#(clutches chest and falls to floor) IS ANYBODY HERE A DOCTOR

[gayalanwake]

mhehehehmeh uhuhuhuhuh ☃️

Before I say anything I think it’s extremely important for yall to know that when I saw this I was in the cafeteria sitting by myself eating a meatball sandwich so for a good 10 seconds I was just frozen like this

Now ,

[tothemeadow]

I haven't seen much people requesting for snake bby so obanai x demon reader pls?Reader is like a succubus type of demon and when sent on a mission to kill her he falls into her clutches and it ends with smut 👀

‘in my dreams’ / Iguro O. x Reader

PLEASE STOP SLEEPING ON THIS MAN

warnings: NSFW, Obanai is a boob man, dream fucking?

words: 2,793

(a/n): I might’ve gotten carried away a bit

-

He’s always heard that sharks can smell blood on the water.

He isn’t a stranger to blood himself, used to the sightly images of gore and the rancid odor. It’s simply another part of his hellish life, bearing witness to mutilated remains of bodies and hunting down their killer.

It’s all in a day’s work.

It’s strange, though, when there aren’t any bodies to be found. Rumors of disappearances plague the night, travel from lips to ears, slowly spreading throughout the small town.

Takahashi’s daughter disappeared last night.

The doctor’s oldest son? Haven’t you heard? He’s gone.

For such a large number of people to be suddenly up and vanishing, it’s no wonder concerns have risen. It’s why Obanai’s here in the first place, determined to sniff out the culprit and promptly execute them. He’s dealt with similar cases before – finding the missing persons, only to find their remains or couple of bones – but this time… Well, it’s weird, to say the least. Not one person in this town knows where anybody could be, no strange sightings or feelings, nothing.

And, if Obanai is going to be completely honest, it’s infuriating as hell.

He’s not a patient person in the slightest. Perhaps that’s his curse and the sole reason why this case isn’t going anywhere; still, with the lingering danger hanging over these poor people’s heads, he needs to end this quickly. And so, cooped up in a small room at the town’s inn, he pours over his scribbling of notes, wondering just what kind of force he’s dealing with.

A demon’s nature can vary, depending on what kind you encounter. Obanai’s had his fair share of strange interactions – whether it be demons with multiple arms, pygmies, the facial features of a fly - he's nearly seen at all. But to take victims without leaving a single trace? That's where things get complicated.

"Dammit," Obanai grumbles, dragging a hand over his face. Kaburamaru flicks his tongue in concern, sensing his owner's unease.

This isn't going anywhere. The amount of time or effort spent trying to figure out where everyone has vanished isn't amounting to anything. How could this be? Obanai isn't some low level slayer, for gods' sakes - he's a Pillar. It shouldn't be this hard to put two and two together, yet here he is, staring blankly at his collected information. The idea of sending his crow to summon for help crosses his mind, but he hastily throws away the thought. No, that's not how this is done. He isn't willing to give up so easily.

As the hours drag further into the night, Obanai grows restless, twitchy. His striped haori sits to the side, folded neatly along with the shirt and overcoat of his uniform. Kaburamaru is already fast asleep, coiled into a tight circle at the edge of the futon. The wooden hatches of the window hang open, the night breeze drifting into the room with the sound of a singular solemn cricket.

A long, ornate kiseru dangles between his spindly fingers; it’s a rare occasion whenever Obanai smokes, so much to the point that the ones closest to him don’t even know he possesses such a fine pipe. He takes a slow drag as his he stares up at the moonlit clouds, the chilled breeze whipping the choppy strands of his hair against his bared cheeks. He wonders, truly, just how the hell he’s supposed to get to the bottom of this case if he can’t find anything to work with.

Perhaps the gods heard his woes - or he’s finally lost his mind - for an intoxicatingly sweet scent fills his senses.

Jasmine.

As far as Obanai knows, he hasn’t seen any jasmine plants when he came into town. This had to mean something - it had to. Opting his kiseru for his blade instead, he easily slips out the window, feet hitting the ground without a sound. Taking off into the night, he races through the town’s streets, eyes darting back and forth for anything out of the usual.

He comes to an abrupt stop when the scent of jasmine grows even stronger. He’s sure now that whatever he’s been looking for is here. A slight shuffling catches his attention; whipping his head to the side, a wooden hatch to a window bangs against the side of a house, but there’s no one to be seen on the other side. 

“Found you,” Obanai breathes.

Rushing over to the house, he drops into a crouch as he creeps closer to the window. Jasmine floods his senses, the irresistible aroma gripping onto his consciousness and practically demanding for him to come closer. Swallowing thickly, he ignores the sudden wave of heat flushing over his body as he peeks into the darkened room. A family of five lays on the floor, their bodies moving gently with the deepened breathing of a heavy slumber. Even now, Obanai has to resist the urge to shut his eyes and succumb to the flowery scent.

Although the room is dark, he can make out a strange pillar of smoke; ah, so that’s where the origin of the smell is coming from. Is it some type of mist demon? Flower? He isn’t entirely sure, but he doesn’t have the time to care. He needs to get rid of it now.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he unsheathes his blade, not wanting to attract attention to him yet. It’s a wish in vain, though; as soon as his blade is hanging in the air, the pillar of smoke rushes towards him, slamming into him and sending him flying. Obanai grunts as his back hits the ground, the sharp edge of rocks biting into the skin.

“Don’t you know that it’s rude to sneak up on others?” a low, creamy voice drawls. Goosebumps break out across the surface of Obanai’s skin and a shiver races down his back. The smoke dissipates, then, revealing a feminine figure.

Obanai’s breath catches in his throat. This demon - you - are unlike any other he’s encountered. Immediately, his eyes latch onto the pair of horns protruding from your skull, pearly at the tip and then fading into ebony. You’re strikingly beautiful, facial features soft yet demanding. Embarrassment warms Obanai’s face as his eyes drift across the curves of your body; your breasts swell over the tight, strappy top while the entirety of your legs and hips frame the long loincloth-like garment between your legs. Both your arms and legs have the same pearly sheen towards the end, just like your horns.

By the gods, you’re ethereal, even if the claws on your fingers could easily tear Obanai’s throat out.

“So is breaking into other’s homes,” Obanai manages to croak. Bringing himself to a stand, he takes a defensive stance, his blade held out before him. He feels strangely heavy, almost like his body craves to stay flat on his back.

Much to his surprise, you pout at him, arms crossing beneath your chest and pushing your breasts further up. “But it gets so lonely at night, you know?” you say, that seductive lilt in your voice deepening. At that, you make a show of sweeping your eyes over Obanai’s bare torso, and a slight smile grows on your pretty lips.

Obanai clears his throat. He can’t let himself fall for your tricks, no matter how incredible you smell or alluring you look. If these are the methods you rely on, chances are you’re a weaker demon.

“What did you do with the missing persons?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“Missing persons? Is that what they’re calling them?” you say, a giggle following your words.

Obanai growls at your nonchalant confession. If there’s one thing he can’t stand about demons, it’s their inability of basic human emotion, the inability of compassion. Yeah, he decides that your head is going to look even better once it’s separated from your body.

“You see, pretty boy,” you purr, pressing a hand to your throat and dragging it downwards, brushing over a luscious breast and tracing over your exposed tummy, “in return for making their dreams come true, I get to have a snack.”

“Enough,” Obanai grunts, switching to an offensive stance. “Maybe I’ll be gracious enough to meet you in hell someday.”

Before you even have a chance to react, Obanai springs into action, launching himself off the group in a great leap, lungs tightening as he releases a breath form.

It doesn’t hit.

It doesn’t fucking hit.

In fact, you’re nowhere in sight. Instead of the dusty, moonlit road, Obanai finds himself in an onsen; a great bamboo pavilion stands tall above the pool of water, blocking the golden rays of sunshine from hitting him. Thin trees are scattered about the area, riddled with stone lanterns and garden rocks covered in moss. With a chorus of birds singing overhead, it’s like he’s in an entire new world.

Muttering to himself, Obanai scans his surroundings, wracking his brain and trying to figure just what the hell happened. One moment, he’s about to slice your head clean off and put an end to your terror -  the next, he’s in broad daylight in some overt paradise.

“Your dreams are beautiful,” that wonderful, wonderful voice of yours speaks.

Whirling around, Obanai sends splashes of water flying. “What did you do to me?” he spits.

You flash him a sly smile. “Why, I merely put you to sleep, pretty boy. Can’t be much of a threat if you’re not wide awake, no?”

Obanai curses under his breath. Of course you’re a dream demon - no wonder why there hasn’t been any bodies turning up. If only he had acted faster, got here sooner, more lives could’ve been saved. With a huff, he slithers further away from you, sinking below the water until only his face can be seen. “So what now? You’re going to try to kill me in my sleep? That’s a low blow and you know it.”

Sucking air through your teeth, you shake your head. Now that the two of you are no longer shrouded by darkness, Obanai really gets a good look of how utterly stunning you are. Again, he curses himself out, calling himself a fool for thinking such things when he should be killing you instead.

“Your blade isn’t here, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him, a look of mischief crossing your features. “Silly boy - this a time meant for the two of us, not for you to end my forsaken life. Allow me to help you... relax.”

As you step to the edge of the onsen, Obanai finally notices the feeling of water caressing his thighs, his bare buttocks. You just had to make him naked in his dream, huh? What are you trying to accomplish, anyway? His eyes widen incredulously as your hands find their place on your torso, slinking over the swell of your breasts and around your neck; with a simple tug, your top comes loose. You merely let the garment fall to the rocks below, a small ‘oops’ slipping from our mouth.

Heat immediately floods to Obanai’s face and his groin; his insides squeeze in on themselves and he swallows thickly, thankful for the hidden protection the water provides. The look on your face is simply irresistible. Hell, even your breasts are as pretty as he imagined-

Shit, he inwardly curses, I shouldn’t be thinking like that.

But oh, you’re just so tempting, your hands squeezing your breasts, fingers rolling your hardening nipples as you stare directly at his flushed face. “Pretty boy,” you purr, “what’s your name?”

“Obanai.”

It’s out before he even knows it. 

“Obanai...” 

He really likes the way it rolls off your tongue, the dark glint in your eyes as you say it. Perhaps you can tell by his reaction alone - or maybe you like saying it - but you repeat his name, once, twice, thrice, and fuck does it drive Obanai insane. And then you’re reaching down, unfastening your lower garment and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. Obanai’s cock twitches at the sight of your glorious body, the soft curves and glowing skin.

“Naughty boy, my eyes are up here,” you say. Again, you squeeze those beautiful fucking tits, a soft groan spilling from your lips. Obanai nearly goes feral from the sound; without further thought, he wades over to where you are. Jasmine clings in his nostrils, clouds his mind in a delicious haze, and he loves it.

You’re all too willing to meet his touch, body slipping into the heated water as he wraps his arms around you possessively. His body kicks into autopilot, mind going blank as he presses his lips to your throat. He should rip your throat out with his teeth, but there’s something magical about the way you arch into his touch, breasts pushing lewdly against his chest.

“Fucking-”

“Yes.”

A breathy moan spills from your lips as Obanai kneads your pretty tits, long fingers gripping possessively, wantingly. It’s almost ridiculous how hard he already is, his cock sandwiched between your bodies. He jolts as your hands land on his face, thumbs brushing against the ragged scars lining either sides of his mouth. 

“Don’t,” he grits, but it goes ignored. The air is sucked from his lungs as you brush your lips over his scars, murmuring something about how pretty he is before stopping at his mouth. You kiss him fervently, clawed fingers scratching his shoulders as you tongue the inside of his mouth. You swallow the husky groan that spills from his mouth, hand dropping down from his shoulder and wrapping around his hardening cock. 

“Ah, shit,” Obanai murmurs into your mouth. 

“Tell me what you want, pretty boy,” you whisper, hand slowly jerking on his cock. His breathing picks up as you quicken your pace, the water rippling with the movements of your wrists. “Your wish is my command.”

“Gods, you’re such a fucking tease,” he pants, eyes practically glowing against the pink hue of his face. Ducking his head, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, the wet warmth enveloping your breast and eliciting a delicious moan from you. Obanai wastes no more time, opting to prop you in his lap and pressing your back against a smooth stone. “I shouldn’t... but fuck...”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re angry with me anymore,” you husk in that damned sexy voice. A moan bubbles from your throat as Obanai starts rocking against you, cock slipping against your folds. It’ll only take a little push for him to fill that pretty cunt of yours, to stuff you full of his cock and fuck you raw. It’s what he wants.

“Shut up,” he grunts, mouth latching onto your nipple, his hand beginning to play with the other. A low, drawn out curse gets muffled by your chest as he finally slips his cock into you; it shouldn’t be physically possible, but your velvety walls seemingly clench around him and suck him in, your arousal making the slide impossibly easy. He hiccups on a breath, his entire body twitching as he pants. 

“The thing about succubi,” you drawl, sharp nails tracing down his spine, over the muscles in his back, “is that we’re the demons of sex and dreams. Oh, pretty baby, how much I’ve lucked out. Everyone else seemed like an appetizer - and you...” You pause, suck air between your teeth. “You’re like the damn main course.”

A helpless little grunt graces your ear as you fuck yourself on Obanai’s cock. His hips match your movements, your sopping cunt eagerly sucking him back in and squeezing around him. You’re so damn wet that it’s infuriating; Obanai wants more, more of your touch, your voice, that sweet scent clogging his senses. He can’t bring himself to stop touching your breasts, whether if it’s his hands or mouth. They bounce with the erratic rhythm of your hips, way too beautiful and hypnotizing. 

A breathless whine breaks through your cute little pants whenever Obanai smacks a hand against the ample flesh of your ass. “Is that you meant when you said you make others’ wishes come true? Have them fuck that tight pussy of yours? Huh?”

“Obanai, don’t be mean,” you pout. 

“Says a fucking demon that eats people.”

You hiss as his cockhead hits against your g-spot. “I can eat you too, so don’t get cocky, pretty boy.”

Obanai clicks his tongue, his brows furrowing. “You better keep that promise,” he grunts, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “I won’t take no for an answer.” He growls as your walls clench around him. 

“If that’s your wish, Master,” you purr, a slight chuckle following your words, “then it is my command.”

[regencyslxt]

Wrong Side of HYDRA (part two)

1630 words.

Part one is here

warning: the word pissed is used. also the doctor's name is random and the trigger words are also very random.

Imagine getting a surprising visitor while in custody at S.H.I.E.L.D. Is it Bucky's turn to save you?

*3 months later*

The feeling of someone’s shoulder digging into your stomach was enough to wake you from your sleep. Gun shots were ringing in your ears. Fighting in every direction. What is happening? The rumbling of voices breaking through the shots being fired.

“Sam! Come on we need to go.” Who’s Sam?

“Yeah, okay, Robocop I’m coming.”

You heard the man carrying you grunt. He pulled out his weapon and shot the men in front of him as he continued running towards the hole in the wall. When did that get there? Your head was jumbled, each thought colliding with another. You had no idea what was going on. You took in the sight of what looked like a jet in front of the building. You got closer and closer and as you both approached it a man with… metal wings…came down from the roof. Oh dear, they really did a number on me this time. You could feel your body grow tired despite being awake for only a few minutes. You were placed down on a row of chairs carefully.

“Go back to sleep Y/N. We’re a long way from the compound yet.”

How did they know your name? And what compound? Luckily for them, you were too tired to question them and you fell into a deep slumber once again.

…

S.H.I.E.L.D. have been holding you here for the past few weeks, waiting for a specialist doctor to come in and assess your injuries. You were growing bored, and fast.

“Come on Natalia, just let me out for a little bit.” You pleaded.

“I can’t do that as much as I want to.”

“I am sick of staring at the same walls Nat; how long does it take for a doctor to come and tell everyone I’m fine…” you huffed.

“I know this is hard Y/N but it’s for your own good.”

You scoffed, “My own good? Yeah right. I can handle myself.”

She stayed silent and looked towards her feet. She pulled over a chair and sat in front of the glass panels keeping you both apart.

“Look… Once doctor whatever his name is has been and cleared you,” she says pointedly, “then you’ll be let out. Fury said he’d be here in a few hours anyway. So, sit tight. Everything will be fine.” She stands up and puts her hand against the glass. You put yours against hers and gave her a defeated smile.

…

You’re sitting reading a book with your feet propped up on the desk in your cell when you hear the doors whoosh open. Two pairs of footsteps approach you.

“Miss Y/L/N. This is Doctor Ubel. He is here to check up on you.”

Ubel sits across the desk from you and Fury leaves, closing the door behind him. You look up from your book and your brows furrow. He looks familiar.

“Are you alright Miss Y/L/N?”

You close your book and fold your arms. Your head tilting slightly as you glance over him.

“Is that not your job to find out Doctor?”

“I suppose so.”

He grabs his bag and pulls out a red leather journal, a star pressed into the center. Your eyes widen slightly, and you look out to see if anybody is around. But there’s no one. Not Nat. Not Fury. Nobody. He chuckles darkly.

“You know Soldat, I thought the security here would be a lot better. I guess they just aren’t that worried about you.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, don’t be surprised. You didn’t really think we’d let you out unscathed, did you?”

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Your hands grew clammy. You tried your best to not let your nerves show but it was futile.

“I see you still know when to be frightened, my dear. As you should be.”

He flips through the journal pages, landing on one in particular.

“Now, let’s see if this rings a bell.”

He locks eyes with you, and you adjust in your seat.

“Original. Time. Two...”

“Shut up!” you slam your hands on the desk, a loud screech in your ears causes you to grimace.

“Shock. Weapon. Russia…”

Your head is burning now. Your vision is blurry. You push yourself away from the desk, tripping over your feet. You crawl hastily to the furthest corner, pushing yourself against the glass panel. Maybe it will magically disappear you hope. The flashing of red lights and the shrill sound of sirens catch your attention. They know. You feel the vibrations through the floor as people storm the room around the cell. Your eyes squeeze shut, his words floating in your head.

“DONE! MISSION! STAR! TRAITOR!”

It’s silent as people watch, guns at the ready. The only sound is everyone’s heavy breathing. Snipers take their aim. Natasha rushes into the room, worried eyes focussing on you. She lets out a shaky breath and her fists involuntarily ball up. She has company too. The rest of the avengers stand behind her. And Bucky…he can’t look away from you. He steps forward cautiously.

“Buck,” Steve grasps his arm as a warning.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

He shakes off Steve’s hand and walks up to the glass cell separating you from what might as well be fifty armed agents, all aimed at you. Ubel wasn’t the threat anymore…you were.

“Y/N…come on.”

You look at him, eyes stormy.

“Who the hell is Y/N?”

“Doll it’s you. You’re Y/N.”

“I’m not. I’m I- I-“ Ubel interrupts.

“Ah Barnes…it has been too long since we’ve seen each other.”

“Not long enough, clearly,” he speaks through gritted teeth.

You stare at them both, confused by the conversation taking place. Who is Y/N? And how does Ubel know him?

“Doll…”

“There’s nothing you can do soldier, she’s gone.” Bucky ignores him and continuously tries.

“Y/N? Y/N please…” his voice cracks as he speaks and you feel your heart jump. You raise your sight to meet his.

“That’s it Y/N..” he encourages.

“Look at me doll. I mean really look at me, I cut my hair. It used to be long…”

Suddenly your heart aches. You clutch your chest and inhale deeply as your mind breaks down. You shut your eyes tightly as your mind swirls with different unknown memories.

…

She has short red hair and she was trained before coming here. That’s all you knew. Well, that and the fact she was undercover. It wasn’t hard to figure out, you weren’t as stupid as everyone else seemed to be. Her partner was nowhere to be found though, which meant one thing…He was dead, and she just lost her way out.

…

You had been blocking his attacks well, until he ran at your blind spot and slammed you onto the mat, pining your hands beside your head. His hair was tracing your skin.

“You know soldier if your hair wasn’t so long it wouldn’t tickle my face every time you pin me.”

It was quiet but unmistakable. He just laughed.

“Did you just laugh?”

“No.”

“I think you did.”

“I didn’t”

“Sure you didn’t.”

…

“It used to be long…” he reminded you.

“It tickled…” you whispered.

“Soldat, you know what you have to do.” Ubel stands in front of you. His tone demanding and quite frankly it pissed you off.

Your hand shot out before he could speak again and wrapped around his throat. He gasped for a breath, his feet struggling to touch the floor as you raised him against the wall.

“I was right.”

Ubel scrambles to try and pry your fingers from his throat.

“What?” he forces out. His voice is barely audible as his face grows red.

“I said I was right. You do look good with it short.” You smirk.

“It’s good to see you Bucky.”

“You too Y/N. How about you let him go and let the others take care of him for the day.”

You look at the man currently using every effort to let air into is lungs and frown. You let go of his neck and watch him fall helpless to the ground, gasping for oxygen. A shot is fired and the lock on the door fizzles allowing the doors to open slowly. Natasha runs in and grabs Ubel by the collar.

“He should have let her kill you,” she mutters.

Bucky snickered at her as he strides towards you.

“You know Y/N, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were flirting with me a little bit…”

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t know better because I was very clearly flirting with Ubel. Like did you see the man, the absolute epitome of beauty he was. You could get some tips you know…”

He guffaws loudly.

“That’s too bad. I was hoping we could go for a drink as a umm…a thank you.” He admits.

“A thank you? For what?”

“Don’t act dumb, you know what for.”

You loop your arms through his and drag him towards the doors.

“No, I don’t think I do. Remind me Bucky, of how I single handedly managed to save your life from a villain organisation. Because I can’t quite remember.”

“Do you not? Oh well it must not have happened then…” he nudged you jokingly, a large smile sat upon his face.

As you both set off towards the closest bar, a separate conversation was taking place on the other side of the room. Natasha and Steve both looked upon you both fondly.

“There’s two of them now.”

“Yep.”

“I can only handle one.”

“How about a drink to calm your nerves Captain.” Nat blinks up at him.

“What the hell,” he shrugs.

They follow in your tacks, severely needing a drink after today’s fiasco.

“Oh, and Steve?” He hums.

“Language.”

[anxiousstark]

S1 01 | The Tell

MASTERLIST

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 2159

Warnings: Injuries, blood, swearing (always).

This chapter will be in 3rd point of view as it is the first one and introduction.

↪ Please respect my work. Don’t copy, translate or claim them as yours. Not on this website or another. All Rights Are Reserved. Otherwise, legal actions will be taken.

"What?" Scott stared at his mother. His eyes were full of pain, anger, and confusion. "I don't understand anything. Are you crazy!?" The tone of his voice was gathering strength. Stiles flinched knowing that Ms. McCall had a remarkably bad temper. He couldn't believe that his friend had spoken to his mom like that. "Mom, do you understand?" His hands grasped his dark hair. "This is crazy."

Melissa McCall rubbed her forehead. "Scott, I can't stay home and argue with you right now. I have to go to work." She grabbed her coat and car keys. "We will talk tonight." She looked at Stiles. "Alone."

Stiles placed a hand on his chest as he felt wounded by Melissa's words when he saw her exit the McCall house. "Did you hear that?" He pouted. "She has known me since I was in diapers." He instantly lost his pout and threw himself on the couch, sighing. "You didn't tell me you had a sister! I can't believe you ARE my friend."

"She is not my sister." Scott sat down next to Stiles, his anger bubbling up even more than before.

"Even if you don't like it, she is your sister." He looked at his friend. "Oh my god, imagine her being just like you. It is already hard having to hear you complain. What about another McCall??" The hazel-eyed boy took gum out of his pocket, placing it inside of his mouth and chewing loudly. "So when are we going to meet her?"

"She isn't my sister, okay?" Scott got up from the couch, trying to calm himself while his fists were tightly clenched. "We just have the same stupid father who ran away and who didn't take care of any of us. We just have the same sperm donor."

The other boy chuckled. "Which makes you two siblings. You are her half-brother and she is your half-sister." He made a bubble with the gum, his eyes concentrating on it to the point where they ended up being crossed. "Who do you think is the evil one of you?" He referred to all the films he had watched where there was always an evil sibling.

"I can stay with you!" The girl answered while she tried to hide how her voice was cracking. She was terrified of what she didn't know. She was scared of the unknown. Beacon Hills was unknown to her.

The woman that was driving sighed. Her dark hair was now enhanced by grey hair. "You know you can't. Your father still has your custody." The woman didn't let the teenager answer, knowing that she would get ironic and ask why her father wasn't doing his job as a father. He never did anyway.

"So the best option out there is for me to live with strangers who are my father's other family? Tell me, Miriam. Did he leave them to be with us? Or did he leave us to be with them? Oh wait, was he changing lives every week?"

The woman sighed, parking the car on one of the streets of Beacon Hills. "Y/N, please. I was also a stranger when you came to live with me." She smiled softly. The teenager deserved better. Her mother didn't act like one and left Y/N on Miriam's doorstep when she was 8 years old. Later than everyone thought. Nobody saw Y/N's mother capable of taking care of a child for eight years. But at the same time, she didn't take care of Y/N. The young girl took care of her mother.

"I just don't understand what's the purpose of all this."

"It's for you to be with your family." Her rust-colored eyes examined the teenager. She was almost a woman, a beautiful one that had taken care of herself since day one. "Look." She grabbed her cold hands. "Your mom did terrible stuff. I did too. How did you think we met?"

"But you changed. People change." She peered out of the window for a couple of seconds. "You can't compare what you did with what Alice did." She muttered. Alice was her mom, but she didn't deserve that title. "You never abandoned me. We don't share the same blood, but you took care of me." She tried to argue back.

"But taking care of you isn't my decision anymore. You are still a minor and your father is the one deciding over you." She rubbed their hands together, trying to warm Y/N's hands. "When you are old enough, you will be able to live wherever you want. You can even contact me and I will come for you if you want me to."

Y/N got out of the car, and she slowly moved to the back, taking her suitcase out of it. Maybe if she was slow, Miriam would change her mind and let her go with her. But it didn't seem like that would happen when she found herself waving at the car. It was disappearing down the road, leaving her in a strange town with only directions to Melissa Mccall's house.

On her way to her 'new' house, she saw a video club and her love for films didn't let her walk away from it without checking it out. A bell sounded when she opened the door, her hand still clutching her suitcase. She started looking around when she saw and heard the voice of a boy. "Can somebody help me find The Notebook?" He started looking around. "Hello? Is anybody working here? You gotta be kidding me."

Y/N thought that was rare. There was a phone ringing, and the place was quite dim.

The boy went closer to her. "Uhm, excuse me." She looked at him again, forgetting the films she was checking out. "Do you maybe know where in this whole place can I find The Notebook?"

"Are you asking me because I'm a girl?" She chuckled, making the boy smile a little. "Because I'm more into action movies and I'm new here so I can't help you." She glanced around, finally deciding that her suitcase was safe and she didn't have to grip it so hard. "It is strange that there is no one here though." Her eyes stopped behind the boy, seeing something on the ground.

Jackson turned around and then looked back at her. Both of them stared at each other quietly, without exchanging words. They slowly walked to whatever that was.

When they got closer, Y/N could tell that what she had noticed were shoes. When they cornered one of the shelves, there was a dead body. A man was laying on the floor, his eyes wide open and a terrified expression decorating his face. His neck looked like it had been sliced, and blood was coming out of it.

"Oh my god." The boy whispered, pushing a hand out so Y/N wouldn't walk closer to the dead man. But of course, she wasn't going to do that. No fucking way.

Jackson walked backwards. Y/N who was behind him was pushed against some stairs, making them fall. The stairs hit a lamp that seemed to be in the process of being repaired, making the light of the shop go out.

"Are you okay?" Jackson asked the girl.

"I'm not sure if I can be okay after seeing a dead body." She replied, not being able to take her eyes out of the body. "Are you?"

"I don't think I can be okay after seeing a dead body." He replied similarly.

Y/N wanted to chuckle, but she was sure that it wasn't the best moment to do so. They heard a vicious noise. Turning around, at the end of the corridor there were two shiny red eyes. It seemed like those eyes were examining both of them.

Jackson was petrified, gawking at whatever that monstrosity was. Y/N grasped his arm, pushing him behind a shelf, covering his mouth with her hand. "Don't scream, please." She whispered. But she was as scared as him. Maybe even more.

Without looking back, Y/N knew that thing was running around. She concluded that it was something quite big when the shelves fell in a domino motion, trapping her and Jackson under the shelf that they used to hide. The boy was luckier because only his legs were trapped, making it a little bit easier for him to escape when he felt strong enough, while Y/N's entire half body was trapped, making her hiss in pain.

Both of them heard the beast coming closer to them, breathing hard. She felt it scratch her neck, and she couldn't contain a wail of pain. It seemed like the boy had also been scratched when she heard him breathe even harder. Are there bears in Beacon Hills?

The next thing they heard was a window crash and a couple of minutes later, sirens.

Y/N was sitting in the back of an ambulance while Jackson was next to her, an arm around his girlfriend, Lydia Martin. She had learnt their names, but she wished that it would have been in another situation.

"Why the hell can't I just go home? I'm fine." Jackson asked desperately. She thought that he should have more respect towards the man, but at the same time, she was also desperate to leave that place.

"I hear ya, but the EMT says you hit your head pretty hard. They just wanna make sure you don't have a concussion." The sheriff replied. Y/N took her time to look at Lydia. She looked shocked, and Y/N was confused because Lydia wasn't inside the store. Did she see something?

"What part of 'I'm fine' are you having a problem grasping? Okay, I wanna go home." He got closer to the sheriff while the man answered more calmly.

Jackson began to raise his voice, and Y/N was going to tell him to shut the fuck up when she was interrupted. "Oh, whoa, is that a dead body?" She looked at the boy who had yelled but instantly, got distracted by a doctor who asked to look at her neck and take care of her wound. That was another thing she didn't understand.

Why didn't Jackson have a wound like her? She was sure that he had been scratched too.

"Starting to get it?"

A voice made Stiles jump around, seeing Derek and Scott behind him. "What the fuck! Oh gosh, I think I just peed my pants." He replied while placing his hand on his chest.

"Uh, I get that he's killing people, but I don't get why. I mean, this isn't standard practice, right? We don't go out in the middle of the night murdering everyone, do we?" Scott answered Derek while ignoring his friend. His eyes scanning everywhere, analyzing everything, and trying to understand the situation.

"No. We're predators. We don't have to be killers."

"Then why is he a killer?"

"That's what we're gonna find out." Derek hit Scott's arm, making him rub it. His pupils grew, looking over at one of the girls sitting in the back of the ambulance. "I will let you take care of her first."

Scott observed how Derek walked away and was confused by his last words. Stiles hit him in the same place where Derek had punched him before. Stiles was pointing at the girl's suitcase.

"It says McCall, on the suitcase." His friend let him know and that was when he noticed that one of the girls in the back of the ambulance he had never seen before. "I think that is your-sister-not-sister."

Scott ignored him and walked towards her, but he was stopped by Stiles’ father.

"Guys, you know you can't be here." He said, mostly looking at his son.

"Why is she here?" Scott asked while pointing at the girl.

The Sheriff sighed, deciding to give them a little information, hoping that they would feel satisfied and leave the crime scene. "She was inside. A minor concussion and a deep wound on the back of her neck."

"What type of wound?" Stiles asked. His father felt stupid for believing that his son would be satisfied with just a little information. "An animal wound?" Scott hit his ribs.

"Yes. We believe so." He looked at the girl. "She asked us if there were bears in Beacon Hills."

"Bears?" Both boys looked at each other.

"Seemed like a big beast. Jackson had said that he thought he saw claws, but she affirmed that she felt the claws on her neck." He coughed. "Now, go home." He referred to Scott. "And you, wait inside the car."

"Actually." Stiles decided to talk. "That is Scott's sister." The hazel-eyed boy decided to modify what he had said when he felt Scott's gaze on him. "Well, half-sister. You know. Same dad. Same sperm donor."

The sheriff stared at his son, not surprised by his attitude. Melissa had told him about the new McCall, so he let both boys get close to her.

.

.

TAGLIST: @og-baby-ob14 - @savemypostcards - @cas-loves-pizza - @used-avocado - @mvrylee - @bilesxbilinskixlahey - @honeydoll-stark - @arieltheworldisamess - @softpeteparker - @kit-kat-katie99​ - @thatsuperherosidekick - @bexbetterxthanxwords - @big-galaxy-chaos​ - @littlemiss-forgotten -

People in black means it doesn’t let me tag them.

[terrm9]

Fall On Me

Words count: 4 200 Warnings: mentions of fertility issues, other than that just fluff Author’s note: This is the fic I have thought so much about. I have written something, then stopped, then written again, thought about it and considered for so long if I should post it or not. I have never been this nervous posting something, probably because there is a big part of me in it - therefore, any kind of feedback will be greatly appreciated!

After four years of dating and their first year being married, Chiara and Ethan find out that there are still surprises in store for them.

Important notes: My MC (Chiara) has been diagnosed with an immune system disorder that makes it close to impossible for her to become pregnant. It has been stated in Destination fic as well as in Already Gone series, but for those who haven’t read those, it’s important to know that so you understand the context.

There are three more important notes at the end (they would kind of ruin the experience if you read them in the beginning). PLEASE read them, especially the first one, it is really important to me.

***  ***  *** ***

As Ethan stepped into his office, the sight of sleeping Chiara on a couch didn’t even surprise him. It was the fifth time in the last ten days. She would throw an apologetic smile at him along with a muttered “I just need to catch a quick break” and half an hour later, he would find her fast asleep in his office.

At this point, surprise has been replaced by worrying. Ethan knew his wife and he knew that she could go weeks without rest. This behavior was strange, to say the least.  

He approached the couch and knelt next to it, gently brushing the hair off her forehead. Placing a soft kiss on it instead, he whispered: “Chiara, are you okay?”

She opened her eyes slowly at first, obviously confused about the whole situation. Realizing what was happening – again – she sat up rapidly, trying to come up with a good excuse.

“I am sorry, Ethan, I must have fallen asleep. I just wanted to sit down for a while and-“

“It’s okay,” Ethan cut her off and took a seat next to her, hugging her waist. “I’m just a little worried about your constant tiredness.”

Sighing, Chiara rubbed her eyes and leaned into his chest, shaking her head slowly.

“I am fine. It’s just… ever since we’ve gotten back from the Europe, the work has been crazy. Two weeks and I feel like I need another vacation.”

Visiting Europe has become their habit through the years. It started with a trip to Tuscany on Chiara’s third year of residency, continuing with a quick trip to France after getting engaged, honeymoon in Greece and finally this year, when they decided to spend their first wedding anniversary on a three-weeks long roadtrip through Scandinavia, finished with four days in The Basque Country, so that Chiara could pursue her dream of visiting Guernica, the village on Picasso’s painting.

Chiara was right about the work being absolutely crazy ever since they’ve gotten back and throwing a glance at the paperwork on his desk, Ethan was very well aware of the exhaustion they both felt. Still, he managed to get through his days without needing a nap.

“Let me draw your blood so that I can run some tests. Maybe it’s just iron deficiency, but I want to be sure,” Ethan murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “And go home to sleep.”

She turned to him, brows furrowed as she shook her head again.

“Absolutely not. I am fine, just a little weary. Just make me a cup of coffee and I’ll be fresh.”

Ethan stood up to make her the coffee, however he had no intention of letting her stay in work. He would bet that she was just ‘resting her eyes’ while he was turned to the coffee machine. As a doctor, there was one particular idea about what her exhaustion was about. Noticing such symptoms with anybody else, he would be absolutely sure. But this was Chiara he was thinking about and so he didn’t allow his mind wander into the direction it was tempted to.

“I am serious, Rookie. You are no use here, hardly keeping your eyes open. Drink the coffee, let me take your blood and go home to rest. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

She rolled her eyes and took the cup from his hands. Just as she was about to sip the coffee, she scrunched her nose in an utter disgust and looked up at him.

“Did you change the brand? This smells… ugh, I am not as demanding as you when it comes to coffee and even I can tell that this smells worse than the cafeteria coffee.”

Ethan bit his lip to hide the jitteriness overwhelming him at those words.

It was the same coffee brand they’ve been ordering for more than three years.

It was all adding up.

He shrugged as casually as he could and said: “Yeah, I tried a new roastery and it’s disappointing. Lets get you out of here, shall we?”

Chiara wanted to fight him, to stubbornly stay and prove him that she was more than capable of working, but she had to admit that she’s probably never felt as exhausted. And the vision of their king-sized bed was way too tempting.

Relucantly, she nodded and followed Ethan into an empty patient room to get her blood taken.

˜

To say that Ethan was nervous would be an understatement. He could’ve gone home a long time ago and instead he found himself pacing back and forth in his office, waiting for a nurse to page him that Chiara’s results were ready.

Still, when his pager went off, he all but jumped on the spot.

Seven minutes later, Ethan thanked the nurse and clutched the results in his hand, fighting the urge to read them right then and there, not quite believing his own self to be able to not to break down is the results confirmed the diagnosis he suspected.

Breathing heavily as he reached his office, he sat down on the couch – the very same Chiara was sleeping on just hours ago – and with trembling hands opened the file to see the results.

His eyes widened and just then, his vision turned blurry. New lump formed in his throat and his heart kept beating as if his dear life depended on the rate it was beating. His hands trembled so hard now that the file fell on the floor.

He was right.

Ethan could feel the tears damping his cheeks and falling on the fabric of his navy blue pants and he realized that he couldn’t care less about crying while at work.

Throwing his head back, he stared at the ceiling, letting the tears fall down freely, his heartbeat slowly calming back to normal.

He knew he needed to go home and share the results with Chiara. He just didn’t know how he should do such a thing.

˜

Chiara’s peaceful five-hours long nap has been interrupted by the sound of keys clinking in the door.

Stirring lazily in a blanket, she sat up and smiled softly as Ethan walked into the living room.

“You look exhausted. Hard day?” she asked, patting the seat next to her. “Come here.”

Ethan slumped down on the couch next to her and kissed her cheek instead of answering, his mind a battlefield of ideas on how to tell Chiara. As a doctor, he knew that he needed to be honest and straightforward. As a husband, he didn’t feel comfortable throwing such a bomb into her face as if she was simply a patient.

Noticing how lost in his head Ethan was, Chiara grew concerned.

“Did something happen, Ethan?”

He blurted his next words out before he gave any of his battling ideas a chance to win.

“I’ve got your test results.”

“Am I dying?” Chiara laughed, putting her hand on his bouncing knee to calm him down. After Ethan refused to look back at her, she sensed that something was indeed wrong. “Oh, I am dying, aren’t I?”

Chuckling, Ethan finally turned to look at her and kisser her temple. “You are not dying.”

“But?” Chiara raised her eyebrow while Ethan took the hand on his knee into his own, stroking Chiara’s knuckles softly with his thumb.

Taking a deep breath, he stuttered: “I… we… you are pregnant, Chiara.”

Chiara’s face grew paler than he’s ever seen it and there were big drops of cold sweat on her forehead. Ethan squeezed her hand to stop it from shaking, but with no success.

At last, Chiara let out a choked whisper.

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

For a second, Ethan almost felt offended by her accusation, as if she didn’t know him, as if she didn’t know that he would never joke about such a thing. Then, however, he recalled his own reaction when he found out just an hour and half before and could understand the Chiara’s one.

Instead of another word, Ethan reached down to grab his bag from the floor and pulled Chiara’s file out. Handing it to her, he made sure to point his finger at the row that indicated the elevated level of hCG in her blood.

Her eyes widened as she recognized what he was showing her and she gasped audibly, looking up at Ethan and down on her own file, back and forth until she found her lost voice.

“But… how? That’s impossible.”

“Nobody has ever said that it was impossible, only that your chances were extremely low, close to none.”

Chiara started to reminisce the last days, trying to connect the dots now that she knew the result.

The extreme fatigue, waves of nausea here and there, those could easily be read as literally anything else. She missed her period, but her cycle has never been regular, so she hardly considered it anyhow important, especially knowing that travelling has always made things even more irregular for her.

“Did you know?” she whispered as she turned to Ethan, who was staring at her intensively.

“I didn’t know. I became suspicious few days back, when you wouldn’t let me go anywhere near your chest,” he grinned. “Together with the exhaustion, the possibility of pregnancy found its way into my mind, but I didn’t even want to think about it, knowing how very unlikely it was. It was your disgust with the coffee today that made me almost sure that you were, in fact, pregnant.”

Chiara stared at the results again, not quite absorbing what they were saying. For almost six years, she believed she could never be pregnant.

“You need to see your gynecologist tomorrow, of course,” Ethan cut the silence again. “But as Dr. Ramsey, I can say for sure that you are pregnant.”

He scooped her into his arms so that she would sit on his lap and hugged her shocked form tightly. Chiara’s lips were still slightly parted and she was blinking just a little bit faster than usually as his words – and their new reality – sank in.

When it finally did, she wasn’t able to contain the emotions any longer.

First sob escaped her mouth, followed by another and so much more, accompanied by huge tears falling from her eyes.

Ethan gently pulled her head closer so that she was resting it against his chest and peppered her hair with soft kisses. Even though his share of tears has already been shed in a privacy of his office, feeling Chiara’s shaking body as she cried all those happy, surprised tears, he couldn’t help but cry along quietly with her.

“I am going to ruin your shirt,” Chiara mumbled against his white Oxford, noticing how her mascara stained it.

Ethan let out a quick laugh, his voice thick with emotions as he replied: “I couldn’t care less.”

After what could have been minutes or hours, they breaths steadied, however their positions haven’t changed at all.

They were both quiet for a long time and one could say that they were lost in their own thoughts when really, they were both lost in the very same thought.

Parents. They would become parents.

They talked about adoption on a regular basis at this point, both open to the idea that two or three years from now, they would go for it, that they would become parents to a kid that was left alone.

But those were talks about future. Hypothetical.

This was real. In less than a year, they would be parents to their very own newborn.

“Are you happy?” Chiara whispered, looking up at him with a gentle smile on her lips.

Ethan kissed her forehead before responding.

“I can’t imagine being happier.”

Biting her lower lip, Chiara asked again: “Are you also a little bit…scared? Because I am.”

Laughing loudly at the adorable confession, Ethan nodded: “God, I am terrified. Being a father, that brings so many possibilities to screw it up.”

Chiara cupped his cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss, their first real, deep kiss that day and as his tender lips moved over hers, she knew that there would be no better father for her child than Ethan Ramsey.

˜

One of the perks of being in her sixth month of pregnancy was the fact that her belly could easily serve as a tiny tea table. Right now, a large bowl of popcorn was sitting on her rounded torso as she was sitting on Bryce’s couch.

“The poor kid,” Bryce muttered as he noticed.

It was another Bryce & Chiara movies Wednesday, a habit that started even before Chiara and Ethan got together and carried on through the years.

With her third trimester slowly approaching, Chiara has been even more insistent on attending those, knowing that once she would give birth, they wouldn’t be able to watch a whole movie in one sitting.

“How is Ramsey? I haven’t seen him in the hospital this week,” Bryce asked as he put a glass of water in front of Chiara and played with a remote control to find the movie on Netflix.

“He’s busy with paperwork, so he mostly stays in his office these days,” Chiara explained. “Other than that, he has read two books about child’s development this week, so I guess everything’s as usual.”

Bryce laughed loudly and just before he pushed the ‘play’ button, he turned to Chiara: “Do you remember when you told me about not being able to have kids all those years ago?”

Chiara nodded, that day somehow still fresh in her mind.

“I told you back then, that you only had to find someone whose sperms will be stubborn enough to beat your own stubborn immune system, remember? Well, I was damn right,” he grinned smugly, earning a popcorn thrown into his head from Chiara.

On the other side of Boston, Ethan and Naveen just finished their meals and moved into the living room, glasses of scotch in their hands.

A comfortable silence accompanied them, their talks about work already finished.

Taking a few gulps of his drink, Ethan leaned into a couch with a soft smile on his lips.

“It’s going to be a girl,” he let out finally, his soft smile soon turning into a wide, happy one.

They only found out yesterday. Ever since beginning of the pregnancy, they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to know the gender of the baby or not. After long discussions – and Sienna’s suggestion that they should do a blood tests that would reveal the gender, give the results to her without looking at them so that she could organize a baby gender reveal party – they came to the agreement that they would only find out if the ultrasound would show it. And yesterday, in Chiara’s 25th week of pregnancy, the doctor informed them that their ‘princess’ is growing beautifully.

Neither Chiara nor Ethan wanted any kind of baby party organized – much to Sienna’s disappointment. This pregnancy – most likely the only one they would ever get to experience – has been such precious, sacred thing to them that they tried to keep everything as private as possible. They found joy in their bubble of emotions only two people who never believed would be this lucky could feel.

“A girl!” Naveen clasped his hands together and beamed even brighter than Ethan. “A granddaughter!”

Ethan nodded, the warmth in his chest expanding even more at Naveen’s words.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” he asked, his curious nature not letting him keep the question to himself.

Shaking his head this time, Ethan said: “Since the beginning, we’ve known that if it was a boy, he would be named Dorian after Chiara’s father. There have been some ideas about girls name, but nothing seemed right so far.”

The first idea they both had was Dolores. It came naturally to Ethan, knowing that she named her son after him and that his friend’s name deserved to be celebrated. Still, he didn’t want to be reminded of the tragedy every time he would talk to his daughter. Chiara has been very supportive about the name Dolores, knowing better than anyone what it felt like to want to name her child after someone important to her. But she never insisted. She could tell that simply thinking about Dolores Hudson made Ethan’s heart ache and she would never push the name on him.

“You seem lost in your thoughts,” Naveen commented. “Are you worried that your daughter will inherit your insufferable stubbornness?”

Ethan laughed at that, raising an eyebrow at his mentor and his friend.

“As if you didn’t know Chiara. The kid is going to be insufferably stubborn no matter who she takes after.”

The truth was, he did wish their daughter would take after Chiara. The idea of raising his own little self terrified him more than he would ever admit and on the other hand, the idea of having someone else as bright as Chiara in his life made his heart happy.

“Well, no matter who she takes after, it’s safe to say that she will be a strong girl,” Naveen smiled, raising his glass. “Beating all those odds and finding her way into your life, she is already a bigger rebel than any of us. She will be a warrior and a mighty one, I am telling you.”

˜

When Chiara returned home, she found Ethan deep in a research on his laptop.

He registered her presence only when she sat down next to him, taking a glance on the screen only to find yet another study about children.

“Hey,” he kissed her cheek and closed the laptop. “Did you have a good time?”

She laid down, putting her head into his lap. “The movie was terrible. I could feel my braincells leave my body. Other than that, yeah, it’s been great. Bryce is so excited about being an uncle to the ‘little queenie’. He said, to quote him, that he will make sure she sees him as an example of how gentlemen should treat their ladies, so that when she is dating she doesn’t settle for anything less than what she deserves.”

“That’s really… nice of him. Thoughtful,” Ethan nodded; however, his furrowed brows didn’t quite match the words. “I don’t think we need to talk about dating just yet, though.”

Of course he will be that kind of a father, Chiara thought, laughing.

“What were you reading about?” she decided to change the topic.

“Oh, I’ve been looking up baby carriers online and so I decided  to read some articles and studies about them.”

“Baby carriers, huh? I never took you for someone who would want that.”

Ethan shrugged, fighting the temptation to read her all those articles. Instead, he went with simply pointing some interesting information.

“It helps to build a healthy attachment between a child and their parent. You know, you are carrying her in your body for nine months, you have a possibility of breastfeeding, you two are naturally connected. As a father, I would like to… increase my chances of bonding with my child properly,” he swallowed harder that he wanted, hoping that Chiara didn’t notice just how nervous about this whole attachment thing he’s become.

He was so excited to meet their daughter, to hold her in his arms, it sometimes surprised even him.

But there was another part of him. The one that constantly doubted his ability to be a good father. For such a long time he didn’t believe that he could ever find himself in the role of a parent and he got used to the idea, no matter how painful. He used to remind himself that it would be for the best if he never had them, that as a man unworthy of his mother’s love, he wouldn’t know how to be the parent his children deserved.

Everything has changed with Chiara in his life and now he was about to become a father. And he was scared that it would be the one task he would fail. He tried his best to be prepared – reading books and studies and articles, watching videos on how to bath a newborn and taking notes about how many layers of clothing was suitable for various temperatures. He made arrangements with Naveen and his team so that everyone knew that he would be stepping down as a head of diagnostics once the baby is born, with Aurora becoming the director of the team.

For more than fifteen years, he’s been building his career and he’s been proud of what he achieved. But there was no feeling connected with his career that would make him as proud as the idea of being a decent father.

“According to these studies, the position they are in while in a carrier helps the newborns with their colics and also there are children that don’t like being in a stroller and the carrier helps them to fall asleep.”

Chiara nodded, noticing absolutely clearly how nervous and overwhelmed Ethan was. She also knew why, even though he would never share his concerns with her.

“I kind of believe that. When I was born, I was the perfect baby. You know, the kid that everyone envied when my parents talked about me. I slept most of the day and then the whole night, I never cried, I smiled at everyone. My parents would joke that sometimes they forgot they had me. And Liam was very similar from what I can remember – and what my mother told me. He was such a cutie and even if he couldn’t fall asleep or calm down, a little bit of bouncing in a stroller and he would be fine,” she laughed softly as she was reaching the end – and the point – of her monologue. “My parents were so proud. They always said that they could only create the good sleepers that never cry. Probably encouraged by the belief, they decided to have a third child and God, Alicia was such a difficult baby. She would always cry and never sleep. The only thing that calmed her down enough to sleep was when someone carried her in their arms and walked around the house – so that’s what my parents did. All the time. Sometimes, when they’ve gotten too tired or needed to do something, they would put her into my arms – let me remind you that I was seven – and I would be in charge of walking around the house. I bet they would appreciate the baby carrier back then.”

Ethan chuckled softly while stroking Chiara’s wild hair and after a while decided to tell her the real reason he even browsed the internet this evening.

“I might have found a name.”

After Naveen left, something he’s said resonated with Ethan.

‘She will be a warrior and a mighty one.’

Ethan never cared about meanings of names, he didn’t even know the meaning of his own name until this evening. And yet, despite his best principles, he decided to search girls names that meant warrior or ‘strong, mighty’.

And he found it.

Mighty in battle.

It clicked.

“What name do you have in mind?” Chiara asked.

“Matilda.”

Chiara didn’t even try to suppress her surprise, expecting anything but Matilda. What surprised her even more, she loved it on the first hearing. It indeed was the one.

“I have also thought about the name a little bit,” she admitted. “I found one that I would love to be a second name for her.”

Nodding, Ethan encouraged her to spill it.

“Nekane.”

“Nekane? I have never heard of it.”

“It would be surprising if you did,” Chiara smirked. “It’s the Basque form for Dolores. And you know, since now we know for sure that our daughter has been conceived in Spain, I think it would be rather fitting. It would still carry the honor of Dolores, just in a different form.”

Matilda Nekane Ramsey.

They both loved the sound of that.

It sounded like their daughter.

After sharing another silent moment full of love, peace and understanding, Chiara decided to go to bed and Ethan promised to follow her as soon as he’d finish the study.

 When Ethan stepped into their bedroom, Chiara was already asleep, lying on her right side. Climbing to the bed, he laid down on his left side so that he could face her. Suddenly, not knowing how the idea has gotten into him, he was shifting down slightly until he reached her round stomach.

Moving the fabric of her cotton shirt higher, he put his hand over her belly and did something he had never done before.

“Hello, Matilda,” he whispered nervously. “This is Ethan speaking. Your father. Or your dad, as you will probably call me. We have never really talked before but the annoying knocking you hear sometimes, that’s me stroking your mom’s bump.”

He paused for a while, composing his thoughts.

“I am sincerely scared about how this whole father thing is going to work for me, but I promise you as I am trying and I will by trying for the rest of my life. I have done a lot of bad things in my life, Matilda and I can’t take them back. They are part of who I am. But looking at your mother and thinking about you makes me realize that both of you are part of who I am too. And I don’t know in which point of my life the universe decided that I have shared enough kindness to earn your presence but I must have done something right to deserve you in my life, right?”

Kissing the skin of Chiara’s stomach, he added: “I just really hope you inherit your mother’s patience and kindness so that you will forgive me every time I fuck things up.”

Biting his lip, he grinned to himself before saying one last thing to his Matilda.

“Please don’t tell your mom I said ‘fuck’, she would be furious.”

 *** *** ***

1) as someone who is mother herself, I realize that topics of pregnancy, infertility issues, children in general are extremely sensitive - in this particular fanfiction, Chiara has gotten pregnant against the odds while on vacation. PLEASE note that I, by no means, am trying to say that if you are suffering from fertility issues, taking a vacation/reducing stress/changing the environment would definitely help you. There are some cases /that I know of/ in which it did help, however I would never dare to say that it’s the solution. I just need to make sure that I acknowledge how difficult and sensitive the topic is.

2) I really, really wanted to write a pregnancy fic, I had this idea in my head for very, very long time. However, I also absolutely love the idea of Ethan and Chiara adopting a child (I think especially Ethan would be fond of it, since he knows what it feels like to grow up without a parent) and so here is a little HC for after this story - Matilda is indeed the ‘miracle’ and their only biological child and when she is around six years old, Ethan and Chiara decide to adopt ophraned twin girls Luna and Siria. Purposefully girls, because I can see Ethan not trusting women after his mother leaves him and feeling like no woman could ever love him truly and boom suddenly there are four women in his life that love him more than life itself and he is proven wrong every day.

3) the story about the name Matilda is so funny/tragic that I have to write about it - I love the name, always loved and believed that I would name my daughter Matilda one day. My man hates the name so it’s off the table and I always knew that little Ramsey would be named Matilda to pursue my dream at least fictionally. When I was looking for some photos at David Gandy’s IG, I found out that his very own daughter is named Matilda. Whoa. Then, I was on a search for a faceclaim for Chiara and boom - the girl is named Matilda. Ooops. And only when this fic was finished and I googled the name Matilda for some reason, I found out that there is kinda popular person named Matilda Ramsay and I was just like okay screw this. But I couldn’t bring myself to change the name, so here it is. Sorry not sorry.

Taglist: @takemyopenheart @maurine07 @senseofduties @mercury84choices @flightlessbirdiee @udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @ohchoices @adrex04 @queencarb @archxxronrookie @choicesfan10 @whatchique @drariellevalentine @gryffindordaughterofathena @mvalentine @doilooklikeiknow @custaroonie @secretwolfdreamertree @jamespotterthefirst

[ad1thi]

downtime (a night off)

also on ao3

//

It’s a rare phenomenon that all Avengers are under the same roof.

It isn’t that they don’t enjoy each other’s company, or that they are in any way adverse to coming together for times of crisis and shit’s hit the fan, or that there is some overarching agenda that depends on them being kept separate unless absolutely necessary. It is simply, a matter of scheduling.

Thor likes to split his time between Asgard and Earth, and goes back frequently to provide company to his brother, worried that Loki will feel abandoned by him yet again if he were not to show his face that often. Those visits never go well however, and when Thor is back on Earth, he seeks out Jane Foster, to lick his wounds in private before he is prepared to face his team.

Natasha and Clint are yet to quit their day job at SHIELD, and Fury frequently calls them away for missions that they can’t hear about, speak about, or even know about until they’re in the middle of the assignment. It isn’t uncommon for them to be summoned at odd hours of the day, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, and sometimes when they’re just about to sit down for dinner.

Tony, for all his posturing that he has no other focus apart from Iron Man, still has duties and responsibilities at Stark Industries. Not being CEO may have considerably reduced the load, but he’s still the face of the company, the Stark behind Stark Industries, and Pepper likes to use him to remind their investors of that from time to time. Just to keep everybody in line.

In the days after the New York Invasion, after the public had adjusted their worldview, after the cleanup, after things reached some sort of normalcy -  Steve was nowhere to be found. He packed the clothes he had into a duffel bag that fit neatly over his shoulder, and took his SHIELD issued motorcycle cross-country, exploring the America that had become during his extended sleep. Apart from a couple of updates to inform everybody that he was still in fact alive, and hadn’t fallen back into the ice, nobody heard from him for months - until he showed up back at Stark Tower, startling both Tony and Bruce, to say that he was reporting for duty.

Bruce has made his home in Stark Tower, two floors below Tony’s penthouse suite, but he hasn’t forgotten his days on the run, the people who helped him, the people he helped. They have a lot of downtime as Avengers, and he likes to use it out of the country, in the places he used to call home, helping people the way he used to. He doesn’t go alone anymore, instead he manages a team under Doctors Without Borders, but it still gives him the same sense of fulfilment it used to in his days of obscurity.

It’s a rare phenomenon that all Avengers are under the roof, not because they don’t like each other, but because their singular lives are too vast and rich for them to meet frequently and constantly.

This just means that when their schedules allow for a precious opening when the team can meet without fear of an alien invasion or imminent global destruction - they try their hardest to make the absolute best of it.

//

“Has anybody ever told you,” Clint pauses, smacking his lips and squinting his eyes, “that you have the most fantastic ass?”

In front of him, Tony is swaying from side to side, as if moving to music that nobody else can hear, but he still manages to look unbearably smug at Clint’s comment, “Everyday baby. You didn’t think it was my winning personality that got so many people into bed, did you?”

Natasha pipes up from where she’s sunk into the couch, tilting her head up so that her voice isn’t muffled by the cushions, “I thought it was your money.”

Tony whirls around, and points the vodka bottle he’s clutching at her, “That too. But mainly my ass.”

“Barton is right, Friend Stark,” Thor tilts his head, his gaze falling down, “You have a glorious behind. Asgard’s halls are filled with the most voluptuous of courtesans, and I can’t say any of them have a behind that compares to yours.”

“Eyes off his behind,” Steve grumbles, his arms wrapping around Tony’s waist and pulling him close to his chest, so that Steve can hook his chin over Tony’s shoulder. He isn’t as drunk as the rest of them, because Bruce and Tony are still working on combinations of alcohol that work against the super soldier serum, but he’s got a pleasant buzz going on; and it makes him want to bundle Tony up in his arms and never let go.

“That’s my behind,” Steve squeezes around Tony’s waist for effect, “No more staring.”

Tony jerks his head to the side, and presses a sloppy side to the underside of Steve’s jaw, and Steve goes limp around him. This thing between them is still new, undefined, and neither of them want to do anything to jeopardise it. It feels too big for that, too important.

“All in good fun Cap,” Clint says in a slurred voice, “No need to go all cave-man on Tony. You’ve staked your claim, pissed around him, whatever you want to call it.”

Next to him, Bruce wrinkles his nose and whacks Clint upside on the head. He’s the only one out of the six of them who’s currently sober, electing to not drink because he has no idea how the Hulk will react to booze.

“Don’t be crass Clint,” Natasha says, nodding at Bruce approvingly, “I think it’s cute. It’s sweet that Mom and Dad are in love.”

“Hey!” Tony frowns at Natasha, “Who are you calling Mom and Dad? And which one am I?”

“You’re Mom!” The response is simultaneous, and any complaints that Tony has are immediately drowned out by Thor bellowing in laughter.

“Steve,” Tony says urgently, in a soft tone, and when Steve turns his head to look at Tony, his bottom lip is jutting out, “Steve, do you really think I’m the Mom?”

“Sweetheart, you have three robot babies down in your workshop, of course you’re the Mom.”

Tony nods, seemingly satisfied by that answer, and leans more back into Steve’s embrace.

“Okay,” he says after a couple of seconds, “I’m the Mom. I can live with that. I liked my mom more anyway.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but he gets cut off by Clint, who yells, “Stark! You have any of those fancy simulations you got in the training rooms up here? I want to see how many shots of tequila it takes to make me stop shooting straight!”

Tony wrestles out of Steve’s embrace and grabs the bottle of tequila that’s lying on the table, “If you think you’re shooting up my living room you’ve got another thing coming Legolas!”

He hauls Clint off the couch and they stumble into each other, making their way to the stairwell, presumably to get to the training room.

“You got the salt and the lemons?” Steve asks Natasha, and she nods, “I can go grab it from the kitchen now.”

“Best to probably grab some water too,” Bruce adds, standing up to walk with her, “So that Tony and Clint don’t accidentally impale themselves.”

Thor stands up with a giant lurch, ‘Fear not! I shall watch over Friend Barton and Friend Stark, to ensure that they don’t injure themselves.”

He strides away in the same direction that Tony and Clint took before any of them can say anything, and Steve and Natasha share a look.

“We need to get down there fast,” Steve says, “Somehow I feel like Thor will do more harm than good.”

“Agreed. You catch up with Thor and make sure he doesn’t accidentally electrocute everybody, me and Bruce will meet you down there with supplies and a couple bottles of water”

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve nods, and rushes off after Thor, quickening his steps when he hears Tony yell out in joy. 

It was a rare phenomenon that the Avengers were under the same roof, but the best of times always came from it.

Fin

[dreamingofmilk]

Anesthesia

Synopsis: You've been assigned to give Thor a check up after his surgery. Who would have thought anesthesia would affect him this way?

Word Count: 1486

Warnings: mild smut

"Y/N you're needed in exam room 200."

You sighed, "There goes my break." You threw away what was left of your lunch and made your way to the second floor of the stark tower, the Avengers private hospital level. 

Once you got there you grabbed the patient chart. Your manager, Kelly, was waiting outside of the room. You raised an eyebrow, "What are we dealing with here?" 

"Patient underwent surgery successfully, but is still feeling the anesthesia. He just needs a routine check." You nodded and glanced through the chart, scanning over the name and a bit of the medical information before your eyes flew back to the name. Thor Odinson was in the hospital?! You were surprised paparazzi weren't busting the door down. 

"Thor?!" You whisper yelled. 

Kelly smirked. "Why do you think I called you? You're the only one I know who won't fangirl around him. The last thing the hospital needs is a sexual harassment charge."

Joke's on you Kelly! Y/N thought. You loved Thor the most of all the Avengers. His looks obviously, but his personality even more. He was goofy and kind, and loyal to a fault. You just didn’t let your interest in him show at work. Hospitals are breeding grounds for gossip, especially amongst the other nurses, so you tried your hardest to keep your name out of anyone's mouth. This would be a dream come true. You get to not only meet your favorite 'celebrity', you get to treat him. Kelly really came through clutch! 

You shook off as much of your nerves as you could. Fan or not, you were going to make sure Thor got the best care possible, from you or anyone else that crosses this threshold. Once you’d gotten your bearings, you knocked softly on the door. All you heard was a grunt, so you opened the door and quickly realized that all of the photos and Youtube videos you’d seen of Thor didn’t do him justice.

The man was absolutely massive! The hospital bed barely contained him. His feet hung off the edge and his arms hung from the sides of the bed. He seemed to be awake, but he wasn’t quite lucid. What drugs could they have possibly used that worked on a fucking god?

You cleared your throat and greeted him. “Hello Mr. Odinson. My name is Nurse Y/N, I’ll be giving you a check to make sure everything went well with the surgery. Is that ok?”

The only answer you received was a grunt, so you moved forward slowly and put on your gloves and equipment. 

“Ok Mr. Odinson, Can you sit up for me please?”

He righted himself before you could reach out to assist him. So he must be somewhat coherent, you thought to yourself. You grabbed your blood pressure cuff and did your best to wrap it around his massive arm. It just barely made it. “There we go. You’re going to feel a bit of pressure on your arm.” 

Thor chuckled, “Which one, the one between my legs? I already feel plenty of pressure there. You’re very pretty you know. Makes things kind of hard for me, shame on you.” His speech was slurred, but you understood every word he said. You couldn’t even stop your eyes from glancing at the area in question, and the bulge there was just as massive as the rest of his body. You shuddered at the thought. How the hell could anybody take that beast?

You didn’t respond to him out loud though. There’s no way you could have a casual conversation about his dick, or the fact that it was getting hard. You'd just pretend you didn't hear him. The blood pressure cuff creaked as it tightened around his arm, no doubt straining to stay intact. You double checked that the velcro was secure and carried on with your examination.

"Blood pressure looks good. Now I need to check your heartbeat."

Thor nodded slightly. And sat up a bit straighter. You moved it to his chest, the sensor looked like a toy compared to his broad chest. His heartbeat started at a normal pace, but it gradually sped up. You were worried something was amiss until he spoke. 

Thor groaned quietly. "You smell so good." He reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist. Suddenly his face was buried in your neck. It took everything in you not to let out the nastiest moan you had within you. You pulled back slowly as Thor moved his large arms to wrap around your waist. His eyes were glazed, but there was much more awareness there than you thought. 

"Mr. Odinson, I need you to calm down so I can get an accurate heart rate." You gulped. 

His eyes dropped from yours to your lips. You felt your body clench when he bit his bottom lip and slowly brought his eyes back to yours. No one should be able to put that much sex appeal into a look while doped up on anesthesia. This man was dangerous. 

He smiled, "How is any man supposed to be calm around you? I'm sure humans fall at your feet." 

"Definitely not happening." You looked away in embarrassment, a humorless laugh fell from your lips. 

He scoffed, "Then they are weak or stupid. I am neither. I know beauty when I see it."

You were taken aback. You knew you were attractive, but you didn't consider yourself especially beautiful. And the way he said it, so casually, like it was an accepted fact, just made it that much better. 

You couldn't look at his face, you were too flustered, but Thor wasn't having it. He lightly grabbed your chin and pulled your face up until your eyes met. His eyes were so piercing, it felt like they were slicing you open and looking at your bare soul. 

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward. There was only an inch of space between you and you could pick out all of the little details in his face. The flecks of green in his eyes, how unfairly long his eyelashes were, how soft his lips looked. 

He grinned, like he knew exactly where your focus was, "Y/N, when I get you alone…" He paused and let out a soft groan while shifting slightly, still quite unbalanced from the anesthesia. "We'll be so good together. I'll make you feel so good. Thunder doesn't only cause pain, sweetheart."

You couldn't fight the shiver that ran through your entire body. Thor was lowkey kinky! You were definitely trying to find out just how deep that kinkiness ran, but you had a job to do. "My only concern is your health Mr. Odinson." There we go, a safe answer.

Thor scoffed, "You forget I'm a god. I can smell you, Y/N. My health isn't your only concern. Don't worry though. As soon as I sleep this off, I'll take care of your other concern. You'll have to keep that uniform on, I quite like it." He grips your scrub clad ass tightly and thoroughly. You let out a soft whimper in response to his groping. 

He groaned as his hands squeezed your ass cheeks, "Have you ever felt every nerve ending in your body go off all at once?"

You moaned from his rough treatment, "No, that's not medically possible."

He tsked and pulled you closer. His hand moved down slightly and his middle finger brushed against your core and he sent a shock that started at your clit and radiated through your entire body. You could feel your toes curl and your scalp tingle. You quickly reached out and grabbed his biceps as your knees gave out. Thank god these rooms were soundproofed. The moan you let out was definitely loud enough to be heard through the hallway.

Your eyes flitted up to his, "What the hell was that?!"

He licked his lips and smiled. You felt your panties dampen. “You'll find out soon. The doctor says I should be released later today once the sedative has worn off. I'll take care of us then.”

Thor presses a soft kiss on your lips, so fleeting you thought you imagined it, until you felt a sharp stimulating zing on your lips. You gasped and pulled back looking at Thor in shock, the lightning blue in his eyes slowly dissipating with a huge smirk on his lips. 

A minute later he was sleeping, snoring without a care in the world. Like he didn't just promise to blow your back out. 

What the hell did you get yourself into?

You weren’t sure, but you made a mental note to ask Kelly for a day off tomorrow. You looked back at the large mass of god in the bed and bit your bottom lip, your body still tingling with remnants of thel electric shocks.  

Better make it two days. 

Taglist:

@aislinnsilver @wawakanda-btch @chaneajoyyy @marvelmaree

[welllpthisishappening]

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

With bright lights and beeping machines and out-of-date magazines. Roland’s career was supposed to end with confetti. Maybe a parade. At least some sort of cheering, because if there was cheering then it wouldn’t be possible to hear how difficult it was for Matt to catch his breath and if he started crying in the waiting room he was never going to forgive himself. 

Or: Roland Locksley gets hurt and Matt Jones doesn’t handle it very well. 

----

Rating: Teen, but like with a heaping side of angst Word Count: 5.2K or so AN: This story has been living rent free in the back corner of my mind that I reserve for angsty hockey head canons for as long as I can remember and last week I finally sat down and typed it. Anyway, this is as angsty as advertised, is basically just original characters at this point and I had no intention of actually posting it anywhere, but I thrive on forcing hockey words at the internet so here we go. Also, probably important to remember that Roland and Lizzie are together and that Taylor is Phillip and Aurora’s kid. I was not kidding about this really being mostly original characters.  

----

“Where is he? Is everything—”

Matt cut himself off. Nearly bit his tongue in half in the process too, but he also couldn’t quite come to terms with the overall circumference of Lizzie’s eyes or just how quickly Peggy had slid in the chair she was draped across. 

Both of their mouths dropped open. 

Audibly. 

“What are you—” Lizzie breathed, shaking her head slowly and she didn’t blink. Matt wasn’t sure she was capable. That was fair. Every time he blinked he saw the play all over again. In slow motion, even. Like his brain was trying to remind him of the wholly inhuman angle Roland’s leg had taken when he slammed into the boards and no one was supposed to slam into the boards like that. 

“MD,” Peggy said when the rest of Lizzie’s sentence drifted into the low hum of an exceptionally packed waiting room. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” “They do have cars, Mar.” “Was that supposed to rhyme?”

“And he doesn’t know how to drive,” Lizzie mumbled. Matt ignored that. “Where is he?”

Taking his time on every word felt like overkill, even as Matt was saying them, but he was also at least passably familiar with the accepted resting heart rate for professional athletes and his appeared close to beating out of his chest. 

Someone was walking towards them. 

And Lizzie still hadn’t blinked yet. 

“They took him to pre-op twenty minutes ago.” Matt startled at the new voice, not entirely surprised to see Taylor turning the nearest corner with three cups of undoubtedly shitty coffee clutched in his hands. “I didn’t get you any of this. Did you fly here?” “I don’t want your garbage coffee anyway. Probably burnt.” “You’re something of a snob, you know that?” Matt shrugged, trying to ignore the exact way his stomach continued to clench. Although when that same organ had spent most of the rented car ride from New York to Philadelphia trying to lodge itself in the middle of Matt’s throat, he supposed this was a step in the right direction 

Metaphorically speaking. 

Now that he was in the hospital, he wasn’t doing very much literal stepping. His legs felt like they’d frozen. 

Locked up. Particularly in the knee-type area. 

Knees were not meant to bend like Roland’s had. 

“What’s the kid doing here?” Matt nodded towards Taylor, who only grumbled a few choice words under his breath while he doled out garbage coffee and he must have bailed on his classes that afternoon. Apparently none of them could operate without at least a few of the others, because no one was entirely surprised when Taylor decided to go to school in Philadelphia and Temple didn’t have a hockey team, but that probably wasn’t really all that important. 

The Mills-Locksley plastered across the back of Taylor’s t-shirt looked bigger than usual. 

Peggy made a face as soon as she took her first sip of coffee, the expression quickly evolving into a glare. Directed entirely at Matt. That didn’t seem fair, honestly. He’d spent a lot of money on that car. “Does front office know you’re here? Or Henry?”

“Those two don’t go together.” She rolled her eyes. While Matt’s kept darting towards Lizzie — who, it seemed, was trying her best to bite her lip in half. Wringing her fingers together wasn’t doing much to help the anxious energy practically falling off her, the kind of pale that made it look like she hadn’t seen the outside world in several decades. 

She kept tapping her right foot. Five quick movements, the bottom of her heel colliding with the tiled floor, and a sharp inhale on every third tap. Her gaze had a distinctly glazed edge to it.

“Henry didn’t have any idea Matt was going to be here,” Lizzie muttered, not taking her eyes off him. It felt like she was staring through him. Or at whatever was directly over his right shoulder. 

Looked pretty interesting. 

Distracting, maybe. 

Matt could have used a distraction. 

“Didn’t say anything, at least,” she added, “neither did Gina or Robin. But, they’re uh—I mean they’re kind of preoccupied and—” Something wasn’t right. 

Less right. Than the piece of shit situation they were in now. 

He really hadn’t thought when he’d left New York. Just told everyone that he wasn’t going to be at skate that morning and made a few phone calls, sent a text to his parents and his brother, and the whole thing would probably end with some sort of lengthy discussion about priorities that Matt wasn’t particularly interested in hearing, but he really had lost track of how often he watched the video and people knew. 

What Roland meant. To him. To the game. To the way Matt was when he played. 

So, he’d sat in the backseat of that car, twisting his phone and resisting the urge to torture himself some more and maybe he should have told someone he was coming. Seemed almost redundant though.

People knew. 

Everyone knew. 

Something was incredibly wrong. 

“Lizzie,” Matt said, unable to stop himself from stretching the name out into some sort of reprimand. She blinked. He was suffocating. 

Shaking her head slowly appeared to be the only answer she was capable of giving at the moment, which wasn’t so much frustrating as it was a little overwhelming and Matt was going to set records. For self-inflicted oxygen deprivation. 

His mind raced. 

Tried to understand options and recovery periods and—this wasn’t the first time this had happened to Roland. Matt licked his lips. Several times. Didn’t help. Lizzie blinked again. And he kept trying to think. Because ACL injuries were common now, the inevitable cause behind most of the NHL’s publicized “lower body injuries,” and surgeries were relatively quick, but multiple issues with the muscle that basically allowed skating couldn’t have possibly been good or healthy and—

“No,” Matt exhaled. 

Lizzie closed her eyes. Lightly, as if she were giving into the feeling or everything she hadn’t said yet and it was Matt’s turn to shake his head. 

In disagreement. 

Of the strongest kind. 

“No, no,” he chanted. “That’s—c’mon, you guys are kidding me.” Peggy’s mouth twisted, as far away from a smile as the movement could be. “No one said anything, MD. Seriously, are you going to get in trouble for this?” “Fuck that.” “An irresponsible mindset.”

Something flew out of Matt — loud and wholly inhuman, like it was scratching its way from the depths of his soul and some deep, dark part of him where disappointment lurked and unfair things festered and this wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was right. 

He wanted time to freeze. To stop and give him a chance to understand, for his pulse to settle and his legs to move because he needed to move and Matt couldn’t move and there were tears on Lizzie’s cheeks. 

Machines beeped at the other end of the hallway. Outdated magazines moved as other people who did not have several worlds crashing around them at that very moment looked for something interesting to read in Philadelphia’s most brightly-lit waiting room. Orthopedic shoes squeaked on the floor. 

Voices drifted. Calls and pages and a slew of other words Matt couldn’t begin to think of or even pretend to care about. 

Taylor downed the rest of his coffee. 

“Might not be good, Mattie,” he mumbled. 

And that was it. Of all the things that could do it, Matt wasn’t entirely surprised when a decades-old nickname was the thing that pushed him over that metaphorical edge. Directly into what felt like a never-ending chasm of knowing and understanding and Peggy really was very quick on her feet. 

Moving into his space, her hands on his chest were most of the reason Matt didn’t fall over right there. Plus his knees. Which refused to function, still. She had to press up on her toes to curl his t-shirt into her fingers, saying things he didn’t hear and didn’t want to understand and the feeling of weightlessness on his descent into that metaphorical chasm was oddly pleasant. 

He figured that would end relatively quickly. 

“What—” Matt’s voice didn’t sound like his. Rasped out of him through lips that were quickly turning chapped, and that didn’t make sense either. It was April. Playoffs were just starting. 

It was so goddamn sunny out. 

He resented it, honestly. 

“What, uh—what have the doctors said so far? That’s...I mean, I know it was shitty, but Rol’s come back from—” “—Yeah,” Henry said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere with neither one of his parents nearby, “that’s not really what he wants to do anymore.”

“Be more specific, old man.” “Ah, that’s just rude.” “It wasn’t just last night,” Lizzie whispered, and Matt genuinely did not know where to look. He had to pick somewhere. He couldn’t glare at all of them at once. 

He tried anyway. 

“What does that mean?” “Something about a camel and last straw, I think.” “Grandma is not here, Elizabeth.” Narrowing her eyes only made the red in them more pronounced, a thin line across her face that Matt was sure had, at one point, been her mouth. “You know better than anybody, Mattie. Teams don’t disclose injuries like that. We—” Lizzie huffed, another quick shake of her head that only served to make her hair flutter against her cheeks, “He’s been playing banged up all year.” “Banged up? That’s what we’re going with?” “What would you like?” “Hurt?” Matt snarled, marginally disappointed when he couldn’t control the volume of his voice. Anger mixed with fear, manifesting itself into a weird tightening around his core and possibly the general area of his spleen. 

He wasn’t ever sure what the point of his spleen was, exactly. 

“It’s....it hasn’t been easy,” Lizzie explained. “This season, at least. Playing so long last year didn’t help with his knees and skating isn’t—” “—Easy?” “If you’re going to be a dick about this, you can get back in a car I know you paid way too much for and go home.”

Deflating wasn’t exactly a word Matt wanted to think about in that moment. But for as quickly as the fight had risen in him, it disappeared even faster. Leaving nothing more than a sharp emptiness in the very center of him. 

None of it made sense. 

“I really paid way too much to get here,” Matt admitted. 

Lizzie sniffled, dragging her hands down either one of her cheeks with enough force that she left angry red streaks in her wake and it didn’t look like she’d slept in several days. Possibly this whole season. 

“How bad was bad, then?” “Bad,” she echoed. “He’d kill me if he knew I said this, but getting to the Conference Finals took a lot last season. All those extra games and that triple overtime was a fucking disaster and...you know, there’s something about the way he plays. Never the biggest guy, or the most physical, but it—” 

Lizzie tugged her lips behind her teeth, another inhale that affected Matt’s respiratory system and this was why. Why he didn’t waste time thinking. Why he wouldn’t look at a single newspaper article the next day. Why he had to be here for a surgery he’d spend sitting in a mass-produced plastic chair. 

Because he knew. What this game meant to Roland. And what losing it would do to him. 

“Spent half his mornings in PT this year, and never really said anything, but I—” 

Lizzie always had exceptionally straight teeth. 

When they were kids, Matt thought it was entirely unfair that she hadn’t needed braces or a retainer or anything. She simply existed and everything was great. That had been some sort of trend for most of their lives. Lizzie knew. She had a plan and a list, and she got shit done. No matter what else was going on or who else said it was impossible, and when people had started muttering and questioning, whispering about how much older Roland was than her, she’d flashed them that kind of hundred-watt smile that usually distracted opposing counsel and, quite easily, told them to go fuck themselves. 

Lizzie never broke.

She never wavered. She believed and she knew and she fixed everything. 

None of this could get fixed. 

At least not entirely. 

And every one of her perfectly straight teeth was on display when she grimaced. 

“It hurt to skate,” Lizzie breathed, “every time he got on the ice. But he’s an idiot, so—” Matt chuckled, a sniffle of his own and eyes that couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him anymore. “Anyway, uh...we’d talked about it, a little. What would happen after the season, but that always seemed like such a far away thing and then there’s playoffs and that’s just another season, isn’t it? I’m rambling. Aren’t I?” “A little,” Matt agreed. 

“You really came down here.” “That wasn’t a question.” “More a slightly stunned observation.” Matt’s smile felt carved onto his face, nothing more than muscles that weren’t all that inclined to move the way he wanted them to. “Was he playing on the tear?” “No, no, no,” Lizzie promised quickly, but Matt lifted his eyebrows and Taylor snickered into his empty coffee cup. “Might have been strained.” “Likely,” Peggy amended.

Widening his eyes, Matt hoped he didn’t look as deranged as he felt. “You might have been right about the camel and the straw.” “Is that two different cliches?” Lizzie asked. “Yeah, absolutely. Grandma really would be impressed.” Another less-than-impressive laugh fell out of Lizzie at the same time her chin dropped to her shirt. “You play through the pain, Mattie. As idiotic as it’s always been. That’s the game, isn’t it?”

“It’s a dumb one.” “Yeah, it is. A good one too, though. Sometimes. Most of the time, really. All those cheers and the people and every stupid opinion on TV shows and tweets. You play for that chance. To be something bigger than yourself. To leave it all behind, for people to remember you by. You play for the possibility of it all, and sometimes you forget what losing that will mean.”

Matt’s hands moved. Darted, really. Onto Peggy’s shoulders and she grit her teeth at the force of his grip, but she didn’t tell him to move and he was going to have to take her to Serendipity for that. 

“You’re going to dislocate something in her,” Taylor chided lightly. He dropped into Peggy’s forgotten chair, catching one of Lizzie’s hands when she started wringing her fingers again. She didn’t pull away, either. 

Matt shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he was objecting to anymore. “I don’t think I have that kind of dexterity in my fingers, actually.” “Good word,” Henry murmured. 

“How long have you been here?” “Since last night. There was some talking and,” he shrugged, “planning and discussion. Now, Luce and Ella are back at the apartment trying to make sure no one starves after this operation—” “—Awfully pointed,” Lizzie interrupted. Taylor squeezed her hand. Her head fell to his shoulder. Which couldn’t have been very comfortable with the armrest looking like it was poking rather prominently into her ribs. 

“What have you eaten since the game?” “Uh, like...some saltines.” Peggy groaned. “Liar, you took at least two bites of my egg sandwich this morning. Please stop spreading rumors like that.”

Lizzie’s answering laugh sounded far too watery. 

“And,” Henry added, “Mom and Dad are outside talking to El and Liam who just got here and had to park several miles away, or so they claimed.”

“My parents are here?” Lizzie asked. “Probably texted you several dozen times.” Without letting go of Taylor’s hand, Lizzie threatened to dislocate her own shoulder as she yanked her phone out of her back pocket. She let out a low curse at the number of messages she’d missed, and Matt was getting a little frustrated that no one had actually confirmed anything to him yet. 

He also didn’t object when Peggy curled against his side. 

Made it easier to rest his chin on top of her head, anyway. 

And none of them flinched when the automatic doors slid open, four more sets of footsteps and muted discussion in obviously worried tones — but Lizzie wasn’t much more than a blur when she moved, launching herself into Aunt Elsa’s outstretched arms. 

“It’s ok elskan, it’s ok,” Aunt Elsa said, one of her hands coming up to cup the back of Lizzie’s head as she pressed endearments into her temple. None of the words were in English. Peak Jones comforting techniques. In addition to losing track of how often he’d watched the video, Matt couldn’t even begin to guess how many times his parents had done the same thing to him, quiet assurances and guarantees that worked when he was young, but might have rung a little hollow now and maybe he was just some sort of pessimistic asshole. 

No one had said the word actual yet. 

He wouldn't believe it until Roland told him. 

“C’mon MD,” Peggy said, tugging him back towards a pair of empty chairs on Taylor’s other side. “I can’t support your weight forever.”

He let her direct him, not sure if his lack of fight was a reaction to Lizzie or how blotchy Gina’s face was when she followed Robin into the waiting room, or how at some point in the next three hours he’d become the de facto contact point for anyone not in Philadelphia. 

Dad texted him and Mom called him — another round of those quiet assurances that Matt tried desperately to believe, but the growing lump in his throat made it difficult to respond and time was going backwards, he was sure. Chris FaceTimed. Four different times. 

“Nothing to report, kid,” Matt said, for at least the seventy-sixth time. Peggy was pacing a lopsided circle in front of him, Lizzie’s head resting on Aunt Elsa’s leg and her feet propped against Uncle Liam’s knee. 

“That’s bullshit.” “Saying it over and over is not going to help, Toph,” Henry muttered, not bothering to open his eyes. It was the middle of the afternoon. 

Matt couldn’t imagine any of them had slept the night before. What with life-changing conversations to have, and everything. 

“Lizzie eat yet?”

Matt’s eyes darted towards his cousin, but she didn’t so much as move — let alone show any signs of hunger, and he very much doubted she’d even tasted those so-called bites of sandwich she’d taken that morning. 

“Gets in her own head,” Chris mumbled, “can’t think about anything as human as sustenance.” Sliding down in his chair wouldn’t help the covertness of a conversation that should have had headphones, but Matt was getting more desperate the longer he sat there and he was even more convinced Lizzie wasn’t paying attention to him. “At some point, I’m pretty positive Aunt Gina’s just going to take over and start doling out rations to everyone and—”

He cut himself off. 

Suddenly. Sharply. As soon as he processed the specific squeak moving towards them and how quickly it stopped in front of Lizzie. 

She swung her feet back onto the floor. 

“Got quite a party out here, don’t you?” the doctor asked, like that was a joke and he was allowed to smile and both Peggy and Chris clicked their tongues knowingly. At Matt. Who couldn't see his face, but knew all too well the glare it had almost immediately shifted into. 

His shoulders rolled forward too.

“Like he’s going to check the goddamn medical professional,” Peggy muttered conspiratorially. Chris rolled his eyes. 

“Get fined, suspended and arrested, maybe?”

“That’d be a fun distraction.” “I will kill both of you,” Matt hissed. Peggy scrunched her nose when she nodded. For added effect. And obnoxiousness. 

And he was so busy doling out threats that Matt barely heard the updates. Something about feeling good and still a little groggy, but coherent and Lizzie nodded in what could only be described as understanding and possible hope while the doctor listed post-op plans and medicine schedules and then they were moving and squeaking and Matt was back to waiting.

Impatiently. 

He picked up Peggy’s route, ignoring the lingering looks from Henry and Taylor and Aunt Elsa caught his hand before he was entirely ready for it. 

“You’re making me dizzy,” she smiled, pulling him next to her. Still no fight. The lump in Matt’s throat was enormous. 

“Sorry.” “Ridiculous.” “Is that a compliment or an observation?” “Eh, little of column A, little of column B. How’s your breathing going?” Blushing was stupid, all things considered — but Matt suddenly felt like he was ten years old and getting caught for shoving Peggy into the pool because of course the Vankald-Jones’ moved into a house outside of D.C. that had a pool. Perfect family life demanded such things. 

“That’s what I thought,” Aunt Elsa nodded, “you know, sometimes you are so much like your dad it is amazing.” “Oh, that didn’t sound like a compliment either.” “It wasn’t,” Uncle Liam said, a soft laugh clinging to the words. “Nice shot the other night, by the way. When you guys start the next series?” “Once Carolina and Pittsburgh finish. They’re probably going to go seven, though.” “Carolina’s a better match for you guys, right?” Matt shrugged. “Both of ‘em have their strengths, but—” He desperately needed to finish his sentence. That proved impossible when he heard Henry’s smile stretch across his face, and Uncle Liam didn’t bother to hide his own look, a distraction that almost took root in the form of a politically correct and PR-approved answer and—“It’d be fun to fuck up Pittsburgh” Matt finished. “That center of theirs is a bastard.” “That’s the spirit.”

And, really, it didn’t take long. For Lizzie to come back and Aunt Gina to pretend like she hadn’t been crying, and Uncle Robin’s hand appeared cemented to the back of his neck, but then Matt was standing and Henry was standing and neither one of them double checked. They went in at the same time. 

To a room that was also questionably bright, bouquets of flowers already dotting a variety of flat surfaces. An IV wire ran towards the bed, the same one Roland was propped up in with more pillows than the hospital could have ever provided. 

“Your mom bring those?” 

Roland's grin threatened to split his face. The ache returned to Matt’s chest. “Don’t act like you aren’t jealous. And it smells like a goddamn rose garden in here. They’re going to have to drag me out.” “Don’t tell Lizzie that, she might not ever forgive you.” “She likes all those sweet smells at home. Vanilla, sugar cookie, cinnamon, coffee house whatever.” “Is a coffee house inherently sweet?” “Yes,” Roland replied, “and it’s our biggest disagreement ever.” Matt stopped short, not sure when he’d crossed so much of the room or how close he was to the bed and more beeping machines. “That so?” “Huh. You want to do this now, then?” Anger really was the most ridiculous reaction. It wasn’t Matt’s knee. Wasn’t his career or his legacy — which was stupid in its own right because Roland was this team and this city and the only reason they’d even gotten to the fucking Eastern Conference Finals the season before was because he’d set up the game-winner the series before and it had been a seven-game series and if Matt actually started crying in this overly bright hospital room he was never going to forgive himself.

“Is that the reason for the face?” “You cannot hold a conversation by only asking me questions,” Matt argued. 

Roland smiled. Asshole. “Can’t I, though?” “He’s going to have a coronary in front of you,” Henry chided, hooking his foot around the only chair, “and it will be your fault.” “Ah, well we’re in the right spot for it. And that wasn’t a question, Matt. Means I’m winning.” “This isn’t a competition,” Matt objected. “Are you serious about this?” And for half a second Roland almost looked like he regretted it. What could have been. What hadn’t happened. What had happened. Losing in five in the Eastern Conference Finals. But then it was gone. Replaced with something far closer to resolve and an understanding Matt couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around. 

“The first time sucked,” he said. “Getting back and trying to get my speed again and—” “—You are not a fast skater,” Matt interrupted. “Yeah, well you’re some freak of genetic nature. So we can’t all be like you, can we?” “‘Nother question.” “Conversational marvel, you are.” Matt huffed, blinking quickly and biting down on his lip until he tasted blood to keep himself from unraveling over something that didn’t belong to him. “It’s ok,” Roland said, “all of it is, really. It’s—this is the end, kid. And I’m not as freaked out as I thought I’d be, honestly.” “No?” “No. My knees are fucked. Even if I came back, it’d take months. I wouldn’t be ready for the start of next season and I don’t want to be that guy, Mattie. Showing up in fucking January, like some replacement. Clinging to something that’s passed me by already. Taking a spot from some other kid. Playing fourth line.” “But that’s not—” “—I’m not playing fourth line minutes, Mattie.” Twice. He’d said it twice, that nickname and all the meaning that came with it and Matt didn’t think. Again. Thrusting his hand forward he held onto Roland’s with enough force that someone’s knuckles cracked, but he could not begin to guess whose and that was probably some sort of metaphor. 

For the way they grew up and how much the game had twisted its way into both of their lives and—“Gotta be the star, huh?” Roland’s laugh echoed around them. Nothing about it was watery or disappointed, but rather certain and confident and Matt’s dad had always been his favorite player, but he’d been a kid when Killian Jones was captain of the New York Rangers and there was something different about now. About watching Roland come into his own in Philadelphia, a spotlight that was his on his own, not because of the name on his back, but because of how good his wrister was and how much those kids did look up to him. Matt included. 

“Face of the franchise, Mattie Jones. So, uh,” Roland continued, “this is it, kid. Not quite perfect. But you know I hate those farewell tours anyway.” “Could have gotten some good gifts,” Henry pointed out. “Bringing home some garbage merch from a bunch of Eastern teams that hated me every other day of the year really would have driven Lizzie insane. Plus, think about all the networks that’ll be clamoring for my face on their pre-game shows. Retirement’s got it’s perks.” There it was, kind of. 

One word and one decision and Matt was briefly worried about the blood flow to Roland’s hand, but he figured one of the machines would alert them to any problem before it happened and— “I’m going to retire,” Roland said, like he knew Matt needed to hear it. “Announcement coming in the next couple of days, probably. I’m almost looking forward to the tearful goodbye videos.” “God, you’re an ass,” Matt grumbled. “One who’s going to rake in that TV money.”

Smiling continued to feel more than a little unnatural, but it was some sort of innate reaction in that moment and Matt didn’t have to say anything. Roland didn’t expect it either, which felt like a bit of a twisted reward, but then he was walking and moving and Henry was still in the room. 

No one was in the hallway. 

Made it easier, that way. 

To quickly and completely go to pieces. 

Sliding down the wall, Matt’s legs tangled in front of him, tears on his cheeks and oxygen staging some sort of revolt in his body and he wished his girlfriend was there and he wished his dad was there and Peggy still had his phone and— “Hey, hey, hey, at least get your hands out of your hair.” The words didn’t connect immediately, another noticeable knuckle crack as Matt’s fingers dug into the strands he’d started gripping at some point. Uncle Liam groaned when he crouched, stymying the threat to Matt’s scalp as he ducked into his eye line. 

“If you tell me it’s going to be ok, you don’t have to. I—” Matt’s inconsistent breathing was even more annoying than his sentence structure. “I know it’ll be fine. Rol’s choice and for the best and...God, fuck, shit, damnit.” “Last one wasn’t very impressive.” “I ran out.” “Ah, don’t lie to me, kid. I know we taught you way more creative words.” “Mostly use that on the ice.” Uncle Liam hummed knowingly, finally letting go of Matt’s hands when it seemed he trusted him not to start yanking on his own hair again. “It absolutely isn’t fine. None of it. It’s bullshit and unfair and knees are worthless joints anyway.” Matt blinked. 

His neck ached with the force of his head jerk, gaping and staring and Uncle Liam’s smile shifted slightly. Into something almost like understanding. He knew. 

He knew. 

“Game like this, it...it sinks into you, doesn’t it? Has to, that’s the only way you can get through it. Because it’s not like other ones. No grass, no court, no sunshine. Fuck, any sunshine just makes it even harder to see on the ice. And that makes it worse and even better. Because for every time you’ve managed to sweat through your pads while shivering at a shitty rink, there are game winners and brekaways and hitting some bastard who thought he was better at faceoffs than you.” “They measure things like faceoffs now, y’know?” “I’m giving you a motivational speech.” Matt nodded. 

“Point is, a sport like this, it...for as much as it gives, it takes a little bit too. Because you’ve got to give yourself to it. Understand that the bumps and the bruises and the incessant cracking of your joints is payment in kind.” “For?” “For the way it felt. The way it’ll always feel, even when it doesn’t end the way you planned.” Letting out a shuddering breath, Matt barely felt his head when it dropped against the wall. “He never won. That’s—of all the things, that’s the worst.” “Sure he did. You don’t think so?” “Unless I forgot about a parade.”

“That’s not how this stuff works, kid,” Liam sighed. “All those runs when you were growing up, even before you were born, those were Rol’s as much as they were Locksley’s. As much as they were your dad’s. And anything you do, that’s his too. Not just because you stole his wrister. Which is kind theft four-times removed, actually.” “How you figure?” “Well, Rol stole it from your dad who ripped it off me, so. You’re welcome.” He might need oxygen sooner rather than later. And a tissue. More than one tissue. “The point I’m getting at,” Uncle Liam said, “is that there’s no perfect way for this to go. Happily ever after isn’t guaranteed, but it doesn’t wipe out everything else that happened. Doesn’t change how good this game is or how good it will keep being. You play with a team, right?” “Sounds like a cliche.” “You grow up in that house, some things become entrenched.” “Yeah, I get that.” “I know you do. Your sister was talking to your parents before, I’m sure they’re waiting for you to get back out there.” It wasn’t the dismissal it sounded like, especially when it came with a hand clasped on his shoulder — but Matt nodded all the same, muttering a quiet thanks and Uncle Liam had been right. Mom had totally been crying too. 

And it wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t the ending that Roland deserved, but eventually Matt started to wonder if it was actually the end and as the years went on he started to know it wasn’t. Not with weddings and kids and a whole subsection of the internet that was decidedly preoccupied with the cut of Roland’s suits on postgame television spots. 

They kept going. Games and hits and a few more injuries, and, eventually, when the Stanley Cup came back to New York and back to that brownstone downtown, Matt didn’t hesitate. He handed it to Roland. 

And took a picture. 

With both of their kid sitting in the goddamn thing. 

[robinskey]

Don’t Touch My Family

Request: Would you be willing to make an imagine of dad!billy were after graduation u nd billy leave town bc u get pregnant w/out telling anybody but after a few years u have a son & daughter Neil finds out n come by the house hella pissed while billy isnt home, tries to hurt u nd the kids but billy comes home n just beats the hell out him for trying to hurt his family? just the thought of billy goin after the only person hes terrified of for HIS family makes him THE father he never had makes me melt ❤

A/N: This is a little bit darker than my typical fluffy sunshine fanfic, but I really liked the request, so I decided to do it anyway. :) Sorry if you wanted something shorter, anon-this turned into more of a drabble/one-shot than an imagine. Thanks for requesting!

Warnings: Teenage pregnancy, descriptions of violence, implied abuse, language

You find out you’re pregnant halfway through the last semester of senior year. 

When you tell Billy, you expect him to freak out. He doesn’t, though-at least, not on the outside. On the inside, he’s absolutely panicking. But he can see how upset you are, so he just pulls you close. He whispers into your hair that he’ll support you in whatever you want to do.

After a few days of contemplation, decide you want to have the baby. You and Billy agree that it’s best to keep your pregnancy a secret-for now, at least. If your parents found out, your father would probably actually fire that shotgun he’s always threatening to use on “that deadbeat boyfriend of yours.”

And Billy...well, he has no idea how his father would react. But he has no intentions of finding out.

Thus, Billy offers to run away with you right there on the spot. However, you ultimately decide that it would be better to finish high school. Maybe you'll even be able to save up a little bit of money before the two of you start a new life together.

So, for the next few months, you wear baggy clothes to hide your growing midsection. Billy picks you up for “dates” that are actually doctor’s appointments. Thanks to your valiant efforts, no one suspects a thing.

Eventually, graduation rolls around. Your family hosts a small get-together after the ceremony. Distant relatives congratulate you on your achievements and ask if you’re excited to start this “new chapter in your life.” You smile and nod.

You have no idea.

Later that night, you stuff everything you can fit into a small tote bag. You leave an apology note to your parents on the kitchen counter and sneak out of your house.

Billy’s waiting for you outside in the Camaro. He greets you with a kiss on the forehead and holds the door open as you climb into the passenger seat. As he drives away, you watch your childhood home shrink into the distance, saying a silent goodbye to the only home you’ve ever known.

***

Five years later, you and Billy share a two-bedroom house on the West Coast. You have two kids-a son and a daughter. Billy works as a mechanic at an auto repair shop, while you write for the local newspaper. Neither of you make much money, but it doesn’t matter. You’re both happy-genuinely happy-for the first time in your lives.

Billy gets home around 5:30 every day, so, when the doorbell rings at 5:15, you figure he just got off early.

“I’m coming, honey!” you yell, bouncing your infant daughter on your hip.

But when you peek into the peephole, you discover not your husband standing on your doorstep but a scruffy older man in tattered clothing. His face is scrunched up, and he squints in the sun. You freeze, clutching your baby to your chest.

Neil Hargrove is standing on your porch.

“I know someone’s home. I heard you,” he barks. “Come on. Open up. I just want to talk.”

He raises a dirty fist and raps on the wood. The noise scares your daughter, who starts to whimper. You’re too busy shushing her to notice your son appear at your side.

“Mama, who’s that?”

You clamp a hand over his mouth and suck in your breath. Maybe, if you’re quiet enough, you can cancel out the noise made by your clueless four-year-old.

“Is that my grandson?”

For a split second, his volume dips below its typical scream-level. It’s the most gentle you’ve ever heard him speak.

But then he has to ruin it by pounding once more on the door.

“Come on, you coward, open the damn door!” He rattles the doorknob so violently that you think it might fall off.

This time, you can’t prevent your daughter from letting out a wail. Beside you, your son sniffles.

You muster every last fiber of courage in your being. “Get the hell out of here, Neil,” you growl, trying to sound as menacing as possible.

“Y/N? Is that you?” he asks. There’s a soft thud, almost like he’s just leaned his forehead against the wood.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought it was Billy in there,” Neil says.

“Billy-Billy is here,” you stutter.

“No, he’s not. I don’t see the Camaro anywhere, and I know my son takes that damn car everywhere,” Neil says.

Your son wraps his arms around your calf and clings to it. You hope he isn’t able to absorb the panic pulsing through every part of your body

“I’m warning you, Neil, to walk out of here while you still can. I…” 

You scan the messy living room, littered with toys. Your gaze falls on a plastic pistol laying on the sofa.

“I have a gun. And I’m not afraid to use it,” you threaten.

The wall between you slightly muffles his ominous chuckle, but it still reaches your ears.

“I’m sure you do, sweetie. But there’s no need to get violent on an old man who just wants to see his grandkids. Why don’t you just open the door, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you just go to hell, Neil?” 

The silence drags on long enough for you to almost convince yourself that he’s walked away.

Almost.

And then, just loud enough for it to be audible: “If that’s how you want to play it.”

You jump out of the way as the door falls inward with a thud.

Neil Hargrove slowly lowers the foot he used to kick it down, glaring at you with bloodshot eyes.

You push your son behind you, wrap your arms tighter around your daughter, and take cautious steps backwards.

“Did you really think you could hide from me forever?” he asks. He advances deeper into your home-your sanctuary-with every word.

“What do you want from me?” you demand. Your backside collides with a wall; Neil’s backed you into a corner.

“I just want what you and my son stole from me by skipping town five years ago,” Neil says. “A chance to connect with my family.”

He draws close enough that you can count every crater left by untreated acne on his creased face and smell the stale whiskey on his breath. “I knew you had one child,” he says, peeking around you at the little boy cowering in the corner, “but two? What a pleasant surprise. This little one-let me see her face.”

Neil extends a wrinkled hand to peel back the blanket covering the baby. You’re too stunned to react until his filthy finger is only inches from her face. That’s when you raise a knee and jam it into his groin. He doubles over with a grunt.

“Go!” You practically shove your son into his room and set the baby next to him. Then, a hand wraps around your ponytail, yanking you backwards. Tears stream down your face as you scream at your kids to shut the door and lock it. There’s a slam and a click, then the word “bitch” yelled into your ear. Neil spits into your ear canal as he calls you every name in the book. You claw and kick and punch, but Neil’s got a death grip on your hair. He drags you across the living room floor, promising that he’s “going to make you pay.” He finally tosses you onto the couch. Your back aches as the barrel of the fake gun juts into your spinal cord.

Between your shrieks and Neil’s name-calling, you don’t hear the roar of the engine as the Camaro pulls onto your street, nor the squeal of the brakes as Billy pulls up next to the beat-up pick-up truck he’d recognize anywhere. You don’t hear your husband’s thundering footsteps as he sprints up the sidewalk. No, you don’t notice any of that; you’re too preoccupied flailing around as Neil tries to pin you to the sofa. 

But even though you don’t see him, Billy appears in the doorway, still wearing his navy mechanic jumpsuit. He’s covered in grease stains and flushed skin. And, for the first time in his life, he raises his voice at his father without an inkling of fear of the consequences.

“Get your hands off my wife!”

He charges at his father, who’s caught completely off-guard. The two of them crash onto the coffee table, snapping it in two. They only wrestle for a minute before Billy comes out on top. He raises his fist and brings it down on his father’s face until it’s nothing more than a bloody pulp. Billy continues landing blows long after Neil passes out. And, while Neil Hargrove certainly deserves it, you’d rather not have Billy kill someone in your house with your kids in the literal next room. So, eventually, you walk up to your scratched-up, bruised husband and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Baby,” you say softly. 

He gazes up at you, the pain and torment of eighteen years of abuse bubbling to the surface once again. Once his eyes meet yours, they immediately soften. He raises himself to his feet and pulls you into a tight embrace. He squeezes you so tightly that you wince, sore from Neil throwing you around like a ragdoll. Billy apologizes profusely and holds you out at arm’s length. His eyes flicker over your features.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” you say honestly. Your hands are shaking profusely, your heart rate is still elevated well above normal levels, and you’re pretty sure you’ll have nightmares about this encounter for the rest of your life. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“A little. But it could have been so much worse, if you hadn’t…” 

A single tear trails down your cheek. Billy wipes it away with his thumb.

“You don’t have to go there, Y/N. Don’t go there,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Your eyelids flutter shut. “You’re right. We’re safe now-me, the kids-”

“The kids!” you both exclaim at the same time. You run to their bedroom and knock on the door. It swings open, and two small children stare up at you. They both burst into tears, and you and Billy gather them into your arms.

The police arrive a few minutes later, just as Neil starts to regain consciousness. (Having nosy neighbors pays off when you need someone to call 9-1-1 without being asked.) As the officers escort Neil out of the house in handcuffs, Billy warns him to never come near his family again.

And for the first time in his life, his father actually listens.

Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny  @sweetboibilly @scarrasco1325  @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

[disaster-dan]

Winterspider ABO AU Omega Clinic

Bucky works in a Omega specialized clinic in which omegas are admitted if their biological levels are not met balanced which can lead to serious health issues. Young Omega Peter is admitted unknowingly after his aunt notices that her early presented nephew has lost his scent and seems to have skipped heats without suppressants for nearly a year. Peter does not know why he is there, only that he is ‘sick’. Bucky is assigned to Peter and what else is there to say.

OR: a poor excuse for smut

Words: 5k

Tags: extreme dub-con, sexual content, inaccurate biology, ABO dynamics, fluff so much of it

It was only a few days, according to Aunt May but now Peter wasn’t so sure it was just ‘a couple of days’. When May and him arrived at the Center, it didn’t seem to Peter as a place where people stayed ‘for a couple of days’. Peter didn’t even know what type of people stayed there, but if the sign outside with ‘Omega’ gave him any clue- he was in for more than just a few days. 

Aunt May didn’t tell him, which he couldn't blame. If she had told Peter, he would be fleeing the city then. The people inside, a few dressed in scrubs and mostly betas telling by the hardly there scent it seemed like a place where Peter would get probed for hours. The very few alphas he noticed as he walked didn't make anything better. 

The friendly shoulder touches did nothing, their soft calm voices explaining the areas inside, the schedule, the stays and visits, Peter was just a shell of an omega knowing absolutely nothing about what was going on. It had to do something with him, he knew that. But the more he thought about it, the more realistic his guesses became and the scarier reality was. 

And finally to a room. A small dorm. There was a TV, a nice looking bed, small knick knacks that Peter guessed were for the omega patients. There was a bathroom in that room. So that indicated he couldn’t leave the room unless it was on the schedule to leave the fucking room. 

Peter did not react much for his and May’s sake. He gave a small smile to May who hugged him, showering him in apologies and promises to check in. Peter hugged the woman back and giving her an assuring “I’ll be alright, May. I’ll be just fine.” Peter was lying to himself in the process. 

He never felt more alone until that moment. His bag falling to his side, the door closing softly behind him, the room before him and a checklist for a staff to scratch to. A small plastic bracelet wrapped around his wrist. 

Maybe, quite possibly, he wasn't the healthiest of all omegas. But to be where he was taken to? His thoughts weren’t helping.

Some hours passed by. Peter familiarized enough with the room. A distraction for what he was awaiting.

The door knocked.

“H-Hello?”

Peter watched as the doorknob turned and a man peak his head through. Alpha. Grown man. Tall. Strong. Very strong-

Peter was in trouble now. 

“Hey.” the man said, entering   the room and closing the door behind him. “I’m your caretaker for your stay. I’m James Barnes, but call me Bucky.” he smiled kindly, his eyes were blue.

“I’m...I’m Peter.”

“Do you have any questions for me, Peter?” He asked, removing his jacket and setting it by a nearby chair. Peter felt chills run up his back. “Anything I should know?”

Peter shook his head and with every move that Bucky made, his heart sank lower and lower. 

“N-no.”

Bucky’s arms lifted and tied his hair back with a band. Peter could have ran through the wall if he could. 

“If you want to stop during anything, we stop.” the alpha said calmly, following protocol, and walked to the bed where Peter sat against the headrest. Peter could just watch as the alpha got closer, listen as he was told to lay down, hold his breath when the man crawled on the bed-

The boy immediately starts wailing. 

Bucky flinched back, and he’s grateful the building’s rooms are soundproof because anybody right now would think he’s doing something horrible to the omega. Bucky didn’t even touch him yet.

“Hey, hey, quiet down. I’m sorry. What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t want to!” He screams, hands fisted on either side of his pillow. “I don’t want to! I’m scared!”

“Baby, that’s why we’re going slow.” Bucky explained, still keeping his hands from the young omega. Oblivious to what Peter was thinking.

“I’m scared!” The omega repeats, big tears falling from his frightened eyes. “I’m not ready! I don’t want to mate, please! I don’t want to get pregnant! Please!”

Bucky flinches back further, his brows creating a crease of confusion. 

“Get pregnant?”

“I don’t want to, please. Please please please please Idontwanto-“

“Hey-” Bucky cuts off, waving his hand, “who said anything about getting you pregnant?” Who said anything about mating?

Peter suddenly hiccups and stares at Bucky with the equal confusion his face displays. “Huh?”

“Who said you’re getting pregnant here?” Bucky sits back on his heels and he cocks his head. He’s a staff alpha and even he’s confused. “We don’t do that here. Or any clinic anywhere for that matter.”

“I’m n-not?”

“No.” Bucky climbs off the Omega carefully and sits at his side. Peter sits up as well, staring confused and terrified at the alpha before him. “We don’t do that.”

“It’s..n-not what I’m here for…?” Peter seems to half understand the situation. He only sniffles, trying to catch his breath.

Bucky searches the room for a warming pillows with special scents meant for stressed omegas. And he finds one in a distant shelf. A vibrant soft blue. Bucky runs for it and brings it back to Peter who’s breathing hard through his mouth. 

“Peter.” Bucky whispered with concern and brings the pillow to Peter’s chest. The omega smells the scent and quickly hugs the pillow close. He inhales and his eyelids nearly drop and his shoulders sag. It makes Bucky sigh with relief, Peter buries his nose in the soft material.

Bucky sits by, closely observing the young man and making sure he isn’t retreating to a near panic attack. It’s a couple of minutes and Bucky reaches for the pillow and tugs it to get Peter’s attention. The fear in his eyes breaks Bucky’s heart.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Often, many of the omegas there did not know why they were admitted or by who. That was something Bucky always had an issue with, the consenting protocols and if there even was any when a patient was admitted. For what anybody knew- Peter would have developed some internal or emotional complications at the state he was in if he didn’t get admitted. 

But Peter likely didn’t know why he was even there. Or what the clinic was. The clinic was a rehab. Many omegas would go years without mating and drowning themselves in suppressants. The clinic helped with returning their bodies to healthy normal.

“Yes?” Peter answers, clearly not knowing what he’s there for.

“Your file says you presented very early. You didn’t mate or frolick when time was appropriate. You ignored pre heats, went on consuming suppressants and then injections. You’re not scented by your parents or anybody in your family. You’ve used way too much anti-scent lotion to cover your scent glands, which are clogged by the way. Your slick stopped producing months ago and you did not see a doctor for it.” Bucky studied that file well. 

Peter blinked, a small tear rolled down his cheek as he did so. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “That’s why you’re here.”

“I thought...”

“Thought what?”

“I was sick.” Peter said, clutching the pillow. 

“You are.” Bucky said, “your internal bio levels aren’t where they’re supposed to be. And that’s dangerous.”

“I thought...” Peter doesn’t finish his sentence but a look from Bucky pushes him to continue with hind fear. “I thought getting pregnant fixed all that.”

“It does. But your body is pushed back far and so that would only make you hurt.” 

The omega’s eyes widen and they’re watering again. His lower lip starts to quiver and it’s just a sad image. Bucky doesn’t touch him yet, the boy might react worse to it. 

“I d-don’t want to mate.” He whispers, holding the pillow to his chest more as protection and not comfort. 

Bucky sighs and reaches to drag the pillow up to Peter’s nose. “You’re not mating either.” He said narrowing his eyes. “You’re not getting pregnant or mating.”

“But you’re going to- do stuff.”

“Because it’s a start.” Bucky points out. “That’s all we do here. Stuff. And it’s to help omegas get better, not for our pleasure.” Peter’s eyes dart to the corner of the room and he inhales the pillow’s scent. Bucky sighs and looks at the floor.

Consent is something Bucky has to get from Omegas. Both legally and clearly. He has to do his job, either getting their consent to continue the therapy or work his way up along the days. Bucky is aiming to get Peter’s consent that same day. He’s read the entire file and the doctor’s notes along with the Aunt’s input to be concerned enough. Who knows what might happen if he waits any longer. Peter’s body doesn’t have time to work his way with Barnes.

“Peter.” Bucky speaks, getting the boy’s attention. “Everyone in this clinic cares for patients. We all want you to get better. If you’re scared about a male alpha I can clock in a female if you’d like.”

Peter shakes his head and tries to blink away his tears. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. You know that, right? I won’t hurt you, but I won’t let you keep getting worse either. If you don’t let a staff help you we’re starting with the medical therapy instead. And that’s not easy nor does it feel good.”

The medical therapy included multiple injections in a day. Various vaginal or anal check ups with medical rods that reach far enough to the slick glands. And those are far in an omega. Certain liquids would be administered through tubing needle. No privacy whatsoever. The patient always has a staff keeping an eye on them when in their room, when on lunch or activities, when using the restroom or showering. Any heat is drowned away by certain substances, but it is extremely exhausting to go through that.

He could explain that in detail, but he was sure Peter was told about it sometime back telling by his expression at ‘medical therapy’. The physical therapy was the best by far for the omegas that preferred it.

Peter pouts and he looks away. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Bucky asks quietly, waiting patiently for the young omega to come to his full senses. And Peter just shrugs, squirming as he sits. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. But I promise it won’t hurt, I won’t let it hurt.”

Peter knows that it’s essentially the only option he has if he wants to get better. And he does want to get better. But that being his last option still scares him. He just wants to get better. Why does he have to go through this? That was the exact reason he got himself to how he is now, to avoid any of that stuff. That backfired badly, didn’t it.

“Do you want to eat or drink anything?” Bucky asks, and his voice is soft and low and Peter does not want to trust that voice.

“No.” he mumbled, being sure he might throw up the contents just out of fear. Bucky keeps his eyes on him and Peter can’t do anything but pull the pillow from his nose and slowly set it aside. He wants to cry again. But he nods as a green light to start.

“Are you sure? You know why we have to do this, okay? Nothing bad will happen to you. I’ll do everything so it won’t hurt.”

“What am I going to feel?” Peter felt a bit ridiculous. Being the age he is, it was comedic he still hadn’t done anything. 

“Good.” Bucky says simply. “I know you’re scared but I promise it’s going to feel good.” Bucky nods at him and puts his hand for Peter to take. “I’ll go as slow as you want me to. Okay? I’ll explain everything.”

Peter blinks and slowly he raises his hand and lays it on Bucky’s. He’s still hesitant. But Bucky smiles and it makes Peter’s heart flutter. 

“This isnt just sex with an alpha, okay? There’s more, but sex is part of it and I’m sorry it causes you distress.”

“I can do it.” Peter says, voice shaking, but he nods.

“Want to lay down for me?” Peter sniffs and he does lay back again. His hand absently reaches for the pillow but quickly pulls it back to his chest. 

Peter is situated on the soft bed and Bucky doesn’t climb over him yet. His eyes travel down Peter’s frame and to the loose pants he was provided. Bucky looks at Peter and points at them. “I’m taking your clothes off, okay?” to which Peter nods and he holds a wince as the alpha’s fingers hook under the band and drag the clothing off. Bucky folds it and sets it aside and then his hands reach for Peter’s shirt. Peter collaborates to remove it and again Bucky sets it aside. Now he’s left in his white briefs.

“Do you touch yourself?” Peter blushes and nods. “What gets you going?” Bucky asks, shifting on the edge of the bed to slightly loom over Peter. It’s not meant to be a lewd question. But the way his voice formed the words- Peter’s mind fogs.

“Alphas.” he mumbles, his face heating up and remembering his secret blog and the dirty sites he’s visited before. 

“What about alphas?”

“Two of them.” Peter’s hands want to hold something, fumble with it. They lay besides Peter’s head.

“Like a threesome?”

“No. Just two of them. Doing it.”

Bucky’s brows raise and he blinks. “Oh. Two alphas going at it. Males?”

“Either.” Peter says, his eyes going to Bucky’s hand that is now resting on his hip.

Female and male alphas both had that similar aggressive and hyper dominant personality. A female alpha could easily take over a male alpha and vice versa. But seeing them battle for dominance as they have sex is something Peter can drown in. The constant growling back and forth, the sudden whimpers that are magic to hear coming from an alpha, their sex being far from soft and slow. It’s competitive, fast yet long lasting when it comes to reaching their orgasm. Seeing them bring each other to a brink of an orgasm is what makes Peter spill as he’d touch himself while watching videos late at night.

“It’s quite a show, ain’t it?” The alpha asks, and Peter nods shyly in agreement. “Okay. Why don’t you think about that as I touch you. Can you do that? Wanna close your eyes?”

Peter nods and he gasps when a big palm lays itself on his groin. Peter winces and closes his eyes. His mind runs through images and videos of alphas, the noises they make, the typical strong muscled body they all have. And Bucky’s hands moves, softly rubbing his prick and Peter feels embarrassment swallow him as he feels certain warmth travel to his sex. Bucky is simply minding as he touches the tense omega. His careful hand seems to do the trick. Under his palm he feels the small prick twitch and gaining some hardness.

Peter shifts and whimpers, not wanting to get aroused. But he has to.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Slow, remember?” Bucky’s voice is like music, smooth. Peter nods, yet his body absently trying to abstain from pleasure. “This is only the start, baby. You gotta let go a bit.” And his hand lowers in between his legs.

Peter winces, feeling his closed eyes burn with tears. He forces his hips to relax and he reaches for the comfort pillow. He inhales deeply, still thinking of the dominating alphas that linger in his dreams. How big they were. How strong.

Lips start kissing his flat belly and he looks over to see Bucky looming over him and leaving small kisses. His prick jolts and Peter whines. Bucky’s hand responds by adding pressure, increasing the warmth there.

His kisses travel from side to side. When he reaches Peter’s bellybutton his kisses go directly down from there. But those are slower, they drag more on his skin. And Peter’s legs tremble.

“Gonna use my mouth on you, okay?” Bucky murmurs against his skin. He continued moving down slowly. For a moment he nibbles on Peter’s hip and Peter does not want to moan. So he whimpers loudly, the feeling of teeth on him foreign.

Bucky’s lips are on his covered erection and Peter’s hold on the pillow tightens. His hips jut and his knees lock. Sound escapes his mouth and Peter blushes more at his submissiveness.

Bucky mouths the small prick, his breathe quickly heating up Peter and he travels lower. His lips reach Peter’s small sack and he plays with it, nosing and mouthing. He feels Peter’s hips thrust. With a small growl, Bucky’s hand pushes down on the omega’s hip and keeps him still. The growl was enough for Peter to freeze entirely and open his legs wider with a quiet whine.

“Good boy.” Bucky whispered, his fingers tugging at the boy’s underwear. They come off and Peter’s hardened cock is pink and twitches when Bucky’s breathing brushes against the skin. “I’m going to suck you and finger you, okay?”

“Is it going to hurt?” Peter asks, hugging the pillow impossibly tighter.

“It’s going to feel good. You tell me if we have to slow down. Okay, baby?” Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at Peter and there’s some red in his blue irises. Peter shakily nods. “Slow, okay?”

Peter complies with staying still, not wanting to annoy the alpha or be rude. But feeling something wet and warm lick up his cock makes Peter cry out and buck his hips. He shivers, never having felt something like that in his life.

The alpha let Peter move around for a while. His tongue ran along Peter’s cock, feeling it pulse and twitch with sensitivity. Peter whined, holding back from pushing the alpha away or wanting to do things he had never thought about doing before. Like- what would it feel like to fuck an Alpha’s mouth? Peter’s body betrays his efforts and he thrusts enough to move Buck’s licking coordination. Peter’s small cock is hot and leaking, much to his embarrassment.

The omega shudders when he feels Bucky’s lips wrap around his tip and his tongue swirl on his slit. Peter watches Bucky and from that view the alpha is deep in concentration. Peter tilts his hips, his body restless and needy.

Bucky then holds him down and his mouth sinks down on the omega’s cock. It’s small, Bucky does not struggle with it and he slowly moves up and down. Peter writhes under him, his whines accentuated and his eyes begin to feel moist again.

Having done this type of work before for a long time, Bucky knows small tricks and tips to help the omega under him feel deep pleasure. He takes his time with Peter. He’s slowly as he moved his head up and down the small shaft. His hands don’t touch Peter’s genitals much until Bucky feels a small squirt of precome inside mouth. His fingers just tease the small space between Peter’s balls and his hole. With a less critical omega, that would’ve aroused slick. But since Peter isn’t yet producing that, Peter just moans and moved his hips continuously.

Bucky sinks down as low as he can. His nose touched against the barely there pubic hair of the omega and he sucks. Hard. Upon hearing moans from the boy, Bucky hums and the vibrations travel down Peter’s erection. The omega nearly shouts, his knuckles white, mouth hanging and his legs want to slap closed if it wasn’t for the alpha holding him down. The pretty noises Peter makes is enough to send signals down Bucky’s groin.

“Bucky-” Peter calls, small tears threatening to fall from his golden eyes. “I want to come. C-can I…”

Bucky heard and he pulls away. Peter whines at the loss and he throws his head back.

Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not yet.” He responds, and Peter is staring at the red in Bucky’s eyes that has spread in the blue. “Gonna do more stuff.”

“What stuff?”

Bucky responds by pulling a small bottle from god knows where and Peter raises an eyebrow.

“Lube.” Bucky mumbles popping the cap. Peter does not miss the small ‘extra’ on the label.

“W-what are you doing?” Peter asks, already knowing what’s going to happen. But his tears are falling now and he is terrified again and he’s naked in front of an Alpha who’s about to fuck him.

Bucky looks at the omega and he leans down to face him. “Peter, it’s okay. You’re fine. Remember, I won’t let it hurt.”

Nothing else is said when Bucky is coating his fingers with the warming lube. It's between Peter’s legs once again and he presses his finger pad against the rim. Peter jerks and shakes his head.

“I can’t -”

“Yes you can. I’m with you.” Bucky pulls back and carefully he pulls off his shirt. It does the trick in silencing Peter. The omega stops to stare at the alpha’s body and a certain blush rises to his cheeks.

“That’s it, pretty, look at me. Everything's okay. Just look at me.” Bucky coos and his fingers is coating the tight muscle. Peter squirms and he does his best to not break down. But the alpha’s hand reaches to one of Peter’s hands and brings it down to his cocklet. “Touch yourself. Look at me.”

Peter complied and his small hand wraps around his small erection and he relieves himself as Bucky works the very tip of his finger inside him. Peter’s eyes leak tears but he keeps concentrated on his alpha’s body and jerking his leaking cock.

Bucky’s entire index fingers is inside and he thrusted back and forth. Peter does not feel pain, but the discomfort is enough to make the omega quietly sniffle and his pretty face be traced by his tears. Bucky ignores and he works his middle finger. It’s a noticeable stretch but the omega does not fuss and he whimpers when he feels a change. His hand moves faster on his little cock and keeps his eyes trained on Bucky’s body.

“Good boy, you’re okay. You’re doing great, baby.” And the words tug at something inside Peter.

Bucky’s own biology wants to reach him. His own cock fills and hardens at the view of Peter under him, whimpering and pleasing himself while being fingered. Bucky kneels on his knees and his free hand reaches to his own erection and he rubs. A quiet moan spills from his lips as he looks from the omega’s thin blushed shoulders, down his small perked nipples, his pale smooth stomach and his pink dick.

Peter is able to smell the aroused scent from Bucky and his breathing hitches. Because it smells good.

“Al...Alpha?” Peter whines, and it captures Bucky’s attention. Bucky looks up to see Peter’s eyes dilated and they’re begging for Bucky. Bucky recognizes his look and leans down to the omega. Peter wraps a free arm around his neck and his nose plasters to his neck where the smell is stronger and he moans. His hand moves with boldness and the fingers inside him begin to spark something unknown.

Bucky blindly unbuckles his belt and his pants and drags them down as best he can. Peter does not notice much until Bucky pulls away and Peter’s eyes stop at the hard alpha cock, standing proud and red. His heart nearly stops.

“You with me, Peter?” Peter nods slowly. Bucky pulls his fingers from the tight omega hole. “Open your legs for me, babe.” And Peter does so. Bucky can’t help the bubbling excitement when he sees the virgin pink hole. He pushes Peter’s legs to his chest and Bucky is amazed by the flexibility of the omega. So bendy and able. He holds them down, a firm hand under Peter’s knees and the omega begins to fuss. He shifts, whimpers, small cut off sounds of distress.

“Everything’s okay, Peter.” Bucky assures quietly. Peter’s eyes catches his gaze. “You’re going to be okay.”

Peter understands, but when he feels Bucky’s cockhead press against his rim it makes Peter whine loudly.

“Bucky!” Peter sobbed, the length of Bucky slowly sliding into him with ease.

“There we go, kitten. There we go, good boy.” The alpha above grunted, sliding in until his hips hit the omega’s soft ass. “Good boy. You’re doing good, baby.”

Bucky gave small thrusts until he decided he was fixed well enough to fuck the omega. Peter sobbed underneath, his hips being held from twisting around by the older man. He wanted to move to his own accord. He wanted to pleasure himself.

“Stay still.” Bucky hissed, and Peter hiccuped as he listened to the order. He went pliant, slacking himself. The alpha thrusted steadily, every thrust pushing a pathetic sound out of Peter.

“I can’t.” Peter sobbed, “Bucky, I can’t-”

Bucky halted and breathed deeply. Peter below covered his face and cried quietly. Bucky could feel Peter’s body responding. His body wanted what it wanted. Peter was a different factor.

“Baby, we have to get through this. Slow, but we have to.”

“Just wait.” Peter cried quietly. “Please.”

Buck listened and slowly lets Peter’s legs down. Peter moved his hips and whined at the feeling of the alpha’s cock inside. Bucky held himself up above Peter, hands on either side of Peter’s head. The boy looked at him, eyes teary, but they switched from Buck’s face and his body. He moved again, hips shaking and moaned quietly. Bucky saw what he was doing.

Bucky pulled Peter up until he was seated on him. Peter balanced himself, holding Buck’s shoulders and staring down at where they joined. He closed his eyes and shifted his hips, making him shiver and groan.

As the omega fucked himself on the alpha, Bucky’s hands laid on his waist, keeping him steady and something to hold on to. Something to hold him from slamming Peter back down and ruining him.

His chest flushed, nipples perked. Bucky’s mouth latched on to his right peck. Peter squirmed and whimpered at the new feeling. It felt good. Bucky moved and shifted inside him, keeping Peter full and worked.

Peter’s cock dripped, rubbing between his and Bucky’s abdomens. Bucky knew he was hitting a spot inside the omega that should’ve had him crying and thrashing around. Peter was still mindlessly riding Buck. They would need sessions for that to happen.

“Can you-..” Peter winced and laid his head on Bucky’s shoulder, shuddering.

“Can I what?”

“Touch me.” He whispered, and grinded his hips hard. Both moaned and Peter continued the pace. “P-please?”

“Anything.” Bucky granted and his hand wrapped around the small thing. Peter yelped and froze. He tried his best to not acknowledge the act, he wanted to ignore that he lost what he for so long tried to keep. Tears bubbled in his eyes and he sniffed.

“I’m- sorry…” Peter said to himself, “S-sorry…”

“Peter.” Bucky called, “Kiss me.” Peter pulled back and his reddened eyes looked at Buck’s. “You’ll feel better, dolly.”

Slowly, the man closed the space between the two and Peter woefully moaned into their kiss. Bucky was right. It did make him feel better. Buck’s lips were warm, he could feel Bucky’s stubble against him. His scent.

A firmer hand reached and grasped Peter’s ass. The omega whimpered as the hand moved him down on Bucky’s hard and moved him up, then back down. Peter kissed Bucky harder, ignoring what was happening below. The feeling never before experienced, the warmth that suddenly overtook Peter.

Peter rode him for a long while. His little cock wept but he had not come. There was something that Peter couldn’t get to go away, it made him feel good, but no matter how hard he fucked down nothing happened. Bucky wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist and huffed at every thrust. He really wanted-

He couldn’t think of patients like that. No.

“I can’t…”

“Peter?”

“I feel something I c-cant make it go away.” he sniffled, burying his face in Bucky’s neck. “I can’t make it feel more…”

“We’ll get there, baby.” Bucky assured and kissed his temple. “Right now, make yourself feel good.”

Bucky groaned when Peter pushed himself down, his virgin hole taking in nearly all of Bucky.

“M-my fault…”

Bucky took Peter’s chin and kissed him hard. His hand wrapped around Peter’s erection and tugged. Peter whined into his mouth, his riding nearly stopping. His small hands wandered the alpha’s body, mind blurry, a wet dream he wasn’t sure he wanted. But it felt good. And he felt safe. The skin his hands touched was smooth and muscles toned.

Peter recognized the signs of upcoming orgasm. His balls tightened, warmth piled to his groin and something inside kept pulsing. Peter didn’t know what that was, only that it felt good and wanted Bucky to touch him more.

“B-Bucky…”

“You can come, baby.”

“But- you.” Peter whined, feeling embarrassed at his words. He rutted against Buck’s abs and groaned quietly. “You…”

“I’ll knot you, baby. Nothing bad is going to happen I’ll just knot you. Okay? We don’t have to.”

“Can we?”

That was enough. Bucky laid back and brought Peter with him. Peter was confused until he felt the man thrust up, fast, and hard, and he cried out. Bucky held Peter against him, Peter’s cock trapped between them. Peter’s cock was leaking but his hole entrance wasn’t leaking slick. Bucky wondered how good it would smell when Peter begins to make slick again.

Knowing that there was no danger in mating or impregnating Peter, Bucky didn’t hold back in making both of them come. Peter sobbed above him, tears rolling down his cheeks and to Bucky’s shoulder, shuddering and moving his hips when he could. Dirty and sweet praises were whispered to him. It only sent hot signals to his sex and he was extremely close from spilling.

“B-Bucky...I’m going to…”

Bucky nodded against him, kissing his cheek and breathing hard.

“Do it, dolly. Do it for Alpha.”

That did it.

Peter’s body tensed as his orgasm piled and strongly ripped from him. His cock shot spurts and his hole clenched down on the alpha, making him growl deeply. Peter nearly shrieked, one last pulse inside him ringing out a feeling inside. He rode down his high, crying as pleasure slipped from him with ease.

“Alphaaa.” Peter sobbed, his legs and waist slumping. “Alpha, please!”

Bucky gripped his waist and thrusted inside deep. Peter shouted and suddenly something began to fill in. Expanding.

“Oh- Fuck!” Buck cursed, his knot expanding the tight omega hole and shooting in his own release. “Fuck!”

Peter whimpered, the feeling strange and waking something else. Feeling Buck’s cock pulse inside him made Peter’s small cock shoot another weak load. Peter only cried and shifted as much as he could to ride it out.

The two laid where they were. Bucky breathed hard and Peter hiccuped above him. That being the strongest orgasm he’s had. Bucky could hardly believe the tightness of the omega. Clearly- Peter never wanted anything inside him. Nor did it seem he tried.

“Peter?”

“Bucky…”

Bucky nodded and kissed his face. “You did great, pretty. You’re okay.”

Peter weakly nodded and kept his face against his neck. Where it smelled really nice. Bucky on the contrary, couldn’t smell anything. Peter had no scent yet.

“Sleep. I’ll clean you and then you can eat something.”

Peter nodded, out of breathe, doing his best to hold his sniffling and hiccups. Bucky didn’t seem to mind. His hand caressed his back and another one held his ass firmly. He liked that.

“Well done, baby. You’re okay.” Peter felt safer at the words and snuggled closely. After a few minutes, Peter’s breathing went even and he slept peacefully on the alpha. 

Tag: @twink-peter, @jimkinkk

part 2 if my soul cooperates

[ill-skillsgard]

Nothing Wrong - Gordan Merkel

Characters: Merkel x busty fem reader

Warning: 18+ sex/BDSM/rope bondage/body+breast worship

Note: This piece was commissioned through my Ko-Fi by one of my most treasured beauties <3 Please visit my page if you're interested in commissioning a fic of your own! Patreon subs got early access to this fic (and much more).

I know I haven’t been posting a whole lot recently, and I feel bad about it. Life has been a real motherfucker lately! I have had little time to sit down and write recreationally and when I get the chance, my attention is elsewhere. I’m hoping things settle down soon, but who knows! Thanks for supporting, reading and existing here with me. I love you!

The weight of a secret knows no bounds...

He came out of nowhere on a crisp Autumn afternoon outside of the convention centre and noted her black button-down shirt. She had left the top three buttons alone, as trying to fasten them would cause rather uncomfortable stretching across her chest. It was better this way. There was nothing wrong with a little eye candy to entice customers, she thought. Nothing wrong with that at all.

He spoke to her under the guise of wanting to know what booth she belonged to since she looked like she was on a short break as a worker and not a visitor. He lit a black cigarette and asked her more questions, all of which he already knew the answers to.

"Do you have a business card?" He asked.

She tapped her pockets and realized that she had left her business cards on the table inside the convention.

"Shit. No. I don't have them on me," she regretted.

"Here. Please," he dipped into an inner pocket and produced a card with a double Carrick knot emblazoned in silver on a pure black field. Gordan Merkel. Then there was an e-mail address.

The man with the striped jacket and fitted black pants tipped some ash from his cigarette and flashed a smile sinful enough to tempt a demon. The sides of his head were shaved down and he had the look of a man that spent a lot of late hours awake.

"I'd give you my card, but I left them all inside," you told him.

"Don't worry. Just send me an e-mail. Just as good as a card."

"Sure. Good to meet you, Gordan."

"Merkel."

The man had eyes like hypnotic stones, high crests for cheekbones that angled down to a pair of cherub's lips.

And they fit together perfectly. They had sex that first night and the noises she made when he had her coming sounded like the call of heaven to him. He laid beside her, spent, watching her breasts rise and fall steadily with her breathing and decided that she had something inside of her that needed to be unleashed.

She was different. She didn't ask things of him. She was just content to be beside him and that was what he needed.

Days turned into weeks and he knew that he liked her in a way that he hadn't liked anybody in a long time. He wanted to keep it that way which meant a lot of ambiguity. At first, she never questioned him. When he said he had to leave after an afternoon of fucking on the stairs she bid him farewell and told him to come back soon.

No matter what, he came back. And she grew to love the days he would show up again at her door with some manner of material flattery; a bouquet, a new scarf, an antique silver bracelet, his favourite sweets from his childhood. Anything to get her to smile before he ravaged her in whatever room she would allow.

Weeks bled into months and she realized how long it had been one day when Merkel was in the shower. When he came out ready to leave, she looked up at him from the sofa and batted her eyes. "Do you really have to leave so soon?"

His neutral expression melted into an apologetic pout. Merkel reached out and touched her cheek. "I promise I'll be back, darling."

"Where do you go all the time?"

"To work, of course."

"I still don't quite understand what it is that you do," she stated.

He leaned down, kissed her with both hands clutching her head and pulled back an inch to nuzzle his nose against hers. "I'll tell you all about it some other time. Right now, I must go."

"Okay."

It happened a few more times until she couldn't take it anymore. He would never get to the bottom of his job or his life or even what he liked to do in his spare time. She thought she was what he did in his spare time. Their time together was the only unstructured thing about him.

She drew the most natural conclusions; He was cheating on her, he had a family somewhere and she was his distraction or he wasn't who she thought he was. Merkel was bad at giving answers and great at concealing information that might lead her to find out what he always disappeared for.

There were already too many secrets and if he could be sneaky, she decided, so could she. Which led her downtown on a covert mission to find out where the hell Merkel went at 8 PM on a Saturday. When she saw the name of the establishment he entered, her heart sank. It wasn't exactly what she had been expecting, but it was close enough and perhaps worse than anything she had envisioned.

She knew the place but never entered, simply waited outside for hours until Merkel showed his face. When the familiar scent of clove cigarettes wafted by, she perked and found him leaned up against the painted black brick wall of the establishment she had followed him to.

"Now you know."

"Yeah. I guess, now I know."

"But you don't know the whole story," Merkel said with a hint of regret steering his words.

"Do I need the whole story?"

He approached her and quirked a useless smile. "Yes. You do."

The whole unadulterated story made her angrier before it provided any kind of relief. He was a teacher of sorts; a master. She gawped at him like her jaw was too heavy to hold up.

"The longer a secret like that is left to fester, the worse it gets. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I didn't want to scare you away."

"What else are you hiding?"

Merkel lifted his hands, the cigarette between his index and middle finger an afterthought. "Nothing."

"I can't believe you."

"I'm sorry."

"So, you're a... BDSM master. Okay. Nothing wrong with that."

"Nothing wrong? Tell that to every other failed relationship."

"Maybe you should have been honest with them." Her tone carried hotly, but she didn't seem to want to get away from him. Not yet.

"Nothing good ever came from being honest."

"Wish you would have just told me," she grumbled as if he weren’t there.

"I wish I did, too."

They were quiet while Merkel smoked the last inch of his cigarette and flicked it off the sidewalk onto the frosty street. He turned to her, eyes begging for a conclusion.

"I want to try it." She wasn't aware of her admission until it made his eyebrows shoot half-way up his forehead.

"Really? You do? I didn't think you would be into that."

She stood up and began walking away slowly but stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. "Well, you never asked... Master."

His sleep-deprived eyes darkened under the lamplight. "Very well, pet."

~*~

He laid down the rules firmly as a true professional would. There was nothing erotic about his long-winded explanation of her obligation to tell him if she started to experience discomfort, claustrophobia or numbness. He drilled her with questions until he conceded that she was an open territory for him to explore.

"You will call me master. I will consider any other address inappropriate and it will result in immediate punishment."

Merkel had walked in wearing a fur coat and carried with him a doctor's bag, presumably full of items that needed no explanation. He dropped the leather bag on the floor and smiled before kneeling to pop open the tarnished frame clasp. He laid out a large coil of coloured rope and returned to her attention as she stood robed in the middle of their chosen play space — the comfort of her bedroom.

"I will only start with the small stuff tonight. Just harnessing your chest and restraining your arms, if you're comfortable with that. You will have full use of your legs. But those tits are mine."

He knew his materials and unwound a fair length of red synthetic fibre rope. He blinked up at her and quirked the left corner of his mouth. "Since you're such a new, sweet, little baby... You get the nice soft rope. Wouldn't want your precious skin to suffer too much."

She nodded her head, unprepared to call him by his chosen title just yet. But that's exactly what he was, and she watched him with her mouth closed while he circled her.

"Whenever you want to start, you can take off your robe."

The confidence she had built up began to shake beneath his stare. The rope in his hands was ready to be laid over her skin. Breathing in deeply, she moved to open her robe and shrug it off her shoulders. He kicked it far enough away to not obscure the surrounding pathway.

"I've dreamed of what those tits would look like tied up for me. So, so many times."

His opening line was enough to have her chewing her lip. Now that he mentioned it, flashes of his hands groping her breasts whizzed by her mind's eye. He always liked to touch and squeeze, paying extra special attention to her sensitive nipples. The recollections made her skin buzz to life.

The soft running of the rope over his hands hissed behind her. She didn't risk looking back at him but closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, fully entrusting him to guide her through this new, impelling experience.

"Lift your arms and bend them in at the elbows, touching your collarbone."

She obeyed him and allowed herself to look down when his hands came up under her arms to lay a flat run of rope over the tops of her breasts. It came around tightly to the back where he looped it and pulled taut.

"Perfect. Stay just like that for me."

His breath was close to her ear as he coiled another run beneath her chest this time, creating a lovingly snug frame. She spilled forth from the binding already, but he had plenty more to do.

"Beautiful. Such exquisite flesh. I would love to see you in jute."

Again, no sound from her. Merkel knotted the rope behind her and his hands came under her arms again. Slender fingers ran along the length of softened chord and the sensation mimicked down her spine.

"Oh, yes. Your body is so responsive to me. Isn't it?"

She nodded her head much to his displeasure. He stopped and pulled the rope tighter. A few breaths permitted to come and go before he leaned over her shoulder, intaking her scent as a wolf might sniff his prey before lunging.

"It's yes, master. You don't want this to end in punishment so soon, do you?"

"No, master," she chirped nervously.

"Good little pet."

When he came around and passed the rope over her shoulder to dip down between her breasts, he took a full, loose-lipped look at how the luscious flesh protruded from the binding. Endearingly pink and bristling from sensation, he bit back the urge to give one of her perked nipples a pinch. That could wait until she was fully restrained.

Her arms were clasped with the same amount of pressure as her chest had been. Fully knotted and unable to do anything but watch her master admiring his work, she bit her lip again and helped him to snap out of his self-evaluative trance.

"How are you feeling, little one?"

"Good, master."

"No discomfort anywhere?"

She smiled. "None whatsoever... Master."

He nodded and bounced his shoulders out of the fur coat, revealing the straps of a purposefully distressed tank top.

"On your knees," he pointed at the floor.

She carefully lowered onto the ground, never breaking eye contact on the way down.

"Oh-so-obedient, my little pet. Fuck, I'm going to have to take it rather slow with you and savour our first playtime because you look magnificent. Those lovely tits... Oh, my." He acted as though he had never seen her before and that bore a grain of truth.

"I will use you for my pleasure tonight, understand?"

She nodded but remembered what he said last time about not using her words. "Yes, master."

"My pleasure might entail many things. It is your responsibility as my pet to attend to my needs with fervour and dedication. You know what to do if your body tells you enough."

"Yes, master."

"Good, pet. Now... Let's see that tongue."

His belt came undone as she opened her mouth. A long hand disappeared beneath the fabric and came back out, clutching a hardening cock.

"I know how much you love to please me, so let me give you a treat. Open wide," he instructed, coat bunching down into the creases of his arms as he stepped forward. The moment the tip contacted her warm tongue, his eyes rolled, and eyelids flickered.

"Gorgeous pet. Yes, you love the taste of your master's cock."

Merkel used her in all the ways he promised he would until they were both sweating on the bed, him with his legs spread wide over the mattress and her being pulled down by the knots running down her back and arms. Inflamed red skin bounced and slapped, static imprints peeked out from beneath bindings, the breathless din of submission pushing them closer and closer to the edge.

Before it was too late, he threw her down on her side while he got up to administer a shot of cum over her face. Obscene as it was, he cradled her gently and stroked her cheek as he let drip his seed over her damp, puffy skin.

"Beautiful. So lovely. Yes, oh, you look beautiful with Master's cum all over your pretty cheeks."

After he finished tapping her cheeks and making a mess, he helped her to stand and began untying her wrists first. She had been wound tight, but not tight enough for her to give up. She had been the perfect pet, as he lovingly told her over and over while unwinding her from all the intricate passes of rope. Every inch that slackened helped her to relax and regulate her breathing until she was free to move her arms.

"Breathe with me now, darling. You did so fantastically. So very well. I've never been prouder."

"Thank you for trusting me," she said.

"There's nothing wrong with admitting you were wrong. And I was wrong. We should have done this a long time ago."

[friendlytikek]

Summary: Charles doesn't remain conscious after the bullet hits him in Cuba. Erik doesn't handle it well.

(Available on AO3 or down below!)

There’s an agonised, strangled gasp from behind him, and that’s when Erik realises his mistake. 

Bullets are not something to be careless with. The damage they can do is incredible and Erik knows this all too well, which makes this mistake even worse. Somehow, in the heat of the moment, it never even occurred to him that while he was deflecting the bullets they might hit somebody much more important than himself. 

The others are staring not at him any more but behind him, where Charles must be dead on the sand. Their expressions are all full of horror and Erik suspects his own mirrors theirs too.

He turns, too slow, in time to see Charles finish his lifeless collapse to the floor. There’s not even an attempt to catch his own weight with his hands. The world feels as if it’s passing by in slow-motion and Erik’s moving before he can even really think about doing anything else. The missiles suddenly seem so trivial and begin to drop from the sky, forgotten. Each explosion sounds a million miles away. 

All that matters is Charles. 

Nobody else has moved yet. They must all be too stunned, too horror-stricken to do anything. The world narrows down to only him and Charles, who is awfully still on the sand. Erik crashes to his knees next to him and instinctively, rolls him, then yanks the bullet out of his back as if that’ll be able to undo the damage that has already been done. 

The bullet is tossed aside, a little bloody but mostly covered in some slippery, unknown liquid, and Erik focuses all of his attention on Charles again. He turns him all the way over and hopes against hope that he’ll see those bright blue eyes, the hint of a smile to let him know it’s all okay, but instead, Charles is still, his eyes are closed, and he’s horribly, horribly pale, sand clinging to his face. The only indication he’s alive at all is the rise and fall of his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, in the vain hope Charles will somehow hear him, but there’s nothing. Charles is limp and still. When Erik raises his head, his heart thudding painfully in his chest, the others have all stepped forward as one and before he can think about the fact that Charles needs help now, he’s barking out, “Back off!”

They all stop and their expressions are just as terrified and filled with horror as they were seconds ago. They aren’t doing anything to help. It’s Moira who dares to step forward first and Erik’s lips curl into a snarl, his arms cradling Charles, protective. 

Charles is dying and there’s nothing anybody can do about it. 

“You did this,” he snaps at Moira. One hand curls into a fist and the dog tags around her neck slowly begin to tighten. She gasps and clutches pathetically at the metal. She’s always had it out for mutants; she’s probably planned this all along; she did this… Erik glances down at Charles’ slack face, hoping he’ll grimace, open his eyes, and agree that yes, Moira did this, but that isn’t going to happen, because Charles is dying and it’s… 

It’s Erik’s fault. 

Nobody else’s. 

The weight of his dismay and guilt hits like a freight train. Charles is dying and it’s all his fault because he didn’t think before deflecting those bullets, because he’s too weak to stop bullets before they do any harm. He’s failed, again, to protect someone who means the world to him from one tiny piece of metal.

Horrified at himself, he releases the metal from around Moira’s neck and doesn’t bother to acknowledge the sound of her dropping to her knees. Her gasps fall on ears that only want to hear Charles’ voice. The human will recover. Charles won’t. 

Charles is dying.

“Wake up,” he says to Charles, the hand was a moment ago trying to kill Moira moving to his face. He brushes away the sand stuck to Charles’ cheek with his thumb. “Wake up.” 

He can hear someone sobbing. Raven, he suspects. The others are moving towards them again and Hank’s saying, “Erik, we need to get him medical attention now.” But all Erik wants is for Charles to wake up. 

Desperate for anything from Charles, Erik reaches up, Charles still balanced on his lap, and pulls the wretched helmet from his head. That gets flung down next to the bullet, that one bullet that just had to lodge itself right in Charles’ back. Not caring about the others watching, he presses his forehead to Charles’ sandy one, and thinks, over and over again, Wake up wake up please wake up wake up.

There’s nothing but silence from Charles and a sob tears its way up Erik’s throat before he can stop it. He’s killed him, he’s killed Charles, and he tries again, one more time, with a pleading, Charles, I’m sorry. I love you. Wake up.

No response. Erik despairs. 

“He needs medical attention.” 

Hank’s voice is firm, his expression grim, and his hands are clenched into fists. The others flutter around behind him, unsure of themselves, and Shaw’s mutants are a distance away, looking completely lost without their leader.

“Erik. We need to help him.” That’s Raven, her voice cracking, and then suddenly both Hank and Raven are kneeling down in front of them, looking just as desperate as Erik feels. 

“He’s dead,” Erik says hollowly, staring at them both, his entire body feeling numb. There’s sweat beading on his forehead.

“No, he’s not,” Hank says, and how can he possibly sound so patient when Erik has killed Charles, the man who gave his all trying to help them to improve their abilities? “Erik. I think you’re in shock. Charles is alive. He’s breathing, see? If you focus, you’ll be able to feel his heart beating. But you need to let me see him. He needs medical attention now. Now, Erik. Lay him flat for him.” 

With hands that don’t feel like his own, Erik carefully begins to shift Charles from his lap, Hank’s murmur of, “Gently, gently,” hardly even registering. 

Some distant part of Erik knows he’s not helped the situation any by tearing the bullet out and manhandling Charles onto his lap, but that’s so far away in his mind, he can’t focus on it right now. 

All that matters is getting Charles help. 

“Moira, are you okay? Can you help me?” Hank is asking and the human is nodding, crawling over to them, her neck bruised and face pale but otherwise, apparently, unharmed. “Can’t do anything with the…stupid fur… I think you’re the only other one who has any sort of training.”

It’s Raven who grabs Erik’s shoulder and gently tugs him back, to give Hank and Moira space. He hears Hank tearing pieces of his own uniform off and watches numbly as he hands them off to Moira. They’ve rolled Charles onto his side and Moira’s pressing the fabric against the bullet hole, to stop the bleeding. 

The bleeding. 

Erik glances down at his lap and there are glistening patches on the fabric, which can only because of Charles’ blood. The world spins around him and he feels as if he can’t breathe. I love you, he thinks again, hoping Charles might just hear him, and he follows that with, I’m so sorry.

“You!” Hank suddenly shouts, pointing at the red teleporter, who looks shocked to have suddenly been addressed. “Get over here. You have to help us. He needs to go to the hospital. Now.”

Whatever conversation they have, Erik doesn’t hear. All he can do is stare at Charles, who still hasn’t woken up, still hasn’t so much as brushed Erik’s mind with his. Is he paler than he was earlier? He can feel his heartbeat if he concentrates. That must be the iron in his blood. But that doesn’t mean Charles isn’t dying. 

“Erik,” Raven says, forever or a few seconds later. She shakes his shoulder and the world slides back into focus. “Erik, the teleporter’s taking us to the hospital. You, me, Moira, Charles. We need to keep Charles as still as possible while we move. Then he’s going to come back for the others, the teleporter.” Erik doesn’t understand why the teleporter is helping them at all, but he isn’t going to complain. 

Alex and Sean don’t look happy with the plan, the two boys glaring openly at him. Hank looks resigned. “You need to go now,” Hank says. It clicks a moment later why he can’t come to the hospital. Blue. Fur. 

Everything still feels numb. He lets Raven guide him to Charles’ side and finds himself asking, “Why me?” 

All Raven says is, “Charles needs you.”

Erik doubts that. Charles is dying because of him. He deserves so much more than Erik. He deserves somebody who is actually in control of their powers, who doesn’t let their rage get the better of them. 

He’s distantly aware of Raven putting his hands where they need to be to actually be of use while they travel. Charles is still beneath them. Everything else is a blur. 

In a poof of red smoke, they’re gone. 

It can’t have been more than ten minutes since the missiles first fired, but it easily feels as if an entire lifetime has passed since this nightmare began. 

.x.x.x.

Hospitals are awful. They smell too clean and the floors are too squeaky and although there’s lots of metal, it doesn’t feel as comforting in this context as it does usually. Metal typically makes Erik feel warm and reassured, because it’s just about the only constant in his life aside from rage. Yet in the hospital, it all feels cold. Cold and dead, like Charles almost was, because Erik put a metal bullet in his spine. 

Charles isn’t unconscious now, doctors have assured them. He’s sleeping. Resting. He woke shortly after his arrival at the hospital, panicking, and he projected, I can’t feel my legs, so strongly, they suspect the entire hospital likely heard it. 

Nobody else has mentioned it. At the moment, they’re hoping nobody pieces together that they weren’t the only one to feel the vivid thought in their brain. 

Raven has been crying ever since and Erik doesn’t feel much better than she clearly does.

The concussion is what knocked Charles out, because it transpires if something applies enough force to damage the spinal cord, it can, in turn, jolt the brain. He’ll be fine. The concussion isn’t the worrying part, because Charles has been conscious, has used his powers, and has even spoken to the doctors, according to their last update.

It’s the damaged spinal cord and the fact Charles can’t feel his legs which is worrying. 

Erik didn’t really want to listen, but the numbness has faded somewhat and he’s taken in every word the doctors have told them in the last few hours. He knows nearly every detail of Charles’ current condition. 

He also knows Charles is never going to forgive him for the fact that it's incredibly unlikely he’s ever going to walk again. 

Paralysed, thanks to a bullet Erik should’ve had better control of. 

Sitting on the awful, plasticky chair next to him, Raven lets out a quiet moan. “He’s not going to be able to walk. It’s Charles. How can he not walk?” she asks, and she’s asked a similar question several times in the last few hours. 

“We don’t know that it’s permanent,” Moira says quietly, reaching out and laying a hand Erik assumes is meant to be reassuring on Raven’s back. “The doctors said, when the swelling goes down…”

“That there’s a chance the damage isn’t as severe as they’re assuming,” Erik snaps at her. “A chance. Don’t give her false hope.” 

Raven lets out another moan and drops her face into her hands. 

Over her head, Moira glares at him. The thin line of bruising around her neck has become more prominent. “Shut up,” she says, and that’s that. 

They settle into an awkward silence and continue to wait. 

.x.x.x.

“Mr Xavier is awake. He said he’d like to see Erik?” the doctor says, sometime later. They all scramble to sit upright, eyes blinking open. It’s been so long, Erik let himself drift off to sleep, exhausted, his body presumably trying to process the events of the day. His sleep hadn’t been pleasant, his dreams filled with bullets and an uncomfortable awareness of what he’s done to Charles, as well as Shaw’s dead face. 

Raven gives him a nudge when he fails to respond to the doctor. Clueless as to why Charles would want to see him first, Erik staggers to his feet. As more time passes, he’s beginning to feel more ridiculous in his Division X uniform. Swallowing hard, he gives the doctor a nod, and allows him to lead the way into Charles’ room.

It’s dark outside, but the curtains haven’t been shut yet. Charles is lying prone, head tilted to one side, facing towards the window. His own uniform is gone, likely cut away in the urgency of everything, and replaced with a white hospital gown. There’s thick bandaging beneath the gown, the padding around his middle a tell-tale sign. The room is quiet as Erik steps around the bed, to sit in the chair by Charles’ side. 

Charles raises his eyes to meet his and they’re so full of anguish, it almost breaks Erik all over again. 

“Why did you want to see me first?” Erik finds himself asking. “I shot you. You should send me away right now. Far away. You could make me go. No helmet now,” he says, lifting a hand to his head, to make his point even clearer. 

There’s no immediate response from Charles, but to Erik’s horror, his eyes start to swim with tears. 

An awful silence drags on.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Charles eventually murmurs. His voice cracks as he adds, “I need you.” 

“You don’t need me. This is my fault. I shot you, I did this, if it wasn’t for me you’d be okay. You need the opposite of me,” Erik argues, all in a rush. These are the thoughts that have been clattering around his head for hours. “You need better than me.”

Silence again, until, minutes later, Charles says, “I just need you. It was an accident, Erik. Please don’t… blame yourself. It was an accident.” He’s a little firmer the second time around. 

“I did this,” Erik repeats, quieter, and he drops his head to rest it on the mattress, near Charles’ own head. A sob rises in his throat and he has to fight it back down. Charles is alive, but Charles isn’t okay, and that’s on him. It’s only on him. “I’m so sorry, Charles. I’m sorry.” 

He isn’t expecting Charles to start carding his fingers through his hair, the way he did this morning, when they were lying in bed, mentally preparing themselves for a hell of a time. 

Like Erik is still worthy of his touch. 

Erik isn’t sure how long they remain like that. It could’ve been minutes or hours. Then Charles says, “It was an accident. And I know you’re sorry. I forgive you. I still love you, too.” He visibly swallows. “But Erik… our ideologies. We don’t want the same thing for mutantkind at all, my friend. You were going to kill all of those men. You want supremacy. I want peace.”

Does Charles really want to have this conversation now?

“Yes, Erik. I’m sorry. I can’t do things… your way. I won’t kill to fix the world. We need to… we’d be better off…” Each word is killing Erik. “I think it’s best that we part ways.” 

It feels like the world is spinning again. Erik really has broken everything. He’s lost Charles. 

“Oh, my love.” You haven’t lost me. We’re just on different paths.

Charles’ fingers are still carding through his hair, like he hasn’t just ripped Erik’s heart out of his chest with a verbal hand. “They’ll try to kill us, Charles. They fear us, they hate us. They’ll round us up and slaughter us, one by one,” is all he can bring himself to say in response. 

“And then I’ll fight back. But I won’t attack them first. Look at what we’re capable of. Of course we seem terrifying to them. That doesn’t mean we need to satisfy that narrative. We can educate them and show them that they don’t need to fear our powers. We can teach them to embrace them instead, like we embrace our own abilities,” Charles says, and Erik can’t help but wonder at the fact he hasn’t broken Charles’ sense of optimism at all. “You haven’t broken me, Erik. I just can’t walk. I’ll be okay.” But even as he says that, his voice cracks again. “I need you, and I don’t want to let you go, Erik, but we don’t want the same thing at all.”

It hurts. It hurts so much, but Erik didn’t wait all this time, didn’t hear Charles forgive him, didn’t hear Charles say he loves him again, just to be told it’s best they part ways. Compromising isn’t in his nature at all, but he lifts his head and says before he can doubt himself, “We do want the same thing. We just have different methods.”

There’s a sigh from Charles and a warning note in his voice, despite him being gentle as he says, “Erik…” 

“I won’t attack them,” he blurts. “Unless I think there are mutants in danger. If the government starts hunting us like animals, I’m going to act immediately. I might even rip them apart. But I won’t go to war. Not yet. I’ll… I want to be by your side, and I want you by mine.”

Compromising on his ideologies doesn’t feel entirely right, but isn’t this what people are supposed to do for love? 

Charles is quiet for a good while. “You’d really stay with me? I… I don’t know what I’m going to do. I want to find more mutants. Possibly… train more mutants. Help them master their mutations. There were so many, when I used Cerebro…” Charles sounds a bit sleepy now, and his eyelids are drooping. 

“I know,” Erik says, swallowing hard and leaning in to press a tender kiss to Charles’ forehead. “There’s so many of us, Charles. We’ll help them. You and I, together. We’ll find them and we’ll help them. But first, you need to get better.”

“You’ll stay?” Charles asks again. 

Erik remembers how much it hurt to exist, when he thought he’d killed Charles. He knows, for a fact, he doesn’t want to live this life without him by his side. Even if compromises need to be made. Even if there’s a lot they’ll need to get through first. They’ll find a way to create a better world for mutants together and make their ideologies both work, somehow. It might be a pipedream, but Erik’s willing to try if Charles is. Maybe it will work, or maybe it won’t, but he plans to give it his all. 

“I’ll stay,” he tells Charles, and he means it. 

[chronictonsillitis]

If I Could Do It All Again (I Shouldn't Still Want This) Chapter 5

“Madi! Where is she?”

“I don’t know; why would I have seen her?” She went to shove him again and he clasped a hand around each of her wrists, pulling her into his chest.

“She saw you! She’s here but she said she took something and I can’t find her and she needs me!” She struggled against him, angry tears falling, but he held tight. Slowly she went limp, her struggles giving way to sobs, and he released her wrists, one hand coming up to stroke through her hair.

“We’ll find her, okay, Clarke? I’ll help you find her.” His voice was gentle, reassuring. “Just breathe.”

**** Clarke gets a concerning call, Madi is nowhere to be found, and an uneasy detente is formed.  (Ao3) or 

If there was one thing (and if Clarke was honest there were actually many, many things) Clarke hated about college, it was assignments that were due on weekends. Like yes, she could do them ahead of time and still go out at night, but who did the professors think she was? A good student?

She was four questions into a nine question problem set for physics and she was already regretting so many of her life choices. Her frosh had gone out already, begging her to come with them, but she had had to decline. And while logically, she should blame herself for fucking around throughout her shift the day before instead of doing her work like she’d intended, but wasn’t it that much easier to blame her teacher for making it due at 9 AM on a Sunday? It was honest to god cruelty, Clarke decided.

Feeling her phone vibrate, she sighed and tossed her book back onto the foot of the bed. Rolling back into her pillows, Clarke picked up the phone.

“What’s up, Madi? Having a good time yet?” The line was silent for a beat and Clarke sat up, worried. “Madi?”

“Clarke,” Madi slurred. “I have five percent.”

Clarke furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “Of what?”

“Of phone. I’m drunk.”

“Are you okay? Where are you?”

Madi hummed for a second. “Not sure. You said to have fun so I got drunk but then I felt bad and they said I should take a… I should take… something. A word, you know? So I did but now I can’t find anybody.”

Clarke clutched the phone tighter. “Take what, Madi? What did you take?”

The younger girl huffed. “You know what. Those things, you know? That people take. I’m so tired, you know? But I just need a phone charger.”

“Madi, where are you? I’m going to come get you, alright?” Clarke was already rushing about her room, shoving her arms into her jacket while holding her phone against her ear with her shoulder.

“Can’t remember, too tired. Maybe I need a human charger, get it? I'm gonna... I gotta take another one.”

Clarke stopped, her eyes wide. “Madi, don’t take anything. Where are you?”

Madi sighed. “You don’t get it, Mom. It’s all cool. No worries.”

Clarke was getting more desperate. “Please, Madi, don’t!”

She groaned. “I’m so fine, Clarke. Hey, have you ever seen a boy drink out a shoe before? That one you and Rae were talking about, the hot one with all the hair, he did it and it looked gross but I was—”

Her voice cut off and then phone beeped, indicating the call had been dropped. She tried to call her back but each time it went straight to voicemail. Clarke was frantic. She had no idea what Madi could have taken, but she had been talking about Bellamy shooting the boot at a rugby party, Clarke was sure.

Not bothering to even lace her shoes, Clarke rushed down campus to the rugby apartment, her heart sitting high in her throat and she struggled to maintain some semblance of calm.

Bursting through the door, Clarke searched the crowd. She saw his face and immediately was in front of him, shoving him back with two hands planted firmly on his chest.

“Where is she?”

Clarke’s voice was wild, tears spiking in the corners of her eyes. Bellamy looked at her in shock. “What— who, Clarke?”

“Madi! Where is she?”

“I don’t know; why would I have seen her?” She went to shove him again and he clasped a hand around each of her wrists, pulling her into his chest.

“She saw you! She’s here but she said she took something and I can’t find her and she needs me!” She struggled against him, angry tears falling, but he held tight. Slowly she went limp, her struggles giving way to sobs, and he released her wrists, one hand coming up to stroke through her hair.

“We’ll find her, okay, Clarke? I’ll help you find her.” His voice was gentle, reassuring. “Just breathe.”

Bellamy pulled back and took out his phone, typing quickly. “I’ll ask the group chat if anyones seen her. She’s the dark haired frosh, right?”

Clarke nodded, swiping her fists across her eyes to wipe away the tears, trying to regain her composure.  She pulled in a deep stuttering breath, eyes closing, and then let it out slowly, smoothly. “We should check the bedrooms and bathrooms. If she felt sick she probably wouldn’t have stayed in the main party.”

Bellamy nodded gently, his eyes searching across her face. He reached for her again, but she drew back, arms clasping around herself protectively. His hand dropped limply in the air.

“Clarke—“ A sharp ringtone cut him off.

Bellamy slid his phone out of his pocket and answered it, his eyes still lingering on Clarke.

“Are you sure?” He asked. His face grew less tense and Clarke felt her heart jump.

“Alright, thanks dude, we’ll be right up.” Closing the phone, he smiled at Clarke and nodded at her silent question.

“Where is she?” She asked, her voice high.

Bellamy chuckled and started towards the stairs, gesturing for Clarke to follow. “Not quite sure how she got there, but one of the guys found her in their bathtub on the fourth floor. He says she was asleep but seems fine.”

Clarke pushed past him, bounding up the stairs. At the top, one of the rugby players saw her wild eyes and wordlessly pointed to a door with a sheepish expression.

Clarke glared. “If anything is wrong with her, you guys are dead.”

She burst through the door. Madi was lying in the bathtub with her feet up, looking disheveled but in one piece. Clarke threw herself to the ground next to the tub and frantically grabbed at Madi’s wrist, searching for a pulse. She squeezed her eyes shut, counting in her head.

A small hand came up and patted her gently on the cheek. Clarke’s eyes flew open and Madi smiled back at her crookedly. “Hey, Clarke, you came out!”

Clarke let out a short laugh, choking down tears. “Just for your, Mads.”

She felt Bellamy’s presence arrive at the door, but she didn’t acknowledge him, all her energy focused on the girl in front of her. “I’m gonna take you home, but I need to know what you took, Madi.”

Madi looked confused. “Took what?”

Clarke let out an exasperated sigh. “What you took. On the phone you said you took something. Was it a pill? Do you know who gave it to you?”

“I didn’t take any pills. No pills here. No drugs for me, just booze and fun.”

“But you said you took something,” Clarke said insistently. “You told me someone told you to take something and that you did and then your phone died.”

“Oh! Right.” Madi’s eyes lit up. She laughed and patted Clarke on the cheek again, while Clarke tried desperately not to get frustrated with her.

“So? Do you remember what they told you to take?”

“Yeah, dummy.” Madi laughed again. “I was all drunk and tired so they told me I should take a nap.”

“A nap?” Clarke repeated, her voice flat. Madi nodded, and behind them Bellamy let out an involuntary chuckle. Clarke deflated, pressing one hand to her forehead as all the tension drained from her body like a balloon with a leak. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

****

Bellamy had always been protective to a fault.

Their first year, when they were all living together, Clarke had been getting these coughing fits. She still didn’t know had brought them on, but sometimes she’d just start coughing and coughing until she couldn’t breathe, and wouldn’t be able to stop for a while. Bronchospasms, the doctor called them.

One night while Clarke and Raven and the boys were hanging out in the common room drinking, Clarke had felt one coming on, so she’d retreated to her room. It was a worse one than normal, and she was on her knees on the floor when Bellamy had burst in.

Are you okay? Are you throwing up? He’d asked, his voice and eyes wild with concern, standing over her, hands fluttering.

The fit let up just as he asked it, and Clarke had stood with a withering glare. There were few things she disliked more than being accused of a sloppy drunk, after a bad experience with some moonshine at a Unity Day party in high school. Do you see any puke, dumbass?

He'd sputtered and hovered and offered excuses, but Raven had come in and pushed him out, rolling her eyes and telling him she’d deal with it. Her and Clarke had sat on Clarke’s bed, their backs against the wall.

You just coughing? Raven had asked. Clarke nodded. Idiot.

Now Clarke had an inhaler. Clarke wasn’t sure, but she thought that was the first time Bellamy had been in her room.

He lingered now, in the doorway, as Clarke pulled off her jacket. “You okay?”

They had just finished putting Madi to bed, leaving the surprisingly only mildly drunk frosh in the capable hands of the designated sober sitter.

She sent him a sharp glance. “I’m fine. I could’ve gotten her back just fine on my own.”

Bellamy gave her a small smile. “I’m sure you could’ve. But it’s okay to let people help sometimes.”

“I’m fine with help from other people, but I don’t need it from you,” she spit back, wrenching her off her shoes with more power than necessary. One of them hit the wall with a thump, and Clarke stared at it in confusion, her anger draining away. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Thank you for helping, I don’t know if I would’ve found her without you.”

She turned away from him, not wanting him to see her face. Whether from exhaustion or stress, she felt tears start to build up behind her eyes. Bellamy stepped further into the room, timidly, as if trying not to spook an animal. “You don’t have to be okay, Clarke.”

She clenched her eyes tight. “I’m fine. It was just a lot, with the whole mystery drug thing that ended up to be a fucking nap and the not knowing how to find her.”

He was right behind her now, and she could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He’d always run warm, she remembered unwillingly. “Was it—“ He started gently, “It it worse because of your mom?”

Her heart jumped hard into her throat. She’d forgotten just how much he knew about her, about her life and her family. Of fucking course she’d told him about her mother’s drug problem. What didn’t she tell him? “Clarke?”

She shrugged, still not turning towards him. “Can we not do this please?”

“Do what?” Bellamy asked softly. He reached out for her elbow but she shook him off. “Clarke—“

He watched, his eyebrows furrowed, as Clarke moved away. “We’re not friends anymore, Bellamy.” She threw her hands in the air and spun towards him exasperatedly. “We haven’t been friends for a while.”

“I know that,” he said softly. “But maybe we could be.” His eyes were too intense for his tone, and Clarke looked away. Bellamy cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting. He shoved them into his pockets. “Anyways, you don’t have to decide now.”

He made his way out and stopped in the doorway. His hair was haloed in the yellow light of the hallway, so much brighter than the twinkle lights in Clarke's room. She tried not to notice how beautiful he was. “See you around, Clarke.”

“Yeah,” she breathed. Bellamy smiled at her, and left.

Clarke groaned and threw herself backwards onto her bed. She landed hard on her forgotten book, and the paper of her problem set crinkled under her. She groaned again. Jesus Christ, she thought.  Get your fucking life together, Clarke.

[dnpstardust]

Chapter One - The Storm

This is a collab I did with @angie-artness, her first ever proper fanfiction!

The hospital’s air conditioned atmosphere whooshed harshly past Jameson as he walked through the pressurized double front doors, clutching at his drenched raincoat. The stinging cold of the hospital’s sterile interior was no comfort from the storm raging outside. He shrugged off his soaked jacket and checked in at the front desk, waving at the familiar nurses.

“Hello there Jameson!” April spoke. Her cheery voice always made him feel a bit better coming here. “Here to see Chase? He’s with Seán and Henrik again, never really left since you last visited.”

“Thank you.” Jameson signed, forcing a small smile. “I’d better be off then, can’t have that ol’ chap staying up all night!” He walked quietly down the hall. It wasn’t too busy for being a little past midnight, all the people around were just patients and other doctors. As he approached the hospital room, he heard voices conversing quietly. He hesitated before rounding the corner to enter the room, enjoying the warmth of the familiar voices.

“Henrik, he’s just not getting better, and we don’t know when he’ll wake up.” Chase spoke in a hushed voice, his forehead resting wearily in one hand, his eyes screwed shut. Henrik was changing Seán’s IV for the third time that day, hardly looking at Chase.

“He’s a fighter, we know that. Don’t give up on him now, Chase.” Henrik whispered, methodically adjusting the intricate tubes and sensors. Chase simply continued his silent vigil of looking over Seán’s pale face, scanning for any signs of wakefulness, mostly out of habit.

A soft rustle from near the door caused Chase and Henrik to look up in alarm. Who was watching them?

“Jamie!” Henrik exclaimed, “W-We didn’t see you there. Chase and I were simply-”

“Jem,” Chase interrupted, “You know I didn’t mean- I’m sorr-”

But Jameson was already rushing back out of the room, heart pounding in his ears. Heavens, did I hear him right?! He wouldn't break faith in Master McLoughlin, would he? He couldn't!

Chase instinctively lunged towards the closing door of the hospital room to follow Jameson, but Henrik’s firm grasp around his arm quickly pulled him up short, spinning him back around to face the good doctor’s stern face.

“Chase, don’t. Give him spac-” But the distraught ego quickly yanked his arm out of Henrik’s grip, stumbling back a little.

“No, I have to fix this.” Chase uttered before spinning around and rushing down the hall.

Jameson brushed past doctors and nurses as quickly and politely as he could, his eyes bleary and his ears ringing. He heard concerned voices asking him something, but he didn't register what they were saying as he rushed down the labyrinth of hallways. He didn't care where he was going, just so long as it was away, away, away from all the pain and betrayal he was feeling.

He was so focused on not seeing his surroundings, letting it all blur into shadows and flashes of cold fluorescent light, that he didn’t notice a janitor’s supply cart just round a corner until he was already running into it with a loud thud and several clangs of objects falling off and hitting the hard floor.

“I’m sorry-” he signed haphazardly, flushing as he dashed into the nearest dark doorway to hide his embarrassment. In the sudden dark stillness, he realized how fast his heart was hammering in his chest, how shallow his breath. All at once, with nowhere left to run, he curled into himself, crouching into a ball in the furthest corner of the closet. He pressed his hands against his face, squeezing his eyes shut despite the sightless darkness of the small space. He needed to think.

Da couldn’t be giving up on Master McLoughlin now. He couldn’t! Not after all this time. We’ve all been through too much to give up now! But what can I possibly do to help? I’m no doctor. I’m no psychologist. I can’t help anybody. He moaned helplessly and curled further into himself.

Chase raced as fast as he dared down the suddenly much busier hospital hallways, dodging stretchers and harried nurses at every turn, constantly scanning for Jem’s familiar hat. He had to find him, he had to explain that… he had to explain what was really going on. Who knew what conclusions Jem might jump to? Where he might run? He had to find him. He had to fix this.

Chase was so distracted by his own thoughts and narrowly dodging hapless passersby that he didn’t notice the iconic flash of polished porcelain until he was already crashing headlong into its owner. Marvin grunted at the impact, his mask knocking askew for a brief moment before he instinctively reached up to adjust it firmly back on his face.

“Chase-”

“Have you seen Jem run by at all?” Chase quickly interrupted the magician, running an anxious hand through his own unkempt hair.

“No, I just got here. What’s going on?” Marvin asked, clearly confused. He pushed the mask up off his face and looked at Chase with concern.

“I just…” Chase began, “I.. I said something that upset Jem. He ran off. I just really nee-”

A gargantuan BOOM split the air, the entire building lurched and shuddered like a tree struck by a massive ax. Chase and Marvin were thrown to the ground as the hospital was suddenly cast into inky darkness, ears ringing with the impact of the thunderous sound waves. As they lay on the hard linoleum, clutching their heads against the sonic onslaught, they felt more than heard the deep rumblings of the thunder as it rolled away. After several panicked heart beats, they cautiously risked raising their heads in the ringing silence, only to open their eyes upon an ocean of blackness. Not a single hint of light met their wide eyes.

“M-Marvin?” Chase chanced a whisper into the seeming emptiness. He felt Marvin’s hand brush tentatively against his shoulder, then the hand grasped him firmly.

“I’m here,” Marvin replied.

Leaning against each other they both shakily stood up. “That… That thunder,” stammered Chase, “Lightning must have knocked out the electricity. But why isn’t the back-up generator kicking in?”

“I don’t know,” Marvin said shakily. “It was an awfully powerful lightning strike.”

“Okay,” Chase said resolutely as he took out his phone and turned on the flashlight mode, “Henrik will need my help in this darkness. Find Jem quickly and get to the basement. You’ll need to turn the back-up generator on by hand.”

“Right,” Marvin nodded, “Do you know where he might have run off to?”

Chase shook his head wearily and sighed. “I was trying to follow him when I ran into you. The last I saw he was running toward the front door, but I don’t think he went outside. He’s afraid of the dark after all.”

As Chase scanned the corridor with the faint light from his phone, he heard harried scuffling and rushed voices echoing down the hall that drew his attention. They all seemed to be talking at once and Chase could only make out bits and pieces of what they were saying.

“...It’s in the top drawer.”

“We’ll also need-”

“Get the hand-pump too…”

Chase realized they were nurses’ voices, strained and urgent in their demands as they fumbled around looking for the required equipment, using their feeble pen lights to search.

Suddenly one of the nurse’s voices could be heard clearly over the others, “Henrik needs help. His patient is losing oxygen fast.”

Chase felt his heart lurch and thud heavily against the inside of his chest. They’re talking about Seán! He spun quickly back to Marvin with new panic. “Find Jem, now, Marvin.” Chase grabbed Marvin by the shoulders, ”You’ll both need to fix the generator. Henrik needs my hel-”

“He’s going into defib!” the pitch of the nurse’s voice suddenly changed, “Get the AED crash cart, it runs on battery!”

Without another word, Chase whipped around and sprinted down the hall towards his creator, leaving a confused and distressed Marvin standing in the darkness. The magician quickly gathered himself, lit some magical fire in his hand for light, and jogged in the opposite direction.

[resetmypatientviolence]

How (Drake x MC x Liam)

How– Part 12 of “Supposed To Be”

Part 1: Not Yet Part 2: Wait Part 3: Confused Part 4: Didn’t (NSFW) Part 5: I’m Pregnant Part 6: Choice (NSFW) Part 7: Future (NSFW) Part 8: Fight Part 9: Show (NSFW), Part 10: It’s Yours, Part 11: Please

Word count: 5,018 Pairing: Drake x Jaela x Liam

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Language; Sad things happen

Summary: After waking up and facing Liam for the the first time since the Homecoming Ball, with red eyes, he tells her the news she’s been dreading to hear since the moment Drake crashed into her, foolishly taking the bullet meant for her.

Suggested Song Accompaniment: The Night We Met– Lord Huron

Notes: Hey-ho Supposed To Be is BACK! This chapter, if you can believe it, was supposed to be longer… but I cut it short since a) it’s long already, b) I said in my artist statement I like to organically let plot flow, so why rush this? and c) my mom is coming in town next week so I need to clean my apartment. That said, I planned to do another hiatus… but I think I’ll try to get the next part up next week for you. Hurrah! So, as usual, thank you ALL so much for your support! It means the world.

** There IS a read more attached to this, I swear. Tumblr mobile just hates everything, if it’s still being annoying.

Tag List: @boneandfur @mariawalkerwrites @ninamckenzie22 @hhiggs @drakesfiance @umccall71 @mrswalkerreynolds @youwontlikewherewewillgo @mfackenthal @zarina-x-zig @ahteneah @tmarie82 @viktoriapetit @theroyalweisme @heatherfilliez @bobasheebaby

“Jaela, Jaela, you can’t—your IV, you have a concussion—” Liam’s hand held and searched for hers as she attempted to remove her IV, frantic. Liam’s gripped hers tight—when he got it in his grasp—and his other on her shoulder as she kicked her legs under the tight sheets.

“Liam, please—” She gasped, tears steaming down her face and staining her hospital gown.

“You need to calm down—”

She stopped moving. Liam squeezed her hand and touched her cheek. “How can I?” she breathed, staring into his eyes—right before another wave of debilitating sobs ripped through her, his words of the last two minutes already haunting—because of course, why wouldn’t they haunt?—her. How could she forget the way his lips formed to say the words about Drake, the final images of the Homecoming Ball so clear—Drake bleeding out, dying there alone—

Dead.

“Shh, Jaela…” Liam sat on the edge of her bed best he could, arm wrapped around her.

“Liam… I…” How could she tell him her world fell apart, and everything she knew and loved and cared about and thought fell apart with one simple word? Dead, dead, dead—

“You didn’t let me finish,” he whispered. A pause. Jaela raised her red and puffy eyes to him, so small under his arm. She said nothing, the shuddering sobs melding into sniffs and silent tears—for the meanwhile, at least.

Tenderly, Liam brushed a tear from her cheek. It was replaced by another seconds later. “I was saying… yes, he… he died… but it’s not like that.” There she was back at the Homecoming Ball, Liam’s face far away, holding Drake’s bloodied hand, staring into eyes that were losing their life, second by second.

“How can it be anything but?” Their I love you’s—it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Voices weak, covered with his blood.

“Yes, he did die, when he was brought here. But the doctors,” Liam breathed. “They brought him back.” Her breath caught, eyes wide. His voice, strong as he told Liam, his sacrifice for the woman who didn’t deserve to be saved. “He… he just got out a surgery before you woke up.” Liam looked away, at her stomach. “But… they… they don’t know what’ll happen if he wakes up.”

Jaela gulped, blinking slowly. “If?” Liam’s look of fear—Drake saying the only thing that could make Liam abandon his friend—and his strong arms carrying her away from Drake’s body, still and lifeless on the ballroom floor.

“He… he lost a lot of blood. They… they don’t know how much brain damage happened because they don’t know how long he was…” He sucked in a breath, a silent tear falling down his cheek too. Jaela raised a shaky hand to touch it, brushing it away. The hand she held last limp, blood like spilled ink. “He’s not in pain, in a coma… that’s the only good thing they said to me.”

“He’s alive?” she whispered.

“In a way, yes.”

“Can… can we see him? Please?” Liam sighed, slowly standing up. Lower lip trembling as he didn’t answer, Jaela clutched the railing. “Liam,” she pleaded. “Please. I… I need to. I need to see him for myself.”

Running a hand over his head, he turned from, staring at the floor. “I think we have to talk about something else, first.”

Shaking her head quickly, Jaela sucked back a breath. “No. I won’t. Not until… until I can see him, Liam. I can’t. I love him. I need to see for myself.”

Turning, blue eyes wide and face aghast, he stared. “You… you don’t want to talk to me about our child—or how I was the last person to know about the pregnancy—until you see him? We can’t do anything, Jaela. They wouldn’t even let me in the room.”

She flushed with anger, tears, and an emotion she couldn’t quite figure out. “I love him,” she repeated, locking eyes with him. “I need to see him. I… I want to try and see…”

“It won’t—”

“I don’t care,” she snapped, touching the IV again. Liam moved fast, holding her hand away from it. “Please,” she uttered in a broken whisper. “Just a… just for a few minutes. Then we can talk about everything. I-I can’t think about anything else until…”

Liam’s jaw locked, then he released her hand and pressed the nurse call button. “Thank-you,” she whispered, sitting back while he went to the window, looking out at the world, sky too blue for the terror of the night, and not at her as the nurse came. Jaela tried to explain why she needed it removed, but she wouldn’t budge. “But—”

“You’re recovering, Duchess. You nearly split your skull. All the unneeded stress for you and the baby won’t be good.”

“Can we see him as a favor for the King, just this once?” Liam said, pulling out his King tone. Strong, stern, yet gentle. He walked back to Jaela, setting a hand on her shoulder. “He’s our good friend—” Good friend? She bit her lip. Ah, back to putting on a show, always. What were they to this nurse? Lovers who would announce their engagement soon? The Queen-to-be? Liam seemed to think so. But first, Drake. “—and took a bullet for the Duchess. Even if he can’t hear us… we’d like to give him our deepest thanks before….” He trailed, Jaela gulped, touching her stomach. Was that for show, too?

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The nurse glanced between the two of them then finally nodded. Removing and capping the IV, Jaela wincing as the needle came out. A bandage pressed on her skin and she was free to go. To see Drake, barely alive. To… the nurse left and Jaela slid to the end of the bed, throwing her legs over and slowly lowering them, legs shaky.

Liam was at her side, arm around her as her feet touched the cold floor. Straightening up, Liam’s hand didn’t leave her, pressing softly against the small bump that was there, the curve on her lower abdomen. When she stood tall and faced him, his hand moved to the front of hers, fully touching what was hidden within her.

Shouldn’t she feel something, having the father the of her child touch her stomach with both of his hands, eyes staring directly at the miracle or mess that they made? Instead… it was nothing. Numb. Numb to his kind touch.

“Liam…” she said, brushing his knuckles. No charge. No jump. No fire like there used to be at his touch, nothing like when she’d come to him like a loyal dog when called to his side. Is that really that far from the truth of what she was, on the Engagement Tour? His pet? Neville wasn’t wrong. The secret that everybody knew but never spoke about? How much gossip had she missed, how their eyes would judge, glance between her and the King whenever they spoke, hands and touch too close between King and Lady? And now….

“One question before we go,” he said, sliding his hands to her hips, the hospital gown rubbing against her skin. “Why?”

A question that didn’t need completion. His eyes, so focused on her body, said it all. Why didn’t you tell me? “I… I don’t know,” she whispered, gently removing his hands from her. “Denial, maybe? Because I was scared of what you’d think? I can’t think of an answer that… that works right now, Liam.” They locked eyes. “How… how are you feeling?”

Sighing, he rubbed his face. “Honestly?” She nodded, spotting white slippers by her bedside. By the sonogram. She went to move, but froze when he spoke, voice low. “I’ve never been this angry, Jaela.”

“Oh.”

“Angry at you, at whoever attacked the damn palace and shot my best friend, angry at Drake for taking you away and for getting shot, happy you and the baby are okay, surprised but happy that you’re pregnant, sad because I could have lost you both, sad because Drake could die, and—”

Maybe wrapping Liam in a hug was a bad idea. Hell, having the audacity to ask how he was feeling was a bad idea. How could anybody process everything that happened in the period of three days? She couldn’t even give him a reason as to why she didn’t tell him about his own child. She couldn’t even process… Drake. He could die. He died for her.

 Jaela clutched his white shirt as he held her back, hand wound in her hair, like so many times before. “I’m so scared,” she whispered. “What if he…”

 “Maybe your voice will wake him up,” he murmured. “He did seem to always find you in a crowded room.” After they separated, Liam tilted up her chin. “You’re right. Let’s talk about… everything… afterwards, okay?”

 Sounds were magnified as she put on the slippers and Liam handed her a white robe to wear, pulling the rope too tightly around her waist, heart beating out of her chest. They exited to room together, the hall empty. “Private wing,” Liam murmured, hand on her lower back. Bodyguards trailed them until they reached a small lobby, Hana and Maxwell asleep across rows of chairs. Their eyes flew open once Liam and Jaela entered, Hana running right to her, pulling her close.

 “Oh Jaela… we were so scared—”

 “Me too, I couldn’t find you two. I thought… I thought….” she whispered into Hana’s soft hair. Maxwell rubbed her back.

 “I tried to get back and help,” he said, Jaela turning to him and pulling him into a hug. “We couldn’t get back in. I just got Chance and then… that was it. We came here as soon as we could, once Liam let us know where you were.”

 “I know.” Pulling from Maxwell, Jaela turned to Liam, gulping. “Drake…”

 “Just around the corner.”

 And she followed Liam, tugging at the ends of the rope, chest tight, stomach twisting. Not from the morning sickness. Because of him, because of Drake. Dying. No, alive… still, remember. Alive. Barely. But not even she, her voice so small, could convince her otherwise. How alive was alive?

 The room came into view, blinds shut, and two doctors whisked out of, speaking in Greek, the chipper nurse waving them in. Couldn’t they wait just a second longer? “Liam I need a…” Liam grabbed her hand and pulled her in without a word, without a second to—

 She gasped, Liam catching her fall, holding her up at the sight before them, forced upon them without warning, without thought, without… without a reason to think anything other than the word: dying, dying, dying.

 “No, no, no…”

 “You… you…” But even Liam’s words were stuck, caught at the sight of Drake Walker. The man who’d take a bullet despite hearing the woman he loved saying moments before she’d chose another man over him just because she was pregnant with his baby; the man she’d made love to not an hour before, all promises they made put into their bodies, their mouths, their touches; the man loyal to his best friend, until she entered the picture; the man trapped in a world he detested but only remained because of the people he loved.

 The man… man too good for her, hooked up to countless machines, tubes in and out of his body, tape and bandages covering skin she bruised, hair matted, skin pale, hands neatly placed over the sheets—him, lifeless, the only sounds of the respirator forcing his chest to rise and fall, the beeping of his heart, and Jaela’s quiet sobs.

 “Drake… pl-please….”

 Feet steady, she shuffled to his side, afraid that even holding his hand could break him, the final blow to the man who loved somebody who didn’t deserve it. Yet, she reached out, Liam on his other side, blinking back tears. Jaela’s fell freely, landing on the crisp sheets. Cold compared to the sheets of her bed, tangled up with him, his breath in her ear.

 Hand, lukewarm. Limp. No strength, nothing like when he held her, or how he pressed against her in a final shudder, hands holding her tight, whispering his confession of love to her, unbeknownst—but was it really?—to her.

 “Drake… why did you… why…. It should have been me… should of….” Words, a tangle of nothing and everything all at once poured from her, holding his hand just tight enough where she could feel the warmth that was there but not enough to hurt him anymore than he was. Breathless, she spoke in hushed tones, pushing back his hair with a shaking hand, the weight of the world crushing her, second by second.

 “I’m so sorry Drake, I’m so, so sorry. I love you… p-please come back, squeeze my hand, anything—let me know you’re still there and not…” But nothing. Beep… beep…. Not even when she asked again. And again. And again until his knuckles were against her forehead, Liam bringing her a chair as she sat, asking—no pleading—for him to convince her he was there. Nothing, and her desperation grew. Events from the night before replaying in a loop, over and over, unable to stop. How he held her, kissed her, moaned with her, slammed against her, his blood staining her, how he said he loved her–

 “Drake, please wake up,” she begged, standing up. She kissed his pallid forehead, chapped, lipstick stained lips lingering on his skin. Still, nothing. She pulled back, fresh tears leaving tear tracks. “I… I know it’s selfish. I know you don’t deserve me. I don’t deserve you, god, I don’t… either of you… but please come back to me. I didn’t mean it.” She kissed his fingertips, tasting her own tears and not the sweet salt of his skin, shuddering every few seconds, breathy. “I… I can’t go on without you, I just can’t. I need you. Please, Drake, I love you….”

 Beep, beep…. Liam gulped, appearing in the corner of her eye. Jaela look back to Drake, only Drake. Lifeless Drake. “Please…” Was it just her, or did it sound like his heartbeat was speeding up? She raised her brows.

 “Jaela, I think we need to get going.”

 Shaking her head, she gripped Drake’s hand tighter. “N-no, I’m not leav-leaving him. I can’t. Not when I-I should be here instead, Liam. Don’t try and tell me I didn’t deserve that bullet.”

 “You didn’t, you can’t beat yourself up over—”

 She didn’t want to turn away from Drake, because he was the only thing that mattered in the moment, but she did to face Liam, still holding Drake’s hand. “You’d rather have your best friend be laying here than the woman who led both of you on, thought she made a choice, and then got all confused because discovered she was pregnant, and was a complete fucking coward by not telling you— all while still letting you both believe that there was a future with me because I couldn’t figure out my own feelings, even after I told you what they were? I don’t think my actions deserve a tap to the head.”

 “It’s not about deserving, Jaela,” Liam sighed, exasperated. More beeps, louder, almost. “He saved you and the baby. Don’t you care about that at all?”

 “No.”

 “What?” He tried to touch her face but she batted his hand away, stepping closer to the hospital bed. “But, Jaela—”

 “It should have been me,” she whispered. “And if I lost the baby then… then that would be apt punish—”

 “Don’t say things like that, Jaela,” he snapped, anger tingeing his voice but deep concern and worry in his blue eyes and frown. “You’re not thinking right. We need to leave and discuss this situation we’re in.” His arm wove around her waist, but she didn’t budge, only turning back to Drake.

 Beep, beep, beep…. The heart monitor was definitely moving faster. She squeezed his hand. “Drake, please…”

 “Jaela—”

 Liam’s desperation to have her alone. How fast he talked at her bedside. How he wanted—no assumed—she was to be his Queen. Yes, he deserved the time. But… but she couldn’t leave Drake. No, she just couldn’t. Not now. “I’m not leaving him,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can’t.”

 “Jaela, it’s not a matter of can’t or want. You have to. You’re still recovering, too. ”

 An exhale. Nothing from Drake except for a heartbeat. “I’m not leaving him because I know the moment we’re alone you’re going to tell me I need to be your Queen and…” The words, ready to spill. Could she do it? Finally? “I don’t love you like I love him, Liam. I can’t.”

 In a matter of a second, there were two broken hearts in the room.

 Liam’s touch stiffened. “I… I know that, Jaela,” he whispered. Raising her eyebrows, she turned to face him. Eyes, shiny and jaw clenched, but he didn’t look as she expected. Not upset… knowing.

 “But…” Releasing Drake’s hand, giving it a final, gentle, rub of her thumb, she crossed her arms. How did Liam know? Or understand when everything he did… proved otherwise.

 “Everything made sense once you told me. I noticed but never could put the pieces together until the truth was there in front of me.” Heartbeat, faster. Wait—Drake’s or hers?

 “But why didn’t you give up?”

 Jaw clenched, Liam shook his head but pulled her closer. “I love you. Isn’t that a reason enough?” Heart dropped; breath caught. How could he still? Beep, beep, beep—“We need to leave. There’s nothing we can do… and talking about the details of us and the next steps—there’s almost too much—here isn’t where it should be. He needs peace.” Jaela tried to move out of Liam’s gentle hold, but he tightened his grip on her side, starting to move towards the dreaded door. “Jaela…”

 Us. Us. Us. He said us. She froze, looking away from Drake on death’s doorstep, to Liam, brows furrowed. “Us,” she said, the short word slow, elongated. Foreign. “Us,” she repeated. “Do you think there’s an us to talk about?”

 Liam winced. “You’re pregnant, Jaela. And…” Don’t you dare say it, Liam. She wanted to say, the thought screaming in her head—along with the offense that he believed she would go along with everything. That she didn’t have a say in the matter of them. That because of the baby, they were meant to be. Maybe she believed that notion last night—but it was a new day and she’d do everything all over again and again and again if that meant she got one more second with Drake.

 “Don’t I get a say about who I want to be with?” she snarled.

 He sighed. “You need rest. I… I can go over everything with you afterwards, okay?”

 “Liam, I’m serious,” she said, frowning. “I don’t give a shit about the monarchy rules or ideals for situations like this. I… I can’t be Queen—”

 “Jaela, you don’t understand what’ll happen if—” Beepbeepbeep—

 “You’re the goddamnned King!” she shouted, hot, angry tears replacing the sadness. “Change the rules! I don’t want to be Queen. Didn’t I always say I saw you for you, Liam?”

 Something tugged at his lips, pain in the corners of his eyes. “Yes but… but this is different, J—” … beep….

 “I’m a damn American and I’m having a say over these outdated ideas, okay? I’m the one who’s pregnant. I don’t care that you’re King, I care that you’re Liam and we need to f—” Jaela froze, the room—quiet. Too quiet one second before the flat line.

 “Drake?!” They said together, heart monitor nothing but one perfectly straight line. Nothing. Drake, gone.

 Within one moment, the world sharp around the edges, Jaela screamed reaching out for him, and Liam pulled her back, his hold taking her breath away, as the doctor’s poured in, their words fast and furious as his body—because that’s all it was—disappeared among the white coats.

 “Let me go, let me go, let me go!” she yelled, trying to free herself from Liam, but to no avail. His jaw dropped; staring in shock at the reality that Drake’s heart stopped beating—again—right before them. Dead. The words he said brought to life. Jaela fought, screaming and yelling, trying her hardest to break free while Liam stood still, muscles tense while the doctors worked, the flat line screeching louder by the second, filling her head with nothing but that. Not the rush of Doctors shouting, not her yells and sobs—just that. A flat line. The flat line.

 Jaela gripped Liam’s arms, trying to jump forward and he pulled back hard. “No! No! What are you doing? What’s happening what’s—” A doctor turned as more equipment was wheeled in. “Is he alive is he—”

 “King Liam, get the Duchess out of here—now! You shouldn’t have been in here and she’s hysterical.”

 Wordlessly, Liam nodded and moved, muscles tightening against her—he was always so strong—and pulled her out of the room, the tears and shouts of protest unable to stop. No, no, no, I need to know I need to know he needs to live he needs to fucking live. We had so many plans, so many ideas, so much left to do. In the doorway, she gripped the edges, holding tight, preventing Liam from moving her into the hall.  

 “Jaela, we have to go, we have to—”

 “We have to see if he’s alive! Let me go, Liam, ple-please!”

 Fingertips, straining against the cool metal, cool like his hand will be—was—when she held it and—a doctor appeared, quickly pushing off her hands, her last attempt to stay with Drake, to try and amend the fact that it should be her laying there instead of him. To say I love you’s until he’d wake up, if only that was to cure, to tell him she’d be waiting, to tell him everything she couldn’t, caught in a world of confusion and nobility, to just… to just say something. Anything. Anything to spend one second, one moment, longer with Drake Walker, the man she loved.

 Loved. Past tense.

 A shot through her heart, too. Reality rushed in, body shuddering with tears and screams, Liam trying to quiet her as he pulled her down the hall, arms taunt against her body as she fought against him. “Drake’s dead, Liam and—”

 “We don’t know that. They’re trying to save him. Calm down, Jaela, please.” How was he so clam?

 She turned in his arms, Liam taking the chance to move her into the lobby, Maxwell and Hana standing up, eyes wide. She gripped his shirt, everything heavy and light and twisted at once and all too much. Drake dead… dying… coma—was there a difference?—and Liam, telling her she has only one option. Be with him or… or what else? How could he do this? Didn’t he understand? How much had the crown changed him—the man who couldn’t wait for their escapes and when they could only be Liam and Jaela, not Prince or King and Lady of the Court?

 She stared into Liam’s face, the fine lines evident. Even if she wasn’t pregnant, did she want to be with the man who changed, the one who had to put on a show for the most of his life? How much of the real Liam would she see—and would she want to put on the show beside him? Could she?

 No.

 Liam tried to pull her closer, comfort in his voice. “It’s okay, Jaela, it’ll be—”

 “It won’t! He didn’t deserve this! I do! Drake shouldn’t be the de-dead one in there, I should be!” she yelled, pushing against him, hard.

 Liam gasped, but didn’t release her, only holding her closer. “Jaela, don’t you ever say that—”

 “Let me go! I need to see—”

 His hold was too much. She didn’t deserve him, either. Neither of them. She jumped, using that momentum to separate herself from him, but that only lasted a second, breaking free and taking two steps towards the hall, but he caught her wrist, bringing her back to him, Jaela noticing the fresh tears on his cheeks too. “We can’t, we—”

 “Let me go! Liam, let me go!” she screamed, trying so hard to break free from his arms again, tears flowing once more, voice raw and horse as she sobbed over and over, each one like a wave, rolling over and crashing against her, throwing her against hard sand, unforgiving yet deserving.

 “Jaela, I—I can’t—” He gasped, pulling her back to the center of the lobby. She struggled against him, pushing against his chest. A doctor, walking out, pausing to stare at them. There was where he’d say it: Drake, dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. “We can’t do anything—”

 “Liam,” she gasped, chest heaving, eyes pleading. “Let me go!” With a final push, Liam released her and she stumbled, vision blurred, and hit a white wall. Nobody moved, the shock of pain in her arm stopping the tears—but only for a moment. One sweet moment when reality was blissfully ripped away, the world folding back to her bedroom with him, staring into his warm, dark eyes as he held her—but it was just that. One moment.

 Jaela slid down the wall, curling her legs to her chest, sobs ripping through her entire being. “It… it should’ve been me,” she managed, clutching her robe, staring at the speckled floor. Nobody, not Liam nor Hana nor Maxwell answered or touched her. “It was supposed to be me…”

 “No, don’t touch her. Let her be…”

 Did time matter when grieving? Jaela didn’t think so, sobs turning to silent shudders, then to sniffs and finally, to nothing, voices murmuring all around her, feet shuffling, eyes shut as she sat against the wall. Maybe it was five minutes. Maybe it was a few hours. She didn’t know. All she heard over the quiet, distant sounds was that of still heart. Heartbeat, gone from right behind her—and what was she doing? Arguing with Liam if she gets a choice in what they’re going to be now that he knows about her pregnancy, something they could have tried harder to prevent… but didn’t. Never even talked about it. Just… made too many mistakes.

 “Thank-you, Doctor. I’ll get her back to her room.”

 Hands, warm, picked her up and carried her back to her room, Jaela looking at Liam’s shirt pocket, the sonogram peeking out. Her stomach dropped. He loved the baby, already, and she… she didn’t know what to feel, still.

 Liam set her on the bed with care, and she stared at the door, knees to her chest. There was silence. She couldn’t even cry. Had the tears run out? Had reality shocked her still? “Does Savannah know?” Her voice, barely above a whisper.

 “Know what?”

 “That he’s… he’s…”

 “He’s alive, Jaela.” Liam walked around into her view, pulling up a chair. She could only stare, mouth open. Everything seemed to say he was dead. Everything. But… he was… alive? How? “Barely. But he is. He’s a fighter.” Frowning, Liam reached out his hand to hers. Tentatively, she took it. What was next? “But… it’s not looking good. The… the doctors said they don’t want you in there with him until… until he wakes up. Or at least stabilizes to a point where they’re comfortable.”

 Oh, how she wanted to protest and scream that it wasn’t fair, that she wanted to sit by his side and tell him everything and then the world—but she meekly nodded. “Okay,” she said, then somehow, pulled herself up to a sitting position.

 “No fighting?”

 “No,” she sighed, removing her hand from his, tracing the lines of her own palm.

 Drake did that once, one night in her cabin, both a little whiskey drunk. Her, more than him, of course. Sitting crossed legged like kids, she pretended to read his palm, then he to her, saying sillier things than she could even think of. How warm he was, how many shocks and tingles he sent through her, just by tracing little lines. How hard she kissed him that night. How he laid her against the floor, the vibrations from the train running through her body, his lips on her neck. How she nearly begged him to touch her, pressing her hips against his, teeth grazing against his ear as she whispered exactly what she wanted, but he pulled away, as always, saying he needed to go. How even if he did that every time, she fell more and more in love with him.

 “Liam,” she whispered, looking up, closing her hand around her finger. “You’re not serious about me becoming Queen, right?”

 Matching her gaze, he nodded. “I am. There’s… there’s not a choice, Jaela. Not if you want our child to be considered a…”

 “I don’t want to talk about what’ll happen to our kid if I say no to you,” she said, voice growing stronger. This was important. “We… can we just be Liam and Jaela, figuring out where we—as two regular people—go from here, without thinking about the monarchy or the baby? Can we just figure out… where we stand and what we want?”

 Liam grimaced, shaking his head. Chewing on her lip, Jaela took his hand again, looking into his eyes. “We owe it to this baby,” she started, touching her stomach. “To figure out what we’re going to do with us before we figure out what to do with it.”

 “What to do with—”

 “One step at a time, please, Liam.”

 Taking a deep breath, he stood up, still holding her hand. “Okay, yes, you’re right. One step at a time,” he paused. “So… where do we begin… with us?”

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios.

[manymessyfandoms]

A concept: Tony is about to go on a mission to rescue the people that disappeared at the end of IW with the remaining avengers. And just in case he doesn’t make it he records a video for Peter that is scheduled to send on the day of his graduation telling him how proud he is of him.

HELLOO. So I’m so sorry, but I kind of changed it a little. It’s still the same idea tho, don’t worry!!! 

But uhhh this one’s hella angsty because that’s where my heads at today: OH AND AVENGERS INFINITY WAR SPOILERS

All Peter Parker knew was darkness. For minutes, hours, days, years. Just… darkness. Until one day he opened his eyes, and it was light again.

“Peter? Are you awake?” a familiar voice cut through the haze he was in. Doctor Strange.

Peter suddenly gasped, remembering what had happened. He died. He burned away to ash, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. The overwhelming feeling of dread in his chest tightened, and his heart started racing.

He opened his eyes, searching for the last ones he saw as he faded to nothingness. “Mr. Stark?” he said, the panic evident in his voice. “Tony? Where’s Tony? I- I need-”

Peter broke off when he noticed the other Avengers faces. They were anguished. Grief stricken. 

And Peter’s heart sank. 

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “No, he’s not… he can’t be. Someone tell me where he is.” There was only silence. “Somebody say something! Where is Tony?”

Steve Rogers, looking worse for wear, stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Peter. He… he fought until his last breath. He saved us.”

Suddenly Peter was angry, so angry. “You’re lying! Why are you lying? Tony’s not dead,” he yelled and everyone flinched. “Just please tell me where he is. Please, I just- I just need to talk to him. I swear I won’t bother you if you just tell me where he went. Is he back at the tower already? Is that where he is? Please- please just tell me-” Peter hadn’t even realized he was crying until he couldn’t get any more words out.

He put his face in his hands and sobbed, the realization setting in that he lost another parent, another person he loved. 

Tony Stark was gone. 

The other Avengers started talking, but Peter ignored them all. The only thing he could focus on was the heavy feeling overtaking his entire body as he mourned for the loss of the man that would never know just how much he meant to Peter.

It was three days later they held the funeral. It was packed, and Peter could only stand in the back and hold back his nausea as people talked about how Tony was a hero. Peter didn’t care if he was a hero. He just wanted him alive. Peter missed him. Missed him in a way he hadn’t felt since Uncle Ben died.

“Peter,” Ned said after the funeral as he walked in the room, and Peter spared him a glance before turning back to the wall. “Listen, I don’t know everything that happened, but I’m sorry about Tony.” Peter just curled up in a ball and waited for Ned to leave. He just… he couldn’t.

Eventually Ned realized he wasn’t going to get anything out of Peter, so he left, and it was only a few minutes later that Peter’s phone chimed with the an email notification from none other than Tony Stark. He was suddenly more awake than he’d been in days. 

He quickly opened it and saw it was a video titled, Just in case. Peter’s hands were suddenly shaking, and he swallowed thickly before pressing play.

“Hey, kid. It’s me.” Tony’s face flashed on the screen. He looked so tired. There was such pain in his eyes, and it sent a pang through Peter. “So… there’s some stuff I need you to know.” He wiped a hand over his face. “You know what, no, I’m not doing this.” He moved to stop the video, but pulled his hand away and sighed. “Peter.” The sound of his name being said in that tone was something he would never forget. Peter didn’t even acknowledge the stray tears falling from his eyes.

“You’ve been gone for about a year. It’s… it’s been a long year, kid.” He tried to laugh, but it came out strained. “One of the longest. It’s… it’s rough not having your endless chatter to distract me from my thoughts. I keep expecting you to come bouncing into the lab with a grin on your face as you talk about whatever new idea that brilliant brain of yours has come up with.” Tony looked away from the camera before clearing his throat. “We have a plan, though. A good plan, actually. I think we’ve got a good shot of getting you back, Pete.” There was finally some of the brightness in his eyes that Peter had been accustomed to. “The thing is, I’m not quite sure I’m going to make it.” Peter felt his tears rush down his face quicker, and Tony sniffled. “And if I don’t make it and you do, then there’s stuff that I just- I really need you to know.

“First things first, I hope you’re doing well, kid. I know you probably shed a tear or two when you found out I bit it, but really, it’s okay. You’re obviously seeing this right now, and if you are, then I’m happy wherever I am in the afterlife.

“I’m not here to talk about me, though. We’re talking about you. You are such a pain in the ass, Pete. Did you know that?” Tony had such a fond look on his face that Peter choked out a chuckle. “Listen, even if I did survive this, I’d probably still be dead before soon anyways because of all the years you shaved off my life with your antics. Has anyone ever told you that you tend to cut things close?” Tony laughed for a second before his eyes grew sad.

There was a pause before he spoke next. “I miss you so much, Peter,” he said and he looked away from the camera. “You’re a menace, but you’re my menace. You were my responsibility, and you- you disappeared in my arms.” Tony furiously wiped at his eyes. “Shit, I wasn’t going to cry. Dammit.” Peter closed his eyes and bit his lip, holding back a sob.

Tony cleared his throat after a second. “But you’re coming back. You’re coming back because you can’t not come back. Because you’re Peter Parker, and you’re too good to die begging for your life. You deserve to die when you’re a hundred years old, surrounded by all people you love after a lifetime of memories. 

“You’re going to live such a good life, Peter. It’s going to be great, and you’re going to do amazing things. Not even just as Spiderman.” Tony waved his hand in dismissal. “As you. As Peter Parker. Because Peter Parker is just as much of a hero as Spiderman is, so just don’t ever feel confined by your abilities. Your life could be whatever you make of it.

“And no matter what you do, I’d be damn proud of you. I know you’re probably beating yourself up over what happened, but that’s not on you. so don’t be sad, Pete. Please. Live your happiest life, because you deserve to be happy. You deserve it more than anybody I know.”

Tony took a shuddering breath before a knock on the door sounded. “Yeah, I’m coming!” he yelled. “That’s my cue. Just… remember what I said. Okay, Pete? And if I do make it out of this alive, then I’m just going to cancel this damn video and this whole thing will have been for nothing.” Tony had a sad smile on his face. “Maybe I’ll even have the balls to say all this to your face, kid.” He rubbed at his eyes one last time before saying with a thick voice, “I love you, Peter. Goodbye.”

Peter hadn’t known how much time had passed before Aunt May walked into his room to find him sobbing on the floor, clutching his phone hard enough that a crack appeared on the screen. 

Arms wrapped around him and he eventually registered her words. “… okay, Peter, it’s okay.” The feeling of her fingers carding through his hair made him cry harder. 

“He’s gone, he’s dead. I’m never going to see him again,” he got out through his cries. Aunt May just said something Peter couldn’t remember.

When Peter Parker had died the year before, all he knew was darkness. What he didn’t know was how dark the world would be when he came back, because a life without Tony Stark was nearly as dark as death.