#i can count on one hand the amount of days this month ive gone without crying

[marcusarmstrng]

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[havin-a-wee]

If Only She Knew

pairing: dad!harry x cheerleader!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut (fingering + unprotected sex), cheerleading position implies readers weight, 20 year age gap

hi! ive been having some really bad writers block but i wrote this and even though its def not my best work i like it enough to post it :) also, i totally didn't mean to imply the readers weight, i only realized afterwards, so im really sorry about that. also the age gap is kinda big, so if ur uncomfy with that you shouldn't read this <3

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

“Geez watch where you’re going!”

You don’t even look up at the girl, recognizing her nasally voice easily from how annoying it is. You were nose deep in a book while walking down the school hallway, and of course your worst enemy had to be walking down the same hallway, at the same time, in the opposite direction. You are both at fault for the collision, considering Ella had her eyes locked on her instagram feed. But knowing the girl, there is no way in hell that she will take any responsibility, even though you are the one who has coffee dripping down the front of your white blouse.

Since middle school, Ella Styles has always hated you. You have never known why, but she seems to have a vendetta against you, and tries her best to make your life miserable. You never let her, always refraining from giving her the explosive reaction that she was looking for. And that makes her hate you even more.

High school is over in 2 months, and although you are going to miss the freedom of being a child, you most definitely won’t miss the people from the tiny town you’ve lived in since you were young. You’ve always been the type of person to have a small friend group, only 4 people in your circle. But that’s how you like it, because crippling social anxiety makes it difficult for you to meet new people.

“I- sorry.” You still don’t look at her, instead peeling the soaking wet top off of your stomach.

“You better be sorry.” She flips her blonde hair, ensuring that the fluffy locks hit you right in the face. You are lucky this time seeing as she didn’t take it further, because sometimes she would purposely embarrass you after small incidents such as this one.

Tears well at your waterline and you run into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the blue door and locking yourself in a stall.

After all these years of torment, Ella rarely was able to get to you. But sometimes, she does something that pushes you off the edge, leaving you with red, tear-stained cheeks. The final straw this time was her ruining your brand new shirt, the one you were anxiously waiting to debut at school.

But now there was coffee dripping down your chest and staining the bright white fabric. Your only saving grace is the cheerleading uniform in your backpack. In fact, you were walking to the locker room to change for practice, and then for the game at 6 tonight.

You had been excited for the game, knowing that Friday night games always led to parties and fun afterwards. You rarely go to parties of course, but the buzzing energy never fails to rub off on you. But now that stupid Ella had to go and mess up your day, you’re dreading seeing her smug face while she asserts her dominance as cheer captain.

You untie your top and rip it off in a haste, frustrated tears running down your face periodically. You could’ve put a jacket on and gone to the locker room, but Ella would be going there soon, and the last thing you want to do is run into her with teary eyes. She can’t know that you let her get to you.

You brush your hands down your uniform, pulling down the skimpy costume and stuffing your old clothes in your backpack. Once out of the stall, you pull your hair up into a high ponytail, reapply your lip gloss and walk back into the hallway, having already done your makeup that morning. You’re happy that it’s a home game today, because the home game uniforms are two pieces and the skirts are smaller than the ones on the away game uniforms. There is a certain someone you are looking to impress, and the way your tits spill out from the top of the outfit will most certainly help you in your mission.

It’s not like you need to impress him, because he’s shown time and time again that he finds you sexy no matter what you wear. And when he doesn’t tell you, he shows you, by pressing his hard on up against your ass after you just woke up, despite your messy hair and bare face.

However, he also loves when you tease him. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do.

You sling your heavy backpack over one shoulder and trudge down the hallway, the old fluorescent lights practically blinding you on your journey. The locker room is dingy, smelling of cheap soap and Victoria’s Secret perfume. At least it doesn’t smell like the boys locker room, which smells like sweat and more sweat.

It's already bustling with people, your teammates scrambling to get ready in time as to not get yelled at by the coach.

“Y/N!” The familiar shout of your best friend Rose is like a breath of fresh air, and you bound over to her. She’s standing in front of your lockers, the two of you obviously picking ones next to each other. “Wait, why are you already changed?”

“The bitch spilled her coffee all over me,” you grumbled, your eyes shifting over to where Ella and her little goons are giggling.

“I keep telling you, anytime you want me to beat her up I will gladly do it.”

“Not that I doubt your abilities Rose, because I know you would have her on the ground in a heartbeat, but I can’t let you do that. She can’t know that she upsets me.” You lower your voice for the second sentence, irrationally fearing that she can hear you over the loud chatter echoing through the room.

“I still think you should let me beat her up, but you do you I guess.” Rose shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her locker, bursting out into laughter with you after a beat of silence.

The rest of the getting ready process goes smoothly, Rose distracting you from the girl side-eyeing you in the corner. Soon enough, the whole squad was in formation outside, and you have your hands on the shoulders of Rose and another girl named Bethany. You are a flyer, meaning that you’re the one who the bases support while you pose and flip in the air. Its a hard job, but you are one of only three girls on the team who is advanced enough at flying to be safe doing it in routines. One of the other three girls is Ella.

Ella is the flyer for the middle group, seeing as she is the captain. You are on the right and the other group is on the left. Luckily, Rose is a base in your group, so you feel a lot better putting your safety in the hands of someone you already trust with your life.

“ELLA! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” Coach Habbiths voice is piercing, her angry shrieks bouncing off your ear drums. Ella audibly huffs, displaying her frustration with the critiques she has been receiving since we learned the routine weeks ago. That’s one of the biggest problems with Ella, she believes that she's always right.

Every single practice she has done a needle instead of a scale at the end of the routine. It's aggravating for everyone, and that frustration is amplified everytime she makes the same mistake over and over. “Alright, everyone down. group 1 and group 3 take five, Ella and group 2 stay on the field.

The team obliged to her instructions, and you are brought down from the air.

“Okay Ella, I want you to watch how Y/N does the last move, because she’s actually doing it correctly.” Coach is standing in front of you now, and she emphasized the word ‘correctly’. This is much to Ella’s dismay, and much to your excitement.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing Ella’s face when you one up her, and this time is no exception.

Aside from a few eye rolls and nasty looks, Ella corrects the move without much fuss. By now there's 15 minutes until the game, and the players have been warming up on the field for about half an hour.

“Did you see her face!” Rose tugs on your arm while you walk back to the locker room, water bottles in hand.

“I know! I should’ve taken a picture!”

“We can only hope that it knocked her ego down a peg.”

“I doubt it” Rose nodded in agreement and you continued your chatter, talking about the random things that best friends talk about.

“It’s go time ladies!” You jumped in surprise when Coach Habbiths yelling booms through the locker room, the hefty amount of metal in the room enhancing the echo.

In a blur, your entire team rushed out onto the field, the crisp air cooling your warmed skin. There was a huge crowd. probably the biggest the teams ever had. But that makes sense, because this game was against your school's biggest rival. Luckily, despite the huge crowd you were able to lock eyes with those piercing green irises you have gotten to know so well over the past couple months. Everytime you see him he gets more and more attractive, and this time is no exception.

At this point, the teams routine is muscle memory and you’re done with it before you can blink. Most people would think that being thrown in the air is memorable, but your main concern is the growing wet patch on your panties that spreads each time you squeeze your thighs together. Just the thought of the man is enough to turn you on, and now that you’re sitting on the cold metal bench your imagination has time to go wild.

The only thing that snapped you out of your daze was the eruption of appaulause from the audience, and the realization that the other cheerleaders were standing up and running towards the players. You breath out a sigh of relief, recognizing the cheering as a signal that the game has ended.

“Hey, you coming?” Rose tugs on your arm, looking down at you still on the bench.

“Um, actually I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going to go home.”

“I should’ve known. You know, one day you’re going to have to go to a party.” Rose places her hands on her hips, giving you a sarcastically annoyed stare.

“And today is not that day.” You grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, turning back to Rose for a second. “Have fun and be safe.”

“I always do.” Rose places a chaste kiss on your cheek before turning back to the gathering crowd on the turf.

Instead of heading to the sidewalk and walking home, you duck under the bleachers and walk down the gravel path, pushing open the fence that separates the field and the school. The contents of your backpack slosh around while you sway your hips as you walk. Finally, you make it to the back wall of the school, leaning your back against it and plopping your heavy backpack down by your feet.

And now you wait.

Much to your convenience, the wait this time isn’t long, only five minutes passing before you see the familiar man following the same path you did earlier.

He has a pair of brown slacks on, pressing against his waist courtesy of his black belt. A button up white shirt hides the tattoos on his stomach, but he's rolling up his sleeves as he walks over to you. He's walking with intention, hungry eyes zeroed in on you.

When he’s only steps away, you cheekily bite your lip and use your finger to push up your skirt a little bit more.

Your actions have the intended effect, his eyes blowing wide and hands grasping at your waist.

“Y’can’t do that.”

Before you have a chance to ask what he means, his lips collide with yours, his tongue slipping in only moments after the initial kiss. But as soon as he started, he pulls away.

“Y’can’t be teasing me on the field like tha’, had me hard next t’my friends.” His hand is on the wall above your head, and his other arm is wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest. He’s panting, and you are too.

“Sorry Mr. Styles,” you push your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the most innocent look possible. “Just wanted to wear it cause I know how much you like it.”

“Aw, my babygirl wore this f’me? Well I guess y’can be forgiven. Now let’s get t’my house before I fuck yeh right on this wall.” He places a soft kiss to your lips picking up your backpack from the floor and turning to the direction of his car.

“But it hurts!” He turns around again, giving you a sympathetic look and caressing your cheek. The rings on his fingers are cold, but you’re used to the feeling.

“I know sweet girl, but I can’t take care of yeh here, s’too risky.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of a solution to your not so little problem. “How bout I give y’my fingers in the car? Hows that sound hm?” You nod eagerly, pulling his hand down from your cheek and holding it. He takes the signal and begins walking to his car while you follow him.

You never planned to sleep with your bullies dad. But a few months ago your parents dragged you to a family friends housewarming party, and that friend happened to be a friend of Harry’s too. There were no other teenagers there, so your focus was on the attractive older man who had been checking you out since you first locked eyes, and after ending up in the upstairs bathroom together the two of you have been fucking at least twice a week. You only learned that he’s a dad when you saw him for the first time outside the party. He didn’t look the part, and you actually thought he was in his 20s until he corrected you. He’s 38, having become a parent at only 20 years old. Your relationship is a bit taboo, but you’re a mature 18 year old and you and Harry get along well. So well that your time together has developed from casual sex to a mutually exclusive relationship. (Neither of you like labels, but you’re basically boyfriend and girlfriend).

He makes you really happy, and when you have to face off against Ella, it helps knowing that you have power over her, even though she doesn’t know it.

“Did she do anything today?” Harry is walking beside you, hands still intertwined.

“Besides spilling coffee on my shirt, nothing much.” Harry sighs in frustration and squeezes your hand as a show of affection.

“M’so sorry, I wish y’didn’t ‘ave to deal with her.”

The thing about Harry and Ella is they can barely be considered family. Ella’s mom is, for lack of a better word, a bitch. She’s snobby, conceited, and rude, and those behaviors have rubbed off on Ella. Another thing that rubbed off on her was her mom’s hatred for Harry. Being young parents put strain on their already struggling relationship, and they split before Ella’s first birthday. Harry said he tried his best to make it work for Ella’s sake, but her mom was looking for someone to pay for her life, and Harry had just started working his way up as a businessman.

Now, he’s a CEO, but luckily Ella’s mom already found a new beau with plenty of money, so she didn’t come crawling back to him. However, the success Harry achieved only a few years after their breakup made her jealous, and so she instilled that anger in their daughter. So currently Ella spends most of her time with her mother, and when she is with Harry she doesn’t treat him kindly.

“It’s not your fault Harry, you don’t have to apologize for her actions.”

“I know, I jus’ hate tha’ she treats yeh like that.” He sighs again, reaching into his pocket to grab his keys. In a few more steps you’re standing outside the sleek black suv, walking around to the passenger seat and sliding in once you hear the click of the door unlocking.

You both take a few seconds to breathe, an unspoken gesture to prepare for the night's events. Harry turns to you, a sexy smirk plastered on his face. “What d’ya think about fixin’ that ache darlin?” You nod eagerly, sliding down a bit in your seat to give your legs room to spread. “Think yeh can take off y’skirt fo’me?” Your head bobs once again as you nod, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband and shimmying out of the skirt. While you’re doing that, Harry turns the car into the deserted street, using only one hand to steer.

You toss the tiny skirt into his lap, giving him a signal without distracting his eyes from the road. He reacts immediately, his free hand coming down to squeeze your thigh. You mewl at the contact and bite down on your lip, trying to stop your hips from bucking up in search of relief. His squeezes move up your thigh, and finally his fingers press against your weeping cunt. Swiftly, he pushes your soiled panties to the side, swiping his fingers up your folds collecting your juices. You shriek and buck your hips up into his hand, but much to your dismay he removes it from between your thighs. The car comes to a stop at a red light, and Harry takes the moment to look at you, his eyes wandering your squirming body. He’s practically drooling when he places his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweet wetness.

“Sorry pup, jus’ needed t’taste yeh.” He chuckles again, and you whine softly in desperation. In one quick motion, he dives his hand back to your pussy, pressing his thumb on your swollen clit.

“Fuck!” The pleasure shoots up your spine, goosebumps raising across your body as he rubs circles on the puffy button. “Harry- please,”

“What d’ya want puppy? Want m’fingers?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe out, words barely comprehensible through your panting.

“Alright, alright, I gotcha.” And with that his two fingers press into you, filling your tight hole perfectly. There is no hesitation before he begins pumping the digits in and out of you and his thumb never lets up on your bundle of nerves. “Such a needy puppy, got yeh soaking f’me from out in the stands hm?” His eyes are still on the road, but you can picture the lust filled eyes that are undoubtedly on his face.

“Get so wet jus- just thinkin’ about you,” you gasp, writhing as his fingers slam in and out of you.

“Yeah? This is my cunt, m’the only one who can make yeh this wet, isn’t tha’ right?”

“Only Harry.” At your confirmation he speeds his hand up, your vision clouding with white spots as the knot building in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

All of a sudden, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty. “Wha-” You begin to question him but you realize that he’s pulling into his driveway. Instead of complaining, you sit up quickly and unbuckle your seatbelt, pulling your skirt back up your legs to avoid being nude on his front lawn.

As soon as you feel the little jolt your hand yanks on the handle and you hop out of the car. Your brain is fuzzy with need and all you are focused on is alleviating the aching between your thighs. You hear Harry lock the car while you're on the steps, and you turn back to ensure that he’s behind you. And sure enough, he’s hot on your trail, just as eager as you to get inside and onto his bed. Your foot is tapping on the ground anxiously, waiting for Harry to unlock the front door. After what seems like an hour, he is next to you again, fumbling with the silver keychain in his hand, eventually unlocking and pushing open the door. You both practically run inside, hands roaming each other's bodies and lips locking as you shuffle through the hall.

You disconnect breathlessly when you reach the stairs, subconsciously wrapping your hands around Harry’s neck so he can pick you up bridal style. He does so hastily, barely a second passing before he’s plopping you onto the fluffy mattress. “Finally,” he pants, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. There’s a prominent bulge in his trousers, and although you’ve seen it plenty, you are always in awe at how thick and big he is. While he’s busy removing his clothes, you are practically drooling at the sight of his bare cock, full, heavy, and dripping precome.

“Harry?”

He looks back down at you with his emerald green eyes, simultaneously dropping his recently-removed shirt on the floor. “Can I ride you?” The look he gives you is indescribable, a mixture of need, lust, cockiness, and beauty all rolled up into one.

“Whatever y’want puppy,” His hands scoop under your ass, and he lifts you up and switches your positions. Now it’s your turn to undress, and Harry makes himself busy by running his hands up and down your torso. “So gorgeous, y’know that?” You nod quickly then pull your shirt off of your head. “Most beautiful girl in the world I reckon.” You blush at the compliment, butterflies being added to the many sensations occuring in your body. You straddle his thighs, wrapping your hand around his length and tugging a few times. A loud groan rumbles through his throat, and you smile knowing you’re the one who made him feel like that. “Thought- thought yeh said y’wanted to ride me pup.”

“I do.” You keep your hand on his cock, sitting up on your knees and lining him up with your weeping cunt. All at once, your body is put at ease as his cock fills you up perfectly. He bottoms out inside of you, both of you moaning and groaning while you adjust. “So big-” Your words come out in choppy pants, the syllables being cut off by your heaves. You suck in one deep breath and move upwards, sinking back down onto him quickly. His large hands hold a tight grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his member. His lips attach to your neck, suckling on the supple skin just enough so that it doesn’t bruise.

“What a dirty little puppy you are,” he growls, eyes focusing heavily on where your bodies connect, watching himself disappear inside of you as you bounce up and down on his cock.

“Feel so full-” Tingles ricochet down every part of your body, and your legs are becoming weaker with each movement. Harry can feel your movement faltering, so his hips thrust upwards to meet yours, fucking you from underneath. “Harry!”

“I know pup, I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek and he leans in for another kiss, devouring your plump lips and swirling his tongue around yours. “So fuckin tight,” The words tumble from his mouth in a low growl, which sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. His cock twitches inside of you, encouraging you to muster all your energy and finish both of you off. Adrenaline kicks in and your strength returns, riding him faster and harder than before. “Let go f’me Y/N.” It only takes a few more thrusts for you to come undone, Harry’s orgasm following suit. The waves of pleasure roll through your body, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as you allow the feeling to overcome your body. Spurts of his hot cum cover your velvety walls and you ride out your orgasms together, resting your foreheads against one another.

You end up sleeping at his house, feeling safe knowing that Ella is staying with her mom today. It’s normal for you to sleep at his place, seeing as both of you are usually so tired that you pass out before you can leave. What isn’t normal is for you to be woken up in the morning by Harry’s phone ringing. Harry is a deep sleeper, and you laugh at the sight of him conked out while his ringtone blares on the nightstand just a few inches away. Carefully, you reach over his sleeping body and grab the phone, planning on hanging it up and going back to bed. However, when you saw that it was Ella calling, you changed your mind. Making a split second decision, you slide the icon to the right, holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?” Her whiney voice rings through your eardrum and you wince. Not the nicest thing to be woken up to.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice not reflecting the cocky grin that spread across your face.

“Who the hell is this!” she shrieks, and you make a mental note that she must not be a morning person.

“A friend of your dads.” Your response is once again calm and monotone, trying to stifle the laugh that is bubbling in your throat.

“Ugh! What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N”

[calcifermovesthecastle]

Shared Language

Ghiaccio x Florist!Reader, gn pronouns, fluff ending

1000 follower giveaway for @therealcozyy after a million years I’m so sorry

Warnings: kind of angst, hospitalization and IV’s but nothing major

At the end of a busy day, all you want to do is close up shop and trudge to the apartment the floor above you, and collapse into bed. Thirteen Bridal Bouquets, Add on roughly six each for bridesmaids, as well as walkin customers have you frenzied and harrowed and exhausted, your hands aching with the amount of work you pulled today. Annoyance shoots through you when you hear the patronizing ring of the bell, signaling someone new, and you squeeze your eyes shut, collecting yourself before you turn around. 

"I'm horribly sorry, but we are closed for the night, so-" Your voice trails off when your eyes graze over the Passione pin glinting on the man's shirt, and you visibly wilt when your eyes travel up to his face. "Of course. How much do I owe you?" 

"It's a protection fee. It's not any lower or higher than it's ever been," He responds, looking just as annoyed with the situation as you feel. You sigh, biting your tongue, and crouch behind the counter, skimming the shelves for the envelope you usually keep the fee in. 

"Right, here you are. Um, let me count it out just to make sure I have it all, if that's alright?" 

His eyes meet yours, narrowing, before he shrugs, resting his hands on the counter. You flip through the bills, organizing them by every fifty euros. He watches you count like a hawk, his eyes flicking to your face when you purse your lips in a particular way and freeze. 

"Shit." 

You disappear into the back office, and he can see you rummaging around, looking more and more stressed as you go. 

"Is there a problem?" He calls after you, an edge to his voice.

"No, no, it's-" You come back out to the front, looking near tears as you open the cash register. Your voice cracks when you speak again. "No, there's not a problem. Give me just a moment." 

By the time you've finished counting, there's ten euros left in the register, and tears have started to pool into your eyes. You have to swallow to speak, and when you do, your voice is soft and catches on each word. 

"There. Ten-Ten thousand Euros." You recount once more just to make sure it's all there, tucking it back into the envelope and handing it over to him. His eyebrows knit as he glances to your register, and your lip trembles when you speak again. "Now, really, sir, I do have to close up for the night." 

Even though he's left your shop, he remains in his car, watching you lean over your desk and cry as you appear to do some calculations. Wordlessly, he drives away. 

    -

You're in the middle of arguing with a customer on the price of a standard funeral basket when the bell rings, and one glance over at the door has you panicking. 

"Shit, sir, you need to leave," You usher the fuming customer out the door and swivel, your eyes wide, at the man from last night. "Was it not enough?! Are you going to take my-" 

"Woah, slow down!" He holds up his hands. "I just- do you want- cazzo," He spits, shoving his hands in his pockets. You shift nervously, hysteria quickly threatening to well up past your throat. "Shit. I saw that you didn't have much left yesterday, so I wanted to- buy you lunch." 

You aren't sure if you heard him properly, but when what he says finally registers, your legs crumple underneath you. 

You wake to a concerned blue haired man, and a curious purple haired one who's taking your pulse and checking you over for injuries. 

"Oh, good, you're awake," The purple haired one smiles cooly, helping you sit up. You press a hand to the back of your head, wincing. "Ghiaccio here called me in a frenzy when you passed out. I'd pass out too if he ever asked me out to eat." 

The blue haired one- Ghiaccio, glares daggers at his companion, practically frothing at the mouth, his teeth grinding back and forth. The purple haired one pays him no mind, continuing his conversation with you as if you were old friends. 

"I don't think you need to go to the hospital, but my advice is close early and get some rest. 

"I- what?" Your mind is still trying to catch up to what's happening- two men from Passione acting so casual with you it's like you've known them for years. You frown, gingerly rubbing the back of your head. Not Ghiaccio chuckles, the corners of his lips quirking up with the action as he repeats himself. 

"I- I can't. I can't afford to close early. My rent is due in three days and I have 300 euros. That makes me 1700 euros short and if I'm short again I'll lose my business." 

"Have you eaten since last night?" Ghiaccio speaks up, his words harsher than he probably intends. You stare at him blankly. 

"No?" 

"Do you want to?" 

"I-" You glance at the clock. "I would, but…" 

"What if we brought you some food back here?" Not Ghiaccio coos, earning a death glare from his companion. You bite your lip, slowly getting to your feet. 

"I guess so? If you're offering." 

"I'll be back in forty minutes," Ghiaccio ushers his companion out of your shop, and you're left alone to mull over what happened. 

True to his word, he strolls back into your shop forty five minutes later, a bottle of water and a box of margherita pizza in hand. He sets it on your counter, biting his bottom lip nervously. 

"Are you pitying me?" You ask him quietly, reaching out for the bottle of water, pausing just before you grasp it.

"Since when is doing something nice for someone pitying them?" He looks genuinely taken aback, and you can see anger rising in his face. You decide to let the issue go, opening the box and taking a slice of pizza. 

"It's not something you had to do," You take a bite, feeling a little awkward that you're eating in front of him. "But thank you." 

He takes a slice of pizza for himself, looking uncomfortably stiff as he eats. You share a tense silence with him, your mind reeling with the possibilities of his presence. 

"Are you not enjoying yourself?" 

"I could ask you the same thing," You turn to him, pulled out of your funk. "You're standing in my lobby still as a statue, looking like I just gave you the worst news of your life." 

"What the hell does that mean?" He snaps, stiffening even more. You cover your mouth to hide the smile forming on your lips. Maybe you could enjoy his company after all. 

"It means if your eyebrows knit together any further, you're going to form a unibrow," You take a discreet sip of the water he gave you, laughing when he swivels to face the window, trying to see what you're describing. 

His heart stutters when he hears it, the way your mirth sounds so musical and carefree. God, he thinks to himself. He could listen to that forever.

"Hey, listen," You set the bottle of water down, moving around behind the counter for a moment. When you look satisfied, he watches as you come around the counter and present him with a small bouquet, mixed with white clover, pink sweet pea, Hydrangeas, and peach colored roses. "Thank you."

His face burns as he reaches out and takes the flowers, his heart hammering in his chest when his hand grazes yours. You smile gently at him, retreating back behind the counter. He can't find anything else to say, so he gives you a gruff goodbye and leaves your shop, sitting in his car long after he arrives home. 

-

"Who're the flowers from?" Prosciutto looks up from his book, eyebrow raised in question as Ghiaccio enters the hideout. Ghiaccio balks, stammering in a mix of embarrassment and indignation. 

"The florist three blocks down. Why do you need to know?" 

"Oh? They never give me flowers when I collect their protection fee," Prosciutto hums, tilting his head. 

"When's the last time you bought them lunch?" Melone drapes himself over the back of the couch Prosciutto lounges on, grinning coyly at Ghiaccio as he searches for a vase. Prosciutto hums again in understanding. 

"Their shop still not doing too well, huh? How much did they have left this time?" 

"You make it sound like you want their business to fail," Pesci whines, jutting his lower lip out. "They're always so nice to me when I collect the fee. They'd lose their home if they shut down." 

"They had ten euros," Ghiaccio answers, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, setting the arrangement of flowers inside and carrying it to his room. He gingerly places it on his windowsill, tilting it until he's satisfied that it would get the best amount of sunlight. Prosciutto appears in the door, entering without asking and leaning over Ghiaccio's shoulder to peer at the flowers. His mouth quirks up into a smile when he's satisfied and turns to leave. 

"What? What's that face for?" Ghiaccio stops him from leaving, his tone demanding. Prosciutto looks too smug for his own good, his eyes slanted downwards as he studies Ghiaccio's form. 

"Look up the meaning of those flowers and you'll understand," Prosciutto sidesteps and leaves with a wave of his hand, leaving Ghiaccio fuming. 

-

He had wanted to come by sooner, but unfortunately, got caught up in an odd schedule where he'd travel from job to job, and got stuck in Rome for a month on a hit that only paid One Hundred thousand euros. By the time he'd come back home, he did nothing but sleep and keep up on the paperwork for two days. 

The next time he shows up at your shop, you're not there, and the windows and doors have been boarded up. The sign on the entrance says "Gone out of business."    

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" He kicks the door frame furiously with each swear, earning some strange glances and some comments. 

"Christ, man, they weren't even the best florist in town. It's a wonder they stayed afloat as long as they did." 

"Heard it was because they couldn't pay their rent this month. Honestly, with how much Passione charges, it's not even a protection fee anymore, it's an eviction notice waiting to happen." 

"Honestly, they're just flowers. Why is he so worked up?" 

"The person running the shop wasn't even that personable." 

The crowd he'd accumulated falls silent when he turns around, his expression nothing less than smoldering. Some furtive glances at his pin, and soon, the street is empty. 

He meanders back home, kicking pebbles to the side, glowering at anyone even remotely in his way, and slams the door so hard it almost falls off of the hinges when he arrives, earning a displeased look from Prosciutto. 

"What's the matter with you?" 

"Where the fuck are they?" 

"That's rather vague," Prosciutto lights a cigarette and leans back on the couch, resting his ankle on his knee. "Did you have a hit go wrong, or-" 

"The fucking-" Ghiaccio all but stomps over to where his colleague sits, ripping the cigarette from his mouth and taking a deep dreg himself. Prosciutto's brow furrows in annoyance, but he doesn't say anything as he pulls out another from his silver case and lights it. "The florist. They went out of business. Where did they go?" 

"Like I should know the answer to that," Prosciutto scoffs, tapping his ashes into the tray on the end table. Ghiaccio follows suit, taking another deep inhale, sputtering when it goes up his nose. Prosciutto huffs again, shrugging. "What am I? A babysitter? I told you they were going to go under." 

"Well, who collected their fee last?" Ghiaccio throws himself into the chair perpendicular to Prosciutto, tapping his ashes out. Prosciutto hums. 

"Had to have been Risotto. The rest of us were all on hits at the time it's usually collected." 

Ghiaccio bolts up, putting out his half smoked cigarette, earning a glare from Prosciutto. 

"If you're going to steal my smokes, the least you could do is finish them. These are expensive, you know." 

"Then buy a cheaper brand," Ghiaccio retaliates, walking back towards Risotto's office. "We're on a budget anyways, aren't we?"

Just barely in earshot, he can hear Prosciutto telling him to fuck off. Inhaling deeply, he knocks on his capo's door. 

-

"No clue." 

"What the fuck do you mean, no clue?" Ghiaccio's voice is nearing hysterics, and he taps his foot fast, his eyes blown wide. Risotto's demeanor doesn't change, he just hums. 

"Exactly that. I collected their fee two weeks ago. I was in and out. I didn't even know they were shut down until just five minutes ago, when you burst in here screaming about it." 

"Cazzo. CAZZO! Fine, I'll find them myself!" 

"You said Melone went and helped you with a fainting spell they had? See if he can help." 

"See if that slimy- oh." 

-

Of course. 

Of course it had to snow. 

You sit against the brick wall of the alleyway, doing your best to ignore the drug deal to your left, and the way your stomach twists painfully. 

"Hey! Hey, you!" 

You hunker down, your brow furrowed miserably, and close in on yourself a little more to stave off the cold. 

"Hey, you, on the ground! Get the fuck outta here. This is my turf!" Your screamer's legs appear in front of you, and you look up at him, dead eyed. "Jeez, you look like real shit, you know? When's the last time you ate?" 

"Leave me alone." 

"What, not even a hello?" Your perpetrator sneers, crouching to your level. You don't have it in you to even glare. You're too hungry. He scoffs, eyeing you. "Tch. Find somewhere else to starve to death, huh? You're making it hard for me to do my business." 

"Do you have to humiliate me any more than I already am?" You sigh, trying to get to your feet. "Fine. Just leave me alone."

You lean heavily on the wall, your legs trembling underneath you. Homelessness has not treated you well, and the stares your emaciated body receive only further your spiral into despair. 

You've barely made it to the next alley over when your legs give out, and you collapse face first into the accumulated snow. Hazily, you think to yourself that you have to get something to drink somehow, and pull yourself up, grabbing handfuls and shoving it into your mouth, nevermind how cold you already are, your thin long sleeves and tattered excuse for pants clinging wetly to your body. The only thing you can do now is wish for death to come faster than it does. You fall down onto your side and stare blankly at the opposite wall, willing yourself to fall asleep. 

You think you see a pair of legs come to a halt in front of you before you slip into a haze. 

-

When you wake again, a flat white ceiling greets you instead of a cloudy sky, and you notice the weight of a blanket on you. Hazily, you glance over and notice an IV drip hanging out of your arm, and a somewhat familiar blond haired man in a suit sitting next to your bed, smoking a cigarette and absentmindedly reading a newspaper. His eyes flick over when he senses your movement, and his brow shoots up. The paper is set aside, and he takes a generous hit from his cigarette before speaking. 

"Good morning. We weren't sure if you were going to pull out of that or not. You've been asleep for almost four days. It's funny. You lose your business, and suddenly, you drop off of our radar. It was quite a chore to find you, you know." 

"Are you mocking me?" You croak, trying to pull yourself up into a sitting position. The blond appraises you for a minute, puffing smoke out of his mouth. "Are we in a hospital? I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to smoke in hospitals." 

"I doubt the staff is going to give me a hard time," The man speaks lightly, lounging back. "You certainly are something. You've been awake two minutes and you already have a smart mouth?" A small smile lights up his features. "I guess you could say that you're a trooper." 

"I'm starving," You bite your lip, turning away, your eyes widening when you finally place the man. "Shit! You're from Passione! Oh my god, oh, I lost my-" 

"I already know that," The man waves you off. "I'm just here to keep an eye on you and take you home once you get discharged." 

"But I don't- I don't have a home," You place your thumbnail between your teeth, looking at him anxiously. He dismisses you again, snubbing out his smoke.

"That's why I'm here, kid." 

His vagueness annoys you, but one glance at the box of apple juice and ham sandwich on your bedside tray has anything you want to say dying in your mouth, and by the time you've scarfed it down, tears spark at the corner of your eyes, and any animosity towards the gangster has dissipated. 

"Thank you." 

-

The blond- he's since introduced himself as Prosciutto, drives in silence away from the hospital, not saying anything to you about where you're going. You fidget nervously in the passenger seat, jumping when he parks the care and tells you that you've arrived. 

You're still a little unsteady on your feet, so Prosciutto guides you down the stairs with a hand on the small of your back, and leans across you to unlock and open the door. The minute you step inside, you're greeted with almost everyone who's come to collect your protection fees. The only one missing is the blue haired one who bought you lunch- Ghiaccio. 

The...boss… Risotto, as introduced, gives you a quick tour of your new residence, telling you that everything is free range, that he's going to have you take on some of the deskwork in return, and shows you to your room. Inside is a bed and a few changes of clothes in the closet. At this point, you're teetering on the edge of bawling your eyes out, and you can barely choke out a thank you, giving him a wobbly smile. You swear you can see him smile in return. 

-

You're sitting on the edge of your bed that night, fidgeting nervously, your mind spinning 100 miles per hour, when there's a knock at your door. You practically jump out of your skin, and call out a shaky "Come In." 

The door creaks open slowly, and there he is, his hands hidden behind his back. 

Ghiaccio. 

You stand slowly, your eyes searching his face. 

"Did you-" You catch yourself, starting towards him hesitantly. He seems just as hesitant as he walks towards you. "Did you make this happen?" 

"Not really," His voice is soft and hoarse, and the way his brow is furrowed tells you just how worried he was, but the light in his eyes shows you how relieved he feels to see you in person again. "I just suggested it, really. Sort of… Panicked... When I saw your- your shop-" His voice falters when you reach out and grab his shoulder. Tears are welling in your eyes for what feels like the eightieth time today, and your lower lip trembles when your hand comes in contact with him. He's a little cold to the touch, but it's comforting and refreshing. 

"Thank you," You manage. He swallows thickly, revealing his hands and shoving something harshly in your direction. He's beet red now, and looking anywhere but you. You grab it, taken aback, and look down to inspect it. 

Now you really start to cry, tears spilling onto the arrangement of Daffodils, Daisies, purple lilacs, irises, and lavender roses. So much said in one little bouquet. A sob expels from your throat, and you look up at him, catching him watching you out of the corner of his eye. 

You set the flowers on your bed, stepping forward to wrap your arms around him. 

"They're good?" He sounds nervous, and stiffens at the contact. 

"They're wonderful," You confirm, your voice thick as you bury your face into his shoulder. His arms wind around you, then, and you can hear the relief in his voice when he murmurs to you again. 

"Welcome home."

[moonknightly]

and you keep me holding on : santiago garcia x reader (nine)

Word Count: 2.3k+

Excerpt: “He’s figured out that she thinks she’s dreaming every time she opens her eyes and sees him. She thinks that she’s going to wake up to Nathan and that Santiago will be gone.”

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, cursing, uhhh I think that’s it?

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

OCTOBER FIFTH — DAY TWO

Santi isn’t sure who calls her parents, but they’re in the waiting room the next morning and while he knows that they have every right to be there, he wishes that they would just go away. Her mother is already talking about taking her “home” the second she’s released from the hospital.

He doesn’t have the energy to fight with them yet, doesn’t know how to tell her grieving parents that her home is with him. She belongs with him, he’ll take care of her.

But then again, he’s already failed once.

Maybe she won’t feel safe with him anymore.

Maybe she won’t feel safe in the new apartment, she won’t recognize it. Sure, she’ll look around and see familiar furniture, some pictures and the duvet she’d picked out herself. Nevada. Maybe she’ll smell Santi’s cologne in the air or the stench from the cigarettes he smokes when things get just a little too hard, but it’ll all be in a space that’s entirely new.

Did he make the right decision? Should he have stayed at the last place?

No. No, he doesn’t think that would’ve been smart either.

Maybe she does need to go with her parents, back to the house she grew up in, where her room hasn’t been touched since she was in high school and everything is familiar.

But then she says his name in her sleep, and he knows that he’s not going to be able to let her go.

He knows he can take care of her. He’ll do it right this time, he’ll never let a damn thing happen to her ever again.

So Santi shuts it down the moment her mother brings it up again, and he’s surprised that her father actually sides with him on it. It doesn’t turn into an argument like he thought it would and he’s beyond thankful for that.

She stays asleep for most of the day, only waking up for a little while at a time, and when she does, she refuses to take her eyes off of Santi. It only serves as further confirmation that she needs him, he’s the right decision.

Jay offers to stay with them for a while, thinking maybe they’ll both feel better with another set of eyes, a little added protection, and at first Santi shakes his head — he feels guilty for some reason, he doesn’t know exactly why but he feels like it’s too much.

But then she has a nightmare, and he watches as Jay immediately reaches out and touches her cheeks to let her know she’s not alone, she’s safe and they’re right there. Santi’s positive that Jay has noticed that he hasn’t touched her yet, and he also knows that she probably needs someone who will be able to give her physical reassurance when she wants it.

So he caves, only if Jay will take his bed while he crashes on the couch and of course Jay says no.

But it’s not something they really have to worry or argue about right then.

She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

OCTOBER SIXTH — DAY THREE

Every single news channel has been covering her return just as much, if not more, as her disappearance. They’re still looking for Nathan, but Santi’s sure they’ll never find him. Not anytime soon, at least.

He didn’t know if he’d dumped her with the intention of her being found alive or dead, but either way he has to know she’s been found and that they’re looking for him again with the same amount of ferocity as they had been when she first went missing. He hates to think about that, how after just a few months everything just seemed to die down for everyone else but those in his little circle, and even then sometimes he felt like the only one who still cared.

Santi shakes his head and pushes those thoughts away.

Her. He just needs to focus on her.

They’d gotten her temperature up, and the cocktail of medicine they’d been pushing for the last three days seem to be doing their job. Her scans all came back clear, no damage to her heart or brain. All in all, she’s responding well to treatment.

She’s still confused though, still disorientated whenever she wakes up but the doctors assure Santi that it’s completely normal and to be expected. He’d asked them how long it would take for her to become lucid and coherent, and they hadn’t really been able to give him an answer.

Could be a few days, could be another week.

But it’s okay, she needs to rest. She needs to rest and Santi needs to get a fucking grip on himself so he can be there for her when she’s finally fully conscious again.

He thinks the nurses have started to notice that he’s keeping his distance, and that they’ve been setting him up to touch her in small ways that he can never really say no to.

“Can you fix her blanket for me?”

“Hold her hand up while I replace the bandage on her IV?”

“Help me slide her over?”

He always does what’s asked of him, but his fingers never linger and he’s managed to do it all without directly touching her skin so far. The sweatshirt she’s in is good for more than just keeping her warm.

But still, he doesn’t really count it as touching her. Direct contact with her body isn’t something he can even imagine right now because he still wants to cry every time he pulls away from her, and he’s only touching a fucking piece of clothing she’s wearing.

Santi needs to get his shit figured out.

It’s not fair to her, not in the least.

So at three in the morning, when he knows it’s going to be another hour before her morning labs are drawn, when he knows that there won’t be a single person in to bother them until then, he gets out of the chair he’s been living in and moves to sit on the end of her bed.

She stirs, and the panic in her eyes is immediate. Her fingers tighten around the blanket and she looks like she’s getting ready to scream or cry out.

He hates it. He hates causing it even though he knows that he’s not really the reason behind it.

He clears his throat and whispers her name, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering.

She blinks, his voice clearly registering in her head though she still looks confused and unsure, but the terror melts away. She knows this is someone safe, someone that she can trust and someone who isn’t going to hurt her. She’s safe.

“Stay.”

“I’m right here, baby.”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes again. “You always leave.”

He’s figured out that she thinks she’s dreaming every time she opens her eyes and sees him. She thinks that she’s going to wake up to Nathan and that Santiago will be gone.

It breaks his heart.

“You’re not dreaming sweetheart. You’re okay.”

She shakes her head again.

“I’m right here,” he repeats, taking a deep breath before he reaches his hand out, but he stops when he’s only an inch away.

There’s no heat radiating from her, and if he wasn’t standing there watching her breathe he’d be thinking the worst.

It finally hits Santi just how small and fragile she is.

And now he feels like if he touches her, he’ll break her.

He pulls his hand back.

He’ll try again tomorrow.

OCTOBER SEVENTH — DAY FOUR

It’s cold and dark and his voice is coming from all around her. He’s calling her name, threatening her with things that she tries so hard to block out but they still creep into her mind, filling her with even more panic and dread as she’s left to think about what he’s going to do to her once he finds her.

Nathan calls it “The Game”.

He gives her a thirty second head start, tells her to run as far and as fast as she can, and if she can get away, she’s free. She can go home.

But if he catches her, his twisted words become a reality. He’ll keep her chained up for a few days, or maybe it’s a couple weeks or even a month, she’s never really sure but then the cycle repeats.

And he always catches her, always. No matter how sure she is that she’s finally escaped, he’s always right there to pin her to the ground and have his way with her. He’s always there to crush her hope and what little faith she’s able to gain back in those brief moments of thinking she’s free.

She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind enough to focus. She needs to get moving.

She looks down to figure out which way she had come and there’s snow. She hates snow. She used to love it, back when her and Santi would go for walks around Christmas time, hot cocoa in hand with their arms linked together. She wonders if he’s put the tree up this year. She wonders if Christmas has already passed.

But per usual, that happy thought of Santiago is ripped away from her when she hears Nathan’s voice again, this time only closer. Her skin crawls.

She has to start running. She knows she’s not as fast as she used to be, she’s too weak, but she has to try.

God, she hates snow.

She never stands a chance. It’s always so easy for Nathan to follow her tracks, and it always feels like there are tiny little needles stabbing into her bare feet with each step she takes, but she doesn’t allow herself to feel it in the moment, no. She never thinks about the pain until The Game is over, because of course she’ll take that moment of pain in trade for freedom. She’ll take those pins in needles if it means she’s just one step closer to getting away.

She thinks she might have it this time. Nathan’s voice is far off again, and she can see something in the distance. A road, maybe.

Yes, a road. That was definitely a car zooming past.

She runs faster, that familiar hope blossoming in her chest. She’s so close, so so close. Just a few more yards-

But then there’s crushing weight on top of her, and rough hands grabbing at her hips and she doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

He found her, of course he found her.

She immediately starts to cry, kicking herself because she should have expected it, she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes so high. All Nathan does is laugh and pull her closer, and then she feels his hand move into her hair. He holds her head up so she can keep her eyes on the road while he gets himself ready to do what he always does.

She tries to just lay there, begging her mind to drift off towards Santi, towards her safe place. When she thinks about him instead of what’s happening, it’s not so bad. Santi makes it all better.

But then another car drives by, and then another, and another and she can’t focus on anything but the fact that she’d been so close. There were people right there, maybe close enough to hear her if she’s loud enough.

She screams.

She wakes up screaming.

She’s screaming and kicking and Santi’s immediately by her side, calling her name, begging her to look at him but she doesn’t hear a thing, doesn’t register it.

He calls out for a nurse, starting to panic, afraid that she’s hurt and in pain but then he hears his name leave her lips in a broken, mangled sob and he knows she must’ve been dreaming.

He wants to cry with her. He hates seeing her like this.

Two nurses rush into the room, trying to get her attention as well but to no avail. They’re asking her what hurts, what happened, but all she can do is thrash around and call out for Santi again.

Hearing her like that, it’s the final push he needs to finally reach out to her.

Santi takes her hand, kissing each of her knuckles once he feels like she’s not going to punch him while he whispers that it’s okay, he’s right here and he’s not leaving her. She’s not with Nathan, she’s not in danger. She’s okay.

She doesn’t calm down, not really, so beyond terrified that Santiago’s voice is nothing but a trick her mind is playing on her, that he is the dream, one her brain had created to block it all out.

He repeats his words a second time, moving one of his hands up to her cheek, and it seems to break her out of it just a little bit more. He brings the second one up so that he’s cupping her face, and he watches as she immediately melts into him.

“You’re okay, sweet girl, it’s okay. It’s me, Santi.”

She doesn’t open her eyes. He wishes she would, but he doesn’t expect her to, not really. She’s so tired and he’s sure crying has left her completely exhausted.

He knows he’s right when her breathing evens out again.

But he doesn’t let go. Now that he’s touched her, he doesn’t want to stop, even though he knows that once she’s coherent it’ll probably be the last thing she wants.

He’ll take it while he can get it though.

He holds her hand all night long.

[octalove]

IV: The Dinner

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Brief note; per demand, this little trilogy will now be an ongoing series🥺thank u all for the support! i was not expecting it at all. ur comments make my day!! i hope u enjoy this chapter bearing in mind that i wasn’t intending on a full length fic, so i hope u can put up with any missteps in the plot or writing. i’m making it up as i go. kiss kiss

Description: Reader makes an ally, and attends a tense dinner. part one, two, and three.

A mild blue dawn was just beginning to flit through the blinds, and I sighed heavily, stretching a little, and running a hand across my face. My skin was cold to the touch. Rolling over stiffly, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand.

5:26a.m.

Nineteen minutes before my alarm. I was too cold to go back to sleep, I knew, as much as Alfred had requested I try and get more of it. Pulling myself up, the sheets slipped off my bare shoulders and folded onto themselves. Once in a blue moon, I would forego making it up again, usually accompanied by an excuse. Today, I didn’t have one. I put my feet on the floor, mind buzzing.

I was done tossing and turning, and decided to get up and shower. Afterward, I threw on my uniform, and got to work on my face. A little bronzy eyeshadow, some mascara and lip balm. I could’ve turned my face into a work of art, but I was tired from my sleepless night and doing much else seemed like a strain.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.” I was expecting Bruce or Alfred, but I caught Tim’s reflection in my vanity mirror.

“Hey.” He said.

“Good morning.” I replied tensely. He sat on my bed. Okay. Weird. Tim was a year younger than me- but always ordained himself something of an older brother. His brainpower made learned helplessness and easy state to slip into when he was around- always fixing my PS4, or recovering lost files from my laptop. When we first met, I used to use those things as a crutch to interact with him, as neither of us were particularly forthcoming. These days, we were as close as any pair of siblings.

“What’s up?” I asked, tucking away my mascara wand.

“Oh, I just thought I’d… check up on you. Before school started.”

I was the only one of the Waynes attending Gotham Academy at the moment. Damian was still at Gotham Prep, but by the time he would attend next year, I’d be graduated. I wondered if Tim ever missed it. He garnered his fair share of attention; mostly because of his attractive status and predisposition of agreeability. Before he dropped out, I used the be the subject of mediation for every eligible teenage girl that wanted to get to know my brother- no, the other one. With the soft hair. The chem tutor.

I laughed a little. “Do I seem like I need it?” Tim shrugged. I got up and plopped on the duvet beside him. My window was open a crack, filling the room with a chilly breeze and the scent of moisture and petrichor.

“Did Bruce make you get up for this?” I tried again, keeping my playful tone. He sighed and shook his head.

“Bruce isn’t the only one who’s noticed you lately.” He said, with contrasting seriousness that made my smile fall.

“What’s there to notice? Seriously.” I questioned.

He sighed again and twisted his lip. I knew what that meant. He was about to list everything different I’d been doing for the past three weeks, either alphabetically or by severity. “You look tired. You get home and go straight to your room. You keep fidgeting during briefings. You look distracted. You’re avoiding Damian- which, I get it- but like, more than usual. Dick said you haven’t texted him all week. You usually have something to say about your day at dinner, but-“

“Okay. I get it.”

A brief moment passed, where I watched him pull a looser string from the duvet.

“I know you went somewhere. On the 21st, when we were patrolling in Otisburg. You went somewhere for forty-two minutes.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything-“ He added quickly, looking at me. “Really, I have know idea why you left. I’m sure it was nothing, I just… you’ve been acting weird ever since. Where did you go?”

I swallowed, and my intestines felt like lead. Really, I was relieved. Here I was, in my room I’d decorated with Wayne money, with my brother who evidently cared enough about me to notice my typical word count at dinner, asking me what was wrong. And a lot was wrong.

So, I smoothed my plaid skirt and told him about the night of the 21st- and only that. From Red Hood, to Hoffman, to the warehouse. Every vivid detail I could remember. I decided to leave out my little truancy adventure, along with meeting him in the alley. Lifting up his mask. Having his exposed skin close enough to touch. His gunpowder smell. By the end, Tim was frowning. The following silence could’ve crushed a coke can.

“Shit.” He muttered.

“Yeah.” I echoed. “Shit.”

He didn’t asked why I didn’t tell Bruce. Or Anyone. He didn’t ask why it was so important to me to do this by myself. All he did was take in the information and start putting it together.

“Jesus- you could’ve died. But all that Hoffman stuff. Why you?”

“Exactly!” I breathed.

Another knock on the door, and Alfred’s voice carried through, telling me it was time to go. I got up. Tim nodded and followed suit, no doubt carrying my every last recounting in his piggy-bank memory.

“Please don’t tell Bruce.” I said, some amount of fear slipping into my voice. “I know it was a stupid thing to do and it was stupid not to tell anyone. But he’ll never trust me again.” Tim hesitated at the door.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

I climbed into the backseat of the car, and stared at the cityscape running past the windows. The anxiety had lifted. One of my growing number of secrets revealed. In its wake, the sudden absence left a sense of clarity. I remembered why I had kept it to begin with.

Dick was gifted. The first. The talented boy who could fly. Babs and Tim were brilliant; genius far beyond the confines of academia. Damian was skilled. Trained from birth, the blood son. It nestled here him neatly, right where he belonged. What was I? I wasn’t born with athletic ability beyond my years, or genius intellect. Without that information- without my secrets- I had nothing else to give.

*

Thursday night was dinner. The whole family. It was Bruce’s excuse to drag Dick out of his apartment in Blüdhaven, and for Alfred to exercise a new recipe, since everyone was on a strict lean-means and superfoods regimen every other waking day. Babs attended occasionally, when work didn’t keep her busy, and Tim was only allowed to pass if he promised to rest instead.

I met his eyes as everyone was rounded into the dining room by Alfred like a herd of sheep; he gave me some imperceptible knowing look that promised to keep my secret.

We sat down and sipped water from crystal glasses as the table was set with food, muttering amongst ourselves about our days. Dick was given a coffee with the wrong name (‘Nick’), Babs met up with her friend from high school (Olivia something or other), and Damian completed a group project with some incompetent classmates (they all were- even the professors). Vigilante talk wasn’t forbidden, but generally skirted around so as to offer a small reprieve of normalcy during the week.

There was an exception to this unspoken rule when there was a particularly exciting case on the table. Unfortunately for me and my anxiety, the case of the Red Hood was a very exciting one.

“Any new breaks with Red Hood?” Dick asked through miso soup. Bruce sighed.

“He made some movements in Robbinsville. Gone before we could get there. He’s got his men on a tight leash- we couldn’t get any of them to talk.”

“Course not. There’s rumors flying all over the department. One of the Ioveanu family branches payed out a huge security detail for their private mansion.”

“He hasn’t hunted anyone in their home, has he?” I asked. I pictured him standing in front of me- maskless, in my academy uniform.

“No, it’s not his MO.” Barbara answered.

“Not yet. It’s only been six months, and he’s progressing rapidly.” Bruce diagnosed grimly.

“Are you scared he’s gonna join us for dinner?” Dick joked, throwing a wink my way.

“Haha.” I muttered. Actually, I hadn’t slept because of the very idea.

“If you’re nervous, you could always stay home next patrol.” Damian suggested pointedly. To him, existing in the realm of crimefighting was a competition, and he was always looking for others to drop out of the race. I resisted the urge to fling a pea at him.

“I’m not nervous.” I said coolly.

“You’ve been practically trembling since we fought his pathetic lackeys.”

“Damian.” Bruce warned, from the head of the table. I flipped the smallest Wayne the middle finger. He resigned, but I swore I saw amusement on his lips.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Red Hood is very skilled and very prolific. It’s a daunting case.” Bruce continued.

“Thanks, but I’m okay. Really.” I said, trying not to sound annoyed, and feeling like a spotlight was over my head, operated by the ghost of Hoffman. I almost laughed as I pictured it.

“That’s good to hear. We’ve been concerned.” Alfred added.

“Wow. I’m the star of the show around here.” I remarked dryly.

“We can’t help it, Miss Independent.” Dick said teasingly. “You’re just a good mystery.”

“Reminds me of Talia.” Tim said casually. The silverware stopped clanging.

It was a shameless subject change. Damian’s mother was an inflammatory topic for all parties. Bruce’s moral contempt didn’t reach the likes of Talia Al Ghul and Selena Kyle, immoral though they were. Beauty makes anything charming- and when paired with an impeccable taste in dress, even murder and thievery can be minimized into something of a quirk. Bruce thought so, anyway.

As for Damian, he had grappled with his dismissal from Talia’s side for what was now a majority of his life, and still possessed this deep-rooted, inextinguishable attachment to his mother. It was the hollow soreness any young boy would have in his position. Tim called him mama’s boy until he finally displayed a frightening amount of disdain for the title and actually begged him to stop. Tim agreed to, and I agreed to pretend I never heard a thing.

Dick disagreed with both of those sentiments and viewed Talia as someone who wasn’t worth the trouble. His dismissal embarrassed Bruce and offended Damian, so I knew the dinner table had been sufficiently turned into a powder keg. Tim and I shared a look as I expressed silent gratefulness, and he resigned to inspecting a dumpling, while I picked around my haka noodles.

The rest of dinner was quiet. Somehow, somewhere in the silence all had been decidedly forgiven. First by Babs who asked me to pass the pepper. Then by Dick who said the vegetables were good. Thank you, Alfred. Damian still looked pissed, and Bruce kept stealing glances at the clock.

I texted Tim under the table.

Thanks for taking one for the team.

The reply: You owe me one. I think Damian’s gonna poison my food.

We both glanced at the youngest, who was darkly mesmerized by what appeared to be Tim’s soup bowl.

He quickly added, Wait, actually tho? And we both fought laughter like two kids in the back of the class. It felt good to have an ally. Even if he still didn’t know the whole truth.

[bizlawgal]

I got a prompt I would like to share 😊. Emma flirts with norman everyday. From the smallest ways to the most cheesy pick up lines. Then, why he doesn't understand? Most of the time he just blushes looks to other side and then changes the subject. She feels really stupid and embarrassed and now she has to explain it to norman. EXPLAIN SOMETHING TO NORMAN omg.

I’m bad at pick-up lines, so I hope I somehow had given justice to this prompt HAHA.

I.

It’s been a week since she last visited. 

But instead of the friendly blonde she’s come to know, her eyes immediately fall on someone’s silver hair from the counter.

He looks up from his desk, and she can already see in his eyes the wonder in the form of azure and carnation.

"Good morning, miss," he casually greets with that ever-endearing soft smile he serves his guests. "What can I do for you today?"

She comfortably presses her elbows on top of the counter, instantaneously taken by him. 

Just calling him handsome is an understatement.

"Oh, nothing. Just glad to see a friendly face in the morning."

He looks surprised with the comment, but hedges forward with what he's trained and paid to do. "This library certainly has a lot of friendly faces."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about the others," she implies without a second thought, "I was talking about you. You must be new here."

"Y-yes," he stutters, something he's not proud of, especially when he's talking to a rather lovely guest that he's seen for the first time.

"Whenever I check out a book, it's always that pretty blonde who always assists me. Have you seen Anna?"

There's a joyous vibrato to how she says it like she's telling a story to a friend, heightening the glistening of her eyes.

He blushes at the sight of her, so he offers an explanation to her question to keep his expression neutral. "I'm sorry. Anna resigned a week ago, so I’ll be solely in charge of everyone’s accounts. Is there anything I can help you with now?"

"Oh, I see.” She nods her head in understanding. “Anyway, I'm Emma, and the only thing you can help me with now is telling me your name."

She's interesting, he thinks. "I'm Norman. Do you have any questions I can help you with?"

Satisfaction crosses her face and he instantly ponders as to why her smile feels like the sun radiating on him.

"Okay, Norman. I have one question," she says with her playful eyes that implies to be too endearing at the same time. "Do you believe in love at first sight or should I come again?"

II.

"You're early today, Emma," Norman says as soon as he catches wind of her from the corner of his eye.

She merely whistles a tune, faint sounds of footsteps making their way towards him. "I'm always right on time, you know."

"It has only been seven minutes since we opened up the library." He raises an eyebrow, skepticism covering his face. "Don't tell me you're here to lounge around? Did you always do this when Anna was around?"

"And if I did? I'm bored, Norman," she remarks in the tone of a whine. "Is there anything I could do while I wait for you to finish?"

He draws an exhaustive sigh at the dilemma in front of him. She's been visiting for straight days over the last two weeks, and all she's ever checked out was a single book. Norman can't decipher what has gotten this young lady visiting the library so often.

But he won’t deny the exhilarating feeling of knowing that his company is something that she’s keen on having.

She may just be a lost soul looking for ways to entertain herself in the vastness of this city's library.

"If you have no plans to check out a book, at least take a seat in one of the available couches. I'll attend to you shortly."

Emma seems satisfied with the idea. She merrily makes her way to the nearest couch and comfortably settles herself with its backrest.

Not even a minute longer, Norman feels the piercing stare emanating from his back. His keen senses are to thank for, and clearly, it was sharp as a dagger since he instantly comes in contact with her eyes.

"You're staring," he simply reckons.

"No, I'm not." She doesn’t even deny it.

It's taking everything in him not to blush and be conscious of her gaze that is enough to question a man of his current stature.

"Yes, you are."

"Hmm, really?” She rubs out both of her eyes and blinks excessively at the ceiling. “I think there's just something wrong with my eyes."

Norman places the book he has on hand in its proper place and goes ahead to check on her condition. He moves closer to get a good view of her face when he asks, "What's wrong with your eyes?"

And when he's close enough that she moves her lips to his ear and whispers, "I just can’t take them off of you."

III.

It's been a month since Emma started invading his professional space of employment. He has no qualms about it, yet her presence has been, in more ways, confusing than comforting.

Aside from her lack of tact and overwhelming recklessness, he has nothing to complain about.

Except for her outrageous pick-up lines.

Some are cheesy. Others are funny, and most of the time, it ridiculously just takes his breath away.

"How much does a penalty cost when I fail to return a book after its deadline?" she asks him from the counter on a Saturday.

He shakes his head in amusement. "Are we talking about that engineering book that you've failed to return even after my countless reminders?"

"Maaaaaybeeee," she chimes back.

"It'll be a dollar if we're counting for nearly a month of its overdue fine."

"I see you’re good with Math," she ponders for a moment, the side of her lips twitching for a smile.

"I’m fairly good with numbers," he informs back while encoding the newly-released textbook on his laptop.

"I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty good with numbers, too! " she points a finger at him, "Tell you what, give me yours and watch what I can do with it."

Norman nearly chokes on his own saliva.

IV.

He likes her.

He likes her enough to the point that his head immediately sways to the door the moment it opens; to the point that her laughter brings him an immeasurable amount of joy by just hearing it; and, to the point that he wishes time would stop so that he'd get to hear more of her little pick-up lines.

So when she steps foot inside the library for today, all his attention is remotely diverted to her.

"Good morning, Norman," she greets enthusiastically from the door, a bright mop of orange hair blossoming from her back and a grin to match the glee in her eyes.

Norman instantly sprints to meet her halfway, but loses his balance and falls flat on the wooden floors.

Emma quickens her pace to assist his sorry state. "Norman! Norman! Are you okay?"

"I-It's nothing," he groans the words out, "The floor must've been slippery."

Emma gives out a peal of low laughter before placing his right arm over her shoulders and supporting him to stand up. "You know, you should be careful where you fall."

Norman senses that it's going to be another one of her pick-up lines so he listens attentively, despite the searing pain on his chin. "And where do you suppose I should fall?"

"You may fall from the sky, you may fall from a tree, but the best way to fall… is in love with me," she ardently chants as they walk side by side to a vacant seat.

He bites the insides of his cheeks because this is the best one he's heard from her yet.

V.

It's closing time and Emma has taken it upon herself to help him return every borrowed book to its proper placement on the shelf. She’s been awfully quiet, Norman internally infers, with the way she shoves the books back with less delicacy than the previous ones. Her eyebrows are knitted into a frown and her lips are sullen into a pout. 

If she doesn’t appear to be vindictive about something, he thinks it’s an adorable expression out of her.

"Norman." Her voice is stern and less cheerful than the usual, and it makes him pause for a moment. "You look smart enough to me."

"So I've been told."

"But, why are you dumb?"

This statement makes him stop altogether. "I am... what?"

"I think you're dumb," she emphasizes without averting her gaze.

He doesn't even take offense since this is the first time she used such a tone against him. "How am I dumb?"

"Because!" she crosses her hands to her chest in an offensive stance, "I've been flirting with you for over a month, and you always seem to brush me off. My brother said that saying pick-up lines are a good way to go! Is it not working or are you just dumb not to notice?"

Emma is too free and direct — unbound to any chain from halting herself from freely speaking her mind. Her intentions are too pure for his sake and it's taken him more than a month to come up with a response.

"I'm not dumb, Emma," his voice is low and raspy against the stammering of his heart.

She appears taken aback. "So, do you know I'm flirting with you?"

So blunt, yet so efficient. "Yes, I know."

"Do you... not like me?" The will to look at him is gone, only replaced by uneasiness and dejection. “I can stop if you don’t —”

His grin won't falter back, so he allows it to creep into his lips. She's been making too many obvious attempts for him not to notice for over a month and it's high time he returns the favor.

"I like you. It’s just that... I’ve never liked a girl before. I’m sorry if it looked like I wasn’t interested. But — " he takes a step closer to reach for her braid, “I really like you, Emma. You and your silly pick-up lines.”

Her eyes blow wide open with hope. Her hands are balled into a fist with evident shaking from elation. "You do?! You really do?!"

“Do you want proof of it?” he asks coolly as he possibly can.

She nods like a little child that is about to be handed a candy.

He closes a bit of the gap between them, with one hand snaking for support at her back, and the other raising her chin to meet his lips.

If she’s good with swooning him with words, then he may as well do the same. "Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back."

[rosesatsunrise]

losing and feeling

(a/n: knsjdgskgja okay here’s my first public fic i guess, i wrote this at two in the morning because i was feeling sad so... this happened i guess. it’s originally self-indulgent so some of it might not fit your ideals and i’m sorry about that, lol! anyways hope you enjoy!)

KEY: (y/n): your name | (y/l/n): your last name

WORD COUNT: 3,269 words

PAIRINGS: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

SUMMARY: bakugou katsuki wanted to have a lifetime of memories with you, so how is he supposed to deal with it being cut short?

WARNINGS: angst, swearing obviously it’s bakugou 

___________________________________________________________

weak in the knees. i couldn’t see through the blur of tears, i couldn’t hear through the gut wrenching sobs of my friends. the screaming. the screaming wouldn’t stop.

“you have funny hair!” her eyes made me restrain myself from shouting at her. they were so beautiful, i got lost in them immediately.

“(y/n), sweetie, that’s not a nice thing to say! i’m sorry honey,” the girl’s mother sounds tired.

this couldn’t be happening. i think i was the one screaming, but i couldn’t tell. i couldn’t hear my own voice.

“you still have stupid hair.” (y/n)’s eyes are still so beautiful. i stared at her, feeling my glare soften without wanting it to. she just did that to me, softening me until i didn’t know what it felt like to be anything but happy when i was around her. 

i felt someone’s hands on my shoulders but i felt so numb that it didn’t register. everything was so loud. everything was so dark.

“i need to tell you something.” (y/n) was standing in front of me, her hands stuffed in her pockets. she was nervous, i could tell, but i wasn’t really aware of it as i tried to distract myself from the butterflies in my stomach. 

“oi, fucking say it then.” i grumbled in response.

“i really like you, bakugou. like, as more than a friend.”

“i - huh?”

“i really fucking like you!” she shouted. her voice cracked. “like i want to date you. i’m sorry if i’ve fucked up our friendship, i just thought -”

“i like you too,” i managed, saying it out loud for the first time. the words rang through my head as i realized how true they were. the feelings i had been trying to hide from all this time, defined by a few simple fucking words.

“oh! oh. wait, seriously?” 

“yes, idiot. jesus.” i flushed really hard as she slipped her arms around me and pulled me in close, kissing me softly for the first time.

------

“katsuki?” 

she was mostly asleep, wrapped in my arms. i had my face buried in her hair because i liked the smell of her shampoo. she was pressed against my chest and her voice came out muffled. i had one of my hands under her shirt to draw shapes on her bare back, because i liked to be touching her.

“yeah (y/n).”

“i lied. i really like your hair.”

i couldn’t control the smile that lit up across my face. i hated how incredibly soft this fucking girl had turned me. i probably looked like an idiot, grinning widely all because she said ‘i like your hair.’

“i love you.” i whispered, hugging her tighter. then i realized what i had just said. the first time i ever told my girlfriend i loved her, and it was this. all because of this domestic bliss that had overtaken my life.

“i love you more.” (y/n) sighed, and i felt her breathing even out as she fell asleep. fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck. i was so in love with her.

------

“tell me the truth!” her voice was cracked, strained from the screaming. her eyes were puffy from crying. it hurt me so much to look at her so upset, to know it was my fault. “tell me why you keep doing this shit, katsu!”

“we should break up.” i blurted, my voice loud. it cut through her panicked rambling. i watched all the emotion drop off her face. (y/n) just stared at me. hiding again. i could see all the pain in her eyes, and it cracked me open.

“fine.” she whispered. “fine. do whatever the fuck you want. goodbye, bakugou.” 

watching her leave, hearing the door close behind her made my heart break. the emotions, the walls she had broken down, started to put themselves back. i stumbled to my bed, numb and emotional. i had done it because i wasn’t good enough. i couldn’t support her. i wasn’t affectionate enough. she needed a certain level of affirmation and love from someone, and i couldn’t give it to her. 

i cried.

------

tension built up in my stomach, like stoking a fire, every time i saw her. she purposefully made me jealous, i knew it. when she would play with deku’s hair or flirt with todoroki or poke kirishima’s muscles i had to look away and try not to scream.

but this was it. this was the last straw. she hugged him, deku, the way she only hugged me, so i left, my hands shoved in my pockets, ignoring the tears running down my cheeks. 

“can i talk to you?”

i stopped, not needing to turn to know it was (y/n). she sounded upset, but then again when was she not upset?

“fuck off,” i grumbled.

“you’re the piece of shit who broke up with me, bakugou. i think you can listen to me for a few minutes.”

i wiped desperately at my face, trying to get rid of the tear tracks. i turned to look at her, meeting her eyes, and the fury written on her face was immediately replaced by panic. 

“hey, are you crying? you never cry. what’s wrong?” she cupped my cheeks, catching the tears that would not fucking stop falling. why the fuck would they not stop? 

“yes, i’m fucking fine.” i tried to sound as threatening or harsh as usual, but it was hard to do when she was holding me again for the first time in months and i was fucking crying.

“tell me what’s wrong.” (y/n) begged, swiping at the hot spots where my tears congregated with her thumbs. 

“this,” i breathed. “this is what’s fucking wrong. because i still fucking want you, more than i’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.”

“so why did you break up with me?” (y/n) asked, searching my eyes. 

“because i’m not good enough for you. i can’t give you the physical affection and emotional connection you need, because i’m just a self centred piece of shit who can barely deal with my own emotions! especially the fact that i’m terrifyingly in love with you. you are my only fucking weakness, (y/n). i can’t - i don’t fucking know.” i said it all very fast. the things i had bottled up for weeks when we were dating and after spilled out like a dam finally breaking.

“bakugou katsuki!” she cried. “why the shit would you not tell me these things? how long have you been keeping all of this in?” 

“months.” i sighed. 

“katsuki,” i heard the shake in her voice. she was about to start crying. “you can’t keep these things to yourself, it’s not healthy! i - i love you so much, no matter how much of an idiot you can be. and i - look, i know i need a lot of reassurance, and physical affection, but you just sitting next to me counts as both of those. little touches, your hand on my back, letting me lean on your shoulder, those are reassuring as well as touching. you gave me everything i wanted and needed. losing you was hard as fuck on me, so i was overly touchy with everyone i saw.”

“is that why you hugged deku like that?” i croaked. 

“yeah. yes. i’m sorry. i just missed feeling your chin on top of my head - it was so protective. made me feel safe.” she mumbled. 

i let my self-control tumble away. i had built it up all these months without her, because it felt like dangling off a cliff with my little finger everytime she was looking up at me, even with angry eyes. 

i wrapped my arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug, letting the smell of her perfume come back to me. she was shaking with tears as i held her. 

“i love you,” i grumbled. “i love you, i’m so fucking sorry, princess.”

“i love you more.”

“i love you most.”

black is a depressing colour. (y/n) had once said it made me look even paler, making my eyes and hair stand out more. but she also liked me in a suit. i felt the sad smile drift back across my face as i stared at the tux she had made me buy. 

the funeral was next week. (y/n) had passed away a full month ago. 

the days had passed like molasses. when the words were spoken, when i heard her shout how much she loved me at the top of her lungs, i knew she wouldn’t be coming back. two hours later i found her, and sobbed over her body. she was gone then, and i felt all the tears i had held in for most of my life come spilling out. i cried for so long and so much that i passed out from dehydration and lost my voice. i ended up in the hospital with an iv hooked up to me. i remember kirishima whispering that they couldn’t deal with losing me too.

at first, i spent my days wrapped up in my bed, wearing the hoodie she stole from me, the one she always washed with her laundry detergent. it still smelled like her, and i sobbed my heart out. 

eventually, i went completely numb. i sat on the couch, flipping through the television channels. i accidentally ended up on a memorial for her, showing an interview she had done once, after a huge rescue. i was standing next to her, and i was looking at her with an embarrassing amount of love. that was the night i proposed to her.

sometimes i wondered if her death was faked. it was a (y/n) thing to do, and she had been threatened by a high level villain. it would be a great way to get him off her back. 

i had dreams about her coming home, telling me it had all been a ruse to save her life and would’ve put me at risk if i’d known. then i would gather her in my arms and sob against her shoulder while she assured me she wasn’t going anywhere.

those dreams never came true.

“i don’t really want a big wedding,” she mumbled, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. 

“you okay, my love?��� i asked, leaning over her shoulders.

“hmm? sorry, yeah. i just - it’s not about you or anything, i just still don’t know if i want to get married. i’ve seen so many examples of bad marriage. it’s just a piece of paper.” she sighed, tilting her head back so she was looking up at me. i snuck a kiss before she shoved me off her, laughing.

“well, fuck them.” i crossed my arms. “they clearly never loved anyone as much as i’m in love with you, idiot. you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“but no kids.” (y/n) held up a pointed finger at me.

“no kids,” i held my hands up in surrender.

“yes dog.”

“yes dog.”

“i love you,” she smiled, her big wide smile that always made my heart race.

“you know i love you, stupid.” i reminded her, pulling her to her feet, and hugging her tightly. 

someone gave me back the ring i’d given (y/n). it hadn’t been a big engagement ring or anything, just a pretty carved band that she always wore on a chain or on her finger. when they gave it back to me, i cried again. 

we never got married. 

“we just can’t agree on the fucking date!” she groaned. 

“i’m sorry. i just don’t know why you want to get married in august. it’s hot as shit and i don’t want to deal with that!”

“but december, katsuki? fucking december? that’s like, my least favourite month! plus, we’d have to compete with christmas and new years.”

“well what are we supposed to do?”

“may?”

“may?” i blinked.

“yeah. spring is pretty too. and it’s not super hot either.”

i sighed, pausing to think about it. “may it is.” i whispered, and a smile glowed on her face. 

“i love you!” she tackled me in a hug, covering my face in kisses.

“stop! personal space, shitty woman!” i shouted, laughing as she did it. i slipped my hands to her waist and pulled her against me, which stopped her. 

“i love you more.” i whispered. 

“i love you most,” she grinned.

i spoke at the funeral, of course. i kept it as short as i could so i wouldn’t cry in front of them. i listened to ashido and midoriya talk about (y/n), and to her mom speak about her best memories through tears. i felt numb.

about two months after her funeral, kirishima asked me why i never went to see her tombstone. i said it was because i didn’t fucking want to, but in reality it was because i was scared. i was scared to see her name on that stone and know she was gone. there was no coming back from that.

my therapist, who i was forced to see but i also went to because i needed someone to talk to, told me i should probably go, because i was living in this stupid place of hope, believing she might come back. 

i sat in my car in the parking lot of the cemetery. i knew where (y/n)’s headstone was, but i was scared to go look at it. i was listening to the music filter through the radio.

“i like this song, katsu.” (y/n) was leaning over me, her hair falling in front of my face like a waterfall.

“so? what’s it to me?” i scoffed.

“get up! we’re gonna dance.”

“we’re gonna what?” i asked, standing up and following her. she turned the volume up on the speakers, and reached for me.

“we’re gonna dance!” she exclaimed. i sighed, giving in easily. i could’ve held my ground, but she was so beautiful i couldn’t think straight.

i circled my arms around her waist, and she intertwined her fingers behind my neck. we swayed slowly, side to side. i admired every inch of her face.

“what?” she grinned. “see something you like?”

“obviously. that’s why i proposed, stupid.” i grumbled.

she blushed, and i smiled. i liked knowing i could still make her flustered sometimes. i pulled her closer, resting my chin on top of her head, and she leaned her head on my chest. 

we swayed some more, and i listened to the music and felt her breathe.

“thank you. for being my hero.” she breathed.

i closed my eyes, this time relishing in the grin that spread across my lips.

i locked the car doors as i walked towards the hill where the willow tree she always pointed out when we drove past was planted. i pushed my hands deeper in my pockets as i felt the nerves bubble in my stomach. 

i was looking at a piece of stone, and it shouldn’t have made me cry.

but it was my last name. not (y/l/n). bakugou was written on her tombstone. i felt my knees weaken and i dropped to the ground, heaving with sobs as i wrapped my arms around myself. 

“you’re so against tradition. are you going to take my name?” i asked.

“do you want me to?” (y/n) tilted her head to the side, searching my eyes.

“yes.” i said honestly.

“then of course i will. i’ll take your last name.” she smiled. “i’d love to be a bakugou, katsuki. because i love you.”

i reached out to touch her hand across the table. she intertwined our fingers, glancing back down at her mission briefing. 

it took a long time for me to clear my vision. when i did, i took a while to sit in silence, reading her tombstone over and over. 

“i miss you.” i said out loud. i almost flinched at the sound of my own voice, but once the words were out of my mouth, it all came out.

“these - months without you have felt empty. i miss falling asleep next to you, or having you beg me to make dinner because i’m the only one who can cook. i miss you forcing me to do shitty things that i was scared to do on my own.” i wiped aggressively at my eyes. 

“this is so fucking stupid. fucking - i wish it had been me, sometimes. but then i think that it would be you, sitting here alone. crying. it would’ve been worse. but i can’t fucking do this, princess. i can’t do this without you.” i glanced up at the sky. i had never felt more weak in my whole life. so empty. there was a physical piece of myself missing without her, and there was nothing that could replace it.

“i never got to see your dress.” i clenched my hands into tight fists. “your beautiful wedding dress… i remember the look on your face when you came home with it. ‘if we’re gonna do this, we’re doing it right’ you said. so that meant i didn’t get to see your dress until i watched you walk towards me.”

“i feel like this is my fault. if i had taken the patrol route that night, instead of you, you might still be here. i might be married to you by now.” i had to squeeze my eyes shut to try and suppress the tears again. “i fucking hate this. i fucking hate that i can’t fucking do anything! i promised i’d always protect you. i promised i would be your hero. i fucking love you! i’m so sorry i couldn’t save you, (y/n)… i’m so fucking sorry!” i choked on my sobs, covering my face with my hands.

“why do you always hide your face when you cry?” (y/n) asked softly. “you don’t need to pretend you don’t feel things, baby. you’re the love of my life. let yourself feel your emotions.”

“i have to be strong.” i told her, keeping my voice as angry as possible. “i have to.”

“why?” she asked bluntly. “what valid reason do you have to force yourself to be emotionless and strong all the time?”

i didn’t have a response for her. i stared into her eyes and just waited. for her to tell me why that was wrong, why i should be letting myself feel.

instead she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me against her the way i did to her when she cried. i let myself be comforted by her, just this once. her hands ran down my back in a calming motion. 

“i can’t really get mad at you for it.” (y/n) sighed. “i do it too.”

i glanced at her, holding her gaze as she wiped my tears away. “but you don’t have to hide from me, katsuki. i promise.” 

the nightmares varied after that. she was really gone, i guess, and once that settled in i managed to force myself back up in the morning to train. things fell back into place, as i trained harder, fought harder. i was determined to not let anyone die the same way (y/n) had. 

and she never came back. i never fell in love again, because i was so scared that i wouldn’t be able to protect them again. i let myself hide behind my emotional barriers again, the ones she had broken down, and i stayed there.

[smalltragedy]

* herman tommeraas, cis man + he/him | you know donovan mercer, right? they’re twenty one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, four months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ice boy by corbin like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 15th, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

looks away as i finally post his intro after being kinda awol fr however long. i love him a lot n hes also bri’s character mercy’s younger brother so u hv to be nice to him. think abt mercy’s life. then think abt ducky. im sry in advance tht his intro’s a little longer ive hd ducky fr like. a year or two n i’ve been playing him a While <3 as always like this if u’d like 2 plot n i’ll try 2 msg u bck bt otherwise im gna just hop right into threads bc obv i need to. change my methods.

ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG ABUSE, EYE INJURY, GANG MENTIONS TW.

mini playlist.

father ;; the front bottoms / ice boy ;; corbin / lose yourself ;; eminem / my own worst enemy ;; lit / say it ain’t so ;; weezer / maps ;; yeah yeah yeahs / star stopping ;; lil peep / benz truck ;; lil peep / trauma ;; nf / northern downpour ;; panic! at the disco / your graduation ;; modern baseball.

statistics.

full name: donovan mercer.

nickname(s): ducky.

birthday: march 15th, 1999.

zodiac: pisces sun, aquarius moon, aquarius ascending.

mbti & temperament: intp & theorist / phlegmatic.

label: the despondent.

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york.

sexuality: bisexual (bt not out). 

pinterest.

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

implied abuse tw // their father was not kind, or merciful - and ducky was a runt compared to mercy, small and sensitive and kinder than his brother. weak, and filled with softness, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice - but it didn’t. and it never did.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed. implied abuse end of tw

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

abuse mention // but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be. end of abuse mention

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. he never graduated high school.

abuse mention // anxiety mention // anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

heavy abuse tw // violence tw // it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly.

eye injury // corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse. 

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

the mercer brothers have been floating around the north carolina scene for ~5ish years now, trailing after their father who is consistently chasing after their mother with no luck. they’re currently residing in palm motel. can we get a hell yeah?

personality & facts.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be on him harder. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures at the community college, occasionally, or physics, or whatever peeks the small curiosity inside of him.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs and leaves the rest for mercy. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

drug abuse // has a. complicated relationship with benzos n xanax n a various assortment of painkillers. ironic bc he hates drugs due to. his chosen career n wldnt do most of what they sell, bt yknow. this ws inevitable. hates beer bt forces himself 2 drink it bc toxic masculinity probably man idk.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

violence mention // purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted plots.

u look good tonight ... ;; wld love a connection in which he is feeling emotionally compromised n maybe kinda hs a thing w someone bt hes like. very unreliable n kinda ghosting bc he is very afraid n it wld b maybe bad fr them to b anything other than hook ups. cld apply to smth very intensive or smth very surface lvl i’ll take thousands.

palms sweaty ... moms spaghetti ... ;; ppl tht ducky just hs fkn brawled. cld b anybody fr any reason. ducky prob lost n he prob lost on purpose bt also ur muse cld maybe kick ducky’s ass? cld b a fake fight cld b a real fight. cld b a npc fight n then ur muse cn patch up ducky? possibilities endless. maybe they hv a nice spaghetti dinner n both of them r both bruised up frm their fight. sometimes fights end in spaghetti dinners. thanks eminnem or whatever.

own worse enemy... ;; ducky needs friends bt hes bad at making friends n sometimes he fks shit up by pushing ppl away n self sabotaging n being a major cunt n sometimes he just ghosts bt hes always very remorseful abt it? this cld b a very like. up n down friendship of any type its just. where do they stand. r they friends. r they enemies. r they lovers? probably not lovers. prob just platonic. but still its the thought tht counts. 

and also ;; literally just like. anything. clients who buy off of him n like. casual friends n casual enemies n casual hookups. ppl hes ghosted. ppl hes embarrassed himself in front of. maybe ur muse tries to get ducky to socialize or maybe ducky is like. u are too much fr me. n ur muse runs off crying. endless possibilities all u hv to do is call this number now. 

[ficsnroses]

Friends With Benefits Part 4 - Keanu Reeves x Reader

Chapter IV ~ Her Name Seeps From His Lips.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I’m so sorry this sucks but I promise promise promise chapter 5 will be good.

Word Count : 3362

Warnings : NSFW, 18+ content. Masturbation. 

Series Summary : What happens when two, lonely friends start seeing and confiding in each other for sex? A tricky friends with benefits love story, when feelings get in the way.

A/N : Y’all I’m not a guy but I tried okay. I hope you enjoy this chapter, friendios 🖤

Keanu and you had an unspoken bond to each other. In fact, your entire relationship, which started off as just friends, only came to be because you appealed to each other. You appreciated each other’s company above all, especially due to the fact neither of you had ever had much interest in the mass of social crowds.

Sex only became part of the equation well after. You were friends, before friends with benefits. 

Of course, the sex stuck around because of how mind blowing it always was. Neither of you meant for it to, but it had become routine. Needless to say, Keanu and you had a very frequent and healthy sex life together. Your need to satisfy each other only grew with time, almost becoming religion.

•

As Keanu collapses on his bed, propping his feet up, he can hear the faint sound of the misty LA rain out his window. December in LA tends to be wetter than the rest of the months, the days shorter and gloomier than before. The steady drumming on the window feels nice. Its calm, serene, contrasting to the intensity of the work week thus far.

Naturally, when Keanu hadn’t seen you in over a week, he found himself missing you. A lot. You had suddenly left the morning after your steamy midnight session a week prior. The morning you showed Keanu the galaxies alike, woke him up in the most sinful of ways with your gorgeous little mouth. The morning Keanu and you had ventured out together for plan B. The same morning the media caught you at brunch.

Keanu and you hadn’t met up since that day, which left him feeling very unsettled. With Christmas approaching rather soon, Keanu had planned to spend more time with you this week. He wanted to have a movie night or two, or perhaps take you out to a nice dinner. He knew your family was back home, and you didn’t have anyone in LA to spend the holidays with. Keanu understood that. He felt lonelier than usual around the holidays as well. He thought you could use each other around this time.

Keanu always tried his best to show you how much he valued you. Your relationship was a special case…for sure. But it worked for you. It was always his priority to make sure you never felt used. For Keanu, you weren’t solely just his fuck buddy. You were one of his best friends, a woman he respected, appreciated, and cared for deeply. He’d seen you at your most vulnerable. How could he not feel so deeply connected to you? The intimacy you shared together was precious. He often found himself reflecting on just how beautiful it really was. Just how lucky he really was to have you fill his needs, and to be able to fulfill yours.

However, the week hadn’t gone as planned so far. Keanu and you were normally very active. You both always managed to make the time to see each other, to be with each other. You hadn’t been intimate in a week. Each time he proposed, you had rubbed him off, claiming a busier workload, or just being plain tired.

That didn’t seem like Y/N though, and Keanu knew that. In fact, normally when she was tired, Y/N wanted Keanu to please her even more. They did that a lot for each other, when one needed relief, the other would work harder to give them the release they so desperately craved, whether it was just a brief pop in for a quickie at her office or his trailer, or a long, steamy evening at one of their houses, where they left each other gasping for air by the end of it, their skin sticking together as if bound as one, their lips shaping, dripping each other’s names.

Gosh, it had been a week since Keanu had had any sort of release. A week of tense, diligent, exhausting training without Y/N to make him feel good. He’d craved her body this past week, almost as if reciting a prayer, he so desperately needed to be heard.

Y/N was amazing, to make an understatement. She was as gratifying as a siren, an enchantress with her body, so skilled, so perfect. He had had her a hundred times, which may be what lead him to become so addicted to her. The feeling of her, all of her wrapped around him, the feeling of her soft, delicate hands running over his calloused skin, the linger of her warm breath.

The way her warm, velvety, sinfully wet tongue felt lapping around him, the way her shallow bobs could almost take him whole.

Keanu hadn’t realized himself palming at a growing bulge in his sweatpants, gradually leaning against the headboard of the bed, eyes drifting closed with a mural of Y/N clouding his mind.

Before Y/N, Keanu used to relieve himself often. He hadn’t been in a real relationship in years, and one night stands weren’t too frequent in his busy schedule. Not to mention, he was never too fond of one night hookups. He enjoyed feeling an emotional connection to his partner, liked the added sensation it brought to know the woman taking him is someone who cares for him, and not just another brag to the world of sleeping with movie star, Keanu Reeves.

He began groping his bulge unknowingly, his pants undoubtedly growing tighter and tighter at the thought of Y/N. Keanu’s sex drive was rather high for a man his age, although he was never much of one to act on it. Of course, until Y/N came along. She had always been there to help him when he needed it, happy to give him the ecstasy he so desperately wanted.

With a bite of his bottom lip, Keanu slips his hand into the waistband of his sweats, feeling over his sensitive skin. He hadn’t done this in a while; he hadn’t needed to. But it had been 8 days, not that he was counting. 8 days without any release. 8 days without Y/N.

Kicking off his sweats, Keanu positions himself comfortably in his bed, the rain at the window still pelting away. His eyes catch the splatter of tiny water globes, sprayed across the glass. There’s so many of them, thousands if he tried to count, millions. Numbers, quantities, digits. It’s a funny thing to think of how much of so much there is of everything in the world. So much love, so much admiration, so many people.

Yet here he was, on a cold, rainy day, alone. Feeling more alone than he had in a while. He wondered what Y/N was doing in that moment. If she had thought about him as much as he thought about her this past week.

He pulls out his cock to the sound of the rain getting heavier, the sleet downpour thumping on the roof, almost entwining with the beat of his heart racing faster by the second, blood pumping to his lower. Wrapping his palm sloppily around his base, Keanu pumps himself full, base to shaft, leisurely, up and down a few times. His hooded eyes trace down and see his girth growing bigger and bigger through the touch.

A light moan escapes his lips at the sensation. It’s not the same as having Y/N’s tight, dripping cunt engulfed around him, but its something. Something to feel. He reaches over to the bedside table into the drawer, for a bottle of hand cream he keeps available. He hates to admit it, but its kept for times like this. It hadn’t seen the light of the bedroom for a while, not since Y/N had been coming around. But Y/N wasn’t there today, leaving the timeworn, guilt ensuing hand cream to accompany him through the deed. He felt pathetic, pitiful on himself.

But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when he needed this so bad. Squirting a dime sized amount onto his palm, he jerks himself whole. A low groan stumbles from his lips as he strokes his entire length, his thumb swirling over the tip of his cock, smearing droplets of clear, gooey pre cum over his head. He closes his eyes, trying to remember the feel of Y/N’s plump, moist lips swirling him, the sounds of her tiny gags as she took him in and out.

His cock begins twitching, sending shudders through his nerves. He begins pumping himself harder, tighter, faster, grunts and low moans sashaying out of his mouth with each jerk. With his spare hand, he brings it down to toy with his balls, massaging, kneading to add to the pleasure.

“Fuck…oh fuck…Y/N, baby..” your name slips from his mouth, the thought of you fogging his mind as he worked expertly with his hands on himself. He was a bit rusty, but it all came back once his hunger for relief overtook all his senses. He begins adding twists into the combination, trying to simulate the feel of any part of your body on him, making him feel so good the way you always do, the way you so proficiently bring him to the edge with ease, as if second nature.

He feels himself close, his cock twitching, throbbing, pulsating as he yanks himself, your name habitually falls from his mouth in sinful baritone. Keanu had never met a woman that had reduced him to a moaning mess like this before, he’d never dreamt of a women making him feel this way, the way he hardened instantly at the thought of you.

He had always needed something to get him going before you, a video, a magazine, anything. He was surprised at the effect you had on him, he had no idea it was that strong until this moment.

“Y/N…oh Y/N. Fuck.” Keanu growls, whimpering as he pumps himself to the edge. Grabbing a cluster of tissues off the bedside table, while simultaneously stroking himself faster and faster, he reaches his climax, his silky, creamy, succulent release shooting into his tissue equipped hand.  

With a string of moans, he felt himself lighten at the vast amount of seed he’d released, the tissue heavier and heavier until he drained himself completely. Panting, with a thin line of sweat glazed across his forehead, his head falls back, relaxing, breath heavy.

He lets the tissues fall to the floor, as he rests his eyes, chest raising and falling gradually. He’s cleared his mind, his release so powerful, but never the same. Not what you could give him. As his cock falls flaccid, he brings his forearm to rest over his head, surprised at how easily he had just masturbated to the thought of you.

The rain hasn’t stopped. Its been complemented by gradual rumbles of thunder. The day is only growing darker and darker, mirroring the way his chest felt in that moment. He missed her, he missed her a lot. Y/N was his friend, not just someone he had sex with. Why had she left so suddenly that morning? Why hadn’t she wanted to meet up this week? Had he done something? He couldn’t shake the feeling. But he needed her. He needed to see her, if not be with her. He needed to know she was okay, and that there wasn’t something wrong in her life for her to keep herself so occupied, so deserted from him.

He reaches over to check the time on his phone.

4:00pm. Y/N wouldn’t be home from work until at least 6:00pm.

He decided he should check up on her tonight. Scarce text messages hadn’t been cutting it, and she hadn’t answered any of his phone calls recently. This wasn’t like her at all. He needed to hear from her in person. It wasn’t about wanting sex or her body, he wanted to be there for her in case something was terribly wrong. Y/N was an independent woman, headstrong and assertive. She wouldn’t boast or cry about her sorrows to anyone. Not even him. That’s why he needed to make sure she was okay. He needed this for peace of his own mind.

She was one of the most important people in his life after all. She took priority over a lot of other people in his life.

•

As evening falls over the LA coast, Keanu finds himself driving to Y/N’s apartment further into town. The tar black sky hadn’t finished its showery monsoon onto the city. Everywhere he looked, he saw colourful umbrellas sprawled about, peppering the town with specs of reds, yellows, some blues, some grays. Beads of water trickled down each of his car windows, slightly blurring the sight of the city folk continuing in on their day.

He couldn’t help but notice couples hand in hand, walking together under scattered umbrellas. It must be nice to share such a limited space with someone, such an intimate setting, shielding each other from the downpour.

Pulling into Y/N’s parking garage, Keanu paces up, into the elevator, an unopened bottle of Y/N’s favourite red in hand, wrapped in a brown paper bag. His black leather jacket is speckled with rain dewdrops, his hair a little damper than when he had left from his house. He hoped Y/N wouldn’t mind. He often found himself wondering if Y/N cared about how he looked. If she found him…attractive. Or something like that.

With a ring of the bell on her floor, he hears Y/N’s voice over the buzz of the apartment door.

“Who is it?” her soft, tuneful voice asks. It was so fucking nice to hear her voice after a week long hiatus.

“Hey, its me. Keanu.”

After a momentary pause, he hears a jingle of the lock, and the door opened to reveal Y/N. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun, and she’s dressed in a loose v neck shirt and some sleeping shorts. He can tell she hasn’t got a bra on underneath, not that he meant to look there.

“Hey, come in. Sorry, my place is kinda a mess and I look horrible. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” She shrugs, running a hand over the back of her head, closing the door behind him.

“It’s fine. You look nice.” Keanu assures her. “It’s Friday, thought we could leisure a little.” Keanu chuckles, holding up the bottle.

Keanu swore he saw a twinkle in her eyes, complemented by a curl of lips into a small smile on face. However, it dropped so slightly, her eyes falling a little. He swore he saw it, no matter how brief.

“Yeah, sounds like a great idea. Thanks for coming, Ke.” She offers him a smile, patting his bicep. After a slight contemplation, she nods her head and goes in for a hug. Keanu was her friend, and despite her feeling a bit weird lately about their relationship, she couldn’t deny the fact that she loved the care he showed for her. Why did he always have to be so god damn thoughtful? Why couldn’t they just be fuck buddies who just fuck? He probably didn’t think much of his nice gestures. He was just that much of a wonderful, compassionate, considerate gentleman. He did these things for everyone he knew. He treated everyone with this much love.

Keanu wrapped his spare arm around her, pulling her in close, and planting a kiss on her cheek. Y/N didn’t know how to feel about that. She did feel…something…when he did that. But she knew she needed to shake away those feelings. It was just sex. They were together for just sex. They’re not in a romantic relationship. She doesn’t come home to him everyday. She doesn’t get to wake up to him every morning. She doesn’t get the anniversary dinners or the casual nights in, enjoying each others company. This man wasn’t her boyfriend. He doesn’t feel that way for her.

Pulling away from him, she asserts herself. Tonight needs to establish, emphasize that their relationship is just physical. She’ll be sure of it. The second they start behaving in any way that normal friends with benefits don’t, she’ll draw the line. She’s sure of it.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab the bottle opener and a couple of glasses.” She smiles at him, before trailing into the kitchen, Keanu behind. He shrugs off his coat in the process.

“You been away lately. Everything okay?” he asks, setting himself down on a bar stool in her kitchen, resting his head on his hand leaning on the counter.

“Yeah. Just been taking up some extra projects.” She replies, avoiding eye contact, pouring the wine into two glasses for them.

“I was worried. You barely kept in touch. Thought something was wrong.” Keanu empathized. He made sure to let her know that she was on his mind. He hadn’t thought of it as “not a big deal.”

“All good. Only thing to worry about is this horrendous look I’m flaunting right now.” She laughed, gesturing down to her attire. Y/N usually tried her best to look good for Keanu, she wanted him to want her. Wanted him to think she looked good.

Sliding over the glass to Keanu, Y/N holds her glass in the air, gesturing a “cheers” before taking a sip.

“I’ll keep saying it, Y/N. You look good. You always look good, honey.” He smiled, making direct eye contact. There it was again. The thing he did to her. Y/N pauses for a moment, getting lost in his eyes. She shakes herself out of her trance, walking closer to him, setting her glass down. She needed to draw the line. This was the time for that.

She positions herself in font of him, grabbing hold of his collar. With lust in her eyes, she lowers her gaze.

“Do you wanna…” she starts her sentence, trailing off as she bites her lip, staring him right in the eyes. Keanu’s taken back, she normally isn’t this way, she never initiates sex out of the blue. Not when they’re just spending time together, like they do often.

But he couldn’t help the bulge that threatened to grow in his pants. Y/N was in just some booty shorts and a loose top, sans bra. Her breasts looked so firm, perfectly plump resting on her chest. Gosh, he loved those fucking breasts, loved the way they provided a safe haven for him to rest his head when he was on top of her, thrusting in and out, the way they practically melt in his touch. So warm, so inviting. Just like Y/N looked right now. 

“Y/N, we don’t have to, I’m here to just…yenno, check up. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. If you’re not in the mood, I’m okay. We can do it another time.” Keanu rambled, watching her every move as she began lowering her shirt off, exposing a bare shoulder. Her skin looked so dewy, so soft for the taking.

“No, I want to. It’s been a while, Keanu.” She mumbled, running her hands over his chest as he still rest on the bar stool, waiting for him to say yes, as she eyed his lips. “I want you.” She whispered, lips close to his ear, grazing over the thick skin.

She felt his hands plant themselves on her waist, as her hand cruised the inside of his thigh. She could see him growing harder, his pants tightening as she threatened to run her hand over his crotch.

“You know I can’t say no to you, darling.” Keanu murmured, attaching his lips to her jaw.

Y/N’s eyes went dark with the words that escaped his mouth. It had been a while. She missed the way he filled her up so fucking well, the way she’d be left sore and throbbing after he was finished, the way her thighs would stick together with what he left behind.

She was going to make him see the stars tonight; she was sure of it. She was his fuck buddy, and she was going to be the best at just that. Make him forget the world behind them.

Grabbing his hand off her hip, she guides it into the waistband of her pants, never breaking eye contact with him.

He had no idea 

what he was in for. 

>>Chapter 5>>

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Taglist Posted Separately (Ask to be added or removed!) :

[calumance]

LA Devotee - Part XV

Warnings: a hint of phone sex?, cussing, drinking

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Emily has a sleepover with Mikayla to keep herself occupied while Calum is on tour.

A/N: I’M SORRY I’M LATE, but since I’m still wake, IT’S STILL SATURDAY. I hope you all enjoy, this is one of my favorite  chapters. 🥰🥰💖💖(Feedback and requests are always welcomed!!! Want to be tagged? Let me know!)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV

Masterlist

        Trevor dropped Mikayla off at work on Friday morning, an overnight bag in tow. Just as quickly as she walked into the office I walked her out so she could drop her bag into my car. I looked at my keys as we walked together and I thought back to when I had asked Calum if Mikayla could stay the night. When I had asked him, he made it a point to act like I had asked him the most incredibly silly question he had ever heard. “I know how lonely that house can get, I don’t blame you for wanting her to come over,” were his exact words.

        After work, Mikayla followed me out to the parking garage, both pairs of heels clacking on the ground and echoing through the garage. I looked up as I unlocked Calum’s car, I wasn’t sure why, but there was something inside me that made me want to drive his car, maybe it was because it smelled like him. “Is it weird being in his house alone?” Mikayla asked me after we had been silent as I pulled out of the parking garage, and turned onto the main road.

        I shrugged and concentrated on the road in front of me. “Kind of,” My fingers wrapped around the steering wheel as I thought about how much I actually miss him. “It’s weird not waking up next to him, or falling asleep next to him. I guess I got too used to it.” I ran my left hand through my hair as I leaned my elbow against the window. “Plus, Duke is there, so I’m not completely alone.” Duke was good at keeping me company, he always curled up in my lap, or slept in the bend of my knees. However, as much as I loved Duke’s cuddles, they would never compare to the feeling as Calum’s arms wrapped around my waist and his chest pressed to my back.

        Mikayla smiled, “I’ve been trying to convince Trevor of getting a dog since we moved six months ago, but he won’t go for it. I’m excited to meet Duke. He’s so cute from the pictures you’ve shown me.” I smiled and turned the radio up a little louder as I drove towards the house. Mikayla and I danced to the radio, our favorite song playing as I drove up the hill. We hadn’t had a girls night since shortly after I moved here.

My first day in the office she was the first one to say anything to me. “I mean, I sit across from you, so I might as well introduce myself. My name is Mikayla, and you must be Emily. They’ve been talking about you coming here for a while now.” That day she had worn a floral top that was mostly black, and had silky sleeves. She was wearing black leggings, and a pair of tiger print heels. I had been so jealous of her fashion sense, but the jealousy was short lived when she took me shopping and rebuilt my entire wardrobe. Her long brown hair had a slight curl at the end, and her blue eyes were accented by some mascara, her thin lips tinted by her pale pink lipstick. I reached my hand towards her with a smile and told her it was nice to meet her. We hung out for the first time that weekend, and I guess it’s history after that.

I shifted the car into park as I pulled into the driveway. Mikayla reached behind her and grabbed her overnight bag out of the backseat. We walked into the house, Duke greeting us with a wagging tail. Mikayla squealed in joy and picked him up as I set Calum’s car keys in the bowl by the door. Duke slobbered all over Mikayla’s face as I made my way through the kitchen and to the back door to slide it open, allowing Duke to go in and out as he pleased. Mikayla set him back on the ground and he ran outside. “What sounds good for dinner?” I asked as I turned to the fridge, pulling out two drinks.

Mikayla hummed as she took one of the drinks, “Maybe we should order some Chinese food, like old times.” She smiled and twisted her hand around the cap to open the drink. “We can order Chinese food and get all tipsy and just have a good night.” The first night we ever had an adult sleepover was at her house, a couple weeks after we met. Trevor had gone on a business trip and Mikayla wanted someone to keep her company. She invited me over, and we ordered a large amount of Chinese food, and drank a large amount of wine. The main thing I remember from that day was Trevor waking me up on the couch laughing because it took him an hour to wake me up. A smiled stretched across my face, I liked the idea of repeating that night, maybe not exactly, but something close to it. I tilted my bottle forward and clinked with hers before we both washed back our drinks.

After Mikayla hung up the phone, placing the food order, I went through Calum’s bedroom for a speaker. He has to have one somewhere, right? As if he read my mind, my phone started ringing, his picture showing up causing me to smile from ear to ear. “Hey, love.” I sat on the end of the bed and listened for his voice.

“Hey, sunshine. How’s your sleepover going?” There were a couple voices behind him, sounding like he was hanging out with the guys.

I ran my hand through my hair and looked around the bedroom. “Funny you ask that. I’m trying to find a Bluetooth speaker so we can listen to music. I was looking in the bedroom, but I can’t find one.”

“There should be one in my music room. Check on the desk. What are you and Mikayla going to do tonight?” Michael started to yell behind Calum and Calum sighed, “Michael says hi.”

As I exited the bedroom, I let out a chuckle. “Tell him I say hi back.” I crossed the threshold into Calum’s music room and flicked on the light switch. “We ordered some Chinese food. Back when we first became friends, we had this night where we ordered some Chinese food and got all wine drunk, so we’re thinking about having a night like that.” I eyed the desk and found the Bose speaker sitting on his desk. “Oh, I found a Bose speaker, is it okay if I use it for tonight? I’ll put it back tomorrow.”

Calum chuckled, “Yeah, you can use it, sunshine. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but that’s your house too. That’s what happens when you move in with someone.”

I grabbed the speaker off the desk and used my elbow to switch off the light as I made my way back down the hallway. “I know, but it’s still your stuff.” I close my eyes thinking about how my ex would react when I would move his things. Nathan would always get mad for moving things without asking, or using something that he ‘worked so hard for,’ even though we had a shared bank account. Sure, he worked hard for it, but so did I. As I set the speaker on the counter, Mikayla came out of the bathroom, wearing sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt, and her hair bundled on the top of her head in a messy bun. Our normal girl’s night outfit.

“Oh, tell Calum I say hi!” Mikayla bounced up and down, clapping her hands.

Calum sighed, “My stuff is your stuff too, Emily, that’s what happens when you’re in a relationship, and when you move into someone’s home.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” After nodding to Mikayla, I dropped my head and turned away from her. “That’s not how my last relationship was, thank you, Calum.” I turned and looked at Mikayla behind me who was begging for me to tell him hell for her. “Mikayla says hi.” She pulled her elbow back in satisfaction and walked into the living room.

“Tell her hi back.” He chuckled, but then collected himself to appropriately display his seriousness through the phone, “I’m sorry that your last relationship was so terrible, but, that’s not how our relationship is going to be, okay?” He was quiet. My heart raced as I thought about telling him how much I loved him, but the doorbell interrupted that thought. “I’m going to let you go, sunshine. Have a fun sleepover, call me in the morning.”

My heart skipped a beat at his tone. “Did I do something wrong?” I ran my hand across the back of my neck as I walked down the hallway towards the bedroom.

“No, sunshine, I just wish I was there. You have fun with Mikayla, okay?” Calum’s voice was soft, and suddenly, I felt like crying. “Call me in the morning, love.”

“Yeah, I’ll call you in the morning. Have a good night, Cal.” It was quiet for a few seconds before he said his goodbye and hung up. I looked at my phone for another second before sliding it into my pocket and going into the bedroom to put on an outfit that matched Mikayla’s: a pair of sweatpants and one of Calum’s t-shirts that was even big on him.

We sat on the couch, the Chinese food sprawled across the entirety of the coffee table. Music playing softly in the background, for now. We washed back our third drink as another episode of The Office played on the TV. As soon as we finished eating, and the alcohol began to course through our veins, we turned the speaker as loud as we could. Dancing in the living room, using our bottles as fake microphones. My head started spinning from the alcohol and I sat on the couch, placing my hand on my forehead. My breath was labored from the dancing, proving just how unfit I actually am. Mikayla threw herself on the couch next to me with a laugh. I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t think Calum loves me back.” The alcohol had completely dissolved my filter now.

Mikayla looked at me, her chest heaving from the dancing as well. “What makes you think he doesn’t love you back?” Her eyebrows were pulled together.

My head was spinning. I wasn’t even sure why I thought that, there was really no reason to think that. I let out a laugh and Mikayla looked at me more confused than before. “I don’t actually know. It’s like there’s a tiny voice inside my head trying to convince me that he doesn’t love me, let alone like me. As hard as I try to shut the voice out, it won’t shut up.”

Mikayla readjusted her head and she took a deep breath. “It’s called trauma. That voice, I mean. Your last relationship was shitty, we all know that, but you gotta stop letting it come back and take control over everything you do.” She closed her eyes but then reopened them and turned her head towards me. “I know you told me how badly you want to tell him in person, but maybe you should tell him anyway?”

I couldn’t even bring myself to look at her, so just shook my head. “No, I want to wait until we see each other in person. Look, I don’t want to talk about this right now, I don’t know why I brought it up, can we keep dancing and drinking? I want to stop over thinking everything.” Mikayla cracked open another drink for me and turned the music back on. After the tenth drink, I don’t quite remember what else happened.

When I woke up, my head was absolutely pounding, but I felt a cold sensation on my cheek. My eyes opened and I was on the floor of the living room, my cheek pressed firmly against the hard wood floor. After blinking a few times, I pushed myself up so my back was against the couch and Mikayla snored slightly when I accidently nudged her arm which was hanging over the edge of the couch. My hands connected with my face as I fought the headache surging through my brain. My phone sat on the table and I reached forward, it was noon and Calum had called me three times, left me a voice message, and sent me a text. I checked the text message first. “I thought you’d wake up before me, I guess not. We have an interview at 2 and a performance after that, should be available for a Face Time date tonight, though. Miss you. Xx Cal.” Based off the time, he was probably performing right now. Next, I listened to the voicemail. “Hey, sugar. Hope you had a fun night, guess it must’ve been fun if you still haven’t called me. We’re about to step into the interview. Text me when you wake up.” My eyes shut tightly, he didn’t sound super thrilled that I hadn’t called him yet.

I mumbled to myself for being so stupid as I opened my messaging app and typed out my message. “Fuck, Calum. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me last night, I don’t even remember passing out, I hope you’re not mad at me. Call me when your performance is over, good luck, my love!” I dropped my phone to my side and ran my hands down my face. All I could think of doing was jumping into the pool and hoping it would dissolve my hangover. I pushed myself off the ground, grabbing my phone at the same time. When I opened the door, Duke ran off to the grass patch. My phone bounced as I tossed it onto a chair near the pool. I discarded my shirt and sweatpants and jumped into the pool. The cool sensation of water washed over my body, making the headache subside slightly.

I floated at the top of the water for a while until the muffled sound of my phone ringing made its way to my ears. My arms frantically flailed through the water and to the edge so I could push myself out of the pool. I knew it was Calum before I saw him on the screen. The only thing that surprised me was that it wasn’t an audio call, it was a Face Time call. As I answered, I ran the t-shirt I was wearing down my face. Calum came into view, he was wearing sunglasses and, from what I could tell, he was in a car. His face lit up when he saw me. “Good afternoon, sunshine. Did you have fun last night?” He ran a ring clad finger over his lips, suppressing a laugh.

My hand ran backwards through my hair smoothing it down more than it was from the water. “I don’t even remember if I had a good time. I feel like such an idiot, I’m so sorry I didn’t call you this morning. Do you hate me?” I laughed, even though the question was completely serious.

He shook his head, then pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “I could never hate you. I’m glad you had fun, my love. I, too, swim to get rid of a hangover, it’s actually the best cure. You know, for being completely hungover, you look absolutely gorgeous.” He looked at the camera matter-of-factly.

My cheeks flushed a soft pink and I laughed, covering my face. “Thanks. I slept on the floor last night, in the living room. Like, I woke up on the floor., my face was smooshed against the ground. Mikayla is still passed out on the couch. I don’t even know what happened.” I rubbed my eyes and laughed looking at Calum. I just wanted to reach through the phone and touch him. I missed the feeling of his skin against mine, whether it was because his chest was pressed against mine, or if because my fingertips were gently grazing across his cheek.

He reached up and pushed his sunglasses down, back to his nose. “Can’t even tell you how many mornings I’ve had like that. Are we still on for a Face Time date tonight?” I nodded and sat on the edge of the pool with my feet dangling in the water. “Great. I’ll call you at, like, nine my time.” I counted on my fingers to figure out what time that would be here, then nodded. Just then, the car stopped, a door opened and there was screaming. “I have to go, sunshine.” He kissed his finger, then pressed that finger to the camera, and then hung up. I tossed my phone back on the chair, and then tossed myself back into the pool.

Mikayla finally woke up around two, and showered before Trevor came and picked her up around three. He wasn’t surprised in the least that she was incredibly hungover. Honestly, I don’t think anyone was, except for me. Once Mikayla left I texted Calum, “How should I dress for our Face Time date?” As I waited for Calum to text me back, I downed an entire glass of water. My phone dinged and I read his message, breathing heavily from downing the entire glass of water. “However you’d like, sunshine. I probably won’t be wearing anything, if we’re being honest.” I choked on the air and sat my phone down, holding my hand to my chest. “Oh Jesus, Calum, are you trying to kill me?” I said to myself after gasping for air.

I finished microwaving some of the Chinese food we had left over and plopped myself on the couch, wearing a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. My phone started to ring and my heart skipped a beat. My fingers slowly wrapped around my phone wondering if he actually wasn’t wearing anything. I set my food on the coffee table and answered the call. When he came into view. I could only see from his chest up, but he definitely wasn’t wearing a shirt. I licked my lips at the thought of him actually being nude, but smiled and greeted him. “Hey, handsome.”

He blushed slightly and smiled hard enough that the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes appeared. “Hello, my love. What are you up to?” He leaned back, the lights of the television lighting up his face. His phone must’ve been propped against something, because I could see his entire torso as he leaned back.

“Just microwaved some left over Chinese food, watching The Office, because that’s literally all I ever do, if you didn’t know that. What are you watching?” I propped my phone up on the coffee table and sat back with my container in my hand.

“I don’t even know, to be honest. It was on when I turned on the TV. Mostly turned it on for background noise.” He looked at the phone with a coy smirk. “I wasn’t lying about what I said earlier.” He arms moved back and forth as if he was rubbing his hands along his legs.

I stopped chewing, and looked at the phone, raising an eyebrow. “What are you trying to get at, Hood?”

“You,” He said while laughing. “I’m trying to get at you, Williams.” He mocked me by using my last name, and suddenly my heart started to race.

My legs dropped off the couch and I bent over to pick up my phone. I suddenly felt self-conscious, something that I rarely felt in front of Calum. “I’ve never done anything like that – this. What should I do?”

He picked up his phone as well and ran his hand through his hair. “Find a place that you’re comfortable. Do you feel more comfortable in the living room or in the bedroom?” I bit my bottom lip and looked around the completely empty house. No matter the fact that it was empty, I most definitely felt more comfortable in the bedroom. Without responding, I pushed myself off the couch and walked down the hallway. After I shut the door, I sat on the bed, my back pressed against the headboard. There must’ve been a look on my face, because Calum sighed, but in a forgiving way, “Sunshine, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I do. I’ve just never done anything like this. I might just need a little help.” I ran my hand through my hair and bit my bottom lip, feeling my cheeks flush red.

“I can help you, if you want that is.” His pupils dilated, and I nodded, feeling my stomach flutter. He started off slow, his voice was soft, never once making me feel uncomfortable. As the phone call continued on, everything picked up pace. I reveled in his hushed voice, and his face when his eyes closed and his head leaned back and his Adam’s Apple bounced as he swallowed a groan. He was everything I’ve ever wanted; this was everything I’ve ever wanted.

We were silent for a minute until Calum smiled and cleared his throat. “I thought about you all day today.”

I sat up and grabbed his sweatshirt and pulled it over my head. “Did you?” I smirked and grabbed my phone as I headed out the bedroom door, back into the living room. “What did you think about?”

He hummed and laid his head back on the white pillows I was becoming accustomed to. “How beautiful you are, how much I wish I was there, how much I miss you.” His eyes started to close, the exhaustion starting to take over.

I plopped myself onto the couch and smiled at him. “I miss you too, so much. I wish you were here, I think that would’ve been better if you were here.” I raised an eyebrow and he chuckled, his eyes still closed. “Get some sleep, my love. I’ll leave the call going for a little while. I’ll hang up in an hour or so.” He nodded and placed the phone on the empty side of his bed and pulled the comforter up to his chin. Without another word, he was fast asleep.

************

Tag list: @notinthesameguey​ @viiirg0​ @thinkofmehlgh​ @another-lonely-heart​ @limer-encia​ @itsmytimetoodream​

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part thirteen) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Ash Miller, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6350 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part thirteen: The six mile ride to find water is a long one, exhausting the wranglers. When they finally reach the river, Dean and Y/N find a lot more than just that. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘I Will Carry You’ - Carter Burwell (opening scene), ‘All The Wild Horses’ - Ray LaMontagne (Dean & Y/N final scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience! 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “Here.”      A water flask moves into her peripheral vision, pulling Y/N back from a hazy daydream. It’s past five PM, but it’s at least 90 degrees, the high temperatures lingering. The heat is dry, not the kind that is oppressive and makes it hard to breathe, but more torrid. Crippling nonetheless, especially for someone who is used to chilly autumns and cold winters. Her fatigued body was aching when they were standing at the junction hours ago, but Y/N didn’t want to be the one to call it quits. She still feels the pressure to prove herself, to her dad, to Dean and Bobby, to herself. So she kept her mouth shut. Now it seems stupid, because she isn’t feeling well. 

     Heavy eyes glide up the arm extended to her, meeting Dean’s handsome face, shaded by his Western hat. It’s clear that he’s concerned for her.      “That’s yours,” she objects. “I’ve got some left.”      “No, you don’t. You emptied it over an hour ago,” he knows, motioning her to take the bottle.      Y/N huffs; looks like someone has been keeping an eye on her. Dean isn’t going to take no for an answer.      “You gotta to stay hydrated, or this heat will take you down,” the wrangler pressures. “You’re not used to these circumstances.”      “I’ve been here for over a month, Dean. I think I’m used to the climate by now,” she counters stubborn, even though she knows better.      The cowboy eyes her sternly, but can’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in a smile. Hardheaded? Y/N? Where did he ever get that idea?      “Are you gonna drink it, or what?” he half asks, half tells her.      Reluctant the cowgirl takes the water, but hesitates before she lifts it to her mouth.      “What about you?”      “I’m alright,” he assures.      Before she has a sip, Y/N takes in the cowboy. Dust has covered his arms and his neck with a thin layer, the tiny particles sticking to his sweaty skin. His bandaged hand rests on the horn of the saddle, but other than the minor injury, nothing indicates that the long journey in extreme conditions is getting to him. He must be thirsty too, but he looks alert and healthy, which she surely does not.

     Y/N quickly counts the number of hours she has been in the saddle; close to eleven. The long trail under the merciless sun is taking its toll. Dean knows it, even Joplin does, because the mare has reduced her pace significantly, getting her cargo safely across the land, while before she was hard to keep up with. Her rider is glad she slowed down and took the wheel, because she is not in the mood to repeatedly ask the dark little horse to ease. Every now and then, Y/N feels like she could faint, a wave of dizziness almost washing the female wrangler off her horse. Gosh, she wishes it was actual waves. She would do anything for a drop of rain right now. For a second she fantasizes about a nice bubble bath, or a shower even. She would do anything for a cool shower.

     She swallows down the water, leaving some for the wrangler next to her. With worry puckered on his forehead, he observes her intently. It doesn’t go unnoticed, because a scoff erupts from her sore throat.      “I’m fine,” she assures him. “I’m just tired and a little sore, that’s all.”      But Dean isn’t convinced. Pondering he glances ahead, watching Benny and the other three riders. His Southern friend is making easy conversation and it seems like Macy and Brad are handling themselves, but Jon looks like he’s going on fumes.       “We should’ve gone back,” he mumbles, second guessing his decision.      “What? And return to the ranch without the horses?” she queries, resting her free hand on her thigh. “We had to make the jump, Dean. Rather on the second day than later. Plus, you said it yourself: find the water, find the herd.”      Ted’s rider looks aside, the muscles of his jaw tensing as he averts his eyes again. He did tell her that, but he has trouble trusting his own words. Running low on water could have disastrous consequences in the desert. Having enough of it while on a trail is one of the first essentials. What if they get stranded? What if one of the horses suffers a more severe injury than Cash already did?      

     “How much longer?”      Y/N didn’t mean the words to come out pleading, but when Dean returns her gaze sympathetically, she realizes how desperate she sounded. He then glances at the volcanic landscape around him, determining their position. With Battleship Mountain on his left and the entrance of Boulder Canyon straight up ahead, it can’t be more than a mile.      “We’re almost there,” he reassures her. “I promise.”      She nods, but her smile isn’t sincere. Everything other than ‘we’ll be there in five minutes’ is too long. Dean seems to be able to read her mind, however.      “We can go for a swim once we get there,” he adds.      Now Y/N does look up, her interest peaked.      “A swim?”      “Hm-hm. Where we’re headin’ isn’t just a little stream. There is water there the whole year round. So if you want, we can go for a swim.” He smiles at her.      God, that sounds heavenly. She looks forward to it already, although a question rises almost instantly. She can’t go swimming in her jeans, so that means the cowboy is going to see her, all of her. Insecure she smiles back at him, trying not to let her self-consciousness stand in the way.      “Don’t wait up for me; if you want to lead the group, go ahead. I’ll catch up.” She changes the subject, nodding at the six horses about forty yards up front.      He shrugs, shaking his head lightly and dismissing her suggestion.       “Benny will manage. I’d rather be riding next to you.” 

     And so he stays by her side as they descend into the narrow canyon, the trail getting steep. She lets Joplin choose the path, trusting the agile horse with bringing her down the slope. They drop several hundred feet in a short amount of time, Dean on her tail the entire time, making sure she will arrive at the river safely. Then the path evens out, a plateau hanging over a cliff seems to be the end of the line. The other wranglers halt at the edge, the moral lifting at the sight. Curious Y/N rides up to join them, when she spots it. In the middle of the dramatic landscape with intimidating rock formations, which cast long shadows over the land as the sun hangs low in the west, an oasis of green frames the riverbed. Crystal clear water runs through the La Barge Creek into Canyon Lake. Salt River snakes through the landscape to their east. They made it. They finally made it. After a long and stressful day in the saddle, they can finally recharge.      “Boys and girls, welcome to Eagle’s Nest,” Benny announces, a wide grin on his face.

     Y/N lets a deep sigh slip from her lips, just the image before her having her feel a little bit lighter already. She smiles at Dean, who mimics her expression, clearly relieved that it all worked out. The head wrangler is the first one to ride down the hill, the rest of the company in his wake. About a hundred yards from the water he stops Ted.      “Set up camp here?” Benny assumes.      Dean nods. “Let’s make it quick, before we run out of light.”      He dismounts his horse, slightly stiffer than he did yesterday; even the experienced trail rider is feeling this one deep in his muscles. Y/N does the same and she lands on the rocky surface with a thud, her feet tingling. Walking seems almost foreign, the first few steps a little unsteady, a sensation similar to having sea legs. Her supervisor hands her Ted.      “You can take the horses to drink first,” he lets his eyes glide from Y/N to Macy and Jon, who looks like he is in no shape to help set up camp. The women nod and get to it, taking over the other horses as well, figuring the sooner the evening chores are done, the sooner they can put their feet up. 

     All eight horses eagerly walk further down the slope and step into the creek while putting their lips to the surface. Joplin almost drains the lake, her ears ticking forward with each gulp. Y/N chuckles at her eagerness, as she takes her flask from her saddlebag and fills it up. Jon throws water into his face, a delighted sigh escaping him as he freshens up, Macy following his example.       “I’ve never appreciated water so much,” he claims. “I will never take it for granted again.”      “You and the water need a room?” Macy nags, splashing water at her friend, who returns the favor.       Y/N watches them banter, taking a long swig from her bottle, emptying almost three quarters in one go. The cold water runs down her throat and for a moment she feels a little uneasy, but then the fluid settles in her stomach. God, she was thirsty. Maybe even dehydrated, in combination with the relentless heat. But after a few more sips, she feels a lot better. Refilling her flask again, she straightens her back, looking up at the plateau where Dean, Benny and Brad are setting up the tents in record time. She walks around Joplin to the head wrangler’s horse, taking his bottle and filling it up as well. Having done the same for the other two wranglers, she takes Joplin and Ted to the camp, giving out water.

     “You’re a frickin’ lifesaver. Thanks, darlin’,” Benny compliments, taking his bottle gladly. After handing Brad’s flask back, she walks up to Dean, who is setting up a paddock for the horses. He doesn’t notice her until she’s right behind him; without thinking about it, she lays her hand on his strong biceps to get his attention. The wrangler turns around surprised, meeting her soft smile. She holds the water bottle up, his eyes bouncing from her to the refreshment, looking at it with the same want. Gratefully he takes the flask, his fingers brushing over hers in the exchange, before he twists the cap off and takes three, four, five swigs. He lets a contented ‘ahh’ slip from his lips, breathing out relieved. Y/N tries not to stare, but it’s like she’s under hypnosis. Those same lips were on hers last night, and she has to admit she wants that again. She needs to retain herself, though, because Brad and Benny are setting up the third tent next to them.

     Dean lowers the bottle, catching her slightly lowered jaw and hungry eyes. He smirks, his emerald greens twinkling as he wets his dry lips. Then he tucks his chin down, looking deep into her eyes while his darken a little. It seems like it’s only then that she realizes she is gaping and the blood rushes to her face. She breaks eye contact, smiling at her feet sheepishly. Oh, he knows exactly what he is doing.       After gathering her confidence, she looks up to meet his gaze, the playful smirk back on his lips. Something in the air has changed. The nerves have dissolved, together with the doubt. There is no question if they both feel attracted to each other, but rather when the pull between them grows too strong to resist. The silent moment of sexual tension lasts a couple of solid seconds, before Dean is called over by Brad to help him out. As he walks past Y/N, he holds her gaze and lets his fingertips brush her forearm. It leaves her skin sensitive, goosebumps running up, despite the fact that the temperature is nowhere near chilly.     

     Within ten minutes the camp is ready for occupation. The horses calmly chew on their hay and scavenge for grass and twigs in the makeshift paddock. Despite the long day, none of them are visibly tired. Not even Cash, who seems to have forgotten about the whole snake bite incident.       “Who wants to go swimmin’?”      Y/N puts down the last stone and closes the circle of the firepit, only looking up when she dusts off her hands. Benny has already shed his shirt, unzipping his pants now with no shame whatsoever. Stunned she stares at him, then quickly averts her eyes.       “Hell yes! I’ve been looking forward to diving into that creek ever since I laid eyes on it,” Jon muses, his appreciation for water still not faltering.

     The intern’s gaze lingers on Brad and Jon now; one kicking off his boots, the other unbuckling his belt. Even Macy follows without a second thought. The female guest notices Y/N’s hesitation, because she shrugs as she slips her denim jeans from her hips.      “No different than a bikini, right?” she comments carefree.       Macy has a point, it doesn’t ease Y/N’s nerves, though. Of course it’s not skinny dipping, but she still feels uncomfortable exposing so much skin. She glances at Dean, who leaves his hat on the corner pole of one of the tents. For a second she freezes as he unbuckles his belt, realizing there’s something else she hasn’t considered. Seeing Dean in nothing but his underwear might just be a bit too much for her to handle.            “Last one down takes the night’s watch!”      The broad shouldered farrier descends down the hill - only wearing his form fitting boxer briefs - with the guests in tow. Brad chases his sister, who squeals as she tries to stay out of reach, running into the water in her red bra and striped boy shorts. She doesn’t seem to care about how she looks. Y/N gulps as she watches her, wishing she had that kind of confidence.      “You comin’ or do you need my help undressin’?”      She jumps when she feels Dean’s hand on her hip and turns around. He stripped from his clothes, only wearing a pair of grey boxers. Dear Lord, he looks amazing. Last time she saw him shirtless, it was the morning of her first day on the job. He was freshly showered then, his hair fluffy. Now it is fixed with traces of gel, pushed up again when he ran his hand through it earlier, after his hat flattened the light brown strands. Dirt and dust have mixed with the sweat that the heat surfaced, adding to the tan lines on his arms and neck. She swallows with difficulty and tears her eyes from his toned chest up to his evergreen eyes.       The wrangler senses her discomfort, because he narrows his eyes at her slightly, the trademark smirk dying down. She knows that he was joking about the undressing part, right?     “You okay?” he checks.      “Yeah, yeah. I’m - I’m fine,” she assures, faking a smile. “I’ll be down in a minute.”      Dean holds her gaze for a second, trying to read her. Not sure if he made her feel uncomfortable, he lets his hand slip from her waist and decides against the quick kiss he was going to leave on her lips; he doesn’t want to push her. His expression is soft now, letting her know that it’s okay if she needs time.       “Alright,” he returns, leaving it at that.      He walks past her towards the water, the sounds of splashing and laughter welcoming him. Taking a deep breath, Y/N closes her eyes. She has to go down and join them and doing that clothed is both more conspicuous and impractical, since she’ll be wearing the same pair of jeans in the morning. Not taking a swim isn’t an option either, because this might be the only chance she gets to clean herself thoroughly, until they get back to the ranch. She has no choice, so why is she blowing this up in her mind? Why is she so self-conscious about her appearance? Because Jo told her once how Dean only goes for the pretty girls? Because she saw his former fling Casey, the beautiful brunette who could as well have been a model? Or is it because no one has ever looked at her like the head wrangler, and she doesn’t want him to see her differently after he witnesses all of her?

     Frustrated, she takes off her hat and pulls the hairband from her braid, strapping it around her wrist. Internally she scolds herself for letting the insecurity get to her, all the while she unbuttons her plaid blouse and shrugs it off hastily. Before she changes her mind, she takes off one boot, then the other, leaving them by her tent, neatly placed next to each other with her socks inside. Finally she pushes her jeans down, folding them up and placing them on top of her Western boots.       Again she inhales, because there she stands, in nothing but her black hipsters, a navy blue bra and a white tank top. Even though she had to pack light, she at least could have brought matching underwear. Not brave enough to take her undershirt off, she steps onto the path towards the water barefoot, running her fingers through her hair. The sight in front of her takes away some of her anxiety, because the wranglers, who were running low on moral an hour ago, are now enjoying their refreshing swim. Macy’s significant giggle echoes between the rocks at the river bed as Jon and Brad continue to tease her. Benny swims a slow lap, floating in the middle of the creek, while Dean washes his face in shallower waters. Thankfully, none of them are paying much attention as the intern approaches the waterline. 

     As she dips a toe in the water to test the temperature, Dean turns to look at her. His eyes shift from playful to mesmerized in a split second, because he has never seen her like this. For the first time since he met her, she’s wearing her hair down. The braid she left in for two days, leaves small waves in her locks, coming down like a waterfall. Her exposed legs haven’t seen much sun, due to her Northern origins, and probably her shyness as well. They seem strong, though, hours of horse riding and training leading to the muscles barely visibly moving under her soft skin, as she steps into the water.       He smiles at the sight of the young woman, who sweeps him off his feet every time he lays eyes on her. “There you are.”            She returns his expression, insecurity oozing through when she covers herself as much as she can. She has pulled her tank top down far enough to stretch over the little shorts she’s wearing. He is careful not to look at her differently, not wanting the self-conscious young woman to think that seeing her in less clothing changes his perspective, but deep down it hurts him. It hurts him that she apparently doesn’t feel like she’s beautiful, because God damn, she is.       “Just take the plunge, Yankee,” he encourages, letting himself fall back smoothly, the water up to his shoulders now.      “You know, for a place that is as hot as it is here, the water is pretty damn cold,” Y/N scoffs, collecting some of the water in her cupped hands and spreading it on her arms.      Dean chuckles at that. She said ‘damn’, it’s about as close to a curse that he’s heard from her.       “Once you’re in, it’s not so bad,” he promises. 

     Not having the heart to jump into the cool water, she puts one step into his direction, the surface at her knees now. This afternoon she would have committed a crime for a refreshing swim, but now that she is standing here, the cold licking at her ankles, she shivers. She still has her arms crossed, hugging herself in an attempt to feel warm and comforted. Movement of the water draws her attention and Y/N looks up at the head wrangler, who is moving towards her. Normally that wouldn’t strike her as alarming, but when she notices the mischievous grin adorning his handsome face, she holds her ground.      “W-what are you doing?” she stammers.      Dean doesn’t answer, but raises his eyebrows at her, fighting the fading resistance of the water with every stride. Oh boy, he is clearly up to no good. It causes her to step back and put out her hands in defense.      “No - no - no! Dean, don’t you dare!” she warns, once she understands where this is going.

     Y/N steps out of the creek now, trying to get away from him. But the cowboy is quick, and even when she sprints away, he manages to catch up. She lets out a scream when he grabs her by the waist, locking her to his chest with his strong arms. He then lifts her up without a strain and walks back to the creek. Not impressed with the fight she puts up as she tries to escape his grip, he steps into the cool water.      “Dean, put me down! Put me --”      Honoring her request, he jumps in, turning so that he is the first to dunk in the water and only then lets her go. They both go under, the cowboy coming up before her, shaking the water from his face. When Y/N breaks through the surface, he throws his head back while laughing out loud. The sheer horror on her face says it all; her mouth hanging open, her hair soaked and covering her eyes, her shoulders pulled up to her ears. She looks more like a cat who got dropped into the bath than a human being.

     She wants to be mad at him, but the sound of his laughter melts her stone cold limbs. With a scoff she pushes the tangled strands from her face, glaring at the cowboy as she bites down on her lip in order to not break character. But then she chuckles, shaking her head.      “You are such a jerk,” she utters.      “You were taking forever,” he returns sniggering.       Amused he watches her, moving a little closer. He’s about to apologize, when Y/N kicks her foot up, sending a big splash his way. He turns his head to avoid getting even wetter and counters with a good pitch, a handful of water sloshing at her as she protects her face. They continue to spatter like a bunch of kids, cackling as they do so, until Benny intervenes.

     “Children!” he calls out, finally getting his friend’s attention.      Both stop mid-action, glancing aside at the farrier who is watching the banter with his arms crossed and the water at his waist.      “Permission to get the diving boards, Chief?” he requests.      Dean nods, confirming, liking his Southern brother’s idea. Y/N studies him puzzled, however.      “We didn’t bring diving boards, did we?” she double checks, not sure what Benny is up to.      “Not the typical ones, no,” Dean returns mysteriously. “You’ll see.”

     Benny returns from the camp not even a minute later, a horse by the halter in each hand. Stunned Y/N watches how he leads Ted Nugent and his own horse Ozzy Osbourne towards the riverbed, the large animals stepping in trustingly. He hands Dean Ted as he passes by, guiding the other chestnut to the center of the creek. When the water reaches to Ozzy’s shoulder, Benny pulls himself on top of the calm horse. Clearly it isn’t the first time that the wranglers have done this, because even when the farrier stands up on the gelding’s back, Ozzy waits patiently.       “Bombs away!”

     With a loud cheer Benny jumps from the ‘platform’, pulling his knees to his chest and breaking the surface with an impressive cannonball dive. He sends a tidal wave over the tourists, who rally him on. They swim towards Ozzy, who seems to love the cool down plus the attention. One by one they climb on his back, diving from his strong hindquarters.      Dean watches the bunch with a contentment over him that Y/N hasn’t seen before. He leans against Ted, his arm resting over the arc of the horse’s spine. Of course this isn’t the first time she notices how relaxed he is, how at home he feels, and yet something is different about him. Like he reached a new level of happiness, of fulfillment. That couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her, now could it? But when he lets his eyes wander from the frolicking guests to Y/N, his smile grows wider, edging crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.       “Wanna go for a ride?” he asks.      Without wasting words, she nods, holding his gaze until he takes Ted’s leadrope. Skillfully he swings his leg over the horse’s back, using the momentum to jump from the creek’s bottom and landing behind Ted’s withers. Once he’s seated, he extends his hand towards the woman beside him, grabbing her arm and interlocking it with his. With one swift pull he hoists her from the water, Y/N using the same technique to sway onto the horse, settling behind the head wrangler. As he steers Ted a little deeper into the water, his free hand comes to rest on Y/N’s thigh, not caring about the guests seeing them together. 

     The cowgirl’s balance on a horse is that of a gymnast on the beam, so holding on to Dean wouldn’t be necessary, but she puts her arms around his waist anyway. Comfortable and allowing herself to let this be, like he has encouraged her to, she rests her cheek against the hollow between his shoulder blades for a moment, closing her eyes. Her bare feet sweep through the water, her toes drawing ripples on the surface, the break catching the last light of the day. Despite that she is not holding the reins, bareback on a horse that she doesn’t know, she feels safe. She hasn’t felt this carefree since the early days of her horse riding career. Her grandfather would walk with her during those very first pony rides, teaching her about horses along the way. She trusted him fully, never once doubting his life lessons and knowledge. With Dean it’s a different kind of faith. It’s knowing he will be right there whenever she needs him, but also to give her the courage to take that leap.       “You alright back there, Yankee?” he wonders, feeling her smile against his skin.      “Yeah,” she acknowledges. “I am.”      The corner of Dean’s mouth pulls upward, his hand holding the leadrope shifting from Ted’s mane to cover her hands on his stomach, fingers entwining, trapping the braided cord in between. The rope made of horsehair scratches his palm, a contrast to her soft skin. Grateful he breathes in, the smell of desert dust underlaid with a subtle, herbal, organic scent of the river fills his nose.       Before, he never felt like he needed something more in life. He has never gone steady with a woman, not more than a couple of weeks at least. He was never looking for a relationship and appreciated the freedom that came with that. But now, having her pressed against his back, warm and comforting, he realizes what he’s been missing. 

     They approach the other wranglers, the rider exchanging a knowing look with Benny, who takes in the perfect picture delighted. Before the guests notice the intimacy, Y/N slips her arms from Dean’s strong torso, pulling up her feet.      “What are you doin’?” the cowboy wonders, looking over his shoulder.       She stands up on Ted’s back and stretches her legs, steadying herself by holding on to him until she finds her footing. Then she straightens up.      “Taking the plunge,” she chuckles.      The intern jumps then, squeezing her nose closed as she folds herself into a ball before she crashes through the surface. Macy is still cackling when Y/N comes up, unsuccessful at dodging the spatter that came her way. Meanwhile the others cheer her on, now that she has finally joined them. She has completely forgotten about her insecurities, or the cold water that washed all that away. All she can think of is how blessed she is to be here, to gain so much more than just work experience. 

     The crew takes several more dives from the horses, who allow the gambol calmly. Dean drops an impressive dive bomb right between the group, not outdoing his slightly heavier friend Benny, but creating quite a splash nonetheless. Time flies by way too quickly, and before they know it, the sun has disappeared behind the mountains, leaving only dark shades of red and purple to decorate the sky. The air cools quickly and everyone knows they should get ready for the night. Eventually it’s Benny who rattles up the company.      “Alright, y’all. Time for Benny’s famous Southern soul soup. Get your butts to camp and start that fire. I’ve got some cookin’ to do.”      He shoos the tourists out of the creek, following them with the two horses in tow. He looks over his shoulder at his best friend and the intern, who linger. A mischievous grin comes Dean’s way before the farrier straightens himself, walking away whistling. Y/N sniggers at the funny character; looks like he has been acting as the head wrangler’s wingman.      “Smooth,” she comments, a knowing yet amused smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.      “Yeah, he’s real subtle,” Dean chuckles, busted. “Got you alone again, though.”      He comes closer, water moving between them, and suddenly nature goes quiet. His hands end up on her hips, pulling in the girl who is so willingly looking at him. His fingers trace the hem of her white tank top as he dips his head, his nose brushing against hers. 

     Before Y/N knows it, he’s kissing her again. She melts into him, her muscles going slack under his touch. Like the night before, the kiss is gentle and unhurried, giving her a moment to compare the two. His lips are a little more chapped, probably due to the long day in the sun while running low on water. A three day old stubble tickles her skin, the tough hairs slightly longer than yesterday. He’s clean now, fresh water having washed away the sweat and dirt. The first-time nerves aren’t there this evening, but she does feel that same fire rise up from her coil. That same desire to stay here forever, because no kiss has ever felt this good.

     He parts from her, with his hands still splayed on her lower back, looking down on the cowgirl he has hopelessly fallen for. A few clouds reflect the little light that is coming from the horizon, but it’s enough for Dean to notice something. He grins widely, even though he tries to tone it down, as his hands leave her waist to run the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, sweeping across the area under her eyes. For a second she wonders what he’s trying to brush away, but then it hits her.      “Oh, Lord. I look like a Goth, don’t I?” she realizes, remembering how fond she was to still have a significant amount of mascara on her lashes this morning, helping her feel a little less naked. Now she regrets not washing it off completely.      “More like a sad panda,” Dean chuckles, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle a laugh.

     Awkwardly she looks down at the water, but the wrangler stops her, hooking his finger under her chin.      “Don’t hide,” he says, his expression soft.      Cupping her face, he wipes away the last black shades from her flushed cheeks, then drinks her in, his eyes flicking over her features. Embarrassment remains prominent in her stance, though. Dean feels his chest tighten a little, because if anything, he did not want to make her feel uneasy.       “You know you don’t have to wear it, right?” he starts, his thumb caressing her soft skin. “The makeup?”      She looks up at him again now, still insecure, but carefully hopeful. Where is he going with this?      “I mean, if you want to and if it makes you feel better, don’t let me stop ya...” he adds, stammering a little bit. “I’m just saying that you don’t need it. You’re beautiful... With or without.”

     A small smile forms on her lips. Again she’s blushing, not from shame, but from flattery this time.       “You think I’m beautiful?” she asks, traces of slight disbelief in her voice.      “Hell, yeah,” Dean assures smirking, half rolling his eyes at her doubt. “And as my lovely cousin told you in such detail, I have snooped around plenty, so I’d know. Those girls ain’t got nothing on you.”      She laughs at the joke, casting her eyes down.       “Hey…”      Y/N glances up, the intensity of his eyes catching her off guard.       “I mean it,” he whispers.       Showing her exactly how amazing she is, he kisses her hard this time, leaving her breathless. Overwhelmed by the intensity she stiffens, but then opens up to him, allowing his tongue to slip past her lips. With her eyes closed she waits, letting him take the lead in their dance.       Careful not to break the moment, Dean leans back, letting himself fall gently into the water, taking her with him. Floating away on waves of elation, he envelopes her in his arms, offering her the warmth of his body in the icy creek. He rises up then, searching for footing again on the floor of pebbles, the water at chest height now. For a second they part, breathing in each other’s air. The wrangler opens his eyes, looking down at the gorgeous woman who is slowly becoming his. Waiting for even the slightest hint of hesitation, he moves his fingers to trace down the hem of her top again, slipping underneath. She gazes back, her eyes piercing with nothing but want, nodding barely noticeable. Dean spots it, though. It’s like the lights on the track jumped to green, meeting her halfway in a kiss much more heated than the previous ones. 

     His hands hike up under her shirt, gliding over her delicate skin as his mouth never leaves hers. A hitching breath passes her lips when the pad of his thumb caresses the underside of her breast, featherlight, yet electrifying. Dean pushes her bra up slightly, almost tracing her nipple, which has hardened both from the cold and arousal. Completely in awe, she rolls her head back a little, exposing her neck. Gladly Dean ghosts over the junction to her shoulder, running his teeth towards her collarbone torturously slow, biting down a groan on the curve. Good Lord. His touch, his tongue, his mouth. Everything about this feels amazing. The freezing water is just the right temperature to cool her heated skin, the swell of the small waves identical to the one she feels in her lower abdomen. The cowboy can have her anyway he wants, she’s not going to fight him on it. In fact, she urges him to keep going, carding her nails through his damp hair and applying pressure once she closes her fingers around the brown locks, darkened by millions of droplets.

     Dean’s right hand descends down her body again while his left remains to attend her soft breast. He follows the arch of her back, then lower, kneading and exploring her behind, firm from years in the saddle. Holy shit, this cannot possibly feel this good. The resolution to take things slow goes right out the window, as his fingers find space above the back of her thigh, following the edge of her underwear. Then he grips her tight there, his other hand sliding to cover the clasp of her bra, not freeing her from it just yet. He lifts her a little, pushing her flush against him. Hungry for the woman in his arms, he covers the top of her breasts with his mouth, the soaked fabric of her top between him and her hot skin. Dean knew it before, but this, this unbelievable display of chemistry only confirms it; she’s it. 

     His lips find hers again, even though she has to keep breaking away in order to get enough air. Her respiration has picked up, every breath coming out labored. She can feel the gentle vibration of a low moan coming from deep within his chest, only adding fuel to the wildfire that is spreading through her body fast. At first she is unaware of the noise of water rustling in the distance, but then Dean freezes. Not understanding why he has stopped, she nuzzles her nose against his cheek, drunk and thirsty for his affection, seeking his mouth, but the wrangler is focussed on something else. Confused Y/N opens her eyes, looking up at the handsome man, whose eyes are fixed on the estuary of La Barge Creek to Canyon Lake.      “Dean?”      “You hear that?” he whispers.

     The sound of water moving and the fragile surface breaking dawns on her now and she follows his gaze into the dark. Then she hears a neigh and her heart skips a beat. That wasn’t one of theirs.      “Find the water…”      “Find the herd,” Dean finishes her sentence.      Still in his embrace, she watches the mystical sight, able to make out the shapes now under a faint moon, once the clouds move away from blocking the light. The group of horses crosses the creek, some stopping to drink. Dean lets out a relieved laugh, turning to face Y/N again.      “We found them,” she smiles.      “We did,” he whispers.      He kisses her briefly, knowing that he has to warn Benny, before the herd moves away. He drowns in her eyes a little longer, though, the ignited ecstasy still sparkling visibly in her pupils. His heart swells, his mind calms. He knows. He has found so much more than just the horses on this trail. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part fourteen here

[quirkykayleetam]

Broken Pieces Pt. 4: Beth’s Answer

Beth knew something was wrong as soon as Jay didn’t walk through the doors of their apartment building at exactly 5:37 pm.

She imagined what always happened at time, what should have been happening then: Jay would check their mail, draining the last drops of soda from a Grape Crush can.  Condensing the aluminum, they would smile to themselves and deftly toss the can into the recycling bin while humming a wordless tune.  They would switch their mail to their left hand before heading up the stairs to knock on Beth’s door and tell her the stock market index.  Beth didn’t know why Jay did this.  To her knowledge, neither of them owned stocks, but it made Jay feel better, so Beth always smiled and wished them well.

That was their routine.  That was safe.  This emptiness was not.

“Calm down,” Beth muttered to herself, sipping herbal tea from a hideously orange discount mug.  “The kid could have a night out with friends.  (On a Thursday?)  They could work late.  (Despite their painstaking precision)  They could...have a date?”

Beth shouldn’t be worried about them.  Not when they were just a few minutes late.

But then Jay didn’t show up to the apartment’s lounge the next morning to help Beth with her crossword puzzle.  They didn’t tease her about ignoring the Sudoku or make faces at her mug of tea.  Beth grit her teeth and shut her eyes.  She couldn’t take it anymore.  She had to act, to do something, to try to right this wrong in the world.

“What’s the name?”

“Jay.  Well, technically Jonathan Anthony Young.  Junior.  Their dad died a few years ago and they’ve gone by Jay ever since.”

Beth knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it.  The police station made her nervous and the cop behind the desk just wouldn’t seem to listen.

“Age?”

“26.  Maybe 27?  They don’t talk about their birthday much because they hate being the center of attention and never want folks to make a fuss.”

“And you are?”

“Their neighbor.”

“Just a neighbor?”

“A friend.”  

Beth squeezed her hands together.  She needed more caffeine.

“Look, are you sure he didn’t just go out of town for a few days without telling you?  I mean, it’s not like you’re family,” the cop said, fake sympathy dripping from her voice.

That was it.  Beth had had enough.  She slammed her shaking hands down on the desk in front of her.

“Look, the kid has OCD, okay?  They don’t break their routines, not for anything or anyone. So when I say Jay didn’t meet me for tea and crosswords this morning I’m not saying that I miss them.  I’m saying that they’re MISSING.  If you don’t let me file a Missing Person’s report whatever happens to them is on you.”

***

72 hours.

Beth cursed under her breath as she left the precinct.  72 hours before the police would do anything.  72 hours before anyone else would even care.  Beth tried to hold out half a hope that Jay’s fancy-pants computer job would notice when he didn’t show up in the morning, but she was too angry to think straight.

Jay was in trouble and she couldn’t help him.  All she could do was wait.

Months passed. Beth had never felt more useless.  Somedays her godawful mugs were filled with more whiskey than tea.

Then there was a knock on her door in 342 B.

“Elizabeth Martinez?”

The man in the suit eyed Beth warily, but remained professional.  Whoever he was expecting, it obviously wasn’t an overweight 38-year-old secretary.  His hands were full of papers and he was backed by stiff security guards.

Beth straightened her posture.  She wouldn’t intimidated without a damn good reason.

“Yes,” she said, parking her body in the middle of her door.

“You were listed by Morgan Security as Jay’s emergency contact.”

The words almost made her knees buckle.

“What happened?  Did you find him?  Is he..?”

“He’s alive.”

Beth breath wooshed out of her in a rush.  She felt something like relief for the first time in months and it terrified her.

“We’d like to discuss the details,” the suited man continued.  “May we come in.”

Beth stepped back from the door.

***

Torture.

Beth’s hands gripped her mouth and her chest as they told her.  Jay had been TORTURED.  Apparently they’d held up well, hadn’t given up anything.  Beth couldn’t care less about that.  She just wanted to spare him that pain.  That agony.  Jay was just a kid.  They didn’t deserve…

She shook her head and turned back to the conversation.  That train of thought would take her nowhere.  She couldn’t help Jay then, but she could as hell help them now.

Morgan Security didn’t want this to go public.  Their clients’ trust in their company was paramount.  The business didn’t want it shaken by a scandal like this.  They offered to pay for all of Jay’s medical bills, rent for a house out of the city, a generous stipend for Beth so she could take care of Jay full time.

Remuneration, they called it.  Thanks for Jay’s hard work and loyalty.

Beth called it Hush Money.

She still signed on the dotted line.

“Jay’s mother?” She demanded before the deal was done.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s sick.  Lives in a psych ward at Felicity General.  Jay always spent a considerable amount of their salary to keep her cared for and comfortable.”

“Certainly,” the suit said.  “We can continue those arrangements.”

“Good.  Now when can I see Jay?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Beth squared her gaze and prepared for a fight.

“Jay’s parents are out of the picture.  Their father is dead and their mother can’t tell a hawk from a handsaw.  What do you want to bet that Jay put me down as primary carer on his medical forms too?  Wait, I bet you already know that.  So if you want to try to stop me from tracking that kid down and ramming 12 lawsuits down your throat, be my guest.  I think it would be easier if you took me to him.  Now.”

The suit straighten his tie and cleared his throat.  He nodded.

Beth grabbed her purse to follow him out the door when she heard a soft murmur from the security guard behind her.

“All this trouble for one broken computer tech…”

Before she knew it, Beth was at the man’s throat, finger pointed firmly at his nose.

“You will never call Jay broken again, you hear me?  They may be hurt.  Hell, they may be hurting for the rest of their life.  But they are a person, not a thing you can toss on the ground and just leave.  They gave everything for you and even if they didn’t, they would still deserve your respect.”

She spit in the guard’s face.  No one else moved.

“Now come with me,” she said darkly.  “I’ve got a job for you.”

***

A flurry of activity met Beth and the suit as they walked into Jay’s spacious hospital room.  Guards were stationed at every entrance.  Beth wasn’t sure if they were supposed to make Jay feel safe or to protect Morgan Security’s investment.

“What’s wrong?” the suit said.

“Jay’s asking again,” said a nearby nurse, walking by with a used IV.  “We’ve tried telling them that the operation took 8 hours or that they slept on and off for 3 days.  They’re still agitated.  We don’t want to sedate them until after the doctor has examined their ribs.”

Beth breezed passed the conversation until her eyes found the hospital bed.  Immediately, her hands went to her mouth and chest again.

Jay was hardly recognizable.  Even at 6’2,’’ they looked small.  Starvation had withered them down to a bean pole.  The parts of their skin that was visible above the blankets was purpled with bruises that seemed to sink into their body like they were still being beaten.  Their hands were suspended above them, encased in white plaster casts with splints everywhere that Beth could see.

Jay was clearly exhausted and disoriented.  Dark circles under his eyes betrayed in the wildness within.  They thrashed against their restraints, trying to meet the gaze of everyone around them.

“How long?” they asked, voice cracking.  “How long?”

“7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” Beth said loudly.  Everyone in the room turned to look at her.  She kept her eyes planted firmly on Jay’s.

“You’ve been gone for 7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” she continued, motioning the security guard she accosted in her apartment to bring over a formidable cardboard box.  “And we noticed, Jay.  We missed you every second.  We would never let you fade away.”

The patient’s struggling ceased.  Jay looked back at Beth, still lost.

She went to the box and lifted newspaper after newspaper out of it, bringing all she could hold in her arms to Jay’s bedside.  She held them up one by one so Jay could see the dates, the tangible proof that time existed outside of whatever cell he was held in, proof that they were out of there and that this, this was real.

“That’s today’s date, Jay-bird.  That’s the date you are free.”

Jay, however, just kept scanning the page until he found the Sunday crossword.

“You didn’t do it,” they whispered.

“Of course not.  I didn’t do any of them.” Beth said, gesturing to the box of papers.  “I couldn’t.  Not...not without you.”

She brushed curly blond hair back from Jay’s forehead as it tightened into a frown.

“But, I can’t...I can’t help you,” Jay said miserably, gesturing with his head at his splintered hands.

“Pfft, as if I ever let you write on my crosswords anyway!” Beth said gently.  “Now will you settle down and let these doctors do their job?  I don’t know about you, but I need a nap.  Then you can help me with 12 down.  It’s a stumper.”

For the first time sense the Faceless Men jumped them, Jay smiled.  They settled back against the pillows, fading quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

@dragonyoudownwithme​ requested Anger Born of Worry.  I’m pretty darn sure this counts!

I really wanted you all to meet Beth and (hopefully) love her like I do.  Please let me know what you think!!!

Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!):  @stoic-whumpee​​, @whatwasmyprevioususername​​, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall​​, @straight-to-the-pain​​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​, @0idril0​​, @fallingstormphoenix​​, @whump-fantasies​​, @imagination1reality0​​, @whumpback-wail​, @whump-tr0pes​, @untilthepainstarts​, @captivity-whump​

[your-iron-lung]

Get Hurt

also available to read on AO3 HERE

Story Synopsis: For all the shit Wayne’d given Katy about dating Reilly and Jonesy in the past, she felt it was more than a little owed to pay him back for all of the ways he’d teased her about them.

“Wayne, is it considered domestic abuse when you give Darry the beats, now that you guys are sweeties ‘nd all?”

Word Count: 1601

Pairings: Wayne/Darryl

Genre: Humor, Friendship

Notes: what am i doing. the first complete thing ive written in months and its this?? lord have mercy, but im tryin

---

“Wayne, is it considered domestic abuse when you give Darry the beats, now that you guys are sweeties ‘nd all?”

Katy’s innocently posed question seemed to take them all by surprise. Darry’s brow furrowed as he sat up in his lawn chair, head snapping quickly to the side to look at where Wayne was sitting. He’d been halfway to bringing a fresh bottle of Puppers to his lips when a blank expression spread over his face, his mouth dropping open into a silent ‘oh’, completely oblivious to the way Dan’s head took to swiveling between the two of them, eyes wide with contemplation.

“No,” Darry said sharply after a moment, sitting back in his chair steadfastly as though he’d resolved the issue. He shook his head as he said it and looked off toward the road to spit. “No. No way.”

“Well, why not?” Katy asked. She crossed one of her legs over the other and stole a self-satisfied look at Wayne, who appeared for all the world to have completely lost his ability to speak. “You’re his sweetie now; a man gives his sweetie the beats, it’s considered abuse.”

“Well, ‘cept it’s not.” Darry’s voice was self-certain, but his face was still twisted up in confusion. It was evident that neither of them had considered the possibility before.

“Well put,” Katy said dryly. Sitting up to lean over the back corner of her lounge seat, she caught a look at her brother and had to suppress a small smile. “Wayne? Care to weigh in on this, big brother?”

She waited for a response, but his expression was still locked in mild shock. He hadn’t even set his Puppers down.

“But it’s not,” Darry said again, looking to Wayne for affirmation. His voice began to rise in pitch, a desperate franticness taking over his tone as he spoke when Wayne didn’t acknowledge him. “It’s not! It’s just- just wrasslin’. Boys being boys, you know; that kinda fuck-around shit.”

“I think it changes the definition a bit when those boys are sweet on each other,” Katy responded smoothly, enjoying the way Darry’s pale face heated up with embarrassment. He looked back towards the road and held his bottle of Puppers awkwardly between his knees.

“And, well, if I may adds my thoughts on this, Miss Katy?” Katy turned to look at Squirrely Dan as he finally found his place to chime in. She nodded, and he continued. “Now, Darry, Professor Tricia says that that’s a particularlies toxic ways of thinking.”

“What’s that?” Darry asked, looking even more confused than he had before.

“Oh, fuck,” Wayne finally muttered, lowering both his head and his Puppers.

“You’s said before it was just likes ‘boys bein’ boys’,” Dan elaborated, looking sagely in the shade of the produce stand. He had his hands tucked into the straps of his overalls, and was sat back comfortably in his seat. “But, Professor Tricia says that that’s a prime examples of toxic masculinities at plays and shouldn’t be relieds upon to excuse violent behaviours.”

“Now that’s well put,” Katy commented, and Dan smiled at her.

“You acknowledges my higher learnings, Miss Katy, and that’s what I appreciates about you.”

“Oh, is that what you appreciate about me?”

A silence stole over them as they both waited for Wayne to tell Dan to back off, but his low mutterings telling him to ‘take about 20% off her there, Squirrely Dan,’ never came. The discussion at hand was apparently weighing heavier on him than Katy had initially intended it to.

Not that she’d ever thought Wayne was abusing Darry, or that he was even capable of abusing anyone he declared to be his sweetie at all; he was far too kind to get mixed up in that kind of ugly, small town business. When she’d brought it up, she’d only thought that it’d be funny to poke at their relationship a little. It’d been a slow day at the stand, and their relationship was still fresh off the presses, after all, and for all the shit they’d given her for dating Jonesy and Reilly, Katy felt it was more than a little owed to pay them back for all the ways they’d used to tease her about them.

“Well, yeah,” Dan said awkwardly, unused to Wayne not intervening in order to cut off his advances. “I reckons it is.”

“Again, though, I say that it isn’t like that ‘tween Wayne and I,” Darry said after one long, contemplative moment in which they all enjoyed the warmth of the midday sun as it bore down upon them.

“You mean ‘Wayne and me’,” Katy corrected lackadaisically, closing her eyes and settling back into her lounge to stretch out her legs. “You gonna elaborate on why that is, big shoots, or are you just going to sit there and fuss the dirt with your toes again?”

Darry frowned self-consciously and spared a look at the ground he’d been messing with his feet. Small little grooves had sprung up near the tread of his rubber boots from where he’d been ribbing his heels into the dirt. “I say it can’t be domestic abuse, on the grounds that I’m a man,” he said, squaring his jaw definitively as he said it.

“Ho!”

Dan’s abrupt shout took them all by surprise, even prompting Wayne to look up from the blade of grass he’d been focusing all his thoughts on.

“Now you’re just being ignorants there, Darry,” Dan said heatedly, an uncharacteristically dark expression clouding over his gentle face. He sat up and leaned around to better look Darry in the eye in order to reprimand him. “Mens can be abused just as easilys and with the same amounts of frequencies that womens can by their respective sweeties. Professor Tricia says that lots of reports of abuse against mens don’t gets reported for that exact harmful lines of thinkings! ‘Because I’m a mans’; sort yourself out Daryl,” he muttered angrily, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Oh, bother,” Darry mumbled, slouching back in his chair, utterly defeated.

A small little smirk worked its way onto Katy’s face as they each fell into silence, listening to the occasional car or truck as it rumbled by the stand. She wanted to goad Wayne into speaking on the issue, but when he got that mixed up in his own thoughts it was often times better to just let him stew on them until he could get them out coherently on his own. Otherwise he’d just get frustrated and refuse to speak altogether, and this conversation deserved his spoken opinion.

“Well, d’ya wanna know what I think?”

All eyes turned to Wayne as he finally resolved to speak.

“Been waiting to hear it all day, big shoots,” Katy said as she sat up proper. “Pitter patter.”

His gaze was still fixed to the side, his eyes squinting at something he found worth focusing on. He crossed his arms across his chest and blinked.

“Now, it’s impolite to kiss and tell,” he started, speaking slowly and deliberately, halting after every couple of words to keep his resolve going, “but, as far as I know… it can’t be considered abuse if… the person what’s getting the beats… enjoys gettin’ beat.” His voice grew quieter and quieter with every word he spoke, losing its usual pitch and momentum until he eventually tapered off.

Katy’s mouth dropped open in delight, her eyebrows shooting up as she turned excitedly in her chair from looking at Wayne to Darry, who’d gone redder in the face than he had that time he’d forgotten to put on his ‘cologne’ before a long day working in the fields harvesting.

“Daryl!” she exclaimed scandalously, absolutely loving the sight of Daryl being so flustered he couldn’t speak. He swiftly put his bottle of Puppers to his lips and made quick work in downing it, but he didn’t refute any of what Wayne had said.

In his own seat at the other end of the produce stand, Wayne’s face was taking on a reddish hue of its own as he sat staring fixatedly at the ground. “Fuck,” he muttered, “it’s impolite to kiss and tell.”

“Oh,” Dan said, pulling his face into a thoughtful expression as he mulled over what Wayne’d said. “Well, yeah, iffin its ‘tween two adults whats doin’ and takin’ the beats consensuallys, then I don’t reckons it can be considereds domestic abuses. It’s fucking weird, Darry, and you’re fucking weird, but as long as its consensuals.”

With his beer downed and unable to reach for another one, Darry sat in his seat for one uncomfortable moment, enduring Katy’s jeering taunts and Dan’s words of encouragement before he stood up without warning and walked away, his face brighter and redder than the ripest tomato any of them had ever seen.

“It’s impolite to kiss and tell!” he ended up shouting back at them once he’d walked far enough away, his voice cracking humorously halfway through. “Fuck!”

“Back to chorin’,” Wayne declared abruptly soon after, unwilling to take the brunt of his friends’ teasing comments after Darry left him to them. He knocked over his still-full bottle of Puppers as he jerked upright and stiffly walked off after Darry, his face as red as the plaid button-up he was wearing.

Katy sat back in her lounge seat with a completely self-satisfied look on her face.

“Well, Dan, I’d say this was a productive day as any.”

“I’d says so, Miss Katy. You’s gots a real mind for debatins, and that’s what I appreciates about you.”

“Is that what you appreciate about me now?”

[tisfan]

Say It Again

Square: B3 - Deaf Creators: @tisfan & @27dragons Title: Say it Again Warning: None Rating: Teen Characters: Bucky, Tony, Clint, FRIDAY Tags: temporary deafness, tech doesn’t solve everything, caretaker Tony, dyslexia, ableist language and self-hatred Summary: Bucky loses the ability to hear… and learns something new about himself... Warning: This fic contains some mild amounts of cultural ableism, particularly in Bucky’s views on himself, not being able to read.  Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396732 Word Count: 3397 Posted for @winterironbingo​

Bucky always seemed smaller, somehow, in the infirmary, than he did in the rest of the world. Presence. Tony knew something about that; people were constantly shocked by how much shorter Tony was than they’d imagined, and, to some degree, how much less loud in a personal setting than a professional one.

The fact that he had lifts in the Iron Man armor probably didn’t hurt, either.

Bucky had come awake very suddenly that morning; the damage from the fall, combined with being at ground zero of a non-nuclear explosion had sent him into a coma for several days. Not unexpected, and while nerve-wracking, Tony admitted that sleep was the best thing for him. Let the serum heal the damage, just as soon as the medical trauma teams finished closing up the wounds.

He’d… laid there for a long time, not answering anyone. Eyes opened, looked around the room, and then closed again. He didn’t entirely seem… aware.

Around noon, he’d finally given medical something they could work with. He’d pointed metal fingers at his ear, and then shook his head.

His hearing was gone. Entirely, though the medics were confident that the serum would heal the damage in time. They didn’t, however, have any idea how long that would take. A few hours? A few days? A month? No clue. Ears, it turned out, were finicky and fussy constructions.

But other than that, he was in great shape, only a few bruises and nicks left to highlight where the worst of the damage had been, so they were cutting him loose.

Which left it to Tony to take care of his boyfriend. That was a switch; usually it was Bucky hovering at Tony’s side as he laboriously and without the serum healed from his injuries, or hacked his way through whatever bug had run rampant through the building.

Tony had whipped up quick app for Bucky’s tablet -- as long as he was within range of the Compound, anything anyone said to Bucky would be displayed on the tablet’s screen, in a discreet little bar at the top of the screen, where it wouldn’t interfere with the rest of the tablet’s function. “Here you go, babe,” he said, demonstrating the functions. “I’m pretty sure I can make it work outside of FRIDAY’s range, but the native voice-to-text translators are... lacking.”

Bucky stared down at the tablet, then back up at Tony’s mouth, back down to the tablet. He hadn’t said anything, at all, since the med techs turned him loose, even though nothing was wrong with his vocal chords. He scowled at the tablet again, then, very slowly, tapped out Thank you, and showed it to Tony. Followed by a scribble of Bucky’s normally terrible handwriting -- he’d been left handed before the accident, and Hydra hadn’t cared about his penmanship -- you talk too fast.

(more below the cut)

“You already knew that,” Tony pointed out, grinning. “I’ll try to slow it down a little for you. Is this better?” It felt like talking through molasses, honestly. “You know you can still talk, right?”

Bucky nodded. Medtex md me. Fezl weird.

Tony squinted at the message, then nodded. “Okay, as long as you know you can. Whatever makes you more comfortable. They said you should take it easy for a while, so... What do you want to do? Play chess? Watch a movie? We can put in something you’ve already seen, turn on the subtitles.”

Bucky stared down at the block of text that Tony had spewed out, even talking slower, he tended to say at least four times as many words as strictly necessary. Movis good. Die Hard? Unlike Steve, who complained constantly about the gunfire scenes in various action movies, Bucky’d always seemed to enjoy them; everything from Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy to Indiana Jones and back, the more ridiculous, the better.

Die Hard was not a Christmas movie, even if some people insisted it was, but they’d started it as a tradition around then, and sometimes Bucky would ask to watch it in July anyway. It might not be a Christmas movie, but Tony knew something about comfort films.

“You got it, sugarlips. You want to get it set up and I’ll get us some snacks?” Especially since Bucky had been in a coma, healing, for a couple of days. He was bound to be hungry; IV nutrition just barely sustained him. Something calorie-dense -- nachos, maybe, with meat and veggies and cheese, protein and fat and carbs all at once, and at least a nod toward nutrition. And some cookies for dessert.

Tony put it all together, a heaping platter of food and a selection of drinks, and carried it all back out to the movie room.

For a while, it was just them, and then Nat came in, wearing old leggings with holes in them and an oversized sweatshirt that Tony was pretty sure belonged to Steve. And then Steve joined them. And Bruce. And Clint.

And of course, everyone talked.

Bucky spent more of the movie scowling at his tablet than he did watching the film.

Tony nudged him. “Okay?”

Bucky nodded. Then, taking advantage of what appeared to be yet another Steve-against-gun-phyics argument, said in a voice that was probably meant to be a whisper. “It’s a lot.”

Tony glanced down at the tablet, which was scrolling text across the top in a continuous marquee, one line for Steve’s rant, and another for the movie, and a third of Clint arguing with Steve. Tony grimaced. “Sorry,” he said. “You want to do something else?” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to underscore his question.

Bucky nodded. Wrksp? Can just watch u

Tony nodded quickly. “Yeah, absolutely, we can do that.” He set aside the various dishes and bottles piled on their laps and then helped Bucky to his feet. “We’re just going to go somewhere a little quieter,” he told the others’ curious looks.

“He’s deaf,” Clint pointed out. “It doesn’t get much quieter than that.”

Tony made a face. “I can still hear you, birdbrain.” He curled his hand into Bucky’s. “Come on, Buckaboo.”

Being deaf was not at all like what Bucky had thought -- if he’d even given it any thought at all before it happened, and he was pretty sure he had not. 

First off, it wasn’t pure silence, if there could ever be such a thing. Bucky’s serum had enhanced most of his senses, turned them up to eleven, as Peter Parker had once explained it. He could hear breathing and heartbeats and the pulse of blood through a person’s veins, including his own. So, silence was a concept, not ever a reality.

Even being deaf, apparently, wasn’t no noise.

It was just senseless noise.

His head rang like a bell, constantly. Like a headache, with no pain. What he “heard” was the audio equivalent of the shimmer of sunlight on too-hot pavement. Directionless. Meaningless. Noise.

But it wasn’t silence.

There were some sounds he could still, sort of, hear. Gunfire. Someone yelling. It didn’t mean anything, out of context as it was, but he could hear it. 

So, that was good, at least. He didn’t have to worry about not hearing someone who was shooting at them.

Not that Steve would let him back into the field, even if Bucky wanted to, while he was operating impaired.

Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He relied on his hearing, the way a person moved in the space around him. Several times, recently, Tony had startled him, badly, just because he came up behind Bucky, out of his peripheral vision, and Bucky-- couldn’t sense him coming.

The shop, at least, was nice.

There was always noise -- Tony talking to his projects, the fabricators, FRIDAY, the bots -- but very little of it required Bucky’s attention at all, once he’d gotten FRIDAY to stop putting up song lyrics. He really did not care about the tribulations of Bon Scott.

Tony didn’t slip as seamlessly into his work as usual, coming back every ten minutes or so to check on Bucky. “Did you get enough to eat? Need a drink? A blanket?”

Bucky couldn’t decide if it was nice, or infuriating. It was very easy to get lost in the not-quite-silence. Like slipping away, sometimes it would take someone a moment to get his attention. So, it was nice to be reminded that he wasn’t… quite as alone as he’d felt. 

On the other hand, he was the goddamn Winter Soldier, and if he needed a blanket, he could bloody well get one.

“Reminds me,” Bucky said, and that was always so strange, talking. He knew he was talking, he could feel everything working just the way it was supposed to. He didn’t feel like he was drunk, or slurring, or anything. He just couldn’t hear it. And he didn’t know how loud he was being. “Of being the Winter Soldier.”

Tony blinked, startled, and tipped his head to the side curiously. “How?” he asked, or at least, that was the shape his mouth made.

Bucky gestured at the space around his head, like that meant anything. “I’m here. And there’s a wall of --” he tried to lower his voice, the pinched expression around Tony’s eyes a subtle clue, maybe, that he was talking too loud. “--nothing. Around me. Like, I’m here, but I’m not… important? Or I don’t understand. They would talk, near me, of course. But it never mattered what they said.”

Tony’s face got tight and pinchy, and he sat next to Bucky, reaching for Bucky’s hands. “You matter,” he said, very slowly, like it was very important that Bucky be able to understand him. “I love you.”

Bucky watched Tony’s mouth moving, memorizing each twitch of lip, the way his teeth moved, closing around the sounds. “Say it again.”

“I. Love. You.” Tony punctuated that with a light kiss, just a brush of his lips across Bucky’s.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, and his throat ached and it had nothing to do with whether or not he could talk, or hear. “Love you, too.”

He closed his eyes, felt Tony under his hands. He hated having his eyes closed, it made everything feel even further away than it was when he couldn’t hear it. But sometimes he just needed to not-- be.

God, his head hurt. Reading had always made his head hurt, for as long as he could remember. “Sometimes the best thing about bein’ the Winter Soldier was that I didn’t hafta read,” Bucky said, speaking into the blackness. 

Bucky felt Tony freeze for a moment, felt the vibrations of Tony’s voice, for a brief moment -- no more than a few words, before he remembered that Bucky couldn’t hear him. Tony moved, leaning closer, and he was nuzzling gently against Bucky’s cheek, his breath warm as it spilled over Bucky’s skin.

Bucky stubbornly kept his eyes shut for a few more moments, not wanting to try to read, or figure out, or… anything. Waited there, in the darkness. Heart thudding in his chest; he could feel the way it tripped, beating faster than normal. His blood pressure was probably through the roof, honestly.

What if it never comes back?

Finally, he sighed, opened his eyes, looked at Tony. Wondered if Tony was going to scold him for trying to ignore everything. Or something. Bucky wasn’t sure. The whole not-being-able-to-hear thing was giving him the serious creeps. Like he was always… missing something.

And that he might never get it back.

Tony was looking at him, forehead creased with worry and confusion. He opened his mouth, then shook his head a little. He opened his hands like a book, then made a comically exaggerated yuck face, tipping his head and raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I swear, I dunno how you all don’t have headaches, like all the time, stupid squirmy shit,” Bucky said. “First thing I did, when I moved in, back-- you know, back when it was JARVIS. He read everything to me, right in my ear. It was great.”

Tony’s lips moved, slowly repeating squirmy. His frown deepened, until Bucky felt the urge to reach up and smooth it away. And then all of a sudden, his eyes widened, and he said something that Bucky couldn’t read. And then started chattering a mile a minute, so Bucky could only interpret maybe one word in five. “--believe-- --help-- --so much-- --better--”

Bucky scowled down at his tablet, then “What’s sldexic mean?”

Tony stopped, and the scrolling letters paused, thank god. He turned his head, saying something to FRIDAY, and the monitor Tony had been working on flickered and cleared, the schematic replaced with a single word in a typeface -- font, they called it now -- Bucky hadn’t seen before. It was... heavy, like the bottoms of the letters weighed more than the tops, the lines there thicker, and it didn’t stop the letters from wriggling around, but it slowed them down, anchored them in place. DYSLEXIC, the word said. Underneath, a new line of text unfurled, in that same weighted text. A disorder that creates difficulty in learning to read or interpret words, letters, and other symbols.

Tony was watching Bucky closely.

“Slow,” Bucky said. “S’what my teacher tol’ Ma. I wasn’t-- I mean, I’m not. I ain’t… I ain’t dumb. I can read.” He felt that familiar shame, that what had been so easy for everyone else, Bucky had labored over and laughed around, and gotten out of by being charming. And… by a sticky fingerprint on a flashcard that told him that one word, the one he kept getting wrong. Was building.

Tony nodded, shook his head, made a face. “You’re damn smart,” he said slowly, carefully. “It’s not intelligence. It’s how you see the words. The letters...” He made a wriggly gesture with his hand. “Move.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Of course they moved. That’s what words… did. They moved around, like they were playing musical chairs and Bucky could catch them, sometimes, and pin them to the page, enough so that he got the general idea of what he was looking at. But mostly, he just hadn’t bothered. Shooting a gun made… sense. “Well, yeah?”

Tony shook his head. “They should not,” he enunciated. “They should stay still.” He pointed at the monitor. “Better?”

Quieter. More still. Like he could pick the whole word up. Which, yes, better, but the fact that something had to be changed, just so Bucky could deal with it-- “Something’s wrong with me,” Bucky said. It wasn’t a question. Something had always been wrong with him, but hell, he was just a dumb gun, he didn’t need… except now he couldn’t hear, and apparently he couldn’t read. 

And he was alone inside his head.

His eyes burned and then words disappeared in a sudden wash of blurry tears. 

Tony’s arms were around him, holding him close, voice a subtle vibration against his chest, hands stroking soothingly over his hair.

Maybe it was that soft touch, or the way Tony’s voice was nothing but more wah wah in the wall of nonsense noise that flooded him, or just, realizing how big the gap was that separated them. Tony was a genius. A genius, and everything that came with it, and Bucky was not. Not even as good as a whole person anymore, and he didn’t deserve Tony.

And he couldn’t hear himself talk, so the whole story came flooding out. How he struggled so much in school, and hearing that there were places for kids like him. Hospitals for kids that weren’t right in the head. And so he learned. He got his sister to read to him, and she was two years younger, but he could get away with being loud and trouble because he was a boy, and she’d read to him and he’d memorize it. No one had to know.

Tony’s hands tipped Bucky’s face back to look up at him, brushing away hot tears. “You are smart,” Tony insisted. “Bruce is not dumb because he needs glasses to read. You are not dumb because you need help holding the words still. And I love you.” He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, to Bucky’s nose.

“Okay,” he said, because what else was he going to say? Tony obviously didn’t believe that Bucky was an idiot, even if Bucky felt stupider and slower than he ever had in his entire life. And maybe, maybe he could figure this out, cover it up, learn-- there were sign languages, weren’t there? Clint used them sometimes, when he didn’t feel like putting in his hearing aids. Bucky could learn that, maybe.

Something. 

Tony wouldn’t stand for it, if Bucky decided to just… give up.

He let Tony’s gentle, exploratory kiss brush over Bucky’s mouth. “Say it again.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

A week after that breakthrough, Bucky was learning ASL -- mostly from Clint, but supplementing with actual lessons, otherwise he’d mostly only know long-range weapons tactical words, and how to order a pizza, and a week after that, he was back in the field. 

Friday could translate Bucky’s sign into words when the team needed it, and the new font meant that Bucky was back on comms, with FRIDAY scrolling necessary information on his HUD.

Three weeks after that, Bucky had surprised Tony with an impromptu waltz around the shop, being able to feel the music rhythms in a special headset that Tony’d been working up. It wasn’t the same as being able to hear, but it was something, at least.

And every night, before bed, Bucky would ask him, very seriously, “Say it again.”

And every night, Tony would tell Bucky, as many times as he wanted, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He signed it as he said it, occasionally dipped into other languages, but always came back to the simplicity of English, and punctuated each declaration with a kiss.

“Love you, too, peaches,” Bucky signed back. He talked less than he used to, signed more. Tony missed the sound of his voice, sometimes, but tried not to mention it. Things were better, so much better, than they had been the first few weeks.

When Tony was woken from a sound sleep to Bucky’s cry, he was utterly shocked. Bucky didn’t make… involuntary sounds. Not anymore.

He was sitting up in bed, clutching at his head, and whining.

Tony sat up as well and put a hand on Bucky’s back, rubbing in small circles. He didn’t bother trying to talk, not while Bucky wasn’t looking at him. He turned up the lights a bit, though, so they could see to sign, if Bucky decided to tell him about it.

“Oh, god,” Bucky said, a whisper, barely a sliver of sound, and then again, louder. “Tony--” He stared up, eyes wide in the half light. “Tony, say something.”

“What is it, sweetheart? I’m right here.” Tony signed as he talked. He didn’t know as much ASL as Bucky had learned, yet, but it was hard not to pick it up, surrounded by it so much.

“I-- I can hear you,” Bucky said, almost reverently, like an old fallen sinner who’d just found God. Again. “Tony, I… Tony, I can hear you.”

“What?” Tony’s hands faltered. “You can? You can hear me?” He caught Bucky’s face in his hands. “Really?”

“I can hear you,” Bucky repeated.  “I didn’t--” he started crying, almost silently, little hitches of breath and the tears rolled down his cheeks. “I got used to it, I thought that was, it was just always… I got used to it.”

“Hey.” Tony pulled Bucky into his arms, tucked Bucky’s face up against his throat, rocking gently. “It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s okay. We didn’t know when, or even if. It wasn’t going to change anything important.”

“Scared me,” Bucky admitted. “Woke up… there was a noise, and I woke up. I didn’t even know… what was happening. Oh, god, Tony, I missed you-- so stupid, I missed your voice, all the time. The way you laugh. The way you say--” He looked up again. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” Tony kissed Bucky’s lips, his cheek, his jaw, and then nuzzled at his ear. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you, too, peaches,” Bucky said. “God, I missed that. More than anything else.”

A/N: https://www.dyslexiefont.com/en/typeface/

Dyslexia, as a disorder, became more widely known in the United States in 1944, the year after Bucky Barnes fell from the train. For quite a long time, it was still thought of as being a lack in education, rather than a disorder. Bucky, having gone to school in the 20s and 30s, would have been classified as Learning Disabled and treated accordingly. (Not well.)

Divider Line by the way, Tumblr, I hate you. Give me my damn line back.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

I haven't seen an ED hc on here yet and I need to project a bit so here's this: at the begging all the queen boys were skinny as hell but as time went on the only one who remained that way was brian. and everyone assumed that it was all natural. what they didn't know was that brian consciously started eating less when he got to the age where people's metabolism usually slows down. he was well aware that his skinniness was part of his trademark look and decided he needed to keep it that way (1/3)

he started cutting down the amount and frequency of his meals but the others never noticed - brian had always been peculiar with food (not eating meat or unhealthy things etc.) so they assumed he ate at home whenever he refused the takeout they had in the studio. in the mid 80s they slowly start noticing that brian’s no longer just skinny, but also sickly looking but still don’t say anything, assuming he might have a stomach bug going on (touring can bring that on quite easily after all) (2/3)

then, a couple of months later, brian passes out in the studio and the boys finally connect the dots. they feel incredibly guilty for not noticing the signs and are determined to help brian recover. (3/3) //if you could please write something where the boys realise all this had been going on without them noticing and then try to figure out how to help brian out of this mess while he refuses to believe that he needs help at all (can be gen or you can add a ship if you’d like)

TW explicit mentions of Eating Disorders, Disordered Eating, Anorexia, Orthorexia, Hospitalization and excessive vulgar language. 

All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand…

For my life still ahead, pity me…

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

Again.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

One more time. So you remember how you fucked up.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

24 ribs sticking out from grey ashen skin.

Brian’s bony finger traced over each one as he counted outloud, eyes focused on the full body mirror in front of him.

You remember how handsome you used to be? Remember when theyjutted out like a fucking Greek god? But you ruined it. You ate that chocolatecupcake like the pig you are and now you’re fat again. Fat and disgusting.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

It doesn’t matter if you cry about it. It won’t make you anyskinnier. Put on your running shoes, fat ass.

“Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…”

RUN!

Brian wiped his face free of the tears, eye’s falling downto his bare feet. Skeletal but most people’s standards but bloated looking tohim. He had blisters on his heels from running a mile every morning, but itdidn’t matter. Pain was beauty, right?

♚

Of all the numbers, zero is the most beautiful. Brianthought that to himself as he ran around his neighborhood, the sun dipping inthe sky, crickets already chirping.

His knees hurt so bad, his chest was on fire and he was surehis blisters had reopened, but he had done this to himself. If he only atethings that were good, he wouldn’t have to run this second mile. If he juststopped inhaling anything that came into sight, he could be home right now,settling into a night’s rest.

But he was out here. In the cold English sunset, wearinglayers of jogging clothes to try and keep warm. He deserved this. Briandeserved this.

The day he hit his goal weight, he’d never have to do thisagain. He’d be doing zero laps.

♚

It was nearly midnight before he tempted to step on thescale.

The bathroom was so dark. Only trickles of moonlight pouredin from the window. He refused to turn on the lights since he weighed himselfnaked. Having to see his bare body was revolting. There was so much wrong withit. His legs were too chubby. His stomach so round. His cheeks akin to a hamster.It was better in the dark.

The cold metal of the scale sent a shiver up his body as hestepped onto it. He had to squint to see the number, but he was sure it hadgone up since this morning. That fucking cupcake.

8 stone.

Tears pricked his eyes. The number had gone down. Why was hestill so big?

So big.

Who could like someone so grotesque as him? With so muchskin? With so much fat?

Brian hugged himself, elbows tucking into his concavestomach.

He was disgusting.

♚

“You’re drinking your coffee black, Bri?” Roger asked, nosescrunched up as he peered into Brian’s coffee mug. Brian pulled the mug closerto him defensively but smiled and lolled his head as if nothing was wrong.

“You know I don’t drink milk, mate,” Brian said, taking asip of the acrid brew, forcing his brow to stay unfurrowed.

“Since when? Thought you were vegetarian, not one of thoseweird animal hippies,” Roger said eyes narrowed.

“Well, I’ve decided through research that the milk industryexploits cows. Did you know that mother cows and their c-“

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You could at least put a sugar or twoin there, you mad man,” Roger said with the wave of his hand, Brian’s plan atboring him with animal ethics having worked.

Brian smiled to himself, taking another sip. Roger was outof his mind if he thought he’d ever put sugar in anything he ate. Might as welleat straight fat. At least his little plan worked.

♚

“Brian, sweetheart, you look absolutely pale! Have you caughta cold?” Freddie said, a hand pressing against Brian’s clammy forehead. Brianducked away from the touch, laughing nonchalantly as he did.

“Perhaps? I feel, uh, fine. Maybe I’m just low in something,”he said as convincingly as possible. His fingers started to twiddle with the sleevesof his shirt that was far too big.

Freddie gave him a look he couldn’t decipher but he nodded.

“Well, you better rest up. Can’t have our main guydeveloping an ailment before our show tomorrow, huh?” Freddie said, a handstraying onto Brian’s bony shoulder. The touch made him erupt into goosebumps.

Did he know?

Does it matter?

♚

“Brian, we need to talk,” John said, his grey eyes big andstormy.

His gut dropped to the floor, heart pounding so hard itechoed in his ears. Was the gig up?

Brian wouldn’t go without a fight.

“What about?” he said casually, crossing one leg over theother, leaning back on the couch backstage.

John sat down next to him, uncomfortably close. Brian didn’tlike people touching him. It made it all the harder to hide.

John looked around to see if anyone was around before heleaned and whispered, “The crowds really big tonight. I, um, I’m kinda nervous,”

Oh sweet jesus. Thank god. Thank god.

The anxiety melted from Brian, a small smile growing on hisface.

“John, how old are you? You silly man,” He said jokinglybefore pulling John in for a hug.

The bassist grew rigid, not reciprocating. It’d only been a second,but the atmosphere grew bleak and heavy. John pulled away, face tightened infear. He looked over Brian for a second before he left in a hurry without somuch as a word.

Did he feel how skinny fat Brian was?

Who cares?

♚

Just because you finished a successful tour does not meanyou get to pig out. Look at all this food. It’s disgusting. Unhealthy. Do youwant to be fat? Don’t you want to be the skinny boy everyone knows and loves?

But I’m so hungry…

Hunger is good. Hunger means you’re strong. Hunger means you’rebeautiful. Hunger means you’re worth something.

I don’t feel good.

You won’t feel good if you get fat. If you stay fat.

I really don’t feel good.

Put that carrot down. Do you know how much sugar carrotshave? Do you want to poison your body with junk?

I think I’m gonna…

The after party for The Game fell silent. They’d all beendrinking, laughing, eating and a few other illegal activities when they heard athud. Hundred of eyes searched the room for the source of the noise untilsomeone spotted a collapsed Brian by the single veggie plate in the corner ofthe room.

Flurries of bodies and voices, yells and whispers erupted,some rushing to the phone, some running over to Brian.

Roger, Freddie and John surrounded their guitarist, panicfueling their every move.

“He’s bloody cold! Has someone called 999?” Roger shouted,rolling Brian over so he was on his back. It was a frighteningly easy task todo, the guy being light as a feather.

“Brian, sweetie, wake up please. Help is on the way, love.Stay with us, please,” Freddie pleaded, eyes misty as he held Brian’s handbetween his own, hoping to warm it up some.

John just stood next to the three, mouth and tongue seized,body trembling uncontrollably.

This is good. This is really good. Maybe soon you’ll benothing. Zero. A beautiful number. A beautiful state to be in.

♚

“…He was in fucking heart failure…”

“…electrolytes too low…”

“…emaciated…”

“…bone’s of a 60 year old…”

“And if he had died?”

“…you never said anything!”

“…was I supposed to know what this was?”

“He’s alive no thanks to any of you…”

♚

Brian’s eyes opened sluggishly, theonly thing he could seeing being an intense white light.

Was this it? Was he in heaven? Was allof this finally over? The pain and the cold and the empty stomachs and the migraines?Was that all gone now?

“He’s awake,” a mousy voice said.

Brian’s vision cleared, revealing awhite ceiling.

So he wasn’t dead.

He looked in the direction the voicecame, shivering when he saw it was John. His face was so swollen and so redfrom crying. It looked like he’d done a week’s worth. When their eyes met, Johnlet out a heart shattering sob, burying his face into Brian’s bed sheets. Theywere soaked.

Why was John crying so hard? He justpassed out was all. Nothing to be bent over.

His eyes scanned the room for other faces.

He found Roger’s. His eye bags wereunprecedented. His hair mused like he’d been trying to pull it out. Rogershrunk back into his chair, looking down at his shoes instead.

He didn’t have to look for Freddie.

Freddie walked up to Brian’s bed, hisface untelling. He looked at Brian’s IV, which he just now noticed he hadbefore he opened his mouth to speak. He faltered for a moment but spoke.

“Brian, I am so, so sorry,” he said,voice cracking, throat dry. He reached for Brian’s hand, but Brian pulled away,shaking his head.

“For what, Fred? I just passed out! It’sno one’s fault,” he said incredulously. They all looked like train wrecks for asimple blackout?

Freddie recoiled at Brian’s wordsbefore he softened again. His eyes parted from Brian’s, licking his lips. Whydidn’t anyone want to look at him?

“Brian…you didn’t pass out. You wentinto heart failure. You were in the ICU for 3 weeks in a coma. It…they had touse the electric paddles on you on two separate occasions,” his voice grewthick, obviously trying to push away the urge to cry and scream.

“They thought you weren’t going to makeit,” Freddie mouthed, his shoulders caving in as a few tears escaped down hischeeks.

Brian blinked before finally look downat himself.

Various bruises on his arm fromdifferent IV’s and blood draws Burn marks on his chest. And a line running downhis chest, all stitched and taped up.

A number 1, almost.

Not a zero.

He looked up to Freddie, jaw hanging.

“You needed a bypass, Bri,” Freddiesaid, a nervous hand rubbing his neck.

“W-Why?” Brian choked out, his mindhaving gone blank.

Roger snorted from across the room. “Youknow why,” he said bitterly.

And it was true. Brian knew why.

The room was quiet except for Deacy’smuffled sobs.

“I…I…the…I..can’t bloody think withyour crying, John!” Brian snapped. He didn’t mean it, he really didn’t.This..illness made him do horrible things. Nasty things.

John responded by growing smalleralthough his crying didn’t. Freddie wanted to bark back, but this wasn’t right.None of it was. Instead, he grabbed John and left the room. Roger was the onlyone who could talk to Brian about serious stuff anyways.

Brian gulped when the door slammedbehind the two. Now it was just him and R-

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rogerasked, playing with the hem of his shirt. There was no malice in his voice.Just a simple question.

“I..didn’t think anything was wrong,”Brian said, which was the truth.

This, whatever it was, made the worldsplit in two. Reality and what went on his brain both felt real. He knew he wassick, but he wasn’t. He knew he was skinny but he wasn’t. He knew he was dyingbut he wasn’t. It was hard to know the truth sometimes. All the times. It washard to reach out when everything felt both okay and crumbling. Which was thetrue one?

Roger let out a puff of air from hisnose, eyes fluttering shut, desperate for sleep. In times of crisis, he seemedto be the only one capable of keeping their wits about, so he’d been on babysittingduty for nearly a month. He wanted his bed so bad.

He wanted his best friend too.

“That’s fair,” he said with a sigh.There was another silence between them before Roger got up and padded over toBrian’s bed side. He plopped himself onto the uncomfortably wet sheets but paidthem no mind, instead looking at the skeleton before him.

“We’re all really sorry, Brian. None ofus knew you were fighting a battle alone. We just thought…I don’t know what wewere thinking. But we thought you had a handle on whatever you were doing and thatwas wrong of us to just assume,”

“You needed us and we weren’t there.There’s only so much we can do about the past though, right? But we’re gonna behere for you from now on. When they send you to the psych w-“

“Psych ward?” Brian spat out, sittingup straighter in bed.

That’s where crazy people go. I’m notcrazy. I’m fine. I’m fine. I don’t belong there. They’ll make me eat. They’llmake me gain weight.

Roger just took in Brian’s anxiety, an uncharacteristicallygentle hand laying onto Brian’s bandaged chest.

With the sincerity and sweetness of amother, Roger said, “We almost lost you Brian. We almost had to bury you. We’renot going to let that happen again. You’re not going to leave us like that,”

Brian laid back against the bed, hisonly veiny and pale hand going over Roger’s.

Nothing felt real. Nothing made sense.Nothing was good. But he knew he could trust Roger. That infernal voice buzzingin his head might have been his constant companion, but Roger was his bestfriend. And best friends don’t lie.

Brian blinked away a few tears, hiswhole body tired, in pain and in a mental tug of war, but he said, “Okay,”Roger collapsed for the first time in weeks.

♚

John held onto Brian so tight, his faceburied into his neck. He would prefer to never let go, but he knew he had tosoon.

“Brian, I lo- you’re my best friend,okay? Get better?” he said before letting go. Brian smiled, patting his back.

Freddie came in for a hug next, meltinginto Brian’s embrace.

“I need my guitarist back. My soul brother,”Freddie said, kissing Brian’s cheek.

Lastly was Roger who just held out hishand for a shake. A firm one.

“See you soon, mate.”

Brian looked at all of them, taking intheir faces before he had to go. Wheeled out from the hospital and into the vanthat’d be taking him to the psychiatric ward.

The future ahead was scary and unknown,but he wanted to charge ahead. He wanted to live. For his friends, his family andmost importantly, himself. He wanted to play guitar and sing and eat and neverworry again.

All he wanted was to be four again.

Not zero.

Never zero.

Take heart my friend we love you

Though it seems like you’re alone

A million light’s above you

Smile down upon your home

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (32 of 41?)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1 and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*****AMAZING AND ALSO HEARTBREAKING COVER ART!!!!! MY POOR BOY, HELPLESS AND SCREAMING WHILE HE SLOWLY LOSES HIS GRIP ON REALITY… D: COCOHOOK38 IS TRYING TO KILL US ALL!!!!*************

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

Two days ago (continued)...

David. Detective Jones.

"Killian?"

His... the Master, watching, listening.

“Killian, it’s me. I’m here.”

His own blade flashing down, plunging into the prince's back, striking off the detective's chest. Smoke and flame, sparks of blue lightning, orders to kill growing stronger, overcoming his battered reason. That was then. Now…

“Can you hear us, Hook?”

Pain, that familiar companion, muted and fuzzy. And words half-remembered, half-commanded. The last thing he wanted to say, obliged.

"I must return."

The grating growl sounded almost as bad as he felt.

"I must return to my Master."

Did the ragged quality of his voice do enough to disguise his utter terror at the very thought? Or did his audience hear lack of conviction? How he would rather perish in that hospital bed than spend one single second more in the Master's presence?

Somehow, Emma managed to keep up a false front, even though she was undoubtedly just as tempted as he was to fling herself at him and express her love after such a long and difficult separation. The story demanded that she turn her questioning to the subject of their supposedly missing daughter. Killian displayed exhaustion and confusion: not much of a stretch, although the drugged haze did not let him forget the fact that they may be under observation. But when Killian reached up toward his throat, he was pleasantly surprised to find the dreadful collar gone. He and Emma could talk freely… if it weren’t for the crowd of onlookers surrounding his bed.

Emma must have shared his urgency to have a real conversation, for she immediately got to work bargaining for time alone with him. Fighting the persistent pull of narcotic slumber, Killian gladly allowed her to handle the details. Bloody hell, the pressure between his ears was intensifying, voices in the room sounding like they were being filtered through stacks of wool. His damaged stump pulsed with pain despite the drugs pumping into him; he vaguely remembered using it in battle and must have reinjured partially healed flesh inside. But the measured tone of Jones' voice alleviated a small amount of guilt: he would be in a hell of a lot of pain for awhile but would evidently make a full recovery.

Killian listened dully to the negotiations taking place. 15 minutes would be pushing things; 10 was nothing. But it might be his only chance, if bloody Whale insisted on more sedation afterward. Gods, that sounded like nirvana. The drugs would hardly even be necessary; Killian felt as if he could sleep for a month, and dammit, he did not have that kind of luxury.

“...Mr. Zombie Universe…”

That about summed it up. No matter that he looked the part; he felt even worse. While he was on some kind of opioid--he knew that for a fact--the simple act of breathing made some hurt or other fire up in a never-ending carousel of complaint. His arms were doing their blasted skittering again, and choking fog kept swirling behind his eyes. Getting up, he could maybe handle. Escape without alarm, doubtful. As for a long trek… back there…

Killian didn’t realize he was panting, tense and desperate, until Emma leaned over and began caressing his face. She placed a light kiss on the tip of his nose, whispering,

“It’s okay; they’re gone… Killian?”

Through the vise constricting inexorably tighter within his throat, Killian whined,

“I have to go back.”

He couldn’t open his eyes. He would see his wife there, fraught with worry and determined to detain him. Not understanding. And he would relent, and they would lose their only advantage, and all would suffer and die and it would be his fault for being a cowardly weakling--

“Killian, no.”

Choking back a sob, he struggled to detach himself from the fear. “My Mas… the… the monster, it… it’s starting to trust me, that’s why it sent me here, as a test, but it… it knows things, Emma, it can sense things and if I don’t return we’ll never have this opportunity again--”

“Rumplestiltskin lied to us.”

Emma’s quiet statement brought him up short, and he could not help opening his eyes then. An icy shiver of dread shot down his spine.

“Hope? Is she...?”

“No, she’s okay.”

He couldn’t even allow the automatic wave of relief, or his Master would feel it. Killian deliberately swung his bandaged stump against the bedrail, cringing as the spike vibrated within his flesh and ground glass pressed against raw nerves.

“Then what?” he growled. Emma blinked, started to reach for the injury, but grabbed his fisted hand instead.

“Your immunity. You were asleep, but they did an MRI, and Whale confirmed: you’re starting to show the same symptoms as all the others, the ones who…”

Who had died. All of them; they’d all died.

But it didn’t matter. If he failed his mission, the whole United Realms--hell, the whole world--would face that same fate.

“Bollocks. Whale is a damn fool; I’m completely fine.”

“I can hear you.”

He stared at her blankly, and she touched his shoulder.

“Did you forget? I’ve been listening.”

Killian swallowed, sickened by the reminder. The last thing he wanted to think about was subjecting his beloved to his torment. “Aye? What of it?”

Her lips tightened, revealing the struggle to contain her emotions. It’s so hard, she seemed to say. I can’t keep listening to you fall. Bleed. Scream. Suffer. “So you win his trust. Then what? You need to tell me that you have a plan. ‘Cuz I’ve gleaned exactly zero from this guy. And it has to be worth it.”

Killian drew as deep a breath as he could muster. He had to make this convincing.

“I do have a plan, Swan. And I’ll need your assistance to pull it off.”

“I’m listening…”

He thought for a moment, willing his sluggish brain to gather all of the pieces into a coherent thought.

“You… may have gathered that the Master feeds off of negative emotions in addition to the… the screams?”

Emma’s response was drowned out by echoing memories of his own cries of agony, trumpeting loudly in his skull. He hissed and pressed his fingers into his eye sockets, begging the noise to stop.

“You okay?” asked Emma quietly, full of concern. With a final shudder, Killian nodded. “I hate to rush this, but we’re running out of time.”

Mumbling as he massaged his forehead, Killian continued. “Well, it’s weakened by positive emotion--that’s why it sends its slave army to wreak random havoc. The worse the morale around its hideout, the stronger it gets.”

“Kinda got that already, when the bastard was sending you out on your mission.”

“Aye, well, suppose we could turn that to our advantage?” He lay his hand at his side once again, tremors causing his fingers to twitch uncontrollably.

“How? Even if we sent the most annoyingly cheerful and optimistic beings in the Realms, the guard slaves would kill them all before they ever got close.”

“Its camera network,” slurred Killian. An inexorable weight pressed down, the feeling of disconnectedness, of floating through half-reality with nothing to grip. His heavy eyelids at half mast, he struggled out, “Turn all camera feeds into positivity channels--uplifting music, comedies, silly cartoons and the like--at the right time…”

Emma managed to look simultaneously thoughtful and skeptical. “Defeat the scream-eater with laughter? Pretty sure I've seen that one.”

Killian shuddered. “How Pixar managed to come so close with that Waternoose fellow, I’ll never know.”

“Another one to permanently take off the Netflix queue?”

Killian restrained himself from reaching for her hand. He couldn’t allow the comfort, not now. His Master would sense it. “So? Can I count on you to arrange the details?”

“Tell people to add a laugh track to their home security systems… but without letting the cameras see.”

“Precisely.”

She blew out a breath. “Not difficult at all.”

“Remember, you’ll have the advantage of knowing when the creature is… occupied…” He smiled bravely, and perhaps the early stages of neurological degeneration could explain the quaver in his voice and the flicker of reluctance on his face.

“But, hold on, in the movie, didn’t the laughter produce more energy? For the… monster city or whatever?”

Shifting off of an intensifying throb in one hip, Killian squeezed his eyes shut in brief concession to the pain. “You, of all people, should know not to put too much stock in those things.” He worked to settle, to absorb as much rest as he could before it became impossible once again. “I’m certain it doesn’t work that way in this case. The Master has every reason to be forthright with its slaves. And it has been very clear about its need for negativity.”

“Okay, but… hell, why do you even have to go back? The camera stuff can easily be managed without you in the mix.”

He shook his head once. “It will have to be an exceedingly powerful dose to get past all of the despair the Master has cultivated in its slaves. Someone will need to tune each of the monitors to a positive channel, all at the same time. I managed to do some scouting last night; I think I know where its surveillance equipment is kept. And then, if the positivity isn’t enough... I’ll be there to finish the monster off.”

There was a beat, punctuated only by quiet beeps and the whir of the IV pump at his bedside. Then Emma grimaced.

“It’s a terrible plan. I hate it.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I concur. But it’s all we have.”

He could tell she was thinking furiously, searching for alternatives, brain turning things over and over so fast it hurt. Her pained scowl could attest to that. He also knew the moment she gave in: her spine sagged in brief defeat before straightening along with a deep breath. Brave determination.

“It’ll work. It will. And then you’ll come back, and magic will come back, and I’ll be able to heal you.” She settled her hand along his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheek. “Promise me you believe that?”

“I…” He averted his eyes, unable to watch her face. “I dare not. Optimism is a dangerous thing to bring into the Master’s presence. I’m sorry, love. You’ll have to carry enough for the both of us.”

She did not speak for the longest time. But then she wrapped his hand in hers and gave it a tight squeeze. “Okay, Killian. Consider it done.”

He looked back at her, and saw that her eyes glistened just as much as his. Desperately, she lunged forward and possessed him with her kiss. And this one, he was allowed to feel. Because this was goodbye, and goodbye could mean forever, and that hurt so much worse than any stab of a knife or pinch of a claw ever could.

Emma was the first to break away. She startled back so fast that Killian sucked too deep a breath and found himself clutching sore ribs. Then he heard the faint buzz of her phone. She pulled it out of her pocket and read the screen with dismay.

“Crap, we only have like thirty seconds until the ten minutes are up. How are we getting you out of here?”

Killian’s sense of time was undeniably muzzy due to the drugs in his system; he would have sworn that no more than three or four minutes had elapsed. “You’ll have to stall them, Swan, unless you care to carry my unconscious self to the forest’s edge.”

Emma cursed again. “Pretend to be asleep.”

Well, that wouldn’t be too hard; the challenge would be remaining alert enough to pay attention to whatever she devised as cover. Closing his eyes, he settled back and worked to slow his heart.

He heard footsteps and then a quiet,

“How’s it going in here?”

Detective Jones. Emma sighed.

“Seemed like we were starting to get somewhere, but he was just so tired. I told him he could rest for a little while and try again later.”

One set of footsteps drew closer, and then the IV tubing lying across his arm was jiggling slightly.

“What’s that?” Emma asked casually, but Killian could detect a note of alarm.

“Dr. Whale prescribed a sedative,” explained the nurse, and Killian cursed inwardly. Maybe it really would come down to Emma having to carry him out.

“Hold on a sec. Please? Could you come back in, say, an hour? He’s sleeping without it right now, and I need to be able to wake him up in a bit to finish his questioning.”

“This isn’t like anesthesia,” soothed the nurse. “He’ll have periods of wakefulness still; it just helps him to sleep more soundly.”

“Yeah, but… he’ll be… super drowsy when he is awake, right? Couldn’t that make it harder to think clearly?”

The nurse paused. “I’m sorry, but it’s doctor’s orders… he's really most insistent.”

“Would one measly hour make that much of a difference?”

During the long silence that followed, Killian waited with bated breath, trying to continue the charade of slumber. Finally, the nurse said,

“I can give it IM, which takes longer to metabolize. He’ll get the required meds, and you’ll get your questioning time.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back--have to get a different needle.”

Killian heard her shuffle away as the IV swung to a halt. He felt Emma brush her hand along his arm, probably in silent apology. The drug would complicate things, for certain, but wouldn't truly be anything his Master would be suspicious of. It knew of his capture, and probably even his arrival at the hospital. It would likely be pleased at his escape and return, even if he did have to collapse and sleep it off halfway back to its lair.

“Has he said anything of value?” wondered Jones.

“Well… not really. Nothing we didn’t already know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gently, trying to appear as if she didn’t want to wake him, Emma wriggled her hand beneath Killian’s. Then she sighed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Detective, but you look awful.”

Killian heard a familiar, rueful breath of laughter.

“Who would believe that nearly all of it could be attributed to that man there?”

Emma snickered back. “He’s a fighter, that’s for sure.”

Over the sound of the nurse’s returning footsteps, Emma added,

“Look, I appreciate the support, Killian, but you don’t have to stay. Go home; get some sleep. I’ll pass on any information I get here.”

The nurse folded back the blanket covering Killian’s right leg, and he growled faintly in feigned, sleepy annoyance, while truly wondering what the hell she was playing at. When she’d said ‘IM,’ he’d been expecting a jab in the arm. Meanwhile, Jones was responding to Emma’s suggestion.

“Thank you, Emma, but I’d like to stay. An extra set of ears can sometimes make all the difference in a case like this.”

Emma was thinking furiously; Killian could tell. Startled by the cold touch of an alcohol wipe on his outer thigh, his grumbling flinch was not at all an act.

“Sorry, Killian,” murmured the nurse. She pinched the muscle with one hand, adding, “Quick little mosquito bite, and you can go back to sleep.”

Emma squeezed his hand in solidarity, placing the other hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner. The long needle stung his thigh, the sedative drug forming an aching pool within the muscle.

“At least go have something to eat,” Emma urged Jones. “I’ll call you and you can listen in if he starts talking.”

Plucking the needle from Killian’s throbbing leg, the nurse spread a Band-Aid over the sore spot. “All done.”

While she rearranged the blankets, Emma asked casually,

“You wouldn’t happen to have a couple extra Band-Aids with you, would you? I've got some hangnails annoying the hell out of me right now.”

“Lemme see… yup, here you go!”

“Thanks.” Emma’s hand left his shoulder, presumably to take the proffered bandages.

“I’ll be back in probably an hour to check on him,” promised the nurse. “In the meantime, if you notice anything unusual, don’t hesitate to press the call button.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

She bustled out of the room, taking her damn needle with her. Emma patted Killian’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Suppose I might at least get something to drink, if I can manage my wallet with numb fingers.”

Killian could hear the sheepish smile on Jones’ face as he said the words, and he tried not to cringe. He’d done his best not to injure the other man too severely, but still felt remorseful about what had been necessary.

“Good luck,” Emma replied. “See you in a bit.”

As soon as Jones’ footsteps had retreated, Emma sat back with a sigh. “Well, that sucked. Sorry, Killian.”

Killian stretched gently and dragged his eyes open, blinking. Emma winced at him.

“Are you still going to be able to make it?” She seemed to be doing what he was: acting as if they didn’t know anything about what lay in store for him at the end of his trek. He nodded unenthusiastically. In truth, if he ignored the drug side effects, he actually did feel stronger than he had in weeks, which he credited to whatever volume of replacement blood he’d received so far.

“Hopefully at least beyond the point of rediscovery.”

Emma pulled back his blankets. “I’ll do what I can to put ‘em on the wrong track.” She reached into her pocket, retrieving her keys. “Why don’t you take the Bug? You’ll get farther. Just… you know. Pull over well before you start to fall asleep.”

Fighting the sudden chill, Killian accepted the keys as he gathered the strength required to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. His head was spinning alarmingly and he wondered for a moment whether he would need to reassess the distance he had in him. Emma studied the machine controlling the flow of donor blood and saline into his arm; after a moment, she was able to decipher how to pause its program. Setting aside one of the Band-Aids she’d begged off the nurse, Emma reached for the tape securing the catheter to his forearm. Then she stopped.

“Emma?”

A sudden sob ripped through her; she put a hand to her mouth as if stifling a cough. She couldn’t look at him.

Grim, Killian glanced a the door. “We don’t have a lot of time, love.”

She scrubbed at her eyes with one hand while picking at the corner of the tape with the other. “It’s… it’s just different, you know? Talking about it versus actually doing it. Actually helping you ditch the hospital and go back to--”

Choked by another sob, she didn’t finish the thought. Killian reached up to clasp her wrist briefly before allowing her to continue to work.

“I know.”

She managed to get one side of the tape undone with the minimal amount of arm hairs as casualties. “It just feels like… if you don’t come back… this is me, killing you, right now. Taking out this IV that could be saving your life, it’s just the same as…”

Emma shuddered, and Killian knew she was picturing that awful night with Excalibur, on the banks of the river. How it felt to run him through with her own hands. As if trying to purge the memory, she violently stripped the remaining tape from his arm, pulling the catheter right along with it and spattering small droplets of blood everywhere. Killian sat passively, allowing the outburst. For the moment.

In anger, Emma crumpled the sticky tape and tossed the wad onto the floor, then used the bedsheet to scrub at the smear of blood gathering around the puncture site. She tore open a Band-Aid and pressed it in place with a shuddering sigh.

“Don't be concerned about the silly IV; my good friend Z seems to have an unlimited supply of the damn things.”

It wasn’t about the IV, of course. Nor even the concept of proper medical care as a whole. Killian pulled his arm away from her attempts to apply pressure over the Band-Aid and reached up to stroke her face. The rough brand scar on his palm caused a tiny wince from her as it brushed her cheek.

“It isn’t you,” he murmured. “It won’t be you.”

Silent, she watched his face. Unconvinced. Unplacated. She pressed his hand deeper into her flesh and raked him with her gaze, as if burning his features and new, unfamiliar scars into her memory. He saw the moment of surrender. The light left her eyes and they became cold, tired points of vacuum. Outer space without stars. At last, her voice came through the death mask, low and flat.

“Why us?”

A shade above bitter, Killian said,

“We’re the heroes.”

A somber, unsurprised nod, and then Emma was back in motion. But with inexplicable intent. Killian couldn’t contain the elevating eyebrow as she shed her jacket and prepared to lift her t-shirt. She waved her hand in vague explanation.

“I don’t know how most of this crap works. But if it turns off suddenly, or loses input, it might alert the nurse’s station, and we don’t want that, right? So we switch, as fast as we can. Hopefully we can set it up reading me, and they’ll think you just rolled over or something.”

Glancing down at the EKG leads attached to his chest, Killian’s skeptical expression didn’t change. “And I’m meant to have thought of this myself, am I?”

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He missed the normal playful tone with which she would have teased him. But she was still stiff, heartless, carefully on guard. Ready now, the t-shirt rolled up and tucked under her chin but with her arms still in their sleeves, she sat beside him. Testing the slack in the wires, she took a breath and frowned in concentration.

“Lemme do it,” she instructed quietly. “You just keep an eye on the door.”

Killian nodded and did as ordered, but watched out of the corner of his eye. Emma dug her nails beneath the first EKG lead, and he knew she was attempting to take as much of the sticky conducting gel with it to ensure a solid connection. She paused to estimate the proper placement on her own chest--right in the center above the sternum--then brutally ripped the pad off of him and slapped it on herself. The loss of a few chest hairs left stinging patches behind as Emma repeated the process twice more. Successfully, by the sound of it: the machine behind them beeped a couple of queries as the transfer took place, but no obnoxious alarm rent the afternoon stillness.

“Not bad, Swan,” Killian praised. He ducked out of the way of the gathered leads while Emma adjusted her shirt back down and checked the monitor for functionality.

“The question will be whether I can stand pretending to be unconscious until someone discovers me.” Emma reached up, unclipped the pulse oximeter from his earlobe, and clamped it onto her own. She made a face. “Think I prefer the fingertip one.”

“Aye, well, it does tend to get in the way when one has only five fingers at one’s disposal.”

The last piece of equipment was the blood pressure cuff, which was easy enough to slip off and then adjust to fit her bicep. And then Killian was free.

He stood with appropriate caution, but still nearly fell--twice--as vertigo, generalized weakness, and drug side effects played havoc with his balance. Emma watched with clenched teeth, no doubt struggling with the urge to tackle him and wrestle him back into bed, the rest of the world be damned. But she contained herself, he clung stubbornly to his equilibrium, and they were again faced with the reality of the moment. Cautiously, Emma got up, holding the EKG sensors in place. She assessed him briefly, cracks in the emotionless mask allowing both tender concern and raging terror to leak

“You gonna be okay, hiking in that?”

Killian glanced down at his gown with a shrug. “It’s no worse than the sackcloth.”

“And… your feet? What about…” She trailed off, and against his better judgment, Killian stepped forward and wrapped her in an embrace. For the sake of his Master, though, he kept his mind on the goodbye, on his concern for Emma. On that disturbing mantra. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead... Muffled into his chest came the words they both dreaded:

“You’d better go.”

Emma was dry-eyed and tight-lipped as she stepped back from him. He turned toward the window. And neither of them said what was foremost in their hearts.

I love you.