buy some lemonade, followed by a second text telling him you’d pay him back once he returned.

You were surprised to hear, not even ten minutes later, that the car was already back and pulling up in the driveway. It couldn’t have been Junghan’s parents as they were out working, and it was only you and Junghan around—not like you two had many friends who would come and visit. Instead of rationalizing with yourself on how Junghan came back home in supersonic speed, you decide to drop it and wait for him to come up back to his room.

Someone knocks on the door, causing your brows to furrow in confusion. Since when did Junghan knock?

“Come... in?” You answer, though it came out more as a question. Your head turns at the sound of the door opening, and your eyes widen at seeing Junghan standing by the doorframe.

Looking oddly different.

“Dude,” You stood up from your place and stared him up and down, “Is that what you were really wearing when you went out?”

His eyebrows raise in shock and you catch his eyes taking a quick glimpse from your chest before quickly looking back at the perplexed look on your face, a small smirk forming on lips. You decide to ignore it.

“What a warm ‘welcome home’,” he chuckles.

“You didn’t answer me,” you replied, still oblivious to the difference in his tone.

He was wearing an all-black ensemble—a black cap, a black leather jacket, black pants that outlined his toned thighs (how have you never noticed?), and some chunky black boots—a huge contrast to his normally colorful and baggy clothing. You were genuinely curious because you hadn’t noticed what he looked like before he left the house as you were too tired and lazy to even look up and say goodbye.

“Uh, yeah. This is what I was wearing?” He narrows one of his eyes, looking confused, “Why?”

“I don’t know… since when did you wear all black?”

“Since way back then? I don’t know,” He replies, and you now noticed how his voice was unusually low. Junghan steps inside and averts his eyes from you, looking around in his room before scrimmaging through drawers as if in search for something.

“What are you looking for?” You asked, folding your arms and following him around.

“A charger,” He replies, and a chill runs down your spine at the sound of his voice. You thought maybe you’d detect how he was just trying to change his manner of speaking, but it was effortlessly low; like he wasn’t faking it or anything. It was weird because Junghan normally sounded a little more high pitched. 

“What charger?”

“A laptop charger, mine broke,” He continues searching and not once does he meet your eyes.

“Oh okay, let me help you then,” You begin to look around and help him search, “Though I don’t know what it looks like, I’ll let you know if I see a charger.”

He looks up at you and smiles, but you don’t catch him watching you as you were already busy searching, “Thanks.”

The two of you continue searching in silence, though occasionally you’d look up and glance at Junghan. What exactly was he doing? Was this for his film? Is he supposed to be in character? This new look and manner of talking that he somehow adopted after a quick trip to the grocery store did things to you. Every time he grunted in annoyance after a failed search, something in your stomach would twist and you found yourself suddenly feeling drawn, or maybe even more than drawn, to your best friend. Your gay best friend.

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts.

Only a few minutes later did you find something that looked like a charger hiding underneath a pile of unfolded clothes before presenting it to Junghan, “Is it this?”

“Yes! Exactly that,” He jumps up from crouching over one of the drawers at the bedside and walks over to you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t know why you took such a long time searching for something in your room, though,” You rolled your eyes.

“My room?” He smiles, voice a little deeper but with a hint of amusement.

God, you could just jump on him right now.

“Yeah?” You knit your brows, “And stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he was looking up at you. He leans back a bit a folds his arms, a smile still tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Maybe it was the summer heat doing things to your head and making you think about all these things that you never thought you’d ever want to do with your gay best friend, but he seemed so in character it was actually beginning to bother you. What store did he go to exactly? And where the hell is the ice cream?

“That! What’s up with your voice? And your outfit? You look so different, it’s weird,” You folded your arms as if to mirror him.

“Weird, huh?” He asks and looks at his clothing before looking back at you.

“Not in a bad way. It looks good, it’s just not you,” You squirmed slightly before shaking your head to snap out of it, “I don’t know what store you went to that made you look like this—and congrats I guess, if you’re trying to switch up your fashion, but you completely missed the ice cream, so good luck trying to handle this rambling bitch.”

He laughs at the words “rambling bitch” and oh god that is not what his laughter sounded like before. When did the sound of his laugh sound so deep and sultry? You subconsciously sucked on and bit your lip at the sound of his laughter, trying your best not to visibly drool in front of him. He catches your subtle action and his brow raises at the sight.

“Despite all the things you said, you think this looks good?” A playful smile rests on his face and your heart beats erratically at his expression.

“Y-yeah, I don’t know,” You mumbled. He shifts on the edge of the bed to move closer to you.

“And because there’s no ice cream, you’re going to turn into some rambling…” He reaches his hand out, the back of his fingers feeling the skin on your exposed waist before resting his hand on your back to pull you in closer.

“…person?” he continues, brows raised and eyes staring intently at yours, not using the vulgar word you had just used to describe yourself (or the word he had just called you before he left to go to the store).

“I...um, we’ll see,” you replied, and he only chuckles deeply. Your voice had transformed into a murmuring mess and it annoyed you, but you couldn’t really do anything about it, right now he reminded you so much of—

“I think you look good too, you know. Maybe I did miss you a lot more than I thought I did,” he whispers, pulling you in even more so you were now standing between his thighs.

Missed you? After an eight minute trip to the grocery store?

You didn’t question it. Your mind was blanking out, malfunctioning, even. Here was your best friend, your gay best friend (as you had to keep reminding yourself), placing his hands on your bare skin in a way that you knew wasn’t going to turn out to be so innocent. Right now you were extremely attracted and possibly even turned on by whatever the fuck he was doing, all you could do to save yourself was blame it on the heat. Was this absolutely weird? Hell yes. Did you want to stop him? Fuck no.

Were you now completely devoid of all reason and logic?

Definitely.

Softly, he tugs on your arm and pulls you into him so you were now sitting on his lap with your hand resting on his chest. One of his hands was still attached to your waist, the other was resting itself on the bed, gripping on a blanket.

Chills run down your spine for the second time now as his mouth moves closer to your ear, “Lucky for you I know the perfect way to handle rambling bitches.”

Your breath hitches for a moment and Junghan moves back to face you, his lips grazing your cheeks a little before you meet each other’s gaze. The summer heat was definitely nothing compared to this, but you didn’t mind. Your faces were only mere centimeters apart now and you could’ve sworn he was beginning to lean in by the look in his eyes, which were now fixated on your lips.

Seriously, you could just grab him by the collar right now and speed things up. He’s the one who pulled you in first, anyway, you just wanted to get things going. Though you haven’t exactly a clue as to where this would end, you wished he would hurry up a little to find out.

But for some strange reason, your senses were enveloped with the distinct smell of a signature fragrance that you knew did not belong to Junghan and it snapped you out of your thoughts. The scent was strong enough to flash some memories back in your mind, making you frown. Did he use this perfume on purpose? Or was your mind just playing tricks on you? In a flash, you could suddenly think straight and you couldn’t help it, the moral side of your brain had turned far stronger than your currently raging hormones (thank goodness). Something was definitely off.

“But, Junghan… aren’t you… gay?” You asked, your voice trailing off a little.

His eyes widen and he pulls back from you. He stares at you for a few seconds before it hits him, and he starts erupting in laughter. You narrowed your eyes at him and got off his lap, moving over to the side and sitting beside him instead.

“Junghan?” He stresses on the name. You’re staring at him blankly now, like you knew he was just messing with you. His laughter eventually dies down and he places a hand on your thigh, though it seemed much more innocent now, “I’m so sorry, ____, you’ve got the wrong person.”

With one hand, he quickly grabs the blanket off the bed. The back of his other free hand endearingly caresses your jaw, and you notice how he lingers for a while as he moves a bit lower down to your neck—before wrapping the fabric around you and covering your whole torso with it. Your face immediately turns pink as you clutched onto the blanket to further cover yourself, feeling slightly humiliated, though you were still confused.

“Wrong person? What do you mean?”

“I was wondering why you had no shirt on, I thought that was just a regular thing for you now. But it’s probably cause you’re more comfortable around my brother, huh?”

“Your brother…?”

“Has it really been that long?” He chuckles, and instantly your mind began connecting the pieces together. Could it actually be him? You haven’t seen him in years, and no one even bothered telling you he was coming back today. No way, surely this was Junghan playing a joke on you.

“I’m not Junghan. I’m his twin brother, Jungkook. Remember?”

You hastily stood up in defense, still clutching the blanket close to your chest, “Shut the fuck up, Junghan. No one said anything about Jungkook coming back today!”

Junghan Jungkook only laughs and stands up, the melodious sound filling the room, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the wide open bedroom door. 

“What a shame, but it was a surprise. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home today,” He folds his arms, “And if I am Junghan, then who is that?” He points at the doorframe and true enough, Junghan was standing there holding grocery bags in his arms wearing his usual oversized colorful jacket and khaki colored pants.

You and Junghan both looked at each other with mouths dropped down to the floor before you looked back at Jungkook, who had the same smirk tugged on his lips, clearly amused at the whole situation.

Jungkook bends forward and leans in to your face, his voice in a lower tone but still audible enough for his brother to hear, “Probably shouldn’t take your top off so leisurely around the house anymore, huh?” He grins and winks at you, causing you wince and force an awkward smile, internally cursing yourself at everything that just happened.

“Anyways, I should probably rest up in my room. See you around,” Jungkook flashes you a smile before placing a chaste kiss on your (now dry, because your body had frozen up) forehead before walking away from you, taking the charger and dangling it in his other hand. He taps his confused looking brother on the shoulder before turning his head back to take one last look at you before walking out, leaving you and Junghan staring at each other in shock.

Junghan walks in slowly and sets the bags of grocery on the floor, shutting the door behind him.

“What the fuck just happened?” He asks you, eyes wide in anticipation.

Your mind replays everything that had happened between you two. Was Jungkook really just about to kiss you minutes before? Heart racing, you clutch on your chest from underneath the blanket he had covered you with. No way was Jungkook back. No way is he back and looking even more attractive than he did the last time you saw him. Not when you had just gotten over your small crush on him a couple of years ago.

The heat returns to your body, but it mainly pools on your cheeks. You look back at your best friend, but no words of explanation come up. 

“Believe me, I’m asking myself the same thing.”

↣ all rights reserved © 2021 tteokggukk. please do not repost. translations/modifications are not allowed.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For the BTHB... Villain with appendicitis?

Thank you for the ask!

Rupturing

@badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: appendectomy, fever, anxious character, painkillers, pills, vomit, anesthesia, surgery, IV, needles, refusal of medical care

~

9:01. He was a minute late.

9:05. Five minutes late.

9:15. Hero started to pace around, kicking pebbles with her foot.

9:20. She was starting to get nervous. Villain was never, ever late.

9:30. Okay, this was getting absurd.

Hero stood up, grabbed her phone, and called Villain. It rang, but never clicked.

He didn't answer.

Hero bit her lip, a nauseating pit forming in her gut.

Something was wrong. Villain was always overly stressed about time and always showed up at nine- not a second too late.

So, naturally, being the anxious, paranoid worry wort that Hero was, she went to check up on him.

Of course, Hero spent all her freetime figuring out where Villain lived if there was an instance like the current one.

Upon knocking at the beige door, that nauseous feeling overcame her again. Something was wrong.

She busted through the door and immediately the eerie silence of the home startled her. Even though Villain lived alone, there would surely be a TV playing or the dishwasher going.

Hero searched through the various rooms. It was a normal house. Quaint and small with barely any decor apart from a few spontaneously placed plants. All the walls were painted with the same, dull blue that the sky had right before a storm. It was dreary and perfectly villainous.

"Villain!" Hero called, peeking into a room she assumed to be his bedroom. Apart from a shoddily made bed, it seemed as though Villain hadn't been in there for a long time.

The next room in the hallway was a bathroom. Hero stepped in there, ignoring the horrid stench, and examined the counters. Bottles of Tylenol and Ibuprofen were scattered about. His gnawed on toothbrush was laying by the sink as water slowly dripped from the faucet.

That didn't look spectacular.

Hero stepped out of the bathroom and turned the light off before turning and walking into a large room that seemed to be the kitchen and dining room combined.

"Hey Villain! Are you home?" Hero called again, observing how badly stocked the fridge and cupboards were. Basically, the only food that Villain seemed to store was ramen and some protein powder.

"Villain!" Hero yelled, getting nervous. Based on the state of his bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen, the villain seemed to be in rough state.

Or was that just her nervous tendencies kicking in?

The next room was without doubt the living room, though with those desolate walls, one may beg to differ.

In the center of the gray room was a dark cherry wood coffee table and a small armchair. And that was it.

Except for the body strewn across the ground.

Hero bounded over to the seemingly dead corpse and rolled it over to come face to face with Villain.

"Oh my gosh!" Hero exclaimed, thrusting her fingers by his neck to check for a pulse. It was there, thump... thump... thump...

"You okay?" Hero asked, smoothing the sweaty strands of hair out of his face. Villain blearily blinked his eyes open and shook his head.

"Stomach bug," he whispered.

Hero looked down at him skeptically. No, this wasn't just a stomach bug. He was obviously in pain and was likely running a nasty fever. And he looked so incredibly tired and weak.

"How long have you been like this?" Hero asked, putting Villain's heavy head in her lap.

"M day," he groaned, gasping for breath. "Stomach hurts."

"Where?" Hero asked. Villain lightly brushed his fingers over his right side.

"Oh okay bud. I think you have a fever," Hero said, taking his temperature with her hand. It was burning and he looked so pale.

"Yeah cold," Villain agreed, nodding the tiniest nod.

"Okay buddy," Hero murmured, stroking his flushed cheek. "I think we need to go to the doctor."

She recognized the symptoms. Her sister when they were kids got sick like this and they had to take her to the hospital. Hero was too young to exactly know what was going on, only that it was serious.

But Villain shook his head, aimlessly clawing at Hero's hand.

"No doctor. No doctor," he begged, then winced, whimpered and grabbed his right side. When he looked back up at Hero, there were tears in his eyes.

"Okay we are going now," Hero stood up with Villain in a bridal carry. He protested weakly, but then stilled. Hero stopped walking to see if he was still conscious by shaking him. He groaned.

Hero loaded Villain in the back seat of her truck and buckled him in around his chest and legs so he could safetly rest.

The drive to the hospital seemed longer than what it was. Every moment she got, Hero would look behind her to peer at Villain, and everytime he was still staring at the ceiling with a dazed expression.

Finally, they arrived. Hero barely put the vehicle in park by the time she was leaping out of the door and running to Villain's side.

"Hey! Hey!" Hero called when she ran into the hospital, placing Villain on a bench. Other patients stared at her and receptionists stood up to meet her.

"Bring him into the ER," one of the receptionists said as she grabbed a stack of papers and called the doctor. Hero gathered Villain back in her arms and ran into another room.

The receptionist handed Hero the stack of papers. "Fill these in to thr best of your ability. I'm going to get the doctor."

Hero sat on the raised hospital bed with Villain resting against her shoulder. He sighed contently and nuzzled his cheek to find a perfect spot. Hero looked over at him- he was almost asleep with his whole body splayed out and limp.

Hero wrapped her arm around his shivering body and rubbed his shoulder before answering some of the paperwork.

She was able to answer most of them relatively easily, but got stumped on occupation.

She couldn't just say villainy right?

"Hero, why hello. How is your arm healing?"

Hero looked up to see the doctor sauntering into the room, his blonde hair slightly tousled with pale gray shadows under his eyes- remnants of a busy day.

"Good, good," Hero said, putting the paperwork aside.

"Is this one of your team members?" The doctor asked, running a thermometer over Villain's forehead. He frowned at the reading.

"Not exactly," Hero replied, timidly. She rubbed Villain's hair as he stirred from the cool touch of the thermometer. He near immediately fell back asleep.

The doctor's face paled. "He's a villain? Hero you know-"

"Yes, I know, but look at him Doc," she gestured her head towards Villain's sagging body.

The doctor glanced at Villain for a moment. He then said, "Yeah, he's sick. I'm thinking appendicitis, but he's a villain. The hospital is not required to treat them, unless there's an order. Order as in signed by ten, high-ranking heroes. Besides, it'll endanger our staff."

"He can't even lift his head!" Hero exclaimed. "How is he going to be a threat under anesthesia? C'mon tell me."

"He could wake up..."

"As sick as he is? Not likely."

"A MRI scan could amplify his abilities."

Suddenly Villain coughed, interrupting the conversation. He groaned before expelling his stomach's contents on the floor.

"It's okay," Hero murmured, scowling slightly at the sight, before glaring at the doctor while raising her eyebrows.

The doctor sighed. "Lay him on the bed." Hero complied, laying the villain flat on the bed, adjusting his head to rest on the pillow.

The doctor took his hand and prodded at the right side of his stomach. Villain groaned, breathing heavily.

"He's going to need emergency surgery," the doctor said, standing up and trotting to a phone. "Nurse? I need a team of anesthesiologists for an appendectomy."

Hero grabbed Villain's hand. His forehead was creased in concern as he listened and watched the doctor's erratic movements.

"Hey, it's okay. I'll be right there with you," Hero soothed him. He seemed to relax, but his muscles did not let go of their tension.

"Okay. I am going to go get ready." The doctor left.

Soon after, a couple nurses came in and hooked Villain to an IV. He flinched, watching the small needle go into his elbow.

Hero grabbed his hand and rubbed it.

A couple more people sauntered in and injected a hypodermic needle into the IV line.

"Okay Villain, count down from ten."

"Ten... nine... eight... sev...ven...si." Villain looked over at Hero with pleading eyes before they drifted shut.

A nurse put a mask over his nose and he was wheeled away.

Hero waited in the lobby, twidling her thumb and reading health magazines. Every two minutes, literally, she would look at the clock and bite her lip.

After two hours, the doctor made his appearance.

"The surgery was successful. He is waking up now, so he will be very groggy, but his vitals are good. You can take him home."

"Don't you have to monitor him."

"Come back in two weeks for a check-up."

Hero walked into the ER and to Villain's bed. His eyes were half-lidded and he barely noted Hero's presence.

"Hey buddy," Hero cooed, stroking his head. "You scared me."

Villain didn't reply, just blinked very, very slowly. Soon, his blinks became longer until he drifted off.

Nervous, Hero called for a nurse. "Why is he sleeping?" She asked.

The nurse shrugged. "The effects of anesthesia hasn't worn off yet, so he'll be in and out for a while."

Hero nodded and sat back down.

"You can take him home, you know," the nurse said. "We don't keep villains for monitoring or over-night stays."

Hero groaned and looked at the nurse. "Well you should."

"But we don't. Please take him home, he's occupying beds that could be used for more important patients."

Hero rolled her eyes, but obeyed. She picked Villain up and helped him into his jeans, but left his shirt off to not irritate the stitches. Then, she rolled him to her truck in a wheelchair.

It was nearly midnight by the time Hero got Villain to her house and changed into something comfortable. He was dozing, but every movement seemed to awake him. He was totally and completely silent, allowing Hero to tuck him on her bed before sliding in next to him.

She wrapped her arms around Villain and pulled him in tight. He drifted off to sleep instantly, and Hero was not far behind.

When Hero awoke the next morning, she was sprawled across her bed with Villain laying on her stomach. She smiled and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest before carefully removing his head to go downstairs and prepare breakfast. After a quick research, she decided to make a bowl of pudding with toast and avacado.

Villain came down the stairs stiffly, groaning with each step, just as Hero put the bread in the toaster. She looked up just in time to see him lean heavily against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Hero scolded and gently led him to the couch to sit on.

"Heard you- engh," Villain winced, holding his side. "Downstairs."

"Okay," Hero sighed. "Do you remember anything from yesterday?"

"No not really. Just you and the hospital. Everything else is just a blank."

"You had an appendectomy," Hero explained, brushing the hair out of Villain's face. He jerked back and Hero pulled away. He was so cute and vulnerable when he was out of it.

"What's that?" Villain asked, but Hero had a sense that he knew and just wanted to fill the silence up.

"Your appendix was removed." The toaster clicked, so Hero went and grabbed the food.

Villain spooned at it for awhile before putting it towards the side. His face was pale.

"Not hungry," he said.

"You gotta eat."

"No," Villain slowly laid on the couch, his body seizing with every motion. "I'm tired..."

"Yeah, you had surgery, but please eat something so I can give you some painkillers."

Villain rolled his eyes, but allowed Hero to feed him some avocado and pudding. However, by the end of it, he was too exhausted to resist Hero putting two large pills in his mouth.

Between the pain meds and fatigue, it only took a few minutes for Villain to fall sound asleep.

Hero idly ate her own pudding and stared out the window. After finishing both her's and Villain's chocolate desert, she went to do dishes.

Then she showered.

Then she playing monopoly by herself.

And then she ate lunch.

All the while waiting for Villain to regain consciousness.

He did, eventually, and very slowly.

"How are you feeling."

"Bit dizzy," Villain admitted, rubbing his eyes. "How long was I out?"

"About," Hero looked at her phone. "Five hours, give or take one."

Villain groaned and quickly murmured an apology.

"Don't be. You are still a bit feverish and just came out of surgery."

Villain closed his eyes. Hero thought he might've fallen back asleep, but then he spoke,

"Thank you for taking care of me."

Hero smiled.

[hale-13]

Airway

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 29 Prompt - Control

The only real drawback of the current iteration of his suit, Peter thought, was its lack of air filtration. With the tools and workshop space that Mr. Stark provided him with Peter was able to make a Spidey suit that was top of the line in every aspect except for the ventilation; for all intents and purposes Peter was really just breathing through high tech spandex. The tightly woven fabric did, minimally, protect him from inhaling smoke and other harmful chemicals but not enough.

Words: 2407, Chapters: 1/1 (complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Bruce Banner

TW: Medical Procedures, Panic

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

The only real drawback of the current iteration of his suit, Peter thought, was its lack of air filtration. With the tools and workshop space that Mr. Stark provided him with Peter was able to make a Spidey suit that was top of the line in every aspect except for the ventilation; for all intents and purposes Peter was really just breathing through high tech spandex. The tightly woven fabric did, minimally, protect him from inhaling smoke and other harmful chemicals but not enough.

Which is what landed him in his current situation of sitting with his mask pulled up to the bridge of his nose and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth as he took shallow, wheezing breaths.

The apartment fire that he had responded to still had a surprisingly large number of people stuck in hard to reach places that left Peter exposed longer than he would have liked. His throat felt like it was on fire and his lungs felt tight the way they used to feel when he had an asthma attack. The fire fighter that had passed him the oxygen mask earlier crouched down in front of him with a worried look on her ash stained face.

“I still think you should let us take you to the hospital,” she said worriedly as she adjusted the flow of oxygen. Peter shook his head..

“I’m good,” he croaked, trying not to wince at just how destroyed his voice sounded and display as much confidence as he could. She still looked dubious.

“Is there anyone you can stay with tonight?” She pressed. “You shouldn’t be alone just in case.”

“I’’ll be okay,” he promised, removing the oxygen mask and pulling his own down to cover his face. It immediately became harder to breathe and he regretted giving up the clean air but he knew if he didn’t get out of there soon he would have a much bigger problem. “Thanks for the help!” He called as he swung out, his breathing becoming more labored as he webbed away.

His HUD fizzed out for a second before directing to the Tower and Peter rolled his eyes at Karen but obliged. May was working a late shift and Peter did feel pretty shitty. It probably wouldn’t hurt to hang around the Tower with its fully stocked and staffed MedBay for the evening. He had to stop a few times on his way to catch his breath but he made it to the landing pad with few issues.

“You stink,” Tony greeted him as he walked in, pulling his ashy mask off his face and letting it drop on one of the many end tables. “You committing arson now?”

“Ha ha,” Peter said hoarsely with a slight cough as he ventured into the kitchen to Fran a bottle of water to gulp down. Tony narrowed his eyes over his cup of coffee in judgement and concern.

“Karen said they put you on oxygen,” he said accusingly and Peter groaned and dropped his forehead to rest on the cool counter top, taking aborted breaths through his mouth. The smell of smoke still on his suit was making it hard to take deep breaths in.

“Only for a couple minutes,” Peter answered, coughing again and taking another swig of water.

“Go take a shower,” his mentor ordered. “Leave your suit in your room and I’ll send it down to FRI for deep cleaning although at this point it might be worth it to just toss it and start again from scratch.”

“But I just broke it in,” Peter whined, trudging off to the room Tony had set aside for his use. He may be right though – smoke was a notoriously hard stench to get out of fabric.

The hot water felt heavenly on his skin and Peter spent probably too long under the strong spray but, unfortunately, his chest still felt tight and heavy when he got out. He paused in front of the mirror, trying to take deep, even inhales and he squinted his eyes in confusion. He had helped out on a few burning buildings and had never felt this way before. Deciding he probably just needed some rest, Peter left the bathroom and joined Mr. Stark back out in the common room.

He only got about halfway through his soup and an episode of The Office before he passed out, head leaned back against the cushions.

——————————————

The room was lit only by the glow of the projector when Peter woke up unable to breathe.

He gasped and flailed as he woke up, smacking Mr. Stark in the face and causing him to yelp as he tried to inhale through what felt like a straw. “Lights up to fifty,” Mr. Stark barked out and Peter snapped his eyes closed against the blue-toned overhead lights snapping on over him. “Fuck Peter,” his mentor said, scrambling of the couch and scooping Peter up in his arms.

Peter felt dizzy and his vision was spotted with black dots as he was carried to the elevator. He could hear his mentor yelling something but couldn’t comprehend what was being said as he lifted one shaky hand up to clutch at his, now swollen, neck and he could feel panic bubbling up in him.

‘Don’t black out,’ he told himself as he tried to calm down and even out his breathing. ‘It’s fine. You’re fine.’

“Bruce!” Tony shouted as he deposited Peter on, what must have been, a bed in one of the exam rooms in the Tower MedBay. “He can’t breathe!”

An oxygen mask was shoved over Peter’s face but it did little to help him but he gripped it with a weak hand anyway, gasping into it and squinting his eye open. “Hey Peter,” Dr. Banner said in his usual calm voice, raising the bed up so Peter was sitting and grabbing a light and a tongue depressor. “I need you to open your mouth for me.”

Peter shakily nodded and dropped the mask to open his mouth, gagging on the tongue depressor and swaying a little at the loss of the little oxygen he was getting. Bruce swore and placed the mask back over Peter’s face, pressing a blue button on the wall and lowering Peter back to lie flat. “His airway is closing!”

“What!” Tony said, panicked and grabbing Peter’s hand to squeeze as the room burst to life with medical professionals. A nurse grabbed him and bodily pulled him from the room as he yelled for answers. Peter could feel his own panic bubbling up in his gut but he also felt like he may pass out and didn’t have the energy to explore it.

“Peter,” Bruce said firmly and calmly from directly above him as a nurse cut off his shirt and another placed an IV catheter in his arm. “Your throat is full of soot from the fire earlier and is causing your trachea to swell and close. We’re going to knock you out so we can place an endotracheal tube to help you breathe. It’s going to be jarring when you wake up later but it will be okay. I need you to trust me.”

Peter could feel tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over his face from the stress and effort but didn’t get a chance to respond before his muscles relaxed like wet clay and his vision spun into darkness.

——————————————

“I’m on my way,” May Parker’s wet voice said through the phone as Tony paced up and down the hallway outside the room where the medical staff was working with Peter. “God Tony fuck!” She said, sounding out of breath as if she were running.

“Happy’s on his way to get you,” Tony promised her, trying to control his own racing heart and tensed nerves. “He’ll be there in ten minutes and he’ll get you back much faster than the bus. I’ve got him May. I promise I’ve got him.”

May let out a sob into the phone and Tony felt his heart clench. “If anything happens to him,” she said and Tony nodded. He knew. He understood.

“Just focus on getting here safely,” he told her as he stopped to stare at Peter’s door. “I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

“The very second you find anything out,” she told him firmly before hanging up the phone. Tony rubbed a hand over his face and dropped into one of the chairs that were spaced throughout the hall, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and closing his eyes.

Waking up to Peter panicking, pale and with blue lips was probably going to be in the top five worst experiences of his life and would definitely haunt his nightmares for weeks to come. Bruce hadn’t told him anything before ordering him removed from the room and his imagination was, most likely, worse than anything that was happening to Peter but he didn’t do well not knowing what was going on.

“Update FRI?” He asked his AI hopefully, tapping on the comm link he kept in his ear basically all of his waking hours.

“Sorry boss,” she said remorsefully. “Mr. Parker’s condition is classified.”

Tony’s stomach knotted further and he stood back up to pace again, unable to sit down and needing to work out his restless energy as he waited for an update on the kid. About fifteen minutes of nail biting later, Bruce slipped out of the room and gestured to Tony to sit back down.

“He’ll be okay,” he started out, making Tony sag in dizzying relief. His throat was filled with soot from the fire earlier and it caused his trachea to swell closed. We knocked him out to place an endotracheal tube until the swelling went down but it was already to severe so we had to perform a cricthyrotomy to establish a viable airway instead.”

Tony felt the blood drain from his face and he felt a little faint. “Talk to me like I’m an idiot Bruce,” he said, desperate and hoping it wasn’t what he thought it was. “I need you to lay it out for me.”

Bruce looked worried and reached out a hand to grab Tony’s wrist to take his pulse. “I need you to calm down,” Bruce said firmly. “Yes, this is scary but Peter is fine. With his healing abilities he’s going to make a full recovery and he’ll probably be back on his feet in just a couple days alright? Peter is out of danger but it isn’t going to help his recovery if you have a heart attack okay?”

Tony nodded, making a concentrated effort to do his four-seven-eight breathing and calm down. It took a couple minutes but Bruce was patient. “Better?” He asked and Tony nodded, gesturing with his hand for the other scientist to continue. “We had to make a small incision in Peter’s neck and trachea and insert an endotracheal tube through that incision since his upper airway was too swollen to allow it to pass. He is able to breath on his own with this in but we have him on supplemental oxygen just to support him. He is on a ventilator just to give his lungs a chance to recover but he can breathe on his own – its just supplemental alright? We’ve started epinephrine and steroid therapy to reduce the swelling and we’ll probably be able to remove the tube in twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

“He’s okay though?” Tony asked a little desperately. “He’s fine?”

“Yes Tony,” Bruce told him with an indulgent smile. “He’s okay and he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Can I see him?” He asked, staring at the closed door.

“In a few minutes,” Bruce promised. “The nurses and respiratory therapists are getting him settled but then you can go in. Do you want to call his aunt and I can update her in the meantime?”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, passing his phone over to Bruce and feeling his muscles unclench just the smallest amount.

The kid was okay.

———————————————

Peter woke to the clicking and popping of artificial air and immediately panicked at he felt his chest rise and fall against his volition and he grasped at the loose gown resting over him before a gentle hand took his and pulled it away. “Hey kiddo its alright, you’re okay. You can breathe the machine is just helping a little.”

Peter cracked his eyes open and made eye contact with his mentor who was seated beside him. May was loosely gripping his hand on the other side, her head resting next to his arm on the bed and soft puffs of air hitting his skin as she slept. The machine clicked again and it took everything in Peter not to fight it. Tony ran his fingers over his knuckles in a soothing gesture.

“We’re going to have to work on your suit,” the man said with a little smile. “It’s getting a full respirator and oxygen tank. It’s going to be a challenge since its so sleek but I think, between the two of us, we can figure it out.” Peter let his brows furrow in confusion and Tony sighed. “Your throat closed up because of the smoke,” he said. “You’re going to be fine though.”

The ventilator clicked again and Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep calm. He had never done well with loss of control and he could feel his Spidey sense making his hairs raise and his adrenaline spike. He wanted to panic but the artificial breaths wouldn’t let him and it just made it so much worse.

“Hey hey,” Tony said soothingly, rubbing his free hand through Peter’s hair in a calming gesture. “It’s alright.” He gave Peter a considering look then hesitantly offered: “Want me to have them put you out?”

A thrill of relief shot though Peter and he squeezed his mentor’s hand in desperation as he pressed the call button. Peter couldn’t see the nurse but he heard Tony ask for the sedation like he was underwater, not calming until he could feel the cool rush of drugs in his veins.

“I’ve got you buddy,” the man said, a thumb rubbing over Peter’s cheekbone once before settling back in his hair. “You just check out for a while.”

The darkness was welcoming as Peter fell into it; feeling safe with his aunt and mentor watching over him.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Rafael Barba / Inevitable

Prompt: “Put some clothes on for the love of god.”“I’m not good at talking about my feelings so I’m just going to show you instead.” 

So this happened. You can thank @laneygthememequeen​ and also @thefanficfaerie​ for encouraging me lol. I’m working on longer fics currently and I hope to have those out soon (probably after exams honestly). I hope everyone is staying safe and sane during these times! 

It had been approximately three years since you started working with Rafael Barba, and approximately three hours since you started sleeping with him. And apparently he was going to make a habit of it - if his lips on your neck and hands on your hips were not enough of an indicator.

"Rafael," you sigh when he places his knee between your legs, "we have to be at Hogan Place in an hour and half, we don't have-"

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, teeth grazing your lips, as his tongue slips into your mouth. He pulls a moan from your lips, and he responds in kind - and you begin to forget what on Earth you were so concerned about - and instead, your fingers card their way through his hair.

Was this inevitable? Maybe. Working in the same office, late nights, case talk turns to personal, inside jokes turn into meaningful glances, small touches turn lingering - and yes all of those things happened. But did you expect it? No.

But a beep of your phone brings you back to reality, and he groans as you reach over to check it, "It's McCoy checking in on our progress on the Timmers case."

"Mood killer," he mutters, groaning as he ran his fingers through his already mussed hair, and you shrug. 

"Personally I find that his eyebrows-"

Rafael holds a finger to your lips, "If you want this to happen again, don't you dare finish that sentence,"

You roll your eyes, "Well that brings us to the real mood killer - do you want this happen again?"

His eyes meet yours, and then slink away. This was difficult. The ADA's office was already a hotbed of impropriety and you both had just broached the Golden rule that was already set in stone due your aforementioned boss's indiscretions. And now both your careers would be on the hook for this - especially Rafael's since you know he wanted to be up for judgeship one day.  

You? You didn't really know what you wanted. In law school, you had stepped into it thinking you wanted to go into policy and stepped out hating it - you wanted a more relationship with people, you didn't want to spend to your time lobbying. But in the DA's office, you did spend more time lobbying then you thought you would - not to politicians, but to your bosses. Progressive prosecution was difficult in New York, harder to sell in Manhattan where all the well to do were shaking in their boots in fear of minorities.

You still tried. And most times in the last three years at the DA's, you'd failed.

You had been thinking about leaving, and maybe - you glanced at Rafael, this could be your impetus - either way.

"What do you want?" He finally asks, slipping on his shirt over his shoulders. His shoulders tense, the shirt hung off of him much like a shirt on a hanger. 

"You didn't answer my question," you turn and he sighs.

"Answer mine first?" Exasperated, you throw your arms up in a huff, blanket slipping too low, and you watch him flush, eyes averting, "please for the love of God put some clothes on."

You scoff, bringing the blanket back up, "You didn't mind a few minutes ago,"

His ears redden, "It wasn’t a distraction from a discussion a few minutes ago,"

He looks away as you pick up your clothes off the floor, slipping on your bra and blouse, "I'm decent," and he looks back over, lips in a tight frown, "I don't know if this helps, but Ive been thinking about leaving the DA's office."

He blinks, "What? Why? Because of-"

You shake your head, "Because I'm not doing the work I want to do. I want to help people, I don't want to lock them away in a prison system I know is inhumane. So no, not because of you, Rafael Barba."

His brows knit together, "But-"

"Rafael, the work you do is important and brave, and it needs to be done - you get justice for victims and that's amazing - but it's not for me," you chew your lip, "I've gotten offers from three different defense firms and I'm going to take one of them I think."

His voice is quiet when he replies, "When were you planning on telling me?"

"Honestly, I didn't decide until just now," you sit beside him on the bed, "if we don't work together, we don't have to hide our relationship - we can be together."

His brow remains wrinkled and you cross your arms, "Is that not what you want?"

"No, no, i-" he cuts himself off.

"Why do you keep doing that?" He wrinkles his brow, "cutting yourself off."

Wordless and slack jawed, the usually voracious ADA at a loss, and you wave him off, "If you can't even tell me how you feel, I don't see a point-"

His hand cups your face gently, his thumb gliding over your cheek, his other hand, grasping your own, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, and then your cheeks and then your lips, "I'm not really good at talking about my feelings," he bites his lips, "but how about I show you?"

You give a small nod, and he cups your face first, cradling it in his hands, as his lips meet his, before they traverse your body. His fingers linger at every perceived imperfection with care, his lips pay particular attention to your head, and burying his head in the crook of your neck.

"Rafael, I need more than just-”

"I love how brave you are-" he starts softly, avoiding your gaze by ghosting kisses across your collarbone, "I know you don't consider yourself that, but you are. You always have been because every decision you make, you make with your whole heart," he smiles at you, "but you also listen to your head - you always can reason your way with such ease out of every problem - no matter if it's yours or someone else's. In a moment, you would drop everything, anything, to help someone else." He presses a kiss to your forehead, "I love your smile, and your body, especially your legs." His fingers sneak up your thigh, "I want to make this work. I do."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"I'm not as brave as you," he smiles sadly, "It's hard for me to jump in headfirst. I like to have all the facts first." You shake your head, before you place your hands on his shoulder, climbing into his lap, "i-"

"Here are the facts counselor - we have worked together for three years, friends for two. I started liking you when you wore that dark blue button down and you wiped the floor with Buchanan in court." He can't hold back the smile on his lips, "you started liking me?"

"When you said and I quote, 'Whats wrong with progressive prosecution, it's more humane than locking people like animals?' to McCoy and a group of potential campaign funders.

"Well it was true,"

"And that's what I loved," you shiver under his intense gaze.

"We decided to sleep together after you made your move at the gala last night-"

"I made a move?" He scoffed, raising a single eyebrow, "you wore that red dress I said I liked,"

You gaped at him, "You pulled me away from the defense attorney I was speaking to-"

"Because he was being far too touchy, just like his cross examination skills," you laugh.

"So you were jealous," he wraps his arms around your neck, humming against your cheek, "and here I thought you were being chivalrous and a right ass."

"Well, who says I can't be all three?" He presses a kiss to your lips, fervently.

"You're the fact finder - what’s your ruling?" You say, lips an inch from his, his breath fanning your skin.

"I say," he breaths, "I need to kiss you about ten more times before we go to work."

You smile, "I think I can make that happen."

[fangirlingincamouflage]

Blind Hope: Chapter 7

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 1,232 Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals, I make no money from this fanfiction. Dedication: @14readwritedraw96 and @thezucchini​ (For being so wonderfully enthusiastic) TW/CW Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay

Previous chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 <~ You are Here

You are standing in the middle of the pasta isle at the grocery store when your cell phone goes off. It's that distinctive ping of an unknown number texting you. You sigh, roll your eyes, and wonder what is the easiest possible thing that you can make for dinner that night. In the past six days your workload has tripled. June and Em are on a much needed vacation and Nick is still unconscious at the hospital.

You know that because you called right before you left to go grocery shopping. You also called first thing this morning, and last night, and the morning before, and the night before that. You have called the hospital at least twice a day for the past thirty-seven days. You got the exact same information.

“Officer Jakoby is still in an induced coma, and he is not ready to be seen by friends or family.”

It was maddening.

Your phone goes off again and you set a jar of premade sauce back on the shelf. Your stomach isn't feeling red sauce. It isn't feeling pasta. Or oranges. Or any one of a thousand other things you were totally down for eating. You hadn't been hungry since the night part of LA went up in magical flames. Since Nick had been hospitalized.

With a sigh you eased into the snack isle. Is a bag of chips an acceptable replacement for dinner? Probably not, but you've had take out for the past two weeks and absolutely none of it has filled the steady, continuing ache in your heart.

Your phone goes off again.

“What?” you snarl loud enough to make the old lady with a basket full of frozen dinners blink with bewilderment. “Sorry. Not you.”

You pull your phone out and waive it at her. She doesn't look convinced, and doubles her speed to get into the next isle.

With a few swipes you bring up your new messages.

“This is Jessica, the Head Nurse at the Intensive Care Unit at the UCLA Medical Center.” The first message reads.

Your heard pounds so hard in your chest that your vision goes a little hazy. You grip your phone tightly enough to make the screen rainbow with protest.

“Nick Jakoby has achieved a state of continuing consciousness. One of my nurses made the mistake of telling him that you had stopped by.”

That hazy feeling turns to ash. You had wanted to see him yourself, to let him know what had gone on, and why you hadn't talked to him in six, not seven, months.  He must be angry, furious.

The third message is brief, and comes across as a little mad. “In order to keep him in bed, I promised him you would come see him tonight. Do not make me a liar.”

You desert your cart, and take the shortest possible trip to the hospital that you have ever taken. Which is impressive, considering all the times you driven up there in the past month, just in case something had happened between your morning and evening check-ins.

You don't stop at the front desk, you know where you are going. The elevator doors close as you turn the corner, and the wait for the next ones seems like an eternity. The moment the doors whoosh open, you surge inside hitting the buttons for the ICU floor. You don't even wait. You ht the close-door button and watch your reflection stare back at you as the lift starts to rise.

What are you going to say? Should you have gotten balloons? Flowers? A stuffed animal? Would he even be allowed those things? Did he want them from you? Did he want to see you to make up or to have a final talk? In the twenty-eight seconds that it takes to get to your floor, your mind plays out you greatest hopes and worst fears in a strange, overlapping loop that leaves you feeling a little lightheaded.

Though maybe that has something to do with the fact that you haven't eaten well in a month.

Your clothes don't fit right, you think as you tug at the fabric. You should have gone home to change. You were wearing your comfy clothes to go shopping. The fabric weird. Then you realize its not the fabric, its your own skin. You are so nervous that your skin feels like an electric current is running through it. With a huff you roll your shoulders, trying to settle your nerves. It doesn't help.

The doors slide open and as fast as you got into the elevator, you hesitate to get out. This could go wrong. What if his mother is there? His partner? What about Johnassen, the jerk who broke his phone so long ago?

It doesn't matter you tell yourself as you take that first step off the elevator. All that matters is he's awake. You'll be able to see him with your own eyes.

A stern looking woman with stark gray curls looks up from a desk as you approach. She tilts her head and inspects you.

“For Jakoby?” she asks like she already knows the answer. “Follow me.”

Your heart is in your ears as you follow in the steps of her worn out shoes. She swipes her badge, taking you through a set of secure double doors. The sounds of the hospital change. The ICU is bereft of human noises, but it isn't quiet. You can hear televisions on a half a dozen channels turned down low, doing what they could to preoccupy patients who were in layers of pain. The sound of breathing machines hiss and whirl. A man in green scrubs wheels supplies down the hall. There's no happy, warm chatter. Just a strange sense of desolation and pain.

You do not like it here, and you can't imagine Nick here. Nick, with his warm laugh and kindness. Nick who kisses you like the universe exists in your lips. You want to scoop him up and take him away.

The nurse stops outside of a door at the end of the hall.

“They are quarantined behind a see through partition,” she tells you in the kind of no-nonsense voice that must come from years in her work. “Do not attempt to breech this partition.”

She holds out a long medical gown. Confused, you shoved your arms into the sleeves. She spins you, and starts to tie it up, and then she puts another one on your back, spinning you again so she can tie it in the front. She hands you a cap, and a mask, and you put them both on as she helps your feet into medical grade booties.

“How dangerous is it?” You ask as she holds up a pair of gloves to slip on your hands.

“Unknown,” she tucks the end of the gloves over the wristband of the double set of gowns. “But you saw the news, you know where they were. Better safe than sorry.”

She types a number into the key pad. “You get ten minutes. No more, no less. I'm not being mean, but we need to minimize any chance of exposure.”

You nod your understanding. Ten minutes isn't much time, but you'll make the most of it.

“There are armed men in there,” she finally says. “Don't do anything to make them think you are a threat.”

It's the last bit of advice she gives you before the pad turns green and the door is opened.

The room is long, white, and empty save for what looks like a box made out of hanging plastic. Only a few of the lights are on, casting half the room in evening darkness. There are several beds, but only one of them is occupied. The long, lean body of a black male is visible beneath the harsh lighting. Three other people stand guard, dressed from head to toe, AR-15 clutched in their hands. The door closes behind you.

For a moment you stand there, frozen and unsure. A little, ugly thought makes you wonder if this is some weird trick. Then you hear your name.

Your eyes are drown to the shape of a man sitting in a chair. You hadn't noticed him at first because the dark lines of his body blend a little too easily with the pseudo darkness on that side of the room. But now that you've seen him, you can't pull your gaze away.

Nick. You'd know the shape of him anywhere. The broad, strong line of his shoulders stands guardian against the pitch black behind him. There's a blanket across his legs, and an IV in his arm.

“It's you,” he says softly, disbelieving.

“Nick.” You take one step, and then another, and before you know it your legs are carrying you across the room. You almost forget the plastic. When you foot hits it, you're startled. The guards watch you with cold glares. “Sorry.”

And once you start saying it, you can't stop. Over and over again you apologize. You don't realize you are crying until you taste the hot salt of your own tears. You are sorry you didn't call him. You are sorry you left. You are sorry you didn't answer him back. You are sorry for everything you ever did in the last six months because none of those things was going to him. You sink to your knees at the edge of the partition, the tears making it impossible to speak.

He says your name again, so soft you wonder if you dreamed it. You look up, and he's shaking his head.

“Please, don't cry.”

Slowly, unsteadily, he gets up. He doesn't look at you as he pulls the chair from one side of the plastic sheet box to the other. Right in front of you, he plops the chair down, and then lowers himself into it. His staccato motions belie how hurt he must still be.

The pair of you are silent as you look one another over. You see the bruises beneath his woad blue spots; purple and yellow and, in some places, black. You see the stitches in his arm, the thick swelling of his hands. The skin around his cheeks is slack with the lack of food he's gotten in the past month. But his eyes, those gorgeous eyes that are yellow and red and orange all at once, they are filled with pain that has nothing to do with being thrown half a football field by a magical explosion.

“You're here,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought-” He stop short, shrugging, and then wincing.

“I know,” you tell him. While you aren't sure of the exact words he must have thought, you know that it couldn't have been good.

“Why?” he asks.

You open your mouth to tell him, but the words wont come. You remember Elizabeth, his mother, and the way she had looked at you. You could tell him everything, but what good would that do? He might get angry at his mother, it might cause some kind of rift between them and how many people did Nick really have who cared that much for his safety? Not nearly enough, you think as you take in injuries you hadn't noticed before.

Instead you shrug. You can't bring yourself to lie, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the truth either, no matter how much it's burned inside of you. You turn the words that she said over in your mind, pulling an answer from them without revealing their source.

“You got hurt because you were with me.” Your voice cracks as you say it.

His eyes close and his shoulders sag. His body leans forward. You think he's about to slide out of the chair. The pair of you kneel on the floor, staring at one another. Emotions that you don't think have ever been named whirl through you. You want to touch him, you want to hold him, you want to vanish together into the night.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “No. You were just the excuse. When they saw me-” he cuts off, coughs, and shakes. “They'd already decided what they were going to do.”

He looks away. You can tell that there's more to say, that he's struggling. Rather than push you give him a moment. He deserves that at the very least.

“It wont happen again,” he says.

“Why not?”

He opens his palm, I can't see anything there, but he must because he's staring down at it like it's something special.

“I can't talk about a lot that happened that night,” he says. “I want to, I want to tell you everything but...I can't.”

You shake your head. “I just need to know you are safe.”

“I think I am. I mean-I gotta tell you, it was not a normal night. I was...I was blooded.”

Your eyes go wide. You can't help but stare at his lips. He smirks.

“It'll take a while for the tusks to grow. But I don't need to file them anymore.”

You sit back on your heels. “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you. It's a long look, a scared and hopeful one. It's like he's weighing a thousand dreams as he watches you and all you can do is wait.

“I thought I was getting over you,” he finally says. “It'd been months. Long months. Really, really long months. My mom even set me up on a couple dates with some unblooded girls from other states.”

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah?” you say, hoping that he's not about to tell you that he has moved on and this whole thing was about him saying goodbye.

“They were nice, but they...they didn't understand me. They didn't like what I do. They didn't like my jokes and they all thought Alaska is stupid.” The two of you laugh and it feels so good. He shifts his position until the two of you are nearly the same height. “I wasn't falling for someone else but I was pretending really hard like I was getting over you.”

You nod, you know what he means. You'd been going through all the motions, acting like you were moving forward when all you were doing was playing the role and hoping.

“I was going to come see you,” he said. “As soon as my shift was over that night. I was going to go right to your apartment. Everyone said I shouldn't because I'd just get hurt, but I thought that it would be worth it. I just..”

Slowly he reached into the blanket still twisted around his legs. His thick, injured fingers shook with pain as he pushed the fabric around.

“Where-hold on-it's here, I swear.”

Your heart, which has already gone through far too much, pounds all over again. Your mouth goes dry.

“Nick...”

“I almost died you know,” he says as he lifts a corner, continues to look. There's a little wetness on his brow, and you wonder if it's fear, nerves, or pain that's put it there. “And not just once. I almost died like four times.”

One of the guards cleared their throats.

“I know,” Nick said, holding up his free hand. “I know. I can't tell her anything. But you only have to look at me to see that it happened.” He went still, and bowed his head. “I did die.”

It's not even a whisper, there's no sound. It's a breath of words that you are sure the guards couldn't hear. You pounding heart turns to ice in your chest.

“What?”

But he doesn't say it again. Instead he looks up at you and his eyes are bright with a hundred emotions. “And all I could think about, was you.”

He holds out his hand. Nested there is a black velvet box. Carefully, he opens it, revealing a ring. It's made of two metals, platinum and rose gold, twisted around one another to form a very simple braid, and right there at the center is a stone in the exact same shade of blue as his spots.

“All  I thought about every day has been you,” he is saying when your ears start to work again. “And I don't want to ever have to worry again.”

You swallow twice before you can speak. “Are you proposing?”

You aren't sure if he's blushing, but his ears twitch. “Only if you're saying yes.”

“You have to ask,” you say. “You have to...ask.”

“Is it a spell? A human thing?” he says.

You shrug, because it kind of is, but mostly you just need to time to stop your thoughts from making such a commotion in your head. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, a thousand even, but even so-

He says your name and you find that he's shifted yet again, down on one knee in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

[witchygagirlwrites]

Confessions

A friends with benefits arrangement with Kelly ends up being so much more. @gottaboopthesnoot fluff?

The first time you'd ended up in bed with Kelly both of you were coming off of being dumped. You walked into Molly's with the intention to just have a few drinks then head home alone. April and Ethan were headed out as you were headed in so you thanked Ethan for holding the door open for you then headed to the bar.

"Herrman my good man can I please get a whiskey on the rocks and make it a double" he let out a low whistle and started making your drink "Rough day sweetheart?" You wanted to laugh but simply shook your head "I lost two patients that came into med today then my dumbass now former boyfriend decided it was in fact too stressful to be dating a doctor who refused to transfer from emergency medicine" "Yikes. Here this will make you feel a little better" you took the glass from him with a smile and slid the money across the bar plus some for the tip jar "Thanks Herrman"

He walked away so you glanced around the room. Jay was sitting in the corner with Will, Adam and Kevin. They waved when they spotted you so headed over "Hey fellas how's it going?" Will cut his eyes at your glass "Bout as good as yours" you laughed then looked from Adam to Kevin "Bad day?" Kevin letting out a breath told you all you needed to know so you turned back towards the bar "Herrman I got the next round for this table!" He nodded "You got it sweetheart" 

You patted Jay's shoulder before you walked off and said "see you boys later"

--------------------

You headed for a corner booth and spotted Kelly sitting alone. You sat next to him on a stool and bumped his hand "Well hello Severide" he smiled up at you "Hey Y/N" you noticed he was lacking a certain blonde appendage he'd acquired "Where's shit what's her name..Kristy? Brittany?" "Jessica and she dumped me by text around eleven this morning" you did laugh then and held up your phone "I got dumped at two in between losing a seventy year old to hypothermia and a sixteen year old to a ruptured appendix of all things" he tilted his head with a laugh "Ok you win"

--------------------

The two of you ended up talking for the better part of an hour. "Well I guess I'm gonna head home" you said pushing your glass away. "Want a ride?" He asked so you shrugged. He'd only had one beer and it was long gone "Sure"

You slipped your jacket back on then followed him outside and to where he'd parked his mustang. You smiled when he held the passenger door open "What a gentleman" he walked around then slid into the driver's seat. You watched him as you buckled up then he pulled out onto the road. 

Kelly had always been a good looking guy. He was a little cocky at times but damn you'd bet two months salary he could back it up. You shook your head to clear the sudden rush of hormones then turned to look out the window until Kelly pulled up behind your car and parked. "Want to come in for some coffee?" You asked without even thinking and were rewarded with that gorgeous smile of his "Sure"

--------------------

One thing led to another and the morning light found the two of you tangled up in your sheets and each other. You woke up and felt his warmth at your back as memories from the previous night flooded your mind. When he woke up he let his lips trail lazily over your bare shoulder "Morning" hearing his voice so thick with sleep while feeling him pressed hard against you made you squirm slightly "Morning" you said with a smile that turned into a gasp when he bit down gently on your shoulder. "Are you wanting to continue last night?" You asked reaching back to pull him forward for a kiss "If you do" was his response.

--------------------

That had been over four months ago. The two of you weren't dating per say as much as blowing off steam or well you were pretty sure that's how it was for Kelly. You had started falling for him somewhere along the month and a half mark. How could you not? He was gorgeous, amazing in bed, one of the sweetest men you'd ever known and genuinely seemed to care about you. 

You were scared that if you told him how you felt you'd more than likely not only lose him out your bed but as a friend also and you weren't really to risk it so you buried it.

--------------------

You were at work grabbing test results from Maggie when a bad wave of nausea washed over you. "You ok Y/N? You look a little green?" She asked so you forced a smile "I haven't eaten. After I sign off on Mrs. Rodriguez I'll come raid your snack drawer"

"You know where it is" she replied with a smile even if she still seemed apprehensive. You told Mrs. Rodriguez her aftercare instructions and was walking out her room when another wave of nausea hit and the next thing you knew the world went black.

---------------------

You woke up in an exam room with an iv of fluid going into your arm. Will was shining a light in your eyes "Jesus Y/N you scared all of us. I'm gonna run some bloodwork. It appears like you're just dehydrated but I want to make sure""Thanks Will" you said right before he walked out. Some doctor you were, couldn't even keep yourself healthy.

 You heard a knock on the door before Maggie popped her head in with a bottle of juice in her hand "No solids until your blood work is back but this should help" you sat up a little and took the juice "Thanks Maggie. I don't know what happened. I mean I've been feeling a little off but I thought it was just all the hours I've been working"  she patted your hand reassuringly then said "Just rest. We'll figure it out"

--------------------

"Run that by me one more time Halstead" you repeated despite reading the results yourself "You're about eight weeks. That's what caused the fainting. We can make you an appointment with the OB of your choice to discuss options but for today Goodwin wants you to head home and rest. Natalie is going to cover your shift for the next couple days"

"Thanks Will" you were in a bit of a fog as you walked out and to your car. How the hell were you supposed to tell Kelly? 

-------------------

You made it a few blocks before you had to pull over. You were crying hard enough your shoulders were shaking what the hell were you going to do?

A baby. You were in love with Kelly and pregnant and he was clueless to both of those things. You wanted to keep the baby but you also knew you had to tell him.

-------------------

Once you managed to get home you grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. You needed a hot shower to clear your mind. You'd texted Kelly that Goodwin had sent you home so he'd in return texted back saying he'd be over the next morning when he got off shift. 

At least you had twelve or so hours before you had to face him. You could eat and sleep. 

----------------------

No matter how you laid all you could think about was the fact that you had a baby inside of you. Yours and Kelly's baby. You finally managed to fall asleep curled up on your side. 

--------------------

You were woke up around seven to a pounding at your door and your phone ringing. You picked it up to see you had seven missed calls and the person currently calling was Kelly. 

You answered it but instead of saying hello you asked "Is that you at my door?" "Been here for ten minutes sweetheart. Started to kick it in. I was getting worried" you smiled despite yourself "I'll come let you in" then hung up.

Your nerves started fluttering and you cursed when a wave of nausea hit you again. The moment you unlocked the door you barely saw Kelly's face before you had to hold up one finger and rush to the bathroom.

Kelly kicked the door shut and quickly followed you. When he saw the position you were in he crouched behind you pulling your hair out the way and started rubbing small circles into your back.

------------------

Once your stomach was emptied either nerves or hormones or both hit you and you started to cry. Kelly pulled you into his arms and sat leaned against the wall gently rocking you for god knows how long before you managed to calm down "Baby what's wrong?" He asked and you almost started crying again.

"Kelly I'm sorry" he pulled back far enough to look in your face "about what?" You could tell he was so confused about everything so you took a deep breath then just decided to rip the bandaid off "I'm in love with you and I'm eight weeks pregnant"

A thousand emotions flashed across his face. Shock was the most prominent. You started to try to stand up but he pulled you back down in his lap "Hold on Y/N just let me catch up. You said you love me?" You nodded "It's ok if you don't feel the same way" he cut you off by his lips crashing into yours.

When he pulled away he smiled "I love you too. I have for a while. Now about that second thing you said?" You swallowed hard and looked into those bright blue eyes that you loved so much "Remember that close call you had? And we spent the entire night in bed?" He nodded slowly "Well I apparently got pregnant that night" you nearly whispered glancing down at your hands.

Several long silent seconds flicked by before he said "So you love me and I'm gonna be a dad. Not how I figured this would go" you looked up to meet his eyes right as he added "but I'm happy and I will be here for you and our baby every step of the way"

You started crying again but this time it was tears of relief "I love you Kelly" "I love you too Y/N" he said with a smile then ran his hand across your stomach and leaned down before saying "and we both love you"

[katblu42]

The End?

This is something I wrote for a creative writing competition. The challenge was to write something (within a week) starting at the end and working back to the beginning. For some reason the prompt/challenge sparked this little piece, which is pretty much non-fiction. I guess it came at a time when the subject matter was on my mind. I wanted to post it now because a related anniversary is coming up.

There are warnings!!! Please heed the tags. Death, Sickness, Hospitals, Cancer. (If more warnings/tags are needed please let me know so I can make appropriate edits!)

Below the cut for length and warnings.

This was not how their story was supposed to end. There were still so many chapters they had hoped to write together, so many journeys toward possible futures that they had imagined spending side by side. She never anticipated being a childless widow before she had even turned forty-two. She’d never considered being faced with a hopeless situation, or the unenviable decision to allow them to stop treatment and let him slip away. Treatments that could prolong his life a little, but not fix him. Their plans had never included his hand desperately clinging to hers as she tearfully told him it was okay for him to let go and leave her behind.

He had wanted to fight. It broke her heart that there was nothing the combined efforts of all the medical staff could do to support his fight. It was a losing battle. His body was giving up on him, organs shutting down even though his mind was not ready to give up. The three weeks he lasted in the ICU had left him battle-scarred and exhausted, but he had still not wanted to give in, or let her down.

His Forty-second birthday was less than a week before the end. It was spent with family, visiting two by two according to ICU visitor limits. He was barely able to communicate by then, his lips scabbed and bloody, and a ventilator tube in his throat inserted by tracheostomy. The medical team had not wanted the tube to remain in his mouth any longer, but he was too weak to breathe on his own.

He had been off the ventilator for a while, during one of the hopeful moments. They’d been able to remove the breathing tube, and they had been able to reduce the blood pressure medication for a while. His temperature had stabilised and she’d focused on the improvements, encouraging him to think positive. Facing the alternative had been unthinkable.

She had put such hope in the drug she’d had to sign permission for them to administer – one that had to be shipped urgently from interstate, that had approval for use in the US, but not here. They had told her it was possible too much time had passed for the reversal drug to be fully effective. It had been more than five days since the chemo treatment which now needed reversing had ended.

Hope was all she’d had at that point. Seeing him finally settled in Intensive Care with all the monitors and their beeps and alarms, the ventilator with its click and hiss, the hum of the heat pump regulating his temperature, the blood transfusion and IV lines all keeping her unconscious husband alive, she had to cling to every scrap of hope she could. His immune system was so compromised she had to wear the gown and gloves and mask just to sit in the corner of the room and let the silent tears fall.

The ICU waiting room was deserted during the wee hours. She and her Mum stayed until dawn before buzzing the door intercom to enquire about seeing him. His Dad had left after the surgeon had spoken to them all some hours before, explaining that in his current state surgery was not a viable option for the infection in his gut. The previous wait in Emergency had been shorter, and the waiting room slightly more comfortable, but the constant worry and the lack of information had been excruciating.

Two ambulances had attended their tiny unit in answer to her call, such was the seriousness of his condition. Despite having four uniformed people fussing over her husband, she had not been given much information about what was happening. She’d been instructed to get all his medication together to bring with her to the hospital, then left to change out of her pyjamas while they loaded him into an ambulance. All this happened in a blur of action and confusion. Less than 20 minutes before they all headed to the hospital she had been performing chest compressions on him on the tiled floor of their cramped bathroom.

The Emergency Services operator on the other end of the phone had talked her through the CPR procedure. She’d learned it years before in first aid training, but having to actually perform the chest compressions on someone she loved was still horrifyingly daunting. He hadn’t stopped breathing, but the ES operator had assured her CPR was necessary because his gasping breaths had been so far apart.

She had never had to call an ambulance for anyone before, but it didn’t take a genius to see she needed help. His level of responsiveness had decreased so rapidly after she’d found him slumped forward sitting on the toilet, unable to sit up unaided. The yellow tinge to his skin had startled her. He had cried out to her in such a way that instinct had brought her rushing from the loungeroom without taking a moment to process anything more than the feeling that something was very wrong.

He had just wanted to sleep, so she tried to give him space to do that, sitting quietly in the loungeroom while he stayed in the darkened bedroom. He had refused to let her bring him something to eat, which had concerned her. She’d offered to call the hospital for advice, knowing he was uncomfortable and wanting to make sure he was okay, but he had refused to let her, insisting that there was no need to make a fuss. She’d arrived home from work around five, and suspected he had been in bed all day, “just feeling a bit yuck.” Later she would feel so much guilt for not trusting her instinct to get help for him then.

For the first couple of days after his chemo treatment ended he had seemed okay, feeling upbeat, acting normal. He had been in high spirits despite the prospect of months of treatment still ahead. There had been a little grumbling about feeling a little bit off, but that was to be expected, right?

His first (and only) round of chemo had been a five day affair. Three medications, two of which had been administered within a day at the clinic and the third he had carried around in a little pack while it slowly released over the five days. The plan had been laid out by the oncology team, with lots of consultations and discussions during the preceding weeks. He was to have two or three rounds of the chemo drugs, then radiation treatment would begin. Combination therapy to treat the cancers in his mouth and throat.

There had been months of discomfort, reducing his ability to eat properly, or enjoy food. He had lost a considerable amount of weight before she had been able to convince him to finally go and see a doctor and find out what was wrong. He’d always been the type to avoid going to a doctor unless he was literally at death’s door. She knew that part of what had held him back for so long was the fear that it could be something serious.

He didn’t want to ruin their holiday, but he promised he would see someone about the sore throat when they got back from the Gold Coast. It was only a week spent away, but they had visited all their favourite haunts. This was one of their regular holiday spots during their ten year marriage. They always felt like big kids, visiting the theme parks and the beaches, playing mini golf, messing about in the resort pool.

The two of them had been lucky to share many little trips away over the years. They’d had many more days of laughter and smiles than they’d had of tears and troubles. There had been precious gifts exchanged between them – but not many in a physical form she could lay her hands on. Each of them had broadened the other’s horizons, sparking interest in new experiences, sharing the activities and pass-times they loved.

Their wedding day had been filled with fun and friends and family. She had seen then how many people his bright and generous personality drew to him. So many people had wanted to share in their joy, and had told her she would never find a more loyal and loving mate. All the elegance and finery, the colour and music, the celebration of their union had been a wonderful way to begin their journey hand in hand to the future.

His proposal on the beach, early in the morning in a place he had been holidaying with his family every year since he was tiny, had taken her by surprise. He had asked her to come with him for a walk. They had travelled quite a long way up the beach, just watching the waves crash on the shore, listening to the shrieks of the gulls and making small talk. Then he had dropped to one knee and asked the question. She needed a moment to take in what was happening. His heart just about stopped, thinking she was hesitating. She had said yes, and put him out of his nervous agony.

Their first “proper” date was a walk to the local McDonalds for burgers and sundaes. Neither of them had much money, so neither had wanted to go anywhere fancy. She had been happy with the little things – like the way he always walked beside her on the footpath placing himself between her and the busy road. He was not rich, nor did he have impressive style or a brainiac’s intelligence, but he was open and funny and kind and she wanted to spend time with him.

She hadn’t ever been to the trivia night at the local bowling club, so she wasn’t sure what to expect, or how it all worked. The lady who hosted the quiz gave her an answer sheet and steered her towards a table, telling her the young man with the twinkle in his blue eyes, and the dimpled smile would look after her. That was the moment their story had begun.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part iv

And here’s part iv! I’d love it if y’all would reblog, this is a work I’m really proud of and the more people it’s shared with the better! My inbox is always open, and I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just “AAAAAH.” Enjoy!

part i part ii part iii

part iv

December 12

Cass grimaced, looking over at the tab on her laptop that had the Islanders game open. They were down 3-1 late in the third, and it didn’t look like they were going to be able to pull it off. It was the last game of a ten day roadie, and they had lost all but one against the Red Wings right at the beginning. And the Wings were 10-21, so it wasn’t even a confidence booster. To make matters worse, Mat was on a points drought; he hadn’t gotten an assist, let alone scored, since the first game of the trip, a 4-1 loss to the Blue Jackets. They also were playing a few players down, an MCL sprain and the ever-vague “lower body injury” kept the team from being at full strength. 

As the game came to a close, she didn’t even know if Mat wanted to talk to her. His relentless dedication was one of her favorite things about him, but it also led him to take things way too personally and be way too hard on himself even when  — especially when  — the situation didn’t call for it. He was probably beating himself up as the boys headed back into the locker room, being short with his teammates and trainers and whatever poor sports reporter had been sent to ask “how they planned on snapping this unfortunate streak” in the post-game interviews. He’d never be deliberately mean or unkind to anyone, but just like anyone, her boyfriend got stressed and overwhelmed and didn’t always know how to deal with it. I saw the game, she texted him, I’m proud of you. Call me if you want. 

Dec. 15 (wed)

Mat had barely spoken to her since the return from the roadie, and it was starting to get on her nerves. Texts were responded with single words, if they were answered at all. They were supposed to have visited the Met yesterday , but that hadn’t happened either. He had cancelled, saying that “some team thing came up” and he wouldn’t be able to make it. Barely apologized. And what pissed Cass of more than almost anything was that she wanted to help, she wanted so badly for him to just talk to her, she wouldn’t judge him or make him feel like he was a shitty player or a shitty person, but she couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even picking up her damn calls. Who do you talk to when there’s almost nobody in the world who understands the position you’re in? 

Maybe that was just it. She’d go to the people who did understand. Paige had added her to the WAGs Whatsapp group the week prior, and from everything she had gathered so far, it was exactly the sort of place to go for advice. Cass pulled up the chat, torn between not wanting to seem like she was oversharing but not really sure what else she could do. Hey, guys, she started. Mat’s been taking the losing streak pretty personally (as I’m sure a lot of your guys are) and seems to be pulling away. Any advice? I don’t want to push him but I know it’ll get worse if he just keeps it all bottled inside. Clicking send, Cass sighed, leaning back in her desk chair and trying desperately to study for her Environmental Law final. 

At some point after midnight, she closed her books and laptop with frustration. The test wasn’t until next week, but she wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to study as distracted as she was. She grabbed her phone, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and check the group chat. No fewer than six of the women had written back, some of whom she hadn’t even met, with long, sympathetic paragraphs overflowing with advice. She read them all, touched by the time, effort, and care that everyone has put into making her feel just a little less anxious. But the overwhelming message was clear. Find balance, but don’t let him blow you off. Be a support system, but you’re not his therapist. And repeated again and again, Talk to him. 

She tapped out a message before she turned her bedside lamp off, hoping that with morning would finally come a proper response from Mat. Can we meet for coffee tomorrow morning? You know as well as I do that we need to talk. I’ll be at Donahue’s at 8. 

Read: 12:23 AM

Dec. 16 (thurs)

Her foot tapped nervously, hands clasped tightly around the cup in front of her and beanie pulled over her head, curls poking out from under. He had read the text, but Cass had no clue if Mat was actually going to show up or not. He hadn’t responded. It was ten past eight, and Cass was just about ready to give up and head to school early. She had just put her laptop back in her bag when she caught Mat out of the corner of her eye. He gave her a small smile, equal parts nervous and almost  — bothered? “Hey,” he said softly, unzipping his puffer coat and sliding into the chair opposite her. “You said you wanted to talk?”

Suddenly, the whole elaborate speech Cass had prepared, about letting her in and supporting him and communication, left her mind. “Yeah.”

“So, talk,” Mat said, with a slight edge to his voice. 

She looked down at her cup. “I get that you’re disappointed about the losing streak. I get it and I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped —”

“I don’t think you do get it, Cassidy —”

She cut him off. “Let me finish, Mathew. I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped, and I do get how shitty it is when you know you’re putting in the time and effort and practice and it doesn’t seem like anything’s working, but you’ve barely talked to be about any of it.”

“‘Cause I don’t want to,” Mat mumbled. 

Cass leaned back in her chair. “And I get that. I get if you don’t want to talk to me. But you’re not talking to anyone. You’re not talking to Tito, I asked him and he said you’ve been just as closed-off with the team. You’re not talking to any of the other guys. And I’d bet you’re not talking to your parents or your sister either.”

No one gets it!” Mat said in frustration, a little louder than was necessary. “I go through so much shit and have so much pressure on me and…” He trailed off for a minute. “I don’t want to disappoint the team, I don’t want to disappoint the fans. I don’t want to disappoint my family. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Everyone had their ups and downs,” Cass started.

“And I get that,” Mat said, holding his head in his hands and looking down at her coffee cup. The same white-and-blue one he had gotten her two months earlier. “But it’s hard. It’s hard when I’m feeling like the fans aren’t getting what they deserve when they come to games, and like I’m not worth what they’re paying me right now. I know you want to, but you don’t get it.”

Cass looked away, turning her eyes to the street. The sidewalk was dusted in white, turning to slush every time someone walked past. It was the first snow of the year. “Then help me to.”

He breathed out, finally relaxing a little. “It’s not that easy.”

“I want to help you,” Cass said, leaning over the table and clasping his hands in hers. “But you can’t keep freezing me out like this, chou. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.”

Mat closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t want this to become your thing too. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I know right now kind of sucks for me but that’s just how it is sometimes, you know? It’s just how it is and I have to get over it. I have to get over myself.”

“Mat, your well-being and mental health isn’t something you can just ‘get over.’ Or even something you should. I’m not a professional, and if you need one that’s something we can find,” Mat wrinkled his face, and Cass was pointedly reminded how often men’s mental health was ignored, “but I’m here for you to talk to. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

He ran his thumb over her hand. “But you didn’t sign up for this.”

Cas shook her head. “Mathew Barzal. This is exactly what I signed up for. I’m pretty smart,” he cracked a smile, “and I knew what I was getting myself into. Dating someone with such an unconventional job and schedule can be stressful, and frustrating, and confusing for everyone involved. But I chose it, Mat. I chose you.”

Dec. 21 (mon)

For once, Cass wasn’t headed straight home after work, or headed to a game, or — God forbid — back to the library to study. Her last final had been that morning, and she was free for three blessed weeks until the New Year. Which meant that she didn’t have to worry about turning in another essay or memorizing another case, which meant that she was more than free to go to the team Christmas party with Mat later that night. He had somehow been coerced into hosting, and Cass had promised to get to his apartment early to help set up. He was mostly done by the time she got there, so “setting up” turned out to mean setting up the bar and putting out snacks, Cass mixing up an enormous pitcher of her favorite sangria, a signature standby from her sorority’s Wine Wednesdays. 

Mat had even put up a proper Christmas tree, and Cass smiled at the piney scent as she headed down the hallway, bag in hand. “Cool if I change in your room?” She shouted down the hall at Mat, who was currently engrossed in pouring a bowl full of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Yeah, go for it,” he called back. Cass didn’t have a lot of excuses to dress up, but liked taking advantage when the occasion called for it. Her dress was short, red satin with a slit on one side and silver embellishment on the other. She used his bathroom to touch up her makeup, swiping her burgundy lipstick on and double-checking her brows. Cass shoved her work clothes back into her backpack, tossing it onto the plush armchair in the corner of his room. 

She walked down the hallway, which was pretty much bare save for a few pictures of his friends from home and one with his family on the day he was drafted. She was kind of surprised that Mat owned a single picture frame. Cass sat on the couch in his living room, looking at the Christmas tree. There were one or two Islanders ornaments, a paper Santa that she assumed had been a kindergarten art project, a photo of his family around the fireplace that looked like it had been taken a year or two earlier. Mat wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha looking at, babe?” 

She smiled. “Your ornaments. They’re really pretty.”

“Not  as pretty as you.”

The door rang, Mat kissing her quickly before walking across the room to open it. A group of the younger players piled in, mostly rookies and call-ups from Bridgeport. One of them had brought along a keg of beer, and Cass had to fight back a laugh while showing him to the kitchen and setting it on the counter. He was just out of college, she’d stake her life on it. By the time she’d secured the keg and started getting people set up with drinks, the living room had started to fill up. “What can I get you?” She asked Paige, who had left Tito with the boys by the tree and made her way over to Cass. 

“What are my chances of getting a Moscow mule?” Paige asked. “I don’t want to be a difficult guest, but,”

“Very good,” Cass said, turning around and grabbing the vodka and ginger ale. “We don’t have the proper mugs though, so don’t be complaining.” One shot of vodka. Half a can of ginger ale. Squeeze a lime. She had bartended for a little over a year when she first moved to New York, and it was still one of her favorite things to do for friends. Mixing herself a whiskey sour, Cass wandered back over to Mat and Tito. 

---

It was well past eleven and the party was nowhere near stopping. While everyone was conscious of the noise level — for the most part, she had seen a few of the guys being reminded to use their inside voices — the conversations were still going and the drinks were still flowing. Cass had passed the tipsy point somewhere around 10:30, though she was nowhere near as hammered as some of the team. Or their dates, for that matter. She was cuddled up against Mat on the couch, heels long having since been abandoned and nursing what she was pretty sure was a vodka sprite with way too much vodka and way too little sprite. Whatever, Cass thought ruefully as she tipped the last of it back. It gets the job done. 

Mat was a touchy drunk, Cass had learned, and one hand seemed to have taken up permanent residence at her waist while he sipped a beer with the other. “What do you think Christmas will be like for you?” Cass asked softly, tilting up her head to look at him. “Since you won’t be with your family.” Mat knew it was a possibility, but he was still pretty upset when he looked at the schedule and realized that his family wasn’t going to be able to fly out to spend the holidays with him, and he didn’t have enough time to go back out to Vancouver. 

Her parents had extended the invitation for Mat to spend Christmas with them when she had been back up for Thanksgiving; he couldn’t make Christmas Day, but was able to carve out two days to visit. He smiled at her, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “You’re cute when you’re worried, y’know that?” Cass scrunched up her nose. “It’s not like I’m going to be alone. I’m doing Christmas with Beau, since Paige’ll be out of town too, and some of the guys usually plan a nice dinner thing for anyone who’s not with family.”

“That sounds nice,” Cass noted, still feeling a pang of guilt. 

“Hey,” Mat said, noticing her distraction. He sat up, turning her face to look towards him. “I’ll be fine. I’m a grown-ass man.” 

Cass cocked an eyebrow. “Sure about that?”

Mat giggled. “Okay, okay, fine. Point taken. But yeah, it would be nice to have my family, but I kind of do, y’know?” He said, nodding around to the guys. Cass could have sworn that in that moment, her heart melted. “And I want you to spend time with yours. I’d be kind of a shitty boyfriend if I didn’t want you to.” Mat leaned in, and his lips brushed against hers so that they were almost touching but not quite, hesitantly. Cass pressed against him, her fingers finding purchase in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. She loved that he was letting his hair grow out. He tasted like whiskey and tequila and some cheap beer that she was pretty sure was Natty Light, but she couldn’t have cared less, just like she ignored the not-so-subtle wolf-whistles from the teammates. 

Everyone started clearing out around midnight, a few staying to help stuff cans and bottles into trash bags that were left unceremoniously in the kitchen to be dealt with the next morning. Cass yawned, rubbing her eyes. She had sobered up some, but was still well past the legal limit. “Whatcha doing?” Mat asked, seeing her about to order an Uber.

“Calling a ride?” Cass questioned.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Mat asked haltingly. “If you want.” Cass had obviously been over to his place before, multiple times, but hadn’t stayed the night yet. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, because she did, but it was something that was a big step for her. That meant a lot to her. But it was late, and she was sleepy, and Mat did make a really good pillow. “Okay,” she conceded. 

Mat smiled, taking her hand and leading her back to his bedroom. He rummaged through his dresser, grabbing an old Thunderbirds t-shirt and athletic shorts and handing them to her as she walked into his ensuite. “I don’t have stuff to get your makeup off, but there is soap?” He offered. 

Cass laughed. “I brought some wipes, but thank you. That’s really sweet.” She changed and took her makeup off, finding a spare toothbrush in one of the drawers and brushing her teeth. She popped out after a few minutes. Mat was already changed, dressed in pyjama pants and a comfy-looking heathered grey top. “The red toothbrush is mine now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, cracking a smile. A few minutes later, she had claimed the left side of the bed and he had come back from the bathroom. They were lazily kissing, Mat’s hand just barely brushing the skin on her waist from where the shirt had ridden up. Cass was still tipsy and she knew Mat wouldn’t try anything, not like this, but God, it was nice just to feel close to him. After a few minutes he pulled back, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the loose messy bun she had thrown together. “What’s running through your head, babe?” He murmured. 

Cass looked down, biting her lip. She was usually good with emotions, good with communication, but something about Mat made her heart skip a beat and brain go into overdrive all at once, and somehow she was convinced that it was the best feeling in the world. “I’m just really happy right now,” she breathed. “It’s Christmas, with our friends, and you...It’s everything I could want.” 

Mat gave the softest smile. “You, with me, right now? That’s all I could want, Cass.”

Dec 22. (wed)

Cass zipped her suitcase shut, double-checking that she had everything she’d need for her two weeks in Connecticut. It wasn’t a big deal if she forgot something, there was probably some stuff left in her old dresser, and her little sister Eliana was about the same size. Mat had just texted that he was almost there. Cass grabbed her backpack and suitcase, stopping for a moment to pop out the final few chocolates on the Advent calendar her mom had sent down. She closed her bedroom door, wishing a harried goodbye to Ryanne and Stella, and ambled down the stairs as fast as her bags would allow her. She didn’t want Mat to have to double-park and risk getting a ticket. 

True to his word, Mat was just pulling up when she came out of the building, waving one hand and double-checking the street was clear before flipping his hazards on and hopping out to help her put her bags in the trunk. Kissing him on the cheek in thanks, Cass slid into the passenger’s side, giving Mat a very pointed look when she saw that the first song on his playlist was Justin Bieber. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbled, blushing. 

“Who said I’m making fun of you?” Cass said lightly, trying and failing to hide her smile. 

They had decided that Mat would make the drive, since he was only staying two nights they had figured it would make more sense. The directions had been plugged into the Bluetooth system, and they had just made it out of the city when Mat looked over at the passenger’s seat, furrowing his brow when he saw Cass’s expression. Something was bothering her. “What’s up, babe?”

She bit her lip. “Nothing.”

“C’mon, we both decided we weren’t going to do this anymore. You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to, but I think you want to talk.”

Cass looked down at her lap. “I got a letter from the company that’s handling my student loans.”

“I thought you didn’t have any debt?” Mat asked quizzically.

She let out a single, humorless laugh. “That was for undergrad, and that was only because I was really, really lucky. I got some money from the school and I worked some, but that only covered about half of my costs? A little less?” 

“Which leaves you with how much?”

“A hundred and ten thousand dollars, give or take. They were sending me the payment schedule, I have to start paying it back late next year.” 

Mat breathed out. He knew that Cass didn’t come from money, but being from Canada and not having gone to college himself, he wasn’t really aware of just how debilitating student debt could get. “Do your parents know?” He asked gently.

Cass picked at a loose thread on her scarf. “Yeah. They helped as much as they could, but there’s three of us and they’re not made of money. “I, uh,” she paused briefly, “I told you I went to private school, yeah?” Mat nodded. “Catholic school doesn’t come cheap, so I was actually on work-study at my high school, which helped a lot. But I hated it.”

“Your school?” He questioned. 

She shook her head. “No, I loved my school. It was great. I just hated feeling like a charity case. My school’s in a pretty well-off neighborhood, so most of the families there had money, and some were like proper ‘old money’ New Englanders. I had some great friends and nobody ever really outwardly was an ass about it if they knew, but still…” She trailed off.

“You felt like you never quite fit in.” Mat finished.

She nodded. “It was hard and it sucked sometimes, but that’s just how it is, I guess,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. 

Two hours later, Mat pulled into Manchester, following Cass’s directions down the winding roads and corners of her hometown. “Do you think they’ll like me?” He asked nervously, eyes flitting between Cass and the road in front of him. 

Her brow furrowed. “Who? My family?” Mat nodded. “My family’s going to love you. You’re kind and you treat me with respect. That’s all they’ve ever wanted for me. And my brother already worships the ground you walk on, practically,” she added with a smile. 

“He’s a junior, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” she responded. Cass’s younger brother Noah was a junior in high school, and one of the best players on his club hockey team. Hockey didn’t run cheap and he had been lifeguarding the past few summers to pay for it, but it was all starting to pay off and he was having some interest shown by college scouts. 

Mat pulled up beside the curb in front of her house, killing the engine and shoving the keys back into his pocket. Cass popped the trunk and took her backpack, while Mat got his duffel and her suitcase. She reached for his hand as they walked up the driveway, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she rang the doorbell. 

“Cass!” Eliana squealed, hugging as much of her sister as she could manage around the bags. “Put your bags by the door, Dad’s grilling out back and I think Mom’s making your bed.” Mat had had an afternoon game and the two had left not long after, so it was dinnertime and Cass was ravenous. “Grilling in December?” She questioned. 

Eliana shrugged, closing the door behind them. “You know Patrick, you go be the one to tell the man he can’t make burgers in the winter.” She turned to Mat, also greeting him with a hug. “You must be Mat, Cass talks about you a lot.” 

Cass swatted her. “El!”

Mat chuckled. “Yeah. Mat Barzal, nice to meet you. Good things, I hope?”

“Only the best,” Eliana said, leading them through to the back porch, where her dad was grilling on the patio while Noah was doing sprints up and down the lawn. He almost fell when he spotted Cass and Mat, causing Mat to have to hide a laugh behind his hand. Her dad turned around, setting the spatula down when he saw them. Mat swallowed, sticking out his hand for a shake. “Mat Barzal, sir.”

“Call me Patrick. Good to meet you Mat, go get settled and we should have dinner ready in a few, okay?” Mat nodded. “Noah, pick your jaw up off the floor and go help them with their things, okay?” Noah ducked his head, brushing the dirt off his shorts before jogging over to where Mat and his sisters were on the porch. 

“Do I hear my Cassidy?” Cass could hear her mom inside, walking down the hallway with Noah and Mat before she ran into her by her old bedroom. “It’s me, Mom!” Cass said excitedly, hugging her mom. Mat initially went for another handshake, but she shooed it away, embracing him. “We’re huggers in this family,” she said by way of explanation, pulling away after a moment. “Ysabel Cabrera, so nice to finally meet you, Mat.” 

Mat smiled. “It’s great to finally meet you too.”

Ysabel pointed down the hall. “Noah’s got bunk beds, so you’ll be with him in there, it’s the last door on the left. Cass, I trust you still can find your room.”

“Yes, mamá,” Cass said, rolling her eyes. “See you in a few, chou.” He kissed her on the cheek, under the watchful eye of her mom, and followed Noah down the hall. 

---

Two hour later, Mat and Cass were cuddled together on the living room couch, his arm slung around her as they half-watched reruns of Parks & Rec. “D’you just want to do presents now?” He asked, looking down at her. “Because I know we’ve got plans tomorrow, and I don’t see how it really matters if we’re not going to be together Christmas Day.”

Cass looked up. “Uh, sure, if you want?” 

“Meet you back in a minute,” Mat said, hopping off of the couch and disappearing down the hall. Cass rolled her eyes, walking into her room, grabbing the envelope, and returning to the living room. Mat got up when she entered, proudly handing her a surprisingly well-wrapped present. 

“You look very pleased with your work,” Cass noted, laughing. 

“I watched a Youtube tutorial,” Mat admitted, “but did you know that there’s so much that goes into folding neat corners? It’s practically an art!”

“I’ll take you word for it,” Cass said, handing him his envelope. “Open yours first.”

Mat sat back down, running his thumb through the flap and pulling out a coupon. He looked at it quizzically for a minute. “Beer delivery?”

“Craft beer delivery,” Cass corrected pointedly. “Because I don’t want you to have to resort to Natty Light ever again. I saw your fridge, it’s actually the worst. You need taste, babe.” Mat snorted. “And they deliver to Canada, so you don’t have to worry about missing out on the offseason.” 

“I love it, pretty girl,” Mat said, kissing her. “Now open yours.” Cass carefully popped the corners open, unfolding the wrapping paper. My Beloved World - Sonia Sotomayor. “You said once that you really admire her, and I didn’t see it on your bookshelf, so I thought you’d like it.”

“I do, I love it. I love that you remembered even more,” Cass added. 

But Mat wasn’t done. “Open it,” he said expectantly.

Confused though she was, Cass opened the cover of the book. “It’s...signed? She said softly, reverently tracing her fingers over the inscription. 

“Yeah.” Mat went on, explaining, “I found it in this little bookstore in Brooklyn, and knew I had to get it for you. Knew what it would mean to you.”

“It’s incredible. You’re incredible. I can’t believe you’d do something like that for me.” 

Their foreheads touched. “Why wouldn’t I?” Mat whispered. “It’s for you.” 

And in that moment, there was nothing anyone could do to take away how happy that made her feel. How happy he made her feel. 

[mtngirlforever]

SRK ❤ pt. 2

So since I'm not really feeling this work day have some Carlos whump with a adorable Tarlos and a baby! Thank you to all you who offered medical input on this! I tried to gloss over it as much as possible so as not to screw it up too bad! Enjoy!

Here is part 1 if anyone needs a refresher https://mtngirlforever.tumblr.com/post/190830195629/srk-pt-1

Oh & In my head for this fluffy story  Iris doesn't have any problems sorry not sorry 

10 months later 

They'd settled into a fairly good routine with Sofia. Iris kept her when they were on shift at the same time which happened more often than not. If Iris couldn't, then usually Grace did if she was off and free. If neither could they resorted to plan c but that rarely happened. They were currently planning her first birthday and waiting for actual words instead of adorable babbles. She'd started walking when she was ten months old and they'd not been able to stop her since. Everybody loved the adorable little girl but none more than her parents. 

They'd left her with Iris for the day as they both had shift. TK was on a twelve covering for somebody and Carlos would be off in eight. They'd left her with kisses and promises to return soon. 

Carlos ended up having to work over when a call kicked off before he clocked out. He’d texted Iris and TK letting them know he’d be working over, but TK hadn’t heard from him since. TK had two hours left in his shift when they got the call to respond to an officer involved accident. It'd been a routine chase until a car came out of nowhere t-boning the side of the officer's cruiser sending it rolling through the air. The officer was currently trapped in his car and barely conscious. TK's heart dropped into his stomach when he heard Grace's calm voice say "Captain it's Carlos." 

Owen gave him an appraising look and Judd leaned over squeezing his shoulder giving him something to ground him. He could only nod back at his dad; his mind running on a loop of praying Carlos would be ok. He had to be ok. 

It took all TK had to resemble being professional when they got there. The cruiser was right side up, but  the passenger side was caved in, and it was noticeable that the cruiser had flipped. TK was in the car before Owen could even finish giving out the orders; he knew his son would want to make sure Carlos was fine with his own eyes. 

It felt like an eternity, but TK knew his team worked as fast as they could to get him out. Carlos was in and out, and TK was worried about internal injuries he couldn’t see. He could tell Carlos for sure had a broken ankle, and multiple cuts and bruises. He was almost positive Carlos had a concussion, and with the way he was in and out, TK was worried something inside was bleeding. As soon as they had him free, TK jumped in the ambulance with Michelle, praying the whole way Carlos was going to be ok. 

They'd been at the hospital for two hours now and TK was going stir crazy. He just wanted to see his husband and know that he was going to be ok. Michelle had called her sister and asked her to keep Sofia longer explaining what had happened. Iris readily agreed and told Michelle to keep her updated. 

Another hour passed before a doctor came out informing TK that Carlos was out of surgery. His ankle had been fixed, and they’d had to remove his spleen. He had a low grade concussion as well. A few of the cuts required stitches, especially one on his head. The doctor was certain he would make a full recovery, as long as nothing went awry and no infections set in. He promised TK that as soon as Carlos was moved to a room, he could see him.  

Owen hugged his son tight once the doctor walked off. He could see that TK was at the end of his rope and just needed a minute.  "It's gonna be ok. He's strong and he's gonna be fine," he whispered. 

"I know… I just…"

"I know," Owen said, giving him a squeeze. "I'm gonna go get Sofia from Iris but you call me if you need me ok?" 

"Yea…. Yea I will. Thanks dad. Give her a hug and kiss from us, yea?" He said giving Owen another tight hug. 

"I will kiddo." Owen and the rest of the team minus Judd and Grace left TK with it. Judd refused to leave until he was sure his little brother got back to see Carlos. 

Once they had Carlos in a room, TK went back to see him, and Judd and Grace went home making TK promise to call if he needed them. TK walks into the room and let's out a soft sigh. He pulls up a chair and grabs the hand that doesn't have an iv in it. He holds the hand tight, finally letting the tears fall he'd been holding in since they’d gotten the call. 

"You've got to be ok. Please be ok," he whispered. He sat there holding his hand and just watching his chest rise and fall until exhaustion took over and he fell asleep. It wasn't restful with nurses coming in and out, but he did get a little sleep. The doctor had told TK with a combination of the concussion and pain meds and anesthesia, Carlos would probably sleep for a while or be really in and out. The few times Carlos woke during the night, TK was asleep and the dim light in the room hurt his head too much to even wake TK.  TK's woken the next morning by Owen calling. 

"Hey dad," he said, rubbing his eyes as he answered the phone. He could hear his baby girl crying in the background and it broke his heart. 

"Hey kiddo. Guess you can hear little miss is not very happy."

"Yea I hear her. Put me on facetime." He just wanted to hold her tight and kiss the tears away but he wasn't sure if she needed to be there and see Carlos like that. 

They clicked over to facetime and TK’s heart broke even more when Sofia kept crying trying to reach for him through the phone. 

"Hey baby girl. You're ok. You're ok," he cooed at her. "Pops ain't that bad baby," he chuckled. 

She kept crying "dadadadada" over and over. She'd started saying dada a few weeks ago, and they were working on getting her to say papa now. 

"I know Sof. I'm sorry baby girl. You're ok tho. Daddy and Papa will be home as soon as we can." 

He blew kisses at her but nothing was working. "Just bring her on down dad. She's being stubborn like her papa," he smiled. "Oh and maybe a change or two of clothes for us?" 

"Yea kiddo if you're sure." 

"Not really, but she doesn't look like she's gonna stop anytime soon," he sighed. There was nothing he hated more than seeing his baby girl so upset. 

"Alright we'll be there in just a little bit," Owen said as they signed off. 

TK put his phone back in his pocket and sighed, picking up Carlos's hand again. "Your daughter is being stubborn just like you," he whispered. "She's giving dad a fit. So you better wake up because I don't want to scare her, you hear me Carlos. You gotta wake up," TK pleaded as he brushed the wayward curls off Carlos's forehead. 

Carlos stayed asleep and TK sighed. He kept rubbing his head and holding his hand just praying he'd wake up soon. Carlos came around a little, but his head was hurting too bad from the stitches and the concussion, that he drifted back off with TK whispering sweet nothings to him. TK hated seeing him in pain, so he was glad he was resting some. TK let everyone know he was wake but really in and out from the pain but they could visit.

Owen and Sofia arrived about thirty minutes later. She wasn't crying, but her little face was still red and she was still sniffling. As soon as she saw him, she started crying again babbling dada as she tried to get out of Owen's arms. "Oh baby girl," TK chuckled getting up and getting her. "You're ok Sof," he chuckled, rubbing her back and kissing her cheeks. He settled back in the chair by Carlos's bed glad she hadn't seen him yet as she snuggled into his neck sucking her thumb. She let out the occasional hiccup sob making TK chuckle a little. 

"Sorry dad," TK said once she'd settled. 

"It's ok kiddo. I remember someone else being just as dramatic when he was younger," Owen laughed getting an eye roll and a smile from TK. 

"Sofia Kennedy, Pops thinks we're dramatic," he cooed, rubbing her back. She just sniffled and closed her eyes, not loosening her grip on TK. 

A few hours later Sofia was sitting on Carlos's bed patting his legs and babbling to TK. Carlos had slept most of the day, only rousing a little while Sofia was napping. The whole team had been by to check on them and when Grace offered to take her, Sofia threw another fit making TK sigh. "Thanks anyways Grace," he told her when she gave him a hug and told him to call if he needed them. 

"Sof, what is your deal?" He cooed picking her up. She had always been easy going staying with someone else until now. 

"She knows you're worried and can sense something is going on," Owen said from his perch in the room. "She'll be ok once you're ok TK." 

TK just nodded letting Sofia snuggle on him some more. He softly talked to Carlos more and Sofia climbed back on the bed babbling to him. She kept looking at TK all confused when Carlos wasn't paying her any attention. 

"Papa's just sleeping baby girl," TK said, picking her up. 

"No no no no," she cried, reaching for Carlos again. 

"Alright baby girl I think Pops needs to take you home," he told her, kissing her cheek. Owen knew how hard this was on TK and he felt for his son. 

"Come on Sof, we'll go check on Buttercup," he told her trying to take her. She wrapped around TK tight crying. 

'Sof baby," TK cooed rubbing her back giving his dad the saddest look. 

"Ty," they barely heard over Sofia's cries. "Sof," Carlos said slowly waking up hearing his baby girl cry. 

"Dad," TK said, pulling Sofia loose and handing her to Owen. 

"Carlos babe? You ok?" He asked leaning over and rubbing his hair back as he gripped his hand tight. The few times he'd been in and out hadn't been enough for TK and he could tell this time he was fully waking up. 

"Tyler," Carlos said, finally fully opening his eyes.

"Hey babe I'm here," TK said softly kissing him. “You hurting? How’s your head?” TK asked softly. He reached over dimming the lights as low as possible knowing they'd bothered him earlier.  

"Sofia?" Carlos asked looking around. He knew he'd seen her napping on TK earlier, and he heard her crying but didn't see her. 

"Dads got her. She's ok. She's just being stubborn," he chuckled. 

"Or dramatic," Owen piped up bringing her back in. 

She was still crying, mad TK had handed her off earlier. "Sofia," Carlos cooed, getting her attention. 

Her big eyes settled on him before she rubbed them and reached for him. "Pap pap pap pap," she said for the first time trying to say papa. 

"She just…. Carlos she said it," TK said, lighting up as Sofia finally said it. "Come here baby girl," TK cooed, taking her and kissing her face. He held her down for Carlos to kiss on her and she turned the tears off. 

"Be easy Sof. We gotta take care of Papa while he's hurt," TK cooed at her when she tried wiggling out of his arms to get to Carlos. 

Sofia was getting sleepy, but cried once again when Owen tried to take her. "Take her home," Carlos said, still sleepy himself. 

"No. No way. I'm not leaving you here," TK said holding Sofia like a football swaying her back and forth to settle her. Her eyes were so heavy as she babbled sleepily watching Carlos. "She'll be asleep in just a few and dad can take her." 

Carlos sighed but nodded. He knew if the roles were reversed he wouldn't leave TK. Twenty minutes of swaying later and Carlos told TK she was out. Her thumb was in her mouth and she was sound asleep. TK shifted her up to his shoulder to make sure she'd stay asleep. Once they were sure she was out, Owen carefully took her telling his sons he'd see them tomorrow. 

TK slipped on an APD hoodie Owen had packed and sat back down by the bed. "You really scared me," he whispered, squeezing Carlos's hand tight. 

"I know… I'm sorry," Carlos said trying to tug TK to him. 

"You know I can't," TK chuckled leaning over and kissing him.

"You can break the rules just once," Carlos turned up the puppy eyes he'd learned from TK and it had TK caving. He crawled in the bed beside him and softly kissed his husband. "Never again, you hear me babe? Never again even if it got our daughter to finally say Papa." 

"I know. Never again," Carlos said, running his hand through TKs hair before they both drifted off. 

[sun-summoning]

@serafina-constantine​ -- re tinder au:  Aww I was hoping to get team sasuke’s reactions to them finally getting together 💖

ok here you go. everyone (not just team sasuke) is answering the same question: how do you feel about sasuke and sakura getting together?

i. karin and suigetsu

“wait, so why are we doing this?”

behind his video camera, naruto scowls at his cousin. his instructions were very simple and very clear and yet karin still needed to be a pain in the ass.

“because naruto wants to use this footage when sasuke marries sakura,” suigetsu replies instead.

“what the hell?” karin frowns. “is he...is sasuke going to propose to her? they’ve been dating for, like, five months!”

“the heart knows what it wants, karin.”

“the heart is illogical and--”

“sasuke isn’t going to propose!” naruto interrupts. “why would he do that?”

karin laughs. “the real question is why would sakura even accept?”

“true love?”

“tch.”

“anyway--” naruto clears his throat and nods to his camera. “answer my question.”

“answer mine!” karin snaps back. “tell the truth.” her smile turns devious. “are you actually going to try using this as retroactive footage at a wedding they’d have ten years from now? are you planning that far ahead? you loser.”

“of course not!” naruto denies. “and you’re definitely not giving me ideas!”

“what if you’re not his best man?”

“obviously i’d be his best man.”

“but he has a brother.”

“sasuke and itachi don’t have the same relationship that we do--you know what? just answer my question!”

finally, karin just sighs and looks at suigetsu. they both actually face the camera, now wearing looks of contemplation.

suigetsu goes first: “i didn’t really think he’d succeed.”

“really?”

“yeah, he’s so awkward, you know?”

“he is,” karin agrees with a wince.

“also, i assumed she’d just slap him? or get a restraining order?” suigetsu scratches his head. “i don’t know man--the whole thing was just a bit...weird. ya know?”

“but it was true love,” naruto says.

“maybe to sasuke. but maybe to a sensible girl that was just creepy.”

“maybe you’re wrong.”

“do you want my opinion or not?!”

karin shoves suigetsu and sends naruto a glare to stop him from fighting for sasuke’s honour as a stalker.

-

ii. hinata

hinata’s hands, previously stuffed into her pockets if naruto recalled correctly, were currently in front of her. she was in the process of trying to dislocate her fingers or something as she took quick nervous breaths.

“um.” naruto smiles at her and she turns red. “we can just, like, not do this if you’d prefer?”

“i--it’s okay!” she replies. “how do i feel about sasuke getting together with the girl he liked?” she grins, but it’s shaky and so clearly uncomfortable. “i’m glad.”

“that’s it?”

she blinks. “were you...expecting more?”

naruto grunts a goodbye and goes off to find someone shadier.

-

iii. shikamaru

shikamaru actually laughs in naruto’s face.

when he settles down, he shakes his head. “naruto, you wildly overestimate how much i care about sasuke’s love life.”

-

iv. juugo

“sasuke’s dating our bio tutor?” juugo scratches his head. “aw man! do you think she gives him a discount?”

“you make her sound like a prostitute, juugo.”

-

v. itachi and mikoto

naruto manages to get reactions from sasuke’s brother and mother when they find each other outside sasuke’s graduation ceremony. he’s off somewhere with fugaku taking photos of him like the proud father he is. and, if naruto saw correctly, sakura even stopped by briefly to leave a nice dusty rose mark on sasuke’s cheek.

“i’m pleased that he found his way to his tinder girl,” itachi tells naruto. “sakura makes sasuke very happy.”

“tinder?” mikoto echoes. “is that a game?”

itachi, the biggest whore naruto’s ever met, smiles softly. “something like that, mother.”

naruto makes a face of disgust. “have you met sakura yet, mrs. sasuke’s mom?”

mikoto raises an eyebrow at them. “naruto, i met sakura before all of you.”

“you did?”

“the work ethic in that girl is astounding. and she’s positively brilliant. she’s worked with some of the best researchers in our field--”

“this is boring,” naruto interrupts. he lowers his camera. “are you taking us out for dinner to celebrate that sasuke actually succeeded?”

mikoto shakes her head fondly. naruto’s been part of their family since he met naruto in primary school, so of course he’s invited.

-

vi. ino

“look at this bullshit.”

ino holds up her phone to show naruto sakura’s instagram page. among photos of various landscapes and meals and selfies, naruto notices a few with sasuke. quite a few with sasuke.

“aww.” he enlarges one of them and coos at the image of sakura smiling in a field of sunflowers with sasuke standing beside her looking as constipated as ever. “they’re so cute!”

“i know right!” but ino’s grin soon morphs into a scowl. “but he’s always around!”

“i mean he mostly just sits there on his phone looking at neko atsume. he’s actually really forgettable.��

“can i live?!” ino snaps. then she stops, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening. “fuck my life,” she whispers. “i’ve been spending so much time with sasuke through his stalking and then when sakura actually deigned to date him that i’m...picking up his habits.”

naruto pats her on the shoulder. “remember when we were younger and i used to say ‘believe it’ a lot?”

“yeah, i wanted to rip your tongue out.”

“okay, rude.”

“it was annoying--”

“let me get to the point!” naruto clears his throat. “anyway, one time sasuke said it too and it was basically the highlight of my adolescence.”

“that’s sad.”

“don’t be a bitch because you’re turning into sasuke.”

“i guess he’s alright,” ino concedes as she looks at her nails. “he’s a total loser and he’s so awkward, but...” she shrugs. “he makes sakura smile.”

-

vii. neji and tenten

“to be clear, we were never on this ‘team sasuke’ or whatever insipid name you’ve chosen as of two minutes ago.” neji hyuuga takes a sip of his tea for good measure. “but, i suppose, sasuke is an acceptable choice.”

beside him, tenten wears a tense smile. “what neji means to say is that we’re happy for them.”

naruto nods, uncomfortable in the presence of sakura’s friends. they were never really part of the tinder-turned-stalking phase of sasusaku beyond their comments on sakura’s instagram (to naruto’s knowledge, at least).

“are you though?”

neji opens his mouth to reply, but immediately grunts, and judging by the way he’s wincing, naruto can only imagine tenten attacked him under the tale.

“yes,” neji replies curtly. “so, so happy.”

-

viii. sakura

“how do i feel about sasuke and i getting together?” sakura echos, staring at him as though he’s the one who’s weird. “he makes me--” sakura shrugs. she looks down. “i’m happy?”

“why do you sound unsure?”

“i’m not unsure. i’m just uncomfortable.” she gestures to his phone. “you’re literally recording this.”

“i’m--” 

technically, footage of sakura wouldn’t be totally necessary to have in whatever video he might make ten years from now when sasusaku get married. sure, sakura saying how she’s super in love with sasuke (or whatever) would actually be a pretty cool ending to that potential video, ino had a pretty good line he could use there. 

sighing, naruto turns off his camera and puts his phone down the table. 

sakura nods in approval. “for the record, i know how the whole story went.”

“oh?”

“yes, from the tinder swiping to itachi’s little bet to him being afraid that i’m the type of girl who says i’m not like most girls.”

“yeah, he was scared of that.” naruto clears his throat. “also, i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

sakura rolls her eyes. 

“wait, so you know about all the stalking?”

she winces. “i hate that word.”

“sorry? i’m not the one who invented language though?”

“let’s go with recon.”

naruto waves a hand. “fine. so you know about all the recon?”

she nods and takes a sip of her drink. “sasuke told me. i think he figured it’d be better to tell me himself than let anyone else tell me instead.”

“controlling the narrative. smart boy.”

“hm?”

“nothing. scandal. anyway--” he taps his chin. “how come you aren’t, well, upset?”

that makes sakura laugh. she throws her head back and when the giggles peter down, the grin she wears is downright devious. “because then i’d be a hypocrite.” she winks at him. “do you really think i didn’t do my own research on sasuke when i finally got more information about him at ino’s party?” she leans in closer. “or that after we actually started dating, i didn’t do my research on his friends and family, naruto?”

naruto fights down a shudder. “what. the hell.”

“social media is a terrifying thing.”

-

ix. sasuke and naruto

naruto has already burrowed himself on the other side of sasuke’s bed, too scared to sleep on his own after a full day of reading creepy stories on r/nosleep. 

“i’m going to die.”

“you’re being an idiot.”

“no, i think there’s a ghost girl who’s going to come for me!”

sasuke makes the usual show of demanding naruto leave, but naruto just swaddles himself even more until sasuke goes to retrieve another blanket for himself. he throws that on the bed and laughs a little when it hits naruto.

naruto watches as sasuke goes about his evening routine from plugging in his phone to watering the succulent on his desk to putting it on his window sill so it can watch the sunrise. when he settles on the bed, he takes his phone back out like a classic millennial and opens his chat with sakura.

“i’m right here,” naruto tells him.

“but if i ignore you hard enough, you might disappear.”

“your life would be the worst without me.”

“it’d definitely be quieter.”

“and more boring!” naruto pokes him. “you should be more grateful, asshole. i’m the one who helped you find your tinder girl.”

“tch, no you didn’t.”

“you whored me out!”

“you would have whored yourself out either way.”

“you take that back!”

sasuke easily ignores him to message his ~*~girlfriend~*~. naruto wants to be insulted, but he can’t really blame sasuke. sasuke has always been terrible -- terrible -- at building and maintaining relationships. the fact that he now has a girlfriend who thinks he’s slightly more than passable as a human being is a wonderful thing. 

when sasuke finally turns off the screen of his phone, the room goes dark. naruto presses his head against sasuke’s shoulder partly because he’s feeling affectionate but mostly because he’s scared of the dark after all those creepy stories on reddit. 

he ignores the way his best friend grunts. “hey sasuke?”

“hm?”

naruto pauses. they don’t do mushy, but naruto wants to tell him, “i’m really happy that you found sakura.”

“oh.” he hears sasuke shift as he nods. “me too.”

“she’s a good match for you. and she’s...nice. she really likes you.”

“yeah.” sasuke clears his throat. “i. um. i really like her too.”

“good.”

“naruto?”

“hm?”

“thank you,” while normal people might go in for a hug in this moment, sasuke shoves naruto back to the other side of the bed, “for helping me find sakura.”

“of course.” he’ll always have sasuke’s back, and he knows sasuke will always have his. 

naruto grins up at the darkened ceiling, unafraid of the potential of ghost girls looming down on him -- not with his best friend by his side. 

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (30/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I am not a fan of the fact that there are only 10 chapters left. Like, not at all. Where did all of this time go? How are we at this point in the story? I feel like I was just writing it!

Anyway, it seems fitting that this chapter posts in a week where a lot of us have gone home to see family because Killian is going home with Emma to meet Ruth😘 Thanks to you all for being you and thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading these words for me and checking my facts!

Found on AO3: beginning | current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 |

Tag list:  @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog​ @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ 

-/-

“Did you know that it’s Friday the thirteenth and a full moon?”

“Thank you, Alec Trebek.”

“No, seriously. That’s what it says on my phone.”

“Love, I know the date.”

“But did you know about the moon thing?”

“I did,” Killian sighs, picking his suitcase up off of the security belt and placing it on the ground while Emma grabs her sneakers. “I read about it the other day, and I am prepared for all of the haunted werewolves to come out to play.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs before she plops herself down on a bench to tie her shoes.

It’s a little past four thirty in the morning, and JFK is nearly empty of anyone who isn’t traveling in some kind of suit. He and Emma are surrounded by people in black blazers and tailored trousers only traveling with a sleek black suitcase and their briefcase. He and Emma, meanwhile, are both in joggers with t-shirts on (Emma has on his Vandy sweatshirt over hers) and their hair tucked underneath baseball caps.

Emma got in from Detroit late last night, only taking five minutes to kiss him hello and take a quick shower before collapsing on his bed on top of the covers. The only flight they could get so last minute that wasn’t an exuberant amount of money is at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, so Killian insisted that she just stay at his place last night so that they could leave from the same place and save time. Considering they woke up ten minutes before their Uber arrived and could barely brush their teeth before they left, that didn’t exactly work in the whole saving time department.

It doesn’t help that Emma has pretty much been deadweight this entire morning until she started to wake up right before they went through security.

He, on the other hand, is wide awake. Nervous jitters run through his body, his stomach twisting in knots, and for someone who doesn’t get nervous for many things other than baseball, Killian is pretty much a wreck when it comes to meeting Emma’s family. Ruth is the last one, the final piece of the puzzle, and as intimidating as David was to meet, his mother might outrank her.

Killian both wants to spend the entire weekend sucking up to her and thanking her for taking Emma in and giving her the love she’s never had but has always deserved, but that could prove to be a bit much.

Then again, if Ruth hadn’t taken Emma in thirteen years ago, Emma would have never met David. If Emma hadn’t met David, David would have never taken her to the baseball game that truly allowed Emma to fall in love with sports. And if Emma hadn’t done that, he doubts she’d have ever gotten into broadcasting and found her passion there that makes her so damn happy.

The two of them also would never have met, and that thought sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s funny how such little things can change absolutely everything.

Everything.

So, yeah, Killian is most definitely a little nervous to meet Ruth.

“You want to go find some coffee, Swan?” Killian asks Emma as he props his foot up to tie his own sneaker. “I think the two of us are in some desperate need of caffeine.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be able to find a coffee shop in an airport. There are never any coffee places here.”

“I don’t appreciate all of this sarcasm so early this morning.”

She pokes his stomach. “You’re the one who woke me up.”

“We’re going home to meet your family.”

“I don’t see your point.”

“You should.”

“Well,” Emma huffs, standing up and pulling up her pants so that he sees a flash of tanned skin on her stomach, “you should. Onto coffee we go.”

They both grab onto their bags and start walking down the terminal, passing gate after gate and store after store, but everything is black with the lights turned off and bars pulled over the stores. Nothing is open, not even the convenience stores, and the moment Emma realizes this, she stops walking and buries her face in his shoulder.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“There are vending machines,” he soothes. “I think they have coffee.”

“But it’s gross coffee,” she wines before wrapping her arms around his stomach. At first, Killian thinks that she’s being affectionate, but then he realizes that she’s using him so that she doesn’t have to stand on her own. He’s not sure he minds either way. “I need real coffee, and I need it in an IV.”

“Okay, Lorelai Gilmore.”

Emma laughs into his shoulder, the vibrations working through his shoulder. “You’re learning. I’m so proud, babe.”

“I might have watched an episode or two.”

Emma’s head pops up then, the bill of her cap hitting him in the chin. “When?”

“While you were gone. It was on Netflix, and it just kind of happened.”

“Good choice, twenty-nine. Good choice.” Emma’s lips brush against the corner of his jaw, and he tugs her a little closer as his hand runs up and down her back while she presses up on her toes to make contact with his lips. “I need a diet coke or something, and then when the stores open, I’m buying the biggest damn cup of coffee in this entire airport.”

“Whatever your heart desires.”

-/-

The flight is only an hour and a half, Emma sleeps the entire time despite them getting her the biggest damn cup of coffee in the airport right before they boarded, and Killian spends his time answering emails before closing out the app so that he won’t see anything else work-related for this entire weekend. It’s a conscious decision, one he’s happy to make, and it’s almost refreshing to know that he doesn’t have anything to worry about for at least a few days.

Well, anything to worry about except for Ruth Nolan and making sure that he can impress her.

-/-

The taxi they get from the airport takes them directly to Ruth’s house, so Emma doesn’t get much time to show him around, only pointing out a few landmarks. They pass the minor league baseball stadium here, the Portland Sea Dogs, and Emma tells him that she’s never actually been despite having such easy access. She was too caught up in everything having to do with New York and getting there that she never really thought about it. He teases her and tells her they’ll have to go to a game, but Emma turns him down by saying that she needs a break from baseball.

He does too.

So that’ll probably be knocked off the itinerary that Killian is sure Mary Margaret has made. Luckily, though, she and David won’t be here until early evening since they both had to be at work and school for half a day, so they’re pretty much free to do whatever they want with Ruth today.

He’s still slightly reeling from his injury and their fight and everything that came from that. He’s not angry or upset, but this is all still such an adjustment. He should be playing. He shouldn’t be here, but it’s his own damn fault that he is. He screwed up on so many levels, and owning up to it all has been a tough pill to swallow.

Hurting the people he loved nearly killed him, and he doesn’t want anyone to hurt because of him ever again.

In the blink of a bleary eye, they’re pulling up to a quaint two-story Victorian home with brown and white details and bright green bushes lining the brick-paved walkway to the front door. It’s a home, undoubtedly, one much the same as all of the ones in the city and yet entirely different in that he can see vibrant green grass and flushed trees that spread out all over the neighborhood. It reminds him of growing up in Ohio, even if they were not the ones to have the spaciously fenced-in backyard, and a little fluttering of his heart takes place as Killian takes it all in.

He’s always kind of wanted a place like this – away from everything.

“So, this is the place?”

“This is the place.”

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought so.” Emma hikes her bag up a little higher on her shoulder and turns to look at him, trepidation written across her face. “We can still turn around if you want to. There are hotels around here.”

“We’re going inside, love.” He leans down and quickly brushes his lips over hers. She tastes strongly of coffee just from the little taste that he got. He’d like to kiss her more, to have the privacy of the hotel so he can show her just how much he’s missed her the past few days of her being gone, but they’re not doing that. “Besides, I believe I just saw Ruth peeking her head through the window looking at us, so it’s too late to turn around now.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, “I guess it is.”

Emma steps forward and begins moving up the path, Killian following right behind her, and Emma barely gets a chance to knock on the door before it’s swinging open and Ruth is lunging forward to practically smother Emma with a hug.

Damn. Ruth Nolan is a force of nature.

Then again, she was already for being a single mom most of her life and still taking in foster children, especially one as stubborn as Emma. He can’t even begin to imagine.

He fully intends on finding out this weekend. There are a million questions running around in his mind.

“Oh,” Ruth coos, shaking Emma in her embrace. A dog escapes the front door and comes to sniff at Killian’s feet. This must be Wilby. “I have missed you so much. I think I’m going to have to move to New York so I can see you more often. Do you have room in that apartment of yours?”

“Only if the couch is comfortable for you.”

“I think it may kill my back.”

“No, it’ll definitely kill your back. I have no doubt. It kills my back. Killian’s couch is super comfortable, though.”

“Well, I hardly know the man. I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to sleep over in his apartment.”

“Who cares about proper, love?” Killian teases. “I would be remiss to not let a beautiful woman sleep over at my apartment.”

The words slip out of his mouth before he’s able to stop them, and he immediately regrets them. Ruth may not be Emma’s mom, the title something that Emma still struggles with no matter how much she loves Ruth, but she’s very much a mother figure. Yet here he is spewing words that pretty much scream in her face that he doesn’t care about proper and has been fucking Emma for months now. What a smooth start.

The pit in his stomach becomes a heavy, solid weight, one that’s going to have him breaking the wood of the wraparound front porch.

Shit.

But then Ruth is leaning her head back in laughter, her eyes shining brightly as her hair falls off of her shoulders, and that weight lessens a little bit.

“I’m not much of one for proper either,” Ruth says with laughter still on her lips. She releases Emma and steps toward him, wrapping him in a hug as well, even if this one isn’t quite as smothering. It likely helps that he’s larger than Emma. “Hello, sweetie. SoSo, you’re the infamous Killian Jones I’ve been hearing about?”

“From Emma?”

“No, my grandson. He loves you. I think he was probably more devastated about your arm than Emma was.”

“How did you know I was devastated?”

Ruth pulls back from him to look at Emma. “Intuition told me that you’d be upset over the fact that your boyfriend is injured. Mary Margaret gave me all of the other details.”

Emma’s eyes roll. “Of course she did.”

“You know she can’t keep a secret.”

Killian looks over to Emma to see what she’s got to say, thinking that this first meeting is going rather smoothly, but then Ruth’s eyes are snapping back to him and looking him up and down in a way that has him feeling rather naked under her scrutiny.

Obviously, it was wishful thinking for him to assume he was quite out of the woods.

“You’re much more handsome in person than on TV.”

“Thanks,” Killian laughs awkwardly as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I, uh, appreciate that.”

Emma looks over to him with raised brows that are pinched together, probably wondering when he turned into a stumbling fool instead of someone who can charm anyone, and all he can do is shrug is shoulders at her. She shrugs back before squatting down on the porch to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet, Ruth?” Emma asks, obviously trying to save him. “We’ve had coffee but not food, and we’d love to take you out to breakfast.”

Ruth waves her away. “Nonsense. I’ll cook breakfast for all of us.”

“You really don’t have to do that, Mrs. Nolan.”

She smiles at him. “It’s Ruth, and yes I do. I hear you’re quite the baker, so you can help.”

“Well, who told you that?”

“Mary Margaret. She’s where I get all of my information, don’t you know? Emma and David don’t give me nearly enough.”

“You know, Ruth,” Killian smiles, “I have heard a little bit about the two of them not sharing a lot of information. You practically have to drag it out of them. I would never do such a thing as keeping secrets.”

Emma scoffs but there’s that loving, playful smile. “Too soon, twenty-nine. Too soon.”

Ruth guides them inside and sends Emma off to take their bags to her old room. Killian raises his brow in question to make sure it’s okay for them to share a room, and Emma simply rolls her eyes before taking both of their bags up the stairs while Ruth ushers him into the living room.

It’s just as homey as the outside. Everything is covered in warm colors from the deep brown of the leather couch to the inviting green of the wall. Two windows sit on either side of the stone fireplace where the television is mounted, and that’s when Killian spots the myriad of picture frames on the mantel, as well as on the bookshelf in the corner of the room.

This is exactly what he’s been so excited about.

(Besides getting to spend a weekend away with Emma where she spent the last of her teenager years.)

There are a few photos of David as a child, ones of him alone and then ones of him with both of his parents. Most of them, however, everyone is a tad bit older. Killian knows that it’s so Emma can be included in all of the photos, and his heart swells a bit at the thought of Ruth being that thoughtful so that Emma doesn’t have to feel left out in any way.

A picture of David, Mary Margaret, and Emma sits in the middle of the mantle. David and Mary Margaret look much the same, if not younger than they look now, but with different hairstyles. Killian makes a mental note to tease David about his shoulder-length hair. Emma, though, is definitely a teenager here. Her face is rounder, far less angled, and he can see the tepidness of her smile as she leans into David in the picture.

“Are you looking at how cute I am?” Emma questions as she walks into the room.

Killian turns to look at her and at the shy smile on her face now, and he opens up his arm to let her walk into him so that her arm can wrap around his back while her head rests on his shoulder.

“How old are you here, love?”

“Um, that’s a question I don’t know the answer to.”

“Sixteen,” Ruth supplies, and Killian doesn’t miss the way she’s smiling at the two of them standing there. “That’s from Thanksgiving. Emma still wasn’t too sure about us.”

“I’m still not.”

Killian squeezes her hip. “Liar.”

“Nope, I’m serious. You’ve only just met Ruth, so I don’t think you can judge her character yet.”

“Oh no, darling, I can. She’s promised to tell me stories about you while we cook breakfast, and that’s good enough for me to love her forever.”

Emma groans and dips her head down. “Just let me sulk, and I’ll come to the kitchen when breakfast is ready.”

“Just like when you were a teenager,” Ruth teases.

The morning is mostly spent in the kitchen where they eat waffles and bacon, which is definitely not on his diet but he’s not playing right now anyways, and he gets to listen to Ruth tease Emma all about what she was like as a teenager. Emma’s cheeks are painted red, the embarrassment very clearly there, but she takes it like a champ and smiles and laughs along even when Ruth tells a story about Emma nearly breaking her arm while trying to sneak back into the house after meeting a guy who she wasn’t supposed to be meeting.

“Not my finest moment,” Emma admits as she bites into a piece of bacon. “And definitely not my finest boyfriend.”

The stories continue, and as the day passes on, Killian’s stomach hurts from all of the laughter. Everything about his time here just seems so…perfect. And he knows that there is no such thing as perfect, but the crisp breeze of the air with the sunshine filtering through the leaves of the trees tells him otherwise as the two of them help Ruth with some of her yardwork. Of course, he hasn’t done yardwork in over a decade, so he’s a little rusty. Ruth and Emma make sure to point that out to him every time he cuts a shrub in the wrong way or manages to screw up turning on the lawnmower.

It was complicated, okay?

And Killian definitely wasn’t aware that this is how they’d be spending the first part of their afternoon. It was not at all mentioned in Emma’s pitch of asking him to come here.

Not that he would have ever said no to helping. It’s good to feel useful when he’s been feeling a little useless lately no matter how well he thinks that he’s handling his injury layoff.

It’s decidedly different than the first time around. It likely helps that the injury isn’t as serious and that Killian knows that the end of it is in sight, even if there’s still bits of uncertainty that no one can answer and predict for him. Yet, it also has everything to do with the fact that the people closest to him know exactly what’s going on instead of him letting it all fester inside of him. Honesty is the better policy this time, even if his hand was the slightest bit forced.

Watching Emma easily guide him through Old Port with a beatific smile on her face may help as well.

No, it definitely helps.

She’s such a force of light in his life, even if she doesn’t like admitting that sometimes, but the fact almost seems reinforced after having been apart from her and facing the thoughts of what his life may be like without her in it outside of being someone who he works with.

Frankly, it would be kind of dim. She’s integrated herself so easily into every aspect of his daily routine, and while at first, he thought it really only had to do with her clothes in his closet and her shampoo bottles littering his shower, it’s more in the way that he’ll be sitting with Elsa and look over to see her texting Emma or the way that whenever he wakes up in the morning and she’s not in bed with him, his first thought is to check his phone for a text from her. It’s ridiculous and yet also…not.

She annoys him more than anything or anyone in the world, but he also loves her more than anything. It’s easy in a way that it’s never been before, and Killian wonders if this feeling of fluttering deep in his belly is what he was missing in the past.

They grab a late lunch at a quaint little seafood place, one he can tell is family-owned simply from the atmosphere, and instead of sitting inside, they settle down at one of the umbrella-covered tables outside so that they can have a view of the ocean with the salt-water breeze wafting over them.

He’s missed the water.

Of course, he’s been around it living in Manhattan and traveling to several places around the country that are surrounded by water. Hell, he’s even been back in it in the three years since the accident with Liam. But it’s been a long damn time since he’s sat and simply enjoyed getting to spend time near the water.

During the off-season, he and Emma are going somewhere that’s surrounded by water for at least a week, and they’re not going to let any outside distractions get to them. It’s making plans for the future, and that’s all that he wants right now.

(Some would call it baseball mating season, and while he doesn’t plan on them reproducing anytime soon, they can sure as hell practice.)

They get a call that David and Mary Margaret are nearly there when Emma is showing him some of the lighthouses while using a ridiculous voice that she calls her “tour guide” voice, so they quickly gather their things and start walking back to Ruth’s car since she absolutely cannot wait to see the rest of her family and refuses to have them be at her house before she can get back to her house.

David and Mary Margaret get there first because they are apparently the fastest drivers on the planet today.

And Leo practically tackles Ruth in all of his ten-year-old glory when he sees her.

That’s how Addy and Lucy are with Elsa’s parents too, and Killian imagines that being a grandparent is a hell of a lot of fun since you aren’t in charge of molding a little person into a functioning human being. You just have to give them candy and all of the things their parents don’t want them to have.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks Ruth does.

(That’s what he does as an uncle and wishes his mom could have done as a grandmother.)

They all eat takeout dinner together from an Italian place that Emma and David swear by, and while it’s certainly not the best thing he’s ever had to eat, it’s pretty damn good. Then again, he’s had so much to eat today that his stomach very well may explode soon. He’ll have to get up and go for a jog in the morning.

But right now, it’s a little past ten at night, he’s been up for over eighteen hours, and all he really wants is to sleep. His body is dragging enough that he imagines he’ll have no trouble falling into a slumber as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He’s wrong.

Because then he sees Emma’s teenage bedroom and sees just how empty it is. It’s absolutely nothing like her apartment in New York full of throw pillows and blankets and every artificial plant known to man with a colorful paintings above her headboard. Everything here is rather…beige.

Emma walks out of the bathroom where she’s been getting ready for bed, and he watches as she rubs lotion up and down her hands and her forearms. “Why that glum look on your face? Are you still trying to figure out better ways to argue with David over soccer? Because that dinner conversation is long over. I thought Leo was going to climb on top of the table and start beating on his chest or something equally ridiculous.”

“Hm, no,” Killian chuckles, opening his knees so that Emma can step into them and his hands can find their spots on her waist, warm flesh against his fingertips.

“Then what?”

He blinks up at her, not entirely sure if now is the right time to ask, but then he sees the glint of his mom’s ring falling against Emma’s chest and is reassured in who he is to Emma. “I can’t help but notice that your room here is not quite as colorful as your room at home.”

Emma sighs, and he squeezes her hip in response so that she looks down at him and smile. “It’s kind of a stupid reason. You don’t want to hear about it.”

“I’d love to know more of your beginnings, Swan.”

“Haven’t you heard enough about them today?”

“There is never enough information, love.”

She smiles and reaches to push his hair back off of his head, her hands a magic touch as they move through the strands there. “I’m not a sentimental person. Or, I wasn’t.” Her right hand leaves his hair to find the chain around her neck. Killian’s heart stutters at that movement. “And I never trusted that I was going to stay in one place for very long, so if I had the chance to decorate my room, I didn’t. I kept everything I owned in a little box that was always ready to go.”

His heart may actually break for Emma in this moment, the sad reality of what she’s telling him something that’s hard for him to take in. He can’t imagine what it must be like for her to have lived that way.

“I think this place worked out for you, though.”

“Yeah, it did.” She smiles again, but Killian can see the twinge of sadness in the corners of her lips. “You sure you still want to know about these beginnings of mine when they’re a little bit sad?”

“Like I’ve said before, love, we make quite the team, sad backstories and all. I do, however, think that you need a little something on these walls of yours.”

“I think all of the home décor stores may be closed.”

Killian winks. “Well, I think I’ll just have to get a little creative then.”

His hand slides around her back to squeeze her ass before he’s pushing Emma back from him and getting up from the bed to walk out the door. Everything is darkened with the lights turned off, and since he doesn’t want to wake up everyone else in the house, he uses the flashlight on his phone and quietly walks down the stairs to find his way to the kitchen where he knows there were sheets of paper in the printer as well as a few pens in a cup right behind it. Emma is on his heels, questioning what the hell it is he’s doing, but he doesn’t tell her until he’s grabbing the paper and a thick blue marker.

“What are you doing?” Emma hisses.

“I’m making you some artwork for your wall.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s endearing.”

“You say that about every weird thing that you do.”

“Because the weird things are endearing,” he corrects, looking back at her and smiling. “What kind of drawing do you want? I’m pretty talented, if I do say so myself, but it’s been awhile since I’ve drawn anything.”

“Just…do whatever you want. I’m going to fix myself a hot chocolate. Do you want one?”

“Does Ruth have any tea?”

“I’m going to make you the hot chocolate. It’s better than tea.”

Killian rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest as he starts sketching out what he can remember of the view of the lighthouse today. It’s rough, definitely not his best work, but considering his original plan was simply going to be writing her name out, it’ll have to do for quick work.

Strange things happen when he’s far past tired.

“Milady,” Killian sighs, picking up the paper as well as a bit of tape before walking the few steps toward Emma as she sits on a barstool at the island with two cups of hot chocolate, her mug piled up with whipped cream and sprinkles of cinnamon, “I present to you your artwork for your wall.”

Emma’s eyes glance over it before glancing up at him with a slight smile on her face. “You’ve got to sign it.”

He taps the corner of the paper where he’s scribbled in his number. “Already done.”

“Ah,” Emma laughs, “how could I have missed that?”

“You were distracted by the beauty of the picture.”

“Exactly.” Emma presses up over the countertop and leans forward to quickly brush her lips over Killian’s, and while a part of him wants to deepen it, he doesn’t want to get carried awhile while here. “Thank you. That is very sweet of you to do.”

“Endearing, right?”

“Sure.” She shakes her head and slides his mug over to him so that he can have some of his hot chocolate. “I hope today hasn’t scarred you for life, especially since you still have to survive tomorrow.”

“It’s been fun, Swan. I’ve been…I think it’s gotten me majorly out of my own head. I needed that. And I liked getting to see you be so happy. My only complaint is that I’m under strict instructions not to make your bed squeak. I don’t like that rule.”

Emma reaches over to slap his shoulder, but he moves it out of the way quick enough that she doesn’t get it. It also causes a slight twinge in his shoulder that reminds him that he needs an ice pack for tonight. He hasn’t gotten to put ice on it all day. So, he turns toward the fridge and opens up the freezer, grabbing one of Ruth’s ice packs, and placing it on top of his shoulder before turning back to Emma whose fingers are tracing over the drawing.

Emotion lodges in his throat again, something that’s been happening quite a lot tonight, and it’s what propels him forward to step behind Emma’s back and wrap his arms around her stomach before resting his chin on top of her head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Emma,” he promises, meaning every word. “Not unless you tell me to go. So, you can plan on hanging paintings and making plans and keeping little trinkets in more places than a box. I love you more than I know how to tell you. That’s not going to change.”

Emma audibly sighs, something that he feels under the palms of his hands, before leaning back into Killian and simply staying in that spot so that he can breathe her in.

“I love you,” she breathes out as her head tilts up so that her lips can move across the underside of his jaw. “Let’s take the hot chocolate upstairs and go to bed.”

“And your picture?”

“Yeah, that too.”

-/-

Killian’s arm tingles, the feeling nearly gone, when he wakes up in the morning and finds Emma’s body pressed around it. This isn’t how they fell asleep, not even close, and he’ll probably never have use of his arm again. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, and he flexes his fingers a bit before nuzzling his nose into the back of Emma’s head in an attempt to get to go back to sleep.

They were up until maybe two in the morning talking, sleep never really coming to either of them no matter how much they both wanted it, and judging from the dim light coming through the blinds on the window, it’s still early yet.

He desperately needs coffee. He’s probably not going to be able to go back to sleep, and he desperately needs coffee.

Slowly, Killian begins to extract his arm from Emma’s grip, stopping when she flinches, and after several careful minutes, he’s able to quietly get off the bed and step out of the room, leaving her door cracked so as not to make any kind of noise. He walks down the hallway and uses the guest bathroom before walking down the stairs and wandering to the kitchen in search of coffee.

To his surprise, David is already there sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop open and a cup of coffee sitting next to him, the smell wafting toward Killian.

“Hey,” Killian greets. David nearly jumps out of his chair and knocks everything over, and Killian can’t help but laugh at the shock on his face. “Did you really not hear me coming down the stairs?”

“I, uh, I – ” David is stuttering, obviously at a loss for words, and Killian can’t quite figure out what’s going on. He doesn’t think Dave is usually this flustered in the mornings. “I wasn’t expecting you or Emma to be up this early.”

Killian shakes out his arm, still trying to wake it up. “Believe me. I wish I wasn’t up. Do you always work this early in the morning on a Saturday?”

“No, I don’t, but my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with emails this morning, so I came downstairs to see so it wouldn’t wake Mary Margaret up.”

“Ah, I turned off my emails this weekend for that exact reason.”

“You probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“What’s that, mate?” David coughs in response, and Killian steps forward to the table and sits down across from David, confusion running through him as his stomach twists and turns. “Seriously. What?”

David can’t look at him, not really, and that doesn’t help calm any of Killian’s nerves as he tries to figure out what in the world is going on with him this morning.

“I didn’t know this was happening, I swear. I’d have stopped it if I got one whiff of it, but there’s been an article.”

“An article?”

David turns his computer around, and Killian reads a headline that he’s always expected to see and yet has always hoped to avoid.

The Truth Behind Killian Jones: A Story Told by His Father.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, his eyes taking in the picture of his father that’s plastered on the screen. Killian hasn’t seen him in years, actual years, and yet he looks exactly the same. “What kind of shit is this?”

“It gets worse.”

“How could it possibly get worse?”

“Look at the journalist.”

Killian’s eyes glance toward the screen again, his gaze finding more words he didn’t want to see.

Walsh Osborne.

As in Emma’s ex, Walsh Osborne who she still works with at ESPN. Though, this article is decidedly not on ESPN’s website.

Holy fucking shit.

Killian’s got to go back to bed. This isn’t real. This is all some kind of messed up nightmare that he’s experiencing, and soon, he’ll wake up and none of it will be real. And yet Killian keeps scrolling through the article, skipping the words to instead look at pictures of himself that Killian hasn’t seen in years. His father shouldn’t have these pictures. Liam should have all of them. And yet, somehow, he doesn’t.

Childhood pictures are nothing, though, at least for right now, when at the bottom of the article are pictures of Killian and Emma standing in the airport yesterday with Emma’s arms wrapped around his waist as well as a picture of them kissing in his car from who knows when. Then there’s one that he knows is from the hallways of Yankee stadium in what was supposed to be a private room.

“Everyone knows about you and Emma,” David tells him. 

This is too much. It’s all too much, and he doesn’t know how to handle the reappearance of his father and the very public reveal of his private relationship.

Fuck.

[kyber-kisses]

Too Soon (part.9)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: spoilers for the first 2 episodes of season 15, supernatural level gore, you know the drill

Summary: What if Jack had killed the reader instead of Mary? Finally back in eachothers presence, Dean is set on making sure the reader is ok.

From the second Dean had you wrapped securely in his arms, he knew he never wanted to let go. Afraid that if he did for even a second, you would disappear and this whole thing would just be some kind of fucked up dream that Chuck had given him. But no. that wasn't the case. You were there with them. you were alive. You were breathing.

And he had so many questions.

As for things on your end, you were just happy to be back. It felt like you were finally breathing again around them. Especially when you suddenly found yourself being pulled into a Winchester sandwich. Two solid mountains of muscle hugging you tightly. You didn’t realize how much you had missed these hugs until you found yourself in one. They were warm and safe, just as they always should be.

Needless to say it was very hard to pull away.

The sun was beginning to make its first appearance on the horizon when Sam whipped out his phone to call Cas, informing him that He needed to meet them where you guys were.

The three of you sat in a sort of stunned silence on the sidewalk, you letting them take their time digesting the fact that you were back and among them again. All the while Dean had his fingers wrapped tightly around your own. Every once in awhile you could feel his eyes on you,making you glance up to give him a smile.

“You look like shit.”

Raising your eyebrows, you looked over at Dean again. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you said something.” You quipped, squeezing his hand. You could see worry cross over his features.

“What happened?” The question came out slow, like he was afraid he might trigger something that you didn't want to relive.

Running your tongue over the cut on your lip, you took a deep breath, feeling both Sam and Deans eyes on you. You let your own eyes though, wander to where the sun was creating over the first houses. “Alot. I got jumped by a zombie- then I almost lost a fight to a ghost. . .” You paused, realizing how insane the last 24 hours had been. “And then I jumped out a window.’

Sam spoke up first before his brother could open his mouth. “Yeah, you wanna tell us why you did that?.”

You looked down in embarrassment, toeing at a loose pebble on the road. “ I didn't want you to see me..”

You could tell Dean was making the same confused face before you even looked up at him . “why the hell not? Y/N, we would never hurt you, you know that.” The fear was heavy in his voice as he asked. The last thing he ever wanted was for you to be afraid of him.

“I know!” You stated quickly shaking your head,” god, I know you would never hurt me. . .But I Think I was just afraid of how you would react if you saw me. I didn’t want to scare you away. Or think I was the same breed of monster we hunt all the time.” You lied, knowing full well it was just because of your nerves and what you had heard Dean say.

Luckily the boys ate up your lie. “Why would you ever think that?” Dean questioned in disbelief, eyebrows knitted together. “You are our family. And if you think you could scare us away- well, you dead wrong on that.” He fired back, giving your hand another squeeze.

A ping went off from Sam’s phone, making him tear his eyes away from you. “Cas is on his way with the rest of the gang. Should be here in ten.” He informed you, looking down at his screen and typing out a response.

You could feel the fatigue from lack of sleep settling over you again as you let out a yawn, bringing your head down to rest it on Deans shoulder. You still were still waiting for some much needed sleep, along with some food. You could feel the older Winchester shift to look down at you.

“You need sleep Y/N” Dean began, stating the obvious. He looked down at you, seeing the rise and fall of your chest as you began to drift off. Alive. You were here and alive. The reality still had him stunned. He could tell you were beyond tired by the way your eyes drooped and how you keep letting out soft yawn. He pushed himself up, making you groan and snap back. “But not here. Cmon, let’s at least get you back to Baby. She’s parked a block over.”

Nodding, you mustered up enough strength to leave the cold pavement, automatically yelling at the pain in your foot when you finally got upright. Right. Your ankle.

Moving forward qickly to help support you, Dean gave you another worried look. “I think we need to patch you up first though.” He didn’t even let you protest before he was scooping you up in his arms, beginning his trek down the street, Sam following next to the two of you. “Hopefully that first aid kit is still rolling around somewhere in the back seat.”

When you finally got to the impala, Dean tossed the keys to his brother, watching as he unlocked the door. Being as careful and gentle as possible, the older Winchester sat you down in the drivers seat, your legs hanging out the door as he moved to grab the first-aid kit.

You watched him fondly as he knelt down in front of you, face set in determination as he went to work wrapping your ankle. Once done with that, he looked up, eyes falling on the gash on your temple. Hesitantly he reached up to move away some of your hair to get a better look. “How’s your head? This looks like a real doozy.”

“I mean, I did get slammed pretty hard into a countertop.” You admitted, letting out a slight hiss as Dean went to clean the wound. “I keep getting dizzy, but maybe that’s just my lack of food and sleep.”

You watched as he threw everything back into the kit, his face still set. “The first chance we get, I’ll get you some ice for your eye.” Closing the lid, he looked over towards you again. “You need sleep though. While we try and take care of this situation I’m putting you on bed rest.”

“Dean-“ you tried to protest, knowing they needed all the help they could get, but he stopped you before you could get out any more words.

“I know you want to help, but you need to sleep. Plus, we got help coming. You don’t need to worry about us.” He smiled, patting you leg before standing back up from his kneeling position.

As if on cue, the rumble of a truck had both your heads turning in unison. Sure enough an old pick up came into view, parking across the street from you. The similar flash of a trench coat brought a smile to your face as a certain blue eyed angel slid out of the drivers seat, accompanied by Ketch, Rowena, and Jack- in sunglasses?

“Dean, can you help me up?” You asked, watching as Dean nodded and gave you an arm to grab. Pulling yourself from the vehicle, you watched as Castiels eyes widened in confusion and shock, before quickly darted back and forth from Sam and Dean. His look clearly saying; what the fuck did the two of you do now?

“Cas, it’s alright. It’s really her.” Dean assured him, easing the Angel just a little bit. With quick steps, Cas crossed the street and wrapped his arms around you. His embrace strong enough that you felt your feet leave the ground for a moment.

“Missed you too Cas.” You wheezed, notifying him of the current strength he was giving to the hug. Quickly apologizing he set you back on your feet, taking a step back.

“How is this possible? You’re supposed to be in Heaven.” He exclaimed, wide eyed and bewildered.

Dean stepped in again, rendering you silent. “ Cas, as much as we all want to know how this happened, we still have to deal with the ghost apocalypse Chuck just threw at us. Plus, I’m putting Y/N on lock down.” You normally would have argued with Dean for putting you on the bench- but if you didn’t get sleep soon you were going to black out.

But the real thing that caught your attention was the tone in Deans voice when he spoke to Cas. He sounded annoyed and angry. Which only made you squint your eyes in suspicion. Something wasn’t right here. There was a thick tension hanging in the air between the Angel and the Winchester, and it made you uneasy.

*. *. *. *.

Before admitting defeat and falling into the backseat of Baby you had to be made aware of the fact that the youngest member of the group was not- in fact, Jack. You had a hunch when he didn’t run over to you like he normally did, but actually hearing the words that he wasn't sent your head spinning. And then came the disturbing fact that a demon was using his corpse as a meat suit and Dean and Sam had to hold you back from throttling him. That wasted energy had you stumbling back, almost falling into Deans arms.

“Okay, yeah- your taking a nap while we try to figure this situation out.” Dean stated. You watched him shrug off one of his many layers, wrapping his canvas jacket around you. “Promise me that you will stay here?” He gripped your shoulders, look down into your y/e/c eyes with worry as you sunk back down into the back seat of the vehicle.

“I promise.”You yawned, ignoring how Dean nodded silently. The moment your butt hit the leather all you wanted to do was fall back and let sleep take you, but of course there was the matter of assuring Dean that you were fine, that you were safe and could handle yourself. It took a few minutes but you got through that thick skull of his and he left hesitantly, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“Ill see you soon.”

With a tired nod you fell back onto the seat, eyes fluttering shut as Dean closed the door and departed.

“Ive missed you all. . .so much.” you muttered. And with that you sunk into a deep unconsciousness, drowning reality out.

Good dreams are few and far between when you live as a hunter. The same monsters you hunt have a way of getting into your head as well, making nightmares much more common, but as you let yourself fall asleep you found yourself in one of those rare good ones.

The windows of the impala were rolled down as Dean tore down one of the many back roads of northern Michigan. The two of you had just finished up a werewolf case up near Traverse City. A soft, humid breeze found its way into the vehicle, whipping your hair across your face. Taking a deep inhale you let out a sigh. It even smelled like summer. The air was thick with the scent of hydrangeas, which hung from front porches, their baskets practically overflowing with the bright flowers. Somewhere a camp fire was burning, the sharp smell of burning oak mixing with the fresh summer air.

The soft hum of the radio shifted, a new song starting up and making you shift in your seat. Dean watched from the corner of his eye with a smirk as you reached for the volume dial, knowing full well what was about to happen.

Just a small-town girl

Livin' in a lonely world

She took the midnight train goin' anywhere

You sang along, turning the volume up even more, before turning to lock eyes with Dean, a smile playing on your lips.

Just a city boy

Born and raised in South Detroit

He took the midnight train goin' anywhere

Your smile only grew as Deans voice mixed with yours. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as you let out a laugh, the two of you getting more into the song.

A singer in a smokey room

The smell of wine and cheap perfume

For a smile they can share the night

It goes on and on, and on, and on

Your duet got stronger as the music swelled. You leaned back against the seat, smiling as you sang. These were the moments you could live in forever. This would be your heaven. As the song continued, the two of you belted out the verses, Dean at one point taking his hands off the wheel to attempt air guitar.

Streetlights people

Livin' just to find emotion

Hidin' somewhere in the night

Don't stop believin'

Hold on to that feelin'

Streetlight people—

You wanted to stay secure in this memory- this dream forever. It was safe and it was happy - Dean was happy.

And that’s when you woke up.

taglist: @my-proof-is-you​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @iluvyewman-blog​ @a-crowd-of-newsies​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @heyyy-hey-babyyy​ @orphiceseum​ @greenarrowhead​ @thevelvetseries​ @silver-winter-wolf​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @jxackles​ @ryansgirl5509​

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch1

Summary: You were an ordinary nurse, working your way towards balance when the Qlipoth appeared. That all changed when a dark-haired stranger intervened and saved your ass. He and his outlandish companions sparked your curiosity and as the days passed you formed an unbreakable bond with them all. But what happens when your newfound family faces their fate?

(My first fic, a shameless rewrite of the events of DMC5 featuring V x Reader. Angst, fluff, romance and a passable attempt at slow burn. Multiple endings and sequel in progress. I am currently rewriting it chapter by chapter, but the total word count should hover around 150k. Enjoy!)

Ch1: An Introduction to Demons

---Reader---

May 16th, 8:13 pm

Your gloved hands desperately pressed against your patient’s split flesh, his blood oozing between your fingers as your colleagues prepared the surgery room. The poor man was awake, terrified tears streaking his face as he stared into your eyes, praying you’d save him.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” you told him, forcing your agonized mind to project calmness and reassurance in your tone. It seemed to work; his eyes blinked and the fearful furrow of his brows eased slightly.

 Come on, is that room ready yet? He doesn’t have much time left after losing this much blood.

The linoleum floor beneath your feet, normally stark white and freshly bleached, was covered in blood. Your feet were only able to stay stable due to your mandatory anti-slip shoes. The red puddle had been growing for ten minutes as you urgently held this man’s life in your trembling hands. Most nights weren’t like this, most nights the worst you had to deal with was an idiot who hadn’t been paying attention and had touched a hot stove, or maybe if things got really crazy someone would come in with a broken bone.

Rarely did you hold someone’s life in your hands. It never got easier, or less stressful.

The man’s eyes fluttered closed; his head lolled back on the gurney and your heart jumped, knowing how important it was to stay conscious at that point.

“Sir, no, you have to stay awake! Come on, wake up!” your petrified voice uttered, the sound almost foreign to your ears. He didn’t stir, and your panicked thoughts dropped into cold realization as the steady drip of his blood on the floor slowed.

 He’s not going to make it. Goddamnit!

“Someone get me some O negative, now!” you screamed desperately. One of your fellow nurses dashed over with a bag, the fluid red and angry looking as she rushed to get an IV prepared. She checked the man’s pulse, searching for a vein to tap. Her eyes met yours in a shared moment of sadness as the look on her face told you everything you needed to know.

The man beneath your hands was dead.

You pulled your shaking hands away from the gash in his chest, caused by a car crash on the nearby interstate, a chunk of metal having sliced deep into his right pectoral. Your eyes filled with tears at your failure as you unsteadily walked to a nearby hazardous waste bin to strip your bloody gloves off.

There was no other urgent need for you so you stepped away to take a moment to breathe, coming to terms with your inability to save the man you had assured would be alright. You sat on the curb outside as your tears fell, chest heaving in a silent sob.

 It’s never enough, I’m never good enough… I need to get better, get faster, stronger… Have to save the next one like him.

After a long moment whose length you couldn’t tell, you heard a siren approaching. Another ambulance, racing in with another person who needed help. You stood, shoving your pain away to focus on the now, on the next patient whom you might actually have been able to help.

__________________________________

The rest of your shift passed with little incident; blessedly no other patients died that night. You stripped off your soiled scrubs in the locker room, ruminating once more on all your failures. The faces of every single patient you’d been unable to save passed through your mind and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to never forget a single one. Your heart clenched as the man from mere hours before passed in your mind’s eye, his face frozen in a look of strange peace. Reassured by your words that had turned out to be a lie.

“Y/N, you okay?” a voice beside you asked gently. You turned to face the speaker, another nurse coming off shift. You couldn’t recall her name, never having bothered to learn it. Her perky blond ponytail swung as she tilted her head to look at you, blue eyes showing her concern as you clenched your jaw angrily.

“I’m fine,” you ground out finally, and she frowned more deeply at your not fine tone.

“You did everything you could for him, you know. You can’t save everyone and you can’t blame yourself or it’ll destroy you,” she murmured quietly.

Her words triggered your mind to remind you painfully of the very first person you had failed, the image of her corpse still so clear in your memory. You gulped nervously, trying to subdue the dark thoughts as you responded to your colleague.

“I know… but I should’ve been able to save him,” you whispered brokenly. The young woman bit her lip as you struggled to hold back your tears, but as the first sniffles broke through she wrapped you in a hug.

 Caitlyn, that’s her name… Caitlyn.

You hesitantly returned her comforting hug, accepting it for the slim reassurance it could provide. Your breath came out in gasps as you withheld the worst of your pain, not knowing enough about Caitlyn to trust her with your past. Even as the thought formed in your mind, you caught a whiff of her shampoo as her ponytail swung past your dripping nose.

 Cinnamon. Just like Lara.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, frozen like a deer in the headlights as the painful memories rushed through you. Over the years, you’d gotten skilled at subduing them whenever something brought it back to the surface, and you used all your will power to shove it back down into the hole you kept it buried in. Even so, your heart ached at the reminder, making sure you never forgot that day. You pulled away from Caitlyn, arranging your features to show her a teary smile.

“You gonna get home okay?” she asked you kindly. “I can give you a ride if you need it.”

You nodded your head, a rueful glint entering your eyes as you looked at her.

“I live two blocks away. I’ll be all right. Thank you, Caitlyn,” you answered, wiping away the last remnants of your tears. You couldn’t help but hope she’d leave you alone now, and to your relief she turned away to leave with a final worried glance.

The walk home was usually a time of quiet reflection for you, a chance to review all you’d done in the hours at the ER and to tally the lives saved against the lives lost, the scales never tipping to the side of life enough for your satisfaction. That night, you couldn’t remember a single person you helped over the last few hours, the guilt over the single death too heavy to bear.

 If only I’d gotten him a transfusion from the start. If only the surgery room had been ready. If only, if only, if only…

You sighed to yourself as you looked forward to the bottle of whiskey waiting for you in your tiny apartment; knowing you had the next day off, you planned to drink until you couldn’t think anymore. A tradition whenever someone died in your arms, something to indulge in to avoid the solitude of your lonely apartment, where not even a goldfish waited for your return.

The familiar wooden sign greeted you from over the doorway as you reached home, its cheerful yellow paint welcoming friends inside. You liked to pretend you’d someday actually invite someone over, but in the five years you’d lived in Red Grave City, you hadn’t allowed a single person to enter your heart, let alone your home.

 Too easy to get hurt or to hurt someone. Better to be alone.

The cheap door creaked open and you quickly closed it behind you, alone at last. The keys went in the small bowl on the side table in the entrance, coat on the hook. Shoes kicked off to the corner. With a soft click, you turned on the lights of your small retreat.

You shuffled your way into the living room, the whiskey waiting for you on the coffee table as you plopped into the cushions of your hideous orange couch. You didn’t bother with a glass, taking a sip straight from the glass bottle as you flicked on the television. You took another long gulp as you looked for something to watch, eventually settling on an over the top romantic comedy.

You kept drinking and the terrible movie became funnier with each tingly swallow. By the time the film was over, you were buzzed enough to be satisfied. Another movie began and you pulled your throw blanket over you as you settled in to watch, letting the fantasy take you away from your own problems.

__________________________________

 “…live from downtown, still unclear what exactly I’m looking at but it appears to be some kind of structure, Lisa.”

 Deet deet deet deedle! Deet deet deet deedle!

The standard ringtone of your cell phone felt alarmingly loud as you slowly cleared the fog from your mind. You barely glanced at the TV screen as you groggily fumbled for the small device, hitting the green “accept” button and holding it up to your drool-covered cheek.

“Hello…?” you mumbled.

 “Oh, thank god! Honey, where are you? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

You sat up with a grimace at the panic in your mother’s voice, her shrill tone a far cry from her normally calm demeanor.

“Mom? What’re you talking about?” you replied quizzically.

 “The tower! It’s all over the news!!”

The confusion swirling in your mind shifted to fear as you saw the screen at last, the reporter standing before a massive grey structure in an area you easily recognized as only a few blocks away.

 “…started only a few shorts hours ago. Officials are urging residents to stay indoors until they can assess the threat, but many locals have come to see the tower for themselves. Some religious groups are already flooding the area, claiming this to be a sign from God. All I can say for sure, Lisa, is that this thing is now the tallest point within three miles…”

The reporter continued talking, but you weren’t paying any attention anymore as you took in what he was talking about – the enormous grey tower that stood behind him in the shot, dominating the screen and dwarfing the mass of people crowded by its base.

 What… the… fuck…?

Chaos erupted on the screen a moment later as something punched a hole through the tower, what looked like a man and a huge beast jumping down from the new opening milliseconds later. They were too far from the camera for you to see them clearly, only dim outlines in the background of the crappy TV you’d had since college.

 “Did you see that?! What is going on? Honey, you need to leave before the roads get too crowded! It isn’t safe there!”

The reporter on the screen was clearly as baffled as you were, his mouth dropping open and eyes widening comically as he struggled to find words to describe the scenario. He kept glancing back to the structure as he tried to do his job, but before he had the chance to speak again, everything changed.

Something had clearly gone wrong with the camera person; the view shifted to one from the ground as if the camera had been dropped. You could hear screams and watched in bewilderment as a tendril burst from the ground, its tip a gleaming point of sharp thorns. The image of that cruel spike streaking forward to embed itself in the reporter’s stomach dissolved the last of your remaining buzz, sobriety hitting you like a brick wall as his wails of terror echoed from your TV.

 “Oh, god… Y/N, get out of there now! RUN!”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll call you when it’s safe. I love you mom!” you answered hurriedly, already rushing toward the door. You stuffed your feet back into your work shoes, slung your jacket over your shoulders and grabbed your keys. Out of habit, you took a moment to lock the door behind you before sprinting down the hallway.

Outside, you got your first look at the structure for yourself.

Its massive form rose from downtown, black and imposing. You followed its outline with your stunned eyes, looking for the top but unable to find it; it was far too tall. The structure wasn’t here when you had gotten home from work, and construction couldn’t possibly have erected such an imposing thing in the scant time since then. Its origin couldn’t possibly be natural.

 So… where did it come from then?

A low rumble broke your confused thoughts as you watched a tentacle burst through the asphalt ahead. Your baffled mind struggled to process the sight as the cruelly sharp tip darted down to embed itself in the stomach of another pedestrian, a scream of pain following its sickening squelch as it struck home.

Bile rose in your throat as you instinctively moved, rushing forward even as your mind screamed at you to run away. The hideous tentacle pulled back, the impaled woman falling to the ground bonelessly as it rose again to search for its next target. A surge of adrenaline gushed through you, and you somehow managed to dodge the spike as you reached forward to pull the woman out of its range. Her blood left a streak of crimson on the sidewalk behind as you dragged her to safety.

Only then did you look down, taking stock of the damage.

Her face was already frozen in death, a look of utter terror and bewilderment marring her plain features forever. You shuddered, adding her face to the ever-growing ledger of death in your mind. You stood slowly, wiping her blood on your jeans and turning away. The street was crowded by then, more and more people coming outside to see what all the noise was from.

 This is bad. They’re all going to die if they stay here.

“Hey! Everybody! You can’t stand around and watch, you’ll die! Come on, let’s go!” you shouted, a scant few heads turning to listen but far too many people ignoring your warning. You marched up to a young woman tugging a child along by the hand, their faces more curious than scared. You reached out to tap her shoulder and she glanced back at you as you spoke.

“Lady, you’re gonna get yourself and your kid killed! Look, see those tentacles? I just saw one stab someone to death with just one stroke. You have to leave, now!”

She paused, her eyes shifting to see the tentacle you indicated. Her curiosity turned to fear as she took in its sharp point, giving you a grateful nod as she turned away to drag her child somewhere safe.

You repeated your dire warning to over a dozen more bystanders, but only a third of them took you seriously and ran away. You shoved your tiredness down, your long workday making your steps drag slightly as you pressed on, determined to save as many people as you could.

You watched in horror as another few tentacles sprouted from the ground, impaling a few unlucky souls and raising their bodies like trophies to the sky. More bile rose in your throat as you heard their wails of pain and confusion. You kept moving forward, still shouting warnings to anyone who’d listen. Another tentacle rumbled out of the pavement a mere three feet from where you stood, its cruel tip gleaming in the streetlights. You stumbled slightly, leaning against the brickwork of an apartment building to keep yourself from falling to the ground.

Your exhaustion tugged at you fiercely and your eyes fluttered closed against your will as the tentacle took aim at you. All thought ceased in your mind as your death approached.

With your eyes closed, you didn't see the dark-haired man sprinting at you. You didn’t see him drop a hand-carved silver cane and slide on his hip towards you as if he was stealing third base for the Yankees. You didn’t hear his low grunt as he pushed his arm out, rising to his feet just in front of you. You didn’t see the intricate pattern on his arm lighten, or the panther explode into existence mere feet in front of you, killing the tentacle with a single swipe of its lethally sharp claws almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Instead, what you next perceived was a warm hand on your side, pushing you to the right. You opened your fear-dilated eyes, shocked that you’re still alive, and immediately caught your breath.

The man who stood before you wore a look of concern on his ridiculously, unfairly handsome features. His intense gaze caught your attention first, irises the shade of muted emeralds, glinting with every flash of light. Dark eyelashes framed his long stare, thick eyebrows only adding to the expressiveness of his piercing gaze. A prominent nose flowed from his brow line above his full, pink lips, parted as he breathed heavily before you. Beautifully intricate tattoos covered his body, partially concealed by his clothing but clearly visible on his long, toned arms. The black of the ink on his skin only served to contrast his alabaster skin tone. His hair was as dark and shiny as obsidian, barely brushing the collar of his black leather vest.

"You must move, you cannot stay here!" the beautiful stranger declared urgently with a voice like velvet.

Goddamnit, could he be any more attractive?

You tried to take a step but discovered you couldn’t find the strength, your exhaustion overwhelming you at last. He paused, seeming to study your expression and huffed in irritation.

"Fine, I'll help you then," he announced, and suddenly you were against him. You blushed scarlet as he picked you up, carrying you in his lean arms towards a nearby van. The motion shook you out of your worn-out stupor enough to be embarrassed by your helplessness.

"I - I'm sorry, I think I can walk now," you told him shakily.

He gently placed your legs on solid ground with a nod. He turned to survey the area, presumably to check for more tentacles. You took a moment to search for nearby people you could warn and found a pair, shouting the now familiar warning as you saw the panther fighting. Its form shape-shifted periodically into new shapes full of sharp edges and harsh points and your mind struggled to comprehend how this was possible, trying fruitlessly to make sense of all the outlandish sights you’d seen in the last ten minutes.

 What the fuck is going on?

The stranger grabbed your hand, dragging you towards the van once more, and you tried to focus on the vehicle to avoid thinking about how many of your neighbors were now dead. It was an odd contraption, clearly customized with a neon sign on the side which read “Devil May Cry” and a laughably false phone number listed beneath it. Its grey and white paint was coated in dust and what looked like blood, not all of it dry. On his way to the van, the stranger only paused to lean over and pick up an ornate silver cane, flicking it to his side in a clearly practiced motion. You found yourself once again unable to comprehend what happened next as a cloud of black shards left his tattooed arm, drifting to the air nearby and forming a magnificent blue bird, the strangest you’d ever seen with a three-pronged beak and purple legs that seemed far too large for its body.

The bird laughed and dove at the nearest tentacle, slashing it with its talons. You heard the outlandish creature curse as the tentacle tried to stab it as it attacked.

The back door of the van suddenly crashed open, drawing your attention as a white-haired man leaned out. He was young, around your age if you had to guess. An absolutely huge sword was strapped to his back, and he waved you forward with an oversized pistol in hand.

"Hurry, we gotta go NOW, V!" he hollered. He hurriedly stowed the pistol and reached out to help you inside, the dark-haired man not far behind you. To your surprise, the panther also jumped into the van. The second you were all inside, the van took off at a speed that was nearly as terrifying as almost being impaled by mysterious tentacles, accelerating faster than you imagined a vehicle of its size could manage. Outside the van, you caught a glimpse of the strange bird you saw moments ago, flapping hard to keep up with the racing vehicle.

"Hold on, folks!" a feminine voice with a southern drawl yelled from the driver’s seat. You grabbed onto the nearest solid object, an odd countertop hidden in the corner and held on for dear life as the van dashed through the city, to somewhere (you hoped) very, VERY far away.

---V---

V looked over at the young woman he'd just rescued, wondering how long it would be before you were calm enough to think clearly. Your hands were shaking, eyes wide and dilated. As he watched, your jaw clenched and your hands steadied as you inhaled deeply. You closed your eyes, let out the breath in a reassuring sigh and turned to face him as the van sped past the crowds of terrified residents, various pieces of kitchen equipment and power tools clanging at every pothole Nico drove over.

"Thank you for saving me. I... I think I would be dead if not for you," you whispered softly. Your eyes were still fearful, but you seemed coherent enough. He took a moment to gaze at you, taking in your appearance. You had gentle features; a kind face. He felt an odd sensation in his stomach as he recalled your words.

"And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Are you alright? Perhaps you ought to sit down," he responded gently and gestured at the worn couch under the window.

You nodded and cautiously made your way to it, keeping your knees bent to compensate for Nico’s wild movements. As you moved, V studied you more closely. He was curious - most civilians didn’t exhibit this level of stoic acceptance after first encountering the demonic roots, not to mention the fact that you had been actively trying to warn others and urging them to run. Your quick calmness was... intriguing. He couldn't tell if you had any demonic blood, but you obviously weren't unfamiliar with fear. No one who could calm themselves that quickly was new to the feeling, he knew.

"My name is V, that's Nero, and Nico is driving. Griffon is outside and her name is Shadow. What shall we call you?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the van wall casually. He gestured to each named being as he introduced them, Griffon and Shadow returning to him as the vehicle got farther away from danger. Your eyes widened as the black shards sank into his skin.

You glanced away, quick to look elsewhere as your cheeks flush slightly, he noticed. Perhaps she’s embarrassed about needing to be saved?

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you all,” you responded finally. “Um, do you know what those... tentacle things were? Where did they come from?"

V smirked. This might take a while to explain.

---Reader---

 Demons.

 Demons are real.

 Demons are real and attacking my home.

"Holy shit," you exclaimed, eyes wide, looking back and forth between the two men. "So, wait, how do you kill them? Why are they here? How can we stop them from killing people?"

Nero laughed, but not unkindly. He seemed genuinely amused as he sat down on your right, leaning back against the couch cushion nonchalantly.

"Slow down, Y/N! They aren't too hard to kill, at least the lower powered ones. Pretty much anything that would kill a human can kill a demon; guns, swords, punches, you get the idea. Don't really know why they're here, but V might."

V smirked, his full lips twisting in a way that made your eyes flick to them for a heartbeat too long. You scolded yourself; this isn't the time for that!

"They are here because of Urizen. The Demon King, as he calls himself. For now, we should find somewhere to rest, gather resources. As for you, Y/N, forgive me but you don't seem like you're quite up to fighting demons. We can take you to the edge of the city, but from there you must make your own way to safety."

You paused, considering his words. He wasn't wrong; you had no combat experience and didn’t know how to be helpful in a fight. Not to mention you were completely terrified, as well as you tried to conceal it.

 This is insanity. These people are mad, fighting those things. We should all just run, go somewhere else and leave this city as far behind as possible.

Yet even the thought of abandoning the people still in the city felt... wrong. You didn't want to run from this, especially not with this feeling, like you were magnetized to this group. You couldn’t just walk away when so many people were dying; you had to balance the scales!

 I’m going to get myself killed. What am I thinking, I can’t help people if I’m dead! But.. there are so many people here. They’re all going to die too.

You took a deep breath before speaking, brutally shoving your fear to the farthest corner of your mind and focusing on what little you could do to help the small group.

"It's true, I'm not really a fighter. I’m a nurse, and I've been studying surgical procedures to prepare for medical school. I can help you if anyone gets injured. As much as I'd like to not have to face those things ever again, it wouldn't be right if I left. I wouldn't feel right," you explained uneasily, hoping the group didn't judge you too harshly for your previous terror.

V raised an eyebrow at that, then glanced at Nero. “The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest,” he recited simply. Nero shrugged, and for the first time you got a good look at his right arm. You gasped as you saw the haphazard bandages covering a stump, blood stains showing in a deep rust shade, a recent amputation that clearly hadn’t been taken care of properly.

"At the very least let me dress that! You'll get an infection or sepsis; it could kill you!"

V snorted, to your surprise. "You mean he would be... dead weight?" he commented, obviously amused. His intense emerald eyes flicked to yours as if sharing an intimate joke, and you smiled at him hesitantly.

Nero turned red, muttering to himself for a moment about someone named Dante, then nodded at you sullenly. Clearly V’s words had hit a sore spot.

"Fine, when we stop you can take a look," he grumbled. He shot a glare at V, then shuffled off to sit in the front with Nico, leaving you alone with the obsidian haired man. You could hear them talking for a while but couldn't tell what they were saying. You turned back to V, mind still whirling with questions.

His long fingers pulled a thin book from within his leather vest, clearly preparing to read. You swallowed your questions for the time being, not wanting to interrupt the strange man’s reading.

 I need to rest; I can barely keep my eyes open. The adrenaline must be fading.

You leaned back into the couch, reassured that with this group you could sleep in safety, closed your eyes and drifted off into oblivion.

__________________________________

You dreamt of the past. Your mind never blessed you with pleasant dreams anymore, always seeking to understand, to learn more from memories that your waking mind knew would bring only pain. Memory is the enemy of peace, after all.

The familiar sounds were there, as always. The crack of glass breaking and the high-pitched screams of your friend, the unmistakable sound of her gasping breaths.

Then the visuals. Shadows dancing like a sick ballet on the wall of the shed. Dead eyes staring up at you as a warning. The flash of light on gleaming steel as ---

__________________________________

You awakened with a jolt as Nico slammed the brakes, causing you to slide unceremoniously into V. He had sat down at some point next to you. With lightning reflexes, his arm shot out and held you close as the rattling van mercifully slid to a full stop, keeping you from falling to the floor. You could feel him breathing under you, smell his scent of leather and lavender. The combined sensory input was... intoxicating. You tried to pull away, but he held you for a split second before letting go. You blushed furiously, sure that he was teasing you. You couldn’t bear to look at him so you missed the look of regret he gave you and didn’t see him lick his lips before speaking.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" he inquired softly, his tone almost a growl.

You internally cursed his voice for having such a pleasant sound before responding.

"Yeah, thanks for the help... again."

V chuckled under his breath, then returned to his reading. Sitting so close to him, you caught a glimpse inside the pages to see a flowing script and beautifully colored illustrations. Forgetting your embarrassment and the lingering fear from the nightmare, you asked what he was reading.

"Poetry. Would you like to hear some?" he responded, his voice like warm honey.

The thought of his voice reciting poetry sent your mind spinning. Nope, no way, nuh uh, you’ve already made enough of an ass out of yourself, so you just hold your horses there, girl. There’re bigger things to be worried about anyway, like DEMONS!

"Sure,” your rebellious mouth stated.

 Goddamit. Stupid mouth.

He smiled, gaze returning to the pages as he chose a piece to read.

“I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem, In England’s green and pleasant land,” he recited, his voice melodious and perfectly timed.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, the words rolling in your mind as you digested them, finding meaning in the short excerpt as a low hum of recognition passed through you. “Is that… William Blake?”

V nodded, seemingly taken aback.

“You enjoy poetry?” he asked you.

You felt your cheeks tinting as he studied you intently as you replied, “I guess you could say I’m a bit of a bookworm. Literature is a gift.”

The outer corners of his lips twitched, smiling for a fraction of an instant. If you had blinked you would have missed it. He seemed pleased by your response and you smiled at him shyly, shifting your weight awkwardly.

“I couldn’t agree more, much to our companions dismay. They are of a different mindset,” he replied thoughtfully.

“What’s your favorite poem, V?” you probed him, enjoying the chance to talk with someone who shared your enjoyment of words.

“I’ve come to enjoy The Book of Thel a great deal, are you familiar?”

It rang a bell but you couldn’t remember any details of the work.

“I read it many years ago, though I can’t remember any of it now,” you responded.

“Allow me, then; Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away: Then we shall seek thee but not find; ah Thel is like to thee. I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.”

You sat in silence, letting the words sink in. V’s soothing voice added a layer of complexity to them, sounding quite sad and mournful as he recited.

Luckily for you, Nero chose that exact moment to trudge over to you with a small red box labeled "first aid". He sighed, seeming to have resigned himself to your treatment.

As if it isn't in his best interest anyway.

"Let's get this over with, Y/N," he grunted. V stood and gave you a nod as he walked away a few feet to continue his reading. You focused your mind on the task at hand, pushing the memory of his voice away.

---V---

V watched you gently remove the bandages from Nero's arm, trying to figure out his reaction to your words. None of the others he had become familiar with enjoyed poetry, several rolling their eyes the first few times he quoted a line in conversation until they became accustomed and ignored it entirely. He felt his heart warm slightly by the shared enjoyment, a distraction from his mission. A pleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. He must remain focused - he didn't have time for any fellowships or pleasant conversations.

Yet still, he found himself watching you redress Nero's arm, wondering what your touch felt like. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps he simply wanted to be touched, to feel connected? That would explain most of his reactions to you so far.

 Enough of this. Focus. Too much is at stake.

He mentally shook himself and returned his gaze to the words on the painted pages before him, forcing himself to pay attention and read the now familiar text.

  I am in you, and you in me. Mutual in divine love.

V sighed and rolled his eyes.

 How unhelpful.

He glanced back at you and Nero, seeing you smile at something the white haired warrior had said. Laughing. He wondered what that felt like as well, to share mirth in such a way with another person.

A memory played in his mind, of many years ago. It was a simple one, a trifle really. He was playing with Dante in the backyard, not long before... before. The two of them were laughing together over a fort they had built out of sticks, the structure haphazard and childish. Their mother was nearby, keeping a careful eye on them as they played.

He smiled softly at the thought, wondering if Dante had any fond memories of them as children. Somehow, he doubted it.

Again with the distractions. Enough is enough.

V looked out the window, easily spotting the already massive tree in the center of town. The sight helped him focus, helped him remember his priorities.

---Reader---

After removing the old bandages, you took a moment to examine the wound. It was in bad shape, looking as if Nero had initially seen a doctor but later popped the stitches in at least three places, leaving open wounds to fester and bleed freely. There was already a slight infection, but nothing too serious if he let you take care of it and didn’t do anything stupid.

“How long ago did this happen, Nero?” you asked.

“It was April 30th, so sixteen days ago,” he informed you as he watched you examine him.

“Ah, alright then. It should heal fully in about two to six more weeks, until then you need to change the bandage at least once a day, if not more,” you explained to the willful young man.

You dug through the poorly organized first aid kit, finding an unopened bottle of antiseptic and several rolls of bandages. Some gauze patches lied on the bottom.

 Perfect, now all I need is a towel or a bowl.

You looked to your left and right, eventually finding a small cup that would work well enough. You carefully angled Nero’s arm over the cup and got the antiseptic ready.

“This will hurt a bit, Nero,” you warned him. He nodded, ready, and you slowly poured the fluid over his injury and let it drip into the waiting cup below. He grunted but didn’t pull away. Once the drips had slowed enough, you laid a gauze patch over his half-healed stitches, using one hand to hold it in place as your other reached to grasp the bandage roll. You used your teeth to get the first portion open, proceeding to gently but firmly wrap up Nero’s arm. You used the scissors from the kit to cut the end and secured it with a satisfied smile.

“All set,” you told him.

Nero carefully moved his arm, testing the bandage's flexibility. You knew he would, he seemed the type to never hold still if he could help it. You’d seen many people like him come through the emergency room, struggling to hold still as you treated whatever they came in for even as their lack of stillness worsened their condition.

"Feels good, Y/N! Thanks! You are handy!" He jumped up, throwing a few experimental punches, bobbing and weaving like he was in a boxing match with Muhammad Ali himself. You laughed as he feigned dodging a blow; his antics allowed you to forget the horrors of what you’d witnessed for an all-too-brief moment.

"Hey hey hey, not in the van! Take it outside, jerkwad!" Nico exclaimed hurriedly, coming out from her perch in the drivers seat. She pushed Nero towards the door, forced him outside and slammed the door behind him.

“Sheesh, what an ass…” she muttered under her breath, but you could tell she meant it with affection. She looked like she’d be happiest on a construction site or in a garage. A multitude of tools were strapped to her shorts and you could see oil on her arms, along with tattoos that seemed to revolve around guns and skulls. She pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as she leaned over to you.

“Hi, I’m Nico. Welcome to the Devil May Cry-mobile, I’m your resident genius gunsmith and artist extraordinaire. You joinin’ the team? Would be nice to have another lady along for the ride!”

Your eyes flicked to V as your thoughts debated your options again.

 What about my life? What about going back to school, learning to be a trauma surgeon? Can I really justify putting that on hold, maybe even abandoning it entirely to help these people?

 …How can I not?

V smirked knowingly but nodded before following Nero outside, waving his hand through a cloud of Nico’s expelled cigarette smoke as he passed.

“I guess I am,” you replied, smiling and doing your best to ignore the panic in your mind at the thought of staying in an area full of... demons. The thought of their existence brought a surreal feeling to your mind and you wondered if this entire day had been a dream. A new nightmare shaped to ensure you paid it the attention it demanded.

“Awesome! You wouldn’t happen to know how to cook, would’ja? Nero’s hopeless and V’s somehow worse, and my cooking skills don’t extend beyond cereal and mac and cheese,” she asked with a smile on her face.

You found her smile infectious, and you felt your own lips stretching into a grin as well as you responded, “I’m no master chef, but I get by all right.”

She clapped your back in a friendly manner, taking a pull from her cigarette. The tang of nicotine filled the air as she exhaled, the enclosed space holding the smoke captive. You ignored the scent, used to it after years of exposure.

“All right! Well, we’re probably gonna stay here for the night, kitchen’s in that corner if you’re hungry. The guys generally sleep outside but I think you could squeeze in here with me for now. Sound good?”

You nodded, grateful for her easy acceptance of you even as your mind still struggled to control your overwhelming fear. You found yourself warming to her quickly, despite a history of not getting along well with other women. Glancing at the kitchen, you spotted the cereal she mentioned sitting atop a stovetop. There were a few cupboards but not much else. You hoped you could gather some basic food staples in the morning, but for now the call of hunger was weaker than the call of rest. You yawned, almost cracking your jaw in the process.

“Here, I’ll get ya a pillow and another blanket, bout ready to crash myself!” Nico commented. She opened another cupboard, pulling out a small but fluffy looking pillow and a fleece blanket. She handed them to you, put out her cigarette in an ashtray nearby and gave you a salute before climbing a tiny ladder to what you assumed was a hidden bed.

“Goodnight, Nico. Thanks,” you said through another yawn. You heard a soft click and the van went dark.

“No problem, new girl. Night!”

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

[glorious-blackout]

The Many Random Pages of Surgery:

Becoming a doctor inevitably means that your work-life becomes dictated by this thing:

Our hospital has two surgical wards: one for emergency admissions and one for elective admissions/HDU. The nurses on the former are great; really self-sufficient and supportive, and they tend to only page you when there’s a real need/emergency. On the other hand, the nurses on the latter ward - while genuinely nice and great at their jobs - tend to have a habit of rushing to the phone and paging us for reasons that could probably wait. Here are a few examples from our first two months: 

A colleague was paged because one of her patient’s NEWS scores had gone up to 2. A NEWS chart monitors observations like heart rate, blood pressure, temperature and oxygen saturations. In theory, the higher the score, the sicker the patient; a septic patient requiring oxygen may score an 8 for example. What had changed in this case to elicit a panicked call? The heart rate had gone from 97 to 102.

One of my colleagues was paged during her lunch break because she hadn’t put a form in the patient’s notes. When she said she could do it after lunch and that the plan she’d written wasn’t urgent, she was urged to come and put it in the notes right away. 

We get paged fairly often about tasks that are already on our list from the morning rounds. Occasionally the page comes AFTER you’ve completed said task.

Our prescribing system is electronic, and for safety reasons only one person can access a patient’s file at any one time. This has lead to multiple occasions where the nurses page you to add a drug to a patient’s chart, only for you to get an error message when you try to do so because they haven’t logged off.

IV fluids make up the vast majority of our pages. As soon as one bag is empty, the nurses seem eager to get the next one up despite the fact that fluids are rarely ever that urgent (unless a patient is in shock or has an acute kidney injury). Most of the patients on IV fluids are actually managing to drink good amounts, have normal blood results and stable heart rates/blood pressure, therefore probably don’t need IVs in the first place...which sadly doesn’t stop you from being asked to prescribe them ten times a day.

One nurse spent two minutes shouting my colleague’s name throughout the entire ward, before deciding to page him because someone was looking for him on the phone. This was despite us telling her that he’d gone to insert a cannula, so not only would he not be able to answer his page but the loud beep could be distracting when he had a needle in his hand. 

Not only that, but she could easily have taken a message as the caller simply wanted him to write a transfer letter for a patient.

Sometimes we get pages asking what the plan was from the ward-round. Which is fine if the notes are either absent or unclear, but occasionally we’ll ask the nurse what the notes say (just to remind ourselves) and they’ll reply, “Oh, I didn’t check...”

Sometimes you get paged despite the fact that you’ve been on the ward for a while. A lot of the time this is when you’re talking to a patient or taking bloods. Trying to keep a needle steady when there’s a harsh beeping and you don’t have spare hands to silence it is a bit of a pain, to say the least.

One time I was called to prescribe gentamicin (an antibiotic) about half an hour later than it should have been given, and I mindlessly wrote the time it was supposed to be due rather than the current time. Fifteen minutes later I got a page asking me to come back, scribble out the time I’d written and put something closer to the actual administration time. There was literally zero reason to do this - gentamicins get delayed pretty frequently and the prescription/administration times rarely line up even on a good day - but the nurse insisted because she thought the disparity would look bad.

My colleague was once paged during her late shift because a gentleman had cold hands. To be fair, in situations such as shock this can be a Very Bad Thing and we’d definitely want to know what their NEWS score was, however the nurse (who’d expressed a fear that her patient was peripherally shutting down) hadn’t actually taken a set of observations. My colleague asked her to do so, only for everything to be completely normal. Turns out the patient only needed to stick his hands under the bedsheets.  

The nursing stations get updated rotas every week so they know which junior is doing which shift and who would be best to contact at any given moment. Despite this, I still get paged fairly regularly at home despite my shift ending hours before (one of the downsides of living close to the hospital). Thankfully there’s a mute button; work can seem inescapable enough as it is without a certain ward following me home as well 😉

It’s worth noting that the nurses on this ward do a fabulous job more often than not and that a lot of these ‘trivial’ pages are driven by genuine concern for patient care. The issue lies in the fact that pages should really be used for urgent requests, rather than a way of getting our attention for tasks that can easily wait until we’re on the ward. As juniors, our instinct now whenever we get a page is to sigh and wonder ‘what now?’, but of course the risk is that one day there will be a genuine emergency and we’ll be less inclined to rush to a phone if we’re in the middle of a task. 

It should also be noted that doctors seem to have better protections if we make mistakes, whereas the system is more likely to set nurses up to fail if something goes wrong on their watch (which is obviously bullshit and makes some of the pages which seem ‘trivial’ more understandable in retrospect). Either way, there’s a Quality Improvement project in the making here. If only I had the motivation to start it... :P

[71tenseventeen]

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life Too)-19

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

Warnings for sexual content, male pregnancy, non-hockey Sid. Sid and Taylor’s ages have been altered to fit the story.

Perpetual credit to my betas, @queen-alia and @icosahedonist as well as the GC and @ljummen.

Geno keeps his promise. He calls back in less than five minutes and keeps Sid on the phone until he’s dashing through the front door, fifteen minutes later.  “Sid,” he breathes, rushing to where Sid is moving to sit up, sliding an arm around his waist.

“Geno…” Sid starts, eyes welling up again.

“I know, Sid,” he says, guiding them to the door. “Know you scared but going to be okay. I’m promise.” He reaches over and grips Sid’s chin, pausing his steps. “Everything going to be okay. Understand?”

He nods, swallowing thickly, and lets Geno lead him out of the apartment.

He tries to pull away in the hall. “What if someone sees…” he trails off and Geno just sets his jaw, pulling Sid closer.

“Really not care about that right now.”

In the car, Geno reaches over and grips his hand, murmuring quiet reassurances the entire drive to the hospital.

Sid is immediately whisked to a private room where Dr. Agarwal and two nurses are waiting. They waste no time getting him out of his clothes and into a gown while he tries hard not to cry. And he manages right up until he’s on the bed and Dr. Agarwal presses the doppler probe into the gel on his belly. Sid feels like he can’t breathe, holds tight to Geno’s hand while he begs silently to hear their baby’s heartbeat. It feels like time stops and he thinks he’s going to fall to pieces but then there it is. The steady thumpa thumpa thumpa and Sid bursts into tears, burying his face when Geno pulls him close whispering soft words of comfort.

“Baby okay, Sid. Listen, heartbeat strong. Told you everything be okay.” Sid holds tight and is grateful Geno doesn’t let him go.

An hour later Sid’s got an IV, had blood drawn and is receiving IV fluids. Dr. Agarwal is not impressed with him and he hangs his head as she explains what happened. “You’re dehydrated and your blood pressure is way too high. I’m sorry, Sidney, but your current job is not a safe option for you right now. You’re on your feet too much without a break and the stress is too high. I’ll have to see how you respond over the next few days before I make a decision about school.  For now, consider yourself on modified bedrest. That means no work, no school and no overexertion. You can take short walks and swims if Geno is with you but I don’t want you on your feet for prolonged periods of time.”

Sid nods, sadly, still not meeting her eyes and Geno smooths his hair gently. It would be the perfect time for him to chime in with an “I told you so” or even with anger. Sid knows he deserves it and he’s been expecting it but it hasn’t come. Instead Geno has stayed close, stroking his hair, holding his hand through the procedures and rubbing his shoulders soothingly as Dr. Agarwal lays down the law.

Even though he’s been gripping Geno’s arm, hand, hoodie—anything he could get his hand on—for the entire time, he still can’t bring himself to actually look at him when Dr. Agarwal and the nurses finally leave the room.

“Sid,” Geno prods, sounding worried. “It’s going to be okay. You hear the doctor. Baby is alright, still healthy. I’m help take care of you, whatever you need. Make sure you’re not lose apartment if that’s what you want. Know you don’t like it but not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

Sid sucks in a shuddering breath and finally casts his eyes up. “Aren’t you going to say I told you so?”

Geno sighs and eases onto the hospital bed, drawing Sid into his arms. “No. That shitty thing to say and you not deserve that.”

“This is my fault. I do deserve it.”

Geno narrows his eyes, cups Sid’s cheek with his big hand and holds firm. “Don’t want to hear you say that again. Things been so hard on you with pregnancy, know how much you sacrifice already, know how scared you been. Think I not see how hard you try? Think I don’t know why you work so hard?”

“But I—”

“Did what you think you need to do,” Geno interrupts. “Because you’re thinking about life, future for you and baby. Is a lot of responsibility and I’m sorry things not work out the way you hope.”

“I just wanted to try to take care of myself.”

“I know. And you do such a good job, try so hard. Baby just… Maybe need little extra from you right now. So now I’m take care of you. Know you not want that, know is hard for you but not going to let you suffer or go back to work. I’m make sure bills paid for now, pay for rent too, if that what you need.” Geno looks so sincere, guilt hits Sid as hard as if someone punched him.

“Is that what you want?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want. Only matter what—”

“Geno, please,” Sid looks at him pleadingly. “It does matter what you want. Please?”

There’s a moment of hesitation long enough that Sid thinks Geno might not answer but then he says with a soft sigh. “No, I’m not want you stay in old apartment. Want you move in with me so I can be sure you have enough food, air conditioning, heat in winter. Want to go to games and practice and not worry about where you are and if you okay. I’m want to spend time with you, go to doctor, talk about baby, keep getting to know without having to set up meeting plans. But if that not work for you, then we figure it out, understand?”

It’s Sid’s turn to sigh as he nods before looking back up at Geno. “I—If it’s what you really want then I’ll, um, I’ll come stay with you.”  

Part of Sid hates it, hates that he’s getting into a situation where he has to rely on someone else to meet his needs. But a bigger part of him, the part that was terrified tonight and wants desperately to be healthy for his baby is finally ready.

“You sure, Sid? Never want to push you.”

“I’m sure,” Sid nods. “You’re right and you’ve been right. And I don’t…” he trails off and when he speaks again, his voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “I was so scared.” He’s blinking back tears again but Geno doesn’t bat an eye, just pulls him close and leans them back on the bed.

Dr. Agarwal monitors Sid closely for the next few hours. He gets two bags of IV fluid and orders some chicken broth and toast when she asks him to eat to be sure he can keep the food down. He tells Geno more than once to go home and each time Geno just frowns at him like he’s lost his mind. It’s late, after ten, when she finally discharges Sid with strict instructions to stay on bedrest for the next several days and three appointments to check in with her.

He’s so relieved that the baby is okay that he doesn’t argue. The only time he starts to complain is when the nurse brings in a wheelchair for him but he barely gets two words out when Dr. Agarwal is giving him a stern look. “Bedrest, Sidney, or I’ll admit you for the next week.” He snaps his mouth shut and climbs dutifully into the chair, letting Geno wheel him out of the room.

It’s not until they’ve made it halfway down the hall that Geno leans forward and whispers, “She little bit scary,” making Sid snort with soft laughter. He twists just enough to smile gratefully at Geno who winks and smiles back. 

Part 20