#but while she gets the message that he's alive

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.5

Chapter Five: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I was busy writing chapter one of my Richard Reeds fanfic, and my brain went into overdrive. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and my thoughts and writing process will be in the end notes below! Take care out there.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

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CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING  

It was the weekend.  

A rare, golden thing in the middle of a chaotic schedule. Sometimes, productions pushed through weekends, forcing actors and crew alike to run on fumes and caffeine, but this week, you’d been given the luxury of a proper break.  

So you did the only logical thing: you slept in.  

No alarms. No early call times. No frantic scrambling to get out the door before the sun had even fully risen. Just the quiet hush of your hotel room, the soft cocoon of blankets, and the gentle hum of the city beyond your window.  

Pedro, on the other hand, was not sleeping in.  

He was downstairs earlier, enjoying breakfast with some of the crew, chatting between bites of eggs and toast. But when he realized he hadn’t seen you—not even a glimpse—something tugged at his chest.  

He checked his phone. No messages from you.  

Not that you had to text him, obviously. But still.  

“Maybe she’s still asleep,” Vanessa mused when he brought it up, sipping her coffee.  

Coco smirked. “Or avoiding you.”  

Pedro shot her a look, unimpressed. “You’re hilarious.”  

Joseph, ever the instigator, leaned in. “You do realize how weirdly invested you are in this, right?”  

Pedro ignored them, pushing back his chair. “I’m gonna go check on her.”  

“OoOoOo, someone’s worried,” Ebon teased, grinning.  

Pedro just flipped them off over his shoulder as he walked away.  

Your side of the room was quiet when he got there.  

Pedro knocked.  

Nothing.  

He frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Hey, you alive in there?”  

Still nothing.  

His concern deepened. He knew you’d been exhausted lately, emotionally drained from the whole Cecilia situation. And yeah, maybe you were just catching up on sleep, but what if you weren’t feeling well? What if—  

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.  

A quick check with the front desk confirmed they had given you a key for emergencies. That was all the justification he needed.  

Carefully, Pedro let himself in.  

The room was dim, curtains drawn just enough to let in a sliver of London’s muted morning light. And there you were, curled up under a mountain of blankets, dead to the world.  

Snoring.  

Pedro exhaled, the tension in his chest dissolving as a slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.  

He took a step closer, just enough to take in the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your hair was a little all over the place. A soft snore left your lips, making him chuckle under his breath.  

God, you were adorable.  

For a brief moment, he debated waking you. Teasing you for sleeping through breakfast, maybe even convincing you to come downstairs with him.  

But then you shifted, letting out the softest sigh as you burrowed deeper into the pillows, and—yeah. No. He couldn’t wake you.  

Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching for a little longer.  

He’d give you another hour.  

Maybe two.  

And then, well—if you didn’t wake up soon, he’d have to find a way to lure you out with the promise of coffee or something just as tempting.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE MORNING  

The late morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Pedro had been patient—he really had—but after standing around for a while, listening to your soft snoring, he decided you needed to eat something.  

So he had slipped downstairs, grabbed a plate of fresh fruit, some pastries, and a glass of juice, and set everything neatly on the kitchenette counter before making his way back to your bedside.  

The problem?  

You were not a morning person.  

Pedro bit back a grin as you stirred, groaning into your pillow, clearly fighting consciousness with everything in you. He could already tell this wasn’t going to be an easy wake-up.  

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Time to get up.”  

You groaned again, pulling the blanket over your head. “No.”  

Pedro chuckled. “Not even gonna think about it?”  

“No.”  

He exhaled, amused, and sat on the edge of the bed, nudging your shoulder lightly. “C’mon, I brought you breakfast. Fresh fruit, pastries, coffee… I even got you juice. Thought I was being nice.”  

That earned him a tiny peek of an eye from beneath the blanket. “What kind of juice?”  

He smirked. There we go.  

“Mango,” he answered, watching as you visibly debated with yourself. “And it’s still cold.”  

You groaned but finally—finally—sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you blinked blearily at him. “Fine. But if you’re lying about the juice, I’m going back to bed.”  

Pedro chuckled, standing up. “Noted.”  

As you shuffled out of bed and towards the kitchenette, still wrapped in your blanket like a grumpy little burrito, Pedro bit back another laugh.  

You were trying so hard not to snap at him, despite your obvious morning grumpiness, and he found it strangely endearing. You cared about him—he could see that. Not just in the way a fan might, but as someone who had gotten to know him, really know him, beyond the public persona.  

And for some reason, that made his chest feel warm.  

By the time you took your first sip of juice, you finally looked at him, still groggy but slightly more awake. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumbled.  

Pedro grinned. “I know.”

Pedro stayed leaning against the kitchenette counter, watching you with quiet amusement as you nibbled on a croissant, still wrapped up in your blanket like you might retreat back into it at any moment.  

"You know," he said, arms crossing over his chest, "I've worked with some pretty serious divas before, but you? You might be the worst morning person I've ever met."  

You narrowed your eyes at him mid-chew, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume I’m even a person in the morning."  

Pedro laughed, rich and warm, like he hadn't expected you to say that. It sent a flutter through your stomach, but you buried it beneath another bite of food.  

A comfortable silence settled between you as you worked through your breakfast, the weight of last night—the teasing from your friends, the way Pedro had looked at you over dinner, the way he’d listened, really listened, when you brushed off your problems—lingering just beneath the surface.  

It should’ve been awkward. But it wasn’t.  

"So," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the countertop, "what’s the plan for your day off? Big, exciting plans to stay in bed all day?"  

You swallowed a sip of juice, tilting your head at him. "That was the dream, yeah."  

Pedro let out a soft scoff, pushing off the counter. "Nah. Not happening."  

You raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"  

"You’ve been working your ass off all week, and I don’t mean just putting up with the shoot," he said, giving you a knowing look. "I mean all of it. Everything. And since you clearly weren’t gonna tell me how much it was getting to you, I figure it’s my job to make sure you actually do something for yourself today."  

Your stomach twisted at that.  

He had noticed.  

Of course, he had.  

And now, instead of letting you bury it like you had all week, he was making it a thing.  

"Pedro," you sighed, setting your glass down. "I really don’t—"  

"Shh," he cut in, grinning as he pressed a finger to his lips. "No arguing."  

You stared at him, deadpan. "Did you just shush me?"  

"Yeah." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "It’s effective."  

You narrowed your eyes, trying very hard not to laugh. "You’re an idiot."  

"And yet," he said, nodding toward your now-empty plate, "an idiot who got you to wake up, eat breakfast, and seriously consider leaving this hotel room."  

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.  

Damn it.  

"Okay, fine." You rolled your eyes. "What exactly do you have in mind?"  

Pedro grinned like he’d just won something. "Get dressed, cariño. I’ll tell you on the way."

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY AFTERNOON 

You didn’t know what you had expected Pedro to suggest—maybe a lazy stroll through the city, or coffee at some tucked-away café—but the moment you stepped outside, you realized you had severely underestimated him.  

For one, he had somehow procured a car.  

Not just any car. A sleek, inconspicuous black SUV, complete with a driver who nodded at Pedro like they had some unspoken understanding.  

You frowned, pausing just before getting in. “Please tell me you didn’t hire security just to take me out for the day.”  

Pedro smirked, holding the door open for you. “Relax. It’s just a favor. No secret service level drama.”  

You eyed him suspiciously. “You swear?”  

“Would I lie to you?”  

You didn’t dignify that with a response.  

With a dramatic sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, and Pedro followed suit, settling in beside you with a satisfied grin.  

“See?” he said as the car pulled away from the hotel. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  

You shot him a flat look. “I already regret this.”  

Pedro just laughed, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.  

The city stretched out beyond the tinted windows, a blur of old brick buildings, cafés with tiny outdoor tables, and the occasional group of tourists wrapped up in their own adventures.  

For a moment, you let yourself relax, head resting back against the seat, the steady hum of the car filling the silence.  

And then—  

“Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, side-eyeing him.  

Pedro hummed, pretending to think about it. “Nah. I like watching you squirm.”  

You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically. “I hate you.”  

“No, you don’t.”  

You turned your head, finding him already watching you, something fond and unreadable flickering behind his glasses.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

The car hit a stoplight, and he looked away, tapping something into his phone.  

Okay. Fine.  

You could pretend that didn’t just happen.  

The drive continued, weaving through the city until you eventually started to recognize where you were heading.  

Your brows furrowed.  

“Wait a minute—"  

“Surprise,” Pedro said, grinning as the car finally rolled to a stop in front of what was, unmistakably, a bookstore.  

Not just any bookstore.  

One you had mentioned in passing about a few days ago, while sitting with him and a few others on set, talking about places you’d love to visit while in London.  

You turned to him, mouth slightly open. “You remembered?”  

Pedro gave you a look, like the idea of him not remembering was ridiculous.  

“Of course I did,” he said simply, pushing open his door. “Now, are you gonna sit there looking at me like I just grew a second head, or are we actually going in?”  

You scrambled out of the car before he could make another joke, ignoring the warmth spreading through your chest.  

Inside, the scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you like a hug. The place was small but full—every wall lined with shelves, tables stacked with books, mismatched chairs tucked into cozy corners.  

It was perfect.  

Pedro hovered near the entrance, watching your expression, clearly pleased with himself.  

You turned, crossing your arms. “Alright, Pascal. What’s the catch?”  

He smirked. “No catch.”  

You narrowed your eyes.  

He sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I might have selfish reasons for bringing you here.”  

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are?”  

Pedro stepped closer, tilting his head. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re stressed.”  

Your jaw dropped.  

“Excuse me?”  

He laughed, reaching out and flicking the end of your sleeve. “You needed a break. And I—” He paused, eyes softening. “I like seeing you happy.”  

The words were simple.  

Too simple.  

And yet, they settled deep in your chest, curling around something you weren’t ready to name.  

You swallowed, looking away, focusing on the nearest bookshelf like it held all the answers.  

Pedro let the silence stretch for a beat, then nudged you gently.  

“Go on,” he murmured. “Pick something.”  

So you did.

LONDON BOOKSHOP — EARLY AFTERNOON  

You took your time browsing.  

Partly because you wanted to, and partly because Pedro made himself comfortable, dropping into one of the armchairs in the corner like he had all the time in the world.  

He did this thing where he pretended not to be watching you. Flipping through a book, glasses sliding down his nose, but every so often—you caught him. The flicker of his gaze, the tiny smirk when you pulled a book off the shelf and examined the cover with interest.  

It made your skin warm.  

It was still so bizarre—this thing between you two.  

You were still wrapping your head around it, still trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t some overactive, sleep-deprived hallucination.  

Because this was Pedro Pascal.  

And Pedro Pascal had somehow taken it upon himself to make sure you were okay, taking you out on bookstore adventures and—  

Oh god, were you on a date?  

Your heart jumped at the realization, nearly making you fumble the book in your hands.  

No. Not a date.  

Just… Pedro being Pedro.  

Right?  

You exhaled slowly, trying to refocus.  

The book in your hands was a worn, well-loved copy of a classic romance novel. The pages were slightly yellowed, the cover soft with age.  

“That one, huh?”  

You startled slightly, looking up to see Pedro watching you from his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.  

You shrugged, running your fingers along the spine. “I’ve been meaning to read it.”  

Pedro hummed, tilting his head. “You always do that.”  

You blinked. “Do what?”  

He nodded toward the book in your hands. “That thing. Where you rub the cover before you decide.”  

You froze, caught. “…I do not.”  

Pedro’s grin was entirely too smug. “Oh, you do.”  

You felt warmth creep up your neck. “You’ve been watching me pick books?”  

He lifted a shoulder, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re cute when you’re indecisive.”  

Your stomach flipped.  

You opened your mouth—only to immediately close it again, because what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?  

Pedro’s grin widened like he knew exactly what he was doing.  

Your fingers curled around the book, gripping it like it could somehow ground you.  

“I—” You cleared your throat, forcing a glare. “I hate you.”  

Pedro just laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No, you don’t.”  

You turned away, cheeks burning, pointedly walking toward the register before he could see how flustered you were.  

The woman behind the counter smiled as she rang up your book, eyes flicking toward Pedro lounging in the corner.  

“That your boyfriend?” she asked casually.  

You nearly choked.  

“What? No. No, no. He’s just—” You gestured vaguely. “Pedro.”  

She just smiled knowingly. “Right.”  

You hurriedly paid, ignoring the way Pedro was definitely smirking behind you, and grabbed the small paper bag with your book inside.  

When you turned, he was already standing, adjusting his glasses. “Ready?”  

You exhaled, nodding.  

As the two of you stepped outside, the chilly afternoon air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bookshop.  

Pedro slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing over. “Lunch?”  

You hesitated. “I don’t know… what if people see us?”  

Pedro just shrugged. “So what?”  

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I just— I don’t want people to think—”  

“That you’re hanging out with me?” Pedro finished, raising an eyebrow.  

You let out a breath, rubbing at your temple. “I just don’t want to be weird about it.”  

Pedro was quiet for a beat, then nudged your arm gently. “Hey.”  

You looked up.  

“Let them think whatever they want,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re allowed to exist in public with me, y’know.”  

Your chest ached in a way you weren’t expecting.  

He made it sound so simple.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro grinned. “Good. Now let’s go find some obscenely overpriced pasta.”  

You huffed a laugh, letting him lead the way.

LONDON — AFTERNOON

The restaurant Pedro picked was one of those effortlessly stylish little spots tucked away on a side street, the kind of place with warm lighting, fresh flowers on every table, and a menu written in looping script on a chalkboard.

It smelled like olive oil and fresh bread, like garlic sizzling in butter.

“Obscenely overpriced pasta,” you muttered under your breath, scanning the menu. “You weren’t kidding.”

Pedro chuckled, tilting his head toward you. “Hey, if we’re gonna be reckless, we might as well do it with carbs.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t argue.

The two of you had been seated near the window, the view outside hazy with the gray of the London afternoon. Pedro sat opposite you, cap low, glasses on, but even that didn’t do much to disguise him.

It was still him.

Still warm brown eyes and laughter lines, still easy charm and a quiet steadiness that made you feel safer than you probably should.

The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the gentle clinking of glasses and silverware blending with the distant notes of some old jazz song playing overhead. The air smelled rich—garlic and butter, fresh herbs and warm bread—and for the first time in what felt like days, you felt… light.  

You weren’t thinking about work. Or her.  

Just Pedro. Just this.  

He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the backrest, fingers idly tracing the rim of his water glass. His cap was still low over his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, but his expression was open, relaxed—like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the two of you having lunch together was something that had always made sense.  

And maybe it did.  

"So," Pedro said, tearing off a piece of bread from the basket between you. "Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet."  

You huffed a small laugh, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw. "That’s a pretty broad request."  

He shrugged. "Alright, let’s narrow it down. What was little you like?"  

You blinked at him. "Little me?"  

"Yeah." He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "Like, what were you like as a kid? Were you the quiet, shy one, or were you running around causing problems?"  

You scoffed. "I am the quiet, shy one."  

Pedro gave you a look. "I know you. You’ve got a little chaos in you somewhere."  

You bit back a smile. "Fine. Maybe a little."  

Pedro grinned, leaning in like he was settling in for a story. "Alright, spill."  

You thought for a moment, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the rim of your glass. "I was kind of… scrappy, I guess? Like, I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t not fight a kid if they deserved it."  

Pedro nearly choked on his water. "What?"  

Your face heated. "Not like that! I just—I had a strong sense of justice, okay?"  

Pedro wiped his mouth, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been ready to throw hands."  

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. "I shouldn’t have told you that."  

Pedro was grinning so hard. "No, no, I love it. I love picturing little you, all tiny and righteous, just out there laying down the law."  

You peeked at him through your fingers. "It wasn’t that dramatic."  

"Mm-hmm," he said, clearly not convinced.  

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. "Okay, your turn, big shot. What was little Pedro like?"  

His smirk softened into something more nostalgic. "Oh, I was a menace," he admitted.  

You snorted. "Of course you were."  

"I mean, not in a bad way," he amended, breaking off another piece of bread. "I was just… all over the place. Loud, always moving, always talking. My parents were exhausted."  

You smiled. "Sounds like you were a handful."  

"Oh, completely." He took a sip of his drink, glancing at you over the rim. "I grew up in a house that was always full, always noisy. Family coming in and out all the time, music playing, food cooking. I never really knew what quiet was until I got older."  

There was something warm in his voice, something fond in the way he spoke about home.  

"That sounds… nice," you murmured.  

Pedro tilted his head slightly, studying you. "What about you? What was home like?"  

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. "Not like that."  

His brows drew together, but he didn’t push.  

You exhaled softly, running your finger over the condensation on your glass. "I mean, it wasn’t bad or anything. It was just… quieter. A little lonelier."  

Pedro didn’t say anything, just waited.  

You bit your lip, giving a small shrug. "I guess I always felt like I had to work a little harder to fit in. To matter."  

Pedro’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, that got depressing—"  

"Hey." His voice was quiet but firm.  

You glanced up.  

Pedro was watching you with something steady, something real in his expression. "You don’t have to apologize for being honest."  

Your stomach flipped.  

You nodded, a little too quickly. "Right. Yeah."  

Pedro gave you a small smile, then nudged your foot under the table. "For what it’s worth," he said lightly, "I think you’re pretty great."  

Your throat felt tight. "Yeah?"  

"Yeah." His smile widened. "Even if you did used to fight kids."  

You groaned. "Oh my god."  

Pedro laughed, and the sound was so warm, so easy, that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.  

And just like that, whatever tension had settled between you melted away, leaving nothing but warmth in its place.

The street was buzzing softly with life when you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light over everything. You hadn’t even fully processed where Pedro was leading you when he suddenly tugged on your wrist and gestured toward a tiny, vintage photo booth tucked just outside the café. Its paint was chipped, its curtain a little worn, but it had the kind of charm that begged you to step inside.  

“C’mon,” Pedro said with a mischievous grin, already pulling you toward it.  

“What? No!” You laughed, glancing around like someone might catch you doing something scandalous. “Pedro, this is so cheesy!”  

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your protests. “Cheesy is good. Plus, you owe me for making me think you were a goner this morning.” He gave you a dramatic, pleading look. “One strip of photos. For my emotional recovery.”  

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. One. And only because I feel bad for you.”  

The booth’s tiny space forced you closer together than you expected. Pedro leaned in to fiddle with the ancient machine, his arm brushing against yours. You tried not to think too hard about how warm he was, or how his cologne smelled faintly like cedar and something else you couldn’t quite place.  

“Okay, ready?” Pedro asked, his finger hovering over the button.  

“Wait! What do we—what pose are we doing?”  

He grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”  

The camera counted down—three, two, one.  

The first flash caught you both off guard, faces blank with surprise. You burst into laughter, the kind that made your shoulders shake, and Pedro quickly leaned in for another shot.  

“Okay, okay, serious face,” he instructed, eyes narrowing comically.  

You tried, but the second the flash went off, you broke into giggles again, and Pedro lost it right along with you.  

The third shot was a blur of laughter, your head tipped back, Pedro’s grin wide and unguarded.  

Then, right as the camera beeped for the final shot, Pedro turned toward you.  

You barely had time to register the movement before his lips brushed your cheek, soft and quick but undeniably there.  

The flash went off.  

You froze, eyes wide as you turned to look at him. Pedro’s face mirrored yours for a second—caught somewhere between Did I really just do that? and Yeah, I did. But then, the corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin.  

The photo strip slid out of the machine, and you grabbed it, holding it up between you. There it was: the first three frames filled with laughter and goofy poses, and the last… the last one where his lips were pressed against your cheek, your eyes wide, his soft and warm, both of you caught mid-smile.  

Your heart fluttered—nervous, exhilarated, but… not scared. Not even a little.  

“You kissed me,” you said, voice soft but teasing.  

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look thoughtful. “Hmm. Did I? Feels like that might’ve been you kissing me.”  

You gasped, smacking his arm with the photo strip. “Liar!”  

He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s open to interpretation.”  

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” he said, tilting his head, “here you are. Stuck in a photo booth with me.”  

The air between you shifted then—lighter, but also charged with something else. Something that felt like the beginning of a question neither of you was quite ready to ask.  

For a beat, neither of you moved.  

Then Pedro tapped the photo strip with his finger, breaking the moment. “Well, at least we’ve got proof of how good we look together.”  

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Shut up.”  

“Never,” he replied, already holding out his phone. “Now, do we post this on the internet, or do we keep it as blackmail material for later?”  

You grabbed the photo strip, slipping it into your pocket. “Neither. This one’s ours.”  

Pedro raised his hands in surrender, but the smile on his face told you he didn’t mind one bit.

The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Pedro slipped his phone back into his pocket after calling the driver, glancing at you with a small smile. “We’ve got about ten minutes. Wanna walk a little?”  

You nodded, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs. The streets were alive with a gentle hum—tourists taking photos, locals going about their day, the occasional street performer filling the air with music.  

The city felt like a movie set, every streetlamp and cobblestone path perfectly placed. And in this fleeting moment, it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you, as if the streetlights themselves pointed in an arrowhead, leading you home.  

Pedro noticed the slight chill in the air and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Can’t have you catching a cold,” he said, his voice light but warm with care.  

The jacket smelled like him—faint cologne mixed with something warm and earthy, something Pedro. You tugged it around yourself a little tighter, feeling its weight settle comfortably over your frame.  

A surge of boldness swept over you, the kind you usually talked yourself out of but didn’t this time. You stepped closer, looping your arm around his. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers found his hand, intertwining with his.  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. His hand squeezed yours gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soft, absentminded rhythm. It was such an easy, natural thing for him, this casual intimacy that felt so rare and comforting.  

You’d learned over the past few days that touch was part of his love language. He was the kind of man who hugged with his whole body, the kind whose touch always felt intentional and grounding, never forced or fleeting.  

Your heart thudded a little harder in your chest. You told yourself it was just from the walk.  

You squeezed his arm lightly, smiling up at him. “Thanks for today, Pedro.”  

He glanced down at you, his eyes warm and crinkling at the edges, those familiar laughter lines making an appearance. “For what?”  

“For everything,” you said softly, almost shy. “For making me laugh. For breakfast. For not running away when I woke up looking like a crypt keeper.”  

Pedro chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening for a brief second. “You looked adorable. Not a crypt keeper—more like… a sleepy little gremlin.”  

You gasped, mock-offended, and smacked his arm with your free hand. “Gremlin? You’re lucky I don’t let go of your hand right now.”  

He grinned, that mischievous spark in his eyes you were quickly becoming fond of. “You wouldn’t. You like me too much.”  

You couldn’t argue with that.  

The streetlamps flickered on as the daylight dimmed, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. The city hummed around you, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of Pedro’s hand in yours, the easy rhythm of your steps together, the way everything felt just a little softer, a little brighter with him by your side.  

“You’re really something, you know that?” Pedro said suddenly, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.  

You glanced at him, your breath hitching slightly. “Something good, I hope.”  

Pedro stopped walking for a second, turning toward you. His eyes searched yours, serious now. “The best kind of something.”  

Your chest tightened at the weight of his words, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your stomach. You tried to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.  

“Well,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “right back at you, Pedro.”  

He smiled, that same soft, unguarded smile that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he was looking at.  

The driver pulled up a few moments later, headlights cutting through the soft twilight. Pedro opened the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slid into the car.  

As the car pulled away, you leaned back into the seat, Pedro’s jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth lingering like a secret you weren’t quite ready to give up.  

And maybe, just maybe, neither was he.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The glow of golden hour had dimmed into soft dusk by the time you returned to Chiltern Firehouse. The lobby was warm and buzzing with quiet energy—guests sipping cocktails, a crackling fireplace, and staff moving seamlessly through the space. Pedro walked beside you, his hand resting gently at the small of your back like it had been there all along.  

You didn’t want the day to end just yet. There was something about the way the air felt, a little lighter, like it had been charged with something electric and unspoken.  

As you approached the front desk, one of the hotel managers, a polished woman in a tailored suit, stepped forward with a warm smile, followed closely by Franklin Latt—Pedro’s manager.  

“Good evening,” the hotel manager greeted. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. I wanted to let you know that your room is now ready, miss.”  

Your breath hitched for a split second.  

Right. The room.  

It was easy to forget after the last few days, the way you’d fallen into such a natural rhythm with Pedro. Sharing his suite had felt so… effortless. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift.  

“Oh,” you said, your voice soft, almost reluctant. “Right. That was, uh… this week.”  

You glanced at Pedro, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between you—a flicker of disappointment mirrored in his eyes.  

You shifted on your feet, clearing your throat. “Okay, um… I guess I need to pack, then.”  

The hotel manager smiled politely. “The room is ready for you whenever you’re ready to move, miss.”  

Pedro opened his mouth before you could respond, a little too quickly. “Actually, do you think she could switch tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and she still needs to pack her things. We’re both pretty wiped out.”  

His voice was casual, but there was an edge of determination that made you glance up at him, your heart fluttering at how easily he’d jumped in for you.  

The hotel manager hesitated but nodded. “Of course. If you’d prefer to transfer tomorrow, that can be arranged.”  

Franklin, however, raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Pedro. His eyes caught on Pedro’s jacket draped around your shoulders, the sleeves too long for you, the fabric worn in all the right places.  

Your face heated up as you tugged the jacket a little tighter around yourself, hoping it would hide the rush of color in your cheeks.  

Franklin crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between amused and suspicious. “Tired, huh?” he said, his tone light but pointed. “You sure that’s the only reason?”  

Pedro shot him a look, his brow arching in silent warning. “Relax, Frank. We’ve been out all day, walking around the city. She’s exhausted.”  

Franklin chuckled, clearly not buying it but deciding to let it go—for now. “Right. Well, don’t let me keep you.”  

The hotel manager nodded again. “Just let us know when you’re ready to move rooms. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”  

She and Franklin walked off, leaving you and Pedro standing in the middle of the lobby, the hum of quiet conversations around you. For a second, neither of you spoke.  

Pedro scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “So… I guess you’re stuck with me for one more night.”  

You tried to laugh, but it came out softer than you intended. “Guess so.”  

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together. The air between you felt charged again, like earlier, but now tinged with something deeper—something fragile and new.  

Pedro leaned against the wall of the elevator, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving just yet.”  

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool. “Oh yeah? Afraid of being lonely?”  

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to having you around.”  

The words settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to unpack. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything in return, so you just smiled, a little shy, a little flustered.  

When the elevator dinged, Pedro followed you out, his hand resting lightly on your back again as you made your way to the suite. It was such a small thing, but it grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

Maybe you’d sort through those feelings tomorrow, when the lines between friendship and something more didn’t feel so blurred.  

But tonight?  

“One last movie night?” you asked softly as you swiped the keycard, pushing the door open. You glanced over your shoulder at Pedro, an almost shy smile playing on your lips.  

Pedro’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, stepping in behind you. “It doesn’t have to be the last one,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “We can have as many movie nights as you want.”  

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight you weren’t sure he meant to put there. Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten in the best way possible.  

You kicked off your shoes, trying to shake off the flutter in your stomach, and headed for the couch. Pedro shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, moving to grab a couple of waters from the kitchenette.  

“Okay,” you said, settling into the couch cushions, pulling a blanket over your lap. “But I’m picking the movie this time.”  

Pedro handed you a bottle of water and plopped down beside you, close enough that his knee bumped yours. “Deal. What are we watching?”  

You tapped your chin dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “Something light. No brooding detectives or tragic endings.”  

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Are you saying my movie choices are too intense?”  

“Not too intense,” you teased, opening the streaming app. “But I’m in the mood for something that won’t make me question the meaning of life.”  

Pedro leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, barely there, but it sent a spark down your spine anyway. “Fair enough. Surprise me.”  

You clicked on a romantic comedy and settled in, trying to focus on the movie and not the warmth of Pedro beside you. But it was hard to ignore—the way his thigh pressed gently against yours, the sound of his soft chuckle whenever something funny happened on screen, the way he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.  

About halfway through the movie, you felt your head naturally tilt toward his shoulder. You hesitated for a second, nerves twisting in your chest. But then Pedro shifted ever so slightly, making it easier, like he was inviting you to stay.  

“You comfortable?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Yeah,” you said softly, your cheek resting against him. “You make a pretty good pillow.”  

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your ear. “I try.”  

Neither of you moved after that, the movie fading into the background. The world outside the suite felt far away, like it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not with him.  

Maybe you’d unpack those feelings tomorrow.  

But tonight?  

Tonight, you let yourself fall a little further. 

End Notes:

This was one of the chapters I was dreading to write. Not cause I didn’t want to write it—

Cause I knew, from a writer’s perspective, at some point, I had to subvert the expectation of, “They’ll be roommates the entire time and fall in love.”

And yes, I did the thing where I gave you something you wanted/something good and then took it away from you LMAO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean… at least you get your own room now! So that counts for something— (please don’t show up at my house aHHHH)

Also, five chapters in, I had to give ya'll a little smooch... just a little... hehe

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hiya Blusy! Could you write something where the reader is Donna’s maid and over the years, they’ve developed a close working relationship. Eventually Donna starts doing things like holding reader’s hand, calling her pet names etc, but never anything explicitly romantic like kisses. Reader has been in love with Donna for a while now, and she just thinks Donna’s being affectionate because they’re close, so she accepts and returns the gestures. And then at the lords meetings, visits to castle Dimitrescu, and on the phone, Donna sometimes tells the other lords how wonderful her girlfriend is. Reader is confused and jealous that Donna apparently has a girlfriend that she doesn’t know about… not realizing that Donna is actually talking about her! Eventually she figures it out, like “what do you mean we’re already dating?”

I really enjoy reading all your stories, Blusy! You are doing amazing work at keeping Donna fans fed. Keep it up, but don’t forget to take breaks!

Yesss!!! Sorry about the delay, and thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes too!!! :)))))))

What do you mean by "girlfriends"?

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, maid! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 8,663

Summary: Why was she doing that? What was on her mind?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVING MESSAGES, I'M VERY HAPPY TO BE BACK!!!

“That's it... you here...” you murmured as you arranged a pile of books on a shelf. “Perfect.”

Sighing, you looked at the result of your effort, finding a comforting pleasure in a well-done job.

You didn't really understand why those damn books always appeared in disarray, but you did have slight suspicions about who the culprit was.

“Angie...” you hissed, narrowing your eyes, too accustomed to the doll's pranks. “You'll never change.”

After three years working in that house, chores became mere pastimes. You were always a happy, hard-working girl, confident in what you did, well, almost always.

If you thought about how you had ended up like that, you were still surprised by yourself. You wanted a future, some way to get a job that didn't involve serving an impossibly tall woman and her daughters.

In that village, the options were few, and none were particularly pleasant. At the foot of the castle there was always a line of beautiful girls determined to serve Lord Alcina Dimitrescu as maids.

The decision was between join that queue of aspiring handmaidens, or find a different place to earn a living. You weren’t that brave, and, despite everything, you walked through the snowy forest, crossed a sinister path and a dangerously unstable bridge to make a very risky move.

With the lady of the castle surrounded by maids, your options were considerably reduced. You would have to look for another place, perhaps another Lord to serve.

Lord Heisenberg, perhaps? No, he wasn’t the kind of man that needed to be served or to look for someone who was… alive. Mother Miranda? Gods, you didn’t even consider it. You didn’t want to end up like one of the poor creatures who hunted at night.

What about Moreau? Oh, no, definitely not.

There was still one option left for you, one you hadn't considered in the first place, one you didn't want to consider. There was one Lord left, the youngest, the most unknown, the woman in mourning who lived beyond the forest, in the old mansion by the waterfall, the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

The little knowledge you had about her was an advantage, but also a drawback. Knowing what you could face reassured you, but in this case, it wasn’t possible. To tell the truth, no one knew much about young Beneviento, at least, nothing good.

But things were really bad in your old cabin, and you were sure that you wouldn’t endure the cold of winter another year.

Forgetting about the rumors about the mysterious Lady Beneviento, you decided to try your luck. If you had known what awaited you, you would have done it sooner, much sooner.

The shrill voice of the lady's living doll kicked you out of the place as soon as she saw you, saying that you weren’t needed, that you should leave immediately. With failure already in your eyes and a treacherous trembling in your legs, you decided to give up, and pray to the Black Gods that you could return alive.

There were no visions, no nightmares and no evil power that made you hallucinate as you had heard from the people of the village. You could only hear the sound of footsteps in the snow, your own.

One step, two, three, and finally an impertinent cry from Angie, calling you not to go too far away.

You didn't know why the lady had changed her mind, and you didn't want to know, but she did and hired you as her maid.

You couldn't deny that that ghostly air and the black veil that covered her face intimidated you, especially the first days, but you soon got used to it.

Donna Beneviento was just as the rumors said. She was a sick woman, who didn't even speak to you, locked in her old workshop for hours, with the only company of her inert dolls. You could even say that she had an irrational aversion to people, to you… but… then, why were you still alive? Why didn't your reality distort and force you to throw yourself off the cliff?

The mystery stopped being dark and sinister and became a complex but entertaining riddle.

Perhaps without the presence of that rebellious puppet you would have gone crazy. It's not that you were a girl who loved conversations, but your mistress's eternal silence was heavy, uncomfortable, terrifying.

The days, the weeks, the months passed without any change. You did your chores, bowed slightly to your mistress and rested, a routine only broken by the games of the Angie doll, in which you, usually, were the protagonist.

But everything changed that day, the day you realized how hurt Beneviento's mind was. It was an unexpected crisis, in the middle of a dinner that seemed calm. The woman in black began to scream, to move, to try to hurt herself. Luckily, you were there to prevent it.

Her madness was so great that it even made that black veil disappear, thus unveiling her face to you involuntarily. You were too busy to notice her. You didn't want her to hurt herself, you couldn't stand to see her suffer like that. She didn't deserve it, she had never shown you that she deserved such punishment from the Gods.

She got worse before she got better, going from rage to tears quickly and finally finding comfort in your arms, in your chest and in your soft, reassuring words. When Donna calmed down completely, she came back to reality, aware of what she had done, of what you were seeing: her face, one that no one should ever see.

You thought that the crisis would return, that her madness would attack her again, and perhaps you would be the target of her anger, but it wasn't like that.

The lady slowly stood up grabbing the veil she had thrown away, looking down at the ground, blinking erratically with her one eye. In the middle of that unpleasant situation, she did it; she finally talked to you by herself:

“Thank you”

Her hoarse, but melodic and seductive voice reached your ears while your eyes were still processing her beauty. You couldn't say you didn't know what she looked like, since the portrait on the stairs was a good reference, but seeing it in person, seeing the beautiful woman you worked for with your own eyes... Something definitely changed that day.

Not only her voice became frequent, but the veil disappeared. Surely she realized that you didn't act as if you had seen a monster, that you weren't disgusted by the scar that deformed her face. Yes, she may have realized that your eyes saw a woman and not a deformed being that torments children in their nightmares.

Time only improved that great change, making the shy and hermit ventriloquist find in you something resembling a friend. The truth was that you two shared tastes, interests. Contrary to what you initially believed, you had many things in common.

Donna was a strange woman, of course, but sweet in some way, intelligent, elegant... in short: she was the opposite of what was said in the village.

You, who thought you would find a job with which to survive, found more than that, you found a friend, a good friend.

The sound of the door distracted you from your memories, causing you to turn on your heels and shake the dust that covered your apron as you walked, also taking the opportunity to arrange your hair correctly.

“Donna, you're back,” you said kindly, welcoming the woman in black and her doll at the entrance.

“Of course we're back! Don't you see us, silly maid?” Angie said, moving in her owner's arms as Donna lowered her to the floor. “Did you have fun, silly?”

“Yes, I actually had a really great time tidying the shelves,” you said with a mocking smile, putting your hands on your hips. “How funny, someone was kind enough to mess up all the books to keep me busy.”

“You're welcome, silly, that way you wouldn't get bored,” the doll replied, laughing evilly and passing by you with disinterest.

“Yes, thank you very much,” you said through clenched teeth, shaking your head and looking back at the lady in black, who was bringing one of her hands to her veil, slowly removing it. “How was the meeting?”

“Mm, not good,” the brunette whispered, looking away from you with an air of nervousness and sadness as she folded her veil carefully, leaving it on a nearby table.

“Oh, um, did something happen?” you asked pleasantly.

She shook her head, sighing and walking slowly towards the dining room, letting herself fall into one of the chairs. Slowly, you approached her, putting a hand on her shoulder, ready for a comforting talk that poor Donna was unwillingly asking for.

“Donna, what's wrong?” you asked quietly. “Gods, you're freezing.”

“Mm, nevermind, (Y/N),” she answered, sighing again.

“Donna,” you said, sitting in a chair front of her. “Tell me what worries you… Well, as long as it doesn't have anything to do with Mother Miranda's evil plans or something similar,” you joked, getting her lips to form a shy smile.

“No, it's just that… I was looking forward to going home,” Donna explained, with a sweet, sincere voice. “These meetings are torture for me, I, I just want to be with my dolls and…”

“Oh, Donna, I know,” you interrupted calmly.  “Don't worry. You're at home now, mm?”

“Yes…” she sighed, smiling again. “I'm at home… Sorry, (Y/N), I'm… I'm not having a good day…”

“I know,” you said in a soft, understanding tone. “I’m not surprised. With this cold it's hard to be cheerful.”

“Mm,” the lady murmured, looking out the window wistfully.

“Do you know what you need?” you said in a louder voice, clapping your hands, which comically scared your mistress, who shook the head with her eye wide open. “I'm going to prepare a relaxing bath for you, it will help you warm up, what do you think?”

“It's… it's… yes, I think it's a good idea, grazie, (Y/N),” she answered, with an innocent smile.

“Great, I'll let you know when it's ready,” you said enthusiastically, glancing sideways at Angie, who was climbing up the bookshelf, threatening to mess it up again. “Hey, I'm watching you!”

“Don't look at me, silly!” the doll answered squeakily. “I'm checking your work.”

“Ugh,” you growled annoyed. “No, no, no! Hey, I just tidied it up!” you shouted as you saw how the puppet slowly took out one of the books. “Angie!”

“Angie, basta! Lasciala estare!” Donna said, coming to your defense, as usual.

“You’re an annoying killjoy,” Angie protested, getting down from the bookshelf, shaking her head haughtily and leaving the dining room.

“Angie...” the lady hissed, putting two fingers on her temples. “This is the last time I...”

“It's okay, Donna. You already know her,” you said, downplaying it. “I'm used to it. Just relax, the bath will be ready soon.”

With those words and a soft caress on her back, you went down the elevator, ready to make the lady in black feel better. Of course, you knew that meetings with her siblings weren’t to her liking. She never asked to be a Lord, she was forced to be one; she was forced to stay away from a solitude she didn’t choose, but that she enjoyed somehow.

As you filled the bathtub, you remembered all the moments you spent with her, the laughs you sometimes shared, the moments of silent reading, the dinners in the sole company of your eyes…

Fine, you had to admit it once and for all. Saying that Donna was your friend was an understatement, it was almost rude to your feelings. Over time, you began to see the lady in black not only as an interesting and attractive woman, but as something more… Something you still didn’t admit.

The looks, the kind and gentle words, the unthinkable kindness coming from someone like her, her beauty, which she denied so much…

You had been in that house for three years, one of them completely in love with Donna.

You knew that love was something completely unknown for her, fictitious, but still you allowed yourself to fantasize at night about what your life would be like with her, what it would be like to love her. Of course, these were completely fanciful feelings, ones you didn't think you could make real, ones you felt you had to hide from her.

After all, you were still her maid even if you melted for her, even if she looked at you like that, even if your heart raced with every smile.

“Donna? Can I come in?” you asked after letting the lady relax in the tub. You hoped that at least that sadness you saw in her eye had disappeared.

“Yes, of course,” she said, opening the door while putting on an elegant black silk robe, which made your eyes travel unintentionally to one of her legs, that was uncovered with the movement.

Not now, (Y/N)

“How was the bath? Did it feel good?” you asked kindly, blinking to force yourself to stop looking at the pale skin the black fabric was revealing.

“Yes, thank you, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, sitting on a stool next to the sink.

You approached with a smile, knowing the meaning of that innocent gesture.

“Let's see…” you murmured, taking a brush and starting to run it through her black hair, a soft and mysteriously delicate hair. “Mm, maybe you want to try a new hairstyle, don't you?”

“No,” the lady said dryly, letting your hands enjoy the caresses on her hair while you noticed each white hair that broke the harmony of the darkness, like a field of stars in the night sky.

“Fine,” you whispered kindly, starting to comb her hair carefully. “Well, so…” you said after a few seconds of silence, making her eye look at you through the mirror. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“What do you mean?” Donna asked, frowning.

“The meeting, you said it didn't go well,” you commented in a calm voice while you passed the brush with a slow, calm movement.

“The meeting went well,” she said, making you stop and arch your eyebrows with a tender smile, enjoying her clumsy way of communicating. “As good as it could go, I guess…”

“Mm,” you murmured, nodding, handling the brush gracefully while shaping her usual bun.

“Alcina wanted to talk to me,” the lady commented, ruffling her hair in a childish way to give the hairstyle her personal touch, a messy and adorable touch you loved.

“What did she say to you?” you asked, observing the result in the mirror.

Donna seemed somewhat nervous, slowly turning to look directly at you while biting her lower lip, as if she was embarrassed by something.

“You don't have to tell me, forget that I asked you,” you said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. “I don't want to get into your business.”

“It's just that... she... she's worried about me,” the lady finally explained, without looking you in the eyes, nervously playing with her hands.

“Worried about you?” you asked in a low tone, without making her more nervous, as you learned to do a long time ago.

She nodded slowly, sighing and raising her gaze to you briefly.

“She says that... that I'm alone and... and that I should have someone by my side...” she commented with difficulty, making clear to you that she was embarrassed by this type of conversation, although at first, you didn't understand why. “She thinks that being alone isn't good and that I would be much happier if I wasn't and...”

“Oh,” you sighed, leaving the brush on the sink and listening to her attentively. “Well, actually, you're not alone, Donna.”

“Angie is irrelevant,” the lady grumbled, crossing her arms, breathing more and more agitated, which put you on alert. “Am I really alone? You...? You think she's right?”

“Shh, hey, Donna,” you whispered, resting your hands on her shoulders, waiting for her gaze to meet yours. “The truth is that she's somewhat right, but, she's wrong about one thing,” you said with a serious tone, staring at her. “You're not alone, Donna.”

“I’m not?” she asked, shaking her head, with a suspicious look.

“Of course not,” you affirmed with a smile, rubbing her shoulders reassuringly. “I'm here, with you.”

The lady in black opened her eye wide, as if she had run out of words. You didn't think you had said something so shocking, but seeing a spark of joy on her face motivated you to smile sincerely, maybe too sincerely.

“Y-You mean that I... that you... that you're with me?” she asked, narrowing her eye, as if she didn't trust your words.

“Of course I'm with you, don't you see?” you joked, making her smile again. “Donna, it's been a long time since you aren’t just my boss or my lady. To me, you are something more, something much more... special,” you said, stumbling over your words when you noticed that you were about to say something stupid.

“You are also much more than a maid to me, (Y/N), you are also... special,” she said, with a bright smile on her face. “N-Now I'm not alone because I'm with you, right? I-I won't be alone anymore...”

“Yes,” you said amused, surprised by her changing behavior, but accustomed to it. “I won't abandon you, Donna.”

“I... I won't either...” she said, radiating a strange happiness, one that clashed directly with her melancholic mood, one that seemed to suddenly disappear.

Suddenly, you felt warmth in your hand. The softness of her skin brushed against yours as she gently grabbed it with hers, still looking at you, still smiling.

Your heart was beating very fast, and your mind was starting to draw kisses, a declaration of love from her lips, a fantasy that seemed closer and closer.

With a happy sigh, Donna pulled your hand to her lips, kissing it in a way that made you stagger. It was a quick kiss, too quick, too… empty. Of course, it wasn't what you expected, but you were sure you would dream of that feeling. For the first time in a year, you thought that longed-for moment was closer than ever.

“Grazie,” the lady said, closing her eye and slowly releasing your hand, leaving an unbearable cold on your skin and a clear disappointment in your gaze. “Thank you for being with me, (Y/N).”

“You're welcome,” you whispered sighing too, glad to have made her happy, sad because a kiss of love hadn’t been the end of that conversation. It was just a simple: thank you

“Anyway...” you sighed, wanting to scream, to say that you loved her, but without being able to do it. “I should make dinner,” you said before turning around, ready to leave the bathroom and regret what had happened, or rather, what hadn’t happened.

“Un attimo, (Y/N),” Donna stopped you, getting up hastily from the stool, with that nervous expression again. “Let me help you.”

“Mm?” you murmured about to walk out the door, excited by the idea, but knowing that above all, her well-being was your job. “Oh, no, it's not necessary... you must rest, you've had a bad day and...”

“No!” she squealed, making an exaggerated movement with her hands, making you blink in confusion. “I-I mean that I don't feel sad anymore and… I would really like to cook with you.”

“Oh, well… in that case… okay,” you said with a knowing smile, letting your feelings repress themselves again, leaving the regrets and anger at your cowardice for another time. “Um… Donna,” you whispered amused when the lady also approached the door. “Maybe you should get dressed first, huh?”

“Cosa? Oh, certo, certo…” she said, looking at herself and blushing. “You'll wait for me, right?”

“Of course.”

It wasn't the first time you cooked together, but you couldn't help but have a strange feeling, as if something had changed. After all, you didn't care too much. Spending time with Donna had long been your favorite hobby, and it was even better when she smiled, free of her demons.

You couldn't help but think that her mood swing had been largely due to your encouraging words, but in a dark corner of your mind, there was still that terrible possibility, the possibility that her behavior was just part of her damaged mind, that her unexpected joy would disappear and lead to a terrible crisis.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time that this had happened either, and those bitter experiences made you not enjoy that time together enough.

Dinner was silent, as always, but something different was still in the air, a different smile on the lady in black, one that didn’t lead to an episode of madness.

Ignoring the cries of your heart begging you to confess your love, you enjoyed dinner calmly and cautiously, talking about how your day was, about Angie's pranks... about nothing out of the ordinary.

That routine conversation brought you closer to the thought that the change of mood had been a coincidence, and you were about to be devoured by disappointment. But something happened, something that would change everything from that moment on.

After dinner, the best moment of the day arrived, a moment of silent reading with Donna. She read her book, apparently distracted, and you pretended to read yours, glancing sideways at the woman you loved in silence, that woman who was so close to you, but who at the same time was unreachable.

Suddenly, you noticed something moving beside you. Donna wasn't holding the book with both hands, and her free one was sliding slowly across the sofa, searching, reaching for yours. Your breath froze and you glanced at the lady out of the corner of your eye, but she seemed completely oblivious to her own actions.

Your fingers intertwined automatically, without an order from your brain, knowing what you wanted, and how you wanted it. Your heart was beating thunderously, in a way you thought she would be able to hear, while you felt subtle caresses, the softness of her skin brushing against yours.

You thought about reacting, making a noise, clearing your throat, asking for an explanation for this unusual act, but the pleasure you felt when you noticed her caresses, the warmth of her hand on yours, prevented you from doing so. You decided to play along, forcing your hand to move, to stop being cold and motionless and make your fingers caress hers too.

Donna seemed focused on her book. It seemed like she didn't realize what was happening, or she simply didn't give it any importance, something that caused contradictory feelings inside you.

Time passed slowly and your body began to feel heavy, leaning towards hers, as if something invisible was pulling it. Her hand moved away from yours and the lady moved closer, wrapping her arm around you, making your head rest on her shoulder.

You were completely frozen, with your eyes wide open and your breathing accelerated. She didn't look at you, she didn't move, she just ran her hand through your hair gently, settling you comfortably on her body.

The feeling was warm, strange but welcomed. You had many things to ask, many things to say, but you couldn't do it. The comfort you felt on her shoulder, the softness and delicacy of her caresses on your hair forced you to take advantage of the moment, to enjoy it before it was over.

Neither of you said anything about it, and with a not extraordinary farewell, you both went to sleep. Of course, you didn't sleep much that night.

Your head was going round and round about what had happened, about those caresses, about those strange gestures on her part, gestures that had no explanation and at the same time you didn't know if you wanted them to have one.

You only managed to sleep when you convinced yourself that it would be an isolated event, that the conversation in the bathroom and that moment on the sofa were something unique, and of course, unrepeatable.

It wasn't, not at all.

The caresses on your hands became common. They became another part of the routine. It could happen in any circumstance, without warning, leaving you petrified, but relaxed, comfortable. The attitude of the lady in black didn't change too much despite everything.

It was true that her mood was curiously different, she seemed... happy.

The days passed and those strange acts continued, adding more caresses, more glances, adding more hope in your heart, the hope that somehow, you were close to knowing what it felt like to love Donna, what it felt like to be loved in return.

Your name ceased to exist. She no longer addressed you as usual, but in different ways: tesoro, darling, dolcezza… It seemed like simple kindness, as if over time, without you realizing it, your bond continued to strengthen, as if that closeness you already had was increasing little by little.

Of course, that's how the dark and pessimistic part of your mind saw it, a simple coincidence, a trust earned with effort, but that didn't go beyond friendship. Little by little you began to act, checking what would happen if you were the one who initiated those caresses, those unexpected gestures.

Her reaction wasn’t something remarkable, but neither was it ordinary. She simply let herself go, just as you did. It was pretty obvious that something had changed for her, and after a whole month of seemingly meaningless caresses and nice words, you could see a clearer joy on her face.

She even finally agreed to go visit her sister from time to time, something she always refused to do.

Thoughts were eating you up; feelings were burning you from within. It seemed like everything was fine, that you were the situation you wanted to be, but not exactly the way you would like.

You knew it was dangerous, risky, you knew you couldn't do it, but you started to get an idea in your head that you couldn't stop thinking about.

You knew Donna. You knew how afraid she was of people, of relationships, at least with someone other than you or her sister. Did you really think she was going to confess her love to you?

If she really felt something for you... why didn't she dare to tell you and instead caress you, kiss your hands, your cheek or call you affectionately? It was a contradiction, but Donna was herself a contradiction, you couldn't think it was something strange.

So, without the expectation that those three words would come out of her mouth, the only thing left to do was to act, swallow your pride, your fear, stop being a coward to finally be brave and confess to her.

“I know it's going to sound silly, but I think... I think... no, I'm in love with you and...” you said, looking into her eyes, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Donna, I'm crazy about you and... I... Ugh, no, no, no, no!” you squealed nervously, hitting the porcelain doll you were talking to.

The doll fell to the floor and with a grunt you put it back on the table in your room, pacing impatiently from one side to the other, thinking intensely.

“Let's try this: Donna, I love you and I love when you caress me and call me dolcezza and... Pathetic,” you sighed, letting yourself fall on the bed, looking resentfully at that poor doll. “Gods, why is it so difficult? Focus (Y/N), you know that if you don't tell her she will never do it and...”

“If you don't tell her what?”

“Yiaaah!” you screamed scared when you saw Angie appear through the door, giving you a scare. “Damn it, Angie! What did I tell you about entering my room without warning?”

“I don't know, I have a very poor memory,” the doll answered while you narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. “What are you doing to this poor doll?”

“Nothing, it's none of your business,” you answered, unable to prevent the doll from getting on your bed.

“Did you want to tell my Donna something?” asked the doll, with a malevolent tone that made you tense up.

“Um, no, I...”

“Donna, Donna! The silly maid wants to talk to you!” Angie shrieked, making your blood boil as you tried to cover the puppet's mouth.

“What are you doing!? Shut up!” you protested, struggling with her, unfortunately hearing familiar heels from downstairs.

Angie broke free from your grip laughing and cowardly running away, leaving you red in embarrassment, forcing you to look over the wooden railing to see Donna, who was looking at you curiously.

“Did you call me, tesoro?” the lady asked, with that sweet tone that drove you crazy, with those pet names that drove you crazy.

“Um, um, um, I…” you stammered, finally mustering up your courage and deciding to take advantage of the moment. “Yes, I… wanted to talk to you.”

“Va bene,” she answered with a kind smile as she watched you walk down the stairs.

Everything you had rehearsed became a mess in your head. It would be a mess, for sure.

“Um, um… Donna…” you murmured in an almost inaudible voice as she looked at you expectantly. “I wanted to talk to you… about… about something…”

“Mm, go ahead,” she urged you, cooling her smile a little. “(Y/N), you're shaking, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, it's just that... I wanted, I wanted to tell you that... that...” you said awkwardly, in the worst possible way, making her to frown in confusion.

A shrill sound interrupted what was undoubtedly going to be a pathetic confession. The phone rang unpleasantly, but Donna didn't take her eye off you, increasingly worried.

“Oh, I... don't worry, pick it up,” you said, seeing that call as a salvation, an opportunity to think better about your words. “Come on, Donna, maybe it's important.”

The lady nodded slowly, walking towards the dining room while you hid against a wall, growling discreetly.

“Shit, idiot, idiot, idiot…” you lamented in a low voice, pretending to pull your hair. “Damn, one day I'm going to commit dollicide… Gods, this is a disaster…”

“Pronto,” you heard the lady say when she picked up the phone. “Alcina, is something wrong?”

You rubbed your eyes, trying to concentrate, but you couldn't help but feel the strange need to spy, or rather, to accidentally listen to that conversation.

“Oh, you mean this afternoon? Yes, I know, but… I don't know, I, I’d like to spend the afternoon with my girlfriend and…”

You stopped thinking, your vision became blurry and your senses seemed to shut down. You hadn't heard wrong, she had said “my girlfriend”. Everything began to spin around you, you felt dizzy and terribly confused.

It couldn't be, it simply couldn't be true. Did Donna have a girlfriend? No, no, no, no, it couldn't be possible, it couldn't be, right?

You turned pale, making sure you had heard correctly, regretting doing so. You wanted to forget it, you wanted to not acknowledge the fact that seemed impossible, but your mind was already working on tying up the loose ends.

Yes, that could explain a lot of things: Donna's outings, that change in her mood, that increase in confidence... Finally, you understood.

With great regret, you remembered the conversation that day in the bathroom, how you cheered her up, how you agreed with Alcina saying that being alone wasn’t good. You thought she was happy to know that you were by her side, but in reality, that wasn’t the case.

That confidence that you unintentionally gave her surely eliminated the barriers that Beneviento put between her and others. Yes, yes, she surely gained enough self-confidence to dare to meet someone, to find love, to find it in someone, who, of course, was not you.

Everything in your world fell apart with an invisible noise that reverberated throughout your body. You thought about running away, going up to your room and crying until you fell asleep, but you didn't have time to react, you were in shock and Donna ended the call.

“(Y/N),” she said, bringing you out of that trance, feeling how you hadn't even noticed that her hand was on your shoulder. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

“Me? Y-Y-Yes…” you stammered, not really knowing how you could pronounce a single word.

“Okay…” Donna whispered, distrustful, with an air of concern in her eye. “Well, what was it that you wanted to tell me?” she asked, walking with you back to the dining room.

Your body was almost paralyzed, acting by inertia and your eyes were struggling not to cry. You had to be fast, pretend, lie, deny everything you were going to say, deny everything you felt.

“Um, um yes, it's just that… it's just that…” you said, looking around, looking for a way out that didn't exist. “Oh, yes, there are no apples left.”

“Mele,” Donna repeated, frowning and looking at a corner, where a basket overflowing with that sweet fruit was, just to embarrass you.

“Yes, oh, wow! there they were… I… how stupid I am…” you said, red as blood, looking for a window from which to throw yourself into the snow and run away.

“(Y/N), tesoro, are you sure you're okay?” she asked, of course, not believing your pathetic words.

“Yes, great, great, um… yes, I'm very well, how are you?”

“Well… I’m fine,” she whispered, with a smile that pierced your heart. “Oh, I almost forgot, you better not wait for me this afternoon to have tea. I have to go to…”

Another stab in the chest. You knew exactly where I was going, who I was going with.

“Yes, okay, um... no problem, of course,” you said quickly, trying to recover from that open wound.

“Va bene,” the lady murmured, still distrustful. “Relax, I'll be here for dinner.”

“Yes, of course, come whenever you want, it's your house, and... well, and... hurry, hurry up or you'll be late,” you said, pushing the woman from behind.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said, when you closed the elevator door.

You spent a good part of the afternoon crying. If at any time you thought she had feelings for you, you were terribly wrong. You cried inconsolably and angrily, jealous, trying not to imagine those caresses, those kisses on the cheek, those nice words directed at another woman, at someone who wasn't you.

You still found it incredible that Donna had met someone, she barely left the house, she didn't know how to communicate with others, only with you, damn it, only with you! What kind of treacherous witch had won her heart?

A maid from the castle? No, that wasn't possible since she apparently refused to go with Alcina that afternoon. A villager? It could be... but who? Damn, who?

No matter how much you thought about it, you couldn't find an answer, and you didn't want to look for one.

It was inevitable. Your coldness when she returned was beyond your control. Your heart burned with rage and your eyes, red with tears, refused to look at her, not after what could have happened, what she could have done to someone who wasn't you.

“It looks delicious,” the lady said, rubbing her hands together before dinner, while you played with your food in silence.

“Mm,” you murmured with disinterest, pouring yourself a glass of wine, the third that night.

“Tesoro,” she said, frowning, burning your soul with that word, with that beautiful way of calling you. Liar. “Isn't that too much wine?”

“No, no, no,” you said with a spiteful tone. “It's not.”

Donna looked at you strangely and then continued eating, raising her head from time to time, only to find indifference in your eyes.

“The pasta is perfect, you're a wonderful cook,” the lady commented, with a kind gesture, but one that betrayed a bit of nervousness.

“I know,” you said arrogantly, finishing the glass in one gulp, leaving the brunette confused. “You taught me how to prepare it, Donna.”

“Yes, certo, ma…” she stammered, shaking her head, with a nervous laugh.

“The wine, pass me the wine,” you said coldly.

She obeyed cautiously, swallowing and deciding that it was better to be quiet.

“Well...” you sighed, noticing how the alcohol was beginning to affect your words, how the wine was increasing your jealousy and anger. “Did you have a good time this afternoon?”

“Mm, well, better than I expected,” she answered sincerely, wiping herself with the napkin. “Next time I'd like you to come with me and...”

“No, thanks,” you denied immediately, without letting her finish the sentence. “I have a lot of work.”

“But, (Y/N), I...” Donna said, looking away. “I'd like you to meet her and...”

“Really, Donna? Do you want me to meet her?”

I was talking about her, about that damn mysterious girl, you were convinced.

“It's important to me,” the lady in black explained, extending her hand towards yours, which you pushed away in a quick gesture, knocking over the wine glass.

“Shit,” you protested with a grunt, getting up to go find something to clean up the mess with.

“No, leave it, I'll do it,” she said, putting a hand on your shoulder innocently.

 “I have to do it, it's my duty, I'm your maid, remember? Or have you forgotten?” you said, letting out the hatred, the rage that was building up inside you, a hot, intoxicated rage.

“But, (Y/N) what...?” she sighed, with a sad expression. “Tesoro, I think...”

“You think what? Look, it doesn't matter. I'm too drunk to listen to you, why don't you go with your stupid dolls? Or better yet, why don't you go to bed, I'm sure you're exhausted after that visit, right?”

“But, but, what have I done wrong?” she asked, grabbing your wrists, getting dangerously close to you.

You thought about stopping breathing, avoiding smelling the scent of another woman mixed with the lavender of Donna’s perfume. You were unhinged, drunk, and angry, you weren't thinking straight, and you had to do something before you did or said anything stupid.

“Nothing, Donna, you didn't do anything wrong, okay? I…” you sobbed, pulling away from her touch, moving away little by little, something she stopped by gently grabbing your hands.

“Please, let me go…” you hissed, pulling them away to take their warmth from yours, turning around and running to your room, leaving Donna paralyzed, not knowing the reason for your behavior.

Your heart ached as you did so, but the next few days the distance you put between you grew dangerously. Sometimes you gave in, you let her hands caress you, giving you the false illusion that nothing had changed, that nothing else existed apart from you, that she didn't exist.

Frustration and jealousy took their toll on your body and mind, but you still loved her, you still wanted her, you had to continue being her maid, you couldn't lose her, even if you had. Sometimes you cried for no reason, other times you let your body fall on her lap, falling asleep on her, letting her hands soothe your pain, while knowing you would never be hers increased it.

It was a horrible two weeks, really horrible.

“Angie, I'm not in the mood for your nonsense!” you yelled at the doll as you cleaned the shelves, trying to keep the doll from destroying your work, something that normally didn't seem so horrible to you.

“Ugh, you're unbearable, silly,” the doll snorted.

“You are unbearable, do you hear me? You are unbearable!” you growled angrily.

The doll let out a gasp of false surprise, pointing at herself in indignation.

“I'll tell Donna, you silly maid, and she'll be angry with you...” Angie sang.

“Do whatever you want, but she's in her workshop and you know she hates being disturbed,” you said, trying to calm down.

You actually liked Angie, she didn't deserve for you to pay all  your pain with her.

“Bah, I can wait,” the puppet sighed, letting herself fall on a sofa, pretending to read a magazine.

Did she even know how to read?

You shook your head and continued with your task without desire, without motivation, just looking for the time to sit down to read, and for Donna, your Donna, to give you the affection she had left for you, the only one you would have.

“Damn it,” you protested when you heard the screeching sound of the phone, something that, of course, amused the doll.

“Silly,” she said laughing. “Come on, pick it up, maid.”

You groaned, but took a deep breath before approaching the phone.

“Beneviento estate,” you said pretending that everything was fine. After all, you could be talking to Mother Miranda.

“Oh, wow, it seems I'm not talking to Donna…” a deep, sensual voice spoke from the other end. Your jealousy was activated briefly, until your memory recognized that voice, the voice of the oldest lord, Alcina Dimitrescu. “(Y/N), my dear…”

“Oh, yes, um, Lady Dimitrescu, I'll let Donna know right away and…” you said hurriedly, as politely as possible.

“Why the rush? I was looking forward to meeting you…” she said in a honeyed voice, making you frown and blink in confusion.

“Me?” you asked carelessly.

A terribly sexy laugh came from the phone.

“Yes, dear, you,” said the lady in white. “It's funny, Donna talks about you so much that it's almost as if I really knew you.”

“Donna? About me? I-I don't understand,” you said, noticing a clear difficulty in pronouncing the words.

“Don't be modest, if you've won the heart of my sad and dark sister you have a lot of merit, there's no point in downplaying it,” Alcina answered, leaving you even more confused, more and more.

“Oh, and since I'm here, talking to you, I'd like you to reconsider your position and grant me the pleasure of meeting you in person. It would be an honor for me to meet Donna's very famous girlfriend.”

“G-G-G-Girl…” you stammered, thinking that the phone had broken, that she wasn't saying what she was saying. “G-G-G-girlfriend?”

“Mm,” the vampire murmured, exhaling what sounded like cigarette smoke. “The lycan got your tongue, dear?”

“I-I-I… I… I’ll, I’ll tell Donna to call you later,” you said, hanging up quickly, a cold sweat running down your back.

Donna’s girlfriend? You? Really? Was it a dream? Or a nightmare? You didn’t understand anything, everything seemed overwhelming.

“Um… Angie, come here,”you said almost without a voice, indicating to the doll to come closer.

“What do you want?” she asked unpleasantly while you meditated on everything that had happened.

“Tell me…” you whispered carefully, bending down to be at her height. “Does Donna…? Does Donna have a girlfriend?”

“What? Are you laughing at me, stupid?” the puppet protested, moving away from you with distrust.

“No, I'm not laughing at you,” you said, containing your impatience. “Please, answer.”

“What a weird fool... really? You're her girlfriend, you stupid maid!” Angie shrieked, making you fall to the floor in shock.

“What? What do you mean?” you asked, wiping the sweat from your forehead as you stood up and rubbed your back. “Gods, what?”

“Have you been poisoned? Did you hit your head?” Angie asked ironically as you walked away thoughtfully, trying to put your mind in order, something impossible given the situation.

A nervous smile appeared on your face as you walked towards the elevator, denying everything you had heard and everything that had happened.

When did you become her girlfriend? Why didn't you know? Had she ask you in Italian and you didn't understand? What had you missed?

You didn't know, but for once your heart was beating strongly in your chest, with a mixture of relief, love, and bewilderment. You weren't sure what you were to her, but you did know what you were going to do: you had to talk to her.

You quickly went down to the basement, ignoring the darkness and humidity of the place and walking determinedly towards the closed doors of the workshop. Your smile was no longer nervous, but amused, incredulous and hopeful.

“Donna!” you shrieked as you abruptly entered the workshop, making the lady jump out of her chair and ruin the porcelain head she was painting.

“Cazzo!” the lady shouted, juggling with that porcelain piece, which now had a peculiar makeup. “Oddio... la testa... (Y/N)! What are you doing? Don't you know how to knock on the door?”

“Shut up, Donna,” you said in a mocking tone, approaching her chair and grabbing her face with your hands, making her eye widen in astonishment. “Shut up and listen to me, will you?”

She, trapped, nodded slowly, creating a scene that could be comical.

“Alcina just called. She told me she wants to meet me,” you said, taking a breath and closing your eyes. “She says she wants to meet Donna's girlfriend, can you explain it to me? What does she mean by your girlfriend? Me? Does she really think we're dating?”

“Mm? Of course we are. We're dating, what's that question about?” she answered, annoyedly breaking away from your grip.

You, ignoring the answer, breathed in relief, rubbing your eyes.

“Oh, okay, fine, thank goodness that… What!?” you said when you analyzed her words, catching her in your hands again. “Donna, but, but…”

“What's wrong with you?” the lady protested, her voice distorted by your grip.

“Am I your girlfriend? Are we girlfriends? But, Donna, since when?” you asked nervously, letting her go and resting your hands on your hips.

“Yes, you, you're my girlfriend,” she repeated, scared by your attitude. “What is it…?”

“Let's see… Donna, honey, what makes you think that we are dating?” you asked, starting to lose patience.

“Well… well…” the brunette stammered, leaving the ruined head on the table. “I love you.”

Of course, you didn't expect that. You didn't expect such a direct, calm confession. You didn't expect those three words to come out of her mouth so naturally, as if you, somehow, should already know.

“You love me…” you repeated with wide eyes, shaking your head.

“Yes, I love you, (Y/N),” she said, moving her hand to grab yours. “What's wrong? Per favore, don't leave me, don't you love me anymore?”

“Whaaaat…?” you said, mouth agape, not understanding anything, almost as if you had a terrible amnesia. “Oh, no, no… You're serious, right?”

“You don't love me anymore!?” Donna shrieked, moving erratically.

“Donna, listen to me, I… I love you, I love you so much.”

You definitely didn't expect to confess it that way. You didn't expect that, just like her, it would come out so naturally.

“So? What's the problem?” the lady asked, following your advices to calm herself down. “Y-You told me you were with me, you told me that day, (Y/N).”

“That day? Oh, Gods…” you sighed, letting yourself fall into a nearby chair, starting to understand what it was all about.

“You told me that with you I wouldn't be alone, that you would be with me and…” Donna said, on the verge of tears. Surely the poor ventriloquist was as lost and confused as you.

“Wait, you…? Donna, did you think that meant we were together? Together… in a relationship, is that it? Did you think that?”

“Well… I did…” she said in a low voice, taking her hand away from yours, lowering her gaze. “(Y/N), if you want to leave me, at least give me a chance to…”

“Donna, I don't want to leave you,” you said, putting your hands on your shoulders. “I mean, damn it,” you said, noticing your own confusion. “Donna, I didn’t even know we were dating…”

“How could you not know?” she asked, with an accusatory, almost childish look. “I do nothing but give you affection.”

“Affection? You mean…?”

Suddenly, everything started to make sense in your head: the reaction she had that night, the change of mood, the unexplained joy, the caresses, the innocent kisses on the cheek, the affectionate nicknames.

During all that time, there was no one else, just you and her. You were her girlfriend; you were the one who owned her heart. But you didn’t know it. You had no way of knowing it.

You almost wanted to throw yourself on the floor and laugh out loud, in fact, you did, but Donna seemed confused and worried, and that was the most important thing.

“D-Don't laugh, you're making me nervous,” the brunette protested, shrinking in her chair. “Why are you laughing?”

You calmed down a little, approaching her, affectionately caressing her cheek and fixing your gaze on hers.

“Donna… My precious Donna,” you sighed with a tender look. “Do you know how jealous I was thinking that there was another woman in your life?”

“What nonsense, there is no one else in my life, there is only you, I only love you, why did you think that…?”

“It doesn't matter,” you said, not wanting to continue with the subject, relaxing, without stopping caressing her skin while she looked at you expectantly.

“Donna, I didn't expect you to interpret my words like that. Actually I… well, I'm in love with you but… I didn't say those things to ask you to be girlfriends or something like that…Damn, I didn't even think you could feel the same way about me…”

“I do, I love you,” the lady in black said hastily, grabbing your wrist. “Ti amo.”

“Me too,” you said, losing yourself in her gaze, in the sincerity of her words, and yours. “I can't believe you thought we were girlfriends…”

“Aren’t we?” Donna asked, frightened, hardening her expression.

“We are,” you answered briefly, expressing a wish that you didn't know had already been fulfilled. “But just for you to know… being girlfriends means much more than holding hands and you calling me tesoro or dolseza…”

“Dolcezza,” the woman corrected, with a cold, confused tone.

“Whatever,” you said amused, winking at her. “Donna, being girlfriends means much more than that…”

“It means not being alone, right?” she asked, pleading, praying that everything she thought she had lived, wouldn’t become a memory.

“Yes, of course, that too,” you whispered, making the lady smile tenderly again. “But, hey, how do you want me to know if you haven't even kissed me on the lips?”

“Oh, well…” she said quickly, looking away, blushing. “I didn't want to do it until you were ready, I didn't want to go too fast and…”

You didn't let her finish the sentence, as your lips slowly approached hers, resting on them, kissing them for the first time, noticing for the first time the softness of her mouth on yours.

“Mm, that's why I love you, you know?” you whispered, still very close to her lips, while she looked at you surprised. “You're such a sweetheart, Donna. You're a very special woman, and a very beautiful one, by the way…”

She smiled, cupping your face in her hands, pulling you in for a second kiss, that time deeper.

“Forgive me, (Y/N),” she said after a few passionate seconds, ones you'd been waiting for so long. “I'm stupid.”

“No, don't say that,” you said, comforting her.

“I… I have no idea about love, how to love you like I'm supposed to. I'm so clumsy that you didn't even know how I felt about you, or that we were dating.”

“Shh…” you hissed stealing another one of her addictive kisses. “It doesn't matter anymore… I don't care that I was your girlfriend without knowing it. It doesn't matter that you think you don't know how to love… Now, we're together, Donna, I love you, you love me. We'll learn to love together, what do you say?”

“Please…”

[drafthorsemath]

Tech Remembers

Written for Pheebruary!

Prompt: First Kisses

Warnings: Mention of Tech’s fall, but Tech lives! Includes CX-Tech, amnesia, and the beginnings of recovery. SFW. A continuation from my first Pheebruary prompt here.

Word Count: About 1,350

Phee held her breath as she watched the holovid from Tech’s goggles and Omega and Wrecker slowly fell from view. Only they weren’t falling. He was. Watching this scene was no easier on any of his family who, by this point, were gathered round and trying to get any and all information he left using the codes in Mel. No one needed to worry that the trail went cold once Hemlock found Tech’s goggles. Although his mind had been played with, CX-2 managed to remember Tech’s encrypted channel well enough to try to reach them even if it was for no discernable reason. It was a message sent while he was off on a mission for Hemlock; as if he was remembering that he needed to contact someone in his past but was on autopilot.

“Havoc 4. Do you read me?” was all he could say.

It sounded like Tech and yet not. He was distant.

“Disregard.”

Apparently, he didn’t remember enough to know why he was trying to contact Echo and at that point he probably didn’t even remember who Echo was. The brothers felt a punch to the gut thinking they’d unknowingly left their brother on Tantiss.

No new information existed on any of the hardware except for a recent time stamp on another message; this time only one standard rotation ago.

“Havoc 4, this is Havoc 2. I am…. We are….. nearing the forest moon of Endor. I am not sure where I should…..”

Again, it sounded like Tech, but distant. He sounded confused and agitated. He was clearly lost.

“Who is ‘we’?” Omega asked the group. She was only met by shrugs and Crosshair standing up.

“He’s alive,” Hunter answered.

“That’s all that matters,” Crosshair added; already headed for Phee’s ship and clearly determined to get his brother back.

They flew in silence with the hope that they could at least find a clue to his next steps, if not find Tech himself.

They landed near the coordinates from the comm message.  A pirate ship was left nearby; which Phee recognized. She had to laugh to herself a little as the group hid behind some trees. When she told him not to run off with pirates, she didn’t foresee that he’d actually do it. She rolled her eyes when a familiar voice started talking about profitability.

“You know them?” Echo asked.

“Hondo,” Phee replied. “He’s one of a kind.”

“Think they’ll give us any trouble?” Wrecker inquired while Crosshair stood on his shoulders for a boost to climb a tree and get a better view.

“Doubt it,” she answered. “He’s a big talker, so leave it to me.”

“There,” Crosshair whispered with a nod. He climbed back down with a smile, finally getting to see his brother. “Tech’s arguing with someone near the front of the ship.”

“What’s the plan?” Omega asked.

Hunter took a breath and looked from one person to another while forming his thoughts.

“From what we know, Tech doesn’t seem to remember much. Phee knows these guys so she should definitely approach, but I’m thinking maybe it’s best if only one of us goes with Phee, so we don’t overwhelm him and if backup is needed, the rest of us step in.”

“Right,” Omega replied. “So who should go with Phee?”

“Echo,” Phee answered.

“You sure?” he asked.

“He kept comm’ing Havoc 4,” Crosshair said. “He remembered that much.”

Everyone nodded. The two approached.

“Hondo Ohnaka,” Phee said, wasting no time and clearly announcing their entrance so as not to get shot sneaking.

“Phee! All the way out here,” he replied. “And what brings you this way? Hopefully you didn’t come this far for another one of your trinkets.”

“No,” she said.  “As a matter of fact, we’re here for him.”

She pointed at Tech who stood frozen.

“Ha... Havoc 4?” Tech ventured.

Echo nodded and smiled.

“Fantastic,” Tech said. “Goodbye Hondo.”

“Wait wait wait wait wait,” Hondo interjected, trying to get between the lost clone and his destination. “You promised me you would be my new pilot.”

“And I was,” Tech curtly replied. “Now I am not.”

Phee offered, “I thought you could fly anything, Hondo.”

“Of course I can! I may simply be expanding business and in need of some good men.”

“And have you paid this man for his time and skills?” Echo asked with a grin.

“Not exactly,” Hondo answered. “Not for this trip at any rate, but that is because we are not done.”

“You haven’t paid him and you still have the rest of your crew and a way to get home,” Phee surmised.

She couldn’t help noticing Tech staring at her almost helplessly and confused, but she stayed focused.

“Then you’re out nothing,” Echo added, taking a few steps toward Tech.

Echo put his hand on his shoulder. Tech nodded; the friendly touch grounding him. They both walked toward the Providence with Phee following and keeping an eye on Hondo.

“You can’t just walk away from me,” Hondo shouted.

“Bye Hondo!” Phee shouted back.

They walked as fast as they could and before long the ship was in sight.

“Everyone else is on the ship,” Echo told Tech as they got closer. “Hunter, Wrecker, Omega, and Crosshair.”

“Crosshair?” Tech asked.

“Yeah,” Echo replied. “Long story, but we’re all here.”

They walked onto the ship and Phee got into the pilot seat with Mel parked at her side. She would have her moment later. For now, they needed to get back to Pabu.

The family reunion was more than a little awkward.

“I don’t remember everything,” Tech admitted, “but I know your faces.”

Omega reached for Tech. She hugged his waist and he instinctively returned the hug.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. He felt he had let her down.

“We missed you, Tech!” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and while Tech searched his memory, he knew he needed her to feel safe now. He squatted down and held her.

“Does Tech give hugs now?” Wrecker asked as quietly as he could, bumping Hunter with his elbow. The oldest brother shrugged and smiled.

The flight home was quiet, but filled with Tech putting pieces together using his old datapad and goggles. Crosshair had brought them along, hoping it would speed up his recovery process. He sat next to him and they discussed what Tech could remember about Hemlock and Tantiss. Between the chemicals Hemlock loved to use and the CX indoctrination, it was a wonder Tech was still mentally as okay as he was. Phee overheard the conversation and wiped tears away. Mel inquisitively beeped at her.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Phee replied to her trusty droid. “I’m glad he’s back.”

Once on Pabu, she landed the ship and the group discussed logistics. A routine would go a long way in helping Tech adjust.

“Why don’t you wander around the island with an expert?” Hunter suggested to him, nodding toward Phee.

“Very well.”

Tech watched a lurca hound run up to Crosshair and Omega and smiled to himself. He was certain that was new.

“We didn’t have one of those before, correct?” he asked Phee.

“Correct,” she answered with a smile.

They stood as Tech took in the scene around him, barely believing he was even there. He started walking next to Phee as she took him to familiar places. The Archium, the tree, the spot where they had their first dinner together just the two of them, and the balcony where she showed him Pabu’s sunset for the first time.

“I’m remembering more,” Tech said quietly. “It will take time. Not recalling what I know to be basic facts is incredibly frustrating.”

“I know,” she replied. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” 

He turned to her and looked into her eyes as the sun began to set.

She paused and cautiously asked, “Do you remember me, Tech?”

He tentatively reached for her hand and said, “I remember that I love you.”

She held his hand up and kissed his wrist, eyes fixed on his. Her heart burst as Tech tenderly leaned in and kissed her lips for the first time and only pulled away to say, “Phee.”

[ghostieblotts]

Full disclosure that this post was inspired by this wonderful meme. So you know where my brain is at.

I've been recently working on a Splatoon au for SAF, and this got me thinking about an aspect of one of my character choices. Because the importance and fear of abandonment is a key part of why I think Owen works well as Marina.

Now, being completely frank, the primary reason for my making curtwen be pearlina is because I am biased, and want my one set of faves to be my other set of faves. (Indeed, I have thought about how Owen and Tatiana could well have been the other way around - and this would lead to compelling character choices for both of them! Tatiana as Marina, who is trying to leave behind her past as a prodigious child soldier, would work really well - Owen as Acht, who is left behind and relinquishes their body and free will in avoidance of distraction and pursuit of perfection, is an idea that haunts me.) But there are also ways that I think it works!

During the Chaos vs Order splatfest, I think one of the things that scares Marina most is the idea of losing Pearl. The characters all have slightly different reasons for joining their team in that splatfest, but I always see Marina's as being that the order and status quo she is seeking to protect is the new life she has built with Pearl.

To me, Marina is a character who craves stability and is terrified of being abandoned, specifically because she once uprooted a stable life and abandoned everything she knew. And, while that decision allowed her to escape her home and make her dreams come true, it was nonetheless incredibly turbulent, and I think it feels very fragile for her. I think it feels particularly fragile while Pearl doesn't yet know that Marina is an Octarian (which - goodness, how scared must she have been when Pearl found out?), and the idea of this beautiful reality she has found herself in shattering terrifies her. And the idea of Pearl leaving is most terrifying of all.

I always like the idea that Owen was scared of being abandoned pre-fall. That he felt like everything good might shatter in an instant, that everyone he loved could leave or die without warning, and that it was hard to accept that Curt might actually stay. (And then, once he finally did accept it, once the trust between them grew to the point that Curt leaving Owen behind became unthinkable, the impossible happened.) So this idea of the fear of abandonment is something I'm particularly in favour of as part of my au.

Particularly, one of the things that is especially fun to me, is that in this splatoon au, Owen becomes so scared of being abandoned specifically because he's been the one who left. And he knows how abrupt that was.

[rocketbirdie]

deranged picnic

[denieatsart]

.. i did not mean to start making a whole clan with lore today

[yellowsubiesdance]

i think i’ve learned a lot when it comes to not applying my own values to the media i consume

for my script analysis class yesterday, we discussed two gentleman from verona, and nearly every classmate of mine was up in arms about how sexist the story is.

and i'm not saying it's not, or that it's not infuriating to read. but i'm also not putting my energy into getting upset about something written 500 or so years ago. and i'm not about to put my own beliefs onto these characters that are not me. i'm going to let their choices speak for themselves, and interpret it in the context of the story.

all that said, this now brings me to the point of alastor in episode 5, and how viscerally people are responding to it. those of you up in arms about the choices he’s making, and the violent threat he gave husk, you’re missing the entire point of his character, of this place they’re in, of the story being told. he’s an overlord, and he became an overlord by killing much bigger overlords and broadcasting their deaths over the radio.

HE IS NOT A GOOD PERSON.

if you started this show with the belief that every character working the hotel is a good person, you’re in the wrong place. watch the good place if you’re looking for a good wholesome story about getting dead sinners into heaven, because that’s not what this show is about.

you’re more than welcome to hate him after seeing the way he exerted power over a being whose soul he owns, but you’re doing the media you’re watching a disservice by writing it off so quickly. if you don’t like to be uncomfortable watching media, watch something else. this is an uncomfortable show, it handles uncomfortable topics, and it’s going to be an uncomfortable ride, and if you’re not up for something like that, then you should take a break from it and pick up something else. you don’t have to get online and defend your own ideals while you watch a show that goes against your ideals.

[andromedaexists]

"i'm literally never beating the allegations" and then the allegations are that i like skrunkly looking guys

[lamb200345567]

Haunted by V8 ending & V9 storyboard ending. 4ever and ever

[rafecameronssl4t]

Out of my league || Drew Starkey x fem!reader

Summary: Fans have always speculated that Drew was dating someone until he confirmed it in an interview. After digging through Drew's socials, fans stumble upon you, a Yale law student.

Warnings: age gap (r is 23)

Word count: 515

A/n: my absolute dream to study law at Yale, Oxford or Edinburgh 😔😔

MASTERLIST

"Omg!" Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the message from your sister, her excitement practically radiating through the screen. Without hesitation, you tap on the link she attached. It directs you to a fresh, two-minute interview of your boyfriend, Drew, from the red carpet premiere of Queer. The video had been posted mere minutes ago, and your curiosity piqued as you hit play.

The clip begins with Drew stepping confidently into the spotlight, his tailored black suit fitting him perfectly, exuding effortless charm. His neatly styled hair and sharp features gleamed under the intense glow of the camera flashes. Seeing him like this—a star in every sense of the word—made you pause, a proud smile spreading across your lips.

The interviewer, a charismatic host with a warm smile and infectious energy, introduces Drew before diving straight into the conversation. Her tone is laced with both admiration and curiosity. “Drew, you’ve been receiving such incredible praise for your performance in Queer. Tell us, how was the filming process? What was it like working on such a powerful project?”

Drew’s face lights up, his passion evident as he responds. “Oh, it was an amazing experience,” he begins, his deep, smooth voice carrying a sincerity that draws you in. “Getting the chance to work under Luca’s direction and alongside Daniel was an absolute honour. The cast and crew brought so much energy to the set—it really felt like a family by the end of it.”

He pauses briefly, a soft smile gracing his lips, before adding something that makes your breath catch. “What made it even more special was having my family visit during filming. And my girlfriend…” His eyes momentarily shift, a small but noticeable fondness in his expression. “She took some time off from university to spend a couple of months with me on set in Italy. That support meant the world to me.”

Your heart swells with warmth, a mix of pride and affection bubbling to the surface. Drew rarely spoke about his personal life publicly, but when he did, it was always with the kind of sincerity that made you feel like the luckiest person alive. Those two months in Italy had been unforgettable, the perfect escape from the stress of your law studies at Yale.

The interviewer lets out an audible gasp, clearly surprised by Drew’s candid revelation. “Wait, you have a girlfriend? This is definitely news to us.” Drew chuckles softly, nodding. “I do. She’s brilliant. Balancing law school while putting up with me can’t be easy and honestly, I think she's out of my league.” Drew chuckles. Who is this mystery woman? How could someone possibly be out of Drew’s league?

The mystery only fuels the frenzy, and it doesn’t take long for determined fans to track down your Instagram account. Your page, once a space where you documented your life, was now flooded with notifications. Followers pour in by the thousands, combing through your posts for any clue about your connection to Drew. Fans are both shocked and delighted. You’re not what they expected, but in the best way.

y/n_y/l/n just posted a story!

y/n_y/l/n

Liked by drewstarkey and 2,937 others

this months dump!

view all comments

yourfriendsusername: 😍😍

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: ily!!

yourfriendsusername: uh oh, ur getting famous…. remember me pls!

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: sorry, who are you 😂

user1: omg so this is Drew’s gf? SHES GORGEOUS

user2: damn she’s hella smart huh?

↘️ user3: DUH SHES IN YALE STUDYING LAW

user4: eh she’s mid

↘️ user5: studying law at one of the ivy league’s is far from being mid lol 😭

user6: she’s been posting him for so long now, how have we only just found this out 😂

user7: so she’s pretty, she’s smart, and she’s bagged Drew Starkey? Damn girl.

user8: now how has she done that

~

drewstarkey

Liked by y/n_y/l/n, madelyncline, jonathandavissofficial and 9,208,102 others

yeah my gf is cooler than me.

view all comments

y/n_y/l/n: Alexa, play Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey 😄

↘️ drewstarkey: volume up, Alexa!

madelyncline: she’s such a smart cookie 😝

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: come see me again gf 😔

↘️ madelyncline: yes ma’am!

jonathandavissofficial: ya’ll cute

↘️ drewstarkey: ur cute

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: what’s going on here?

user1: HE FINALLY POSTED HER!

user2: can’t wait for more gf appreciation posts 😆

user3: how has a uni student bagged Drew Starkey

user4: first pic. sleeping on the road tn.

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: pls don’t 🙏

↘️ user5: AHH SHE REPLIED TO U

↘️ user6: ur so lucky to call Drew ur man

↘️user7: nah, he’s acc my man

user8: as if we acc thought this majestic man was single 😭

[rin-may-1103]

The Eyes of Death.

This story is mostly inspired by Jaybirbie's prompt | Master post | Next?

"Hey, sweetheart?" Danny called, quickly jotting down the last sentence for his paper. He'd have to remember to go back and reread it and make sure he didn't trail off into another tangent. He swears he wasn't this bad at managing his ADHD back in Amity...

"Yes, Danny?" Damian asked, turning back from the door to face him as he scrolled further down the story he was reading. The familiar font of Gotham City's gazette blurred as a picture of Mr. Freeze and Penguin finally loaded. So that's what was going on. Danny should have known; the bats already dealt with the other usual rouges, and these two were next on the list.

"Can you walk with me? I just know Nancy and her boyfriend are out there, waiting. I really don't want to deal with them again... We could spend more time at my place? Tucker sent me another movie, and I'm unsure if I should watch it alone after last time." Danny pleaded, quickly shoving all of his papers into his bag. He'd deal with straightening them out later, it wasn't like his professors weren't used to his wrinkled essays at this point.

However, he should probably redo the blueprints for Workshop. Mr. Anthlow was a hardass, but nothing could compare to his anger when a student handed in wrinkled blueprints; he claimed he wasn't going to have another 'Tanner' incident on his watch, whatever the heck that meant.

He was not looking forward to whatever Nancy wanted to talk to him about, she looked excited. Which could only mean bad things for him; considering the last time she was excited, he ended up spending time with Bane of all people. And there was no way her boyfriend was just going to let Danny get away again.

Damian grimaces, finally looking up and away from his phone. "I'm sorry beloved..." he held up the device just in time to show an incoming text from his Father, "I promised Father I'd be home a while ago. And with what's happening down on-"

"It's ok, I'll just head out the back door," Danny cut in, seeing the start of guilt on his boyfriend's face. He knew how much Danny hated having to deal with those two, and the fact Damian hasn't been able to even introduce himself to them hasn't helped. With a smile, Danny scooped up his textbooks and made his way to stand in front of Damian, "They can't bother me if they don't see me!"

Unsurprisingly, Danny could feel the guilt grow and start to float around Damian as the boy glanced at his phone, the message tone sounding out again in warning.

Danny only met Damian's father once; it was just a simple shake of hands and sharing names before the man ran off, but it did leave an impression. The man felt tired and paranoid; like, to the point Danny kind of wanted to drag Jazz over and lock the two of them in a room, paranoid. (Danny wants to say he's never seen someone that paranoid, but he'd be lying. He looks in the mirror after all.)

The point is; Danny's only met the man once, but that was enough for him to know that the man would tear down the world if he thought for even a second that one of his kids was in danger. This meant, that if Damian didn't go and reassure his father that he was alive and safe within the next sixty or so seconds, then there was a possibility that there wouldn't be another date for at least another week.

And considering this "study date" was supposed to make up for the last one Damian had missed because of his Father? Yeah, Danny wasn't going to be happy if Damian got grounded or dragged into another 'surprise' family road trip because his father was convinced his children would be dead before the 'yearly' planned get-together in November.

They had a trip to the zoo planned for tomorrow, and Delilah was supposed to be allowed out with her kids. This would be Delilah's first public outing since her kids' birth. There's no way Danny was going to allow Damian to miss that. (he swears to the ancients, if there was a rouge attack he was going to kill someone, Dark Dan's future be damned.)

Lifting his heels off the ground so he could stand on his tiptoes, Danny snagged Damian's arm and pulled him down so he could kiss his cheek. "I'll get home safe, just focus on keeping your dad from going insane. We've got a date at the zoo tomorrow and we're not missing it even if your father becomes the next city rogue."

Damian wrapped his arms around Danny, trapping him in a hug as he sighed in fond frustration. "I promise I won't miss it, ok? I'll be there."

Danny rolled his eyes and pushed Damian back, dropping back to stand on the ground, "You better, 'cause hell hath no fury like a gorilla denied the chance to meet her human best friend's boyfriend."

Damian snorted, before looking away and pretending to cough. Danny moved his textbooks to rest more securely in one of his arms, so he could point at his boyfriend. "I'm not kidding, if I show up tomorrow and tell her all about my life and you're not there, she will break out and track you down. I won't stop her either, you'd deserve whatever she does to you."

"Alright, alright. I get it, and I already promised I'd be there didn't I?" Damian chuckled, raising his hands up in surrender. Which would have been cute if it wasn't for the fact that his phone went off again, this time in an insistent buzzing. His eldest brother's ringtone; which meant Damian was going to be busy for a while.

Cursing, Damian turned and answered, "I'm in the middle of something, this better be important Grayson," glancing back at Danny, he mouthed for him to wait a moment as his brother started talking.

Smiling, Danny shook his head, snatched Damian's jacket, and started making his way out the door. There was no way Damian would finish this phone call any time soon. Danny's learned not to wait after the last four times this happened. Damian turned back with betrayed eyes, but the urgent voice of his brother buzzing even louder held him back. Waving goodbye with a smile, Danny shut the door and started making his way down the hall.

He'd have to ask Damian what happened tomorrow, Grayson didn't usually call him, especially when he knew Damian was spending time with Danny. He said it had something to do with how it was sacrilege to interrupt time spent with a significant other. Danny had wanted to ask him more about it but hadn't gotten the chance when The Riddler crashed their spontaneous meeting.

Speaking of The Riddler, Danny's social science paper wasn't looking too hot right now. He'd have to block out a time for him to work on that at some point this week. He wasn't doing anything on Friday, well, besides his early morning classes. That should work...

"Hey, Danny!" someone called, pulling him out of his musing. Glancing up, Danny internally groaned when he noticed Nancy waving at him in sheer delight. Giving her a half-hearted wave, Danny sped up and continued making his way to the back of the library. If he was quick enough maybe he could-

To his dismay, Nancy's boyfriend stepped out from behind one of the shelves and latched onto his arm. Tightly.

Just great, this is exactly what he wanted to avoid. Curse his inability to pay attention when he got lost in thought. Damn ADHD. Blasted non-existent spatial awareness. This was what he got for relying on his ghost sense, he just knows it.

"She said hi, kind of rude of you to just keep walking, Kid." Wyatt huffed, roughly dragging Danny back and towards his girlfriend. Nancy smiled brightly as Wyatt let him go, allowing Nancy to weave her arm with Danny's and practically drag him toward the front of the building.

"There's this big party going on tonight, some Jr invited us. He said it was going to be a night to remember! You should totally come with us, Danny! My friend Shela said she was bringing her nerdy freshmen too! I just know you'd fit right in with them!" Nancy squealed excitedly, shaking Danny as they finally made it to the front doors.

One of the desk attendants rolled their eyes at them as Danny glanced over, hoping that Barbara might intervene. No such luck, she was nowhere in sight, probably off somewhere shelving books. So much for that plan.

"uh, thanks, but I already-" Danny tried, stopping when Nancy scoffed and yanked him out the door and into the frosty night. "Damn, it's cold!" Wyatt cursed, taking his jacket off and quickly handing it over to Nancy. She let go of Danny and pulled it on, then stared at Danny for a moment, "Put your coat on Danny, no way in hell am I letting my kid catch a cold!"

Rolling his eyes, Danny wrapped Damian's coat over his shoulders. He was too lazy to actually put it on, not when that meant handing his textbooks over. The last time he did that, Nancy got bored and started doodling all over them. (how she had managed to do that in the little time it took to put a hoodie on, Danny wasn't sure.)

"I just want to go home, Nancy. I'm not really a party person." Danny sighed, allowing Nancy to drag him down the dark streets. His apartment was in this general direction anyway. Nancy turned to her boyfriend with a huff, "Wyatt! make him come with us!"

"Let the nerd do what he wants, it's not like it affects us if he kicks the bucket all alone," Wyatt grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Ouch, but true. Please listen to your grumpy boyfriend, please listen to your grumpy boyfriend, please listen-

"But Shela said she was bringing Carly!" Nancy turned back to Danny, a pout clear on her face, "You two would be so cute together! she's nerdy just like you! And she's totally into all those murder mystery shows you watch!"

Damn it. Not this crap again.

"That's nice, Nancy, but I'm not interested. I already told you guys, I have a boyfriend," Danny sighed, trying to gently extract his arm from hers; for a human, Nancy sure had one heck of a grip.

"Yeah, right," Wyatt snorted, patting Danny's back, completely ignoring the fact that Danny was literally wearing someone else's jacket. "We'll believe you when you introduce us, until then. You're a virgin loser."

And there we go, people; the reason Danny wanted to crawl into the sewer and die whenever he saw these two. They were nice, don't get him wrong, but they were also stubborn idiots.

"Being a virgin has nothing to do with my relationship status, Wyatt. I'm ace. you've known this since the first time we talked." Danny grumbled, allowing Nancy to drag him down another street. He wasn't sure exactly where they were going now, but he was too tired to care at this point.

If these self-claimed 'Parents' of his wanted to drag him to this stupid party, then fine. Whatever. It's not like Danny had any other plans tonight anyway.

"Asexuality isn't a thing man," Wyatt huffed, speeding up so he could guide them in the right direction now that they were heading into a rougher patch of buildings. Danny could see the man was shivering, though trying to act tough in front of Nancy. Smirking, Danny sent a cold breeze his way. The man scowled up at the sky, cursing quietly.

"Yeah!" Nancy agreed, smiling brightly down at Danny without a care in the world. Like they didn't have this conversation every other week. "You just haven't met the right person yet, Danny! And I know how awkward it is to admit that you're staying celibate until marriage, but you don't have to hide it behind being ace."

Taking a deep breath, Danny closed his eyes and focused on not shouting out of frustration. The celibate comment was new, the acephobia, not so much. "Ok, first of all; Asexuality is a thing, which many people ARE. Literally, 1% of the world is ace. That's over 70 million people. Second of all, I'm not celibate, and I'm not sure if you even know what that means, considering you know I was raised Atheist."

"What does being an Atheist have to do with celibacy?" Nancy asked, tilting her head to look at him. Danny groaned, smacking his forehead against his textbooks. He was NOT going to explain this to them tonight.

"You know what, Nancy? It doesn't matter." Danny huffed, trying again to gently pry her hands off. He wanted to go home. He wanted to cuddle with his boyfriend. He wanted to go back to Amity. Maybe go to the realms and play with Cujo. He did NOT want to deal with these idiots.

Wyatt stopped walking and turned to face them, rolling his eyes as Nancy pouted at Danny. "Come on babe, let the loser go. He obviously doesn't appreciate your efforts."

"but who else is going to convince him to live a little? He's just going to go back to his apartment and sulk by himself!" Nancy cried, tightening her grip again.

"Who cares what the kid does, Nancy? let the dude die a virgin loser. Now let's go, we're already late as is."

"But I really want him to-," Nancy tried, cutting herself off, as both she and Danny spotted a cloaked person appear out of the shadows behind Wyatt.

Wyatt lifted his brow before slowly turning to see what the two of them were staring at. The cloaked figure suddenly whacked him over the head with a metal pole before he could fully turn around. Wyatt's body dropped to the ground with a heavy thump, making Nancy scream, "Wyatt!"

Shit, Danny stepped back, trying to pull Nancy with him as the cloak dude tossed the metal pole to the side with a loud clank. Which was confusing, why would he through away his weapon?

"Shut her up!" the cloak dude cried, bending down to grab Wyatt's arms. He better not be telling Danny to do that, because that would just be stupid and- Suddenly, a dozen more cloaked people flooded out of the darkness and surrounded them. That answered Danny's questions at least.

Danny tensed up as a couple of the people tried to grab onto him. Quickly pulling Nancy back, successfully this time, Danny glanced around to try and find an exit. He couldn't do anything crazy right now, not unless he wanted to give away his secret, but some self-defense should be fine.

Nancy suddenly let go of his arm and smacked one of the cloaked people in the face, "Don't you fucking dare touch me! Wyatt! Kid, get out of here!"

Danny turned to her in alarm, eyes wide in horror as she quickly disappeared into the cloaked crowd. Another cloaked person managed to latch onto Danny's shoulder, reminding him to focus on his situation. Quickly stepping back, he slammed into the man grabbing him, knocking his grip loose. Ducking under another attempt, Danny swung out his leg and tripped the dude into two others.

Twisting to try and make his way over to where he figured Nancy was, Danny dropped his textbooks and punched someone in the face. Damian's jacket was yanked off his shoulders, making him turn with a growl. Punching another person in the face, Danny lunged at the group.

"Hurry! before the bats find us!" the supposed leader cried, making even more cloaked people surround Danny. There was no way a normal civilian would be able to fight their way out of this, so Danny would have to allow himself to be caught soon. Only after biting and scratching the fuck out of them though. Just because he had to let them catch him, doesn't mean he has to make it easy.

~30 min later

Danny stared at the leader as the man droned on and on about needing the right sacrifice for the ritual to work. Nancy and Wyatt grumbled behind him, agreements from the other kidnapped victims filling Danny's ears like bees.

"The sacrifice shall be the one who treads the veil between life and death, the one who's beloved by the spirits as their own! He shall be pale as a corpse, his body kissed by death many times throughout his life. His hair as black as the sky on a moonless night, cradled by the moon since birth." Mr. totally-read-one-fake-ritual-book-when-he-was-a-teen-and-now-has-to-make-it-everyone's-problem droned on dramatically, reverently dragging his finger down the old dusty tome's page,

"so Mr. Wayne?" Nancy huffed, pressing her back into Danny's side. Wyatt chuckled, shoving his foot into Danny's knee, "No, it's totally Mr. Drake he's talking about. Have you seen that dude's eyebags? they make him look like a ghost."

One of the strangers leaned over, rolling their eyes, "No, it's got to be Mr. Dent. The dude's literally half living half not."

"No, Two-Face is half insane, half burnt chicken. Ain't nothing about him going to please ghosts. He was a fucking lawyer, for Christ shake." another guy added.

"the dude said 'he' which crossed out half of y'all," Danny added, glancing at the group around him. The women blinked and then rolled their eyes; only in Gotham would they get kidnapped and not actually be needed.

"Assholes," Nancy huffed, she glanced over her shoulder and down at him, her face set into a frown, "You good, kid? you're like freezing cold."

"I'm fine," Danny huffed, focusing back on the leader. He could just feel the old magic rolling off the book; this was something dangerous, especially in this dipshit's hands. Ancients, he was going to have to do everything he could to keep the man from actually doing the ritual or mess it up if the bats didn't get here in time.

One of the cloaked people suddenly dragged a camera out from a side room, grumbling about networks and livestreams being shit. Huh, well that would definitely help provide their location to the bats. They must be really inexperienced cultists then...

"The sacrifice shall fall into our hands by fate's design. The sacrifice is here and waiting for what his whole life was meant for. Now-"

"Elder!" one of the other cloaked figures cried, waving their phone in the air in excitement. Dread quickly filled Danny's stomach.

"All the bats and birds are busy dealing with those scoundrels they call rouges! If we hurry, we can complete the ritual before they can interfere!"

"Perfect!" Mr. 'Elder', cheered, slamming the tome closed and handing it off to one of the others. "So?" Mr. Elder started, turning to face them with a sharp grin, "Who's it going to be?"

Danny glanced at the group behind him, all of them having gone silent as the cloaked group started pulling out their ritual things, one of which was a very blood-stained knife.

Mr. Elder started circling them, humming and hawing as he studied each one of them. He stopped next to Wyatt, studying him intently.

Quickly weighing his options, Danny straightened up and glared at the man, "I'll be your sacrifice."

Immediately Nancy leaned away from him with a gasp, Wyatt's foot dropping to the floor with a thud. "Danny, no!" Nancy hissed, turning her body so she could face him. Danny didn't glance at her, just continued glaring at the cultist. The cult leader laughed, "Well then. So it shall be! You heard the sacrifice, tie him to the chair!"

With everyone watching, all Danny could do was tense as four of the followers walked over and pulled him up. "No!" Nancy shouted, leaning over and grabbing onto him. Wyatt reached out to Nancy, wanting to pull her back. The men tensed up, ready to interfere. Quickly pulling back, Danny frowned at Nancy and Wyatt, "I'll be ok, just don't do anything stupid!"

They harshly pulled him up and away again, before Nancy could reply. And because he was already pissed off, he made it as difficult for them as possible as they dragged him to the wooden chair. The camera person focused the lens on them, recording it as they shoved him down to sit and wrapped a bloody rope around his limbs.

So much for thinking they were inexperienced... They've done this before, he knows now. How many times? He wasn't sure, but if he had any say in it after tonight, they'd never do it again.

Once he was securely tied to the chair and gagged, because Danny couldn't help himself but insult them, the cultist started preparing the ritual. Why they hadn't done so beforehand, Danny wasn't sure; that is until one of them sliced a deep gash into his right arm and collected his blood into a bowl.

With a grimace, Danny watched as they mixed his blood with black paint and started drawing a circle around him. The camera dude stepped closer and practically shoved the camera into his face. leaning back, Danny glanced between the camera and the people drawing with his blood.

Suddenly, his arm tingled with ectoplasm, making him panic for a second. he can't heal the wound! not with all the people around him and being recorded! Shit, what had Vlad done last time?? Uh, right! core smothering. He could just smother his core to stop his body from healing. Man, acting like a civilian was a pain in the ass.

Glaring up at the camera now that he wasn't as panicked, Danny watched as the dude stepped back, pulled out a paper, and started reading out loud. "GOTHAM! tonight you shall join us as we summon the most powerful being in the world!"

Did he seriously need the paper just to remember that?

The leader stepped forward when the circle was complete, "Now!" His voice echoed around the silent warehouse, startling the other kidnapped victims. The cameraman turned and focused on him, stepping out of the circle altogether. Danny watched the kidnapped people out of the corner of his eye, wanting to make sure they weren't hurt during this whole fiasco.

"Let us begin!" the leader cheered, suddenly gripping Danny's shoulders tightly. "Join me as we summon our lord and savior! The great tyrant of the dead! The embodiment of war and bloodshed! The one named PARIAH DARK! THE HORRIFIC GHOST KING!!!!"

Immediately, Danny was both completely terrified and amused. He had been worried that they were going to try and summon some great evil demon, not the fucking old tyrant. He could fight Pariah any day of the week.

No, what terrified him was the fact that because Danny won the right to the crown by defeating Pariah the first time, he had no idea what this summoning was going to do. Was it going to work like they wanted and summon Pariah? cool, great even. He can deal with that, might have to reveal his ghost powers if the fight got dirty, but nothing too bad.

or was it going to summon him because he was the king, and if so? how? Would that even work considering he's the sacrifice? would he just disappear and reappear? This could lead to a lot of questions Danny was NOT ready to answer. Gaslighting everyone here into believing he could fight Pariah as a 'meta' human would be easy, convincing everyone that he's not the ghost king or a ghost AFTER getting summoned; not so easy.

The leader released Danny from his grip as he walked over and snatched the tome from one of his followers. Snapping the book open, the man started chanting without warning, pointing at random people to notify them when it was their turn to start.

It was like watching a school play; all the student's doing as they were taught as their teacher directed from the side. Cultist A slammed the bowl of leftover blood on the ground, splattering the black remnants all over Danny and the circle. Which was gross, Danny was going to have to burn this shirt, because there was no way he was going to get this stain out. Cultist B tossed salt at Danny a few minutes later, smacking him in the face with the small white crystals. Shaking his head, Danny glared at him. Cultist B threw the salt again.

The leader's smile grew as he continued chanting.

Seven other cultists joined in the chanting, waving their hands up and down as their voices echoed around them. Danny glanced nervously around the warehouse, hoping he'd spot one of the bats. This was being broadcast, they should be on their way at the very least.

After another minute of looking, Danny glanced back at the other kidnapped victims. Nancy was balling her eyes out, burying herself into her boyfriend's chest. Wyatt was staring at him with wide eyes, clearly unsure about what to do. Probably feeling guilty because they both knew the leader was going to choose him. A few others were looking away, clearly fearing for his life. The rest watched on, trying to show him through their actions that they were there with him till the end. (whether he 'died' or not)

It was weird, but Danny had to give it to them; Gothmites were badass. He doubted anyone in Amity besides his friends would have been brave enough to watch what was happening. Even if they didn't know if he would live or not.

His core crackled, making him choke a little as he finally felt the pull of the summoning. Well, that's just great. Shaking his head, Danny tried to clear his throat. The summoning was making him feel weird and he did not appreciate it.

The chanting got louder as one of the people walked up to him, holding the knife in a white-knuckled grasp. Danny eyed it wearily, glancing between it and the rafters above. Where the hell were the bats when he needed them???

The cultist kneeled before him and raised the blade, slamming it down into his chest right as the leader stopped chanting; Danny gasped, more out of surprise than pain as he stared at the knife. The dude gave him no warning that he was going to stab him. Usually, cultists slit people's throats, right? What the fuck was up with stabbing him???

His blood slowly bubbled up and around the knife, slowly staining his shirt red. Yeah, there was no way in the realms he was going to be able to save this shirt now. Man, he had liked this one too.

He could hear Nancy's sobs turn to wails as the cultist yanked out the knife and handed it to the leader, who Danny just now noticed had joined them in the circle. His blood started gushing down his chest with every beat of his heart, again he held back his core. (what does he do now??? faint? scream? how do normal people react to getting stabbed?????)

"Take this lowly sacrifice as a sign of our eternal loyalty, and grace us with your presence! Your humble servants plead that your godly ears hear our prayers! Join us in this mortal realm and bequeath us your power and name to rectify the sins of our brethren!"

Ok, first of all Danny was no where near lowly you piece of fuck-

Danny's core pulsed, sending out nauseating pain up and down his spine. Gasping, Danny leaned as far forward as he could, trying in vain to grasp at his chest without using his powers. His core crackled, striking a blinding flash through his brain. The echoes of his death crawled up his left arm, waking the old dead nerves into firing signals at his brain.

Danny couldn't help himself, he screamed as the pain grew worse and worse. His thoughts turned hazy, his body cold as his core pulsed again. His heart stuttered and then froze, his core flooding his body with freezing ecto not a moment later. Absently, he could feel the wash of ectoplasm crawl over his body, changing his body minutely. He didn't transform, but he definitely looked more ghostly than human.

All the pain disappeared a moment later, allowing Danny to slump forward, his head hanging low and blocking his face from view. His chest did not rise in ragged breaths, nor did his fingers twitch with life. His mind was still sluggish and clouded with something, making it nearly impossible to think. Squeezing his eyes shut, Danny tried to focus.

"Your Highness?" someone asked, their voice too loud as it rang in Danny's ears. His core pulsed, another flood of ectoplasm flooding his body. His eyes slid open again, allowing him to see the green glow lighting up his chest and lap as he stared down at them.

Slowly, Danny lifted his head, his bright green gaze locking with the man in front of him.

Next

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Come Find Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

I am back back back again! I have missed writing so much, I just don't have nearly the amount of time that I used to. But I'm in my last semester of school! So hopefully I'll be back on a consistent fanfic grind once I'm done :) PS: If you know what the title is referencing, you get a big hug from me.

Word Count: 13,439

Warnings: blood, talk of violence, reader injury

Bucky checked his texts every few minutes. Initially, he lied to himself about the reason behind it. He told himself he must’ve opened his conversation with you accidentally, or that he mistook an email notification for a text from you. Simple, innocent mistakes. 

Either way, he always ended up staring at your side of the conversation, hoping for a gray ellipsis to appear. 

But after a while, he could no longer deny the truth- and why would he want to? You were coming home. 

You hadn’t been gone long, and your mission was projected to be a cake walk. But he couldn’t help it; he missed you. He missed you when you went on missions, when you visited your parents out of state, when you slept in your room down the hall. Missing you was part of him now, woven into the fabric of his being. It matched the material of his soul perfectly, like he was always meant to feel this way.

He fired off a quick “let me know when you land” message and waited, hoping you’d write back soon. 

Usually, you texted him when you were headed back to the compound. It gave him a countdown to your return and something to look forward to. It also signaled to him that you were, in fact, coming home alive. Even if a bit banged up, you were well enough to shoot him a message. And that always eased his worries.

Today, however, was different. No text, no call.

It struck him as bizarre and sounded Bucky’s internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him.  

This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupil’s safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?

Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as ‘incoming’ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he would’ve rather heard that information from you, but it didn’t matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry. 

The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldn’t have said ‘Incoming’ if you were still hours away. 

To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldn’t focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t hang around his room any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug. 

And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? ‘If anything,’ he told himself, ‘It’s actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- she’s probably tired.’ 

Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.

He knew in his heart of hearts that you didn’t need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward. 

It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tony’s engineering. 

Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke. 

The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment. 

His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didn’t greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him. 

“Shit, sorry, man,” your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path. 

“Jake?” Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jake’s eyebrow, “when did you guys get back?”

Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, “I don’t know, five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay…” Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didn’t you send him a message? It was out of character for you. 

“Well, where’s your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,” Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. “Did you see which way she went?”

“Nah, she’s not here,” Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.

Bucky’s disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. “Oh, did she say where she was going? Or when she’d be back?”

Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Bucky’s words. “OHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.”

Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief. 

“Yeah, no, she’s not here,” Jake continued, “because she didn’t make it back.”

Bucky’s ears started ringing. 

The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.

Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what he’d heard. He did his best to make sense of Jake’s words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldn’t understand the phrase “she didn’t make it back”. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. “I don’t think I understand.” 

“Things got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,” Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think it’s-” 

Bucky’s glare could’ve sliced Jake in half, “get to the point.”  

“Right, um,” Jake continued, “I told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didn’t answer. And she never came outside.” He shrugged, “I had to leave for my own safety.”

“So, you just-” Bucky felt himself losing his grip. “You left her there? Alone?” He didn’t realize he was shouting, didn’t realize he’d drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.

She placed a light hand on Bucky’s tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. “Is there a problem here, guys? I don’t want-”

“He left her behind,” was all Bucky could manage.

Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, “you did what?”

A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t just abandon your partner-”

Jake’s attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. “Relax, man. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the army. I didn’t promise to ‘leave no man behind’ or whatever-”

Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jake’s head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck?” Jake squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, “There are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-”

Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor. 

His voice was quiet, hollow. “Casualties?” He swallowed hard, “Is she-”

Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. “I don’t know, I assume so. I didn’t stick around to find out.” 

And just like that, Bucky was gone. 

He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldn’t rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life. 

He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldn’t outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldn’t dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance. 

He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. There’d been a time when he wondered if he’d ever grieve again. He’d lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew he’d one day mourn again. He just didn’t realize that time would come so soon. 

A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-

Hill’s voice yanked him out of his spiral, “Barnes, hey-” She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Bucky’s pace. “Where are you going?”

“To get her back.” Bucky’s tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides. “You heard what Jake said, it’s a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-”

Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. “I’m not just going to leave her there.”

Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, but she might not be-”

“I don’t care.” His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear he’d so desperately tried to hide. “Whether she’s alive or-” he couldn’t bring himself to voice the alternative. 

Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field. 

“She deserves to come home,” he said.

Maria couldn’t argue with him. 

“Round up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. We’re leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.” Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, “I’ll be in the armory.”

Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasn’t sure of your condition, didn’t know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured. 

But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies. 

“Is this it?” Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.

A nurse who’d stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. “The med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.” 

Bucky didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none. 

The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med team’s supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible “what if?”, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldn’t find a positive outcome. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even. 

And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew he’d find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew he’d hurt for the rest of his life.

The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous. 

Bucky’s heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.

Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. It scaled the high walls he’d tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.

“FRIDAY,” Bucky called out, “is comm 1209 working?” He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response. 

“Comm 1209 is on and in range,” Friday said. “Would you like me to connect you?”

He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Bucky’s eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didn’t answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

He owed it to you, though, to at least try. He’d always said he’d do anything for you, that he’d risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything he’d been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?

“H- um…” Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. “Hello?” He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. “Hello?”

He waited. 

No response.

“Doll? It’s me. It’s Bucky…” 

The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.

 The thought made him nauseous.

“Please, sweetheart. If you’re there- if you’re able- just say one word. Say anything,” he pled. A long bout of silence followed.

He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t save you. He was too late. 

He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself. 

But a small sound stopped him.

“Buck…”

He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.

A deep sigh of relief seeped from Bucky’s lungs, “Sweetheart…” 

A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘almosts’. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldn’t allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you. 

He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. “I’m here- I’m gonna come get you. Just tell me where-”

A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, “No- no…” You took a sharp, rattling breath, “no way.”

Bucky didn’t like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.

But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. I’m gonna get you out and-”

“I said- I said no,” you breathed. “You can’t c-come in here, it’s too dangerous… we were a-ambushed.”

Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. You’d rather die alone than put Bucky’s life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling.

“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll just sweep the whole building,” Bucky said, using your worry against you. “That means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- it’ll be way more dangerous.” He could practically see you rolling your eyes, “so it’s probably better if you just give me a direct route, don’t you think?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale. 

He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Bucky’s comfort. Surely, you couldn’t still be thinking about his proposition? He’d given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didn’t have. 

What if you’d fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.

“F-fifteenth floor. Northeast… northeast quadrant,” you sighed, defeated. “There’s a- a room at the end of this hall, I think it’s maybe an office?” Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didn’t have. “Just f-follow the trail of blood.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didn’t have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could. 

“The power is… it’s out”, you said. “You’re gonna h-have to take-” 

Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, “The stairs. Got it.” 

And while he normally didn’t mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival. 

But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. “Okay, I’m coming to get you,” he promised. “Stay awake, and don’t move.”

“As if I h-have a choice,” you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed. 

Your pain radiated through Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serum’s lack of teleportation abilities. 

“You know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?” Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. “Don’t fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?”

“W-what am I…” You let out a raspy exhale, “supposed to talk about?”

Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, “Anything, just keep talking.”

Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying ‘what ifs’.

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be… to be like this,” you finally said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jake’s first mission- it wasn’t f-fair to him.” Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him. 

Bucky felt no such thing.

“I know, doll. Keep talking, okay?”

You sighed. “We s-split up for recon… that’s when they- when they came at me.” Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. “It all h-happened so fast… there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.”

Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.

“I called out for h-him, I needed backup… I kept asking him to come help me-” A sharp cough rattled out of your throat. 

Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadn’t heard anyone else. Hadn’t seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didn’t see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake. 

The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.

“But he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jet…” Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. “I tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy… I was b-bleeding.” The memory stung like your fresh wounds. “I kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldn’t move fast enough. It hurt too much.”

Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.

“And then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,” you sighed. “And I listened as it got farther and farther away… until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.”

He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base must’ve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you. 

Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didn’t just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate. 

“I d-didn’t have a way to call for… for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.”

The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of  misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.

“I realized I… I didn’t h-have any options,” you breathed. 

A collapsed column blocked Bucky’s path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasn’t willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didn’t have. 

He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.

“So, I found this- this room. It’s quiet. It’s out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere to…” A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, “somewhere to die.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasn’t fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jake’s blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.

“This seemed like as g-good a place as any,” you choked on a weak laugh. “Beats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.”

Bucky’s automatic response was to swear that you’d make it out. To promise that you weren’t going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t make those kinds of assurances. He’d do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that you’d return home alive seemed almost cruel. 

He pushed himself to move faster. He couldn’t let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory. 

Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with “NEQ” painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.

“I’m gonna be there in just a second, doll,” he said as he followed the arrows.  “I think I’m right around the corner.” 

This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Bucky’s words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.

“I know, I t-trust…” A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Bucky’s assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.

Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. You’d use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know. 

But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didn’t have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.

“Buck, I think it’s… I think it’s almost t-time,” you rasped.

But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Woah, hey!” Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.

“S-sorry…” A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. “My… my bad, Buck.”

“No, don’t be sorry, doll.” 

Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. He’d seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didn’t know he had. But he didn’t let it show. Knowing you, you’d spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.

“I’m actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,” he forced a chuckle. “That’s my girl.” His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek. 

And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasn’t real- it couldn’t be. 

You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. “Bucky?”

With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt he’d ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive. 

He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he kissed your palm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You’re…” you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. “You’re here?”

He nodded, “I could never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

He may have continued speaking after that, but you didn’t quite hear him. The emotion you’d tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Bucky’s cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin. 

A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Bucky’s presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. “I need to look at your wound, okay?”

A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldn’t find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.

“Hey, we… we need to t-talk,” you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. “I n-need to talk- to talk to you…”

Bucky nodded, “sure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right now…” he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. “Right now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.”

He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Bucky’s stomach like a rock. His repeated ‘I’m sorrys’ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the time slip away; you didn’t have much left.

Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didn’t have. 

“We need to… to t-talk.”

“I h-have to tell you.”

“Can I talk to y-you about- about something?”

And though Bucky would’ve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you weren’t strong enough. He couldn’t let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later. 

But ‘plenty of time’ almost seemed like an empty promise. And ‘tomorrow’ felt like a lie. Would you have a ‘later’? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.

Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, he’d gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach. 

They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew they’d seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds. 

With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.

“S-stay…” you whispered. “Please.”

His heart shattered. “I’m not leaving you, doll, I promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?” With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Bucky’s body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. You’d already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again. 

With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, you’d trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasn’t about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAY’s proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he would’ve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better. 

Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change. 

Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still. 

Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer. 

He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med team’s way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldn’t handle that. 

“Barnes!” A nurse screamed at him, “did you hear me?”

Bucky forced himself back to the present. “No… I, um-”

“She has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!”

Bucky’s desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-

“Come on!” The nurse yelled at him, “start compressions- now!”

He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didn’t cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To “actually compress” your chest- and Bucky followed instructions. 

But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.

“What are you doing? Keep going!”

“I can’t- I think I broke her ribs,” Bucky shouted at the doctor. “What do I do?”

“Keep going!” The nurse yelled, “It happens- just keep going.”

Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; you’d been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest. 

He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.

He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called ‘clear’ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.

Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose you; couldn’t believe he’d have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew he’d crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.

The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over. 

“Come on, doll, just-” He swallowed a sob, “just stay. Stay. Do it for me, I’m begging you. Please?”

The doctor called one last “clear” and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.

“Sinus rhythm restored,” announced the nurse to Bucky’s left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. “She’s stable.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to  relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldn’t allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You weren’t out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasn’t sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.

Less than a minute after Bucky’s cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing he’d hurt you yet again. 

“Happens all the time,” one of the nurses said with a shrug. “Believe me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.”

Somehow, her words didn’t make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didn’t dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat. 

The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be.  

Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldn’t bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.

And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw. 

But you didn’t wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.

Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over. 

He didn’t like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself you’d survive and you didn’t, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating. 

But being realistic wasn’t any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you weren’t going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life. 

And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. “She’s home,” he told himself. “She’s home. She’s home. She’s home.”

The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldn’t be separated from you again. He wouldn’t. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you. 

A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, you’d die. You’d be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldn’t shake the fear. And risking it wasn’t an option.

“No visitors past this point,” a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.

Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. “I’m not a visitor, I’m an agent-” 

“No agents past this point, then,” the guard rolled his eyes. “Only patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.”

A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldn’t be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew he’d missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was you. 

Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.

Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.

“Hey,” she called softly, hoping not to startle him.

But Bucky didn’t respond- he didn’t even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. She’d never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. ‘Maybe he just received terrible news’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’s grieving’.

“Hey,” she tried again, nudging her foot against his. 

He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.

“Hi…” he breathed. 

Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, “is everything okay?”

Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.

“Barnes, what happened? Are you-”

Finally, his head snapped in her direction, “I can still feel it…”

“Feel what?”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible. 

“She crashed on the jet…”

“Oh...” Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. “Is she-”

“The med team needed help. There weren’t enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,” Bucky said, his voice low. “And I broke- I crushed her ribs.” 

A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things he’d done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.

“I felt her bones snapping under my hands,” Bucky’s words dripped with shame. “And I can still… I still feel it.”

“Okay,” Maria said gently. “Well, if she-”

“She was already in such bad shape,” Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. “And I… I hurt her. I made it so much worse.” 

His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge. 

“Hey, look at me,” Maria gave his arm a gentle touch. 

Bucky only shook his head. 

“Come on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.”

Again, he refused. 

Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face. 

“You saved her life,” Maria said. “Twice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.”

“But I-”

“Did it work?” Maria asked, her tine almost stern. “Did the chest compressions work?”

Bucky nodded. 

Maria gave him a shrug, “That’s all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadn’t been there-” 

Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears. 

“Hey,” Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

Maria’s words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Bucky’s head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldn’t believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.

“Thanks…” He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod. 

Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didn’t try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didn’t have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what you’d do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.

Abruptly, Bucky’s head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. “She kept saying…” he sighed. “She kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.”

Maria cocked her head to the side, “About what?”

He shrugged. “I told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,” Bucky’s words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. “What if… what if there isn’t more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-”

“You’ll get more time,” Maria said with certainty. “The universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it won’t happen again. Plus, you’re deserved some fucking karmic retribution- you’re owed this.”

Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didn’t waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldn’t help but believe her.

But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.

“I have to go, okay? Fury can’t do anything without me, he’s hopeless.” She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. She’d pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.

In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead,” he heard her say. “You’ll get more time.” The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Maria’s words quieted his mind. 

In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didn’t really care. He’d wait lifetimes for you. 

He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home. 

“They’ll call you if there’s an update”, said one of the guards. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.”

Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him. 

A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldn’t to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make. 

A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Bucky’s direction, “Sergeant Barnes?”  

Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor. 

He didn’t know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew he’d never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, he’d spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you. 

Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Bucky’s brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Bucky’s anxiety and exhaustion: “you can see her now.”

And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get to you. 

By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didn’t get to you in the next half second, you’d flatline. Again. 

He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet. 

“Hey…” Her eyes drifted to Bucky’s shaking hands. “Need some help?” Before Bucky could answer, she’d abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.

“Here, let me.” Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Bucky’s eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.

His “thank you” was for more than just the door. 

Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; he’d never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didn’t even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours. 

All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didn’t dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? He’d already hurt you once today, he wasn’t about to do it again. 

He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didn’t touch you, didn’t even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath. 

An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldn’t, not when you were so severely injured. 

After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didn’t survive. Maybe…

And he would’ve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral. 

“Buck?” He feared he’d never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.

Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.

A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished he’d used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished he’d sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if he’d found the supplies he needed, he wouldn’t have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.

Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.

“I, um…” you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Bucky’s words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. “Sorry, I- what?”

Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. I tried to say-” He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. “Um, it doesn’t matter. Here, how’s this:” He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. “How are you feeling?”

Your laugh- Bucky’s favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.

Bucky didn’t like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him.  “Don’t exert yourself, okay?” He swept a thumb across your cheek, “you don’t wanna tear your stitches or...” He cleared his throat, “aggravate any, um, broken bones.” Bones that he broke.

“No, I’m…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. “I’m good, I’m okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.”

Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didn’t want to tell you the truth. Didn’t want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didn’t you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off. 

“Thank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I was…” Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. “I thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-” you sniffed, “how grateful I am.”

Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.

“I know we always say that we have each other’s backs but you… you meant it,” you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, “thank you for meaning it.”

Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone. 

“I wasn’t gonna leave you there, doll. I couldn’t.” 

You gave a small nod. “Yeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same way…” The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Bucky’s chest. “I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.”

The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jake’s demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person,” Bucky sighed, “he seemed like a stand-up guy.”

Silence filled the room as you thought over Jake’s desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didn’t expect. You’d taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success. 

And after working alongside Bucky for so long, you’d forgotten that disloyalty to one’s partner was even an option. 

“He probably panicked,” you tried to rationalize. “And then once he realized what he’d done, maybe he…”

There was no rationalizing this. 

An ugly realization slithered into your mind. “After he left, I think he probably hoped I’d just die… that way I wouldn’t be able to give my side of the story.” The weight of Jake’s actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Bucky’s gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didn’t need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you shrugged, “cause I’m still alive.” Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. “Kind of.” 

Bucky didn’t understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldn’t understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something he’d always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of. 

You gave a strained laugh, “I can’t wait to see the look on Jake’s face when he finds out that I didn’t die.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brain’s authorization.

“But you did.”

He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach. 

“I…” you struggled to grasp Bucky’s words. “I what?”

This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didn’t have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. 

“You, um…” Bucky didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldn’t put it off for long. “Your heart stopped- you died. On the jet.”

Only one word fell from your lips, “Oh…” 

“And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you that…” Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. “That your ribs are broken because of me.”

A quizzical look crossed your face, “what do you mean?”

“I mean… the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.” He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. “They needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didn’t want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasn’t pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.”

Bucky searched your face for something- anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, you’d erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.

He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I… they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasn’t going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-”

It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Bucky’s lips. He fell silent.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off. 

“You didn’t have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.” Your hand drifted from Bucky’s face and landed in his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.

 “Hey,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “I can handle a few broken ribs.”

“No, I- I know you can. I just…” A sad smiled flickered across his lips. “I feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just don’t like knowing I made it worse.”

A long silence filled the room. You’d seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad- terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay. 

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.”

Bucky lifted his head.

“And when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.” A smile stretched across your face, “I mean, I thought I was losing my mind.”  

Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didn’t want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.

“But then you touched me…” You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. “And that’s when I realized that you were real- that you were there.” You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Bucky’s rescue. “It was like, in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of the pain. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was just scared that…”

“What?”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you told him with an authoritative tone. “Cause I know it’s corny, or cheesy, or whatever.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky drew an X over his heart. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this. 

“Okay, fine, I um… I was scared that I’d never see you again. If I died, I mean.”

Bucky’s lungs emptied. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.

Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “I was afraid that we’d already run out of time. I was afraid that we weren’t going to get any more.” A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. “But I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.”

Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words. 

“But then I realized- I realized I’d never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didn’t know if there would be a ‘later’. And when I blacked out, I was so full of…” You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. “I had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.”

“To know what?” Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. “Doll, it’s ‘later’. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, it’s-”

Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love. 

A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didn’t care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way. 

When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he knew how. 

“I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you- for so long.” A huff left your chest, “So. Long.” 

Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth. 

“And I just… I know how you see yourself. And I know you don’t think you’re even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought you’d never know the truth. I thought I’d die without getting to tell you. And you’d live the rest of your life thinking that you’re not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.”

The silence made your ears ring. Bucky’s face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared you’d ruined everything. 

“You don’t have to say it back, though,” you said. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.”

Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. “Unrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didn’t even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.” 

He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. “I did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didn’t love you back?” Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, “you don’t know me at all, sweetheart.”

You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didn’t take a rescue as a proclamation of love,” you gave a strained chuckle. “I just thought-”

“I’ve loved you for…” Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after. 

“I don’t even know how long,” he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didn’t need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the world’s most beautiful avalanche.  “It’s been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,” he laughed.

“Oh, so we’re both cowards then,” you shot him a wink. “Too afraid to tell the other how we feel.”

Bucky nodded, “It seems that way…”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?” you quipped.

“Nope. Didn’t even think about it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just wanted to find you.”

You’d never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you would’ve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasn’t something you’d ever ask him to do, and you knew you’d never have to. He’d do it without hesitation. Without reservation. He’d walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home. 

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[auroralwriting]

hii!! this is so random but i just read ur spencer reid x genius! reader fic and i was wondering if u could like expand on it?? or like maybe the team finding out that they went on a date and everyone is like oh gosh finally?? thank u and i love ur writing :P

wedding bells

spencer reid x genius!bau!reader

part two to the gun, can be read as a standalone

spencer and you were enemies, now, you’re just into each other. what happens when you show up to jj's wedding as each other's dates?

word count: 1.6k

warnings: the most insane amount of tooth rotting fluff (you're welcome)

thank you for this request! i decided to expand even more and connect it back to the actual episode i wrote about, 7x24 :)

It had been about two weeks since you’d gotten out of the hospital from your last case; the bank robbery. You managed to get out with a couple of stitches and bruises. You were lucky to be alive.

The one good thing that came from the whole ordeal was the fact that you and Spencer, who was your previous academic-agent enemy, had turned into somewhat of your lover.

It started with trivia night at O’Keefe’s. The two of you decided to just pair rather than join a large team, and you kicked ass. You allowed Spencer to handle more of the academic side of trivia while you took pop culture. Quite literally, you were the only team with points.

That date went so well, that you ended up going out to dinner at the new Chinese place by Spencer’s apartment. That one went great too, and a third came along, a simple date that included Spencer taking you to an art museum.

You actually got to know Spencer, and he got to know you. Sure, you’d been team mates for years, but with suck a strong rivalry, you never got to know the man. You were both eerily alike, and things were going great. There had been no cases, Strauss gave your team a break after JJ’s boyfriend had almost died, along with you.

Spencer and you were at his place watching Doctor Who when you got a phone call. You picked it up, “Hey, Rossi.” The tv was paused and Spencer was looking at you expectantly. “Mhm.. mh- Oh my god! Oh, Rossi. That’s such a good idea. Yes, I’ll be there. I’m, uh, actually with Spencer, so I’ll pass on the message.” Spencer raised an eyebrow at you as you hung up. "Okay, don't freak out, but JJ and Will are engaged."

"What!" Spencer exclaimed with a bright smile. "Oh my god!"

"And Rossi and Will are planning for the wedding to be this Friday," You continued. "JJ doesn't know yet, so we have to keep it a secret."

"Speaking of secrets," Spencer coyly began, "Does Rossi know about, well, us?"

You chuckled, "I didn't tell him, but he knows we've been together more. Significantly more,"

"I've been thinking," Spencer said. "What if we don't keep this a secret anymore."

The only reason it was a secret in the first place was because the team would freak out if they knew you were going out. "I don't think now's the best time to tell them. We don't want to steal JJ's thunder." you frowned.

"No, no!" Spencer quickly shook his head. He grabbed both your hands, rubbing them with his thumbs. "Do you want to be my date to their wedding?"

Your heart raced at his words, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, Spence. I'd love to be your date." You smiled brightly.

The wedding was only three days away, and you were quick to go out with Penelope to buy a dress. You wanted something elegant that wouldn't take away from JJ, so you decided on a flowey, burgundy-maroon dress. It was formal, but nothing too glamorous. The whole time, Penelope kept rambling about how since she and Kevin were no more, the two of you could be girl-dates. You casually agreed, not wanting to give up Spencer and your cover yet.

You'd asked Spencer if he wanted to see your outfit on Thursday, but he wanted it to be a surprise. So, with Pen, you both did each other's hair, makeup, and got ready. You arrived together at the Rossi mansion to make everything less conspicuous.

"Oh my god!" Penelope whisper yelled. "Kevin has a date--a date!" She grabbed you and dragged you to Emily and Morgan in a panic. "He brought a date, and I didn't bring a boy date, oh my god I look like an idiot!"

"Pen, you don't look like an idiot." You rubbed her arm softly. "He's the real idiot for moving on so damn fast."

Emily nodded, "And you look so gorgeous, I bet he can't help but think about you. Play it cool."

Penelope took a large sip of her drink. "I'm- I'm gonna go, go somewhere, uh, somewhere he's not."

"Hi, Penelope!" Beth, Hotch's new girlfriend, said cheerfully as she walked up.

"Hey, hi," Penelope quickly walked off.

Beth gave a soft laugh, "Hello everybody."

You smiled and pulled her into a hug, "Ex problems, don't mind her. Hi Beth, and hi Hotch. You both look great."

"Says you! You look absolutely stunning! That is so your color." Beth smiled as she took your hand to spin you around lightly.

The three of you said hello to Jack as well. As the group began to disperse, you quickly spotted Rossi. You made your way over to him, a smile on his face. Rossi was like a father to you. Growing up under his help and guidance, he was more than just a mentor. "Oh, honey. Look at you, you look so grown up."

"Dave, I've been grown up for a lot of years now." You laughed as he kissed your cheek. "Have you seen Spencer by chance?"

"Not yet," Rossi replied. He raised an eyebrow at you, studying your face. "You two are together, aren't you?"

A look of panic crossed your features. "Shh!" You quickly hushed, looking around to see if anyone noticed. When they didn't you turned back to him. "We've been going out on dates, hanging out. That sort of thing. We aren't.. boyfriend-girlfriend."

"I'm happy for you two," Rossi smiled. "You two make a good pair, especially now that you aren't planning each other's murders."

"Who was murdered?"

You turned around to see Spencer standing behind you. His eyes went wide when he saw you. The way you turned, bright eyed and graceful, it made his heart leap in his chest, especially when you looked so ethereal.

Spencer breathed your name softly, looking to Rossi. You gave a small nod, letting him know that Rossi knew. He walked over, giving you a small hug to secretly press a kiss into your hair. The two of you hadn't really kissed yet, but you knew it would happen soon.

"You're an angel," Spencer softly spoke, caressing your cheek as you smiled.

"You look amazing, too." You replied.

Rossi and Spencer gave each other a quick hello before he excused himself to go reveal to JJ that this was her wedding night. It only took a few minutes and JJ ran up to you. You hugged her before she could say anything.

"You knew?" Her voice cracked, but you knew it was from joy.

"We all did," You smiled. "Hey, while you and Will get ready, let Spence watch over Henry."

JJ's eyebrows furrowed as she watched Spencer nod quickly, giving your shoulder a squeeze with the sweetest smile she'd ever seen him give someone. "Uh-"

"Don't worry about it," You shook your head. "This is your night." When you saw JJ was about to ask again, you filled her in. "Going out on dates, not dating."

She just smiled, holding up her dress. "This is it. I wanted to ask you, actually, if you wanted to be my maid of honor? Help me get ready?"

Your eyes filled with tears, "Oh, Jayge. It would be my absolute honor." You hugged her again tightly, leading her upstairs with her mom.

It didn't take long until the ceremony began. You were already at the end of the isle, watching Spencer do a magic trick with the ring with Henry. You giggled, Spencer's eyes meeting yours as he smiled back to you.

JJ was the most beautiful bride you'd ever seen. She came up to the front and you hugged her, taking her flowers from her and standing next to Spencer and Penelope. As the ceremony went on, you found yourself tearing up. Weddings always made you cry. Spencer took notice, taking your hand and pulling you against his chest as he rubbed your arm. The team was too busy watching JJ and Will to notice.

The dancing was the best part. Penelope pulled you to the dance floor before Spencer even had a chance. You happily slow danced with her, then Derek, who stole you away. From there, Hotch had a dance with you, and then Rossi. Finally, at your favorite slow song, Spencer approached.

"Dave, would you mind?" He softly asked.

"It would be my pleasure." Dave passed you off to Spencer with one hand as Spencer slowly pulled you into his arms. If you took closer notice, you'd see him go to Strauss and begin to dance.

"Hi," You whispered, one hand in his as his other rested on your waist. Your free hand was on his shoulder. The two of you began to sway to the music.

"Hi," He echoed, giving you the softest look you'd ever gotten. "I missed you. I didn't even get a chance to dance with you."

You softly giggled, "Well, now it's yours. All yours, Spence." You leaned in closer, "You're the only one I wanted to dance with."

The position changed, both of Spencer's hands were on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. This was much more intimate. "You're the only one I want, too." The double meaning made your stomach twist in the best way.

As the two of you danced, your teammates began to finally notice. "Oh my god," Derek mumbled. "Those two dumb geniuses finally got together."

"Actually, they're just going on dates," JJ corrected as she swayed with Will.

Emily smirked, "Not for long by the looks of it."

"They make such a sweet couple," Beth cooed.

Penelope gasped, "Oh my sweet baby Jesus, I took her away from him all night!"

"I'm sure he doesn't mind." Hotch smiled, actually smiled, as they all watched you lean your head on his shoulder, one of his hands coming up to the middle your back to splay out, almost protectively, holding you closer.

"I think I hear some more wedding bells in our future." Derek smiled.

[phemiec]

A Mouthwashing (and How Fish is Made) fansong, unfortunately from Jimmy’s POV mostly, sorry. 🐴 Music and lyrics by me, PhemieC

NOTE: this is my first fansong in five years, and sad to say but my voice has been decimated by illness in the last few years, so please don’t go into this expecting it to sound the same as my old stuff.

That being said, I have released an instrumental version, and I would LOVE to hear covers from other vocalists! Feel free to post and sell if you make a cover as well. <3

LYRICS UNDER CUT

[verse 1] Momma bird sleeping and her nest is empty Pretty and clean I feel the crease of envy Cutting a line right through the sky above me Healthy and green just like a good tree should be Momma bird leaving now her eggs are lonely Out from the underbrush I creep so slowly I’ll lay my own, her home is sound and safe, he’s Grey like a stone among her round blue babies She’ll never tell if she’s a few shells lighter Quick cracking clever comes my little fighter  Babes that feel safer they hatch so much slower Thrown down below then by my own fast grower Momma returns to feed her only child he Smells like a stranger and he cries so loudly Drinks of his fill while I look up on proudly Picking away at the discarded bounty 

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite needs you alive To feed their growing appetite 

[verse 2] Thing crawling thirsty, shared flesh, a blessing Drink of my stagnancy, the taste refreshing Carry a part of me and keep on climbing  Top of the ladder’s just a place for dying Dread in your gullet, ignore it, buddy Lead in the bullet, it’s harmless, mostly Let me consume you, let you defend me Curling protector, my friendly fresh meat Im in control now and I like the feeling I’ll play the role of every wound you’re healing Follow the leader was always my thing Swallow your pills and lay still, unwrithing Master of puppets is my one objective Real apex predators can be selective Relay your message, it won’t stop the spread if I replace your tongue when I open your head up

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite keeps you alive To feed their growing appetite 

[verse 3] My stress relief, she keeps asking questions I can’t believe she thinks I’ll learn her lesson Nothing outside of me will ever get in No mocking birdie with an unblinking grin Four beating hooves, I hate to hear them thunder Trample the metal tomb I’m buried under braying beast, neighing in the womb inside her Breaking its legs to glue you back together

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite needs you alive To feed their growing appetite…

[jjscrybaby]

thinking of jj still being on the marsh or even on the beach when his baby’s born, so their first adventure out of the hospital is jj walking them around the water while you rest after giving birth to his baby

dad!jj maybank x mom!fem!reader | fluff | (haven’t named the baby in this little universe yet, will have to think about that, just adorbs!)

i’ve got an obsession with dad!jj. have my babies.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“She’s gonna need to eat,” you argued weakly from where you laid in bed, watching JJ roam around the bedroom excitedly packing up a bag.

“It’ll only be an hour, she’s eaten,” he replied, waving you off. He turned to you, crawling up the bed to lay beside you and press gentle kisses to your cheek. “It’s gonna be fine, baby. Promise. I can take care of ‘er.”

“She’s just so little,” you pouted, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“I know,” he laughed, pecking your lips. “When you’re healed up we’ll take her out together, a’ight? But, for now, you’re gonna have a nap and we’ll be back before you know it.”

It didn’t take much more reassuring from JJ for you to let him take your two week old baby out, strapped to his chest with a big hat covering her from the sun. He was beaming from ear to ear as he slowly walked around, not straying far from the house but walking down towards the beach.

“This is where we all used to get drunk, you’re never doin’ that, tell you that for free,” JJ said softly, pointing to the Boneyard in the distance. Obviously all he got in response was a gurgle, but he was happy with that. “Mommy threw up riiight in that bush there.”

“Havin’ fun?” John B called, appearing behind him with an amused expression on his face. “I’ve been sent to make sure you’re both still alive.”

“We’re alive,” JJ laughed, walking towards him.

“Lookin’ like a real mother-hen there, Jay,” John B teased, handing him a bottle of water — sent from you, of course.

“Just showin’ her around,” JJ explained, taking a long sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Was gonna head home soon. Surprised I haven’t had any messages.”

“She wanted to let you have fun, for a short amount of time,” John B smirked, clapping JJ on the back as the three of them made their way back home.

“Better getcha back to mommy, huh? ‘Fore she makes me sleep on the porch,” JJ stated, kissing his daughter’s head.

John B couldn’t help but watch in awe. Never did he think that the same guy who used to throw up in his sink and smoke all his weed would have a baby. Then again, the moment you came along he figured it was only a matter of time.

[lumonceo]

Soooo delicious the way this episode explored everyone’s fragmented throttled ability and lack thereof to fall in love omg. Mark S trying to decide if it’s unethical to kiss Helly who might not be Helly because now he knows his wife is alive/being tortured and Helly’s role in finding her puts a moratorium on it and outie Mark’s willingness to blow up his life as he knows it to figure out what’s happening to Gemma. Helly doing the only possible right thing and looking for Gemma with Mark and still kind of wanting them to continue being sort of together because it’s the realest thing they’ve ever know ! Or else Helena at the precipice of the greatest/only romance she’s ever kind of had and not knowing how to navigate it since it’s in direct conflict with what she’s there to do. On the other hand you have Dylan who in 18 minutes has felt more intimacy with Gretchen than he had with his friends for his entire life while knowing how imbalanced it is although not really knowing at all is he a deadbeat husband out there is she finding charm and attention and care from his innie that’s long dead in their marriage? Irving’s great love having been cut so short that he’s still learning so much about Burt and that knowledge is a precious commodity AND art, the tool he’s presumably wrecking himself on the outside with to try to get a message through being the last tool to express his love. It’s just endlessly fascinating to me the humanity breaking through and finding it’s weird shapes to take in spite of the fact that it does not fit into this awful bleak world they were made for.