#then I had a stitch fall out prematurely

[madnessbrainworms]

(cw medical stuff) Top surgery is easy they said... recovery is quick they said... my recovery is less “a smooth road to the real you” and more so “I have deliberately thrown myself down a flight of stairs”

[mynameismckenziemae]

All of Me

Part 3

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x You

Summary: You take a stroll down memory lane and Jake surprises you in more ways than one

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, oral (m receiving), premature ejaculation, accidental facial, cumplay. Mentions of medical stuff/blood, probable naval inaccuracies, probable medical inaccuracies, mentions/memories of losing a spouse

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

The note with Jake’s number is shoved into your desk drawer to be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Wrong.

You find yourself thinking of him often as the week goes by; wondering what he’s doing while you’re in a meeting, hoping he’s not eating alone as Drew tells you about his day over dinner and remembering his touch when your fingers trail between your legs.

The weekend comes and goes quickly. Saturday is spent at Drew’s baseball tournament and Sunday is catching up and prepping for the week.

You fall into bed that night, exhausted, and drift off in minutes, which is a rare but welcomed occurrence as sleep likes to evade you. Once Drew’s down for the night and the house is dark, you struggle to fight off the underlying loneliness that’s always pressing in on you. Coming back to a quiet house is especially difficult after the constant hustle and bustle at all hours while deployed.

You wake up gasping just a few hours later; pillow damp from your tears as you reach for Andy beside you.

But the bed is just as cold and empty as your heart has been for the past 8 years.

Sleep then evades you, like it normally does after dreaming of your first love.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Rolling over with a sigh, you reach for your phone, but the doom scrolling does little to quiet your mind.

You were a brand new resident when Andy came in with a laceration above his eyebrow and a possible concussion after a training accident.

Even with the swelling, blood and the start of a black eye, you could see how attractive he was.

It had been a busy day and your preceptor left you to suture him once the concussion was ruled out as she was pulled away to help with a more pressing matter.

“This your first time?” Andy jokes, noticing the way you stalled; how you kept checking and rechecking you had all the supplies needed on the tray and looking at the door, praying your supervising physician would be back soon.

“Of course not,” you scoff dramatically before giving him a small smile, “I’ll have you know, I’ve put stitches in plenty of oranges and chicken breasts.”

His colleague, tasked with bringing him to the ER, chuckles from behind you.

A code-blue is called overhead and you sigh. There’s your sign that you’re on your own.

“Sorry,” you murmur when he hisses at the burn of the lidocaine you were injecting to numb him. “Almost done.”

“You’re going to feel pressure and pulling, but let me know if you feel anything sharp,” you tell him after giving the lidocaine time to work, taking a deep breath when he nods.

“Ow,” he says quietly as soon as you touch him. He’s teasing you again but it still makes you jump.

“Seriously?” You scold but he’s got the cutest grin and you can’t help but smile too.

“Sorry, I’ll be good,” he apologizes, still grinning.

“You better be,” you reply as you poke him with the curved needle. “Your pretty face is my hands. Okay?” You ask when he doesn’t flinch.

“Just fine,” he confirms. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“Maybe you do have a concussion,” you tease him, keeping your eyes on the work your hands are doing. “I never said that.”

“It’s true, Kernsie,” his friend pipes up from behind you. “She said your shitty face is in her hands.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Oh fuck you, Bradshaw,” Andy chuckles too. His hand brushes accidentally brushes your waist when he reaches around you to flip him off and color rises in his cheeks. “Sorry ma’am.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, just thankful that you’re halfway done.

“What’s your name?” He asks with 2 sutures to go. “Your first name.”

“Reese,” you reply.

“Like the peanut butter cups?”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “My mom craved them the whole time she was pregnant with me. They’re also my favorite.”

“Mine too,” he says and his eyes flick to yours. “You have beautiful eyes, Reese,” he murmurs lowly, so only you can hear.

It’s your turn to blush as you finish up.

“All done,” you say, stepping back and handing him a mirror. “I was able to follow your brow line so the scarring should be minimal.”

“Thanks for keeping my face pretty,” he smiles, making your heart skip a beat.

“Shitty,” Bradley coughs.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>���<•>•<•>•<•>•

“Reese?”

You nearly jump out of your skin and reach for the pepper spray on your bag as you walk to your car an hour later. You were distracted having a mini pity party because you’ll never see Andy again that you didn’t notice someone waiting on the bench outside the door.

“Shit, sorry!” Andy says, rising. “It’s me, Andy, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing here?” You ask, hand still on your pepper spray.

“I-fuck.” He sighs and turns to a light blue Bronco in the parking lot. “I told you this was a bad idea, Bradshaw. I scared the shit out of her.”

You squint and see Bradley giving him a double thumbs up from the driver's seat.

“I’m-uh, gonna go,” Andy says, stepping toward his ride. “I’m really sorry again, for scaring you.”

“Wait,” you take your hand away from the bottle. “Are you okay? Did you need something?”

“No, I’m fine. You did a great job,” he assures you. “I just…”

“He wouldn’t stop talking about you,” Bradley calls out the window when Andy hesitates. “He said he wished he would’ve asked for your number and then made me stop at a gas station before coming back and-“

“Thanks, Bradshaw, she gets it,” Andy interrupts, flustered. Somehow, it makes him even cuter. “Here,” he hands you a plastic bag.

Inside are Reese’s peanut butter cups.

Unexpected tears prickle in your eyes at the sweet gesture. Once your mom figured out that you liked them too, she never bought them again.

“Thank you,” you say softly, smiling.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, returning your smile before opening the door. “Have a good night.”

“Wait,” you call as you pull out your phone. “Can I get your number?”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

You finally fall back asleep only minutes before your alarm goes off and you’re dragging by the time you get Drew to school and yourself to work.

You’re filled with a mixture of butterflies and nostalgia when you see the familiar orange package on your desk when you enter your office.

Though there isn’t a note, you know it’s from Jake; you had mentioned the love of your namesake the night you’d spent together.

A smile pulls at your lips as you slide it into your top drawer to eat later, right next to Jake’s number.

Your heart pounds as you add his number to his phone. It can’t hurt to have another trustworthy man just a phone call away. Especially if Ron, Roo, Iceman, and Mav are busy.

That’s how you justify it at least.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“Can I take Drew tonight?” Bradley asks, eating his lunch in your office on Friday.

“Maybe,” you reply, taking a bite of the sweet chocolate treat that was left on your desk this morning. There had been one on your desk nearly every day this week. “If you tell me what you guys are gonna do.”

“You know I can’t tell you that, Kernsie,” he rolls his eyes. “What happens at boys nights-“

“Stays at boys' nights,” you finish with a sarcastic sigh. “Fine.”

“You should get laid while I’ve got him, maybe then you won’t be so-hey!” he laughs as you throw your wrapper at him.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Bradley picks up Drew at 5.

By 6, you’ve typed out but deleted multiple messages to Jake.

You put your phone face down and sigh as you sit on the couch.

Forget it, Reese. He’s probably got plans; it’s a Friday night and he’s hot, young, and single.

Another hour and several frustrated sighs later, you hit send.

Reese: Thanks for the peanut butter cups.

Your heart flutters when your phone rings a minute later.

“Reese? Hey,” he says when you answer. “You’re welcome. How was your week?”

Long. Exhausting. Lonely.

“Busy, you?”

Faint laughter in the background has your heart sinking.

Of course, he’s not sitting at home on a Friday night.

“I’m sorry, you’re busy. I shouldn’t-“ you start but he interrupts.

“I’m not busy. Nat and Javy’s invited me over so I’m third-wheeling as usual,” he assures you. “I’m happy you reached out. I’ve been hoping I’d hear from you.”

You smile.

“What are you up to tonight? Drew asleep already?” He asks.

“I doubt he’s asleep, he’s having boys' night with Bradley.”

“I see. So you’re home alone.”

“I am.”

“How do you feel about that?” He asks, hope lacing his tone.

“A little lonely,” you admit.

“I could keep you company?” He offers. “No strings, no expectations. Just two friends hanging out.”

“Can friends fuck?” You blurt out then wince.

Real smooth.

But you smile at his sharp inhale.

“I don’t see why not,” he replies after a beat.

“I’ll text you my address.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Reese: 418 Magnolia Lane.

You toss your phone onto the bed before changing out of the old, threadbare shirt of Andy’s you had put on after work, ignoring the pang of guilt. Not bothering with undergarments, you slip on a silky pair of shorts and a tank top, shivering at the way the material feels against your nipples.

Your phone dings as he replies.

Jake: Got it. Be there in 15.

Jake: Actually, might be closer to 20. I’ve gotta stop and pick up condoms first.

You’re surprised and a little relieved that he doesn’t have any on him.

Reese: Good thinking. See you soon.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

He rings your doorbell exactly 23 minutes later and you have to force yourself to not rush to answer it.

“You’re late,” you tease when you open the door.

“I am,” he admits and hands over the pretty arrangement of flowers he’s holding. “My mom would smack me silly if she knew I showed up somewhere empty-handed, so I stopped at the flower stand.”

The butterflies in your stomach come back as you take them and step back to let him in. “Thank you, Jake.”

He gives you a smile and follows you to the kitchen to find a vase.

A wave of sadness washes over you though as you set them on the counter.

“Something wrong?” Jake asks, brushing your fingers with his when he sees your mood shift. “Are they too much? The guy said yellow roses mean friendship and I-.”

“Not at all,” you shake your head and give him a sad smile. “They’re beautiful, really. I just…I don’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”

You do remember, actually. It was Andy’s funeral. But you’re well aware that talking about your late husband makes people uncomfortable.

“Not since Andy died?” Jake asks softly.

You shake your head but then paste on a smile. “Sorry,” you say as you turn and open the fridge. “Have you eaten? I made dinner earlier and there’s leftovers in the fridge.”

“I ate earlier but thanks,” he replies, reaching for your hand. You expect him to kiss you, but instead, he pulls you in for a hug.

It feels so good to have his arms wrapped around you and he smells amazing; a heady mix of clean laundry and a hint of expensive cologne.

Your hands slide under his shirt as you start your relax and goosebumps follow your fingers as you trace over the warm skin of his back. Your breath hitches when he hardens against your stomach

You gather the thin material of his shirt in your hands and he helps you pull it over his head.

You bite your lip as your eyes hungrily roam over his tan chest and the cut ridges of his stomach before he pulls you back with a cocky smirk.

He leans in for a kiss but dodges your mouth, making you shiver when he instead presses his lips against your ear to murmur, “Like what you see?”

It’s cute how he thinks he’s got the upper hand.

“Yes,” you sigh, as your hand slides down his chest and over his belt to palm his cock, straining against the confines of his jeans. “I‘ve pictured you every time I’ve touched myself since our night together.”

He groans softly against your ear and his hips push further into your hand. “Tell me more?”

“I remembered the way you fucked me against the door,” your head falls back as he kisses down your neck. “How you looked up at me from your knees, figuring out what I like making me cum,” your eyes close as he hums against your shoulder, remembering too. Your hand slides up to the button of his jeans and he stills. “Imagining what it would be like to return the favor. Can I?”

He sucks in a breath before nodding.

You loved giving head, but it was intimate for you. Since you’ve only had a few hookups since Andy, this would be your first time in over 8 years. So your hands shake as you undo his jeans and you pull them down with you when you kneel.

Jake notices, ever observant.

But you tongue the precum through the fabric of his Calvin’s before he can protest and you moan when you’re rewarded with another burst.

“It’s just…it’s been a while,” you explain, looking up at him from under your lashes and do it again before you tug down his briefs. “So let me know if I do anything you don’t like.”

He nods, tucking your hair behind your ear.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“So big,” you murmur when you bring a hand up to wrap around him and your fingers can’t reach your thumb. He sighs as you trace the vein running the length of him.

He’s quiet, only breathing heavier while his hands clench and release at his sides as you continue teasing him with licks and flicks of your tongue before you finally pull him into your mouth.

“Oh Reese,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he leans back against the counter.

You nearly whimper when you look up at him. He looks wrecked; cheeks flushed pink and a light sheen of sweat covers his heaving chest.

Your other hand trails up your thigh and over your shorts as you start to bob your head, starting slowly and pulling a little more of him into your mouth each time.

“Fuck,” He gasps, knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the counter when your lips meet your fingers circling him and you swallow.

You can tell he’s starting to get close.

His eyes fly open at the moan that escapes when your fingers find your clit through the silky material of your shorts.

“Oh God,” he rasps when he sees you touching yourself. “W-wait.”

“What’s wrong?” You pant, pulling him from your mouth.

“I can’t-I’m gonna cum,” he winces before he looks to the ceiling in effort and staves off his orgasm.

“Good,” you murmur and you begin to stroke him with the hand still gripping him.

“But I-fuck!”

He startles and his hips jerk when you draw him back to the wet heat of your mouth. He cums with a choked groan as he coats your chin and chest with thick white stripes.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“I am so incredibly sorry,” he says lowly, obviously mortified as he looks down at you covered in his spend.

“That was…” you bring your fingers up to wipe your chin, “so fucking hot.”

He watches with rapt attention as you bring your fingers to your mouth to suck them clean.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

A/N: Sorry, kind of an abrupt ending. So…we find out more about Andy. I hope I’m not being annoying by including him so much…just trying to portray how hard it’s been on Reese.

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[n0n-sen-se]

☆ Take A Hi(n)t !

includes ;; inosuke hashibira x gn!reader, aoi kanzaki synopsis ;; while fighting a demon, inosuke takes a hit for you + the aftermath content ;; fluff. mentions of blood/stitches. hidden confession? wc ;; 1.1k a/n ;; i have a bit too many ideas with inosuke, but i enjoyed writing this because it sounded a little out of character for him to just jump into harms way! i.e very interesting

All the muscles in your arms had seized up, burning like hellfire under your skin. Everything hurt. Pure potent pain, even your lungs were starting to buzz with exhaustion. . . but demons were relentless. They could fight forever without breaking a sweat. And this devil in front of you, once a man, bubbled with cackles as he attacked and attacked mercilessly. His arms, like blades of their own pushing against your defense.

He's only trying to wear me out! The thought struck white hot fear into your heart. He's not giving me an opening!

You blocked nearly every shot, the metal of your nichirin sword clanging like thunder. Every missed attack sliced your haori like a papercut. What was worse was that your blade was the only thing that could kill this demon. . . and yet your muscles could hardly wield it a moment longer. Its blade vibrated in front of you. Even with two hands on the handle it wanted to clatter to the ground.

What do I do? What do I do!? There was hardly a moment to think, no time between attacks and only instinctive reflexes keeping the demon at bay.

That's when the barrage against you stopped completely. Before your eyes, like a scene played out in slow motion: the demons cheshire grin disappeared in a blur of brown and blue, replaced by the moonlit forest that surrounded you.

"Inosuke. . .?" The name that fled your lips was surreal; and at first, you weren't entirely sure that you'd said it.

"That's right! Lord Inosuke is here to save you!" The boar-boy grunted like a maniac; the demon's arms pinned beneath his two swords and planted into the ground. He laughed triumphantly into the night, made apparent by the frosted breath spilling from his mask.

Your heart jumped, springing forth a premature smile from your lips. The demon roared with anger, planting his feet into Inosuke's chest with a force that sent him flying into the darkness. You reeled, raising your blade in defense as the demon stood and pulled the serrated blades from its shoulders. It's glowing yellow eyes picking out your form, the smell of your blood intoxicating.

Come on, you silently challenged, sipping one last cold breath of air into your lungs in anticipation.

The demon leapt towards you, the earth crumbling under its feet from the force, claws extended. You raised your blade high above your head (the metal still quivering in your grip) and saw not a single opening on its neck. Before it could reach you fully, Inosuke threw himself between you and the demon. In your terror you spotted Inosuke's hand pushing up in the demon's chin, giving you the perfect opening.

-nosuke! inosuke. . .

"Inooosukee~" You hummed, stretching out the boy's name as quietly- and persistently -as possible. From the side of his hospital bed, you sighed, a sudden weight falling across your heart. That butterfly girl Aoi, she said he should wake up any day now. . . so why wasn't he? You laid your arm across his stomach and rested your head, watching (and feeling) the slow rise and fall of his chest. 

One breath in. Your lashes fell as you listened. One breath out.

CLACK! 

"He's still not up?" Aoi set down a tray of food on the nightstand, quirking an eyebrow as you jolted awake. "No! He's uhm, he's not awake." You said sheepishly, hoping that by some miracle she could forget that you dozed off on watch duty.

"Isn't he. . . supposed to?"

The girl huffed, "Well sure, but you have to give his body time. As much time as it needs to heal." Aoi put a hand on the back of your chair, a gesture you supposed was meant to comfort you. "That demon nearly ripped him to shreds."

You nodded, eyes trailing over the sleeping boy's chest where under a layer of sterile clothing lie a heap of bandages and stitches.

Inosuke snorted, his head turning towards the nightstand, sniffing the air. "Gimme. . . Give me that food."

"Inosuke!" You leapt onto the bed, the sheets flying up as you pounced onto it. "You're awake!"

Aoi rolled her eyes, unable to help the small smile as she witnessed the tender moment.

"AH! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING! GET OFF ME!" He scrambled unsuccessfully from your grip, your hands thrown over his shoulders and pressing his face into the crook of your neck. Dammit! His whole body hurt and you were squeezing him?!

"I'm so glad you're okay. . ." your voice cracked with pain, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to relish the feeling of your fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him close. 

The sound of your voice. . . all vulnerable and. . . genuinely worried for him. He could feel your pain.

Inosuke stopped his thrashing.

"I don't care if I'm hurting you," you forced a laugh and pulled away, his blank face of confusion squished between your hands. "Why the hell did you do that!? Huh?! Why did you take the hit for me!?"

Between Aoi's berating voice and Inosuke's struggled noises, you fought back tears, physically trying to shake an answer out of him.

"Answer me!"

"Your-!" You stopped shaking him, waiting for him to spit out the rest. "GET OFF OF ME!" You pouted, sitting back onto his lap whilst he slapped your hands away and rubbed his sore face. "You can't grab him like that! You two will open your wounds again!" Aoi probably would've slapped you both if it wasn't ironic.

"Sorry. . ." you sighed, realizing that Inosuke's shirt was slowly becoming pink. "Aoi?" You asked sheepishly again, turning to her for help.

The poor butterfly girl only rolled her eyes and huffed "You two, I swear! Honestly! Just make him eat something." She turned on her heels (hopefully to get more bandages), remarking with a reassuring smile "Don't worry, Inosuke heals fast. He's a freak of nature." She left, waving the both of you off.

"So- You still go hurt?" Inosuke spoke through a mouthful of rice and vegetables. Already digging into his food, you sighed. "I'm better off than you are. I don't need stitches. . . only a couple hundred bandages." He scoffed, a few pieces of food falling onto the bed. "Without me you'd be dead!"

You scoffed back, snatching the bowl out of his hand "Sit still Inosuke! And by the way, that demon wouldn't be dead without me." You smirked, knowing that it would piss him off, and stuffed a clump of rice into his mouth, making sure he couldn't/wouldn't talk back. "Don't move so much anymore."

It was silent for a while, aside from his chewing.

"Inosuke?"

He huffed in response.

"Why did you do that?"

In the silence, you stuffed another clump of rice into his mouth, failing to notice the burn that rose up from his neck to the tips of his ears.

"You're just weak," he choked.

[lordgrimwing]

Friends And Family #06

Rain drummed against the roof in a steady rumble. Outside the old and wavy glass of the window panes, a summer storm drenched the land in sheets of rain. Grasses and brush not flattened by the downpour danced in the wind. The creaking of the trees couldn’t be heard over the wind and rain, and the heavy clouds forced the day into a premature dusk so forest was hardly visible beyond the yard.

Elros sat cross-legged on the rug next to Elrond and Celebrimbor, elbow on his knees and chin propped up on his hands. He disliked storms like this. He no longer had nightmares about the storm that swallowed his parents when storms raged outside, possibly because he couldn’t fall asleep with all the noise. At least the rain and wind were bad enough today to keep most everyone else inside too. 

Elrond leaned his head against his shoulder and yawned. “I’m bored,” He murmured.

Celegorm sat in a chair next to the fire, taking advantage of the light it cast to whittle away at a block of hardwood that was starting to look like an animal. He nudged Amrod with his bare foot.

The redhead looked up from the peas he was shelling into a wide bowl. “No,” He said, knowing exactly what his older brother was conveying. “I’m doing the peas. If Mae and Pa survive this and make it back home, I’m not going to be the one he accuses of having idle hands, again.”

“Yeah, we’re busy.” Amras agreed after swallowing a mouthful of peas.

Celebrimbor elbowed Elrond. “Sheesh, not so loud next time. Are you trying to get us put to work? This is the longest I’ve sat down all week! Pa’s had me digging out a spot for the new kiln so much I think he’s decided I’m some kind of mole. I didn’t think that’s what Papaw meant when he said I could start working with him at the forge.”

He glanced furtively toward the kitchen where his father was sharpening and cleaning an assortment of knives, from heavy ones used to butcher animals to the tiny, curved blade Nerdanel used to unpick stitches (usually when it was time to unhem clothes as the three children grew up into their uncles’ hand-me-downs). He sent him scouring the house for an hour to find any lost knives that somebody forgot to return to their proper places. Luckily, Curufin gave no indication that he was listening to them.

Maglor walked out of his and Maedhros’ bedroom. His braids, done in two loose lines down either side of his head, were still damp from his dash to and from the barn to tie the doors and window shutters closed to prevent the wind from blowing them open. He'd changed to dry clothes that gave every indication that he planned to spend the rest of the day relaxing. He had the soaked shirt and pants draped over an arm. Dragging a chair over from the table, he joined his brothers by the fire. 

“Ma wants those for supper.” He reminded Amras as he laid the clothes over the back of the chair to dry.

The redheads looked at each other.

“Shell faster.” Said the younger twin.

“Eat slower.” Suggested the other. 

Maglor shook his head and took his fiddle and bow down from the mantle above the hearth. He looked down at the children on the rug, “What are you three doing?”

Elros shrugged.

“Nothing,” Elrond said.

Celebrimbor groaned. “You’re the worst,” He muttered, standing and mentally preparing to be put to work around the house.

“Well then,” Maglor continued. “Brimby, since you’re up, bring the music box out here. This kind of weather calls for some entertainment.”

Finding this task far less onerous than what he expected, Celebrimbor hurried off to do as bidden. Maglor leaned against the wall and began testing the tune of the old instrument. Elrond and Elros moved over to sit by his feet. 

“Can I play the dulcimer?” Elros asked, perking up from the slump he’s been in since the clouds rolled in.

“Certainly,” The musician began sawing out a simple tune to warm up the fiddle and the audience. 

Celebrimbor returned then with the box Maglor kept his collection of instruments in to avoid them getting lost or broken in the often boisterous home. He’d already claimed the pair of joined wooden spoons Curufin carved a few years ago to replace the pair ruined by one of Celegorm’s half-feral dogs after someone—Celebrimbor—forgot the instrument outside. He left the box in the middle of the half circle around the fireplace. 

Elrond and Elros came over to claim their favorite instruments. While they were distracted, the youngest child stole Elrond’s spot closest to the warm bricks around the fire.

The kitchen door banged open and a sopping-wet Maedhros and Fëanor came in with an angry wail of rain-soaked wind. The eldest son’s thick hair was plastered to his face and back as though he’d gone swimming fully clothed. Their father didn’t look any better, summer linen shirt clinging to his arms and chest and clutching the satchel of tools in a white-knuckled grip. 

Celegorm looked up from his whittling as they entered. Amrod and Amras kept their intense focus on the shrinking pile of peapods. Curufin paused sharpening long enough to glance over at the pair. Maglor lifted his bow in greeting, letting his young accompaniment take over for a few moments.

“How was it?” He asked.

“Wet,” His father answered laconically, dripping all the way to Nerdanel's and his room. The door closed with a bang behind him.

“That bad?” Maglor asked his older brother.

Maedhros nodded. “You know Pa.”

They were not prepared for this degree of downpour when they left to check the charms and sigils placed at important locations around the homestead and other areas and trails the family frequented. Nerdanel warned they could expect rain in the afternoon, but Fëanor was confident they would return well before that. 

They had not. Several charms needed to be repaired, the feathers and string worn away by the weather and small, nibbling animals. Then Maedhros’ large gelding became oddly spooked by something hidden in a dark thicket. After investigating the spot and finding nothing out of the ordinary, Fëanor insisted on building a basic sign to keep foul presences away until he could craft a proper charm to block the beast from its newest foothold on the mountain. The rain came as Maedhros hung the twine and bone charm high in a tree. The horses made their displeasure with the turn of events clear on the ride back to the barn, the patriarch muttering with them.

Fëanor did not like getting wet.

His hair leaving a thin stream of water behind him, Maedhros sloshed across the main room to his bedroom to change. “I like how that’s sounding,” He added over his shoulder, nodding to the fiddle as he disappeared to get dry clothes. 

“There’s more where it came from!” Maglor called after him before turning his attention back to the song. He tapped his foot to help the children keep time with him.

Amrod drummed his fingers on the bowl. Amras shelled peas in rhythm. Celegorm murmured his version of the lyrics as the wooden dog took shape in his hands.  

Maedhros came back wearing only his damp underpants, wet boots held tightly in his hand and dripping clothes thrown over his other arm. Clearly having the same idea as Maglor, he tossed the clothes over the back of a chair and then carried the chair over to the fire by slipping his arm between the slats in the back. Celebrimbor scrambled aside to make room for him and almost dropped the musical spoons. The boots went on the hot bricks, though not so near the flames as to risk damage. In no hurry to leave the warmth of the fire or the companionship, he sat between Elros and Celegorm, long legs filling up the space as he crossed them.

The music picked up as they settled down. Celebrimbor caught the rhythm again after giving a few spoon taps at the wrong time. Elros leaned his shoulder against Maedhros’s side as he strummed the dulcimer’s strings and picked out an occasionally offkey accompaniment to the fiddle. The large elf smiled and wrapped an arm around him, careful not to bump the instrument with the end of his arm. He combed out small tangles from his hair with his fingers.

The music bounced along.

“Curu,” Celegorm called, having run out of his crude version of the song. He tossed the block of wood at his younger brother after he didn’t look up when called. 

Curufin rubbed his head and shot the blond a mildly peeved expression.

“Get over here.” 

Celegorm skillfully caught the rag his brother balled up and threw before leaving the knife sharpening behind. Tucking his knife into his breast pocket, he unfolded the oily fabric and laid it out on his knee. Smirking, he patted the knee and looked up at Curufin, inviting him to take a seat. Uninterested, Curufin slapped the back of his head where he kept his hair shorn close to the skin and leaned against the way instead, arms folded across his chest.

Celegorm put on a hurt look. Curufin threw the wooden dog at him. Amrod and Amras snorted. Celegorm ducked. The dog bounced across the floor, the noise the closest thing it would ever make to an actual bark.

To his eternal relief, Celebrimbor was too busy tapping his spoons on Elrond’s toes to see his uncle blow a kiss at his father. He finally stopped when Elrond kicked his hand and he dropped the spoons onto the bearskin rug.

“Ow,” He complained.

Elrond raised his eyebrows to question why the nine-year-old was surprised by the consequences of his actions. He might have said something too, but his mouth was occupied with his tin whistle. 

 He retrieved the musical spoons and settled down again into the rhythm. Soon, the uncles were all singing along to the song. 

Suddenly, Amras jumped to his feet. He grabbed his twin’s hands and hauled him up to his feet too, pushing the bowls of peas out of the way with the tip of one shoe. 

“Come on!” He exclaimed and tugged his brother into a dance. The hard soles of their shoes stomped and tapped against the floorboards, keeping beat with the music and adding their own flare to it. 

Celegorm whistled at them and began to clap in rhythm.

After a few seconds, the cellar doors slammed open (Fëanor added an entrance down into the cellar from the kitchen during one of his episodes of nearly unstoppable energy and questionable late-night decision-making). Caranthir’s head and shoulders appeared as he climbed up the ladder. 

“Land-o’-goshen!” He shouted at the ruckus. “What is going on up here?” 

He and Nerdanel went down into the cellar to take stock of her supply of dried plants and fruits for making salves and teas. Judging from the half-forgotten mushroom he had in one hand and the dirt sprinkled across his hair and shoulders, he’d been checking the light-sensitive mushroom log just below them when the twins began dancing.

Nerdanel came up after him, equally as dusty. 

Caranthir looked like he was trying to stay annoyed at his siblings, despite the levity brightening up the gloomy day. He scowled and shook his head, dirt tumbling down from his loose hair. He tried, but when Amrod waved at him to join the dance, he came after only a moment’s hesitation, discarding the mushroom cap on the table.

Nerdanel smiled to see all her children and grandchildren gathered around the fire, healthy and laughing and happy. There had been years where she feared she might lose one or more of them to the dangers of the mountain. There had been some very hard times, times she couldn’t even talk to her husband or find support from him, so intent was he in the childish belief that everything would be fine, that his sons just needed to rest, and that there was nothing, no injury, she could not heal. Somehow, though, they managed to survive year after year—not untouched or unchanged by what happened but alive and together.

Speaking of her husband, she soon noticed Fëanor’s absence. No doubt he’d tucked himself away in their bedroom to work on something and hadn’t even noticed the noise from the main room. Maedhros would not be so relaxed if anything happened while they were in the trees.

Shaking her head a little, she walked to their room and slipped inside.

As she suspected, she found Fëanor at his desk, scribbling in one of his many notebooks. The clothes he’d dressed in that morning were discarded near the door and he sat wrapped in a blanket made from the wool of their oldest sheep (the ewe was a decrepit thing now, her teeth worn down to nubs, her fleece patchy and thin over her bony body. She’d be gone before winter, either on her own or because they would not let her suffer the cold given the state she was in. Nerdanel was surprised he hadn’t taken care of her months ago; Fëanor did not usually allow the animals to linger, fading from life for this long. Celegorm’s dogs met a swift end if they became too ill—they rarely grew old—and the others were no different. She could not guess why he kept putting it off this time).

“Fëanor,” She began.

He raised a hand to stall her. “I’m busy.” He said, hunching over his notes. His hair left a damp spot on the blanket.

“They are singing and dancing. Come and join us.”

“I need to write this down. Things are changing. I need to make sense of it, of what and why.” His voice tremored with the beginning of agitation. “It’s changing.”

She walked to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. Quickly, before she could see the pages, he closed the notebook and hid it under his hands. No one in the house could make sense of the code he devised for recording these particular thoughts, but he disliked them looking anyway, even for a moment. She brought her other hand to his cheek and slowly he looked up at her. His lips were a thin line across his face, his expression nervous. 

“My dear,” She began again. “We have a brief time before life carries on and takes our sons out again on their journeys. Come with me. Worries and storms will be here when we are done, but for now, there is joy and family, and together we are safe.”

She took one of his narrow hands. He let her guide him to his feet. The blanket slipped down his shoulders, and she adjusted it, tucking in a corner to keep it in place. His free hand, wrapped inside the blanket, clutched at the fabric under his chin. She let her hand linger on his cool cheek for a few moments longer, then pulled it back. They left the room like that, his hand in hers.

Maglor was watching the door when his parents reappeared, the others still caught up in the revelry. His fingers stuttered on the strings and the fiddle squealed as his bow arm jolted. He would have stopped playing, concerned by his father’s drawn face and short stride, but Nerdanel smiled and nodded for him to continue. He did, raising the others’ excitement by jumping into another tune and seeing how long it took the children to catch up to him again. Celebrimbor stumbled along until Elrond helpfully tapped the beat out on his thigh with his foot.

Maedhors rose and grabbed a chair, bringing it back to the group and placing it between Celegorm and Curufin, leaving enough room for a second chair. Nerdanel brought Fëanor to the seat and he sat down without prompting, the tension around his eyes softening. Maedhros brought a chair for her and she settled down to laugh and clap along with her children. This was just as much fun as some of the town hall dances she went to during her youth wandering from town to town with her family. 

She cheered when Amrod grabbed Curufin’s hand and dragged him into the dancing. Broad-shouldered and heavy-footed, he lacked the speed and grace of the twins and Caranthir, but he clonked along slightly offbeat with them with a grin. Soon, he pulled his son up to join him. Celebrimbor muttered something about never getting to just sit around but started dancing, clacking the spoons together on his hip or an upraised palm.

They continued on in that manner until the last of the light faded and the storm blew itself down to a whisper.

[zoethehead]

Edit: I finally finished the story. Sorry for prematurely posting it. That was an accident.

This is a story, courtesy of the purgatorra universe.

This takes place after Tom's injuries have been tended to.

Diagram for injuries, btw;

Dark red: wounds

Blue: spiral fracture

Bright red: compound fracture

Black:transverse (hairline fractures around the skull)

Green: greenstick

Purple: bruises

Tom slowly came to from his slumber.

He felt the pain ebbing through his body. His head was pounding. He opened his right eye as the left one had been swollen shut by bruising.

The room seemed to be unfocused and doubled to him, his head still swimming from what had happened. He was seemingly in a soft, cozy bed, the warmest quilts pulled up over his shoulders, as his head rested on some soft pillows. The room was medium-sized at best; a nightstand with a lamp and a cup of water stood next to the bed, there was a cabinet that was closed, a chair was near the bedside, and at least 2 bookshelves in that room. There was also a window nearby. The drapes were closed, but some light shone through, revealing that it was either nearing dusk or dawn.

He tried to get up off of the bed, peeling away the soft quilt. He winced as his wounds and broken bones stung. "Easy does it there, sir." A voice said. Tom turned his head, seeing a woman with white streaked orange hair and green - stitched together flesh wearing glasses, a brown sweater, and striped lounge pants with slippers.

"So, since you're awake, how are you feeling?" The woman asked.

Tom had to do a double take in order to know if what he was seeing happened to be real.

Tom put a hand up to his forehead as he tried to process what had happened to him.

He was mauled by a wraith and thrown into a portal, broke several bones in his body, and he didn't know where in the hell he was.

"Look, I can tell that you're confused, I get it; I've never really seen a human get flung out of the rift onto our world, well--until now." The woman said.

"W-where am I?" Tom asked.

"Oh, well, you're back at my place. One of my friends found you outside and brought you to me so I could tend to your injuries. " The woman explained.

Tom looked at himself; bandages wrapped around his chest and arms, some bruises peering through here and there.

"Now, I just want to know, from a scale of 1-10, how bad is your pain?" The woman inquired.

"About a 5." Tom answered.

"Hm, it seems like quite an odd amount of pain. You broke, at least 14 bones in your body from that fall. You've been unconscious for about a week or so." The woman said, writing it down in a notepad for later.

"So... I guess I'm not going back to my world anytime soon. " Tom sighed.

"Yeah, I guess; but at least you didn't die." The woman chimed in.

Tom thought back to his job; everyone possibly thought that he died.

"Look, how about you rest up and try to focus on healing, and after your body is in good enough shape to be able to walk without much trouble, I'll show you around Purgatorra. " The woman smiled.

Tom laid back down on the bed, bundling himself up in the quilts, thinking to himself about how he was gonna adjust to his surroundings.

"Oh, real quick, sir. I just need to know what your name is." The woman said, getting up from her seat.

"Well... the name's Tom....... Tom Corille." Tom answered.

"Okay then, Tom. I'm Eden, Eden Karloff." Eden said as she left the room before closing the door.

Tom sighed as his mind was too exhausted from trying to process what had just transpired, as he slipped back into slumber.

[trxsh3banditt]

Whumptober Day 4 Dead On Your Feet

Fandom: Youtuber Egos

Characters: Septiscape Henrik, Joline, Baby Emma(the child), the egos

Relationships: Henrik/Joline

Triggers: Pregnancy death, infant death, uterine rupture, premature death

Prompt: Can’t Pass Out

Henrik stood by their usual waiting spot, the same stargazing hill they met by all those years ago. Today they were on their way to the Mindscape’s Hotel Inn. They’d be meeting up with the other egos to have some fun and have a small vacation. 

His wife, Joline, had been going on about how much he really needed this break. He wouldn’t lie, but he was pretty excited about this mini vacation he’d have. Around 6 months ago, Joline discovered she was pregnant with their first child. And they had already planned the name for the little one. 

Emmaline or Emma, if it was a girl.

Ryder, if it was a boy.

When the others had found out about the pregnancy Chase had recommended they plan a get together some day, and today was that day.

“Henny!” A voice called. When the German turned, he smiled, seeing the woman he’d fallen in love with all those years ago walking up to him. “Are you ready to head on over?” Henrik asked, to which he got the positive response in return. 

And with that they were off.

A few days in, while Henrik and Joline were out bird watching, Joline started to suddenly feel a lot of pressure. But how was that possible, the baby shouldn’t be born yet. It’s only been 6 months.

Just as soon as it passed, her water broke. She lost her balance and collapsed, only to be caught by her husband before her head hit the ground. “Joline!” Henrik had a worried and concerned expression on his face, nervous.

Joline put on a reassuring smile, weak at it’s best, on her face. “I..I’m fine Henny...Ah!” She felt a strong contraction, worrying her German husband even more. “No you’re not! You don’t just collapse if you’re alright!” 

She looked up at him, her face pale with fear and confusion. “W-We need to go..the..the baby’s on it’s way..!” His face paled with the same fear and confusion as hers when those words left her mouth. But he rushed her to the hospital, deciding he’d call the others once the baby was born.

During the labor, Joline started having several complications, causing an emergency C-Section to be done. Words cannot describe how much Henrik’s hands were shaking. His phone blowing up with calls and texts which he simply ignored. He could not possibly leave his wife on such occasion, or more plainly; he couldn’t bare to leave his wife to fend for herself or die.

Henrik had finally cut the umbilical cord, and removed the placenta. He quickly stitched Joline’s abdomen up and left her to rest as he went to clean and make sure his baby girl was healthy.

While doing so, he heard it. The sound of the heart rate monitor. 

It wasn’t beeping.

It flatlined..

The one thing he dreaded to hear, occurred during the situation he was scared of. He set his now daughter, only family member, Emmaline or Emma in her small crib. Rushing over to his wife he paled. Her eyes, which used to be filled with life and the nicest deep brown eyes; now pale and lifeless just as cold as her skin. He’s lost her. No pain could compare to what he felt that moment, but he had to pull himself together, for his daughter; for Emma. 

Since the newborn was premature by 3 whole months, she had severe breathing issues and heart palpitations. She’d need to be under heavy watch. 

Time flew by, and before he knew it. It was 3 in the morning. He hadn’t been sleeping well due to his anxiety so his eyes were heavy as he attempted to keep himself awake. He wasn’t going to let himself fall asleep, he couldn’t pass out. Not now, not yet, not until he knew she’d be alright. He’d stay up for days if he had to. He’d to anything if he needed to.

By four, he could slightly feel himself passing out. The last thing he heard was the sound of little Emma’s soft cooing noises in front of his desk.

“I can’t...pass..out...not yet..” He mumbled under his breath, head on his arms before his eyes started to flutter shut and sleep took over his body. “Can’t..pass out...” It wasn’t even a whisper anymore, he was out like a light now. And it was silent.

He woke, a good 8-9 hours later, and heard nothing. No cooing, no babbling. Not even the sound of faint newborn snores. Only dead silence. 

.....

He passed out that night, and she died when he was asleep. 

.....

.....

.....

That would be a guilt he’d never forget..or forgive himself for.

[rebornbythunder]

Pallet Town

[Memory Scene prompt!]

Red was still shivering. He couldn't stop shivering. Green had already called ahead days ago, let his mother know that he was okay, that he was coming home, and as soon as Red was okay to move, Green was taking him back home. Red had been missing for years now, vanished without a trace, assumed dead. But here he was, alive if only physically.

And now that Red could walk, Green made good on his promise, walking with him back to Pallet Town so that he could recover at home. They took the journey slowly, Green had even offered a wheelchair to Red, but he refused. The boy moved like he was in a trance, but Green kept a close eye on him as they made their way back to their hometown.

Red's hands were raw, the stitching over where open wounds on his knuckles were itched. He held Pikachu close to his chest, who did his best to sleep in his human's grasp. Next to Green, Red looked like a walking corpse, barely able to keep himself upright, but still insistent that he could make the journey. At least he had help.

Green knocked on the door for him, and Red appreciated that. His mother, tears in her eyes, pulled the door open to greet the duo.

Red looked so very small. Hungry and sick, the 15 year old said nothing, and barely moved. His frostbite was still healing, hands still bandaged where they found that something had ripped off two of his fingers. With a sob, his mother pulled her son into her arms, careful not to crush fragile little Pikachu between them.

"Green, thank you," his mother said, regaining composure just slightly. "Thank you so much for bringing him home."

Green shook his head. "Don't thank me," he deflected, "I wasn't the one who found him. Some kid named Gold was the one who brought him to me. I just brought him the rest of the way."

Some kid, Green had said, as if he and Red weren't also just some kids. As if their journeys and the titles that weighed on them somehow amputated their childhoods, promoted them prematurely to full grown men. As if Gold, twice over champion, was somehow exempt from that cutting effect, allowed to still be just some kid, only a few years their junior. As if they weren't all still children.

Red's mother didn't say anything more, just invited them both inside, sitting Red down at the dinner table. Knowing that Red was on his way, she'd started some soup, something warm and hearty that could help nurse her boy back to health. A mother's best medicine, the recipe she'd honed since Red was still just a baby, what he still would eat when his sensory issues prevented him from accepting any other meal.

"Have you had lunch yet, Green?" she asked him, and Green shook his head. "Stay, would you? There's plenty to go around."

The newly-minted gym leader didn't protest, just settled down at the table across from Red, where he could watch his rival carefully. Green was worried- Red had always had an issue of elopement, just walking off and disappearing whenever the mood struck him, but this was different. He seemed almost possessed, frantic when he would jump to his feet to leave, only prevented by his weakened body giving out on him these past few days. He wanted to make sure he wouldn't try to bolt.

Red didn't bolt, just sat still at the table, Pikachu sitting in the chair beside him that he had pulled close enough that they were touching. The pokemon had been roused from sleep just long enough to get comfortable on the cushioning, falling back into heavy sleep. But Red kept him close, like a lifeline. He didn't look anywhere in particular, didn't make a move to sign.

After a few moments, his mother came back to the table, setting bowls of soup in front of the two boys, before returning to the simmering pot on the stove to get herself something to eat. Normally, she'd have taken Red's hat from him, hung it on the back of the chair until he left the table, but she left it be. She knew what that hat meant to him.

Red stared down at the soup, not really registering what it was. He wasn't registering anything at all, really. He knew it was warm, and that sounded good. He glanced up at Green, who had taken a spoonful into his mouth already, and remembered again what food was.

With a shaky and unsteady hand, Red took a bite himself in imitation of his rival. It was warm, savory, the first bite filled with chopped vegetables and spices. It settled hot in his stomach, and it twisted, but he ignored it. He had forgotten how much he adored his mother's cooking, how it felt like safety and like coming home. The warmth, the love, like nothing could be wrong anymore. As if this moment would take away all the horrors he'd just endured. His eyes still distant and glassy, he teared up, and took another bite.

The minute the small chunk of meat touched his tongue, his stomach heaved. Red choked, gagged, and was sick on himself. There was little for his stomach to reject, but he just kept gagging, heaving up nothing while everyone around him rushed to his aid.

Red couldn't explain it. No one knew yet, he barely knew himself. Wordless, he just collapsed into screaming sobs while his mother did her best to clean him up, helping her boy stand and walking him up the stairs toward his room and the bathroom for a change of clothes.

Unsure of what to do with himself, Green abandoned his own bowl of soup, and while Red's mother tried to fix this problem, got up to do the dishes for her. Something, anything to keep his hands busy.

Red would mourn this loss privately for years. So tiny compared to everything else, but when he was at his most vulnerable, he wanted the same thing any kid wanted. To be at home, with the same, safe food that his loving mother had made for him during hard times his entire life. After everything, after all the grief and shame and horror, Red hadn't imagined this could be his breaking point.

When he went to bed that night, buried under as many blankets as he could pile on top of himself, he cried again. He just wanted his mom's soup.

[itsapeterthing]

Worth the Risk || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: when bucky and sam get captured you have to go in alone to save them leading to a worried, overprotective bucky who cares about you a bit more than a teammate should

a/n: reblogs and replies are super appreciated!!

word count: 2.2k

warnings: description of violence, injuries, a gun, dagger and blood, swearing, angst w/ happy ending

masterlist || taglist

“Bucky?” You whispered through the earpiece. “Sam? Where are you guys-”

Sitting in the van, you began to grow worried as you couldn’t find any of your teammates on the screen after they had turned around a corner. Tapping the earpiece, you were about to speak again when you heard Sam’s voice on the other end.

“Y/n?”

Sitting forward in your chair, you breathed a premature sigh of relief.

“Sam? Thank God you guys are okay.” You told him. “I was worried when-”

“Y/n, listen,” Sam cut you off, his voice a near whisper. “They got us- me and Bucky- but I think you’ll be able to take them out if you think you’re ready for it.”

You began to feel your heart race in your chest just at the proposition. Although you had joined the group almost half a year ago, you had never gone on a mission by yourself- always having others to back you up, but you knew Sam well enough that he wouldn’t have suggested the idea lightly. If he asked you to go in alone... you knew it was because there was no other choice.

“Okay.” You said. “I can do this, Cap. I’ll be there soon- just hold on.”

With that, you left the vehicle, making your way into the building. When the door of the facility closed behind you, you raised your gun.

“You shouldn’t have told her to come in here.” Bucky told Sam, pacing around their cell. “If we couldn’t handle it together, what makes you think that she can do it by herself? You’re going to get her killed-”

“Buck,” Sam said firmly. “I know you’re worried about her, but she can handle herself. She’s our only shot of getting out of here so I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

Sitting himself down in the corner of the room, Bucky said nothing more to Sam, instead placing his head in his hands.

Bucky knew logistically that you could handle yourself- you were on the team for a reason- but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about you. He worried about you all the time- even in training- nagging Sam if he threw you down a bit too hard and feeling his heart drop to his stomach when bruises littered your body after a mission. He hated seeing you get hurt, but as he sat in the cell with Sam, knowing that you were coming into the building all on your own- he felt as though he was going to be sick.

Now he wasn’t there to watch your back. He wasn’t there to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt. He wasn't there to make sure you didn't get yourself killed- the thought of it too horrible for him to even allow himself to think about. He worried because he knew in your line of business, every wrong move could be fatal and he couldn’t bare the thought of not having you by his side every day.

Listening to the sound of water leaking from the sealing above him, Bucky prayed you would be alright.

Turning a corner inside of the building, you were hoping the same.

Peaking around the edge of a wall you spotted two men, armed with batons. Taking a deep breath, you aimed for one of the men’s bullet proof vest, taking the shot and knocking him to the ground. Immediately the other man ran towards you with the baton raised in his hand. 

Ducking as he swung the baton, you threw a punch to the man’s stomach, knocking him backwards, but just as you did the other man hit you in your back with the baton.

“Fuck!” You screamed out in pain, taking the man’s arm between your knees. You pulled the baton out of his hand as you stretched it in the other direction, causing him to yelp out in pain. 

Once in your hand, you spun around, swinging the man in the face with the baton, knocking him unconscious. Dropping it to the floor, you pulled your taser from your belt, shocking the other man, forcing him to the ground.

“Y/n?” You heard Sam ask through the earpiece. “Y/n are you alright?”

Shoving the taser back in its slot and raising your gun once again, you stepped over the two men’s unconscious bodies, running down the hallway.

“I am now.” You huffed, placing one of your hands on your lower back. “When this is over, you’re paying for my chiropractor.”

Turning another corner, you were met with a man and a woman standing at the end of the hallway.

“Are you guys always in pairs?” You asked. “Frankly I think it’s unfair.”

When they said nothing, just raising their batons from their belts, you spoke up again.

“Where are my friends?” You asked more seriously.

“You’re about to find out.”

The woman running at you first, you hit the butt of your gun in her face causing her to wobble backwards but the second you did, you felt a burst of searing hot pain run throughout your face as the baton collided with your nose. Stumbling backwards, you felt as another of the baton’s swings hit your midsection, causing you to double over in pain.

The man tugged your collar as you felt another blow connect with your face.

Wheezing, you dropped the gun to your side.

Standing in front of you, the woman slid her baton back into her belt.

“See?” she said. “I’m sure your friends will be happy to see-”

As she spoke you carefully slid your dagger out of your belt, but before she was able to finish her sentence, you threw it cleanly at her, the dagger jamming itself through her shoulder, sticking her to the wall.

“Shit!” She shouted in pain.

Immediately afterwards, the man grabbed your coat shoving you against the wall only to throw another punch to your mouth. Rather than giving him the satisfaction of yelping out in pain, you headbutt the man, causing him to stumble backwards into his partner. Grabbing the baton from his hand, you swung it over his head, knocking him unconscious.

Spitting blood onto the ground, you heaved as you picked up your gun and the keys from the man’s waist, making your way over to the room on the right.

Swinging the door open, your eyes immediately fell onto the reinforced cell in front of you, Bucky and Sam rushing to the front. Stumbling over to the cell, you unlocked the door, swinging it open and leaning against it.

“Y/n?” You heard Bucky’s voice first as he ran over to you. “Fuck, look at you.”

Moving his hands to cup your face, not being able to help yourself from wincing, Bucky could feel his heart shatter in his chest. Sure, you had a few bruises here and there in the past but never this bad.

You had a deep gash across your nose that he was sure would need stitches along with a cut along your lip and a large bruise forming around your eye- and that was just your face.

Looking up and seeing his worried eyes, you shot him a quaint, bloody smile.

“You should see the other guys.” You joked.

You attempted to laugh, only to wheeze and begin to cough.

“Y/n this isn’t funny.” He said seriously. “You could have died. Sam should have never asked-”

“Bucky,” You cooed, reaching your hands up to cup his face. “I’m okay. Besides, I couldn’t leave my favorite boys in here could I?”

Feeling your fingertips against his face, he couldn’t help but melt into your touch. You always managed to make him a lovesick mess as if he was still fifteen and not a one hundred and six year-old man who had been to hell and back.

“Hate to break up the reunion,” Sam said. “But those guys will only be out for so long. We got to get out of here.”

-

After falling asleep on the car ride back to the Compound, you woke up in bed, the dim glow of the lamp shining on the night stand above you. Opening your eyes, you pushed yourself up in the bed, only for a shooting pain to spread throughout your torso. Not able to stop yourself, you yelped out in pain.

“Hey, hey,” You heard none other than Bucky’s voice beside you, one of his hands coming to rest on yours while the other adjusted your pillow. “Take it easy.”

“I am, Doc.” You lied, leaning against your newly adjusted pillow.

Tucking you in, Bucky shook his head, leaning on the nightstand beside you.

“We should have never let you go in alone.” He sighed, leaning his head on his hand. “I just felt sick the entire time. You could have died, Y/n. If they just hit you in the wrong spot... I’m never letting you go in alone again. I’m not letting you leave my sight.”

During your time as a member of the group, you and Bucky had grown incredibly close and during the past few months maybe even closer than friends. It was normal for him to worry- you never even had to wonder where he was during missions because he always had your back- but looking at his face now you could tell just how worried he had been and you couldn’t help but feel your heart break.

“Bucky,” You hummed. “You go on dangerous missions all the time alone. How am I any different?”

A silence settled over the two of you as Bucky squeezed your hand. 

Not meeting your eyes, he spoke up again.

“Because I can’t lose you.” Bucky said, his voice nearly a whisper. “I can’t even think about what would happen if anything happened to you, Y/n. Even seeing the cuts and bruises on your face? I’m... I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore, but I think if you put me in a room with those people I would kill them for what they did to you. I almost broke us out of the cell myself because I hated the idea so much of you going in there on your own. If something happens to me... it’s different. Nothing can happen to you, Y/n. Nothing.”

Staring at the super soldier sat at your bedside, you began to feel tears prick in your eyes. You had cared for Bucky in a way that you had been too afraid to admit- not wanting to ruin your friendship- but as he sat there, confessing his feelings for you, you couldn’t help but feel your heart tug in your chest, just wanting him.

“Do you love me?” You asked finally before you could stop yourself.

Looking up at your injured face, he felt his breath catch in his throat. He wasn’t able to read you in the moment at all, your face straight, seriousness laced in ever bit. All he could think was that even with the black eye and the stitches across your nose, he had never seen someone as beautiful as you.

He knew his answer. There wasn’t a single part of him that doubted it.

“Yes.” 

Hearing his answer, you stared at him and smiled.

“Are you sure?” You asked. “Do you love me as more than a teammate-”

“Y/n,” He cut you off, squeezing your hand once again. “As much as I love working with you, every time you call me your ‘teammate’ I want to go find a punching bag.”

Trying to bite back your smile, you couldn’t help but chuckle.

You hated calling him “only” your teammate just as much as he did- if not more.  Knowing that he hated it just as much as you the entire time you used the word to disguise your true feelings made you feel as if a weight had been lifted off of your chest despite the aches that still consumed your being.

Bucky was more than your teammate, he was your partner.

“Oh Thank God.” You laughed. “I can’t tell you how many I’ve knocked off the hook after you called me your ‘friend’.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he leaned in closer to you.

“What are you saying?” He asked.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you reached your free hand up to his hair, brushing it back with your hand.

“I’m saying,” You smiled. “that I love you too and that I’m not going anywhere, Buck.”

Leaning into your touch, a smile finally reached across his face. “You know, if it weren’t for your stitches, I would kiss you right now.”

“So my face isn’t too messed up then, right, Doc?” You asked. “If you still want to kiss me and all...”

Reaching your hand up to his lips, he pressed a soft kiss to your skin.

“You could never look bad, doll.” He hummed. “But promise me you won’t do that to me again. I almost had a heart attack, Y/n.”

Leaning your head against your pillow, admiring him, you smiled.

“I promise, Buck.”

[talkfastromance4]

Temporary--Luke&Lily series

a/n: so sorry it’s taken me a month to complete this. It’s a heavy topic with a lot of emotions and I was feeling what my characters were feeling. This is very detail oriented, some medical jargon (I did my best research and some of it was from watching Grey’s Anatomy which I know isn’t realistic but I tried)

warnings: NICU mentions throughout, premature birth, C-section, sadness, moments of grief and loneliness, some sexual content. **Please read very carefully, this is a sensitive topic**

word count: 9.7k

Masterlist

Luke&Lily Masterlist

Magical Memoriess&Misfortunes (<-- catch up here)

feedback is always welcome, I hope you enjoy it.

****

It’s like you’re in a horrible dream. You’re frozen in terror at the multiple bodies moving above you, their voices warped but all you feel is immense pain and fright. You search for Luke through your blurred and clouded vision. The lights are too bright. It hurts your eyes.

You think you hear your name through the thick cotton cloud that has somehow gotten in your ear. Why can’t you hear properly? Where’s Luke? How did you get on this moving bed?

Another white-hot-blazing pain slices through you. You think you scream. Hands are on you and then it goes black…

…When you wake up, you’re still in this horrible nightmare that won’t seem to end. Usually when the terrible things keep happening, you wake up in a cold sweat.

“…. lovie…”

Your head lolls to the side and you see Luke’s eyes peeking out above a blue mask and a blue cap. It still feels like you’re stuck in a cloud and you feel a tug below you. Before you can look down, Luke cups your cheek and shakes his head.

You don’t know what he means but tears start rolling down your cheeks and then you close your eyes again. Why can’t you wake up? You just want to wake up, get out of this night terror…

…Coming to again and you hear more voices and commotion. You hear the urgency. Their words meet your ears, but the meaning doesn’t register with your brain. What is happening? Luke still has a firm grip on your face, but you look beyond him and see a group of people in blue gathered around a small thing. Their hands work quickly. You wish your tears would make what’s happening clearer.

“He’s breathing! It’s very labored!”

“Intubate him. Page Dr. Chambers.”

“Move people!”

He? Who’s he?

You look to Luke and he’s smiling through his own tears, his forehead pressed to yours.

Just as you’re about to connect the very blurry dots, more pain ensues. This is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your life. It’s all over your body and it’s in your chest, collapsing onto you.

More voices.

More urgency.

More terror.

More questions.

Then, you drift off once more, the pain ceasing with each gasped breath.

**

Soft, methodical beeps drift you awake. You’re not on that strange cloud anymore but your body feels heavy, weighted. You search your brain for where you are, the sheets are crisp and your feet are cold. Disney World swims by and you’re confused because you remember waking up after you fainted.

Was that real?

Or is this real?

Then it hits you, like the snap of a rubber band breaking all the distorted memories and voices and hands all come back. The pain. The tug. He…

You gasp and flash your eyes open. You’re met with a white ceiling and wires and tubes suspended above you. There’s commotion to your left then Luke’s face is in your vision. His eyes are red with dark circles underneath them; his hair is a disarray as if he’s been pulling his fingers through it repeatedly.

“Oh, thank God, Y/N I was so worried. They told me you’d be asleep for a while because you lost so much blood…so much blood…but you’re okay now. You’re awake. I’m right here, lovie, I’m right here,” he rushes out in a frantic whisper.

He touches your forehead carefully and he’s so warm. You’re still trying to string everything together but there’s so many gaps in time. You’re pinpointing things by the different types of pain you experienced.

“What…what happened?” you croak then try to swallow. But your mouth and throat are so dry it’s like trying to swallow sand. It hurts.

When will the pain stop?

Luke’s eyes soften, he continues to stroke your forehead and into your hair. He licks his chapped lips then shakes his head.

“I…”

“Did I lose the baby?” you whisper, voice sounding like broken glass. Tears well up in your eyes again.

“No, no, no…shhh, shhh,” he soothes wiping at your tears with his other hand.

“They don’t…” he takes a deep shuddering breath, “you had a C-section. He’s in the NICU being monitored, I only got a small glimpse of him before they took him away. He’s so small and I don’t know what’s happening, no one has come by and I’ve been worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

And then you’re comforting him by pulling his head to yours, he sobs into you and you pet his hair. Your voice is lost, you feel the sudden loss of your baby not in you anymore, your heart is very fragile and seeing Luke like this terrifies you.

But Luke also said ‘he’ and a small smile appears on your lips. You have a son.

“I’m so glad you’re awake, baby,” he whispers. You feel his hot tears soak through the gown on your shoulder.

“Can you call for a nurse?” you ask kissing his hair delicately. At least, you hope you do because your lips are also very chapped and dry. You need some damn water.

“What hurts?” his head snaps up and you see why his eyes are so red; from his tears.

You swallow and swipe at his own tears.

“We need damn information about our son, and I need some damn water,” your voice shakes with ferocity. Luke punches the call button repeatedly until a nurse runs in.

**

After hydrating yourself with water, Luke took your hand keeping his gaze on you as you demanded the nurse to get your doctor, or your son’s doctor, to come and give you information. You’re never normally one to yell at someone, but your memories have so many holes in them you need to know what’s happened.

The nurse tries to console you but you’re hell bent on finding out about your son. Your son you haven’t even seen yet.

“I will walk there if I have to,” you threaten through gritted teeth. The more frustrated you become the more prominent the throb and ache below your waist also becomes.

“I will go find your doctor right away, ma’am,” the nurse nods frantically and runs from the room. You glare in his wake.

Luke squeezes your hand; you look at him.

“I love you,” he says simply but you hear way more than that.

I’m scared, too. I don’t know what to do either. We’re in this together. I’m never letting go.

Shortly after, a doctor walks in the room, her expression timid and she’s scrolling on her iPad.

“Mrs. Hemmings, how are you feeling? Any pain we can help with? I’m Dr. Wilson and I administered the C-section.”

“I’m fine. Take me to my son and let me know what’s happening,” you demand.

“Mrs. Hemmings, with your son being born at only 25 weeks the next 24 hours is very critical. We are monitoring him as we speak, I have my best staff on his watch,” Dr. Wilson explains, her voice cool and collected.

“What happened?”

Dr. Wilson steps closer to your side of the bed, her round face and almond-shaped eyes show both kindness and fire in them. You’re still on the fence on how to feel about her because she didn’t tell Luke anything.

“Part of your placenta was twisted, and it caused you to go into early labor which also caused stress on your baby. Thankfully, you got here in time and we were able to get him out before it became worse. His breathing was labored and with him being so small and born extremely early, his organs haven’t fully developed yet.”

“Why are the next 24 hours critical?” Luke asks, his hold on your hand is like a death grip.

“Because he’s still so small, his lungs aren’t at the correct size they should be. Lack of oxygen can cause severe brain damage or heart failure. We have an ET, endotracheal tube in his mouth which is hooked to a ventilator to help him breathe. An IV is also administering the nutrition he needs, we’re monitoring his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels, and he’s being kept in an incubator that helps simulate the inside of the womb.”

You take in all the information, your heart longing for your baby boy that you have no idea what he looks like.

“What’s the survival rate for a baby born at 25 weeks?” your voice cracks. Luke shifts closer to you, his other hand covering yours.

Dr. Wilson glances between you and Luke before answering solemnly, “Between 67 to 76% survival.”

Luke lets out a choked gasp and you shift your eyes to the ceiling to keep the burning tears from falling.

“I can promise you Mr. and Mrs. Hemmings, that we are doing everything in our power to make sure he makes it through the next 24 hours. He’s a strong little guy.”

“Is there any way we can see him?” Luke’s voice wavers and is thick with emotion.

“Infection is very prominent right now; any outside contact can make him head in a worse direction.”

“Please,” you beg in a whisper meeting Dr. Wilson’s eyes. You notice that they’re brown. “I need to see him. I don’t want him to be alone if he…if he…”

You bite your lip and shake your head; you’re too overcome with emotions to finish a sentence you don’t even want to think about.

“Mrs. Hemmings, I can’t risk your stitches tearing. You’ve lost a lot of blood; your blood pressure is extremely high due to the stress of early labor.”

“I don’t care! Please, let me see him. I need to see what my baby looks like,” you cry. Luke rubs at your shoulder affectionately saying your name. You can’t look at him now. If you do you’ll lose this fiery courage that’s inside you right now.

“I understand. I’ll see what I can do, but are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“My stomach hurts,” you whisper.

“I’ll have a nurse fix that for you. I will be right back,” Dr. Wilson smiles then leaves the room.

The male nurse you screamed at comes back in and makes quick work with your IV. You’re too distraught to look or even speak to Luke so you keep your eyes fixed on the white board on the opposite wall. The name of your nurse is Tom, and you look at each yellow face on the ‘rate your pain’ scale. You’re fixated on the number zero face, it’s the happiest looking one with a wide-open smile.

That scale is wrong. The pain and fear and worry you’re feeling doesn’t equate a ten. It’s too powerful, it weighs down on you but at the same time you feel nothing. The pain is too much that it’s also gone. Your pain is at a zero, a big circle of nothing and everything all at once.

**

You’re not sure how much time has passed before Dr. Wilson comes back.

“I cannot take you to see him, but I found a way where you can see him,” she smiles then hands you her iPad.

It’s heavy in your hand and you gasp upon the first look of your baby boy. He’s surrounded by blankets under a large light with tubes, wires, and circular patches attached to his tiny, tiny self. You see his small chest moving rapidly with his breaths and you see the tiniest hat on his head. Luke drapes himself next to you, his lips pressing onto your temple.

“There he is,” you whisper touching your finger to the screen. “He looks so helpless…”

“How is he?” Luke asks.

“His oxygen level is still very low, but he’s taking the nutrients very well.”

You’ve already got his features memorized, and yet you can’t stop looking at him. You wish you could touch him, let him know you’re there and that you love him.

“Can we keep this in here?” you ask.

“Of course. I’ll be back with more updates, but I need you to rest and heal yourself, Mrs. Hemmings. Is there any family we need to contact?”

“The girls!” you gasp and turn to Luke.

“Shit,” he exhales then checks the time on his watch. “Lily’s with Cory by now and Posy…shit! I’ll call Ashton and then call Cory…”

He continues to mumble to himself as he searches for his phone. You turn back to the screen, your heart longing for your little boy.

**

Hours have gone by, the room you’re in is darkened from the night sky peeking through the blinds. The iPad is still on your lap and you’ve heard every conversation Luke has had while he made phone calls. Daycare called Ashton when neither you nor Luke picked Posy up and both of your phones went unanswered.

According to Ashton, Luke sent out a text to the band group chat that said ‘at hospital. Emergency get the girls will call’ but he doesn’t even remember sending it. Everything happened so fast and yet it felt like it dragged.

Posy is at your home with Ashton and KayKay who said will stay with her for as long as you two need. Just when you think of Lily, Luke already asks if they’d be all right picking her up from Cory’s on Sunday and they said yes.

“Lily might want to stay with Cory,” you tell him after he hangs up with Ashton. He’s tapping away at his phone, probably texting Calum and Michael or his family. Or all of them. You’re not sure but now you have Lily and Posy on your mind.

“It’s too late to call him,” Luke mutters and falls into the chair beside your bed. He scoots closer and peers at the iPad screen.

“Where’s my phone? I’ll call him so he and Ella can discuss it,” you hold out your hand.

“Lovie, it’s almost ten thirty at night—”

“Give me my phone so I can call him, Luke,” you interrupt a little too harshly. “Please.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before reaching into his other pants pocket. He hands you your phone and you scroll to Cory’s name under your favorites. You stare at your baby boy as the phone rings.

“Hey, Y/N, what’s going on?” Cory asks and you feel your emotions rising to the surface at the sound of his voice.

You force them down.

“Um, me and Luke are at the hospital. Something…” you suck in a large breath but your voice still trembles. “Something went wrong and I had an emergency C-section and the baby is in the NICU. Posy is home with Ashton and KayKay and they said they’d pick up Lily tomorrow but I know she’d probably want to stay with you. And I…I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but Lily needs to know. She’s been seeing everything going on around her and I don’t want her to be scared.”

“Of course, they can both stay with us. I still have Lily’s toddler bed. How are you? Tell me what’s going on.”

You tell him everything. Luke holds your hand as you do, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles and your wedding ring.

“The doctor said he’s all right for now but he has to get through the next 24 hours?” Cory clarifies gently.

“Yes.”

“First of all, congratulations on a little boy,” he says and you can hear his smile through the phone. “You’re doing fine and he is too and he’ll continue to get better because he’s a fighter.”

“How do you know that? He’s so small, Cory….”

“I know it because you’re a fighter, I’m sure you’re giving the nursing staff hell and highwater to get answers,” he chuckles.

“Maybe a little. I feel bad about it.”

“You’re scared and you’re worried and this all happened so fast. But Luke is with you and you’ve got all of us supporting and loving you. You should try and get some sleep and I’ll tell Lily everything in the morning. Do you want me to call you so she can talk to you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Cory.”

“Tell Luke I say hi and that I’m here for you two, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too,” you sigh then the call ends. You turn to Luke, the circles under his eyes seem to have darkened and you reach over to touch the shadows on his cheeks. “He said he’ll keep the girls and will call tomorrow so we can talk to Lily. He says hi.”

Luke nods slowly then laces his fingers with yours. He kisses the tips of your fingers, his eyes closing.

**

You and Luke were sent hourly updates on your son. He’s been in the same condition each time, you try to find positivity in that because he’s not getting worse, but he’s also not in the clear yet. When Cory called again with Lily on the phone, you and Luke tried to make your voices sound positive. She asked a lot of questions and wondered when she could come see her new brother.

“He’s a little sick right now, honey. We need him to get better so we can all be together, okay?” you told her and she was silent for a while.

“When are you and dada gonna come home?”

“Hopefully soon, my love,” Luke tells her.

“What about Piggy?”

“Uncle Cal has her at his house,” you make up then quickly look to Luke who’s already pulling out his phone to text Calum.

You’re being horrible parents, forgetting everything like this but all of it still doesn’t seem real. Probably because you haven’t actually seen or held your son in your own arms. Your stitches are healing nicely but your body still seems to think it’s pregnant and that stirs up even more conflicting emotions.

“Be a good girl for your daddy and Ella, okay my sweet?”

“Okay. Can you give my brother a kiss for me?”

“We will, Lily. We love you so much.”

You and Luke tried to occupy your time by watching tv but you’re only watching the bodies move across the screen. You nod on and off but always jerk awake in case you miss the doctor or nurse coming in. Luke comforts you each time, assuring you that there’s no change and points to the screen where you can see your son.

The circles under his eyes only seem to darken with each passing minute. He helps you walk to the bathroom and back into bed. You try telling him he can go home to shower and get more clothes but he refuses.

“I’m not leaving you or our son until I know he’s okay.”

One of your favorite movies is playing on the tv, it’s a black and white film about a couple who adopts a baby girl. It goes through their funny moments trying to figure it all out but it ends tragically with the little girl getting sick. You drifted off before it came to that part and then you were shaken awake by Luke.

Dr. Wilson enters the room with a big smile on her face. You and Luke take hold of each other’s hands, holding onto each other in desperation.

“He’s in the clear. His oxygen levels have elevated and he has a steady heartbeat. It’s still going to be a while until you’ll be able to take him home, he’s still at risk for a lot of infection and we want to make sure his organs continue to develop correctly,” Dr. Wilson explains.

“He’s okay?” you whisper.

“He is. He’s a little warrior.”

“When…when can we see him?” Luke asks.

“Let me check on your stitches first, and if they look all right I can take you down now, if you’d like.”

“Please, please,” you nod scrambling to move your blankets off you.

**

Luke is wheeling you down the brightly lit hallway in the NICU ward, you see other parents hovering around the incubator their baby is in. You and Luke had to be fitted into the light pink gowns with masks and gloves before you could see your son. You were more than okay wearing the odd things if it meant being able to finally see him.

Luke rolls you in between families until Dr. Wilson stops at the last station near the window. A nurse is standing by writing down something on a chart and then you’re right next to his incubator. First, all you can see is a mountain of swaddled blankets with tubes and wires sticking out from every direction. Then you see slight movement and you lean forward and come face to face with your baby.

Tears are rolling down your cheeks as you stare at him. He looks like he could just barely fit in your palms, you see the quick flutter of his heart through his thin chest that has wired tape. You press your hands to the reinforced plastic, the warmth from the light radiates through the gloves.

“Hi, my baby boy, I’m your mama,” you whisper and you’re aching to touch him. You see the two round openings for hands and you move your hands before looking to Dr. Wilson.

“You can touch him, let him know you’re here,” she encourages.

Very carefully, you insert your arm stretching your finger to his small body. You press against his cheek as lightly as you can, he’s warm and that makes you feel better.

“Hi sweetheart,” you continue to talk to him and you hear Luke sniff behind you. “You’re doing so well. Keep it up so you can get big and strong and we can take you home to your big sisters. Your daddy’s here, too.”

Dr. Wilson moves and Luke takes her place. He puts his arm through the opening and strokes his finger down your son’s arm. Your baby trembles a little then leans into your touches. You can’t help the wet smile from forming, he’s perfect. You rub at his forehead gently.

“We need to name him,” you say looking across globe of your son’s new home.

“I haven’t…do you have a name?”

“One popped in my head just now.”

“What is it?”

“Oliver,” you smile glancing down at him. “I was searching through names online and this one stuck out at me. It has a lot of meanings like peace, wisdom, health, and luck.”

“I think it’s perfect,” Luke smiles. “I know he’s only 24 hours old, but he seems very wise to me, don’t you think?”

“Wise and healthy.”

**

Tension has been high between you and Luke. You were at the hospital for a week and a few days more because you had contracted an infection at your incision site. It’s pretty common for an infection but that meant you couldn’t go visit Oliver. Once your infection was cleared you were discharged to go home.

You and Luke moved around each other like orbits just passing by. When you wake in the morning you move about the room like robots, barely looking at each other until you’re ready to go. Cory, Ashton, and the others stayed with Lily and Posy during the day while the both of you went to the hospital to visit Oliver. You missed Lily and Posy terribly and only saw them when they were fast asleep by the time you got home. 

You’d even forgotten about Posy’s birthday and it made you feel even worse than you already felt. Your hormones are abnormal and your body still feels like it’s pregnant even though you know you’re not. It’s a weird feeling, it’s a sad feeling because you can’t even hold your baby that is no longer inside your stomach. 

To your surprise, Ashton and KayKay had orchestrated Posy’s birthday for you and Luke. 

“We have to put on a happy face for Po,” Luke says softly on the morning of her birthday.

Your bodies are set to an automatic alarm because of the hospital visits. You’re staring at the ceiling then roll over to face Luke who is also facing the ceiling with his hands behind his head. You take in his profile, the sharp angle of his nose, his full beard and the smooth skin of his arms over lean muscles. It’s been so long since you’ve touched each other. 

Does he miss you too?

“I’m trying to,” you whisper and silently beg him to look at you. To kiss you. To hold you. To tell you that everything is going to be all right.

Instead, he sighs then rolls out of bed. You watch the muscles in his back pull and tighten when he puts on a t-shirt and heads into the bathroom. You flick your eyes back to the ceiling, swiping away the tears that fall anyway. You’re only allowing yourself those two tears because you know you won’t stop once you start. 

Luke can’t see you break. Lily and Posy can’t see you break. 

“Ash said he and KayKay will be here at ten to start decorating. I want to make the girls breakfast, hopefully make up for lost time,” Luke announces out of the bathroom. 

“Good idea,” you nod then will yourself out of bed. You force yourself to not touch your belly, but like every morning, you always do. It’s still a little swollen from the pregnancy and the incision, but you know it’s empty. 

Before you grab your satin robe, you glance at Luke who had his eyes fixed on your hands over your belly. He meets your eyes for a moment, looks like he’s about to say something, but he leaves the room. 

You’re tired of feeling broken and empty.

**

The girls were ecstatic waking up to you and Luke. Posy was situated on Luke’s hip as he made her favorite breakfast and Lily filled you in on what’s going on at school and with Roman. She talked until Ashton and KayKay arrived and your heart had sunk all the way to your stomach because of how much you’ve missed in Lily and Posy’s life the last few weeks. 

You helped where you could with the decorations and then you remembered Posy wanted a dinosaur cake but before you could panic, Cory and Ella arrived with the cake. 

You tried to keep on a brave face throughout the party. You helped Posy open her presents, you talked with your friends and family. You couldn’t help the way your eyes gravitated towards Ella who is about 35 weeks along now. 

It’s another reminder that you aren’t pregnant and that your baby is in critical condition. You shake it off because you have to. Your phone sends you updates on Oliver by the hour, and he’s remained stable for the whole day which is improvement. 

“Thank you so much for doing all of this,” you tell Ashton and KayKay as they’re leaving. Aside from Cory and Ella, they’re the last to leave.

“No problem at all,” Ashton smiles pulling you in for a hug. He kisses the top of your head. “We’re more than happy to help. We’ll plan another one when our boy Oliver is home.”

“We’re all here for you, love you,” KayKay smiles and wraps you in her arms. 

“We love you, too.”

“Unca Ash bye-bye?” Posy asks next to you. She looks up at Ashton with big puppy eyes, her arms up. 

“Yeah, little one. We need to go to bed, just like you!” he lifts her in his arms and blows raspberry kisses on her cheek. “Did you have fun at your party?”

“Yeah!” she claps her hands. 

“Good! Now, you go to bed like mama says and we’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Otay.”

“Love you.”

“Luh you,” she sings and hugs his neck while KayKay takes her hand and kisses her fingers. 

“Let’s go to bed, Pose,” you take her from Ashton then wave one last time as they head out the door. 

“I’ll be outside, babe. My feet are killing me,” Ella tells Cory then she moves to you with Lily’s hand in hers. “We’ll be here bright and early so you can go see how Oliver’s doing.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry we’re--”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s what families do. Try and get some sleep tonight,” Ella touches your arm, her face turns into a frown. “You look exhausted.”

“I’ll try.”

You know you won’t. 

She kisses Posy and gives Lily one more hug then waddles outside to the car. Cory and Luke are cleaning up last call cups and you take your girls to their rooms to do their bedtime routine. You try and keep Posy in your arms as long as you can, hugging her and loving on her. 

She doesn’t even make it halfway through her favorite book, Where the Wild Things Are, and then you take Lily into her room. 

“When can I see my brother?” she asks as you tuck her in. 

“I don’t know yet, sweetheart,” you reply sadly, “he needs to get better first. Dada and I talk about you and Posy all the time to him.”

“You do?” her eyes widen in amazement. “Can I bring him a present?”

“I think he’d like that very much.”

“Mama?” 

“Hm?” you tuck her snuffy and bunny next to her under the covers. 

“I missed you,” she says quietly.

Your heart jolts. You stop fixing up her toys and look down at Lily, your first baby, and she’s playing with the ear of her bunny. The pink bunny she’s had since she first met Luke.

“I miss you, too. I’m so sorry we haven’t been here with you and Posy. Dada and I are going to fix that, okay?” you ask and she nods. You lean down to give her a kiss and a hug, her arms tighten around your neck.

You don’t let go until she does. You shut off her light and close the door, with just a small crack left open. You’re going to talk to Luke, you’ve decided as you head back downstairs. You tried having just one of you go to the hospital while the other stayed home with the girls but neither one of you wanted to be away if Oliver’s health took a turn. 

Just as you’re about to enter the kitchen, you hear your name between Luke and Cory. 

“Y/N’s in bad shape,” Cory says.

“Yeah, I know.”

“This has happened before, where she shuts down and tries to fix it herself but she can’t.”

“I know that, too, considering she’s my wife.” Luke’s voice is clipped, each word sharp as a knife. You’re shocked at it; he and Cory have always been on good terms with each other. 

“Have you tried talking to her about it? Because the way you two were acting tonight was like you didn’t even want to be near each other. She doesn’t need that, not right now when--”

“Look, I know you and Y/N have a close bond. It’s something I’ve tried to understand but I can’t and there’s nothing I can do to change that. It doesn’t bother me as much as it did in the beginning, but I don’t need your advice on how to help my wife.”

What did he mean ‘in the beginning’?

“Yeah? You had no problem taking my help when you broke up with her those three months,” Cory’s voice now has more of an edge to it. 

“I’m surprised you helped in the first place. You think I didn’t notice how you looked at her? We’re handling this on our own.”

“You’re not handling anything! Neither of you are! Yeah, I care about Y/N, that won’t ever change and she’s hurting. Bad. If you won’t do something about it, then I will.”

“The hell you will. I appreciate all you’ve done for my family, but you’re crossing a line.”

“Stop.” 

You whisper the word as you stand in front of them but it catches their attention. Luke’s hands are balled into fists at his sides and Cory’s body is in a similar defense stance. They look to you.

“I am trying, okay? I’m trying to stay strong and hopeful for Oliver. I’m trying to keep on a brave face for Lily and Posy. I’m trying to decipher which feelings I should be feeling or which ones are still phantom pregnancy ones and I don’t even know if those are real. My body has already fallen apart, I don’t need my family to as well.”

“Y/N.”

“I feel horrible that I forgot Posy’s birthday. How could I forget that? My mind is constantly running and I’m so exhausted but I can’t sleep because I’m worrying. Please don’t fight, I can’t handle it.”

“Y/N... what can I do?” Cory asks almost pleadingly. 

Luke scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“I think you should go home. I know you mean well, Cory, but you don’t want to keep Ella waiting in the car.”

“I can--”

“Just go, Cory,” you say in a softer tone. You glance to Luke who is pointedly staring at a spot on the wall then look back to Cory. “Luke and I need to talk.”

Cory keeps staring at you as if checking that you really want him to leave. You nod. He sighs. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he steps away from Luke then grabs your hand. “Call if you need anything.” He gives you a squeeze as you nod at his offer. 

The door closes with a soft snap and it’s just you and Luke now, all of your demons joined together. 

“What did you mean when you said, ‘it didn’t bother you like in the beginning’?” 

“I can’t talk about this now,” he shakes his head and shuffles towards the basement door where his music room is.

Good. It’s soundproof and if there will be yelling, it won’t wake the girls. You follow him downstairs.

“We are going to talk about this now. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells with you and I don’t know what to do! We don’t talk about Oliver, so let’s talk about you and Cory!” you follow him until he turns around quickly. His eyes ablaze.

“No, let’s talk about you and Cory. You’re only talking to him about Oliver. You called him right after everything happened.”

“Because he had Lily! You called everyone else!”

“None of them are in love with you!”

“WHAT?! That doesn’t even make sense!”

“When we started dating, I had a feeling Cory still loved you. I saw it in the way he looked at you and he’s been looking at you that same way now. You don’t talk to me about Oliver, you talk to him. How do you think that makes me feel? Oliver is our son.”

“I try to talk to you! But you always pull away! He doesn’t love me like you think he does, and the fact you’re bringing this up now, years later, is ridiculous.”

“Right,” he snorts, “it’s ridiculous that the ex of my wife who is the father of her child still loves you.”

“Yes!” you screech and fist your hands in the air in frustration. “Do you even hear yourself? He’s engaged to Ella. He’s having a baby with Ella!”

“Then why do you talk to him about Oliver and not me? Huh?” he advances towards you, towering over you. 

“Because I blame myself every day that this happened and you do, too. You can’t even look at me and I…” you choke on your words; Luke’s hardened expression softens as your words sink in. “I feel like I’m losing you.”

Then you’re gasping for air as the tears you’ve been bottling up come crashing down. Your weird emotions, your worry, your fear, everything you’ve been feeling finally falls out in the open. It crashes between you and Luke like a tidal wave. Your body feels weak and you almost collapse onto the small couch but Luke grabs hold of your waist, his other hand cupping your face.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey. Look at me, look at me,” he rushes out. “I don’t blame you; I could never blame you. This isn’t your fault; do you hear me?” his eyes have a half-crazed look in them and somehow that grounds you.

“W-why wo-won’t you l-l-look at m-me?” you sob coughing out the words. 

“Oh, baby,” he sighs then awkwardly shifts around until you fall on top of him on the couch. He holds you tight against him. You’re immediate to wrap yourself around him like a pretzel “It’s because I don’t know what to say. I wish I could make this all better, make Oliver healthy, take all your pain away. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now and it kills me to see you like this.”

“I’m a horrible mom,” you cry harshly into his chest. 

Luke pushes you off of him and he’s blurred through your tears. 

“Don’t you ever say that again. You give everything and a million times more in love to our children. I see how hard you’re trying to keep it together, and it kills me.”

“I’m s--”

Luke mashes his lips to yours and you close your eyes. It’s wet and salty, it tastes of heartache and regret and yet his kiss feels like home. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he mumbles. “Stop--” he kisses you again “--just stop--” he kisses you once more with his fingers tangling in your hair. 

You wanted to be closer to him, feel every part of him touch every part of you but you aren’t past the six weeks mark yet. 

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you, too. Let’s take a warm shower and talk things out.”

After a warm shower of kisses and roaming hands, you snuggled against Luke in your bed and tried to come up with a plan where you could be home and at the hospital equally. And you both decided that as soon as Dr. Wilson gives the okay, you’re going to bring the girls to meet him.

When you’ve talked and finalized plans, you gaze at Luke as his eyes start to close. You stroke the slope of his nose, itching to ask him about the fight he had with Cory earlier. You open your mouth to ask and then close it just as quickly. Luke’s eyes open up and he pulls you against him, his fingers tickle the skin of your back. 

“I know you want to ask, so ask.”

“Why do you think Cory is still in love with me?”

He sighs heavily.

“I don’t. I guess I went back to old thoughts and insecurities.”

“So, you thought he still was at one point?”

“I knew he was because he told me. When we weren’t together those three months, he came by and told me how you and Lily were doing. The way he looked at you...it’s how I look at you. And when he tried to help us tonight…” he closes his eyes and shakes his head in embarrassment. “I was stupid. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling this way for so long,” you caress his bearded cheek.

“I honestly don’t think about it anymore, it just sprung up in my mind tonight,” he sighs. “I appreciate everything Cory’s been doing. I’ll call him tomorrow and apologize.”

“You know how much I love you?” your fingers brush his damp curls from his forehead that you press your lips too. You breathe in his shampoo, his skin soft and his own fingers slip under your shirt to keep caressing your back.

“About as much as I love you.”

He kisses your chin as you kiss his cheek and eventually your lips find each other.

**

It’s been a month and Oliver is still in the hospital. He’s progressing well and getting stronger every day. Posy and Lily were able to come visit him with Michael and Calum in tow. Posy ran to Luke who he picked up and peppered kisses to her cheeks and Lily ran to you with a little gift bag in her hands.

“What’s this?” you ask her as Luke points Oliver out to Posy, Calum, and Michael.

“Unca Mikey said this will help Oliver feel better,” Lily pulls out a small green octopus.

“I read online that it helps them feel comforted if they can’t be held yet,” Michael explains and you give him a smile.

“Can we give it to him mama?” Lily asks setting the bag on the floor.

“I think that’s a great idea,” you kiss her cheek then stand. “Let’s head inside.”

When you’re all gathered around Oliver, Calum lifts Lily in his arms so she can see him from up above and you slip the little octopus inside the round hole. You press it under his arm delicately, his tiny, tiny fingers latch on to one of the tentacles.

“Baby!” Posy points.

“He likes it!” Lily exclaims and Calum grins at her.

“Of course, he does, it’s from you and Po,” Calum says.

“And me,” Michael grumbles stepping a little closer to the incubator. His eyes soften when he looks over his nephew and you can almost sense his sadness.

“Thank you for getting it for him,” you link your arm through his and rest your head against his shoulder. “It was very thoughtful.”

“How long do you think it will be until you can bring him home?” Michael asks watching his tiny chest flutter with each breath.

“Until he’s at a healthy weight and can be taken off the ventilator,” Luke answers.

“Is he going to sleep with me?” Lily asks.

You and Luke share a look. You hadn’t thought about that. Before all of this happened, you still had a lot of time before you got his nursery ready. There is the playroom you could transform into a nursery…

“No, he’ll have his own room, sweets. When he’s home he might cry a lot and wake you up at night.”

“That’s okay. I can help.”

“You’re the best big sister ever, you know that?” Calum looks to her and she smiles sheepishly.

“Would Crystal help us change the playroom into a nursery?” you ask Michael.

“Definitely.”

“I think we should tell them his middle name,” Luke smiles at you.

“What is it?” Calum asks.

“Well, we decided on Michael,” you grin at Michael whose eyes widen. “You jump started us trying for another baby and when we decided on it Oliver sneezed. So, he likes it and it fits him perfectly.”

“Oliver Michael…” Calum tests it out then nods. “Yeah, sounds good to me. If you guys have another one, Calum’s a pretty kick ass name.”

“That means a lot guys, thank you,” Michael shifts his arm so he can pull you in for a hug. He kisses the top of your head.

**

A few weeks later, Ella had her beautiful baby girl, Violetta. You wanted to give them some time alone before bringing the girls over to their house to meet her. Lily sat on the couch with Violetta resting on a pillow on her lap and Posy sat next to her, staring at Violetta with curious eyes. It was odd to see the size difference between her and Oliver.

“She’s beautiful,” you tell Ella. She just took a photo of the three girls together.

“Thank you. I can’t believe she’s finally here,” she sighs tiredly then glances to Luke and Cory who are talking outside. “Cory told me what happened after Posy’s birthday.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat awkwardly, “he did, did he?”

“I know you two have a special bond, you have a history and Lily…I’m sorry that things escalated like that. How’s Luke?”

“He’s okay now, we talked about it. Ella, I hope you know that I don’t love Cory how I love Luke.”

“Oh, I know! We’re all a big, blended family, sometimes things get messy but I’ve never had a big family before. I adore you and Luke. I’m not upset at all, I understand.”

“Good. We adore you, too,” you smile then gaze at Violetta. You see more of Ella in her than Cory but she also resembles Lily a little.

“Would you like to hold her?” Ella asks gently.

“I’d love to,” you smile then push her back in her seat. “Rest, I bet you’re still sore. Lily, I’m going to hold your new sister now, okay? Why don’t you and Posy go play for a little bit.”

You lift Violetta off of Lily’s lap and the two girls run into Lily’s room. Violetta rests comfortably in the crook of your arm, she sleeps peacefully as you sway from side to side.

“Hi, pretty girl,” you coo. “You are such a pretty little one, aren’t you? Yeah, you get that from your mommy.”

“How’s Oliver doing?”

“Better, they’re talking about taking him off the ventilator soon and see how he does. He’s gaining more weight, not as fast as they want but it’s something,” you smile.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. And you and Luke?”

“We’re…coping. We’re still trying to find the balance between the hospital and home, but now that Lily’s out of school it’s much easier to come and go.”

“If you and Luke ever want to take a long weekend, the girls can stay here.”

“Oh, no, not with Violetta just being born! I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed—”

“I insist. It will give me practice if we have more kids,” Ella smiles.

“We’ll be outnumbered then,” you laugh. “The kid to adult ratio is even now.”

“You’re right,” Ella laughs. “They’re going to rule our world.”

“I don’t mind, they’re pretty awesome,” you shrug and gaze down at Violetta. You hope you’ll be able to hold Oliver like this soon.

**

Luke’s birthday is approaching and he’s told you repeatedly he doesn’t want a big party or anything this year. The only thing he wants is to hopefully bring Oliver home by the end of the month. You were finally able to hold him and have some skin-to-skin contact.

You sat in the rocking chair next to his incubator and the nurse placed him on your chest. His skin is warm and beneath the starchy hospital smell, he had that natural smell all babies have. You couldn’t help but cry after finally holding him after almost three months of just looking at him. His fingers flexed on your chest before you slipped your pinky between them. He held on tightly.

“Hi baby boy,” you whisper kissing the top of his little hat. “Remember me?”

“How does he feel?” Luke asks, his voice thick with emotion.

“He’s that piece I’ve been missing.”

You could sit there for hours just holding him but you know how badly Luke wanted to hold his son so you changed places. He unbuttoned his shirt and the nurse helped you place Oliver on his chest.

“He’s so small,” Luke smiles fondly. “Hi buddy, I’m your daddy. You’re doing so good getting all big and strong. Your mama and I can’t wait to take you home. We’re going to have a big party, but I promise I’ll make everyone keep it quiet.”

“It’s nice to see you holding him,” you sniff and he starts to rock.

“It was nice to see you hold him, too,” he smiles. “We’ll take him home soon. We’re almost there.”

**

On Luke’s birthday, you and the girls surprised him with breakfast in bed and a brand-new record collection he’s been talking about. Michael and Crystal offered to watch the girls while you visited Oliver. You promised you’d be back by dinner time and you secretly arranged Luke’s favorite food to be delivered.

The two of you sat with Oliver and talked about how far he’s come along. He’s at four pounds already and is now in an open crib rather than an incubator. His organs have developed how they should and he’s had no complications. Dr. Chambers wants him to stay until he’s five pounds just to be sure he’s still gaining weight like he should.

The nurse told you you could try and start breast feeding him soon.

With multiple kisses to Oliver, you left him for the night to continue Luke’s birthday at home. Michael told you the girls wanted to bake a cake and he sent you photos and videos of the whole experience. You couldn’t wait to surprise Luke with the meal.

When you got home you noticed Michael’s car was gone and the house was quiet. There was a big balloon on the kitchen table next to the delivery bag of Luke’s favorite restaurant and the cake the girls made along with a note.

“’Our birthday gift to you is two things: a night alone and a new room. Enjoy your birthday! Love Michael and Crystal,’” Luke reads off from a note. He turns to you with a lopsided smile.

“A new room? What does that mean?” you examine the note.

“It better not be some kinky sex room,” Luke mutters and you nudge him in the shoulder. “Let’s go explore.”

He takes you by the hand and you make your way upstairs to the bedrooms. The light of the playroom is on so you turn in there and gasp. It’s been transformed into Oliver’s room. There’s a beautiful white crib filled with small stuffed animals and a dinosaur blanket. His name is above his crib in block letters and there’s a bookshelf with some trinkets and books.

You page through them and see each one was given to you by your friends with a little message written inside for Oliver. You can’t wait to have Oliver in here, safe and warm.

“I have a feeling Michael is going to spoil Oliver.”

“Probably,” you giggle and turn to face him. He’s looking at the other shelf that holds some clothes and blankets.

His shoulders are broad in his simple black shirt, his curls have gotten curlier because he’s let his hair grow out along with his beard. Your stomach flips as a dirty thought of feeling his beard on the inside of your thighs enters your mind. How’d you get so lucky to have this strong, handsome, talented, kind man to be your husband?

“They’re spoiling us too, you know,” you step closer to him tickling your fingers up and down his arm. He looks down at you. “We have the whole house to ourselves birthday man. What do you want to do first?”

“I’d love to do you.”

You’re both careful as you get reacquainted with each other’s bodies. He removes your clothes carefully and you fall onto your bed, arms stretched out for him. You watch him with hungry eyes as he removes his own clothes then climbs over you. Before he can kiss you, you press your palms against his chest and stomach, feeling his heartbeat and warmth of his body.

“I’ll never get over you like this,” you sigh leaning up to kiss his collarbone.

“I’ll never get over you like this,” he repeats and pushes you back. He falls with you, pulling deep kisses from you before leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your body. He makes sure to kiss at the scar from your C-section. “So beautiful. Every inch of you.”

“Have I told you how much I love your beard?” you ask scratching your nails through the soft hair. “It’s very sexy.”

“Yeah? I don’t look like a lumberjack?”

“You’d make a sexy lumberjack. I wouldn’t complain.”

Soft loving words are exchanged along with wandering hands as he works you up. When you finally connect, you sigh and squeeze your nails into his shoulders. His thrusts are shallow and controlled making sure not to hurt you but also wanting to make this reconnection last.

“Feels so good to be in you again,” he mumbles in your neck. You glide your hands down his back and to the globes of his ass, you give a squeeze and try to make him move faster. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” you sigh turning your head and your tongues connect.

It’s gentle and intimate and your orgasm is slow building but when it washes over you, you’re left in a warmth that you’ve been craving. It’s a warmth only Luke can provide, it’s his love and your love coming together.

Afterwards, you heat up the food and eat it in bed along with the cake. Being cheeky, you swipe the frosting on your finger and drag it onto his stomach.

“Who’s gonna clean that up?”

“Mmm, me,” you straddle his thighs, the shirt of his you wear to bed rides up and you press your hands onto his waist. You lean down and lick the frosting up with your tongue, he sighs heavily beneath you as you lick some more.

When he’s finally clean, your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his boxers continuing your kisses to his half hard cock. You swipe your tongue over his shaft, circling it around his tip and he springs to life.

“Lovie…” he groans.

“Shh,” you hush glancing up at him. His chest is heaving as you take him in your mouth. He groans again, his fingers tangling in your hair but letting you move as you see fit.

You love pleasuring him this way and it’s been so long since you have. You bob up and down, your spit dribbling down his shaft. He moans with each pull of your mouth, his hips rising to meet your motions. You feel his thighs clench so you know he’s close.

“Y/N…baby…lovie,” he pulls you off him then drags you up to him. “Wanna make you come again.”

He pushes himself inside you and you let out a loud moan as you sink down onto him. You start to move but Luke grips the sides of your ass and fucks up into you. Your mouth falls open at the pace, his balls slap your ass and your toes start to curl.

You’re chanting ‘yes’ and his name, the words tumbling over one another and you’re coming again. With a small scream you feel Luke pull out as his release is expelled between you. You’re pulsating and his fingers twiddle with your clit so you’re still coming together.

When you’re both finished, your breathing is hard and you giggle when you open your eyes. His cheeks are a little pink and he has this glazed over expression on his face.

“I think we should go clean up, hm?” his fingers tickle your thigh and you tremble at his touch. You nod.

You used a washcloth to clean up leftover frosting and his orgasm. Luke kisses your neck and your shoulders before he moves to the large tub and turns the taps. When the tub is full of bubbles and the jets are on, he holds you in his arms. The records you bought playing softly in the background.

“This reminds me of when we first started dating,” you say playing with his fingers. “We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

“If I had my way I’d want to do this all the time with you,” he chuckles in your ear before nibbling on the lobe. “But we have other responsibilities.”

“We’ll be able to bring Oliver home soon, right?”

“Of course, we will. This is just temporary until he’s five pounds. You’re going to be able to breastfeed and he’ll gain that one pound so fast.” He kisses your temple next and you sit in silence for a while.

“Did you imagine any of this happening when you met me at the coffee shop?”

“No, but I wouldn’t want my life any other way. You’ve filled my life with so much adventure and love. I never pictured myself with three kids, but I couldn’t imagine my life without them, or you. Did you imagine our life like this?”

“No,” you smile against his arm and kiss it. “But it’s the best. I’m thankful Oliver has come along this far, and Posy is our rambunctious girl and Lily is starting to become her own person now. It’s all happening so fast but with you beside me…I don’t have enough words to describe it. You’re the love of my life.”

“And you’re the love of mine,” he collects you in his arms. “We’ll bring our boy home soon.”

**

On August first, you were told you could bring Oliver home. You couldn’t even believe it but when Oliver’s NICU team and Dr. Chambers and Dr. Wilson showed up with balloons and a farewell card you started to cry. You hugged and thanked them all from the bottom of your heart and promised to keep in touch.

Oliver would need frequent doctor visits until he was about three to check his prognosis but you were so happy to bring him home finally. Luke called everyone while you got Oliver settled in his carrier, you made sure to put his octopus next to him. You sat in back with him while Luke drove, you couldn’t stop looking at Oliver. He’s grown so much and he’s healthy and strong.

You notice all of the cars parked along the street and you’re welcomed with your family as you and Luke enter your home. There’s a banner above welcoming Oliver home finally. You appreciated them all keeping their distance and not overcrowding Oliver, but you were happy they were all there to welcome your sone home.

Lily and Posy couldn’t stop looking at him in his carrier while he slept and Posy kept bringing some toys to show him. Everyone stayed for another hour and then you had to feed Oliver. He squirmed and cried because you woke him but you were on a tight feeding schedule so he would stay on track. Lily and Posy watched curiously as you breastfed. Luke watched fondly and then he told the girls their lunch was ready.

All four of you stayed around Oliver until it was time for him to go to bed—then you’d be feeding him in a few hours. Posy and Lily snuggled with you and Luke on the couch as you all watched a movie, their giggles at the animations jokes filled your heart with joy. Luke reached over and took your hand so he could kiss it, mumbling an ‘I love you.’

You were finally a family of five, home and safe.

***

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[katsukikitten]

Part 2! Here is Part 1 f you have yet to read it! I hope you enjoy my little Walmart brand of summer wars as much as I am writing it! Let me know what you think!

×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×

The two of you leave with a small bow before your grandmother answers the phone. 

The second you are out of the room Bakugou grabs you roughly by the wrist, pulling you down into the small dimly lit hallway to press you against the dark wooden wall, caging you in much like he did on the train. 

But this time with malintent. Small pops ring out from his forearms, one hand threatening to char the wood beside your head while the other grips your wrist harder. 

You could understand his anger, it's not as if you had been truthful to Bakugou. He detests liars and although you didn't necessarily lie to him you still told him a half truth. He was still figuring out which was worse. 

"Fucking fiance?!" He snarls close to your face, "Deal's off." 

You had planned to allow him to bitch and moan about the shitty situation you put him in without argument. 

But his refusal to act semi decent towards you for the sake of your grandmother's old heart had rage burning hot in your veins. 

It wasn't like you were asking him to fuck you. With a tick in your jaw you drop your precious Kimono. Grabbing onto his chin with your free hand, tilting his face closer to yours to have a better look at those stunning crimson eyes. They widen from both the force of your grip and the proximity of your lips. He swallows thickly, his glare slowly coming back. 

"Listen here Bakugou Katsuki. I'm asking you to pretend to be my fiance for two weeks. I'm asking for small shit like sitting close to me, maybe giving a small smile in my direction and at the most hand holding. I'm not asking you to fucking marry me or fuck me in front of my family. My grandmother is a bit old fashioned if you couldn't tell by the house or her demeanor, she has been hounding me about bringing a man to her for approval since I was 16. She wanted to make sure I had a man that deserved me, that I would be taken care of. So I've made up boyfriend after boyfriend since I've never really had time for more than a good fuck but my Uncle called me last winter to tell me her health was beginning to decline and rapidly at that. I called her immediately and told her I had just become engaged and she'd meet him on her birthday. So you've got two choices Katsuki." You let every syllable of his name soak in sugar coated venom, "Suck it up for two fucking weeks and be semi decent to me or break my grandmother's heart and earn a dangerous enemy." 

Bakugou's heart pounded in his chest the entire time you were ranting, unsure of why he was attracted to the hard set of your eyes and the ice in your voice. His stomach flips when you say his first name causing him to grind his teeth. He breaks away from your grip with his free hand, quickly pinning your arms above your head. Locking your delicate yet deadly wrists in one of his broad hands while the other presses against your hip bone. Thumb sliding through the loop of your too short shorts, bringing your pelvis to his.  The denim was barely able to contain your ass and thick thighs, he is surprised none of your elders have scolded you for such indecency if they were as old fashioned as you say. 

The faint blush on your cheeks and the defiant look in your eyes has his voice turn husky as he speaks.

"I should make you regret bringing me here. Maybe have you begging for something else." His lips a breath away as he presses his forehead to yours. Eyes molten with what you think is lust before he tilts his face. Amplifying the sudden magnetism between your plump lips and his own. Your chest tightens with mixed emotions as your eyes begin to flutter closed.

Suddenly he changes direction and gives you a harsh headbutt, hard enough your vision blurs at the edges causing you to growl in response. 

"This better not fucking bruise." 

He rolls his eyes, dropping your hands as he reaches down for the old Kimino. His heart racing from almost losing control of these odd feelings. 

Feelings that had never been aimed towards you until your grandmother stirred them up. 

"Would you die for my granddaughter?" 

The question drives him mad, mad enough that he places the kimono in your hands speaking the dark thought that he should have fucking kept to himself.

"Did you actually drag me along for your grandmother's sake or did you just want the kimono, Princess?" His voice is all bite, holding your gaze, your eyes widening. 

"Don't call me that." Your voice threatens to crack but he walks away before he can see the rest of your reaction to wander the house for his room until dinner. 

You're left standing there, eyes glued to the fabric, the deep navy blue and hand stitched cranes and lotus blur in your hands. Before fat droplets fall from your eyes. 

Why did you ever think Bakugou Katsuki would be a good partner, fake or not. 

You collect yourself quickly, angrily swiping at your eyes before you set to find your normal room. 

It doesn't take you long and you're honestly hoping Bakugou stays lost until dinner. His room should be on the opposite wing of the house. Opening the old tatami door to find Mei setting down your stuff and Bakugou's bag.  Mei follows your eyes to the well worn backpack with a skull pin on the strap. She knew exactly who it belonged to when she picked it up, having spotted the handsome devil from the hall. 

"Mei what's this you know he's supposed to be in the western wing!" You exclaim, trudging past her to hang your kimono on the old rack in the corner of the room. Mei scoffs, eyes glued to her phone as she speaks. 

"He was bound to sneak this way anyway. I'm doing you a favor." She rolls her eyes as if she knows everything at the ripe age of sixteen. 

You thought you knew everything then too. You sigh, rolling your own eyes. 

"What you call a favor I call a headache. Just take his bag to his room." You pass the straps to her, hating that it smells so much like him. Your stomach flips even as you look at the two person futon. 

"Just sleep with him tonight no one will know! Plus I hadn't cleaned his room. It's full of spider webs, the floor needs patching and his futon is gonna be dusty." She counters. 

"B..but one futon is not modest." 

"Wow please tell me you're not a virgin jushi. You're gonna get married anyway! I know I wouldn't have said no to a catch like that either!" 

Mei makes her way out of your room while you pinch the bridge or your nose. 

"Yea…. Why would I ever say no to such a great catch?" You fall backwards onto the futon hoping that that asshole was still lost for now. 

Someone would find him wandering and take him to the great dining room. 

×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×

Thankfully someone does end up showing Bakugou to the dining room but of course it would be Mei who also tells him where the SHARED room is. You bite your lip and choose to play dumb.  

"Oh good you found your way, babe." You smile sinking next to him on one of the many blue cushions. He grunts in response but pulls your cushion closer to his. Carefully pouring you some water before he yanks down your tank top that was riding up and trying to expose your midriff. His fingers feel like fire as they brush against your skin, igniting a dying ember in your stomach.

You quickly remind yourself of his nasty comment, as you're about to set him straight your cousin Haru walks into the room.  He sucks his teeth and sits further down the table across from his sister Mei as people slowly come in to sit or bring in food. 

"I don't know why you bothered to bring him here. Sobo is never going to approve of him." He cracks open his beer and drinks prematurely earning an eye roll from his sister. Bakugou and yourself both open your mouth to retort when Mei pipes up. Eyes still glued to her phone as her thumbs fly across the illuminated glass. 

"She already did stupid. She gave her the crane Kimono so get used to seeing his face." Mei rolls her eyes as your cheeks blush. 

Bakugou regrets his comment now more than ever but sucks his own teeth. An older gentleman sits to Bakugou's left commenting on the conversation as he does. 

"Wow the crane kimono! You know she's been holding onto that for quite some time. You must be very special. I'm Sozen, your lovely fiance's Uncle." He smiles, just as you're about pinch the blonde to make sure he answers he gives a small bow of his head. 

"Bakugou Katsuki." He introduces himself as aunt Mai rushes into the room.

"Wait, wait! I want to meet him!" She sinks next to your right, all smiles as her eyes are fixated on the young man, "Wow he is as handsome as you said on the phone last night." 

Fresh blush creeps onto your cheeks, remembering the phone conversation from when you were too nervous to sleep last night. Bakugou catches on and smirks in response. Everyone but Sobo takes their seats and you decide now is a good time as ever to get the formalities over with. 

"Let's just get through the introductions shall we?" You say as you run through the names of each family member on both sides of the three low tables shoved together. Introducing the hot head to well over 12 adults and their children and even children's children. For now Bakugou only makes an effort to remember the ones closest to him. 

Uncle Sozen who sits to his left and Aunt Mai who sits to your right. It's becoming quickly apparent that a lot of your family is either much older or much younger than yourself. He can understand why you could feel a little lonely at times. Being more of a black sheep than anything. Then he realises something very important.

"Wait, where are your parents?" He asks lowly to which you shrug. 

"They show up closer to grandma's birthday. They are both extremely busy and always have been. Soba more or less raised me." 

As if one cue grandmother comes in, looking over the table with the biggest and warmest smile she can muster. It reminds him of the summer sun lazily dancing across his skin in the late afternoon. 

And again it reminds him of you. He looks to you and sees you mirroring the exact same smile, happy for your grandmother's happiness causing his chest to tighten and butterflies to awaken in his stomach. He grinds his teeth in an attempt to calm them down. 

She sits at the head of the table, closest to Great Oba who he had the pleasure of meeting first thing, before grandmother holds up her small cup of sake. 

"To family." She announces, everyone lifts what cup they have, whether it was a kids small sippy cup, their o-choko, or even their cup of tea. 

"To family!" They roar back to her all taking a sip. 

"Let's eat." She says while the family cries out, "Itadakimasu!" 

The tables are loud and full of conversation. Although Katuski's family is not so big, the volume reminds him of his own family. A small smirk comes to his lips as he thinks of his mother and how she would fit in here. 

"So no Shoji?" Haru asks with a sneer, almost purposefully stirring the pot. 

"No surprise there." Someone else comments. 

"Shut. Up. Haru." You bite out, look fierce as if you were to devour him whole. He swallows thickly. 

"Great uncle Kodaka tell us about that battle we won here!" You change the subject and everyone groans as Kodaka starts the story they've heard thousands of times before.

"It was almost 150 years ago, when we were still a prosperous nation. Us samarai doing fine on our own. Hired by the wealthy or living by our own moral compass. It was like fish in a barrel…" 

The story continues on, mostly the children listen and your grandmother who smiles as she hears her youngest speak.

Sozen leans closer to Bakugou, as grey eyes hold onto scarlet. Bakugou remains quiet, glancing to you and then back to the uncle. Uncle Sozen takes this as an invitation to speak. 

"I guess since you're gonna be part of the family now I should tell you about Shoji. There was a time shortly before Grandpa died that he went down a dark path, gambling away majority of the family fortune and just when grams thought she had him under control then came Shoji.He was Grandpa's illegitimate child with a woman much younger than Sobo. But she loved Shoji fiercely anyway. She would take him through the field of wildflowers to the lake in the early mornings of summer. One hot day when he was small and the sun was rising, painting the sky in hues of red there was a crane. Our family's crest." Uncle Sozen points to the wooden crest above the door to the adjacent room that held the family's artifacts. A crane stands tall with a white lotus behind it in full bloom.

"It was the first time in decades that a crane had come to the lake and the lotus were in full bloom. He flew away, causing a gentle ripple in the lake and it was then Sobo knew that Shoji would bring fortune to our family." Sozen peeks your way to make sure you're not over hearing, he continues explaining softly as your loud laugh bellows out, "Everyone is so angry with him because he took the last of grandmother's savings and then ran away to America with no way to be contacted." 

"She is quick to defend him because she was too young to really remember how much it upset Sobo. That and she believed in him wholeheartedly. She looked up to him because despite his quirklessness he was exceptionally intelligent. She had faith that he would restore honor and fortune to our name." Sozen's chopsticks point to you as he speaks before he picks up a dumpling. Bakugou's eyes follow over you. 

"Hello Sobo." A deep voice calls from the engawa reducing the lively roar of dinner conversation to nothing more than the sad song of a lonely cricket.

"Uncle Shoji?!" You call excited, standing from your spot at the long table while the rest of the room holds animosity. 

Bakugou downs his sake to which Uncle Sozen silently refills. 

"I thought you were still abroad in the states!" You sink next to him and pull him into a crushing hug. He smiles, slowly separating the two of you. 

"What the hell do you want trash?!" Uncle Kodaka snarls, to which you produce a deadly glare his way.  

"Well yes I was in the states, thank you for asking Princess." He tucks a stay hair behind your ear before rising to speak with grandmother.

He does not address her properly nor does he bow. If anything he stands loosely with an arrogance about him that leaves majority of the room with a sour taste in their mouth. Bakugou watches Great Oba's chopsticks strain in her delicate hand, the distaste for him is becoming more and more obvious by the second.

And then he opens his mouth. 

"I made tenfold out of what you let me borrow, Soba." He pulls a stack of money and a check from his pocket as he speaks, "I made a drug to make people powerless and sold it to the highest bidder." 

Eyes around the room widen as news headlines flash in their heads about a new drug that made people quirkless. Villains shooting innocent bystanders and heroes in hopes of getting a leg up. 

Shoji tosses the money and the check onto grandmother's lap. Dark brown eyes stare into her lap for a long moment. 

Suddenly grandmother moves like an agile cat, jumping to her feet and grabbing for one of the divine naginata. She wields it masterfully before shoving the point towards him, fire burning in her eyes. 

"Mother!" Half the table shouts, as you begin to see red. You stand stepping next to Shoji, body shaking with rage as your heart drums in your ears. 

"I knew my Princess would save me." He says coyly to hide just how shaken he is, sweat dripping down his brow. Even ten years your senior he couldn't hide his fear of the fierce woman before him, shocked that a woman in her nineties could still brandish such a big and heavy weapon. 

Your hands land harshly on Shoji's chest as you give him a shove. Shocking the table into further silence. 

"YOU MADE THAT?!" Your voice echoes over the dining room, into the empty halls and out into the night but somehow the hurt in it does not reach Shoji. 

"Of course, it was going to be a hot seller. Governments offered me billions. Besides I made an anti...." But before he can finish you've got him by the collar. 

"HOW CAN YOU BE SO INTELLIGENT YET SO DAFT?!" Bakugou watches your knuckles turn white while your cheeks flush deep red. Shoji barely frees himself, his shirt crumpled but you press on. 

"Those were my friends!" A stomp of your foot has the dishes rattling on the table, Bakugou becomes more on edge, "You hurt my fucking friends!" 

You raise both of your fists above your head, ready to bring them down with all of your might. Too angry to control your gauge of power uncaring of the consequences. Katuski acts quickly, flicking his wrist to empty the shallow cup of sake high into the air. Igniting it into beautiful dancing fireworks, the kids oo and ah while he hopes to distract you if only for a moment. 

It works, slightly. You realize his plan as he jumps to his feet, running along the low tables as you try to beat him to the punch. 

Literally.

Bakugou barely makes it, shoving Shoji into the table, food and dishes fly into the air just to stain the freshly mopped wooden floors. The hot head holds out his other arm to take the brunt of your force. He let's off the smallest explosion to soften your blow but a small crack still rings out. 

Heated eyes watch as a black bruise blooms from the crease of his elbow to all the way to his wrist as the shock shakes the house behind him. Paintings and pictures fall from the walls in the wake of your force.

"Are you trying to bring down the house dumbass?!" He yells before his voice dips low, soft almost, "What if the roof had caved and Soba-san got hurt?" 

Your eyes widen at his words before they are locked with glistening scarlet pools. You look over Bakugou's toned arm, marred in angry shades of purplish black. Eyes darting over the family and the mess that lies beside you. Finally they fall on your grandmother behind your shoulder. Her own aged shoulders heave from the adrenaline, her graying white hair out of place with her lotus pin threatening to fall out. You spy Shoji, your once hero still squishing food beneath his torso and elbows, eyes filled with fear.

"Fuck this." You mutter storming off, leaving Bakugou to stand alone before your family. Shoji stands, rushing out of the house, moments later everyone can hear a car peeling down the gravel drive losing traction once or twice. 

After a few moments of silence grandmother fixes her hair and returns the naginata as she speaks. 

"This family cleans up their own messes. Now get to work!" 

And with that your family and Bakugou begin to pick up the shattered pieces of dishes, pride and family matters.

[writersofdestiel]

Recently, we did a little reboot of our Weekly Words. You will find the details on our Discord Server. Meanwhile, we rounded up all the amazing fics that were created for Weekly Words in the year and a half since the challenge was created.

Time Flies by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: time flies

It's been ten years since Cas went to fight Heaven's war. Today, he's coming back. (Rated T, 0.5k)

Ash by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: rise from the ashes

Dean's shoulders tremble as they watch the flames devour everything he and Cas have built together. (Rated T, 1.1k)

Fate by @galaxystiel, prompt: rise from the ashes

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Dean tugged Castiel towards the storefront. “Don’t you want to find out who your soulmate is? Who you’re fated to be with?” (Rated T, 1.3k)

Equals by @galaxystiel, prompt: white wings

Castiel has one shot, and if it involves punching Crowley in the face? All the better. (Rated T, 1.3k)

Naps for Dogs and Men by @envydean, prompt: white wings

The golden retriever has been coming to Castiel's house for several weeks, taking a nap and then going back on his way and Castiel finally sends a note to his owner. (Rated T, 1.5k)

Runs in the Family by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: white wings

Dean's new boyfriend, Cas, has been wary about him meeting his child, Claire. Dean gets it, they've only been seeing each other for a few weeks. What Dean doesn't know is that Cas might have more reasons for worry than just a premature attachment. (Rated G, 1.4k)

The End and the Beginning by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: shooting star

There is only one way for Cas to escape The Empty's reach. (Rated T, 1.0k)

What Do You Wish For? by @envydean, prompt: shooting star

Dean, Cas, and their senior high school friends are on their annual camping trip. The sun has set and Cas wants some space to reset himself after a lot of socialising and Dean joins him. (Rated E, 1.5k)

Fearful by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: maze

It comes for children, it feeds on their fears. Dean and Cas arrive to end its reign of terror. (Rated T, 1.4k)

All Those Summer Nights by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: tell me more

It was the best summer of Dean's life - spent on relaxing, parties and fun. And most importantly, spent with a blue-eyed boy he met one day on a beach. But the summer's over now, the school year begins, and Dean's left with the memories of his first summer love. (Rated T, 1.4k)

Tell Me More by @thunderthighsmish, prompt: tell me more

“Good night, Dean. I’ll see you in 2 days. Be a good boy for me?” “I will,” Dean promised. “I love you.” (Rated E, 0.8k)

For Better Or Worse by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: through the fire

When they first meet, Cas saves Dean from school bullies. Over the years, their friendship only grows stronger. (Rated T, 1.4k)

Missing Piece by @fangirlingtodeath513, prompt: missing piece

Castiel and his garrison are given the assignment to rescue the Righteous Man from Hell. (Rated T, 0.8k)

Look What The Cas Dragged In by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: flowing teardrops

There’s a guest in the bunker. Dean’s nose is not a fan. (Rated G, 1.0k)

Teardrops For You by @envydean, prompt: flowing teardrops

The accident killed her and left Dean alive and emotionally broken. He's a disgrace. His best friend is dead and he can't even cry for her. (Rated T, 1.5k)

Christmas Sweaters In June by @envydean, prompt: ugly sweater

“Love,” Cas says suddenly in his ear. It makes Dean’s heart jump and his lungs constrict. “Wha-what?” Dean stutters, head turning to Cas whose eyes are still fixated on the screen. “L-O-V-E. Love, it’s the one you’re missing from this round.” Dean looks back down at his screen and sees Cas’ finger linking the letters together. “Oh,” Dean breathes. (Rated T, 1.5k)

Will You Bee my Valentine? by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: ugly sweater

Dean's tradition on Valentine's Day was always to go out and look for someone to spend the night, but this year he decided to stay home, which was his best decision. (Rated G, 1.1k)

I've Never Wished for Anything more than You by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: i wish

Dean has lost many people before—it’s practically a normal thing in his line of work—but none of them hurt as much as Castiel’s death. Especially because Dean is sure there’s no possible way for the angel to come back again. Or so he thought. (Rated G, 3.0k)

A Drive Under the Moonlight by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: moonlight

Dean has had a lot of fights with Sam—growing up so close together can do that—but sometimes he just can’t stand being near his brother, so he just takes Baby for a drive until his head gets clear. (Rated G, 2.5k)

Cas Loves Emoticons, Burgers, and Dean by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: emoji

Cas has always known that his husband can be a real pain most of the times, but he brings burgers so Cas always forgives him. (Rated G, 1.1k)

Dean + Alcohol = Loose Lips by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: too many beers

Dean has done some pretty stupid things while being drunk—there are some he would even rather not think about. But when he wakes up that morning, he’s pretty sure that what he did last night will be on his Top 3: after almost a decade of hiding his feelings from Cas, he just practically wrote them on a brick and threw it on his best friend’s face—or maybe that would’ve been a little more subtle than what he did. (Rated T, 4.3k)

Intoxicated by @envydean, prompt: too many beers

Cas finds Dean drunk in the fourth bar he searches after Dean sends some worrying texts to him. Dean has surpassed his flirty, chatty self and fallen headfirst into feeling utter desolation. It leaves Castiel to pick up the pieces. (Rated T, 1.4k)

The Case of the Missing Paper by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: origami

Dean has always been sure the bunker is haunted, even when everything pointed to the fact that it’s not. But when all of the paper in the bunker starts to go missing, Dean starts to think that maybe he’s right or there’s someone messing with him. (Rated G, 3.6k)

A Lost Teddy Bear and a New Found Love by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: stuffed animal

Dean has always been very responsible, especially when he needs to take care of his niece, Mary. But when they can't find her stuffed animal (a Stitch that's a few years younger than Sam), Dean starts to panic, not knowing what to do. Good thing the hot neighbor comes to save the day. (Rated G, 4.7k)

Meeting Emma by @deansrightfulangerissue, prompt: stuffed animal

Dean’s pacing the hospital corridor like some nervous expecting father. After all, that’s who he is right now. And the daughter he didn’t know he had will be here any moment. (Rated G, 1.9k)

Ambiguitatis Error Est by @fangirlingtodeath513, prompt: i miss how you were here

Dean's pulling away from his close-knit friend group and Castiel is determined to find out why. If he finds some other things out along the way, he won't complain. (Rated G, 1.6k)

Up On The Rooftop Greenhouse by @envydean, prompt: fighting destiny

Michael Shurley is Dean Winchester's true mate. Except, Dean has been in love and dating the Winchester house gardener, Castiel Novak, for nearly three years and Dean doesn't want that to stop. He needs to find a way out of the impending wedding before it's too late, especially when Michael shows his true colours. (Rated T, 5.0k)

With Eyes Wide Open by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: insomnia

Insomnia wasn’t one of Castiel’s favourite parts about humanity, but he loved what he could do in that free time—which, most of the time, involved Dean. (Rated G, 0.9k)

Cheer-Up Food by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: baking

Cas and Sam decide to make a pie for a grumpy Dean. (Rated G, 1.4k)

If Castiel Was A Cake by @envydean, prompt: baking

Castiel comes home to a stressed Dean baking a lot of cakes. So, he decides that a gathering of friends is the best way to keep Dean's mind off everything and it comes with a bonus extra Castiel has been waiting on for years. (Rated T, 2.0k)

As Many Kisses As You Want by @gii-heylittleangel, prompt: kiss me

Dean gets really hurt in a hunt and Castiel has no idea what he's supposed to do. He really doesn't. (Rated T, 4.4k)

Kiss Me by @peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim), prompt: kiss me

Dean’s spur-of-the-moment ideas aren’t always the best, as lots of people are able to attest. And his last one really took the cake. Because now he’s unable to forget the taste of Castiel’s lips and he’s got no freaking clue how to deal with this. (Rated T, 4.2k)

The Dare On Your Lips by @envydean, prompt: kiss me

Dean Winchester has had the biggest crush on Castiel, but believes that Castiel isn't interested. Then on one drunken night, Dean is dared to kiss Castiel. (Rated T, 1.5k)

Not According To Plan by @peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim), prompt: proposal gone wrong

A fire truck, a smoky kitchen and an unexpected surprise are awaiting Dean after coming back home from work. (Rated G, 1.7k)

Proposal Gone... Right? by @fangirlingtodeath513, prompt: proposal gone wrong

Dean's been planning this proposal for a long time, but on the day he's actually supposed to propose, nothing seems to go his way. Will he actually manage to propose without everything falling apart? (Rated G, 1.1k)

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier. 

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents. 

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

~

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

~

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Aftershock

Shocked voices erupt, a tumult, and, frozen, Anne stares at Aramis who has dropped beside the carriage, motionless, the side of his head glistening with blood. She feels the scarlet droplets that sprayed across her cheek when he was hit, warm, sticky - Aramis’ blood - and cannot release the scream of terror that is trapped inside her throat. Blue capes swirl as the Musketeers tackle the assassins and wrestle them to the ground. Her vision a narrowing tunnel, Anne sees Athos among the men, eyes wide, slashing an attacker’s throat while he makes his way to his fallen brother. The carriage rocks as bodies press against it.

“Down, your Majesty!” Treville barks, and Aramis’ still body disappears from sight as the Captain of the Musketeers throws himself across Anne to shield her from further danger.

“Move! Move!”

Horses whinny, the carriage jolts into motion, and Anne feels the wheels roll over an obstacle - a body? The smell of Treville’s leathers fills her nose, his chest looms above her, his arms are slung protectively around her back.

The scent of blood lingers. A trail of it has arced across her dress, and she wipes at it with a shaking hand. Aramis’ blood.

He’s dead.

There can be no question. When he threw himself into the line of fire to protect her, the ball hit him in the head. No one survives that. Not even a Musketeer. As Anne is rushed back to the palace, leaving the teeming crowd behind, loss cuts through her like a knife, and she gasps.

“Your majesty! Are you hurt?”

Treville sits back, his hands still supporting her arms, sharp blue eyes studying her with worry.

Anne wants to tell him that, yes, yes she is hurt. That shock is shaking her like an earthquake. That her heart, wrenched from her chest, is being trampled in a muddy road in Paris, next to the body of the man she loves - not the one wearing a crown, but the one wearing her crucifix around his neck. That the child in her womb is kicking wildly as if Aramis’ son, too, feels the loss of his father. That she feels entirely alone.

But she cannot say any of those things. Treason bans any of those admissions from her mouth, and without Aramis’ protection she needs to protect herself and keep her ... their son safe.

“I am unharmed,” she says instead, straightening her spine and lifting her head. “Thanks to the Musketeers.” She allows herself a small trembling of her voice, a tiny echo of the scream inside her, but she pulls herself out of Treville’s grip and cradles her belly instead. Her face feels cooler; the mask slips into place.

The captain studies her, worry giving way to respect and pride. He appreciates strength, and that is what she gives him.

Flanked by an escort of guards, they enter the Palace courtyard. The carriage has barely stopped when Louis hurries down the steps, eyes big, face flushed, arms flailing dramatically. A messenger must have beaten them to the Palace to deliver the news.

“My dear! How terrible! Are you well? Are you unharmed?”

Treville helps her descend from the carriage, and no one sees her legs tremble underneath the wide dress.

Louis embraces her, careful with her belly, and she feels honest relief emanating from him, and even affection. Her own emotions are an entirely different matter: Something has broken, and she is walking on shards, denying the pain further access. Louis’ arms around her have no weight, no warmth, no strength. They do not make her feel safe. A deep, Aramis-coloured ache courses through her that she bravely holds in check, at an arm’s length. She may never feel the way she did with him again: accepted, protected, seen.

“I am well,” she tells the king, her voice calm and controlled, like someone else’s. “I was well guarded.”

Louis takes a step back, appalled by the blood on her dress, scandalized by the events.

“Well guarded?! The Musketeers. They failed us, again! None of this should have happened! Treville! We need to discuss the consequences.” Petulantly, Louis raises his chin at the captain. “Now!”

He storms inside, expecting to be followed.

Treville’s brows knit together and anger, quickly hidden, flashes in in his eyes. He turns to Anne.

“You should rest, your majesty,” he says kindly. “Recover from the excitement.”

When he turns to go, Anne cannot help call after him.

“Captain?”

“Yes, majesty?”

She carefully composes her face. “My Musketeers. One of them- … Aramis...“ She catches her breath, forces tears back down. “Extend my condolences to his friends. His sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

Nothing about Aramis will be forgotten. Not his kindness, not his bravery. Not the flame he kindled within her. With God’s grace, she will see his dark eyes and his thick curls again when their son is born, and she will hear his voice in their child’s laughter. His echo. She will listen to it for the rest of her life.

“I will. Thank you, your majesty.”

The captain’s voice cracks on the final note, and, suddenly, it seems to be him who cannot hold the tears in check. The muscles in his tanned, lined face twitch. His eyes burn watery blue. He, too, is slain by loss today and is refusing to break in plain sight.

His jaw working, he casts his eyes down, nods and leaves.

He, too, has a mask to hold in place.

XXX

Aramis is alive.

Thank God it is Constance who brings her the overwhelming news hours later. Thank God, since the cloth merchant’s wife is the only person who knows about Anne’s affair with Aramis.

She falls into Constance’s arms and, finally, allows herself to cry.

He is alive.

In front of everyone else, it is almost as difficult to disguise her relief and her happiness as it was to hide her premature grief. Light returns to her world. The ground steadies. Her belly flutters as the child in her gives a comforting series of kicks.

Against her better judgement, she insists on visiting the garrison.

“It is a gesture of gratitude,” she explains to the King, her cheeks hot with anticipation. “They saved not only my life, but the dauphin’s as well.”

Stroking her belly, she cannot bring herself to say “your son”. He isn’t the father. His father is a Musketeer.

And he’s alive.

Louis indulges her with a dramatic eye roll and a derisive comment on the antics of pregnant women. It’s fine by Anne. Forever convinced that the world revolves around him, he wastes no further thought on the matter. He is so ignorant; he suspects nothing.

The carriage cannot take her to the garrison fast enough. Anne’s heart beats in her throat, joy triumphing over concern. Lemay had spoken of a head wound, of stitches and a severe concussion. But Aramis was awake and talking, and she needs to erase the image of his still body from her memory and replace it with a live one. She needs to look into those brown eyes, open and filled with light.

And there he is.

A bandage is wrapped around his head, his cheeks are pale and and pain shadows his face - but he is awake and, with Constance’s aid, he sits up and looks at her, at her only, the intensity of his gaze making her breath hitch.

“Your majesty…”

While Athos’ scrutinizes her with his cool gaze, while Constance fusses over d’Artagnan and Porthos looms by the door, Anne can barely hold on to her facade of royal aloofness. The truth lingers just below the surface, threatening to burst her wide open. And here, among these solid, trustworthy men, among Aramis’ brothers, she almost doesn’t care.

“I will be forever grateful for your sacrifice and protection, Aramis,” she tells him, as formally as possible, when her visit is cut short by Constance insisting their patient needs to rest.

And he does. Despite the bravado, his injury is taking its toll. He looks tired and ill, and Anne hates that she cannot be the one to stay by his side, to sit with him, to nurse him back to health. If she could at least hold his hand, at least touch him, feel the warmth of his skin and life pulsing through his veins…

“Always.”

His fingers gently wrap around hers as he lifts her hand to place a tender kiss on it. The touch of his lips sets her skin on fire. For a moment, they are connected until Athos breaks the spell.

“If you allow, I will have a Musketeer escort accompany you on your way back, your majesty.”

Reality. It sucks her back into the world of careful maneuvering and dangerous secrets that no one must know. She pulls herself together, away from Aramis‘ pained gaze to ward off Athos‘ offer.

When she leaves, she feels the weight of her world settle back onto her shoulders. But she won’t let herself get crushed by it. She can carry it, the way she carries this child: with defiant pride, with love and with the knowledge that she is not alone.

Aramis is alive.

(in case you prefer reading and commenting on AO3)

Also, This is a companion fic to my Whumptober Chapter 28 where you can read Aramis‘ side of the story, told through Athos‘ eyes.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Chapter 1

WC: 5233

Post-apocalyptic drama: A woman wakes up with no memory after an apocalyptic storm devastates the country. With everyone starting over and finding a new way of life, she is assigned to lead one of the rebuilding programs. The agriculture-based neighborhood is running smoothly until a stranger shows up, the first outsider in over a year.

CW: stranger, unconscious, blood, amnesia, referencing past head injury

I cradle my warm mug closer and survey the room, still feeling far from sleep. I went to bed early, too early, when the sky darkened prematurely because of the rainstorm. The weather pulled my focus away from work to watch the wind wrestle with the trees at the edge of the yard, testing the strength of their branches, threatening to splinter them to pieces. When the rain started, steadily pouring down in constant streams of water without any distinction between drops, the view was obstructed. Now the rain will fall for days and with the wind, we’re all confined to our houses, so I had gone up to bed since I’d have no shortage of time to finish work tomorrow. Everyone says the rain changed after the Storm, but this is all I can remember, anyway. 

The rain is still thundering down onto the roof. I don’t even know what woke me—it’s impossible to hear any of the normal creaks and aches of the house breathing on its own over the weather. I came downstairs to make tea, more for the ritual than the tea itself, something I do almost nightly. The methodical steps are enough of a reset that I fall asleep before my tea is cool enough for a full sip. Tonight, it’s less comforting. Adrenaline still courses through my veins from startling awake. There is no reason to feel shaken. I must have had an unsettling dream that I can’t remember. The thought of lying down in the dark and facing emptiness makes my pulse speed up again. I focus on inhaling and exhaling smoothly, commanding my heart to slow down to a regular rhythm, filling my lungs with the aroma of the chamomile blossoms bobbing to the surface in the strainer. I make my way across the open living space toward the stairs, allowing myself to stall by inspecting the way everything looks different from last night when there were visible stars and a moon. 

The house—my house—looks almost exactly like it did the day I arrived. I run my hand along the back of the creased, brown leather sofa in the middle of the room. It’s worn more on the right side, across from the ring on the coffee table and beside the lamp. It faces a bookcase of hardcovers standing in dignified lines despite the scuffs on the spines and the dogeared pages hidden from view. The warm wood of the built-in shelves meets the slated fireplace, the focal point of the whole floor. There’s no television, so whoever lived here must have read instead. I’ve tried thumbing through the pages of the books to fill my free time but can never seem to get through more than a few lines. There’s the solid oak dining table anchoring the back of the room in front of the picture windows with chairs for eight, another mark of the previous owners. 

I’ve never once had a personal guest but the house hasn’t felt empty, despite its size and living alone. Even now, on a stormy night, despite every line and angle extended, making it seem endless, it doesn’t feel jarringly vacant. Darkness swallows the corners of the room and deepens the shadows under the furniture but instead of making me rush for the light switch, I want to let my eyes dance over the impossible-to-see details. I have them all memorized anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it’s too dark to see. I let my eyes trace the silhouettes of the space once more time before forcing myself to climb back up to bed. 

My foot is on the first step when I see it. Almost obscured by the staircase, a shadow passes in front of the window at the back of the house. I freeze. I can barely see anything through the rain but I know something is out there. My heart is sprinting in my chest as I move back into the room. I don’t want to imagine the emergency that would have a neighbor coming to me through this weather. The figure passes by the last window in the room on the way to the back door of the garage but pauses. I hold my breath, wondering if they can see me through the rain into the dark house. My eyes trace over the shape of their shoulders, inclined head, and clenched fists. They stagger a few steps forward before collapsing onto the grass. Before I have time to think, I react.

I drop the scalding tea, which pours down my leg as it falls, mug saved by the thick, wool area rug. I don’t even register the heat against my skin as I sprint across the house to run out the back door of the garage. The rain and wind rush to beat against me as I step outside. I blink furiously to see through the sheets of water. It’s immediately like I’ve been submerged. Everyone is right that it rains harder now, which is why the Program advises against going outside during any bad weather. This is more like a hurricane hitting away from the coast. We’ll spend the few days after picking up debris, branches and clearing fallen trees. Luckily, it’s not freezing rain like we had all winter. Pools swell around my bare feet with each running step I take through the sodden lawn, splattering mud up from the ground. I reach my destination after a few strides and mentally thank my frequent runs for my speed. 

Whoever it is, lies facedown in the grass so I grab a shoulder to roll the person over. He’s out cold, with mud from the wet ground covering half his face. I fight the urge to pause and identify him because somehow it is raining even harder. I’m almost certain he isn’t one of my neighbors. I crouch down, grab both of his arms and do my best to roll him onto my back so that I can half-drag him across the lawn. It's easier than I expected. Maybe the wet grass is helping his limp legs slide behind me. We make it to the back door and I pause for a moment as reality hits me. I’m about to bring an unconscious stranger into my house. There’s no telling where he came from or why he is here. I try to remember the instructions Inspectors have told me about handling trespassers. 

Something moves on my back and I realize the stranger has turned his head. I’ve been standing here, half-carrying him. It would be irresponsible to try to walk to anyone else’s house in this weather, especially dragging someone. I clench my teeth and pull him up the two steps into the garage and through the hallway. I manage to almost gracefully deposit him on the sofa, leaving streaks of mud across the wood floors. My feet nearly slide out from under me as I run back to lock the doors. For good measure, I close all the curtains before turning on the floor lamp beside the couch. 

I start to look him over for injuries, checking his head first. I don’t see or feel anything under his dark hair. I use my sleeve to wipe away some of the mud on his face. He has symmetrical features, rough, dark stubble, and light-brown skin. I am noticing the long, dark lashes on his closed eyelids when he exhales a sigh. I jump, feeling my face grow hot. I direct my attention away from his face and wind up cursing myself for not noticing his torn pant leg earlier. I pull back the shredded fabric and suck in a breath. He has a long, deep gash, caked with mud that is still bleeding. I fly upstairs to find the medical bag and some towels. 

My mind is spinning but somehow, my hands are steady. I clean the wound and apply pressure to stop the bleeding. The minutes pass quickly. The counting gives me something to focus on aside from wondering what happened to cause this. I match my breaths to the rhythm and feel more centered. My fingers have no problem managing the needle holder and I lose myself in the steady progress of suturing. I’m nearly finished when the stranger sighs again. I pause to look at his face and notice a subtle upturn at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t wake up but my pulse quickens anyway. I look back down and try to focus. I could lose my job for not following protocol by bringing him into my house, but it only seems responsible to give him first-aid so he doesn’t bleed out. I can turn him in when he wakes up. 

After I finish the stitches, I disinfect it again, apply antibiotic ointment, and tape a sterile gauze bandage over the wound. I clean up all the rain, mud, and blood that we tracked into the house as best as I can, constantly checking to see if the stranger has moved. He sleeps quietly, breathing steadily and looking peaceful. I pick up the mug I dropped earlier and soak up the tea from the carpet. My clothes are still wet so I rush upstairs to change but skip taking a shower, more afraid of the stranger disappearing without an explanation than of any other possibility. Back downstairs, I make myself a replacement cup of tea and settle into the armchair to wait.

I distract myself by thinking about the fields, hoping as usual that the trenches we dug around them for this kind of weather, will be deep enough. We’ve never had a problem before but I can’t help but worry, after all, it is our food source. We are fairly self-sufficient at this point, almost one year in and I don’t want that to change. The Programs started six months after the Storm. They still don’t know how much of the population was lost during the Storm or in the aftermath. Sometimes I hear my neighbors debating it while they work, with guesses ranging from seventy to ninety percent lost, but no one knows for sure. I was in the hospital but others were in shelters, waiting, while plans were made to organize people into homes and communities. Anyone highly skilled was employed as a Programmer. Geologists, engineers, and other specialists identified areas with enough undamaged houses and clear land to use productively. They wrote a Program for each location based on what they would be able to do to survive. Then it was a simple matter of assigning survivors to the empty houses to fill all of the jobs required to make the Program viable. 

Programmers said the fact that I was unattached would help me be a more objective leader. It’s a ridiculous assessment of my situation and there were plenty of others who were also solo, but I didn’t argue. I was pretty objective until tonight’s lapse in judgment. The rest of the residents keep their distance, maybe because I’m here to enforce the rules, or maybe because I’m not fun. I follow all of the checklists and read through the Program details, keeping myself busy. I woke up after the Storm half-wrapped in plaster with no memory of anything. The first few days are a blur of pain from the head injury. Soon enough, it became less dramatic, the amnesia was a fact then and a fact now. I faced it alone and learned quickly not to fight it. I can’t remember anything, no reason to get emotional or philosophical about it. Everyone said I was lucky to have made it to the hospital, most people who were outside in the Storm were never seen again. They guessed I had been injured during the earthquakes, but it was all conjecture.

I tried not to listen to the hospital staff’s speculations about what my life was like, or what I was like. They thought they were being helpful and might spark some memory. I would tune them out and spend hours memorizing the hospital room. It’s so clear in my memories, even more so than the house, which I’ve been living in twice as long. The way the corners of the room met to support the flat, smooth ceiling. The exact number of tiles in the ceiling, thirty, and the number of small lights blinking down, six. The texture of the hospital bedding against my skin, scratchy and worn into a strange kind of soft. Comforting but unyielding, built to last. Everything was cream or beige, blending like coffee with too much milk. I can remember the way the colors progressively deepened as the daylight faded through the single window.

I spent the first few weeks, once I could get out of the hospital bed, getting sick every time I had physical therapy. I pushed myself too hard and too fast they said. The doctors still congratulated me on healing quickly, despite my memory not returning. There were many discussions about patience and time, that I would be surprised to wake up one day with memories flooding back. Despite weeks in the hospital and eventually recovering enough physically to run five kilometers with no headache, I still hadn’t remembered anything. The doctors assured me it was completely normal. I needed more time, they repeated, moving into a Program would help me recover through purpose and routine. 

Our Program area is twenty-five square miles, with the residential street at one corner. The whole area was high enough to escape the floods and surrounded by thick forests that protected it from whatever else the Storm had tried to toss this way. From what we can tell, there were only minor earthquakes here, most of the damage was from wind and water. We made house repairs first, thirty of us total, boarding up the odd broken window or patching a roof leak. Then we started the long process of carving out fields for food and some animals, raised a barn, and built a few sheds. The first small harvests were fairly successful and have continued to improve, despite no one having any farming experience beyond growing kitchen herbs, but it’s all thanks to the Program materials. I handle the delegation and training, but I don’t think I am a necessity here. Anyone can read an instruction manual and everyone works hard for the neighborhood. It could probably run as smoothly without me.

—

I jerk awake, sitting upright. My breath is fast and cold sweat clings to the back of my neck. I try to focus on my surroundings. I must have fallen asleep in the armchair while I was watching—my eyes fall on the empty couch, the wool blanket crumpled at the bottom. I jump to my feet and knock a book off the side table. It lands with a thud on the wood floor and I’m startled all over again. I exhale slowly, trying to settle myself, and massage my temples with my fingertips. 

“Headache?” a soft, almost musical voice says behind me. 

I whip around to see the stranger standing behind the island, a mug of steaming something in his hand. I don’t answer and instead, take in the changes from last night. His face is clean and shaven. The rough stubble I saw last night is now a smooth shadow over his jaw. His dark brown hair is messy but in an effortlessly perfect way. He’s wearing a clean grey shirt and dark jeans that must be from one of the extra bedrooms upstairs. He looks like a completely different person than the one I dragged out of the mud in the middle of the night. 

“Coffee? Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He tilts his cup toward the French press sitting on the stove but must be referring to whatever process facilitated his clean appearance. I swallow my irritation at myself for falling asleep and not being alert to watch him. He’s staring at me with a strange expression on his face. I avert my gaze, looking down.

“How’s your leg?” I ask, walking around the island to see that he is keeping weight off of it.

“Alright, thanks to you. The stitches are perfect—don’t worry, I didn’t get them wet,” he says quickly, smiling like he thinks he’s placating me. 

I furrow my eyebrows. 

He bites his lip and turns away to take out a second mug.

“Who are you?” I blurt at his back. 

He sets the French press down and I watch the remaining coffee slosh around inside of it. His shoulders round forward as he looks into the cup he’s poured. I’m about to repeat myself when he inhales and turns. 

He’s wearing a soft smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself, I’m Elias,” he says, holding the coffee out. 

I stare at it. 

“You are…?” He tilts his head, studying me. 

I ignore his question, irritated at his calmness. “Where did you come from? Do you realize you’ve trespassed into a Program area?” 

Elias seems to give up trying to goad me with caffeine and sets the mug on the island. “Right, well, when the rainstorm started yesterday, I was in the woods and a tree fell. My leg got hurt but I managed to start walking through the rain to find shelter and wound up here. I had no idea I was so close to a neighborhood…” he says a little too innocently. He runs his hand through his hair, not meeting my eyes anymore. 

I start to do some math in my head. I know for a fact that the closest town ruins are at least twenty miles away and none of the other neighborhoods between were salvageable. Unless he was living in some half-crushed house in one of the still-flooded neighborhoods, that means almost five hours of walking at a good pace. In the rain, through the forest, on an injured leg, it would take probably twice that. He must be lying. No one would make it here that quickly under those conditions. 

I try not to make my skepticism obvious as I ask, “Why were you in the woods?”

“I got lost…” he barely seems convinced himself and it almost sounds like he’s posing it as a question. 

I nod, keeping my face neutral. I’ve heard enough. He seems perfectly fine now, so I can turn him in now. I march over to the front door, tug it open, and step onto the front porch. A wall of rain greets me. I can’t even see the front yard. Elias limps up behind me. I can feel his warmth a few inches away as I stare down the rain. 

“Look, I know what it sounds like, but I promise I’m not a scavenger.” 

After the Storm, not everyone wanted to join a Program. The Program calls the people who roam the deserted towns and destroyed cities, scavengers. Sometimes they work with the Programmers if they find a good haul. More often than not, they operate by their own rules and are dangerous. Luckily, we are so remote that we have never had any find us.

“I’m not here to steal anything. Please—” 

I spin around. 

Elias is closer than I thought and I’m practically in his arms as he leans in the doorway. I meet his gaze and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes are an intense green-gold color, full of light and smoldering. He must be looking straight into my soul. Something flutters there under his consideration. Despite the intrusion, I relax, forgetting my earlier distrust. He smells like pine and soap. It’s so familiar, it must be the scent of the soap in my bathroom. It takes more than a minute for me to catch my original train of thought. 

I mean to be demanding but my voice comes out as a breathy whisper, “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

Elias doesn't answer. He’s searching my eyes one at a time, left to right, and back again, looking for something. Eventually, he breaks away and starts limping back toward the kitchen, leaving me alone in front of the open door. 

I shiver as the cold air surrounds me and shake my head to dispel the strange feelings. My hands numbly close and lock the door before I follow him back into the house. 

At the island, he picks up his cup of coffee and looks back at me. “As I said, I was lost in the woods and my leg got hurt when a tree fell. I could hardly see in the rain so I was just stumbling around looking for shelter. Then, I woke up here,” he repeats with more confidence this time, his voice smooth and even.

“If you’re not a scavenger, why aren’t you assigned to a Program?”

“I managed to stay sheltered for a while in the city,” he offers, shrugging. 

I suppose this could be true. The neighborhood Programs were not compulsory but it seems strange that he would have been on his own for so long. It doesn’t exactly seem safe to be a lone wolf when there are gangs of scavengers roaming around. 

I sigh and run my hand through my hair, brushing it off my face, and realize there is still mud in it from last night. “I can’t turn you in until it stops raining, so I guess you’ll just have to stay here.” If he is surprised or upset by this, he doesn’t show it. I leave him in the kitchen and head upstairs. 

—

Closed in my bedroom, I keep ruminating on Elias’s story. He doesn’t have the look of the scavengers I’ve seen warnings about in the Program. Maybe he left another Program, which isn’t a big deal unless he got into trouble first. Despite these other possibilities, I’m unable to see him as a threat. Something is nagging me about him or this whole situation. Likely, the fact that until now, I’ve never once broken the rules of the Program. I shake my head. It was stupid to bring him to the house. I should have followed protocol. As I stand under the shower, I find myself continuing to rationalize his presence and even excusing his improbable story. This is ridiculous. I don’t know why I am so obsessively curious and willing to ignore my better judgment because of some feelings. 

We are lucky that most of the infrastructure for water and power could be repaired or was undamaged during the Storm. Something about special engineering that preserved the systems. They don’t go into a lot of detail in the Program literature about it, but I’m too grateful to care. Not only is life easier, but it’s also the only reason I am not dead since there wouldn’t have been much of a hospital to save me without running water and electricity. Fuel is the biggest problem now. Most of the underground storage traditionally used was damaged or flooded. In theory, electric cars would still be a possibility, but the roads are in no condition to drive. The Programmers have spent a lot of resources clearing routes. The first few months they had to deliver our supplies in huge off-road military vehicles, which significantly dented their fuel reserves. Even after a year of working to clear roads, journeys take hours with endless detours because of flooding, sinkholes, or other debris.

I walk out of the bathroom and sit on the edge of my bed wrapped in a towel. The blankets are still thrown to the side from when I got up so quickly last night. After I change into leggings and a soft, knit sweater, I make the bed. I take the time to tuck in the corners and smooth the blankets so they lie flat with no wrinkles. I sit back down and work my long, dark hair into two thick French braids. They fall most of the way down my back, definitely too long, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to cut it. I have to start the second braid over again because I’m so distracted thinking about the man downstairs. I look over at the little chrome alarm clock next to my bed and realize how little sleep I got last night and I still have to refigure the schedules due to the rain. I decide to accept Elias’s offer of coffee in the hopes that I can get some work done before I’m dead on my feet. Maybe I can get also the truth out of him and figure out how he ended up here.

Downstairs, I find Elias bustling in the kitchen. He’s humming to himself softly and beating eggs in a bowl while garlic sizzles in a frying pan on the stove. His movements are graceful and intuitive as he moves through the space. One hand absently pushes around the fragrant garlic while the other scans the spice drawer, fingertip sliding over each jar before finding what he’s looking for. He moves on to chopping after plucking some fresh herbs out of the mason jars next to the sink. The knife almost sounds musical on the wooden cutting board before he slides everything into the bowl and cradles it in the crook of his arm to stir it all together. He transfers the mixture into the frying pan and sprinkles in salt and pepper, every step with so much intention it’s almost choreographed. 

It’s been longer than I want to admit before he turns around, to get a sip of his coffee, and notices me watching. 

He smiles and then furrows his eyebrows. “Are you okay?” 

I blink and rub my eyes which must be watering from staring for so long. 

Elias smiles at me again. “How about that coffee now?”

“I—” I look away and clear my throat, decide on nodding instead. 

Elias turns to pour from a full pot. He limps to the fridge and adds a splash of milk out of the glass carafe, then holds it out to me. My fingers brush against his when I take the mug and my heart skitters. 

“I should get to work,” I say quickly, turning away and taking my coffee to the dining table. I drop into one of the chairs with my back to him and grab my tablet from across the table where I normally sit. I stifle a sigh as I sip the coffee, better than I usually make. I labor to lose myself in reworking schedules and timetables for the entire neighborhood, factoring in the delay due to the rain. 

As I am finishing the log updates I will send to the Programmers, Elias starts setting the other end of the table. 

“Breakfast is ready, whenever you’re finished,” he says, sitting down. 

I nod without looking up. I would like to pretend I have important things to do and won’t drop everything because he cooked for us but I can’t. He’s made omelets with tomatoes, mushrooms, and greens. It smells incredible and looks about a thousand times better than the plain scrambled eggs I’ve been overcooking every day. I swear my stomach audibly growls. 

I snap the tablet closed. “I’ve finished anyway,” I say, trying to sound casual as I slide into the next chair over where he’s set a place for me. 

“Bon appétit,” he says. He rests his chin in his hand and waits for me to start. 

I take a bite, trying to downplay my excitement. I swear under my breath. It tastes even better than it looks with a perfect, soft texture. 

“Thank you,” I murmur into my next bite. I can see him grinning as I peek at him through my eyelashes. His expression could be smug but instead, it’s much softer. 

He watches me for a few more bites before he picks up his fork. “My pleasure. It’s been a while since I’ve had fresh eggs and herbs to cook with. Are they from this neighborhood?”

It seems like he’s just curious, so I answer. “Yes, we have a few acres of farmland and animals. The chickens are everyone’s favorites. The herbs are actually from my garden behind the garage.” 

He nods, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Have you seen any other Programs?” I ask. 

I hope it doesn’t seem like an obvious effort to reveal his true motives but I’ve always wondered about other Programs. I imagine groups can do anything locally available, so there must be a lot of possibilities. The Programs are independent and self-sustaining. We consume everything we produce. I’ve always thought that the Programmers seem to get very little out of the whole arrangement. 

Elias shakes his head and swallows his bite of food. “Nothing up close. This is the first time I’ve been into a neighborhood…” He looks up at me. 

I keep my face neutral. 

“I’ve seen a lot of mobile teams though,” he adds.

“Mobile teams?” 

The Program literature I have is specific only to this neighborhood. There is some general information that must go to all the Programs but there isn’t very much about the overall scheme or how it is managed. 

“They set up a camp for a project and move on once they finish. I’ve seen teams working on clearing the roads, sorting through factories, or siphoning gas in parking garages,” he explains.  

I nod and wonder if these teams ever wind up having to fight off scavengers. I hesitate to ask about scavengers since a few hours ago I accused him of being one. 

Elias changes the subject. “So, what did you do before the Storm?”

I swallow and my palms start to sweat. 

It’s an innocent question, one my neighbors have often discussed but this is exactly why I avoid socializing and keep my relationships strictly professional. It seems impossible to lie. I don’t want to but I’m not sure how to explain that there was no “before the Storm” for me. My life is this job, it’s all I have. After sixteen months, I haven’t even remembered my own name. I chew on my lip, trying to gather the courage to tell him something I have never told anyone.

Before I collect myself, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, that’s a really personal question. I didn’t mean to pry.” I look up and find him smiling gently at me, his eyes full. “I’m grateful that you brought me in last night and are letting me stay.” 

I blink at him. “Oh, it’s okay…” 

Elias stands and stacks my empty plate on top of his, then takes my mug. “Let me get you a refill.” 

“I can clean up, you should stay off your leg,” I say, standing and trying to take the dishes from him. 

“No, no,” he insists, stepping out of my reach, “it’s the least I can do.” 

I still follow him to the kitchen to get the coffee so he doesn’t have to walk back to the table. He refills my mug and hands it to me, smiling, his eyes still full in a way that makes my pulse feel loud behind my ears. I mumble thanks and retreat to the dining table to pretend to work.

TBC

[plush-rabbit]

Can I Ask You Something?

| Part 10 |

There’s an odd thing about what happened that night. How he came to you unannounced without explanation, how you were sick to your stomach and feared that no one would hear your last breaths, how you touched him on your own will, letting your fingers rest upon his bare skin and craved his touch afterwards. But at the same time, your smiles were smaller and seemingly more tired than what he’s seen before and you made sure that space was between the two of you, eyes always watching him or more specifically- his hands. You hardly took your eyes off of them, always trailing them, always watching how they clasped around items with a finger held upwards, reaching out. You thought back to when you first saw him, furrowing your brows and sucking in your bottom lip when you successfully remembered that he had done that the night of the first hang out. You chastised yourself and wondered how you could be so blind, but only shook your head afterwards. No one immediately thinks that they’re friend could be a criminal. You thought of it as a tic or something, thought that perhaps he just grew into the habit and it stuck. You never would’ve realized that- It doesn’t matter. No amount of reasoning to yourself could ever make you feel better, could ever make you free of guilt. You know who he is and yet you haven’t gone off to report him. You kept his secret with tight lips and nervous laughter and a sickness that only faded when you slept.

You were interested in him, fascinated and grew a false image of him in your mind where he was someone good. You liked talking to him, liked telling him about your day. You liked how he looked on camera with dim lighting and shadows across his face. You liked how he talked and laughed at a poor attempt at a joke. You liked him. But now you feared him. You feared his wide smile, his hands, his eyes. You were terrified of him, never wanting to take your eyes off of him and his hands. His eyes weren’t red like rubies, they were red like fresh blood. His dry skin wasn’t just dry skin, it was clawed and red, angry and bloody. His hands weren’t long and careful, they were sharp and precise.

You had gotten lucky that time. You swallowed whatever you could in your dry mouth, more out of habit than anything else and kept your breath even, trying to calm down the storm brewing inside of you. Anytime you scratched at your skin, you would pull away, shaking and nervous, eyes glancing around the room as if you’d find a pair of eyes watching you. It was all too reminiscent of him. Touching your own wrist with the hand that touched his, made your skin burn. If you closed your eyes, you could feel his skin underneath your touch, the warmth of it, the coldness beneath it. It both terrified you and made you crave more all at once. He was a friend before and now he’s different. He’s different in your eyes but the same to the rest of the country.

The day outside was nice. A blue sky with white fluffy clouds that looked like they belonged on a painting with leaves that fluttered to the ground and twirled in the air in little spirals. It was a nice day, perfect to clear your mind and try to put any negative thoughts to the side. With heavy steps, you dragged yourself to a walk around the park, trying to stretch your legs and hoping that video you saw online about walking and anxiety was an actual thing and not some sort of placebo.

It’s working. Kind of. You think the fresh air definitely helps clear your mind but the churning mess in your stomach continues. It worked in the beginning- the walk. It helped you clear your head and when you listened to a playlist, you were able to daydream about anything else that was able to take your mind off of him for a moment. You didn’t want to think about him right now, he had already plagued your mind at every other hours of the day. You just needed a bit of time where you could feel yourself unwind without the constant fear of getting sick and spewing whatever you had in your stomach.

You never wanted to fear him. You wanted to be his friend, you wanted a friend that you met online and that’s it. You didn’t want whatever complicated entanglement of emotions this was. You just wanted for things to go back to normal.

But it never could and you think that’s the worst part of it all. He’s always going to be tainted in your mind.

There was only one saving grace to this entire ordeal- he cared for you- somewhat. He hadn’t killed you (yet), he showed his face to you, and he let you touch his neck and wrist without turning you to dust. You were fine. You were still alive and he had made sure that during his last attack, you were home.

You’re relieved. You’re disgusted. Your face heats at the thought of him. You fume when you remember who he is. You’re a tangled mess of emotions and whenever you try to detangle it, it causes you more pain and sickness. You wonder if he’d allow you to leave him. You wonder if you’d even have the courage; if you’d even want to.

The music fades and is replaced with a shrill ring that makes you flinch and answer quickly.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” his voice is gruff.

“You’re gonna need to be a lot more specific than that,” you tease, easily falling back into your olds ways. It’s easy to do this, easy to hear his voice and think he’s just another friend.

“Funny.” You can practically hear him roll his eyes. When you remain silent waiting for confirmation, he sighs. “Tomura.”

“Now was that so hard?” It’s so much easier to pretend that he’s still Tomura.

“Yes,” he growls. “You knew it was me.”

“Eh,” you shrug, turning on your heel to walk back to your apartment. “I hadn’t looked at the caller ID when you called so I was like only ninety percent sure it was you?”

“That’s dumb. Why hadn’t you checked?”

“I was listening to my tunes and then the ring was super loud and painful and I really didn’t want to hear it anymore.” You always were so open with him and now that it counts to keep quiet about your life, you can’t seem to shut up. “Anyways, what’s up? It’s pretty early for one of our calls.”

“Is it?” You hear him hum. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You hadn’t checked the time before you called?”

“I was ninety percent sure it was late when I called,” he said sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes. “Anyone ever told you you’re funny?”

“I think I’m hilarious.” He sounds so smug on the other line.

“Oh of course you are,” you smirk and skip over a crack on the sidewalk. “Whenever we talk, I’m always in stitches.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Perhaps,” you purse your lips.

“I’ve made you laugh.” He pauses. “Have I?”

“Hm… I’m sure you have during one of our calls,” you stick the tip of your tongue out. “I’ve made you laugh,” you point out.

“That’s because whatever comes out of your mouth is ridiculous.”

“Wow,” you can feel your grin growing. “Just wow. Going right for the jugular, huh?” You scoff, and bring a hand up to rub at your neck, fingers freezing when they feel your pulse underneath.

“I’m not wrong.”

“You know, you’re not being very nice right now.” Your hand twirls the headphone wire around a finger. “I almost have half the mind to hang up,” you joke.

“Are you going to?” Overhead a bird chirps, fluttering onto a tree branch and hopping over to a nest. The bird flutters away when another comes onto the same branch. You try to follow it with your eyes but lose it as flies beyond your sight.

“No. I like talking to you,” your smirk grows, “even if you don’t make me laugh.”

“Fuck off,” he growls.

You give him a small laugh and it slowly fades away. You can hear him boast about how he made you laugh, poking fun at you and sarcastically repeating your last statement. You hum in response to him. The laughter that had bubbled out of you was sweet and light but you still feel sick.

“Yeah,” you speak softly, “you made me laugh.” It’s a rollercoaster of emotions with him, you never know what to feel and what to expect. “But I still think I’ve made you laugh more.”

“Tch. Whatever.”

“So like I mentioned earlier, it’s early for one of our calls. What’s up?”

You hear him clear his throat. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think I just wanted to talk to you.” The sentence makes both your heart full and ache all at once.

“Oh. That’s… unusually kind of you to say.”

“Shut it dumbass,” he says in a low voice and in the distant you think you hear a door slam.

“What? You said it!” You shake your head. “You’re not usually so nice to me—”

“Yes I am,” he argues.

“Tomura, you literally called me a dumbass.”

“It’s a nickname,” he argues.

“Nickname?” You say in exasperated voice. “You know, I’m not having this conversation.” You take in a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, I like talking to you too. You’re fun to talk to and uh, believe it or not, you’re interesting to be around,” you exhale and the knot in your stomach has loosened.

“What are you doing?” He changes the conversation and his voice is tight.

“I’m walking home. I went for a walk around the park to clear my head a bit.”

“About?”

“Just… too many thoughts, you know?”

“I guess.” He takes in a sharp inhale and gives a weak cough. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks hesitantly.

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s uh, remember that thing I cried about when you came over last?” You can feel your face burn in embarrassment. You still hadn’t gotten over that you actually cried in front of him.

“Yes.”

“Just about that. About them,” you whisper out.

“They sound like a dick.”

Your laugh is humorless. “No. They’re- They’re really cool. They’re a bit rough around the edges but I like them. They’re really- They’re really something special to me.”

He’s silent. “Well if they ever piss you off—”

“What?” You smirk. “You’ll kill them for me?” Your stomach drops. “It’s just a little friendly squabble,” you speak rapidly, shaking your hand in front of you, your steps hurrying. “It’s just a lot on me, seriously.” The thought that he would potentially kill for you (Is it even for you? Did you jump to conclusions prematurely?) makes you queasy.

“Whatever.” You don’t miss how he doesn’t deny your little “joke”. “If you really have a problem with this person, I don’t see why you don’t just talk to them or drop them.”

You wonder if you can be truthful with him. You wonder if he could or would ever be truthful with you. You sigh. “It’s not easy. I- I really like this person a lot. He means a lot to me and I know- or at least I want to believe- that he doesn’t mean to hurt me but, you know. Sometimes things happen on accident.” You kick a stray rock and watch it bounce off of the sidewalk and into the murky water on the side of the road.

“If he’s hurting you—”

You interrupt him. “I don’t think he’s aware that he’s hurting me- on accident or on purpose. He- He doesn’t know that I know something—” you’re pushing it— “but I can’t tell him that I know.”

“Why?”

The view of your apartment grows closer. “I don’t think he’d be very happy with me,” you speak gently, voice strained. “I think… I think best case scenario, he won’t care and we can still be friends. Worst case scenario—” you remember his long, thin hands with cracks in them— “he could kill me.”

“What?” He seethes out.

You jump and halt in your steps. “Tha-That’s like worst case scenario though!” You’re quick to rectify your mistake. “I uh, usually overthink things and my mind likes to think of the absolute worst outcome possible.”

“If he—”

“He means well. At least I think he means well.” You wonder how long you can go with describing your predicament until he catches on. “I just… I found out something I shouldn’t have. And,” you lip quivers, “I messed up is all.” You can hear the beginning of a word on his tongue, ready to start his sentence until you cut him short once again. “Can you promise me something?”

“What?” There’s curiosity and gentleness mixed into his voice.

“You have to pinkie swear about being honest or I won’t tell you.”

“We’re over the phone?”

“Just you know hold it up,” you hold your pinky up and you’re reminded of him again, “and curl it. It can be our thing. All friends have a thing.”

“You’re being childish.”

“Tomura,” you whine.

He clicks his tongue. “Fine. I pinkie promise,” his voice is mocking but you take it.

“Did you do the curl thing?” You still have your pinkie curled in front of you.

“Yes,” he grunts out.

“Okay,” you take a hop in your step and climb the staircase to your apartment, peeling paint falling from the rails from under your touch on the railing of the stairs. “Will… Will you promise that you’ll never be mad at me?”

He’s quiet for just a moment, and you lean against the railing of your apartment, watching people walk below you. Your finger scratches over the peeling paint and you sooth it over with the pads of your fingers.

“I can’t promise that.”

You can feel your heart stop. “Why?”

“You’ve pissed me off before, I’m sure you’ll do it again.”

You nod into the receiver. It’s a still moment between the two of you. Somewhere above you, you hear a door click close with heavy steps that fade away. There’s laughter and shouts around you, fast climbing of the stairs and whistling. There’s life around you and on the other sound of the phone is someone who brings death.

“Yeah,” you speak softly, “I guess that makes sense.” You wonder if he ever did think about killing you.

“What about you?” He asks, his voice serious. “Will you ever be mad at me?”

The setting sun casts orange across the sky, mixed with hues of blue and pink. Shadows stretch long into the road below and it seems that with the fading daylight, people match the mood that is outside, their voices are quieter, with the sting of coming cold nipping at their skins and cold winds that make their clothes flutter. “I don’t know. I think fights in friendships are normal so I can’t exactly promise that.”

“So we’re going to fight?”

If you focus, you think you can see your breath in front of you. “Maybe.” Your phone buzzes in your hand. “I hope not.”

“Are you home?”

“Yeah, I got home a bit ago.” Your hand grips the railing and your knuckles turn white. “Right now, I’m just outside.” Somewhere, you can hear the barking of dogs and the honk of a car. “Do you want to have a video call? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” you turn around and open the door, goose bumps ride your skin and you bring a hand to soothe over your chilled skin. “If you want, you know,” you add.

“Sure,” his reply is quick. “Let me just get set up.”

“Yeah, same. See you in a bit then.”

You shut the door and your press your back against the wood. The flat is dark, weak strays of sunlight peek through the blinds and share a bit of its warmth and guidance. It’s dark inside, and for a moment you’re alone. The noise from the outside is gone. There is no noise and only fleeting sunlight which is overpowered by the shadows. You’re still for a minute. And then you take a deep breath with closed eyes and hold it for a few seconds, letting it go slowly. You peel yourself off of the door and make your way inside.

__

He waits for you to accept his call, His hands reach over to his face, clawed and extended but he stops an inch before he can feel his skin. Red eyes dart over to the corner of the room where an old blanket is clumped and hiding something.

It’s your gift to him.

It holds a few creams of different scents, one with no scent, a few soap bars that were in the shape of macaroons and one in a rectangle that smelled of the night after rain. It was a sweet, personalized gift that you had given him, complete with a note that read:

To Tomura,

Hope this makes your skin feel better! Tell me if it doesn’t and I can try new things to get you:)

With love Love,

Your friend

He can’t remember the last time someone wrote him a note or had even given him a gift. It all remains untouched. He picked everything carefully out of the bag the night he returned home, and dragged a finger across the edges, carefully minding the placement of the rest of his hands. He told himself, he won’t ever use it- it was all too precious to him. If he used it, it would run out and he would be forced to throw your gift away.

He couldn’t promise you that he won’t ever get mad at you but when he looks at the thin, tearing fabric that protects something that you had given to him, for him, he makes up his mind. He won’t ever be mad at you. He can’t hurt you. He’ll lay waste to society and make sure that you remain untouched. There’s warmth in his chest as he carefully walks over to wear the bag sits, how his hands carefully remove the tissue paper and he moves at a slow pace until he picks the note up and places it next to him. The blanket shrouds the gift, protecting it poorly from wandering eyes and he grabs the note and makes his way back to his seat.

He folds it open and lays it to rest next to the monitor, watching as it tries to flutter to a close only to be opened back up with a fold in the opposite direction to make sure it stays.

“Love,” he whispers. It’s a foreign word on his tongue. It’s a deep, meaningful word and he’s sure he’s felt some form of it before. To his sensei, to Kurogiri, to the League even if he won’t admit it out loud. But it’s all felt different. Was it devotion? A sense of familiarity? Camaraderie? None of it ever gave him this feeling. It was as if he were on fire whenever he saw you; he needed to hear you, needed to know that you were still oblivious and cared for him. And you do- if the present is anything to go by. He’s going to do his best to make sure no harm comes towards you. You already have someone who’s hurting you, but if he acts on it now then you’ll push yourself away from him, your attention won’t be on him- you will be busy mourning and sobbing over someone who isn’t him.

He’ll bide his time if it means that you’ll stay with him in the end.

A soft ringing fills his room and he jumps. He runs a calloused hand through his hair and lets out a breath, his heart pumping erratically and with shaky fingers, he clicks the accept button.

You fill the screen with wide eyes and bottom lip that is bitten between teeth. There’s a soft light that fills the room and he sees that you’re in the living room.

“Tomura, hey,” you breathe out, a lopsided smile taking over your features. “What’s up?”

He fights off the grin that comes naturally when he talks to you, allowing a smirk to replace it as his canine glints. “Nothing, really. I finished all my games so there’s not much for me to do now.”

“Whoa!” Your eyes light up and you stand straighter with your hands in loose fists- you were so easy to impress. “You finished all of them? Even the one where you had trouble with the final boss?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, even that one.”

“Did you look up any cheat codes?”

He narrows his eyes and you and scratches at his upper lip. “No. It just some grinding is all.”

“Oh okay.” Your hands loosen and arms are crossed against your chest. “So now you don’t have any games to play?”

He shakes his head with closed eyes.

When he opens them, the corner of your mouth twitches and he narrows his eyes by a fraction. “So why don’t you go out and buy more? If you want, I can tell you a few of my favorites so we can talk about them together? Or,” you glance to the side, “we could go together? Like a—”

“Like a date?” He raises a brow.

Your face flushes a darker shade and you quickly turn your head to the side, your lips pulled into a thin line with furrowed brows. “Ye-Yeah. Like a date.” You clear your throat, when you look back at him you have a shaky smile on and your voice wavers. “You know- if you wanted.”

He slumps against his seat and lets out a sigh. “I would have declined.”

You let out a deflated “oh” and shuffle awkwardly in your seat. Your lips are downturned and he feels a sting in his chest.

“I hate public spaces. I already told you,” he says hastily. “I would prefer to just order the game online or something else.” Something else is breaking into a store and taking what he wanted. “But I suppose I would take your suggestions,” he says with a silvery voice.

“I guess that makes sense.” He frowns when your voice is still low and disappointed. His hand reaches towards cheekbone, eyes darting across your features and meeting your eyes. He narrows his eyes when you keep focused on his hands and sighs with annoyance; he brings his hand down and curls his hand into a fist. “My tastes are pretty different compared to yours. That game we used to play was the first- er, action game, that I played.”

You still won’t meet his eyes, keeping them focused on literally anything else.

He clenches his jaw and fights back a groan. “I still wouldn’t mind hearing about the games you play.”

“Nah, we probably don’t like the same things,” you wave a hand in front of you; “I shouldn’t bored you with my stuff. How was your day today?”

You’re quick to change the conversation, leaning forward with an expectant smile while you wait for him to answer your question. “It was fine. I just stayed indoors.”

“Right,” you roll your eyes with a smirk, “I forgot that you didn’t like the outdoors.” You smirk falls a bit before it’s picked back up.

“It’s stupid.” The corner of his lip twitches upwards when your attention is focused on him. “All those fucking heroes waltzing around and—”

“Okay, I get,” you snap. He gives you a look and you clamp your mouth shut. “I just,” you chew on your bottom lip, “you don’t like heroes or the outdoors, I get it.”

“What’s up your ass?” His eyes dart to the corner where your note lays still and uninterrupted.

“Tomura,” you scold.

“What? You’re snappy. What is it?”

You bow your head and the arms crossed in front of you move to wrap themselves around you. “I’m not snappy,” you say defiantly, puffing out your chest. “It’s nothing, I just- I get it. You mentioned before that you didn’t like heroes and you don’t like public spaces. I get it.”

“I can’t vent to you now?” He tilts his head and his leg jerks you flinch away from him.

“It’s not that,” you reply meekly already losing your bravado.

“Then what is it?”

When you look up at him, he can see your eyes shine and you blink back the tears away. Did you want to cry? Did he make you want to cry? “It’s just- I don’t want to get into politics right now. Okay?”

“You think talking about heroes is political?”

Your face is flushed and you lean away from the screen. “Of course it is,” you spit out, your face pulled into a grimace, looking down at your lap as if you were ashamed to speak against him. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Are you going to hate me if we do?” You shake your head no but it isn’t enough for him. “I can’t hear you.”

When you look up at him, his breath comes to a halt. Your face is stoic and your arms have fallen from the self-hug. “No,” you look to the side and lower your head slightly. “I’m not gonna hate you Tomura. I just don’t want to fight.”

“I don’t want to fight either.” It’s the truth. He doesn’t want to make you fear him. He doesn’t want a reason to hate you- you’re something good in his life, something pure and untouched and right now, you’re iffy about heroes but he can change that. He can do so much good for you but it’ll just take a bit of time.

“I’m sorry.” You look at him with wide eyes and a lowered head, like a dog that’s getting reprimanded by its owner.

He bites down on the inside of his cheek and lets it slip once he can taste blood. “Are you okay?” He has to play it safe, he can’t scare you off. He doesn’t know when or if he’ll ever reveal himself, but he can’t scare you off.

You give out a scoff with a small smile gracing your features. “Yeah, I just, sorry. I’ve uh- It was a long day is all and I’m sorry I snapped.”

“No harm, no foul.” When you look at with raised eyebrows and the smile that has now fallen, he bites back a curse. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He scratches at his forehead and unclenches his jaw.

He wonders if you would have left him if the fight had escalated. He hates what you make him feel, what you make him do. If you were anyone else or if it was early on in the relationship, he would’ve ended you right then and there. But instead, he gave you half-assed apology and felt bad about making you feel small.

“It’s… been a rough day is all. I shouldn’t have snapped and yeah. It’s behind us,” you tell him, giving him a halfhearted smile.

“Yeah, I guess it has,” he breathes out, leaning against the seat. “So was everything else about you day as bad as right now?” He jokes, a smile quivering on his lips before it falls and he has to force himself to smile.

“Right now it isn’t bad. We had a little disagreement but that’s all it was,” you retort. “It’s going to happen Tomura but I’m never going to—” You stop yourself and click your tongue. You look away from him, from the monitor in its entirety and you stare off into the distance. “I don’t think I could ever hate you.” You sound melancholic when you speak, your shoulders slumped in defeat and though he feels thrilled at hearing those words, feeling light and his muscles twitching with excitement, he can’t help but hate the way you look so exhausted. But in a blink of an eye, you’re back to smiling, and if it was any earlier on in this relationship that you two held, he wouldn’t have noticed how the smile didn’t reach your eyes but now, he swallows when you still hold sadness, when the smile isn’t a full curve but gentle and fragile, as if it could break with one wrong word.

He can’t bear to see you like that. He can’t bear to know that you’re hurt because he snapped at you and fuck! It’s all so complicated with you.

“I can tell you about my day,” he says with a hand clenching around the other, “in detail if you’d like,” he adds, looking down at his lap.

“Really?” Your eyes are wide and finally your smile does reach your eyes. He’s sick to his stomach when he realizes that he wants more of it, that he needs to see you smile more. You’re happy because of him. Everything about you is so easy.

“On one condition,” he holds up a finger and misses the way your eyes go wide. He looks at you expectantly.

“What is it?” You say in a weak voice.

“You have a picture of me right?” His chest is tight; it feels as if an immeasurable weight is resting above him.

“Yeah,” you say with a puzzled tone. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” he can feel his throat tighten, “I don’t have a picture of you. So, you know.” He rolls his hand and looks off to the side, face burning with a bright shade of red.

“Aw!” He flinches when you coo, your voice already high, coated with a teasing tone. “Do you want a picture of me? That’s so cute!”

“Shut up.” He tries to sound threatening but it only makes you laugh more.

“No! Come on! It’s cute. You of all people want a selfies of your bestest friend,” he cringes at the word, “Big, bad—”

His eyes snap towards you where you have teeth bitten down on your bottom lip. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowed and calculating as they search your face.

“You know,” your voice cracks and you clear your throat, “you said last time that your scar made you look scary and I,” you trail off and you look terrified. He’s about to open his mouth when you beat him to it. “I told you it was cute but you- you had said it made you look scary and I thought teasing you about you being all scary like would be funny. It- You aren’t ba- scary. You’re cute.”

He’s still tense. Cold eyes still analyzing you but you flinch and can’t meet his eyes. You look scared and he can’t bring the thought to life.

“Tomura say something please,” you sound like you’re about to cry.

His eyes dart to your lip that wobbles and he clears his throat. “Are you going to send me a picture or not.”

He breathes a sigh of relief when you nod vigorously. “Of course!” Your eyes finally meet his. “But I want to hear you talk first. And then I’ll send it. I promise,” you hold out your pinky and he scoffs at the childish act but does the same, smiling when you curl in your small finger and mouth the word “promise”.

He feels sick. There’s a burning sensation that floods his body and threatens to consume him and leave nothing but ash in its wake. But when he looks at you, when you smile at him and urge him to talk, he feels calm, the white, hot fire inside of him has simmered and his mind is clear of any fog. He nods and takes in a deep breath. In the corner of his eye, he catches the word “love” written in your handwriting.

Talking to others is tiresome but it’s doable. He knows what to say before he’s had a chance to even think about it. But when he talks to you, he has to watch his words, has to think first and make time for the next anecdote. But you listen to him and take in every word, you never stop smiling at him, often chuckling and inputting your own thoughts. You engage with him. You treat him like a person. You’re complicated. He’s complicated. This entire relationship isn’t meant to last- wasn’t meant to last as long as it has. But it’s still going, you’re still answering his calls and he’s still answering your messages. Feelings don’t come easy to him, you don’t come easy to him but you still welcome him with teasing remarks that no one else would have dared to make.

You make feel as if he wasn’t bred for hatred. You make him feel as if he’s supposed to want more than what he currently wants. He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t hate the things that you make him feel. It’s new and sickening. It leaves him confused but when he spends a few hours hearing your voice, he feels calm, relaxed and he ends up craving more and more at the end of it.

“I like you,” he blurts out, face immediately burning and the need to put on Father greater than any other need. His hands curl into sharp talons and they slowly inched upwards to his neck, ready to claw and free the blood that burned his body.

You look taken aback with eyes wide and mouth parted. He wishes you would say something. He wants- needs you to at least do something other than gawk at him.

And then your face closes, your lips meet and break out into a grin that reaches your eyes which shine with an emotion he’s unfamiliar with. “I like you too Tomura. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You mean a lot to me.” Your eyes dart to the bottom edge of the screen where his hands can barely be seen. “We’re close. At least I think we are,” your shrug and look away from him, “so it’s okay to be a little vulnerable around each other.” You meet his eyes. “Okay?”

You’re being vague. He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. He doesn’t know if “like” is even the correct word. He enjoys being around, talking to you- he likes it when you smile at him and when his name rolls off of your tongue like it was always meant to. He does like you. And he doesn’t know how you feel about him. You didn’t reject him so that’s a positive direction. You didn’t laugh or hang up the call, you reassured him, you told him you liked him. You were vulnerable in front of him, you let him know it was okay to be vulnerable.

He doesn’t know if he should thank you the vagueness or scowl and throw a tantrum like he once would have. The aforementioned behavior that he once did brings a burning flame to him.

“Thanks,” he says softly, rolling his tongue in his mouth.

You look at him in confusion and your smile is small but holds no animosity towards him. He doubts it ever will. You called him cute, you’ve kept this friendship going, you’ve done so much already and he can’t thank you enough.

“You’re welcome Tomura” you whisper back to him, leaning your head against the couch and he has the urge to go to you right now and- Nothing. He can’t do anything with you. Yet. But he will one day. He can lie to you but he can’t lie to himself and for now, your note will suffice, the scents that you picked out for him will fill his senses, apple and vanilla, honey and mint will invade until he’s grown sick of them.

When the call ends, a black screen in front of him and his reflection stares back at him. You had called him cute. You smiled at him with this softness that he’s only received from you. Everything that he’s received from you is his first time- your gentle touch on his neck, one that you asked for and reached with slow fingers that seared into his skin and memory, your hand upon his wrist when he could see that you were nervous, shaking and mouth parted open with bitten lips as you were falling apart before his eyes.

You chose to hold onto to him- to touch him. You reached out towards him- you always did. He’s not going to tell you who he is, not until he can make sure that you won’t betray him. He’s going to keep you close and blind, make sure that you trust him with everything that you have before he can even mention who he really is.

There’s a knock on his door and he immediately shuts off the monitor. “What?” he calls out, turning his head a fraction of an inch to the side.

“Have fun with your little meeting?” His voice is gruff and he smells of smoke and tobacco.

“Plenty,” he responds too quick for his own liking.

“Look I really don’t care about your personal—”

“Is there something you needed?” Shigaraki bares his teeth at the intruder. “Make it quick.”

“Just wanted to tell you that we’re all getting a bit antsy.” Hands drum against the doorframe. “You’re the so called leader so go and I don’t know, calm their minds.” He leaves without waiting for a response, leaving the door open and suddenly Shigaraki feels exposed.

He rises slowly and cracks his neck, jaw twitching and suddenly his eyes are cold and he places a cold hand on top of his face and walks out the door, closing it shut with a soft click.

__

At the end of it all, you’re a hypocrite. You’re terrified of him- you want to continue to have him in your life. You’re sick at the thought of him- you adore talking to him. You were never good at making decisions, always too curious at what the options held, always too nervous to seek something out. You don’t want him out of your life, but you know that having him in your life will bring nothing but heartache and regret.

He likes you for now. Right now, you’re entertaining to him. But it’s always going to be a countdown until he grows tired of you or until you prove to be a threat. Him going out of his way to meet you is a big enough of threat to himself but your entertainment value must outweigh that. And it does- for now.

With shaky hands, you raise your hands to wrap themselves gently across your neck. You swallow and you can feel the movement underneath your thumbs. You can feel your pulse light and steady, your eyes burn with unshed tears and you wonder how long you have until the timer reaches zero and your hands are replaced with his.

Your phone buzzes against the bed and you’re choked up, slowly bringing your hands away from your neck with a tear that burns down to your chin and marks your shirt. You pick your phone up and a ghost of a smile spreads across your face.

Tomura:

[Thanks again for the skin care things]

Your heart skips a beat and you let out a sob with a hand covering your mouth and dull nails digging into your skin. You like him and fear him. There’s too many emotions that overwhelm you and you don’t know what to do.

You take in a deep breath and for a moment, everything is still and calm. Your tears disappear and you stand in front of the mirror fixing your hair and smoothing over any strands. You crawl back into bed with your back against the head board and you scroll through your phone, finding the app with the cute filters and once clicked on, you have the phone faced towards you, scrunching in embarrassment when you’re shown in an unflattering angle. You look for the right filter and once found, you give a smile and a peace sign.

Blood pumps loud and your heartbeat louder. You attach the picture in a message and send it to Tomura with a winking emoticon as the written message. The message is sent and now there’s nothing you can do.

Your stomach churns and twists into a tight knot. You hold your hand against your mouth and walk to the bathroom. Your hands grip the counter and eyes are red and there are tear tracks that mark your face. Your bottom lip trembles and you wish desperately that he would call you so you could forget all of these feelings for just a second. There’s a pounding in your chest and you can taste acid in your mouth while your eyes are rimmed red and soon your vision blurs and you’re spitting bile mixed with salvia down the drain.

Tagged:

@suneaterofthebig3 @ maxinekotodama

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[imo-chan-imagines]

『 Their best sexual characteristic | Haikyuu!! Headcanons 』

Part 4/?

Characters: female!reader, Kageyama Tobio, Nishinoya Yuu, Tendou Satori

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), 18+, explicit descriptions of sex, headcanons, imagines

Attention: All characters in this series are aged up to be at least 18+

⚠️ 18+ CONTENT! MINORS: PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

A/N: I've noticed that the more I do these, the longer they get, and now I feel bad that some of the others might have been neglected T^T

Oh, and I got a new phone, and now the emojis don't look the same... Please tell me if any of them look weird or don't fit the ~vibe~. Previous parts are linked at the bottom ♡ Thanks for reading! Please enjoy! Imo~

Kageyama Tobio

» How vocal he is

Kageyama can't help it, but he moans, groans, and growls with every second of pleasure those deep thrusts have him singinggg 👅

It's such a desperate, stimulating sound that falls from his lips

It turns you on no end hnng

Gets your pussy dripping, which drives him insane

It didn't used to be like that, though

At first he used to stifle his sounds because he was embarrassed

He had heard somewhere stupid that it was 'unmanly' to moan during sex, and became self conscious about it my poor, sweet baby 😭

Like, who even thought if that?! Shame on you!! >:(

But it didn't take long for you to realise something was wrong he had to be so focused just to hold it in, so it was kind of obvious something was up

So one time, when he was buried inside you, clearly struggling to stifle the sounds in his throat, you pulled his head down to your lips and whispered in his ear how much you wanted to hear him moan for you

He was a little taken aback at first, wondering if it was really okay he looked so innocent right then

But you stroked his hair and reassured him that you wanted every part of him, and he didn't have to hold back or hide anything from you like, please. Guys' moans are so hot 💦

As he eased into it, getting used to allowing the sounds to flow, his thrusts got deeper and faster, the blush on his cheeks reddening with every inch further inside you so freaking adorable

He was pressed down on top of you with his hips flush with yours, his desperate sounds filling your ears, pushing you closer to the edge

It was mind-numbing how erotic it was to finally hear just how much he wanted you – how good it felt inside you

And when he came with a whimpering moan of relief, you toppled over the edge, spasming around him please, omg

You had a soft heart-to-heart about it after, curled up in bed together, making sure he felt comfortable with things and LOVED, DAMN IT

Lots of hand holding, hair stroking, and forehead and shoulder kisses by both of you 💋

Now he never hides it from you as it should be

It's brought you much closer as lovers, deepening the connection between you. You're both much happier now it's too cute, I fucking can't

Though the neighbours aren't so appreciative 🤭

I literally love Kageyama. Please cherish him with your entire soul

Nishinoya Yuu

» His spontaneity

There's no such thing a dull sex routine with this hyperactive firecracker 💥

Or any kind of routine, for that matter lmao

Anything romantic or sexual always happens spur of the moment, keeping it fresh and interesting and damn hot *fans self*

Now, Noya isn't massive in the dick department, no third leg, I'm afraid, ladies

But he's actually really decently sized, and as it turns out, the perfect size and shape for quickies which you most definitely do a lot of

Noya definitely isn't afraid of sex in public places kinda turns him on, tbh

Places you've boned, given him a blowjob, dry humped, or he's fingered you include: the park (behind some trees), in the car, in the stall of a restaurant toilet, and at the beach never again, omg, the FREAKING SAND

All this spontaneity, however, means that you're sometimes caught without a condom which will either turn you on more or make you think again depending on the circumstances

Noya is all too happy to go in raw if you're cool with it, but he does try to remember to keep a fresh rubber in his pants or wallet

He buys the extra thin-feel condoms because the sensation inside you drives him literally feral

They sometimes fall out when he's getting something out of his pocket, and it's always at the absolute worst times

Like that time he got his phone out to show your parents a some cute vacay pics, and then BAM, there it was, on the floor between you all hahahaaa, omg. You wanted to die

But it's not just about getting it on in dangerous or compromising places, though

He's just as spontaneous at home, like on the couch while watching Netflix, on the counter top while you're in the middle of cooking don't worry, you turned the stove off first, in the middle of the night when neither of you can sleep, or when you're collapsed in a giggling heap together after a short and decisive pillow fight I'll let you decide who won

It's not about specifically when or where for Noya, but about when if feels right. When that connection is there mah heart

He also tries his absolute best to talk with you about what you do and don't like, what you'd be willing to try, etc. in your free time or in make out sessions, because he's aware his spontaneity can make it hard to talk about those things and that's not his intention at all

But one thing is for sure: it's never, ever boring with Noya

He'd be like this even if y'all got married 💍

Like, you don't have to worry about a dull, routinely or (God forbid) sexless marriage. That's not his style at ALL

Tendou Satori

» His goofiness

This lanky bean can't get enough of your laugh, your smile, your giggles just you in general

He thinks it's when you're at your prettiest

So it follows that he does everything he can to see it, especially when he's trying to make the both of you cum

Smile like that when he's inside you and he'll probably shoot his loud prematurely, lmao

His naturally wacky personality really lends to it, sending you into laughing fits on a regular basis you literally get stitches in your sides

He does all sorts of things on a regular basis in order to see that beautiful smile of yours, like blowing raspberries on your neck and stomach,

~doing stupid impressions,

~having pillow fights,

~giving you piggybacks around the shopping mall at top speed like a madman,

~tickling you in that spot that only he knows about that always makes you giggle and squirm

so freaking adorable!!

He tones down the silliness a little when you're having sex because he knows it's important and not a joke, but sometimes he just can't help himself it's his natural state, after all

And honestly, it's a blessing to have a boyfriend who can make you laugh out of bed AND in it

Awkward moments, like queefs, accidentally breaking bed slats, or getting leg cramps, are always immediately dissipated by his easy going, fun loving attitude a Godsend, honestly

But he normally knows when not to turn things into a joke, making for a pretty healthy, balanced attitude

It makes for such a warm, comforting atmosphere where you feel completely at ease and at home

You feel like you can tell him anything – and you do

Sex is literally so fun with him, but it doesn't detract for the moment at all it's still hawt

He's all down to try new positions and keep it fresh, especially if the position looks fun wheelbarrow, anyone? Lmfao

Spooning!! It's so fun a squishy, and he's a but of a clingy boy

He loves nuzzling the nape of your neck, and sometimes it turns into ✨spooning sex✨

His cock's really long with a nice curve to it, so he can get a great angle like that, ayyee

It sometimes seems like sex is almost too fun for Tendou it's pretty much his favourite past time

But not in a creepy way. This goofy baby is absolutely adorable

please love this man

♡°☆°♡°☆°♡

Part 1: Oikawa, Daichi, Kuroo

Part 2: Ushijima, Suga, Bokuto

Part 3: Iwaizumi, Akaashi, Asahi

© imo-chan-imagines 2020