#christ. how fucked and stressed do i have to be lately to have a nightmare that vivid and realistic and invasive

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hi, would you write about a self conscious reader who is going through a crisis with accepting herself and reveals that to jason todd in an emotional state like the dramatic “i hate myself” thing. Kinda having a moment like that myself and i need to read something that i can identify with

Your door was shut when Jason got there. He could feel the emotional angst leaking through the door. It slid over him like ooze. Over his skin and down his throat.

But he forced himself to breathe. Like last night. If he focused, he could find the edges of what he was feeling and push your influence back. You weren't focused on him.

He exhaled slowly and knocked, waiting. "Y/N? It's Jason" No one was in the hall but somehow it felt like everyone was in the hall. The trouble with living in a house of nosey bitches.

A solenoid disengaged and he pushed the handle. Letting himself inside, leaving the door cracked. Mostly so you didn't feel trapped.

As soon as he stepped into the room, the atmosphere was crushing. Oppressive. A sensation of being cold and humid. Self hatred, grief, and shame. And he can feel you trying desperately to pull those feelings under the surface. Wrestle them into submission.

Sweat prickling on your forehead from the effort.

"You should probably go," you manage.

Jason winces and takes a deep breath, forcing himself into a state of calm. Remembering how he deals with scared little kids and abuse victims. "What can I do?" he asked softly, moving closer. Below you, out your window you're watching everyone else. In the sun and playing outside. Shaking off the night-terrors you'd given them and the stress of patrol with water guns and slips and slides- a home made water park around the pool. Christ. It's no wonder you hate yourself.

"I'm fine. I just. I just-" Your voice is rough with unshed tears and when you break off, resting your head against the glass, Jason smiles a little.

"Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional," he chuckled. "We've all been there. You're just a little more obvious about it."

You make a soft miserable noise and he shakes his head, "No one wants you to stay away, "he murmured, changing tack. "Bruce gives us nightmares all the time. Ask Dick about his party hard days some time. His nudes got "leaked" once as a distraction when I was a kid and all the girls had them. It was gross."

When you huff a soft laugh, he nods towards your book shelf, "Not a lot of heavy lifting going on there," he teased, referencing the romances and young adult novels- a fair number of children's classics he noticed.

"I like happy endings," you murmur. "I don't- I just get overwhelmed. I get tired of being a monster."

Jason nodded. He didn't want to tease you for your books anymore. "You're not a monster, Y/N," he whispered. He'd spent a lot of time watching you. You offered kindness in a hundred different ways. Doing little things to help Alfred. Taking odd shifts for Barbara. Refilling Tim's water. Stocking gear. Taking time to just chill with Cass... he'd probably missed a lot of details. But a monster wouldn't do that.

"I feel like one. All the time. I feel like I'd be better off dead. Like if they would have been too late-"

"If they would have been too late, it would have been for nothing," Jason said, wiping tears off your cheeks tenderly as he knelt to cradle your face in his hands. "Those bastards that hurt you are monsters. You were a baby."

You don't meet his eyes but he can feel pain. A deep fissure that never healed. Like a wound that needed packed and never got it. Rotting and festering this whole time. Inflamed and ready to send you recoiling at the lightest touch. "Got a favorite happy ending?" he asked. "I'll read it to you if you want-"

"Aren't you an Austen snob?"

"Please. As if I could get away without reading at least a couple of Alfred's trashy Romance novels. Some of them are charming... a couple are even pretty decent writing. As long as they don't spend too much time describing the dude's cock."

[depresseddepot]

happy 3 am!! nightmare time!!!

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

my body is a cage.

ObNeSummary: Y/N’s worst nightmare has become a reality. Her only saving grace is that she doesn’t have to do it alone. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,000+ [One Shot]

Warning: Feminist Issues, Adult/Mature Themes (NOT smut)

Y/N could feel her heart start racing faster as she studied the doctor’s office. Now she was starting to sweat as well. 

Her doctor were running late and that meant Y/N was stuck looking at the nondescript walls and smelling that sterile scent for 20 minutes. It felt like an hour. 

It was just a follow-up appointment. There was no bad news expected to be given. But that didn’t stop Y/N’s anxiety. 

Y/N finally gave up on trying to calm herself down through breathing and reached down to grab her cellphone out of her purse. 

There was a two text message notifications: one from her mom and one from Jason. 

She opened the one from Jason. 

– Good luck at your appointment today. Remember to breathe. 

Y/N smirked at the message. Jason knew how stressed out Y/N got for literally any type of doctor’s appointments. Even if it was just your usual checkup – like today – it caused her anxiety for some reason. 

Jason must’ve sent it right before passing out after patrol. 

Finally the doctor came in, making Y/N jump and almost drop her phone. She hid her scare well and quickly put her phone back into her purse. 

“Hi Y/N, so we finally got your blood work back,” she began. 

“Great. Will I be able to get a prescription and pick it up today?” Y/N asked quickly, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. 

“So one of the many reasons we get blood drawn before prescribing this medication is to make sure you’re not pregnant before going on it.” Before Y/N could speak, she quickly added. “You’re test results came back positive.” 

Y/N’s mouth opened at the statement. 

Her mind was going a million miles a second, trying to process what the doctor has just told her. 

When was the last time she had her period?

Why did it feel 20 degrees hotter in here all of the sudden?

This couldn’t be happening. No. No. No. This really couldn’t be happening. She tried so, so hard to make sure this didn’t happen. This was her nightmare. This was her fucking nightmare coming to fucking life. 

By some miracle, the doctor didn’t smile with joy and exclaim a congratulations. She seemed to sense that Y/N was on the brink of having an anxiety attack. 

“I remember you saying you did’t intend on ever having any kids, so I’m sure this is a lot to process,” the doctor told her gently. “Why don’t we hold off on this medication – even if it’s just for a couple of days? Just give yourself a second to process and come up with a plan.” Then she gave Y/N an encouraging smile. “When you want to make another appointment, I’ll make sure reception squeezes you in. Alright?” 

Y/N couldn’t do anything but nod – and even that was far too delayed. 

“Do you want me to call someone for you?” The doctor asked softly. 

But Y/N shook her head. 

When Y/N got out of the doctor’s office and back on the streets of Gotham, she seemed to snap out of it a bit. 

Her ears weren’t ringing any longer and the cold, winter air was doing miracles. 

‘Get to Jason,’ Y/N’s heart suddenly screamed at her. 

And just like that, Y/N went into autopilot, grabbed a cab, and gave them her address. As she watched the buildings go by, Y/N’s mind was simultaneously thinking a million things and thinking nothing at all. It was almost a buzz. 

When she got back to her apartment, the TV was on but the volume was off. Sometimes Jason would watch it after patrol and hope it would bore him to sleep. But her giant, vigilante of a boyfriend wasn’t sleeping on the couch, so that meant he was in their bed. 

Y/N toed off her shoes, tossed her keys on the side table by the door, and hung her denim jacket – no, Jason’s denim jacket – on the coat rack. 

She slowly pushed the bedroom door open to find Jason passed out on his side. His arm was reached over to the other side of the bed as if his body had searched out for hers in his sleep and came up empty. 

Y/N tiptoed to the bed and carefully slid into the empty side of the bed. 

Jason stayed asleep, meaning he must’ve been really exhausted. Usually her presence would stir him, even if it was just for a few seconds. 

Sometimes Y/N would come in here when she got back from work and take a cat nap with him before getting started on dinner or leaving to work out. Sometimes she would just cuddle with him, he would wake up and sleepily ask about her day while bringing her into his – even when she told him to go back to sleep. 

Now Y/N laid on her side and watched him sleep. 

Even when he looked exhausted and various scars were scattered across his face, Jason Todd was beautiful. 

And when he was sleeping like this, he looked so young. Y/N wondered if that was how Jason always looked to Bruce: innocent, vulnerable, forever young.

Y/N reached forward shakily and brushed the white streak of his hair off his face. His hair was getting shaggier than usually allowed. She wondered if he’d ask her to cut it again or if he’d finally listen to her and go to a barber. 

“You run your hands through my hair and I’ll be putty in your hands,” he mumbled with his eyes still closed. 

Y/N froze and stopped her combing, her hands shooting back to her chest. 

Her silence and pause made Jason’s eyes squint open. 

Those blue eyes of his were always perception, especially when it came to the woman he loved with all his heart. And as soon as they locked with Y/Ns, they immediately knew that something was wrong. 

His brow wrinkled. “You OK?” His voice laced with worry and concern.

Suddenly… Y/N’s mind and body were given the chance to release the reaction they wanted to have since the news was broken.

Her bottom lip trembled a moment before tears burst from her eyes. 

And then Y/N was shoving her face into her boyfriend’s chest. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jason consoled. “What happened? What’s going on?” 

But Y/N couldn’t even form words. She was fully hyperventilating. 

Her chest literally hurt as the sobs escaped. She was shaking as if it was freezing in the room, despite Jason’s body basically being her own personal furnace. And she felt like she was going to throw up at any second. 

Was that morning sickness? Or was the just good ol’ fashioned nausea?

Jason quickly realized he wasn’t going to get any verbal communication right now. So he just held her in his arms, letting her cry it out as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. 

But his mind was shuffling through all of the possibilities. 

Had someone hurt her? Did she get fired? Did a group of assholes catcall her on the way home? 

But none of those seemed like things that would upset Y/N in such a manner. 

“Breathe, Y/N. Take a deep breath,” he told her calmly as he kissed the top of her head. 

She barely gave a nod to show that she was trying to do what he advised. 

With her eyes wet and bloodshot from tears and her face swollen, Y/N finally pulled away from Jason’s chest so he could see her. 

“Deep breath,” he reminded her again gently. “Can you tell me what’s gotten you so upset? Can you do that for me?”

Y/N sniffled, really just to buy herself a second before she said it. 

“I’m pregnant.”

Jason’s body tensed. His eyes studied hers, looking for any sign that she was not being absolutely serious. 

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Jason muttered, now realizing why she’d had such a reaction. 

But then he quickly recovered, realizing that she still needed him because she was freaking the fuck out. Obviously. She just had a full-on panic attack in his arms. And she was probably moments away from possibly having another. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, look at me.”

She took in a deep breath and did as he asked. 

“No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to. OK?”

She just stared at him. 

“OK?” He asked again, making sure she understood what he was telling her. 

She nodded. 

“I don’t want it,” Y/N exhaled. 

The words came out on their own, like she had no control over them. 

Jason winced, not at her statement, but because she sounded so desperate and scared. 

He gave her a sympathetic look and cupped her cheek. “I know, Y/N. I know.” 

Then he brought her back into his arms, holding her protectively, as usual – but protecting her from something he never had to before. 

“I know how you feel about it. I’ve always did,” he told her softly. “Just try to relax. OK?”

She nodded. 

Jason didn’t try to fill the silence. He didn’t try to say comfort after comfort. His touch did more things for Y/N then he words ever did. She needed to be held, not lectured or verbally coddled.

After a few moments, he looked down at her. “We can order from your favorite place, OK? Have a little movie marathon or finish watching that show.”

She gave him a small, shy smile at that.

“Sound good,” he asked. 

She nodded again. 

———

30 minutes later, Jason was scrolling the internet, researching Planned Parenthood locations while waiting for their takeout to get there. 

Y/N, exhausted from her emotional and mental breakdown, had fallen asleep a few minutes after telling Jason the news. 

Jason figured the least he could do is take the logistical weight off Y/N’s shoulders. All of this was happening to her and it was his fault. He knew she’d never frame it that way, but that’s how he felt right now. And he’d do anything to make it easier for her. 

But all of the sudden, the hairs on the back of Jason’s neck suddenly stood on end. 

The next millisecond, he grabbed the nearest hidden gun, shot to his feet, and pointed it at the window. 

“Relax, Todd.”

“Demon Spawn, what the fuck are you doing here?” Jason lowered the gun. 

To Jason’s annoyance, Damian jumped down from the window and into the apartment, dressed in his full Robin uniform. 

“When you texted about covering your patrol tonight, father asked me to check on you.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Liar. No, he didn’t.”

“So, why aren’t you on patrol?” 

“Y/N needed me.”

Damian���s body tensed. 

For as much of hard time as Damian gave Jason, he didn’t mind his girlfriend. However, the preteen would never admit to actually liking her or enjoying time spent with her. But the whole family saw it anyway. 

“Is she sick?” 

Jason just nodded, not really having the energy to compose a big lie. 

Then Damian caught sight of the laptop screen and saw what Jason had been researching. 

“Oh,” Damian blurted out without thinking. It was a very unusual reaction from him. He always had something to say.  

“Just…keep it to yourself, k?” Jason asked. 

The last thing he needed right now was Damian blabbing around about Y/N. 

But Damian nodded, not giving any further reaction to his discovery. 

———

“What’s Alfred the Cat doing here?” Y/N asked as she cradled the cat and walking into the kitchen the next morning. 

“Damian,” was all Jason provided.

Y/N laughed at his crypticness. “Did he need a cat sitter?”

Jason shook his head. “He came snooping when I told them I wasn’t going on patrol. And…Well, he’s Bruce’s kid, so you can imagine how quickly he put it together.”

Y/N’s amusement dropped when she realized what Jason was saying. 

“He brought some of human Alfred’s cookies for you, too.” Jason added quickly, maybe to soften the blow a bit. 

“That was sweet of him,” was all Y/N mumbled in return. 

“I think he was worried about you. Figured some cookies and cuddles from Alfred would make you feel better,” Jason explained. “Of course, he didn’t verbally express any of that because he’s emotionally constipated.”

Y/N managed to force a smirk at the joke. 

Silence filled the kitchen. 

“I made you an appointment today,” Jason told her gently. “Not that I’m trying to force you to do anything. You can cancel it if you want to. I was just trying to–”

“Thank you,” Y/N cut him off and dropped the cat to wrap Jason in a hug. “Thank you, Jason.” She repeated, mumbled this time, since her face was now buried in his chest. 

“Of course,” he told her before kissing her head. “Want some breakfast?”

He chuckled when he felt her nodding enthusiastically against him. 

“Your favorite?”

She nodded again. 

“You gonna let me go so I can make it?”

She shook her head no. 

“Alright, spider monkey, let’s do this.”

Y/N’s laughter filled the room as Jason somehow managed to maneuver her body so she was on his back with her arms wrapped around his neck. And she piggybacked around the kitchen with him as he made them breakfast. 

———

“Welp,” Y/N said bitterly as she looked at the building from across the street. “Don’t know how I wasn’t expecting this.”

Jason sighed as he watched too. 

There were a dozen people with picket signs. One said, “It’s a child, not a choice.” Another said, “Jesus loves you both.” One of the men had a megaphone. One woman held a box with figurines that inaccurately showed how far along the fetus would be when it’s aborted. 

“Wait here,” was all Jason said. 

“Wait, what? Jason! Jason, don’t!” Y/N hissed. 

But Jason was already halfway across the street. With the traffic and general noice of Gotham, Y/N could hear nothing. But it was clear that he was talking to him. 

“Oh, for christ’s sake,” Y/N sighed when she saw all of their faces shift to utter horror. Whatever he was saying to them had clearly terrified them. 

It only took a minute before Jason jogged back to her and offered his hand. 

“Come on,” he said encouragingly. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” She asked him. 

“I told them all of their names, social security numbers, and addresses,” Jason told her lightly. “Oh! And their top porn searched.” He gave them a glance. “And said if they even so much as looked at you, I would do what I wanted with that information."

“So…you threatened them.”

Jason tilted his head and shrugged innocently. “I wouldn’t put it that way…”

“Jason…” she groaned. 

“I thought you would be proud. I didn’t use physical violence. I’m growing!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. 

But lo and behold, none of the protesters so much as faced their direction as they walked past. 

Y/N wondered how long it took Jason to memorize all that information. Did he ask Tim to hack street cameras and use face recognition to even find all of them? 

In the most messed up way, it warmed Y/N’s heart. It just showed a new angle of Jason’s protectiveness. Guess that was just another perk of dating a dangerous vigilante with too many connections and resources. 

Besides his little threat, Jason hadn’t let go of Y/N’s hand since they left the apartment – even now, as they sat in the waiting room. 

If he was anxious at all, he was doing a beautiful job of hiding it.

Y/N guessed that’s what happened when someone had the history of Jason. This was like a walk in the park for him.  

But when they called her name, Y/N looked at Jason with slight panic. 

“I can’t go with you. It’s against policy,” he told her softly. “But I’ll be right here when you get out. OK?”

She nodded. 

He must’ve learned that when he was doing all his research. 

“You good? Huh?” He whispered, keeping eye contact. 

She nodded again. 

“You’ll be fine,” then he kissed her. 

Just as Y/N reached the nurse, she turned to her boyfriend again. “I love you,” she mouthed to him. 

“I love you too,” he mouthed back. 

———

Y/N had been drained when they finally got back to their apartment. 

All she wanted was to take a nap with her boyfriend. 

A couple hours later, she had finally had the energy to stay awake. 

But neither of them had any interest in getting out of bed. So instead they stayed cuddled close.

“How are you feeling?” Jason asked her. 

“Physically or mentally?” 

“Both.”

“Physically, fine mostly. Some cramping. They said that was normal. But my period is ten times worse.” Then she sighed. “Mentally…like…I’m in control. Does that make sense?”

Jason nodded. 

“And relieved. Fuck,” she half laughed. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.” 

“I’m glad.”

Then Y/N smirked mischievously. “Are you sad you won’t see me wearing those stupid overalls with a baby bump,” then she dramatically fanned her hands, “as we have a montage of us painting a nursery?”

Jason laughed at that. “OK. Well I don’t live in a fucking Lifetime commercial.” Then he smirked. “I’ll take the overalls without the baby bump, though.” 

She giggled at that. 

“But it’s a real shame we couldn’t have a gender reveal party and burn down all of Gotham accidentally…” Jason thought aloud. 

Y/N tried to suppress a smile, “…you do realize the point of those parties is to reveal the baby’s gender and not to burn a city down, right?” 

“Well, fuck.” Jason played dumb. “The only appealing part of that was the arson.”

“It would’ve been funny to fuck with people, though.” Y/N’s eyes went distant as she thought about it. “Put in black balloons or just a rainbow assortment. And just see how everyone reacted.”

“Missed opportunity,” Jason sighed. 

“Why are traditions so stupid and embarrassing?”

They both laughed. 

“I’d have to suffer through a stupid baby shower. And then you’d get to come in at the very end and just wave at everyone. Men really got it made, huh? Just show up, and everyone applauds.” 

Jason laughed, knowing she was absolutely right. Enough of the Justice League had kids for him to know that was how it worked. 

“Like those videos where dads do their daughter’s hair and everyone loses their mind and praises him. But name one time a video has gone viral of a mom doing her kid’s hair.”

“The bar’s low,” he reminded Y/N. 

But then Jason watched Y/N’s smile fall from her face as she got lost in her head. 

“What?”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“What?” He gripped her chin. “Absolutely not.”

“I don’t feel bad. There’s no remorse,” Y/N mumbled with as her eyes zoned out. “All I feel is weight lifted off of me.”

“Hey,” his voice was low and serious. “Hey, look at me.” 

He waited for her to do what he asked. “You’re not a bad person. You hear me?” 

Then he started making himself angry with the thought that anyone would ever tell Y/N otherwise. 

“You know what a bad person looks like? Someone who doesn’t take having a child seriously. Someone who makes that decision half-assed, knowing they’re bringing a child into a toxic environment or that they can’t properly take care of them.”

Jason made himself calm down. “That doesn’t make you a bad person. It just proves that you did exactly what you knew was best.” 

She nodded, finally convinced by his words. 

Y/N reached forward and brushed some hair off his face. 

Jason was so god damn handsome. No wonder I got pregnant, she thought darkly. This is exactly how she got into this mess. It was hard just to keep her hands off of him. 

“If I ask you something, do you promise you’ll tell me the truth?” 

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’ll try my best.”

Her eyes twisted into something somber and afraid. 

“Do you really never want kids?” 

Jason should’ve expected this question at some point. 

Even though Y/N didn’t verbalize it, Jason knew that one of her biggest fear throughout all of this was that it would change their relationship. She was scared that he would resent her, that he would change his mind and beg her to keep it. 

Maybe it was her tone that was really the thing that caught him off guard. She sounded so scared of what he would say. 

Jason rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Not because he wanted to hide the truth by stopping her from staring into his eyes. He just wanted to make sure he collected al of this thoughts. She deserved a proper answer. 

“I never planned on being a father,” the statement was unwavering. “You know how my childhood went. And I see the same thing happening to kids all over Gotham today – some of them have it so much worse than I did.”

Y/N reached forward and placed her palm on his chest, right over his heart. Without thinking, his hand went to grip it. 

“But you would never be like that,” she assured him. “You’re a good man, Jason. I mean, just look at how you are with Damian – no matter how hard you try to hide your soft spot for that boy.”

“I know I can be a good father. Except before you were in my life, I didn’t know that.” 

If he were really tell the truth, he would tell Y/N that without her, there most likely wouldn’t even be a Jason Todd...only Red Hood. 

He looked away from the ceiling and back at her. “But that doesn’t want I want to be.” 

“So you can honestly say that you never want a family? Even if wasn’t with me?” 

“Y/N, look at my family,” Jason laughed. “None of us our related. Bruce is a mess of a father. His biological son was basically artificially inseminated. The butler is more like our grandma who raised us. All of them tried to take me down and imprison me at one point or another...”

He shook his head at the ridiculousness. “The point is that I know more than anyone that family can look like a million different things. And the perfect outline society has forced onto us doesn’t actually mean shit.”

He grinned. “My family is a group of vigilantes who don’t know how to quit.” His eyes softened. “And then there’s you. You’re my family, too. I don’t need add anything else for that to be true.” 

Y/N couldn’t help herself and she practically tackled him into a kiss. 

Jason gripped her waist and twisted them so she was straddling his waist, and his hands traced up and down the side of her ribcage. 

After their lips separate, Y/N looked down at him lovingly. 

She let a moment pass. 

“What if I changed my mind?”

“I think you and I both know you never will.”

“But what if I did?” She insisted. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I really don’t.”

Y/N just wanted to challenge him. She wanted to go through all the scenarios her mind wouldn’t stop thinking about. She needed answers to the hypothetical scenarios that would never come to be. 

“I’m not going to change my mind,” she told him certainly. 

“I know, Y/N.”

She kissed him again. “Thank you for supporting me through all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he scoffed. “It’s my fault.” 

And he meant it. Most days, Jason had to convince himself he was worthy of her love. What kind of man would be lucky enough to have Y/N as their girl and not do everything in his power to make sure it stayed that way?

“No, it wasn’t,” she corrected him seriously. “It was both of us.” 

“You can’t scare me away,” Jason told her. “Nothing is ever gonna stop me from loving you. Got it?”

She nodded. 

But before she could say anything more, Jason wrapped her in a heated kiss. 

He knew these questions were her anxiety manifesting itself. And Y/N had enough stress for today. So he’d turned off her mind with his touches. 

She deserved a break. 

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

I don’t know how I managed to write yet another one of these fics. But I realized it was easier to give it a new twist since Jason Todd has a sense of humor and an edge that Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers do not. Also, he wasn’t raised in the 1930s. lol

Please, please, please let me know if you liked it!!!

If anyone is interested in movies on this topic, I highly recommend these:

Never Rarely Sometimes Always 

Unpregnant 

4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days

Obvious Child

[emeraldiis]

Enough Trust for Us Both

I’ve written a new fic, this time it’s Bucky x Reader! Read it on AO3 here.

Word Count: 3.8k

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Contains: fluff and smut, phone sex

You’re going crazy. You are going absolutely insane, and it’s all Bucky’s fault. Stupid, sexy, oblivious Bucky. Sure, you two have the perfect relationship in all other regards. He’s open with you, trusting you to hold him through the night to calm any nightmares, and he keeps you safe. Four months of him hovering behind you like an overprotective parent may have been annoying to some, but you love it. It makes you feel cared for. And you know he loves you, because he says it about forty times a day. 

There’s just one tiny, itsy bitsy problem. Bucky won’t touch you. Well, that’s not true. He cuddles you, holds your hand, gives you chaste kisses whenever you do something to make him smile. But he won’t touch you. The kisses never go beyond pecks on the lips, and his hands never wander below your waist. And god dammit, you don't understand why. You’re horny, for fuck’s sake.

You know that you’ve been touchy with him lately, but you can’t help it. The sexual frustration increases tenfold when he grabs your hands with his strong ones, or wraps his fingers around your hips to pull you in for a kiss. You swear your panties are constantly damp around him, and more than a few times you’d had to excuse yourself to go change.

But you haven’t made any moves, scared of being too bold. He’s come so far with you, opened up so much, and you’re afraid that being too forward will scare him off. Still, a girl has needs, and you’re not above dropping a few...hints.

Bucky walks into your apartment with heavy footsteps, nearly slamming the door behind him. You jump, whipping around on the couch to face him, and watch as he winces. “I’m sorry, doll. Sometimes I forget how strong this stupid thing is.” He flexes his metal hand, frowning at the silver digits.

You tsk and shake your head, trying hard to ignore the arousal blooming in your stomach. Every part of him is attractive, you just can’t help but stare. From his shaggy hair, to those absolutely sinful thighs that you want to ride into the sunset. “It’s okay, babe,” you sigh wistfully, then look at him with pleading eyes. “I missed you today, can we go cuddle?” If you can’t get any action, then maybe just some good old fashioned affection would calm your nerves. Doubt it.

With a chuckle, Bucky strides over to the back of the couch with those long legs and leans over to kiss your cheek. “Of course, doll. Just let me go shower first, and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

Nearing falling over yourself in your enthusiasm, you give Bucky a winning smile and race to the bedroom, eager to get under the covers and get warm. As you slide into bed, you hear the shower turn on across the hall, and let your mind wander. Bucky’s muscled body fills your head. Tight abs flexing under streams of water, those metal fingers brushing across his skin, soap running down his chest all the way down to his cock. You’ve seen it before, but only once. Bucky had come home run ragged from an intense mission, and had been too tired to argue when you insisted on bathing him yourself. Even with just one glance while he was soft, you could tell Bucky was huge. He was thick, and imagining that inside of you nearly makes you moan out loud.

You’re so caught up in your fantasies that you fail to hear the water stop running, and end up startling again when Bucky enters the room. “Doll, you’re jumpy today,” Bucky says, blue eyes filled with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m great!” You answer a little too quickly, trying to ignore the uncomfortable wetness seeping into your panties. You’re not wearing any pants--you usually don’t, when Bucky’s gone--and you know that Bucky would be able to feel how turned on you are if his hands go anywhere near there. ‘Which they won’t,’ you think to yourself in disappointment.

Bucky eyes you skeptically, thick eyebrows furrowed, while you try not to drool over his still-dripping form. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of red and black checkered pajama pants that are just one size too small. If you squint, you can just barely see the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric, and your eyes nearly roll and you realize that he’s probably not wearing underwear. Before you can work yourself up again, Bucky shakes his head at you, accepting your white lie, and gestures for you to slide over. You eagerly oblige, ready for some quality time with your boyfriend.

Despite your innocent act, you have a devious plan in the works. It had come to you the second he walked out of the shower looking irresistible. You’d decided that two could play at that game, and maybe he just needs you to seduce him. It’s bolder than anything you’d typically try, but maybe Bucky just hasn’t realized how badly you want him yet. Well, you were going to make it obvious for him.

When Bucky eases under the covers next to you, you purr happily and guide him onto his back, head resting comfortably in the pillows. You lie on your stomach and swing one leg over his hips, then throw your arm around his shoulder, effectively splaying yourself out on top of him. Bucky huffs out an amused laugh and wraps his human arm around your back. “Miss me that much, huh?” He says, voice soft and low. The weight of his arm feels nice draped across you like that, but you crave more.

You can’t help the shiver that forces its way down your spine at his deep voice speaking so closely to your ear. “Mhm,” you mumble. “Need to feel you.”

Cold, vibranium fingers card through your hair, and you don’t even try to suppress the moan that bubbles up. If you were going to properly seduce Bucky, you couldn’t hold anything back. “Well, I’m here, doll, feel me all you want.” His human hand grips your shoulder possessively, and the message is clear. ‘You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe.’

At that, your hips rock involuntarily, and you freeze when you realize that the wet spot on your panties has managed to make contact with the bare skin of Bucky’s stomach. That was a little further than you had intended to take this scheme, and you shift away, praying that Bucky hadn’t noticed.

To your dismay, Bucky rockets up from the bed like a cannon, immediately scrambling to the other side of the room like you had burned him. You start to turn away in embarrassment, then notice the wild look in his wide eyes. Bucky’s terrified. But why?

Seeing the bewildered look on your face, Bucky pauses in his frantic movements, then slowly slides down the wall and comes to a rest seated on the floor. His breathing pattern stutters until it settles into the slow and deliberate one his therapist taught him to stifle panic attacks. Regret sinks into your chest like a thick cloud. Christ, you had really messed up this time. “Baby,” you say softly, voice dripping with worry.

Your boyfriend looks up from the carpet, and tries to give you a reassuring smile. “I-I’m, I’m sorry,” he manages. His normally strong voice cracks, and your heart splits. “It’s not you, I just…” He fumbles for the words, and you keep quiet, pulse high while you await his explanation. “Doll, it’s hard enough for me to control myself when you’re all up on me like that, but I’m just a man, and when you-” Bucky shakes his head frantically, eyes dropping back to the floor. “You just can’t be tempting me like, okay, babe?” His head falls into his hands.

Wait, what? Somehow, you’re even more confused. “Bucky, what are you talking about? You don’t have to ‘control yourself,’ I’m your girlfriend. Hell, I’d be upset if you weren’t sexually attracted to me!” Your voice is rising in volume, but you can’t help it. All these months spent taking cold showers, and he wanted to fuck you the whole time? “Jesus, Buck. I was all over you today because I wanted you to lose control. This entire time we’ve been together I just thought, I dunno, that I wasn’t attractive enough for you?” You can’t mask the hurt in your voice.

At that, Bucky’s eyes widen and he raises his head to look back up at you. “Baby doll, no, you’re the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I just...I don’t want to hurt you. If I lose control like that and let myself go, who knows what could happen? I could relapse, I could seriously hurt you. You saw when I came inside today! I almost broke your door without meaning to, I can’t put you at risk just for my own pleasure.”

Anger swells up inside of you again, and you rise from the bed to stalk towards Bucky. When you reach his place on the floor, you sink to your knees and stare daggers at him. “Your own pleasure? What about mine? Bucky, this isn’t just about you. I have needs, too.” Bucky looks away in shame, and the guilty expression in his eyes manages to cool your temper. You gently take his face in your hands and pull him to look at you. Now that you’ve come back to yourself, you feel guilty for being selfish. You chew on your lips anxiously. “Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten mad like that, I know this isn’t easy for you. But Bucky, if you want me, then I’m yours. I know you won’t hurt me, I trust you.”

Bucky pulls away from you, lips screwed up in a pained frown. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just too dangerous.”

You fall back onto your butt, sighing, and try to think. “Okay, well what if we worked up to it?”

That earns you an intrigued look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you start, mind racing as a plan hatches. “What if we started off with something low risk, like phone sex. You could stay at the Avengers tower, I could stay here. How can you hurt me if we’re on different sides of the city?”

“Phone sex?”

Oh, right. Different era. “It’s where we call each other on the phone and get off together. If you really don’t want to try, you can say no, but you deserve pleasure. We’ve both been stressed lately, this can be a good thing.” You try to keep your tone casual, giving Bucky the chance to relax from the brief argument. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, and though he’d never admit it, his cheeks flush just the slightest bit red.

“Okay,” he whispers, brushing back a piece of stray hair from his face and taking a steadying breath.

Your eyes follow the movement of his hand as what he said sinks in. “Really, you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, making an attempt to smile at you. “Just...can we do this slow? It’s been a long time.” He still looks nervous, and you almost want to back off. To tell him to forget it, that you were just being selfish. But it’s not just you that he’s denying pleasure to. Bucky’s suffering, too, and you know that intimacy would be a huge step forward, so you push on.

You grin brightly at him, then stand, offering your hand to help him up, too. After hesitating for a brief moment, Bucky takes your hand and lets you pull him to his feet. He stands, towering over you, and you realize that you’re so tiny compared to him. His worries absolutely held merit; he could crush you so easily, especially with those rippling muscles that you’re always staring at. But you’re not scared of him, you never have been. Bucky has never been anything but gentle towards you, and you know that even The Winter Soldier would not lay a hand on you. Bucky would never allow that to happen, you trust him.

You just wish he could trust himself that much, too.

It’s been weeks since you and Bucky’s conversation, and you’re beginning to think he’s forgotten about it. That, or he’s just pretending that he doesn’t remember in order to avoid a stressful situation. The latter was probably more likely, and you decide not to push it. Maybe you’d been asking for too much. So you put a lid on your desires, and acted like everything was fine for Bucky’s sake, even as disappointment dampened your moods. And when he left for yet another mission, you began to accept that maybe he just wasn’t ready. You can live with that.

Your phone rings, and you hoist yourself off the couch, pausing the movie you’d been watching to trudge over to your phone. When Bucky was away on missions, calls were never anything good. He’d usually send texts to reassure you that things were going well, but he always saved bad news for phone calls. It was a nice gesture, but it just made you associate them with misery.

Steeling yourself, you click ‘answer,’ and force out a cheerful greeting despite the anxiety twisting your stomach.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky’s voice is gruff, and he sounds exhausted. Your hands twitch, wanting to reach for him.

“Hi,” you reply. “Everything going okay?”

A groan floats through the speaker, and you sigh, knowing that your instincts were correct. “I wish, it looks like I’ll have to stay another night in this stupid safe house. We think our cover might’ve been blown and Stark wants to lay low before trying to extract me.” You can hear the apology in Bucky’s tone; he doesn’t need to say it.

You want to scream and throw your phone. Another night away from your lover, spent lying awake worrying that this time he wouldn’t make it home safe. Another night of counting the seconds until he’s back in your arms, and you can kiss away the stress of his mission. You knew what you were signing up for, dating an Avenger, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard sometimes. Still, you need to keep it together. For Bucky. “It’s okay, just stay safe, alright? I need you to come back to me in one piece.”

Bucky mumbles his assent, and you hear shuffling on the other end, presumably him getting more comfortable. You do the same, and make your way back to the couch so you can sit down and talk to him. “At least it’s just me here,” Bucky says. “This would be a hell of a lot more irritating if I had to put up with Sam’s chatter for another day.” 

With a snort, you flop onto the couch and lean back. “Don’t be too hard on him, he means well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbles. He pauses, and you hear a shaky inhale before he speaks again. “What’re you wearing?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Well, this was unexpected. “One of your shirts, why?”

“No pants?”

“You know me, pants are kind of against my moral code.”

Bucky chuckles on the other line while you wonder where this is going. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Another pause. “Which panties do you have on?”

Oh. Oh. Your heart speeds up in excitement as you start to realize what’s going on. “Buck, are you wanting to…?” You don’t finish your sentence, letting your silence speak for itself.

“Um, I think so. If you don’t mind?” Bucky says, voice rising a bit in pitch as it tends to do when he gets nervous. 

You’re quick to reassure him, not wanting to screw this up when you’ve been dreaming about it for months. “Yes, yeah!” You blurt out. “I just wanted to make sure we were both on the same page here.” You tug at your bottom lip with your teeth while you think about how you want this to go. “Hold on, lemme move to the bedroom.”

“Okay.” Bucky’s voice has gotten raspier, and it sends a gush of arousal into your panties. You rush to the bedroom, legs more than a little shaky from excitement.  You hop onto the bed and settle back into the pillows, putting your phone on speaker and setting it beside you on the sheets. “You still haven’t told me which panties you’ve got on,” Bucky prompts, sounding a little unsure.

“The black ones,” you answer. “They’re the ones that have the lacing around my ass.”

Bucky growls his appreciation at your response. “Those are my favorite.” You beam. Now that he’s finally expressing his attraction to you, you feel like the sexiest woman in the world.

“Your turn to tell me what you’re wearing.” Your fingers tug at the hem of your underwear, itching to dive inside and start touching yourself. But you wait patiently, wanting to take things slow like Bucky had asked.

“Just my briefs. The dark blue ones that you said look nice,” Bucky says. He goes quiet, and you remember that phone sex was a foreign concept to him just a few weeks ago. You can picture his uncertain expression. His eyes always narrowed in a cute little squint, and his lips would purse in a way that made you want to kiss him breathless.

Taking the lead, you shimmy your panties down your legs until they’re completely off. “I’m taking my underwear off now. Do you want to touch yourself?”

Bucky inhales sharply. “Yeah.”

“Do it. I will, too.” You bring your fingers down to your dripping pussy, absently wondering if you should’ve laid down a towel before starting. It’s too late now, though. You slide one finger across your folds, humming softly at the pleasure.

There’s rustling on the other end, and you close your eyes to imagine Bucky pulling down his briefs, thick cock springing free. You think about running your tongue up the leaking head, and your core cramps involuntarily.

“Doll…” Bucky breathes. You hear a slick sound--did he always bring lube with him on missions?-- and then a steady rhythm of slow strokes. 

“Does it feel good?��� You ask, and bring your thumb up to rub at your clit. A small whimper escapes your throat. There’s no reason to try to stay quiet; this is for Bucky, and you want him to hear that you’re enjoying yourself.

“Y-yeah,” he grits out. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m touching my clit, wishing it was your fingers on me. I wanna touch you so bad.” There’s a whine to your voice, and your fingers speed up.

“I wish I was there,” Bucky says. “Fuck, I bet you look so good right now. I don’t even know how many times I’ve gotten off to the thought of licking that pretty pussy.”

A gasp tears its way from your throat. You never knew Bucky had such a mouth on him, and you briefly think about how many girls he’d talked out of their skirts before the war. You turn your head to the side, burying your nose in Bucky’s shirt and inhale deeply. His scent makes you dizzy with need, and you abandon your clit to dip two fingers into yourself. There’s no need for preparation—you’re soaked—and you easily slide the digits past your opening to reach the most sensitive spots. “I’ve got two fingers inside me now,” you moan. “Wishing they were yours.”

The strokes on the other end speed up, and Bucky curses. “Shit, doll. You’re driving me crazy, here.”

Bucky’s moans are the hottest thing you’ve heard in your entire life. Nights spent fantasizing about how he’d sound in bed didn’t even come close to the real thing. His ragged pants on the other end of the line have you edging closer and closer to your orgasm, and you begin to ramble mindlessly. “Bucky, baby, I need to feel you. I want you here with me, I wanna watch you cum.”

“You know we can’t--”

“I don’t care,” you whine. “I’ll use Stark’s handcuffs to keep you restrained, you can’t hurt me if you’re all tied up. Please, baby, I just need you.” You know that you’re rambling, but you don’t care, it feels too good. Your fingers move faster and faster, chasing your high.

A startled moan echoes through your speaker. “Oh, fuck, stop talking. Please, I can’t--” Bucky’s voice is tight, strangled, but it only encourages you to push him further. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being tied up while I ride you?”

That’s the last straw for Bucky. The rhythm of his strokes stutters, then comes to an abrupt halt as he chokes out a high pitched whine of your name. Hearing his orgasm pushes you into your own, and you claw at the sheets with your free hand. Bucky’s name tumbling from your lips while your hips arch up into your hand, everything clenching and then releasing into bliss.

You lie in silence for a few minutes, your breathing mixing in with Bucky’s as you both come down. Finally, you break the silence, feeling a bit embarrassed now that pleasure’s no longer clouding your judgement. “I-I’m sorry. I got a little carried away.”

“What?” Bucky replies. “No, that was, that was really good. Were you serious about wanting to try restraining me?”

You swallow tightly. To be honest, it was kind of a spur of the moment fantasy, born from reckless pleasure. “Uh, only if you want. I definitely should’ve cleared it with you before bringing it up.”

Bucky is quick to reassure you. “No, doll. At the moment, I only really saw it as a hot fantasy, but now that I’m thinking about it...it could actually work.”

You sit up in bed, not able to believe your ears. God, you aren’t even sure if you’d be able to handle that kind of control over Bucky. You might just melt the second you lay eyes on him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “We’d have to use something that could hold me, but I’d feel better about not hurting you if I was handcuffed.”

A dizzying rush of excitement washes over you. “Fuck, okay. Let’s talk about it more when you get back, yeah? You need to focus on getting home safe.”

“You’re right. Thank you for being patient with me, I know you could easily find some guy you didn’t have to jump through all these hoops for.” Bucky’s laugh is self deprecating, and you shush him.

“Shut up, you’re perfect. I’d jump through as many hoops as it takes to call you mine for the rest of my life.” And you really would. You’re head over heels for this man, and it isn’t just the post-nut bliss talking. “Just come back home to me and I’ll show you just how much I’m willing to do you.” You pause. “For you. Do for you.”

This time, the chuckle that Bucky lets out is genuine, and your heart swells. “Okay, doll. I’ll be home in a day or two and you can do me all you’d like.”

[purplecatghostposts]

@ardate

Oh ho ho :) Gordon Angst Request? I will gladly do that-

—

Gordon is fine. He’s used to handling a lot of stress, this is nothing.

It starts with a dinner party. Gordon invites all of the Science Team, including Tommy’s father and Sunkist, over to his apartment for a fancy dinner to celebrate a year out of Black Mesa. Which requires organizing, of course. He learns how to make a good lasagna from scratch, he plans to cook it hours in advance- it’s going okay.

Then his oven breaks the day of the party. No problem- Gordon gets Bubby’s help to cook it and of course he’s stressed over the possibility of Bubby burning it but he doesn’t have a choice.

Gordon has his suit sent to the dryers to get it pressed. It’s going to look amazing on him and Gordon can’t wait to show it off. He trips and rips it when he’s bringing it home.

This is fine. Gordon has a backup suit that doesn’t look quite as good or fit him as well but it... It works.

Gordon has just enough plates for everyone but last minute, Darnold and Forzen want to join. Gordon doesn’t have the heart to turn them away so he has to run to the store to buy some more- he doesn’t want to give them plastic plates when everyone else has fancy ones. It’s fine, Gordon has a solution, it’s fine.

Gordon’s been having nightmares lately. He thought he was getting over them but apparently not- which is fine. Nightmares bounce back all the time, it’s not unheard of. Even if they’re starting to shake him and Gordon wakes up in a cold sweat, it’s nothing he hasn’t gone through before.

Gordon gets into a fight with Benrey. A stupid, petty, small fight that ends with Benrey storming out. Gordon doesn’t even know why he’s mad but his arms shake and his eyes sting but Gordon sucks it up because he has a dinner party in eight hours and he has work to do.

All of that was fine- 100% fine. Gordon took all of it in like a champ and through all the stress, he found solutions. Benrey would come back and they could kiss and make up. Gordon could do this- he could do this.

Gordon starts setting up the table when he stubs his toe on one of the legs of the chairs. The plate in his hand drops and shatters on the floor.

Gordon stares down at the broken shards and something in him snaps.

Fat tears roll down his face as Gordon drops to his knees. An ugly sob overtakes him and all attempts to stop crying fail. It just gets worse, a choked noise leaving him and all Gordon feels is pathetic.

He can’t even handle one dinner party. He can’t even control his emotions. Everyone’s going to walk through that door and see what a miserable failure he is and they’ll leave. He can’t do this- he can’t do this- he can’t do this-

“Uh. Gordon?”

...Fuck, he forgot Bubby was here. God, can this get any worse?

“I’m fine.” Gordon chokes out. He pulls up his shirt enough to use it to wipe his tears away. It helps but they keep on coming. He can feel Bubby’s gaze burning into him, watching, judging, knowing-

“No you’re fucking not.” Bubby tells him flatly. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re having a mental breakdown over a plate.”

The plate. Gordon’s body starts shaking against his will. “I- I don’t have a backup- oh god someone’s going to get a plastic plate and it’s going to look so out of place I- fuck.”

“Nobody cares about a plate, Gordon. Eat off the table for all I care.”

“It’s- it’s not just-!” Gordon fumbles for his words but his words get breathy. “It’s not just about a fucking plate, Bubby!” It’s more of a shout that he would like but Gordon’s getting lightheaded and he can’t stop shaking. “I can’t- I can’t do this- I can’t do anything!”

Gordon wheezes for a breath but he’s failing to get one. A shadow looms over him and when Bubby speaks again, it catches him off guard.

“Can you stand?” It’s soft. Careful. Gordon wouldn’t believe it was coming from Bubby if he hadn’t been hearing it himself.

Gordon shakes his head. He doesn’t think he can, not on his own.

“I can help you to the couch. Come on.” Bubby offers a hand. Gordon hesitates but he ends up taking it. Bubby guides him to the living room and as soon as he sits down, Bubby gets him a glass of water before settling beside him.

Gordon gulps it down greedily, gasping when he’s finished. It’s all there is to hear at first, Gordon’s breathing. But Bubby finally speaks up once Gordon feels a little more grounded.

“What’s actually going on?” Bubby raises an eyebrow at him. “Spill.”

“I don’t know.” Gordon says honestly. Bubby still gives a skeptical look but Gordon shakes his head. “I mean it, I- I don’t know what happened. I just had all this pressure in my chest and I just... Spilled it out all at once.”

“What kind of pressure?”

“I don’t- just, everything went wrong? And- and I was trying so hard to handle it but it just kept falling apart.” Gordon buries his face in his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone. And I keep- I keep dreaming of Black Mesa lately so I wanted to laugh at off and celebrate getting out of that hellhole. I got so riled up that I- I just snapped at Benrey for the stupidest thing and I don’t know what to do anymore. Am I just- just ruining everything I touch?”

“You kidding?” Bubby scoffs. He quickly drops it when Gordon averts his gaze and hesitantly puts an arm around him. It’s almost a hug. “Look, all of that sucks, but they’re all temporary. You’re not. You’re gonna pull through this.”

“But- but the plate.”

“Fuck the plate! Just ask everyone to bring their own- none of them are going to care. Stop focusing on one tiny bump and take a step back. All of this can be solved if you just opened your damn mouth and asked for help.” Bubby stifles a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this of all people but it’s not nearly as hard as you think. You’re the only one holding yourself back.”

Gordon laughs. He doesn’t know why. “You uh- you must think I’m pathetic, huh?”

Bubby’s face twists. “Fuck no. Gordon, I had a mental breakdown over fucking ice cream flavors once, I can’t judge you. And I won’t judge you because I care about you, dumbass. You had some bad luck- big fuckin’ whoop. Power through it and have a good time when it’s over.”

Gordon knows he shouldn’t focus on the first part but he can’t help it. “Ice cream?”

Bubby grimaces. “Not my proudest moment. It was in public too- thank god it was the same week Tommy learned how to freeze time like his dad or it would’ve been a hell of a lot more embarrassing.”

Bubby shakes himself and continues. “Point is, your friends aren’t going to judge you. They’re here to have a good time, you think they care about decorations? They’ll comment on it if it’s good but otherwise, they don’t care. You’re Gordon Martinis Freeman and other than food, the main reason they’re coming is for you.”

Bubby stands up, once again offering a hand. He gives Gordon a grin. “Now, ready to kick this dinner party’s ass?”

Gordon swallows but takes his hand anyways. “Yeah, I think I am... Thanks, Bubby.”

“Eh, it was nothing. Couldn’t just leave you crying on the floor. Not fuckin’ heartless.”

“Still. I’m lucky to have you.”

For a moment, Bubby seemed surprised by the statement before he grinned wildly. Gordon smiled back.

—

I really want to write more Bubby and Gordon friendship so here you go!

Thank you for the idea!! I hope you enjoyyyy!

[fumingspice]

Like Never Before (ii)

Part: One

I would literally rather only drink ocean spray cranberry juice for the rest of my life than have kids so if this reads like i was dying while writing it then that’s why xo

taglist: @sarahp-stan @jumpoffabridge-t @sarahpaulsonsoftie @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia @delias-bitch-craft @creepingwolfberry @thesapphictimelady @goodeday2u @that-fucking-error @saucy-sapphic @sarahp-stan​

i wish you all the love in the world, but most of all i wish it from myself.

You watched Billie as she glided across the room. Christ, even with her sweatpants and messy hair she was still an absolute vision.

“Honey, for the love of God, can you please let me do something?” You asked, chuckling at how she darted from stirring the eggs to packing an overnight bag to trying to build an Ikea cradle.

“Instruction manuals are for wimps,” were her exact words five hours ago when she took the parts out. “It will be up in a jiffy.”

It was not up in a jiffy.

Billie plated the eggs and moved back to the box load of wooden bits and pieces, sorting through and assembling the bed with her toolkit. You almost admired the image of her handiness, even though you knew fully well that the look of concentration and furrowed brows were masking the fact that she had locked herself into a commitment to build the cot without looking at directions. She was going to drive herself insane if she didn’t get it right. Billie wasn’t necessarily bad at putting things together; you had often let her help you put furniture together before your pregnancy took over most of your day. On the other hand, that certainly didn’t mean she was in any way, shape, or form good at building furniture. You knew that the cradle would look more like a misshapen table.

She was still adorable.

“No, baby. I’m not risking giving you any stress. Christ, one wrong move and it will be a literal baby shower,” she replied, scooting over to kiss your cheek. “Let me do this for you, hm? Then I’ll run us a nice bath before we go to the hospital.”

You grinned at Billie’s nurturing side. “Fine,” you said, caressing her cheek in your hand. “Just make sure you build that right, if our baby falls through the floor on the first night home then I’m not going to be very pleased with you Ms. Howard.”

Your girlfriend frowned. “Do you really want to mess with me while I’m holding a screwdriver?”

Now, that made you chuckle.

“You had to spend fifteen minutes trying to figure out if you were holding it right.”

Billie rolled her eyes at you and stood up. “You know what? I think he’ll enjoy it more if he’s able to sleep with his moms,” she said, pulling you into her chest. You could sense her exhaustion no matter how well she played it off.

You tilted your head to look up at her. Her brown eyes, although excited and lively were worn down a little bit, and a faded purple colour lay beneath. “Baby?” You spoke after a little while, causing her to jolt slightly.

“Hm? Are you okay?”

“How about that bath?” You suggested, Billie smiled warmly and ruffled your hair before pulling you up and walking you to the bathroom.

Thankfully, your bedroom was only down the hall given that you’d finally moved into her house. The door was also a lot wider. Very convenient in this situation.

Billie dipped her hand into the water to mix the bubbles in, gathering some up in her hand and dropping the foam on your head. “You look like the cotton candy man from Scooby Doo,” she giggled, giving you a matching beard. You laughed together as she helped you undress, her hands gliding softly down your skin in admiration. “My God, you’re exquisite.”

She took your arm and helped you into the bath, smiling as you gasped at the warmth. It was almost perfect.

You tugged her arm, trying to signal what you wanted without actually speaking. The warmth of the water and the scent of the bubble bath had given a relaxing aroma. In short, you were too lazy too speak.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she cooed, her fingers twirling in the water. You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to join you?”

You nodded enthusiastically, watching as she stripped off and eased herself into the water behind you. “Jesus, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck,” she muttered. Warm baths were never really her thing. Billie always preferred showers. Both alone and accompanied, but recently she had started opting for baths, enjoying the feeling of you laying back against her stomach. The feeling of protecting you in some way gave her somewhat the same satisfaction as an orgasm.

Billie let out a sigh as the water flowed gently around you both, her hands laying on you waist and stomach and her head rested on your shoulder. She was silent. That was one of the best indicators to tell you she was tired.

Your body jerked, reacting to Braxton Hicks. Billie snapped alert immediately.

"Relax, Billie. I'd tell you if something was wrong," you cooed, your hand reaching her cheek and caressing it softly.

"I don't want to miss anything," she mumbled in response. The blonde kissed your shoulder and neck, each touch sending fiery affection through you. You rolled your head back, letting her kiss further to your cheek and ending it with a deep kiss.

Her lips tasted sweet.

"Baby, you know we can't do anything," you whispered, turning to try and get a better angle at Billie's mouth.

She grinned into you. "We both know you're telling yourself that, Y/N," she replied. Her lips were graceful on you.

Hilarious.

Billie got out of the bath and toweled off, turning to help you out when she ready. There was something about Billie-Dean in this attire. No make-up, her hair slicked back from the water, the way her collar bones gilded her shoulders. You bit your lip as she guided you to bed when you were dressed.

She was out like a light as soon as she was relaxed, her hand never leaving yours. Even if she was too tired to snuggle right into you, there was never a nighy where she wouldn't make some form of contact before falling asleep.

Of course, as you lay awake, something in you was stirring you. Not allowing you to sleep.

Probably the human growing in you, but who knows.

Hours passed as you watched the light from the moon travel from the wall to the floor and disappear.

It happened so quickly that you snapped into an upright position, cursing as you flew.

Billie snapped up you, sensing your hand leave hers. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked, laying her hand on your shoulder.

"Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit," you panicked. Your breathing short and quick. "Billie, I think my water's broken."

Billie's brown eyes widened. "Oh, Mary Mother of Jesus on a tandem bike," she swore, grabbing her car keys from the bedside table and shoving her feet into her shoes.

She tripped on the rug and staggered over to your side of the bed with a towel, pressing it against your leg. “Okay. Okay, how are we feeling, sweetheart?” She asked, breathless with apprehension.

You shrugged. The shock of the moment had rendered your ability to process thoughts absolutely useless. Your contractions were barely noticeable. More like short pulse-cramps than anything noticeable. Billie’s fingers laced through yours as you explained.

“I’ll phone Dr. McCool and ask what to do,” Billie said, pushing your hair behind your ear and giving your forehead a quick kiss.

She left to get the phone, hearing her apologising for the late call. 

  Billie sat still, ushering soothing words and not complaining despite how hard you were gripping her hand.

Hours felt like days at this stage. The pain was a nightmare. Words couldn’t describe the relief that you felt whenever the midwife told you to stop pushing. You choked a cry in relief and fell into Billie.

“Easy, sweetheart. You did it,” she whispered, holding you tight against her and kissing your head. Her voice was breaking as she spoke. For a moment, everything disappeared as you just melted right into her. A sudden and loud cry broke you from your trance as you snapped back to reality.

Your head perked up as you saw a nurse holding your baby, small and crying.

“Oh, my God,” you said to no one in particular. Tears were falling down your cheeks freely as you tried to process what was actually happening.

Just when you thought things couldn’t get anymore overwhelming, James walked into the room. Billie tensed up immediately, following his gaze to the baby. You could tell that if she weren’t so overcome with joy she would have harden up at his look of happiness.

“Y/N,” he said, walking over and squeezing your hand. “Y/F/N called. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner; I was at a bachelors’ party.”

You felt Billie tense slightly around you. She was sensitive about the fact that James was the baby’s father. There was no issue of jealousy. There was certainly no lack of trust. James had even made it clear that he would respect Billie’s boundaries when it came down to visiting. It was the simple fact that it wasn’t her that boiled her over sometimes.

You smiled at him as the nurse passed the baby to you. “Congratulations!” She spoke. “It’s a healthy baby boy!” Billie’s bets were right. You frowned internally at the idea of not guessing right.

Then you remembered that the only thing she had “won” was getting eaten out for twenty minutes straight.

It was a win-win situation.

Billie gasped as the baby lay against your chest. You turned around to look at her, brown eyes framed with tears locked in awe. “Babygirl, look what you did,” she cooed, kissing your temple. You nuzzled against her, seeking a kiss on the lips. It was a new feeling, the one where you know you’ve hit a long-time achievement. Billie was yours. You were hers. There was even an unexpected bonus.

Another doctor came in. “Hello!” She chirped. She moved in to shake James’ hand. “I presume you are the father?”

James smiled, about to agree. He caught Billie’s pursed lips and avoiding glance. “Somewhat,” he replied. Billie looked right at him for the first time since he’d arrived. “Although, I think that’s more Billie’s station.” He motioned at your girlfriend, whose breathe hitched and chuckled in an exhale of relief.

“Thank you,” you mouthed at him, feeling Billie relax at his words. The  doctor gestured for Billie to come over. Something about signing some document. She held you carefully so as not to disturb you. James took the chair beside your bed.

“He’s almost as good looking as me,” he joked, nudging your elbow. You shook your head at him and chuckled. “He does have your massive head though.”

You glared at him in shock, completely forgetting his sense of humour in the moment. “I swear on my life if this boy turns out like you, I’m putting him in the bin,” you teased. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Little features. Little fingers wrapped around one of yours. He had big dark, brown eyes. He had eyes like Billie.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t turn out devilishly handsome for his own sake then,” he replied.

“Would you like to hold him?”

James paused slightly and glanced at Billie, who was still reading over some papers. He nodded towards her. “Will she be okay with it?”

You nodded, passing him the child gently. His holding skills were terrible. “Jesus, James. Try not to drop him, please.”

James rolled his eyes and corrected himself. “Hey, little guy,” he cooed. Talking to him in little bursts. He got up and your heart dropped, knowing that James was an absolute clutz. Much to your relief, he didn’t drop the baby. You had no idea what he was doing until you saw him walk right over to Billie, who was surprised to see him.

“I think this is yours,” he said.

Of all the things he could have said.

Billie looked from him to the baby and back, taking him in her arms against her chest. Her head lay against the little body as she pursed her lips, trying hard to hold back tears. “Oh, James,” she whispered. She moved close and hugged him with her free arm. “Thank you so much.”

Billie returned to your side, tears now having fallen freely. “He’s so beautiful, Y/N.”

You cried, and snuggled into her. “We need to think of a name,” you said, kissing Billie’s shoulder. 

“What were you thinking, mommy?” Billie asked. Then stopped. “Hm,” she said. “Never thought it would be me calling you that.”

The nurse coughed. “I’m still in here.”

Billie’s face flashed a deep red. “Sorry.”

The nurse ducked out before he had to hear any of Billie’s other inuendos.

“I like the name Tate,” James suggested. Billie shot him a thousand dagger stare.

“No.”

“Come on, it’s a nice-”

“I will kill you and make it look like an accident.”

You nudged Billie with your hand. “James Dean?”

Your ex and your girlfriend glared at you.

“Here’s me thinking I was bad at choosing names.”

Billie pondered for a moment. “I like Lachlan.”

You nodded. “Lachlan.” You liked it. “Welcome to the world, Lachlan.”

[moonflowerlesbians]

I took a quick break from prompts to write 5000 words of pure angst. I hope you’ll forgive me. 

“we let precious time go by”

Read on AO3.

Summary: “The day will come when she returns to an empty flat, or she’ll wake to a cold pillow beside her. If she’s lucky, she’ll be there when the beast pounces. She’ll get to say goodbye. 

A piece of her will die that day, she knows. 

Dani will die that day.”

Word Count: 5088

They live together thirteen years after Bly. Thirteen wonderful years in a little flat in a small town in Vermont that looks like the spirit of Christmas itself retched on every building in the wintertime. They sell poinsettias and wreaths of holly for the holidays and budding perennials in the warmer months. They find the cheapest grocer, the best plumber, the man who drives into town selling fresh eggs on Wednesdays.

They befriend an elderly woman with three toy poodles, who stops by The Leafling every Sunday morning before mass to purchase flowers for her late husband’s grave, and they try not to think of Hannah. The daycare center three doors down marches the children to the park twice a day, right past the shop, and they try not to think of Rebecca and the Wingraves. They learn the quickest route to their favorite take-away place by heart, and they try not to think of Owen.

It’s hard, though, when your world’s been shattered and everyone else is carrying on as if nothing’s happened. But, thirteen years go by, and they manage. They manage, even as Dani becomes a bit less like herself every day, and Jamie struggles to pretend everything is fine. She pretends not to notice when she finds a sock in the freezer or Dani’s toothbrush between the couch cushions. Pretends not to notice when the lines on Dani’s face grow deeper, etched into her fair skin like stone, and she pretends not to notice when Dani wakes in the dead of night to gaze out the window for hours on end, then returns to bed as if she never left.

She’d brought it up with Dani over dinner. She had grasped Dani’s hand ever so gently, running a soothing thumb over the knuckles. Dani looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. Maybe she hadn’t. A tear tracked down her cheek and dropped onto her lap.

“Please, love, please let me help,” Jamie had begged, and she had never meant anything more in her life, save the night she had accepted Dani’s ring.

Dani had observed her sadly, centuries of knowledge weighing heavy behind her eyes. “You can’t.”

“Please, Dani.” She hadn’t meant to break down, she hadn’t. She had meant to be strong, a steadfast rock in a stormy sea.

“Jamie…” Dani’s voice had been soft, resigned. “It’s her.” She looked down at her clasped hands, as if unwilling to bear witness the damage sure to show on Jamie’s face.

This was meant to be dinner, a question about a frozen sock, an easy explanation. Just a little swamped with the shop’s finances. A natural remedy she had read about in a magazine. Not this. Anything but this.

Jamie had known the day might come, when the memories they’d repressed would reappear to haunt them like Peter fucking Quint. She had hoped with every fibre of herself that the ghastly woman from that terrible night at the lake would slumber for decades yet.

Christ, how long had the Lady been awake? How long had Dani kept this from her?

Dani had seemed to sense her question. She’d become too good at that as of late.

“Only a few months.”

A few months.

Jamie’s lips had tightened into a thin line, and she forced herself to swallow back a sob, eyes closed.  

“Dani, why-?”

Why didn’t you tell me?

Why now?

Why this?

Why them?

“You don’t deserve this,” Dani had said, and Jamie’s heart shattered. “It’s my burden, not yours--”

“No. No, no--”

“--I can’t ask you to take this on. I invited her in; I condemned myself, not you.”

“Stop, Dani, stop.”

“Jamie, please…” Dani had sounded so small, so broken. “You have to go.”

“No,” Jamie had refused outright. “Never.”

“Then me. I’ll leave.”

“No one is going bloody anywhere.” Jamie had been steely calm, even as her ribcage threatened to break with the effort. “You and I are staying right fucking here. You hear me, Dani? Right here.” She hadn’t been able to hide the crack on the final syllable. Her ring caught the warm glow of the kitchen light.

Jamie took a steadying breath. “When you came home with that wee plant, you know what I thought? I thought, ‘ah, shite, she’s gone and found another lost cause.’” Here, Jamie had given a small smile. “‘And I bloody love her for it.’”

Dani wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Haven’t got a clue how you always see the possibility in everything. No one’s too far gone to save with you around, Poppins. It’s exhausting, really,” Jamie had continued. “I took your ring, and I’ve never regretted it. Not once, yeah? Not once. I knew what I signed up for: lovin’ you, relentless optimism an’ all.” Her laugh had been watery. “So, we’re not goin’ anywhere. It’s us, yeah? Always has been, always will be.”

So Dani had stayed. And Jamie redoubled her efforts to support her.

She runs the errands on the evenings where the dark feels all too familiar and returns to Dani huddled beneath a fleece blanket. She wraps Dani in her arms and soothes the nightmares away with feather-light kisses. She’s there in every way she can be, never pressing, never rushing, and never letting Dani see just how utterly terrified she is.

To tell Dani would be to ruin the careful dynamic they’ve reached. Dani is scattered, rain moving with the wind; Jamie has to be grounded, a stake dug deep into the earth. But the slopes grow muddier the longer the rain pours, and dirt washes away, gone like a rushing stream. Jamie knows she can’t keep this up forever. She’s already lost so much, and her most important person is fading fast, swept up in the rising current.

She loves Dani to the stars and back. Which is why Jamie must bear this load alone. Dani is already carrying the sky on her shoulders, and Jamie cannot burden her with this.

Call her stupid, call her noble. She calls it mercy.

She knows she’s pulling the same shit Dani did not telling her that Her Royal Lakeness was stirring. She knows, and she resents herself for it. She also knows that Dani would look at her with such guilt for causing Jamie strife. Dani would try to mask her hurt to spare her wife, and Jamie’s gut wrenches at the thought. Her brow would crinkle, lips pursed, and Jamie would yearn to kiss the stress from her face.

Jamie is rewarded for her silence. Dani is getting better about vocalizing her nightmares, telling Jamie when the Lady makes an appearance as she slumbers. They embrace beneath the covers and speak between labored breaths, where Dani finally caves and Jamie does her best to hide the way she’s become afraid of the dark. She murmurs reassurances and tells herself they’re for Dani, pressing kisses into her forehead.

Dani sleeps tucked into Jamie’s side as though it’s enough to ward off the ghosts, a formidable wall against things that go bump in the night. She sleeps, and Jamie lies awake. Her defense is slipping. She can’t keep them both afloat.

She can try. She can hold out as long as Dani will have her. She will. She doesn’t know anything else. Jamie swears, she swears on her plants, she swears on her life, she swears to anyone who will listen that she will be there for Dani, even if she can’t be there for herself.

The weeks pass and more socks freeze, more toothbrushes go missing, and Dani drifts. Some days are better than others. Some days, Jamie’s Sisyphean task is easy, and Dani meets her at the top of the mountain with a flirty smile and sunshine on her greedy tongue, with hands that grab at Jamie’s belt and tug her shirt up and over her head. On those days, they feel like themselves.

But, on other days, days when the whole world is overcast and the tide is rising, they shutter the shop and lock the doors to their second-floor flat. They wear matching pajamas, while the television set plays classic cinema. Jamie makes tea; Dani still hasn’t mastered it in a decade, and Jamie doubts she ever will. Their legs tangle in a heap, ankles sliding along calves.

Jamie comes to rest her head on Dani’s sternum, allowing the beat of her heart to remind her that they’re here. Dani is here, breathing steadily and weaving their fingers together like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like they aren’t living borrowed years. Like Jamie’s mantra of one day at a time doesn’t feel like a splintered crutch beneath her arm, supporting the weight of an impossible situation.

Every day feels like the last, and Jamie hates it. She hates the feeling of inevitability that lurks just out of sight. The beast in the jungle, Dani had said. It prowls between streetlamps and seeks refuge in their walls, skittering away when Jamie shines a torch, only to return the instant she turns her back. The creature is waiting for something Jamie can never see, and it terrifies her. She cannot prevent what she cannot see. All she can do is wait, hopeless, at the mercy of a fucking ghost.

The day will come when she returns to an empty flat, or she’ll wake to a cold pillow beside her. If she’s lucky, she’ll be there when the beast pounces. She’ll get to say goodbye.

A piece of her will die that day, she knows.

Dani will die that day.

And, god, she feels so bloody selfish for thinking of her own fucking self-preservation when the woman she loves might one day disappear from the world, but, Christ, how can she be expected to go on like this? Just waiting for the days to pass until she’s alone again. Again.

She’s lost more people than she can count. Some to time, some to death, some to drink, some to the shelter of a warm embrace Jamie could not provide. Each loss is different, yet each brings about a sting that is painfully familiar. An old bedfellow she’s forced to accommodate. It settles in her bones, nestling into the hollow spaces between her ribs, cold and unwelcome. Once it latches on, it never truly leaves.

The ache is ever-present, a plate of steel, layering and building into a grim suit of armor that clashes and clanks and frightens people away with its noise, and, after a while, she forgets. Forgets what it’s like to be free of those reminders that she wasn’t good enough for people to stay. Wasn’t good enough for her parents, nor her foster parents. Wasn’t good enough for classmates and teachers who deemed her a waste of effort. Wasn’t good enough for women who hid themselves from the world or from their own judgment. Hell, she wasn’t even good enough for the prison system, released early on account of behavior.

She forgets how to breathe without each inhale taking the strength of someone who’s had a scarlet letter branded across her chest her whole life. Forgets how it feels to extend a hand in invitation without her own fear dragging her down, the fear that results from rejected companionship and harsh words. She forgets what it’s like to touch and be touched and to lay yourself bare before another, trusting that you are safe and wanted.

Dani had taken her proffered hand and held it to tender lips. She had glacially pried away nearly three decades of fine steel with the care of a dutiful lover, uncovering the origin of each piece as she went. She had never once flinched away, only nodded with sweet understanding and kissed Jamie a little more fervently that night.

Then, one day, Jamie had found herself the lightest she’d ever been, open and vulnerable beneath Dani’s affectionate gaze. She had breathed, and it had felt like a sigh. The old ache was not gone; it could never truly be banished. But the act of sharing her very soul, and receiving Dani’s in return, had turned bruises into mere memories and fear into excitement.

Her armor had sat, gathering dust in a corner of their life, no longer needed. She had been content to let Dani, or, rather, the security of their relationship, be her protection.

Now, though, with the ground they walk upon growing perilous, Jamie is defenseless. Her own beast hungers, prepared to strike with familiar claws, and Jamie loathes that she is reaching for her old guard. Loathes that she even considers distancing herself. That Dani cannot escape the cruelty of a fate brought on by selflessness, and Jamie is pondering how life will go on without her.

It feels so bloody selfish that it makes Jamie sick to her stomach. It’s only human to fret about the future, but this feels like an especially abominable twist of the knife. And Dani can never know. No, never. Jamie will be strong for her. She needs to be unwavering in her dedication to their love.

She manages, though it feels like standing in the middle of the road, watching a lorry drive toward her at a hundred kilometers an hour and choosing not to move out of the way. Rather, she plants her feet firmly on the asphalt and stares down what will surely splinter every bone in her body if it doesn’t kill her.

For Dani, she tells herself.

Dani, who startles at unseen reflections in their dishes and damn near scares the living daylights out of Jamie. There’s a haunted look in her eye, and, suddenly, Jamie can hear their countdown clock ticking away the seconds without Dani having to say a word. Her chest is heaving as Jamie steps in front of her, inspecting her for signs of physical harm, and blocking the faucet from her line of sight. Dani can’t meet her eye, craning her neck to see the sink.

Her voice is hoarse, ragged. “I saw her.”

No. No, no, no, no. Dreams are one thing. Dreams, Jamie can handle. Bad dreams can be banished with soothing caresses and warm tea, but this? They are both very much awake.

Breathe.

“What did you see?” Jamie seeks confirmation to calm her racing pulse.

Dani’s lip trembles, and she clutches frantically at the countertop. “Her.” It’s little more than a whisper, but the meaning is unmistakable. Dani continues, with painstaking deliberacy. “I keep seeing her.”

Christ. Keep seeing her? The sheer terror in Dani’s tone implies this isn’t the first time the ghost has appeared to her. But it is the first Jamie is hearing of it. No, not this again. Not Dani keeping from her the details of the most horrific secret of their lives.

She can’t stop to process this now. Dani is shaking, and Dani is frightened, and Dani needs her here, in this moment, not dwelling on what this means for the course of their lives.

Jamie turns the tap off and pulls the drain. “We’re gonna be okay. You can’t think the worst.” The words sound hollow, even to her own ears, but she tries, god, does she try to mean them with everything she has.

“Jamie…” Dani’s tone is warning.

Don’t lie to me.

I have to, love, Jamie thinks, I have to, or we’ll both give up, and I’m not ready.

“We could have so many more years together.”

Could.

It’s not technically a lie. ‘Could’ leaves room for uncertainty, the unpredictability of an entity so far beyond the scope of their control that they’d be institutionalized for suggesting such a thing exists. ‘Could’ allows them to pretend they aren’t trapped on a preordained path, walking side by side into inevitable grief. ‘Could’ is hope.

“It’s okay,” Jamie hears herself repeating. Distract. “I’ll do the washing up from now on, yeah? You’re shit at it, anyway.”

It earns her a weak chuckle from Dani, and it’s enough. Jamie holds her close, speaking soft comforts, though her stomach roils and knots. Dani trembles in her arms, and Jamie curls a soothing hand to the back of her head.

It’s going to be okay.

It isn’t.

It isn’t, and, deep down, Jamie knows it isn’t, but she holds onto the falsehood like it’s the only thing keeping her from drowning. She has to believe that there’s hope, that there is a chance for a future for them, because if she doesn’t, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. Her mind screams to prepare for the inevitable worst, but a part of her, that bright, sunshiney part, where she holds her fondest thoughts, tells her to pretend just a while longer.

She does. She does, because she loves Dani too much not to. They’ve been through far too much together for Jamie to withdraw now, when Dani needs her most.

She cannot control who lives and who dies. She said as much to Dani, years ago, in the forest behind the manor. Knowing that everything must come to an end dictates life’s joys. Temporality is the driving force of sanctity. The moments we hold most dear are the ones that have come to an end. They are forever preserved in amber memory, pressed between book pages, and flowing through veins. You are left warm, free to continue and free to leave more life behind in the hollows of lingering remorse.  

‘Live in the moment,’ say thousands of song lyrics. If only it were that simple. If only Jamie could simply ignore the consequences and allow herself to just exist with Dani in the life they’ve created. She can’t, though, and it is agonizing.

Instead, she dons the facade of a woman who believes that there is still good in the world, chances for miracles, despite countless experiences to the contrary. In private, she grieves a life she hasn’t yet lost.

Dani sees her shoulders shake only once, the day Jamie returns to a flooded flat and eerie silence and Dani with her face mere centimetres above the water in their overfilled bathtub. The tips of her hair are submerged, and her breath sends ripples across the surface. It’s unclear how long she’s been hunched over the side of the tub, but judging by the pool around her, quite a while. Jamie turns off the tap and draws Dani back onto her heels. Dani lets out a panicked gasp, and her eyes dart around the room before they finally flick to Jamie and back to the water.

“Do you see her?” Dani rasps, returning to her position bent over the rim.

Jamie peers into the tub, too, unsure of what she might find. She does not know whether to be elated or dismayed when only Dani’s heterochromatic reflection stares back at her.

“I only see you,” Jamie says, and it seems to pull Dani from wherever she’s been. The sleeves of her bathrobe are soaked, and she notices the puddle around her knees. She stammers an apology, but Jamie could not care less. Dani sags against Jamie’s firm grip on her upper arm.

Her voice comes subdued, as if each syllable takes monumental effort. “I’m so tired, Jamie.”

Jamie understands. She feels it, too, the toll this has taken on the both of them. The constant glances over her shoulder, always on alert for any sign of danger, living their lives like prey. She cannot hope to equate her exhaustion with Dani’s, but she understands all the same.

Dani continues, using such frightful terms as “fade away,” and it’s all Jamie can do to swallow the lump in her throat and the tightness in her chest. Dani sounds so timid, so lost, and she’s looking to Jamie for answers she hasn’t the faintest notion how to find and the soil is eroding and the current is quickening and it all becomes too much.

“You’re still here,” she says, like that will make everything alright. The wet tile seeps into her trousers, cold and clammy.

“It’s like I see you right in front of me,” Dani says softly, “and I feel you touching me. And, every day, we’re living our lives, and I’m aware of that, and it’s like I don’t feel it all the way.” She readjusts to study the water again. “I’m not even scared of her anymore. I just stare at her, and,” Dani takes a shuddering breath, “it’s getting harder and harder to see me.”

Jamie’s already strained resolve is rent in two. All of the air is sucked out of her lungs at once, and her heart constricts. She cannot help the well of tears that rises behind her eyes and threatens to spill over. She needs to be resilient, needs to set her emotions aside. For Dani.

But Dani is nodding. She’s nodding and crying and saying things like, “Maybe I should just accept that and go.” It’s excruciatingly similar to the conversation they’d had at the dinner table, all those many months ago.

And Jamie breaks. “No. No, no, no.” Her thumb rubs circles into Dani’s wrist. “Not yet.”

You can’t leave me. I’m not ready.

“Jamie…” Dani says in that same, horrid, broken tone, and suddenly, Jamie knows. Their hourglass contains mere grains. They are nearing the end, and it hurts, and the pain is so much worse than she could have ever anticipated.

Dani has all but given up, and Jamie is fucking furious.

Not with Dani. Never with Dani.

Rather, Jamie has a bone to pick with the universe and its sense of righteousness. There’s no such thing as fairness in the world, as has been proven to her time and time again. But this? This is shit, and it’s not fucking fair. Just this once, she’d like to strike a bargain. Allow her to be selfish, just this once. Allow her to remain at Dani’s side until they grow old and grey and their eyes fail and their joints creak. Allow her this one thing, and she will never ask for anything again.

The universe, in all its cruelty, remains silent, and Jamie resents it even more. She resents the set of circumstances that led them to this point, Dani tearful on the bathroom floor. She resents the world that made the woman she loves hurt in unfathomable ways. She resents that the most marvelous woman Jamie has ever met has been reduced to a shell of herself, harboring an invisible intruder.

She resents that all she has to offer is herself, when Dani deserves so much more. It’s all Jamie has, though, and maybe, this time, it will be enough.

“If you can’t feel anything,” she says, voice wavering, “then I’ll feel everything for the both of us.” Dani opens her mouth with quivering lips to speak and is cut off. “But no one is going anywhere. Okay? You’re still here.” A tear escapes, tracing a trail down her cheek.

“What if,” Dani whispers, more afraid than Jamie has ever seen her, “I’m here, sitting next to you. But I’m just really her?”

Jamie chokes down a sob. She exhales. “One day at a time.”

They clean up the water and blow out the candles and eat a quiet meal of pasta and sauce from a jar, holding hands all the while, as if any loss of contact would be to admit defeat. Dani is here, and Jamie is here, and they are together, and when they lay in the dark that night, they do not sleep.

Jamie hovers over Dani, pressing gentle kisses to every bit of skin she can reach. Dani’s eyelids, her knuckles, her wrists. The hollow on the underside of her knee, her clavicle, the sensitive patch just below her ear. Anything to reassure Dani that she can still feel, she is loved, and she is safe. The act is not erotic, nor is it meant to be.

She pours every ounce of passion into every caress, touching Dani as if it was the first time. She endeavors to convey her message, clear as crystal, that Dani is the single most important thing in her life. Their love is all that matters. For this one night, let them forget about ghosts and manors and lost friends and be wholly present in this moment of solemn intimacy.

Jamie commits every kiss to memory, savoring Dani’s smooth skin beneath her lips. The way she sighs and whimpers when Jamie finds a particularly tender spot, the way she relaxes into Jamie’s embrace when they finally settle, a leg thrown haphazardly between Jamie’s thighs, her face pressed just above Jamie’s breast, sending small puffs of air against Jamie’s sleepshirt.

Dani sleeps, and Jamie’s mind wanders to all the words she wishes she could say. She sighs them into the night air, a hand cupping the nape of Dani’s neck.

I love you, she thinks, and I’m going to lose you, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. She inhales the faintly floral scent of Dani’s shampoo. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair that you’re going to go, and I have to go on without you. Think of me, Dani. Think of me and stay because I can’t explain to your mother what’s happened to you. Stay, because I’m not ready for our life to end.

She’s crying, now, and her tears dampen the top of Dani’s head as she tries to remain still.

You’re in pain. I see it, love, and I never, never want you to hurt. You’ve been so damn brave. You’ve fought so hard. For yourself. For us. I will be forever grateful for the time you’ve given me. You are everything I never thought I could have, my love.

Dani stirs against her with a hushed, confused noise. “Jamie? Wha-?”

“Go back to sleep, baby,” Jamie murmurs, her eyes shut tight. Dani nuzzles into her chest, and only when her breathing evens out once more does Jamie release the tension from her limbs.

Rest, sweetheart, you’ve earned it.

Three days go by, and Jamie spends them at Dani’s side. They walk the streets of their little Vermont town, and they greet the old woman with her three toy poodles. They watch the line of children toddle by on their way to the park, shepherded by exasperated adults, and share a smile. They wrap themselves in blankets and bundle on the sofa, Jamie with a book and Dani with a crochet project that Jamie’s been teasing her about finishing. The tea is hot, and the company is good, and Jamie is happy. The rain comes down against their windows, but they are shielded from the deluge, though the soil outside turns to slick mud.

The sun rises on the fourth day, and Jamie blinks awake. The pillow is soft under her head, and she is loath to move. She reaches a tentative hand to Dani’s side of the bed to pull her closer, but she finds the sheets are cold. Jamie’s stomach leaps to her throat. She sits up, peering around their room, listening for any sign that Dani has simply risen early. The clock on the bedside table reads six-thirty-eight in the morning. Beside it, a single sheet of paper folded in half.

Perhaps Dani has run to the coffeehouse to bring back breakfast. Perhaps she has gone for a walk. Perhaps she has done anything except Jamie’s worst fear come to fruition, but what Jamie knows in her soul to be true. She takes a steadying breath as she examines the thing in her hands. With shaking fingers, she unfolds the note.

The script is slanted, a mixture of cursive and print, as if written in a hurry. The ink has smeared in places, where the page appears to have been wet. Dani’s normally neat lettering is scattered.

Jamie,

I can’t risk you.

Not for one more day.

I love you.

Dani

Her heart stops.

The silence is deafening. Her whole world narrows to the thin yellow paper in her hand. Her last piece of the woman she loves.

She knows what has happened. She knows where Dani would go, where Dani has gone, deep in her core. But she has to be certain.

It is her first plane ride without Dani. She spends the six-hour flight clutching the armrest, knuckles white, as she looks straight ahead. The flight attendant has the decency to only appear mildly perplexed by Jamie’s lack of luggage. When she lands, Jamie can only nod at the cabbie’s futile attempts at conversation.

She gazes up at the daunting manor house, its brick overgrown with English ivy. The grounds lay vacant. The path to the lake is unkept, yet she treads it anyway, past the church, past the cemetery, slowing as the water comes into sight.

How badly she wants to be wrong. How badly she wants to return home and find Dani worried out of her beautiful mind.

The water is unseasonably warm, but that does not stop the chill that permeates Jamie’s bones. She swims out as far as she can bear before holding her breath and plunging below the surface. It’s nigh torturous to keep her eyes open, but she needs to see. She needs to be sure.

Everything is blurry through the liquid lens, fuzzy around the edges. Something stands out from the landscape of green and blue. A spot of porcelain and red against a backdrop of emerald.

No.

Jamie shakes her head.

No, please, no.

But it is.

And she screams. She screams out thirteen years of rage and sadness and grief and frustration and love. The sound is muted, but she does not care. Dani is gone, and she is alone and it burns and stings like nothing Jamie has ever felt.

Everything Jamie could give, she gave. It wasn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. Nothing will bring Dani back.

She rises to the surface with a cry, paddling to the muddy shoreline and crawling up the bank to collapse in the shallows. Her ring rests heavy on her left hand. A reminder of promises made. Eternity.

Together. They were supposed to stay together.

It’s us. Always has been, always will be. That’s what we said, Poppins.

She gasps, taking in great lungfuls of air that Dani will never breathe again. Her hair hangs limply, plastered to the sides of her face. She shivers, but she cannot move.

She sits in the shallows of the lake at Bly Manor, and she weeps.

Dani is dead.

And Jamie is alone.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety Six

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

April 2nd, 1999

Emile shifted in his seat, looking apprehensively at the therapist across the room. Just because he wanted to be a therapist when he grew up didn’t mean he knew how he was going to be one, or what they were like. “Promise me this won’t stop me from getting whatever job I want in the future?” Emile asked hesitantly.

The therapist laughed. “I promise,” he said. “Even if you want to be a doctor, there’s no psychological evaluation you have to pass in order to get the job. You’re safe to speak freely here. What’s been going on, Emile?”

Emile took a breath, tried to sort through the mental breakdowns he had witnessed and experienced, the crushing pressure, and the blinding fear. “It’s kind of a lot...”

“Well, let’s start with what comes to mind first,” the therapist encouraged. “There’s no wrong answers here.”

  February 16th, 2004

Emile braced himself as he heard Remy come down the stairs. He had gotten Remy to agree to see a therapist after his latest nightmare, but he was expecting some sort of fight this morning over it, now that Remy was more clear-headed. Emile wasn’t looking forward to it.

Remy came down the steps, peered into the kitchen. “I have a condition about therapy,” he said.

...Well. That wasn’t quite what Emile was expecting, but still wasn’t a great sign. “What?” he asked.

“You find a therapist too,” Remy said. “I need one, and I’m finally man enough to admit it. But you need one too, mio amore, I can see the stress in you constantly building and you need a healthy release for it that isn’t venting to me.”

Emile felt his grip on his coffee cup tighten, and he was almost willing to call off Remy getting therapy despite the near-constant nightmares making both of them unable to sleep through the night. Almost. “Why do you think that I need therapy?” he asked.

Remy sniffed a little laugh. “Have you seen yourself lately, mio amore?”

Emile was, admittedly, a little hurt at that. He thought he had been doing good. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

Remy sobered. “It means I’m not the only one jumping at shadows or drowning myself in distractions in order to cope with the day-to-day, Emile. You do that too, in a different way. I may need therapy for my parents, but you need therapy for your grandfather, and probably some other things that I don’t have the words to explain. You put the weight of the world on your shoulders, Emile. Let others help you with that.”

“But I...” Emile paused. He couldn’t find the words to explain the emotions he was feeling. “I thought I was doing good, this time.”

“You’re surviving, sure,” Remy said. “But wouldn’t you prefer to thrive?”

“I mean, sure. But—”

“—No but’s,” Remy said. “If you want to do better, you need to see a therapist too.”

Emile felt his heart sink. “Okay, I guess,” he said, nodding.

Remy tilted his head to the side. “What’s bugging you, Emile?”

“It’s just...I really thought I was doing good,” Emile said. “I didn’t think I was...I was failing.”

Remy tutted. “Mio amore... you didn’t fail. This isn’t a personal failing. It’s asking for help when something gets too much, right?”

“Right, but this isn’t too much!” Emile insisted.

Remy walked over to the coffee pot and poured his own cup. He took a nice, long drink from it, before staring down Emile. “I would argue that any amount of stress that prevents you from thriving is too much,” he said evenly.

Emile blinked. Remy had a point. He knew that. What was keeping him from seeking out therapy? Was it personal pride? A stigma against it?

“You don’t have to be perfect, remember, Emile?” Remy said. “You don’t need to be perfect. And you have my permission to fail. If you see yourself going to therapy as a failure, so be it. I gave you that permission months ago.”

“You know, if I didn’t know it would kill you, I would insist that you go to school and become a therapist,” Emile joked. “Because you’re getting scary good at this logic.”

Remy smirked, just a bit. “Thank you, Emile. That means a lot. To know I can get through that head of yours is...reassuring.”

“Yeah, I can be an idiot when it comes to my own mental health,” Emile laughed.

Remy didn’t. “That’s not very nice of you to say.”

Emile shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” Remy said. “You’re being wrong and mean. Stop it.”

Emile shook his head, holding his hands out. “It’s just a joke, Rem.”

“It’s a self-deprecating joke that you use for self-defense, and I won’t have it!” Remy said. “Stop it. Be nice to yourself.”

Emile was sulking a little bit in response. “What if I don’t wanna be nice to myself?” he muttered.

“Then your mental state is clearly one which needs a therapist,” Remy replied simply. “Which, speaking of. We should find one.”

Emile felt his skin crawl. Why was he more uppity about finding a therapist than Remy? “It doesn’t have to be right away,” Emile sighed. “It can wait.”

“Do you really want me dealing with more nightmares?” Remy asked.

“Well, no...”

“Then it can’t wait,” Remy said. “What you’re trying to say is, ‘But I’m not the crazy one.’”

“You’re not crazy!” Emile snapped. “Don’t say that you are!”

“I’m looking for a therapist, Emile. Doesn’t that qualify as crazy?” Remy goaded.

Emile was shaking, finishing the last of his coffee and nearly smashing the mug into the counter. “I know what you’re trying to do, Remy, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Emi. Look at me,” Remy instructed.

Out of shock at the rarely-used nickname, Emile did so.

Remy had a mix of anger and pain and sorrow in his eyes, all burning with a fire of determination. “I know you’ve spoken to therapists to get a sense of the job before. But I’ve spoken to them too, and actually asked after some people at the shop, seeing what the shrinks and their partners say the best form of support I can give you is. And you know what they said? ‘You help as much as you can, but if you can’t handle everything, direct him to another therapist.’ Therapists see other therapists, Emile. Even, no, especially ones who are as empathic as you. You care so much about everyone, it wouldn’t shock me if you had to talk to someone to make sure that you didn’t burn yourself out with worry. Finding a therapist a little early is better; that preventative measure is already in place!”

“But I shouldn’t have to!” Emile protested. His eyes were growing hot with tears, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I should be able to handle it! I’ve been able to handle it until now! I should be fine!”

Remy placed his hands on Emile’s shoulders. “Okay, I think we’re on different pages here, Emile. What should you be fine about?”

Emile hiccupped, looked away. “My grandfather,” he choked out, voice thick with tears. “He shouldn’t bother me as much as he does. Especially considering I’m talking to him over Spring Break.”

Remy blinked. “Hold up. You agreed to see him and didn’t tell me?”

“It didn’t seem like it would be a problem, and then you had all that stuff with your parents and I sorta...forgot for a while,” Emile said, flushing. “But that’s not the point!”

“Sure it is. It explains why you were so stressed for the past couple days. I know you took a call from your mom. She was probably relaying a message for you, right?” Remy asked.

Emile nodded, blushing. “I didn’t realize he got under my skin so much. I really am—” at Remy’s warning glance, he paused. “—Not monitoring my mental health well enough to recognize that.”

“I’ll allow that—for now,” Remy said. “Mio amore, come on. Even you acknowledged this is bothering you. It won’t stop you from becoming a therapist, if anything, it’ll give you resources for when the going gets tough. Just...help me find one for you, and you can help find one for me. Okay?”

Emile sighed. “All right.”

The two of them went to the office computer and searched for therapists in the area, each of them writing down a couple numbers to call when they got the time. Emile drove Remy to the shop, and then drove himself to school. He was fidgety. He couldn’t deny that the talk with his grandfather was coming up faster than he would have liked. He knew it was promising that his grandfather wanted to talk to him at all, but he couldn’t help but think of all the times he had butted heads with Remy’s mother. He kept replacing her with his grandfather and thinking how that would have felt.

His grandfather sneering and saying, “My grandson doesn’t associate with queers,” to Remy.

His grandfather lecturing him about how marriage was supposed to be, and not being with a woman went against God’s plan for him.

His grandfather showing up at their house, guilt-tripping him into trying to call off his marriage with Remy. Fuck. Emile wouldn’t do it, but if that didn’t hurt like all hell!

He was starting to understand why Remy was so traumatized through the years, and why he thought Emile needed therapy. Emile was shaking and breathing funny and...and he wasn’t calming down. Those thoughts just kept repeating over and over and before he knew it, his thoughts were drowning out the real world again. He mechanically walked to class, tears fogging up his glasses. When he sat down, one of his classmates gently shook him. He blinked, only being able to see Clara clearly for a second before the tears came back. “Christ, Emile, did Remy do this to you?” she hissed. “Do I need to give him a what-for?”

“N-n-n-no,” Emile stammered out. “Gr-Gr-Gr-Gra-andp-p-p—”

He couldn’t finish the title before Clara shushed him. “It’s okay, Emile. What about your grandfather?”

“He and I...talk...March...” Emile managed.

“What?! Why?!”

Emile shrugged, his breathing picking up.

“Oh, okay. Is that why you’re panicking?” Clara asked.

Emile nodded, beet red in embarrassment but thankful that Clara understood.

“It’ll be okay,” she said. “I won’t try and predict what he’ll want to talk about, but he won’t be trying to hurt you, no matter what he says. He loves you too much for that.”

Which meant, at the very least, he wouldn’t get physical. And that was nice. But it still left too many variables.

Clara glanced around, and said, “Class is about to start. Do you need to ditch today? Or can we talk after class?”

“Af-after,” he stammered.

Clara nodded.

Class went on, and Emile took the best notes he could in his current state. He knew others were giving him weird looks at him not taking the chance to pounce on all the questions, but Clara sitting right next to him, and asking plenty of questions herself buffered the effect a little bit.

After class, Clara and Emile hung back in the hallway, Emile no longer on the brink of a panic attack, but completely worn out and only semi-verbal. “Let’s make this easy,” Clara said. “Yes and no questions, okay?”

Emile nodded.

“Would your Grandfather knowingly hit you?”

Emile shook his head.

“Would he start yelling at you and calling you names for marrying Remy?”

That wasn’t his grandfather’s style. Emile shook his head.

“Would he try and force your hand to get you to call off the marriage?” Clara asked.

Emile hesitated. He didn’t know. And that was where his anxiety was stemming from. He might have to say “no” to his grandfather, for the first time in a very long time. His breathing was starting to pick up again, and the only word he could choke out, over and over again, was, “Panic! Panic panic panic panic—”

Clara put a finger to her lips and Emile pressed a fist against his mouth. “Well, I see where the anxiety stems from, as, clearly, do you,” she said. “Tell me this, Emile: has your grandfather ever tried to take something away from another person if he knew it made them happy?”

Emile shook his head. He genuinely couldn’t think of a time where that applied.

“Then he won’t take Remy away from you. Because Remy makes you happy. And yeah, I don’t know him. I know you think I can’t make that guarantee. But think about it. Would he really try something like that?”

Emile was pretty sure he knew the answer. His grandfather wouldn’t try that. He might make it clear that he never wanted to speak to Emile again, but he wouldn’t force Emile to call off the marriage. Sure, that option hurt, but at least it was realistic. “Thanks, Clara,” he breathed.

Clara nodded and smiled. “Of course, Emile.”

[carelessgraces]

@acercontego​: ( original )

it has not been an easy week. that is said as an understatement, murmured to himself in the privacy of his office. he gathers the items needed, sliding them neatly into his briefcase as he focuses his thoughts on his client that he was supposed to meet with his partner in the next fifteen. he’s never late, but it’s hard to focus, and ben will stop for a moment, placing both palms of his hands on his desk, closing his eyes as he breathes.

his brother showing up after twenty years of little to no contact. the phone calls from both his mother and father respectively. the lack of sleep: he’s tried a few pills, but nothing helps keep him down until daylight. so he has resorted to working more - quite literally around the clock, with a few naps peppered in. hasn’t so much as been home to his loft as he has made almost a second home in his office. he always had a clean button down in his office for emergencies anyways. the cases that keep piling up - he is a stubborn man, and though he certainly has the manpower, he does want to keep abreast as many cases as he can, preferring to lead when his schedule allows.

it was always about control - every aspect of his life was, and he was now doing everything he can to stay afloat. one thing at a time. another inhale of a slow breath and he rises, only to feel a sudden dizziness overwhelm him, causing him to falter, shutting his eyes briefly as he tries to wait for his world to center back. but it doesn’t, and instead, he feels a hard pressure, pain striking into chest. feels it spread to his arms, his back and though logically he thinks he knows what’s happening, still feels that that is exactly what is not happening.

and the last thing he thinks before he loses consciousness is: finally.

Hi, is this Astoria? Astoria Grimani? I’m calling about Ben Callahan, he’s — he’s — 

     She wonders sometimes how people get chosen for these jobs. Calling the emergency contact to let them know that somebody’s quite possibly dropped dead seems like something that gets assigned to you. Traffic had been a nightmare when she’d slipped out of the press conference, and so a cab would have taken way too long to get her to the hospital, and so she’d taken the subway, and if this isn’t real love she doesn’t know what is. 

     Her phone is almost dead, but she’d bought a charger in the hospital gift shop, and a very tall cup of coffee to follow from the cafeteria. The cup is empty, now, sitting on the chipped tray table beside his bed, next to the phone, charging. For her part, Astoria is sitting at his bedside, head propped up in her hand, elbow resting on one of the bed’s side railings, eyes falling closed every few minutes before her head slips and she jerks awake again. 

     — one of the junior associates found him and called 911, and he’s on his way to the hospital. I don’t know if he’s going to be okay, I mean, I know he’s been working so much more than usual, but I didn’t realize — oh, god. 

     If anything can be said about Astoria, it’s that she can keep her head in a crisis. It’s why she’s never going to be out of a job: politicians are stupid, and need someone to hand-hold them and clean up their messes, and she’s damn good at it. So she comforts the secretary on the phone between barking orders to her assistant, and she comforts the senator when he calls later for an update, and she somehow refrains from calling Ben’s family to inform them that she is, personally, going to push them into oncoming traffic if they ever so much as look at him funny again, and so help her God, she means it. 

     The problem is that crisis management is only useful when there’s a crisis. When it’s the waiting in between, she starts thinking things like I should have seen this coming, I should have tried to help more, Jesus Christ, I have never failed as badly as I’ve failed at being a decent girlfriend, why the fuck do people date me? and how the fuck am I supposed to make sure he’s going to be okay in the future? I can’t cook and we work in politics, why didn’t he date a nice girl who does something a little less stressful, like hostage negotiation —

     Her elbow slips off the railing and she startles herself awake for the thousandth time, just as the phone next to her vibrates, and she catches sight of the time. It’s just before four AM, and she’s already outright bribed two nurses who reminded her that only family was permitted to stay outside of visiting hours.

     ( “I am his family,” Astoria had said finally, and at that point, she was tired enough to start crying. “Jesus Christ. I am his family.” The crying hadn’t even been planned, but it worked all the same. ) 

     She hears the change in his breathing as she’s popping a piece of gum into her mouth, hears it before she sees him start to stir. Immediately, all thought of sleep flees, and Astoria runs a hand through her hair. Her assistant had arrived with a change of clothes and something to get her makeup off and a hairbrush, so at least he’s not going to wake up to the sight of the world’s most questionable girlfriend with hours-old mascara tears and a sad, rumpled blazer. She waits, breath held, until he looks her way, and when he does she lets out a full-body sigh of relief. 

     “Morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?”

[off-in-the-moors]

TRC rewrite: Never to be finished scene

Part 3 of my K analyses is slowly eating me out, not in the “Oh, I can’t deal with this~“ but more writing block. While looking through material, I found this scene to the rewrite stuff I was doing. Like “You’ll be fine“, this was a removed scene I was writing for fun. It’s noting big but it plays with character dynamics.

Context: It’s somewhat beginning of TDT and the gang (minus Blue) is trying to figure-out something about the Cabeswater problem, until someone is mentioned.

Ronan loved the idea of summer vacations. To stay all night and watch the stars, to races until the engine over heats, to live, to burn, to finally be. Not school to bug him, no Declan to nag him. Just him and his dreams.

But the last thing he wanted, was to stay late into the night and think about the Cabeswater problem.

They sat around their crooked table, covered in the chaotic mess of Gansey's research and plans. Crinkled maps and strings tied and knotted into a web of secrets yet to uncover, crumbling books and tapes holding up their whole world. Gansey's world. Everything was connected and yet, nothing was.

Lighted only by the few small lamps they had moved from their rooms, the only non-artificial glow in the Manufacturing, they seem almost ancient but real. Too real for Ronan’s taste.

Above the scratched wooden surface, Gansey in his old-man's pajamas, tried to draw on the map of Henrietta a straight line for the fourth time. One and erase, two and erase. His fingers banged on the table between each try, just to do something productive.

Ronan's eyes followed the previous attempts, now faint on pale colors from erasing, trying to understand Gansey's thinking. He slouched down in his chair, burying his head and arms inside his oversized sleep-hoodie. He looked up at Gansey, tired and barely standing from lack of sleep.

One more attempt. A smile spread on his friend's face.

- Here. - he finally said, he's voice almost a whisper.

They could talk louder but didn't. Any louder and Gansey's splitting headache would return.

- If my calculations are right- - They probably aren't. - Ronan cut in, leaning back in his chair. He felt Chainsaw moving in his hood. - The main line goes through here. - he continued like he didn't hear anything. - So we need more. - More what? - Power.

Ronan rolled his eyes.

- It has power. - he grunted. -  It flows like it should. - But the forest is in half. Literal half. Not enough to be whole. - And how you want to get more from already awaken line? - By fixing it. Fixing the flow. - How?

Gansey blinked. He looked around for something and finally found Adam walking through the room with a mug.

- Adam? - Call Blue. - he walked pass them. - Adam.

He stopped and sighed.

He put down his mug on a cupboard, their drinking station, and when back to them.

It was Saturday night, the eve of Adam Parrish's freedom day. Still in his dirty jumpsuit, half-open and tied around his waist, and his wash-out red shirt, there was the rare relaxation in his posture. Tomorrow, he'll sit in his room and finish one of his borrowed books, or disappear in the morning and return for dinner.

But it was still today.

He pulled himself a chair and sat down. Crossing his arms on his chest, he tilted his head back, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

No one made any sound, only the distend clock made its quiet ticks.

His body was motionless, frozen in place, with only his chest rising and falling.

Ronan could feel the unease in the air, he moved his eyes from Adam to Gansey.

Dick watched Adam carefully, rolling pencil in his hands, he was as worried as Ronan. Neither of them liked the idea of Adam and Cabeswater being connected in anyway. They didn't know what the forest was and how Glendower fit into it, but it was the only chance they had to find him.

Ronan glanced back at Adam, feeling anxiety building up inside him, slowly over flowing. He breath in, weeks old dust and used books, blooming mint plants and dried coffee stains. All familiar, all safe. But under it, leaking into the room, was something making his heartbeat dangerously pick up. The smell of fresh moss, evergreens and oaks, mushrooms hidden under mulch. The living and the decaying.

He felt Chainsaw climbed up and cuddling into his neck. He gently stroked her beak, shushing her and himself.

Suddenly, Adam's face twisted. Violently straight up in his sit, he opened his eyes and covered his left ear.

- Okay, okay. - he massaged his deaf ear. - That's enough. Thank you. Thank you. I'll tell them. Thank you, now hush.

Chainsaw cawed, moving even closer to Ronan's neck. He covered her with his hand. "Shh" he told her.

- Adam? - Gansey asked, reaching out to him. Adam raised his hand. He stood up, he's legs were shaking, and went to the cupboard. - It's the flow problem mostly, not enough energy to fully manifest. - he turned on the electric kettle. - Correcting it should partly do the trick. - But how to fix it? - We already know this, Parrish. - Ronan rolled his eyes. - Thanks for being late to the party. - I'm only repeating what it, wants to say, I think. - he stressed, massaging his ear again. - Christ, - he muttered. - Nine years of normal life, and now it's full of sleeping welsh men, magic lines and "Dude, my friend is a ghost!". No offence, Noah. - he said to the air.

Noah wasn't there, or he wasn't visible, or he was wondering around Henrietta. It was never sure with him, the only certain thing was: He was here.

- And - Adam continued. He pour some coffee and sugar in the mug. - I'm now a secretary of a talking forest. - Only nine? - Ronan grinned. - You know, - he scratched his cheek, sounding like he didn’t wanted to answer him. - I once believed in Easter Bunny. - Of all things, - he chuckled. - Easter Bunny? - Don't. - he pointed a spoon at him. - Don't tell me you dreamed the Easter Bunny. - Jeez, Parrish, I don't waste my sleep on kid stuff. - Yes, Easter Bunny, - Gansey bugged in. - But did you caught how to fix the line? - Gansey, - Adam said in a tone only a parent would. - Maybe I'll get you on the line with Mr. Waters to talk it over some tea and try to decipher a hive of voices and rustling, I barely understand, yourself? - So, no? - No clue.

The kettle clicked.

Adam pour it into his mug and stir. Without thinking, he stuck his two fingers into a pot of one of the mint plants.

He sighed.

- Gansey, did you water the mints like I asked you?

He paused. Hovering over the maps, he thought for a long bit, just to answer:

- When was it?

Adam shook his head and grabbed a bottle of water.

- Dicky, - Ronan pretended to be offended. - Not even Richard Mentha Gansey IV? How can you treat your son like that? - Ronan. - At least, Sargent Pepper is getting better. - announced Adam. He rubbed a leaf between his finger. - No more sugar for you. - he whispered to it. - So, - Ronan turned to Gansey. - Back to square one? - No, no, we're not. - he protested, grabbing his journal and flipping pages rapidly. - There are still leads we didn't check, like if the type of shells mean anything or the lake- - For fucks sake, Dick, - he grunted. - We have time- - No, we don't. In few days, I'm off to my parent with Adam and you with Blue have your problems. Tomorrow we- - You, Dick, you. - he corrected him. - I'm going to church and to a family dinner. Blue has her family time. Adam- - I'm busy. - Adam admitted. - Adam has "me time". Maybe ask Noah but I'm doubting he wants to spend his time with you in a library. Chill, Glendower is not going anywhere.

Gansey looked him in the eyes, something inside him crashed and couldn't recover. Ronan knew, Glendower was his life work, to find him, to see the magic and mystery. Ever since they knew each other, he never cared about the wish, he wanted to know, why he survived.

He sat down and laid his head on his arms, sighing. Tired and defeated. His King was crumbling before his eyes.

Maybe... he could just dream him a new one?

- There is something else. - Adam interrupted them. - But I don't understand it. - What? - Gansey asked, looking up and grinning like a idiot. - Cabeswater was repeating something. - he continued. - But I don’t... It sounded something like... Ag draenáil? - Ag what? - Draining. - said Ronan. They both looked at him. - It's Irish. - And "se" or "ef". - HE. - Ronan and Gansey shot at once. - So, somebody is draining the power.

Adam and Gansey looked at Ronan. Chainsaw cawed, backing up in the hood.

- I don't know. - he moved his head to the sides. - Maybe. Who knows? It would make some sense, I'm sure it isn't coming from nowhere, but even if, I haven't dream anything in few days. - Ronan. - Adam's voice was flat but yet demanding. - I swear. - Lynch. - The last thing I dreamed was a made up Blink-182 album for Noah. - You never listen to them. - Gansey reminded him. - How did it turn out? - Well, it was a weird mash-up of Twenty One Pilots and Maroon 5. - Dear Lord. - he groan. - It wasn't that bad. - That's all? - Adam pushed. - Mostly yes.

He didn't want to talk about the nightmares, nor the car keys, or the dead bugs and papers. Patches of asphalt between moss and the feeling of burning. Of wanting to burn...

- So, it's not you. Mostly.

Gansey slapped his hands on the table. He and Adam flinched.

- He. - he pointed at a box, standing next to the front door.

Ronan swallowed. The box was full of fake IDs, leather bracelets and campaign badges announcing "They can't lick our Dick" and "We like Dick". Perfect forgeries. They weren't for him, well not in that sense, it was a warning for Gansey. Or rather a reminder, that he only understood a fraction of him and dreaming.

- Kavinsky? - Ronan asked like he didn't know. - And who else? He surely knows his stupid parties are effecting my- our quest. - he corrected himself. - He's doing everything to spite me. - He likes your reactions. - he tried not to smile. - He is a... - he bite his tongue. - Arrogant, doofus, thinking he's the King of Henrietta, like life is just a music video. The next thing I know, he'll be selling his stupid drugs to the police officers- - Gansey, - Adam scolded him flatly. Not even turning to face them, he continued. - Stop talking about Joseph, like he's the devil incarnated. The worst he does, is his parties. All he talks about is cars and races, races and cars, cocktails and surprisingly, classical literature. - he paused. - But anyways, he's not interested in Glendower, I would even argue, he doesn't even know who Owain Glyndŵr is.

Both Ronan and Gansey stayed silent, as their friend drank his coffee.

- You know Kavinsky? - Ronan shot. Something wasn't right. - Know him?

Adam turned to them, slowly sipping his drink. He looked tired, it wasn't something new but Ronan could swear there was something else in his gaze.

- Yes. - You're joking, - Gansey chuckled but smile quickly disappeared. - Right? - How? - Ronan couldn't comprehend it. - Didn't saw you and him be buddy-buddy at school- - Nor you. - Adam rolled his eyes. - Or you're not saying something, Parrish. - Ronan. - Gansey warned him.

Their eyes meet, blue and grey. The boiling water and the rain-clouds. Ronan didn't know why he was getting angry, there was nothing to get angry about. He felt Chainsaw pulling on his collar, trying to distracted him.

- If you’re so... curious, he always comes to the garage at the end of my shift. - he was calm. - His Mitsubishi beat up or missing some parts. Or just wanting to talk. - he shrugged, tacking a sip. - Quite an asshole. I get why you like him. - I don't! - Ronan. - Gansey whimpered, covering his head with his hands. - Please, don't yell. - Anyways, - Adam continued, unbothered. - He's fine. What, Lynch? Surprised, I know people?

He couldn't articulate his thought, they were racing each other.

A blur.

- Not him. Anyone, but him. He's dangerous and fucking reckless, Parrish, what if he gets you in trouble at school? You can already wave your scholarship bye-bye. Or shit, with police? You'll be weight-off all your jobs, have to sell Noah's Mustang to pay off everything and than get kick out of Aglionby. You can't be friends with him!

Adam flinched a bit but remained calm. He raised an eyebrow, glaring at him.

- What a hypocrite. - he slammed the mug down. Gansey groaned even louder. - Listen, Lynch. Let me decide, who I'm friends with. I know, what I'm doing, I know the risk. - But- - But what? - he cut in. - Pissed that Joseph isn't just yours little secret?

Ronan didn't response. Squeezing the table's edge, his knuckles when pale, he could barely sit in place. Chainsaw buried herself into his neck, cawing softly she was doing her best to keep him calm.

He hated that Adam's face didn't change, they could as well be talking about the weather with his melancholic expression. Understand, understand, he didn't understand a thing.

- You won't answer me? - Adam asked, tilting his head. - Fine. - he shrugged, crossing his arms. - As you wish. Don't worry, I won't replace you. - Oh, I don't fucking care! - he exploited, storming out of his sit. He stopped in front of Adam. - It isn't about me! I don't want him near you!

Adam flinched at his outburst. Angered flashed on his face.

- Is that so? - his voice was shaky, but he kept going. - Or do you don't want me near him? - Either way is fine! - Why does it matter? - Because your life matters!

Silence.

They all looked at each other, the unspoken words hanging between them.

Adam opened his mouth but quickly closed it, his eyes glossy. He sighed.

- You also matter.

They all jumped.

Noah appeared on the counter next to Adam, his face serious.

- And he. - he added, looking straight at Ronan. - Don't ever say otherwise.

Before Ronan could say anything, Adam grabbed his mug and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Silence.

Ronan cursed Niall in his mind. He and Gansey traded helpless stares. Gansey rapidly stood up and announced:

- I'm gonna talk with him. - Gansey. - Noah wanted to say more, but Gansey cut in, already halfway up the stairs. - I'm gonna talk with him. - Fine, but after that, go to sleep. - seeing Gansey wanting to say something, he added. - You had only four hours. - again. - I counted, with naps.

He just nodded and tripped over last steps.

When they heard him entering Adam's room, Noah turned to Ronan.

- Ronan, - he started. - What?!

He shook his head, slipping down with a strangely fluent motion. Ronan often forgot he was a ghost and even more that he was older than them. Now, it was almost like the time caught up to him, he looked and moved more mature, reminding him of his brother. He grabbed his arm, cold fingers biting him even through the sleeve, and sat him in a chair. He moved one for himself and sat in front of him.

- I know what's going on. - he said. - You know shit. - Really? - he snickered. - Ronan, I'm always here, I see and hear everything. I'm trying, trying not to be nosy, to let you guys live your lives as you wish. But, you hormonal dumb-asses. Just wow. Between Gansey's embracing handling of his crush on Blue and your "friendship" with Kavinsky...

Chainsaw picked up and flew through him. Cawing, she made few circles around the room, before she returned to Ronan, sitting on his lap. She puffed up her feathers.

- Tawsheh. - she cawed. - Olk.

"Taibhse olc" Ronan corrected her in his mind.

- Níl taibhse olc. - he scolded her. - Dona. Tá Noah cara.

She made a sad caw. Ronan patted her but still angry, at her and himself.

Noah looked faded, a mist in the air. Broken bones and blooded sweater and messy hair. His expression didn’t exist, like he didn’t exist.

Ronan scolded himself for thinking that. Noah was here. Czerny was real.

He went back to normal. Same kind and tired face.

- Adam's right. - he said. - About what? - But you're also right. - he finished. - Both of you just can't see the other side. Don't you think, him and Adam can be friends without, - he moved his hands close to his head and made "boom" motion.

He didn't answered, patting Chainsaw's back, he knew it wasn't all.

- I don't want Kavinsky to harm him. - he finally said. - Do you believe he can? - No, - he felt offended. - Adam wouldn't fucking let him.

Noah nodded.

- But still, what's the problem?

He didn't say anything.

- Because you like Kavinsky. - it sounded like a question but wasn't. - Because Joe understands. - he stood up, putting Chainsaw on the chair. He started wandering around the room, with the little raven hopping after him. - He gets the dreaming. He gets how I feel. He knows me.

Kavinsky knew him.

Not Niall, but Ronan.

- Didn't you think he might "get" Adam?

He didn't.

- Like what?

He knew the answer.

He looked back at Noah, he wasn't in the chair.

- Go talk with him.

He was on the stairs, faded and smudged.

- Noah? - I... just need time. - he sounded like echo. - Don't worry.

A shadow of a smile appeared on his blurry face.

***

- ... but it sucks, because it's gone and even museums started hunting them for display. Museums, Adam! Museums!

They were sitting on a bed. Gansey was leaning on Adam, head resting on the boy's shoulder, eyes fighting to stay open. Adam wrapped his arm around his sleepy friend, nodding to every word he said, his own eyes puffy and reddish. Ronan looked at them, feeling something he didn't in long time. He felt at home.

- What's he mumbling about? - he asked, leaning on the door-frame. - The Great Auk. - Adam answered, not looking at him. - They're gone, Ronan. - Gansey yawned. - Gone, the great bird of Scottish islands, of Kilda and Elday. No, - he murmured to himself. - Elday is Iceland's. - he frowned his eyebrows trying to remember something, suddenly he announced: - Pen gwyn. - Falcóg mhór. - Ronan nodded. - "He made no cry. I strangled him.", a cruel end. - Ronan. - Adam scolded him. - This is what one of them said. - he shrugged. - Cruel fate with no future. Gansey, go to sleep. I wanted to talk with Adam.

Gansey rubber his eyes.

- Sure, sure. But first, I said, Great Auk is the original penguin and- - You're going with me to church tomorrow. - he interrupted him. - After dinner, we gonna check whatever you want.

He looked at him, like he just show him a new thing from his dream.

- I'm not... - Matthew likes you. - No connection. - he insisted. - And Declan...

- He doesn’t own the church. You’ll just pretend you for a hour or so.

- I did. - Noah said, his voice hanging behind him. - My mother hated when I did.

Ronan turned his head and saw him in the same state. He moved through him and grabbed Gansey’s hand.

- Come on, - he made him stand up. - They need to talk.

- I never was...

- Gansey, - he pulled him in to the hall. - Tell me more about the gwin.

Ronan closed the door and looked at Adam. Heat rising inside him.

- I'm still standing what I said. - That makes two of us. - he didn’t look at him.

And that’s it.

If someone interested, just ask.

[centipedall]

The Milkman Cometh

“Sorry baby, did I wake you up?”

“Hmm? No, I woke up a second ago. I had this nightmare… I can’t remember what it was about.”

“Me too. And they say marriage gets boring.” I shot her an invisible smile in the dark.

She got out of bed and said, “Well, I gotta get ready for work. Remember, milkman comes at twelve.”

My blood ran cold. “When did we get a milkman?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“I mean, I’m sure we have one but-”

“But you don’t remember when we got one. Yeah… same here.” She sounded shaken.

“Well, whatever. Gotta hit the daily grind, right? I’ll go see if Fee’s up yet. She’s taking Joey to school today, right?”

“Yep. Thank god she can drive now.”

“No thanks to you.” I winked and gave her a quick hug.

“Which one of us is the hot dog cart salesman?” she asked.

I chuckled and let go, “Cold.”

“Like your hot dogs, dad.” Fiona said from behind us.

“I see you got up especially early today. Is it, like, anti-Father’s Day or something?” There was an uncomfortable silence. “Y’know, where you insult and belittle-”

“We got it dad. Geez, you’re so lame.” She smiled and left the room.

“You’re driving Danny to school today, not Uncle Greg!” My wife called as she left the room.

There was a moan of frustration and I finished getting dressed. I walked down the stairs and went straight to the kitchen. My wife had beaten me there, unfortunately. She had the pantry door open and was rummaging around in there.

“Hey honey? Where’s the food?”

“Whaddaya mean? Shouldn’t it be in the pantry?” I checked with her, and sure enough it was empty. Well, except for some canned milk Greg had bought. Jackass. “Probably one of Greg’s pranks. I’ll see if he put them in the fridge.” I said.

I almost vomited when I opened up the fridge. There was only cheese, yogurt, butter, and milk. And all of it was spoiled. Jesus Christ, I could practically taste it. Like a tsunami of awful that wormed its way into your mouth. Good God, it felt like I was the one rotting.

I backpedaled away from the biohazard, into the other room and onto my favorite comfy chair. “Where are my hot dogs?” I whimpered.

“Oh my God- honey? You alright? Listen, it’s- fuck me it’s already eight? I gotta go. Can you deal with this today? Good God, the client’s gonna be pissed.” She started running towards the door.

“What the hell? Hey, Harry? Can you give me a hand? The door’s not opening.”

I jogged over to her, and sure enough, the door wouldn’t budge. It was like the damn thing was welded in there. I went over to the back and- no dice. If only we had windows, we could- why don’t we have windows?

“Hey honey? I’m gonna go get Greg. See if he’s-” The basement door was wedged shut, just like the others.

“Mom, Dad? I can’t open Danny’s door. I think he locked himself in again!” Fiona called from upstairs. I saw her legs as she started walking down the stairs. “Aw geez, it smells like bad milk down there? Milk… hey, did I mention my weird dream last night?”

Okay, what the fuck is going on?

“Wait, it’s nine already? Shit I’m late for school!” Fiona started rushing down, pinching her nose as she entered the awful ground floor.

“Language, young lady! And the doors don’t work.” She sighed. “Goddamnit, I can’t lose this promotion...” My wife muttered.

“What is it with you and this job? Why are you always chasing promotions? Our son is missing! Your shitty brother is missing!” I yelled at her. “Is it really more important than them?”

She wheeled on me, spitting venom. “You and I both know the only reason we live in this house is because of me. How much money does a hot dog salesman make, again? Is it less than a lawyer?”

“Not funny. When we got married, we said we wouldn’t have this conversation. It is my fucking dream, and it makes me happy. Why can’t you be happy with this? With us?”

“Goddamnit Harry, you know I love you guys! And that’s more than you can say! What about Greg, huh? I know you hate him.”

“Guy’s a slacker, Louise! He farts around in our house all day, pulling his stupid little pranks and costing us money. He’s rubbing off on Danny! Have you seen? The kid’s a wild child!”

“He’s only acting out because you are a shitty dad-”

“What the fuck did you just say? What the fuck did you just say?” I screamed.

“You don’t care about him! I get it, he’s not your biological kid! But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t love him!”

“Shut the fuck up. I love Danny so much it hurts and you know it. Stop trying to hurt me. Just- just stop.” I sat back down on my chair. “I’m so hungry. I’m so tired.”

“I- me too. This is just such a bad situation I- I’m sorry, honey.”

“I’m sorry too. Do- do you think this has something to do with that dream?”

“I don’t know. God, I hope it doesn’t. I don’t remember much but-”

“Yeah.” I shivered. “Yeah.”

“Hey guys? Is the clock messed up? Because it says it’s ten o’clock already. And nine was like, five minutes ago.” Fiona said.

“I think we have two hours left.” I said. “Your mom said the ‘milkman comes at twelve’ this morning right after we woke up.”

“And what happens then?” Fiona said.

“You remember the dream?” Louise said.

“Only the feel of it. It was bad.”

A silence fell over the room.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

“Can we break the door open? If we grab that old lamp in Fee’s room, I bet we can bash the back door down.”

“Aw man. I love that thing, I don’t want it to break.”

“Do you want the milkman to come? Because I don’t think we can get out any other way.” Louise said. Fiona nodded hesitantly.

In a flash, all three of us grabbed the heavy lamp and, with a great deal of pivoting, managed to squeeze it down the stairs. We lugged it over to the back door, and began swinging.

“On three!” My wife yelled. “One! Two! Three!”

The thing slammed against the door and there was a sharp crack. The door split right down the middle. A stench drifted out of the crack. More rotten milk. Oh my God. I would’ve barfed if I had anything in my stomach. As a family, we retreated into the living room.

I glanced at the clock. It was eleven. I sank down into the chair like my entire body was weighted. I was so tired. God, I was exhausted. And hungry.

“So what now?” Fiona asked.

“I don’t know. I- there’s nothing we can do.” Louise said.

I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. A sitcom was on. The theme song played. It was about a family of five. A mom, a dad, a daughter, a son, and an uncle. The dad was dumb, but big-hearted. The mom was smart, but long-suffering. The daughter was a classic teen with too much sense. The son was a wild child. The uncle was the comic relief, a slacker with a love of pranks. I almost threw up.

They laughed and japed. The uncle had collaborated with the son. They had swapped the food in the refrigerator and the pantry and locked all the doors. The other three members of the family ran around like headless chickens. The mom made a joke about how she made all the money. The dad made a joke about how she didn’t love anyone. The mom made a joke about a milkman, and how the kid wasn’t his. I almost threw up.

The family decided that leaving wasn’t worth all the stress. They all sat together and watched TV, like they did at the end of every episode. There was a knock on the door, in the sitcom and in real life. Everyone, TV and real, threw up pure spoiled milk all at once.

I stood up. I walked over to the door. I opened it. The smell almost killed me. There was something out there. A massive, hulking thing. A humanoid, almost, covered in dry cracks and wet holes constantly leaking spoiled milk. The milk flowed both up into the sky and down onto the infinite white plains outside my house. It has no eyes, mouth, or ears, just wet holes that spurted milk like a ship full of leaks. It did have a tiny little paper hat though, perched askew on its head. Below that was a thick, foot long, flopping tongue that sprouted out of the mouthless face. The nostrils were massive too, leaking milk like snot. Jesus, the stuff was chunky. And hairy. I looked down. It had long arms with elbows that reached to its knees so that it could touch the ground standing up. Its hands were huge with no fingernails, just skin with wet holes at the tip of each finger. It had a massive penis, swinging like a pendulum. Spoiled milk leaked. And leaked. And leaked. I was up to my knees in the stuff.

It looked at me with those wet holes, and the tongue flopped wordlessly. I still knew what it was saying. The same thing as in my dream.

Lait, ici.

Fiona, Louise, and I replied.

L’epoux, il est dans la maison.

It screamed. We screamed back.

It nodded to us and left. The milk continued to flow. It sank into my throat. Into my lungs. My nostrils filled with clumps. I drowned in vomit and spoiled milk.

Not the worst way it could’ve gone.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Writing Commission - Where I Want To Be - Chapter Two

Summary: Yamada Hizashi, better known as the Voice Hero Present Mic, is a busy man. He has classes and students to teach English to, an agency that always seemed to be in the middle of a disaster to help deal with, and a radio station that was one bad show away from being cancelled to run. He doesn’t have time for a bad day triggered by nightmares and fears and anxieties that just never seem to stop.

Luckily for him, his partners are Aizawa Shouta and Yagi Toshinori and neither of those two are very good at leaving Hizashi to suffer alone.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia    

Relationship: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yagi Toshinori | All Might

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yagi Toshinori | All Might

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count: 29,323

Transaction Amount: $200 (USD)

WARNINGS FOR: Past childhood abuse (both emotional and physical) and anxiety attacks verging on panic to PTSD episodes. Please read with caution if needed.

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            Check out my writing commission information here!                   Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content!                               Or buy me a coffee on Ko-Fi!

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                                             Chapter Index

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Hizashi wasn’t sure how he had managed to survive the car ride to U.A. when both Toshinori and Shouta kept poking and prodding and worrying but survive he did. It helped that they lived so close to campus since Hizashi had barely managed to keep a smile up before he was abandoning the two in the parking lot and scampering into the school. 

Toshinori had looked sympathetically understanding at Hizashi’s bullshit excuses of needing to search his office for ‘misplaced’ files, Shouta only watching him evenly with his damn knowing expression, but it was fine. Hizashi was fine- Alright, no, he was nowhere near fucking fine, but like hell he was going to let it ruin everyone else’s life.

He loved his boys and he knew they would always be worried about him, but Shouta had a homeroom to get to and Toshinori had training lessons to prepare for students later in the day. Hizashi even had his own work to do, and he would do it, he just needed a few minutes in his office to pull his act together.

It helped that the school, even this early before classes, was filled with noise and laughter and talking. It drowned out any possibility of silence to the point where all Hizashi had to worry about, in that moment, was resisting the urge to claw at his face. He knew he was damn well fine and that he could talk and use his quirk and do whatever he wanted, but he just needed a few minutes to convince himself of that.

He just needed to get himself together and focus. The privacy of his office would give him twenty or so minutes to have a complete breakdown and then he could focus on finding his lessons plans for the day. He needed to make sure he had completed grading the tests for class 2-B, as well, and- 

“Yamada-sensei?” Trying not to jump at the student that had addressed him, or the fact that someone had approached him without him noticing, Hizashi glanced over to see one of his third years watching him, which explained the use of his last name. The first years still had the habit of calling him ‘Mic-sensei’ more often than not. “Are you… Are you alright?” 

“Alright?” Hizashi blinked, looking down at the kid, because, alright. He hadn’t expected that. Then again, Tanaka tended to be more observant than even some of the teachers. She also was a third-year hero student, so she had seen him in quite a few classes. Jeez… to think he was that bad off that even a student could sense it, though. He was losing his touch. “Of course, little listener! Just a late start this morning is all!”

Tanaka stared at him for a long moment, obviously not buying his bullshit because she actually had a brain unlike some of the other students Hizashi had been forced to deal with during his teaching career. Thankfully, the kid knew the meaning of mercy, finally nodding with a smile, “Sorry, sensei, you know how I worry about things, sometimes. Have a great day.” 

With that she was turning and heading down the hallway, Hizashi not sure if he should be worried or amused. Then again, it wasn’t the first time a student had caught on to one of his bad days -- it certainly wasn’t his first time having a bad day while still needing to teach. He shouldn’t let it get to him, really. Tanaka was an overly observant third-year hero student. It would have been odd if she hadn’t noticed something a little off with his attitude considering his typical energy levels. 

That didn’t, however, explain all the others. 

It seemed like every couple of feet Hizashi was getting stopped by a student who asked if he was okay, had a very obvious ‘question’ that he knew they knew the answer to, or, in one case, he had just been stared at before being told to go home and ‘get some goddamn fucking rest, Christ, sensei.’ The last one might have worried him if it hadn’t been from Bakugou, of all kids. 

It was actually Shouta’s class in particular that seemed to notice his dour mood the most, almost all of them creeping up to check in with him or talk to him with some excuse or another as he made his way through the halls. A few asked about homework assignments, a couple just talked his ear off for a few feet, and one or two, like Kouda, had asked him a few things in sign language; which was rather nice, he supposed. It was also heartbreaking. 

Typically, it was the third-year students who noticed his, and other teachers’, bad days. It was the third-year hero students who always seemed to notice; the ones who had gone through internships and had seen firsthand how terrible the world could be. They were the ones who had seen the worst villains could offer. 

Hizashi supposed, with that in mind, he couldn’t be surprised that it was Class 1-A that had noticed what was wrong with him so quickly. The kids had seen more than they ever should have had to when they were so young, but it had made them smart and attentive to things they should have never noticed.

It was Tenya who he was trying to shake off most recently, which was impossible. As if it wasn’t bad enough with the kid being responsible for his classmates, it was the same kid that Hizashi had grown up babysitting in high school and beyond. “Are you sure you don’t need to take the day off, Yamada-sensei?” 

“I’m fine, Tenya,” Hizashi stressed, being careful to lower his voice. The kid had made it clear that he did not want his classmates to know two of his teachers had babysat him when he was a baby. “It’s just a bit of a bad day, but Shouta already knows. No doubt he already called up your brother just to spite me, too.” 

“What you call spite is what they call taking care of you,” Tenya frowned. It would have held more weight if Hizashi hadn’t seen that same frown when the kid was seven and arguing about why cookies before dinner was the ‘proper’ way to eat. “I understand and respect your work ethic, but wouldn’t it make more sense to rest instead of overexerting yourself?” 

No, it wouldn’t, because resting meant he would be alone, and it would be silent. Hizashi, on a bad day, could not handle it being silent. Quiet he could and would gladly handle, soft sounds and dim noises were merciful on the typical headaches that came about from stress as the day dragged on, but silence? Present Mic was never one for silence; Yamada Hizashi even less so. 

“For the last time, kiddo, I’ll be fine,” Hizashi stressed, giving the kid a soft pat on the back. “Why don’t you go catch up with your friends, huh? They’re probably already finding trouble.” 

Hizashi, knowing how the kid was like a dog with a bone, didn’t give Tenya a chance to argue before he was finally -- finally -- slipping into his actual office and shutting the door. It was an effort to not collapse against it as he sucked in a shaking breath. 

While he tended to do most of his work in the teacher’s lounge with the others, as Head of the English Department he was given his own office to help keep things in order. It also made a nice place to hide and try to drag himself together as mental images flickered past him every time he so much as blinked for a moment too long; images of events that had happened long ago.

“It was just a nightmare,” Hizashi said to himself, noise shattering whatever silence dared to linger in the room as his throat struggled to push the words out. Fear crept up his spine along with the familiar feeling that talking -- making noise -- meant he would be in danger. “It was just a dream of something that can never happen.” Not again, at any rate. 

It would never happen again and it was fine. He would be fine because he had things to do. He had reports to collect from homeroom teachers, he had warnings to give out concerning the students who were doing too poorly, and he had assignments to grade. There was plenty to do to keep him busy and there was plenty to do that needed to be done. First, though, he had a class to prep for. 

It took more effort than it should have, but soon enough Hizashi was greeting his first English class with a burst of cheer, “Good morning, my little listeners!” The words were barely out of his mouth before Hizashi felt his heart stutter and sink, throat threatening to snap shut at just how much effort it took to force the words out. “And how are you all this morning!” 

There were the usual tired grumbles of complaint at being awake and alive, Hizashi forcing his smile to stay in place because of all the days, of all the days, it was not one where he had time for his body to try and go nonverbal. Besides, there was no reason to. He was fine. He was safe and fine and in a place that encouraged him to never shut up.

It was fine, though, Hizashi thought firmly to himself. He could power past his body’s stupid reactions because he did not have time to go nonverbal on a day where he had to teach. Him, the Voice Hero, who taught a language class in a school full of stupidly observant children did not have time to go nonverbal. 

“Mic-sensei?” A second-year had her hand in the air even as she spoke before being called on, worried frown growing on her face. “Are you alright-?”

“I am a-okay, lil’ listener! Just trying to figure out where to start your lesson today when there’s so many fun things to teach you!” For someone with a voice quirk, talking had always been easier than even breathing. In that moment, though, it felt like neither could be accomplished no matter how much he fought. “Hm, since we’ve almost wrapped up with our most recent section, why don’t I let you guys start the worksheets a day early! You can get a head start today and still have the rest of the week to finish them up!”

The distraction worked, most of the kids perking up at the idea of having extra time on an assignment. There were no arguments, even from the less academically enthused. It was all the excuse Hizashi needed to pass out the worksheets and force the instructions for the day out before he was collapsing back into his chair. 

He would still no doubt be asked questions by his students, but at least he wouldn’t be trying to force himself to speak for an entire class period nonstop. It would be easier on his nerves and anxiety, too, if he gave in to the urge to be quiet for a short while. Ah, if only Shouta could see him making up excuses to not talk -- then again, that would probably just lead the man into panicking.

It was fine, though. He would just- “Sensei, I have a question about the first problem.” Already a kid was in front of his desk and looking pleading and ah… Hizashi was fucked, then. “And the second and third ones, too.”

“O- Of course, lil’ listener!” Hizashi hated everything. Why had he become a teacher? He should have just stuck with the pro-hero thing. Fuck, he should have just stuck with the DJ thing. “What do you need help with first?” 

“What’s the difference between verbs, adverbs, and adjectives in the English language, again?” The student looked completely serious. A single look behind him showed at least three other students that were looking ready to ask their own questions as soon as they could. 

“Ah, well… let’s start by telling you what each one means, yeah?” Hizashi shot back weakly, forcing a smile on his face as he resisted the urge or bash his face against the desk. If he were lucky, it would just be a few kids and that would be it for the rest of the day.  

Unfortunately, Hizashi remembered that he was a pro-hero who taught at a school for future heroes. He was never lucky. He could never be lucky in those circumstances. It was proven, with brutal efficiency, in each moment after his first class. 

Students seemed to have forgotten everything he had taught them, teachers seemed to be having their own bad days and looked ready to kill him with each warning note he handed out, and Hizashi was pretty sure that at least six of his students were plotting some grand scheme to kill him so they would automatically pass English.

The hours before a free moment of time had felt like they lasted lifetimes, Hizashi barely making his way into the teacher’s lounge and wobbling over to his desk. The only thing that had him looking up after he collapsed into his chair was the soft sound of ceramic against his wooden desk. A look at a teacup led him slowly but surely up into the softly smiling gaze of Toshinori, “You seemed like you could use something of a pick-me-up.” 

God, why was this man so fucking sweet? Hizashi had to fight against the urge to break into sobs. If he did then it would probably make Toshinori start to cry, and then if Shouta found the both of them as crying, pathetic messes they would be doomed; embarrassingly doomed. Finally, after what was possibly hours, Hizashi managed to respond with just enough accompanying energy to make a pleased smile. “Have I mentioned that I love you deeply, yet? Because if not, we need to make it a daily thing.”

“I thought it already was a daily thing,” Toshinori laughed, taking a seat beside him and careful and slow as he tucked a few stray strands of hair back behind Hizashi’s ear. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Typically? As perfect as you,” Hizashi teased, the words just a touch easier to get out than they were before. If nothing else, it was at least easy to talk to Toshinori. There was also the knowledge that lingered, at the very back of his mind, that he would be safe to talk in the man’s presence. Who was a better deterrent to fear than the Symbol of Peace, after all? “Truthfully? Like I woke up in a hospital and they shoved me out before finding I was worse off than they thought.

“Thank you for that description,” Toshinori replied, tone as dry as the fucking desert. “I’ll be sure to ask again later why you seem to be intimately familiar with that chosen comparison.” It was an effort to not laugh, Hizashi burying his smiles behind a sip of tea.

When he was sure he wasn’t going to laugh, he managed a somewhat stern expression that he copied straight from Shouta; eyes narrowed, lips pursed, and accusing look in his eyes, “And I suppose you have no knowledge of skipping out on medical care?”

The flash of guilt was far too satisfying, especially when Toshinori clucked his tongue and reached out to give a light, playful tug to Hizashi’s ear. “I don’t want to even start to hear that from you.” After a moment, his look softened, thumb moving to brush against his cheek. “How are you really doing, sweetheart?”

“I…” Hizashi trailed off, setting the teacup down and giving a quiet sigh as he leaned back in his seat. “Definitely not as good as I could be,” Hizashi finally responded, Toshinori looking sympathetically understanding. “It just…”

Hizashi trailed off, trying to find the right words as he scraped a hand across his lower cheek and jaw, feeling nothing except skin that he had already scratched raw and thin scars that were near invisible. He had a feeling he would have kept trying to dig and find those goddamn straps if Toshinori hadn’t been watching him.

“I just need some time,” Hizashi said, dropping his hand. “Just a little.” He just needed a few quiet moments to pull himself back together and get ready for his next class. 

“Perfect,” Toshinori grinned, moving himself and his chair into Hizashi’s space before pulling out his phone. “You can be quiet, then, why I show you some pictures that young Midoriya sent me the other day.” 

Hizashi didn’t even get to try to say anything before Toshinori’s phone was in his face showing a picture of an adorable bunny rabbit with long, floppy ears with an accompanying message below it of, ‘I found a picture of you, Sensei!!!’ It was the sweetest, most adorable thing ever and Hizashi, for as tense and wound up as he was, could feel himself melt. 

Toshinori seemed to sense he had won because he wasted no time in showing him a plethora of cute animal pictures and pro hero memes that he barely seemed to understand but found amusing all the same. Hizashi couldn’t find the energy to quite laugh like he might have normally, but the smile that slipped out felt genuine rather than the forced one he had worn for his earlier classes. 

As all good things tended to do, however, it came to an end, Hizashi looking at the clock as he heard Toshinori finally turn his phone off, “Hizashi… are you certain you don’t want to leave early for the day?”

“I’ll be fine,” Hizashi laughed off, knowing it sounded as fake as it felt. “I told you, I’ve got work to get done today. No time for rest when it comes to heroes, hm?”

“I suppose,” Toshinori said softly, expression so gentle. He, of all people, knew how hard life could be for a pro-hero. “I wish it was different, though.” Yeah, Hizashi wished it could be different, too, but, well. This was their lives.

For the moment, at least, Hizashi felt safe to talk. It was quiet, but there was background noise that showed the world was still moving. His head ached and he still felt pressure trying to lock his voice away, but he was present. That was about all he could ask for.

“Don’t we all wish it were different, somedays?” Standing up and fighting to take a breath as weight seemed to press down all around him, Hizashi managed something of a smile as he gathered his things. “Don’t worry, Toshi. I’ll be fine to get through the day and then you and Shouta can complain and worry and smother me as much as you want tonight.” 

“A moment that can’t come soon enough.” Toshinori looked up at him, stopping him with nothing more than a touch to his wrist. “Hizashi… are you sure you’ll be okay?” 

Hizashi could feel himself soften as he leaned over to kiss the top of the man’s head, enjoying the flustered blush and few snickers he could hear from other teachers in the room, “C’mon, hero,” Hizashi teased. “Give me some credit, hm? This isn’t my first bad day. It won’t be my last, either. 

Gathering his things and standing properly, Hizashi straightened his sunglasses after a quick wink, “Besides, it’s not like the Voice Hero can be expected to be voiceless, hm?” Toshinori’s answering smile was sad, but it was so understanding. It was all Hizashi needed. “Don’t worry, hero. I have everything under control.” 

[askjoshuafreeman]

transcript.file//jfreeman_codingb//convo

[Emergency Program Active]

AdminJF: Heya B-)

CodingB: ...? Allen? Where's Joshua?

AdminJF: He's still asleep, just snoozin away.

CodingB: Still a-... Isn't it... late? Why are you up.

AdminJF: Had a nightmare

AdminJF: Couldn't get back to sleep

AdminJF: Figured a lil chatting with ya could do me some good.

CodingB: ... With... me?

CodingB: Wait a moment...

CodingB: Communications are offline... I didn't think that was possible...

AdminJF: Yeaaa, boy like me's fulla tricks B-)

AdminJF: 'sides, don't think chattin with 'em would help out. They're... kinda chaotic.

CodingB: Unlike you, pizza box tearer?

AdminJF: Ey ey, I'm the FUN kinda chaotic! Those guys... eh... I know Josh trusts them. No surprise there. I mean, apart from you, they're the only peeps who MIGHT help him out... I'm still on the fence about them tho.

CodingB: I see.

CodingB: May I ask... what your nightmare was about? I do not know exactly how dreams work, but talking about what ever is making you upset tends to help.

AdminJF: Are you sure? It's... kinda dumb.

CodingB: I am all ears! And eyes! You have my full attention!

AdminJF: Right, well

AdminJF: where tf do I start...

AdminJF: I was... running in this like, industrial... plant of some kind? Like, running from something that I couldn't see? Like, that went on for a while, that I was just running and trying not to trip or crash into anything.

AdminJF: So at some point, I end up at this biiig chain link fence, like, the kind they put up in big facilities, I think. Anyways, I start climbing the thing, only to get pried off and thrown on my ass by, I guess whoever was chasing me??

AdminJF: But like, I look up at the guy, and I still can't really "see" him. Could say they looked like a shadow, but even that doesn't cover it really. That's around where I woke up and just. I dunno. Woke up about an hour ago and I've been too anxious to head back to sleep...

CodingB: ... I can't say I blame you exactly. An event like that, dream or not, would stress anyone, I'm certain. Until you've calmed down sufficiently, I don't think sleep will be possible...

AdminJF: Yeah, well, all the more reason to chat, right?

CodingB: I suppose so. Had you any topics in mind?

AdminJF: Oh Yea yea

AdminJF: ... No. I really don't.

CodingB: Ah. Then... could I ask you something?

AdminJF: Shoot.

CodingB: ... What is it like out there? Past the screen, I mean. Out in the sun. Out in the grass...

AdminJF: Ah shit... I'm really the wrong dude to ask but uh

AdminJF: It's... fine? No no uh... It... gives you something to do. Sun can get pretty hot down here but it's a helluva lot better than being cold in like, the snow and shit. Josh's been complaining that it's getting colder when... it hasn't? Like, I would know, I'm p sensitive to temperature shifts yo, but it's just been as hot as ever.

AdminJF: Uh, back on topic

AdminJF: Grass is... pretty soft, gives off a nice smell after it's cut. Uh... worms live in the dirt grass grows in...

CodingB: Oh, worms?

AdminJF: Yea, not like computer worms, but uh, little... long slimey things. They eat dirt and filter out the bad stuff so the ground stays healthy and all that.

AdminJF: Birds and lizards and fish like to eat them but I wouldn't recommend it.

CodingB:

CodingB: Allen, did you-

AdminJF: No!

AdminJF: Classmate back in primary did tho

AdminJF: Dared himself to cuz there was a bunch out after it rained and then uh

AdminJF: Y'know what, let's talk about something else.

CodingB:

CodingB: Well, um, do you think I'll ever get to see out there?

CodingB: Like, leave the device and go outside?

AdminJF: Knowing Joshua? Without a doubt. He's prob already working on the blueprints.

CodingB: ... Really?

AdminJF: Pfft, of course! You've met the guy! He's too kindhearted for his own good. J will stop at nothing to help others, even at his own detriment. I mean, case in point: He's friends with me.

CodingB: ... What's wrong with being friends with you?

AdminJF: Ha!

AdminJF: Ah...

AdminJF: Look, I... back when we first met, Josh saw this hungry, pale as death, angry and antisocial freak around his age and, instead of avoiding him like everyone else, sat down right next to him and offered half of his lunch.

AdminJF: I've been through 5 different fosters since he and I first met, CB. Five houses that all took me in and gave me the boot before I could even get comfortable. Within that time, the only other friends I've made apart from him are Clera and Tiff, and the only reason Tiff's our friend is because she and Cler started dating months ago.

AdminJF: I mean, hell, just yesterday, I

AdminJF: shit

CodingB: ?

AdminJF: ... Can you... keep a secret, CB?

CodingB: My lips are sealed, Allen. Is everything alright?

AdminJF: ... I... I lied to Josh, about me running off. About how my folks were mad and I needed to get away from the house for a bit.

AdminJF: The truth is that they... They kicked me out.

CodingB: They?? What!?

AdminJF: Yesterday past-noon, few hours after lunch, not-pops plopped my schoolbag on me, told me to shove as much of my shit in it as I could, and just told me to "get lost". Figured he was joking and I just stared at him cuz, like, why the hell would I think he was serious? But, looking at his face...

AdminJF: So then I said "Let me pack my suitcases while you call the agency" cuz that's how it normally went when my Fosters got sick of me, but mfer pulls me up and goes all "We want you out of here NOW" and tells me that I have ten minutes to fill my bag.

AdminJF: ... And he, uh, really did mean 10 minutes. They weren't lying about that part...

CodingB: Oh my god... That's horrible. They do not deserve to call themselves "parents" of any kind! Are you hurt? Are you okay?

AdminJF: I

AdminJF: I don't know why shit like this still shocks me, y'know? I should be used to it all, and I am for the most part but...

AdminJF: I guess a part of me was thinking that... Things were going well! Things were going better than any of the other families I'd been in! I was with them for almost a full year, like, a month away from it even, and sure, I might've been a bit of an ass sometimes, but they...

AdminJF: Tensions were kinda mounting for the past month or so, I guess, but I didn't notice it until this bs happened. Now most of my shit is in a home I'm not welcome in anymore, the agency probably won't be checking in for another month or so, and I have no goddamn idea what I'll do if Mrs. Freeman comes back and tells me I can't stay here. I'm completely shit outta luck.

CodingB: Allen, I'm so sorry...

CodingB: ... I'm sure... Josh and his mother, they won't leave you on your own like that. You said yourself that Josh is very very kind, for better or for worse. It doesn't matter what you might think about yourself, Allen, you do not deserve to be hurt in any way.

AdminJF:

AdminJF: Christ I spilled my guts like hell

AdminJF: Just one of those fucking

AdminJF: "3am! Time to vent!"

CodingB: Allen, please.

AdminJF: Maybe I could try going back to sleep now...

CodingB: Allen, wait!

CodingB: I. Before you go, please, I

CodingB: Maybe... could you keep a secret of mine too?

AdminJF:

AdminJF: Eh, it's only fair, fine. Go right on ahead.

CodingB: Alright! Alright!

CodingB: I... I'm terrified. Of failing Joshua.

CodingB: Of ending up trapped in this computer for who knows how many more years.

CodingB: Of finally getting out, and... and it all being worse than being trapped in here.

CodingB: Heck, I'm terrified at the thought of it being everything I could've ever dreamed of, so much so that I never want to return to the computer. I... I wouldn't be helpful anymore if that happened...

CodingB: Jeez... am I even helpful where I am now? Apart from keeping the firewall up, what good have I really done to help Joshua or his father?

CodingB: I cannot express to Joshua how... how deeply frightened I am at the thought of him never coming back. That thought haunts my every waking hour when he is not here, and I don't know how to get it to stop. It makes me feel as though I'll crash my entire programming and I hate it so much.

AdminJF: Damn... CB, you know, even just keeping a firewall up is a helluva task all on its own, and it's doing a crapton of good, too. Files are still up and the computer isn't a smouldering pile of viruses now is it?

AdminJF: Besides, even without all of that, you've still helped Josh, like, endlessly. You've supported him a bunch and I know for a fact that you've helped him to feel better about this whole ordeal. Like, he chats about you for HOURS the second you come up in a convo, yo. The minute he gets the chance to, I know he's gonna get you out of there, and, knowing your ingenuity, you're gonna find thousands o' ways to help out.

AdminJF: But... I ain't gonna lie and tell you those feelings are gonna go away. Not on their own. Needs time and reassurance. Until all of this is over and done with and even maybe a good few years afterwards, you're probably gonna still have that fear.

CodingB: Ah... I see... I don't suppose it is normal though, is it?

AdminJF: Nah. I know that first-hand... But hey, we've both made it this far despite all the bullshit we've been through, right? World's not gonna get ridda us that easily.

CodingB: ... Even with the terror I feel, am I still brave enough to face the world?

AdminJF: I'd say the world oughta learn to start being afraid of you, cuz there's nothin' braver than continuing to live even when you're scared to death.

CodingB: ... Thank you. Thank you so very much.

AdminJF: Heh, all in a day... night's work...

AdminJF: Think the both of us could use some rest. Quiet our minds fo' a bit.

CodingB: Heh, agreed... See you tomorrow in that case. Er, well, today. At a later hour.

AdminJF: Yeaaa, see ya then, CBot. Sleep well.

CodingB: You too! May your dreams be filled with nothing scary!

[Emergency Program Inactive]

ampd.program deactivated. Returning to error log...

[angelsunflowers-fanfics]

Mad Moxxi x Male!reader (Low esteem)

Request: May I request a Moxxi x Male!reader where he has low self-esteem but has been crush’n on oxxi for years. Moxxi asks him out but he just kinda ignores her because he’s thinking ‘no way she’d ever be talking to me’ Written from the reader’s POV. Please and thank you

Fandom: Borderlands

Genre: Angst to Fluff

Pov: Reader’s

Linktree

~~~~~

Another shot, another swing of hard alcohol. This couldn’t be good for my low self-esteem, but who cared? Me. I did. I should stop now before I got too hammered, I still needed to walk home. I stared at the swirling pool of hard rum in my small glass as I lightly spun the cup around, careful as to not spill a drop of the liquid.

I slowly looked up as Moxxi crossed her arms and laid them on the bar right in front of me, what was she up to? There was no one else in the bar except the two of us.

I should get going before I regretted drinking way too much. I slowly stood from my comfortable seat and paid my tab before slowly turning towards the door, but I stopped when Moxxi grabbed my arm. What was going on?

“Wait, you’re not gonna leave without accepting my request for a date, are you?” She said to me.

No way she’d ever be talking to me. What was she talking about? She was playing with me, right? I couldn’t even remember the last time someone even asked me out.

I slowly pulled my arm out of her grasp before grabbing my bag full of everything I needed for Pandora; guns, ammo, etc.

“That’s not funny, you shouldn’t joke around like that. Especially with someone like me, I might actually take it seriously,” I told her. 

I turned around and headed for my home on the edge of Sanctuary, I always did like the view from there, I didn’t spend enough time there though. I should head to bed, it was getting late.

… … … … … … … …

I woke up in the middle of the night, gasping, letting the cold sweat stick to my forehead. Another nightmare. I’d been having more and more of those lately. Was the stress of this planet really getting to me? I thought I was stronger than this.

My heart nearly leapt out of my chest as someone loudly and abruptly pounded on my door. Jesus, who could that be at this hour? I was pretty sure it was nearly 3 in the morning. I slowly removed myself from the bed and walk to the front of the small home. I sleepily rubbed my eyes as I opened the door.

Moxxi. What the hell was she doing here? 

“Ms. Moxxi, er, Ma’am… What are you doing here?” I managed to stumble out to her.

She was wearing cute overalls. Where did she even get that?

“I demand to know why you didn’t accept a date with me!” She slurred her words.

She was serious about that? I fucking turned down Mad Moxxi. Jesus, I really was hopeless.

“I, um--” My stuttering was cut off by Moxxi propping herself against my open door.

“Can I come in? Pretty please?” She batted her eyelashes at me.

It didn’t seem like there was a way out of this. I slowly got out of her way and gesture her to come inside. It was fairly clean, I wasn’t home much though.

“Sure,” I answered. 

Moxxi stumbled into my home, using me for support. I think my head was going to explode. I didn’t even know she had this kind of accent, it was beautiful. I was so C O N F U S E D and attracted. But this wasn’t the right time. 

“Okay, let’s get you on the couch,” I told her as I wrapped an arm around Moxxi’s waist before I lifted her off her feet to carry her to the couch, using my other arm to support her legs.

“Whoa! You’re so strong!” She murmured.

She let out a drunk giggle, nudging her head close to my chest. My face was heating up. I could feel it. I carefully set her on the couch before staring at her. I wasn’t going to get any coherent answers out of her when she was like this. As cute as she looked and sounded, I needed sober Moxxi. 

“Why are you staring at me like that? Do you see anything that you like?” She teased me.

My face darkened in color, causing me to turn the opposite way of her.

“I’m gonna make you something to eat, just… Stay right there,” I whispered to her. 

I quickly controlled my breathing before making her one of the few things I knew how to cook. I tapped my foot anxiously as the food slowly cooked, almost ready. I stiffened as I felt a body pressed against mine, her nails raked down my chest lightly.

“Wow, I didn’t know you had such a nice body. I fell for your vibe, the way you mumble into your hard liquor or the way your hair is always so disheveled,” Moxxi confessed. 

I nervously gulped as one of her hands became tangled in my hair, brushing through the strands lightly. I slowly turned off the burner and spun on my heel to face Moxxi. She was making me feel insane feelings for her.

“Here, I made you something to eat because you're a bit drunk and I need to sober you up,” I told her. 

Moxxi slowly pulled away, keeping a hand on my arm.

“Not drunk! Just a bit tipsy! I like to have fun… I haven’t had one guy make me something to eat… I guess you are different from the rest,” She drunkenly told me. 

I set down her plate on the small table and her Moxxi into her seat. I stood away from her and pondered.

How long was it going to take to get her sober again? She was pretty hammered right now. I should get her to sleep once she was finished.

~~~~

It was taking longer than I thought it would to put her to bed. Christ, it was like putting an actual child to bed.

“Why don’t you sleep here tonight?” I offered to her.

Moxxi slid into my bed with no shame, snuggling herself under the covers.

“Where are you sleeping?” She mumbled, already half-asleep.

I glanced over to the couch for a moment, that wouldn’t be comfortable.

“Don’t worry about it. Just get some rest,” I assured her. 

Moxxi passed out within seconds of me talking to her. I should get a few hours of rest before the sun rises. I didn’t know what I was gonna do with her though.

~~~~

I heard the shuffling of my bedsheets as I woke up the next morning, the smell of her perfume trapped in the 4 walls of my home. Right, I wondered if she remembered what she said or did last night.

“What the hell am I doing here?” She asked herself.

I quickly stood up from my position on the couch to make some coffee, to wake both me and her up.

“Hey, you're awake. Good. I'm making some coffee,” I said. 

Moxxi sat at the counter bar, a hand held to her head. A headache.

“Fuck. What happened last night? My head is killing me. And why am I here?” I carefully set down a cup of coffee in front of Moxxi. Her head shot up wildly. “Oh my, God! Did we--no… I wanted the first time to be perfect.” She was going down a spiral.

“Relax. Nothing like that happened. Would it be so bad if it did?” I reassured her carefully to stop her from spiraling. 

She slowly grabbed the cup of coffee, lightly drumming her fingers on the cup to occupy herself.

“No… Not at all but I want to remember it and you… I didn't say or do anything too embarrassing, did I?” She asked, unknowing of what her past actions were.

My face turned from its normal shade to a vibrant red. Moxxi ducked her head away from my gaze. 

“Oh no. What did I say?” She asked. I quickly took a seat across from her.

“You kinda… Confessed to me and…” She sighed in exhaustion and embarrassment. “You felt me up, a bit.” Moxxi was getting redder and redder by the second.

“Oh god. I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you? Please? So we can forget about this embarrassment of a night?” She asked.

I smiled lightly, I could feel my esteem growing. That hadn’t happened in a long time.

“I’ll accept that date with you, I didn’t think you were serious yesterday, but I am never forgetting last night”

[gods-and-pawns]

All flower asks for Cimmerian.

Cimmerian:

O-oh jeez, that’s...a lot of questions, huh? Well, better let’s get to it then.

Alisons: Sexuality?

I’m polysexual.

Amaranth: Pronouns/Gender?

Trans man. He/him pronouns, please.

Amaryllis: Birthday?

December 1st. I’m a winter baby.

Anemone: Favorite flower?

Uhm, sunflowers, probably.

Angelonia: Favorite t.v. show?

If I have to be honest, I don’t really...watch TV all that often. But uh, anything they air on Animal Planet, to be honest. Do you remember that old TV show about the life of meerkats? Fucking loved that shit.

Arum-Lily: What’s the farthest you’d go for a stranger?

That...really depends. I wouldn’t go too far, after all, I don’t know this person, but basic respect and kindness are always a given. I’m not a hero either, I wouldn’t risk my life for them. So, I’d say most of the time, just small favours.

Aster: What’s one of your favorite quotes?

Literally fucking anything that leaves Vincent’s mouth once he gets a little tipsy, this man lacks filter when drunk and it’s fucking great. I know you probably expected some quote with deep meaning, since I have a major in English, but I am very sorry to disappoint.

Aubrieta: Favorite drink?

Pain drink is going to be Whiskey, but anything a little bit fancier then it’s Pina Colada. I like sweet things.

Baby’s Breath: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Yes, absolutely, zero hesitation.

Balsam Fir: Have you ever been in love?

Hm...unfortunately...

Baneberries: Favorite song?

........Two Trucks by Lemon demon. Don’t judge me, it’s a fucking great song.

Basket of Gold: Describe your family.

Hm, well, they were great, really. Very caring and loving...Yeah, this question is making me feel sad.

Beebalm: Do you have a best friend? Who is it?

Uhhh...I’m gonna say it’s either North, Tiff, Han or Bright. I’d say Foster too, but...I don’t know, we kind of had a falling out because of our work. It’s hard to meet up.

Begonia: Favorite color?

...I’ll give you one guess.

Bellflower: Favorite animal?

Toads, love these fat boys.

Bergenia: Are you a morning or night person?

Definitely morning. Not that I like waking up early, but I definitely function better in the mornings.

Black-Eyed Susan: If you could be any animal for a day, what would it be?

A hognose snake, they have very cute noses.

Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

A teacher, of all things. Mostly because I thought teachers got free summer too. Then I went to high school, saw what little shits my peers were, and immediately changed my decision.

Bluemink: What are your thoughts on children?

I love kids! I always wanted to be a father. Unfortunately, with being nearly 40 now and swarmed with work...I don’t think that’ll ever happen.

Blazing Stars: What are you afraid of? Is there a reason why?

Cars, because of trauma that I’d rather not get into. And, uh...I have apeirophobia. It’s...stupid, I know, many people would probably like to live on for forever. But for me, it’s just...it’s horrible. I don’t even know why. I guess it has something to do with existential dread.

Borage: Give a random fact about your childhood.

I had a lot of adoptive siblings and cousins, we were always close, and would always get into trouble together. I was raised on a farm with woods nearby, you can imagine I had a lot of opportunities and places where I could get hurt at, and I did. I was a stupid and reckless kid.

Bugleherb: How would you spend your last day on Earth?  

Oh man, that’s a loaded question...Honestly? I’d like to reach out to my family, spend my last day with them.

Buttercup: Relationship Status?

Taken~ By two wonderful, cute men.

Camelia: If you could visit anywhere, where would you want to go?

Oh, there’s a lot of places I’d like to explore, probably too many to list. As long as it’s as far away from civilisation as possible, I’m good.

Candytufts: When do you feel most loved?

I like to be held, I love hugs, they make me feel safe and loved. Preferably under a warm blanket with my partner or partners, late in the evening, the rain falling outside and the room is nearly completely dark as we cuddle...

Canna: Do you have any tattoos?  

I used to want to, as a teen, but unfortunately no...I did see some people tattoo over their burn scars, and I’ve been thinking about it, but considering how large my scars are it’d cost a lot, be very time consuming and most likely painful. So I don’t know, but I’m considering it.

Canterbury Bells: Do you have any piercings?  

Used to have a few as a teenager, now I only have one in my right ear.

California Poppy: Height?  

I’m 5′9′’.

Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts?

In ghosts? No, not really.

Carnation: What are you currently wearing?  

I’ll let you guess.

Catnip: Have you ever slept with a nightlight?

Sure did, I still sometimes do when my nightmares get the best of me.

Chives: Who was the last person you hugged?  

Jackie.

Chrysanthemum: Who’s the last person you kissed?

Northy, obviously~

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font?

My heart tells me Comic Sans, but my brain’s telling me to shut the fuck up and pick a normal font.

Columbine: Are you tired?

Always, 24/7.

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to?

Autumn, we’re close to Summer and god damn it didn’t even start but I’m already over it.

Coneflower: Dream job?

I’m pretty content with my current one, but uh...maybe something less stressful? Probably a book author.

Crane’s-Bill: Introvert or extrovert?

Introvert, definitely.

Crown Imperial: What’s the farthest you would go for someone you care about?

 Honestly? I’d probably give my life to them. It mostly depends on the person though, and how much I care about them.

Cyclamen: Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? What was it?

I had a ragdoll elephant named Mr Trunk. Still do, actually, he’s one of the few things I took with me when I started working here. He’s now sitting on my bookcase at my apartment.

Daffodil: What’s your zodiac sign?

Sagittarius.

Dahlia: Have you done anything worth remembering?

I don’t think so, no.

Daisy: What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment?

Well...I guess overcoming my trauma counts as an accomplishment?

Daylily: What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner(s)?  

Well, first of all, my biological parents are dead and my adoptive ones think I’m dead. But, if that weren’t the case, I don’t think Ma and Pa are the kind fo people who’d try to get between me and my partners. I feel like if they were legitimately concerned for me or had deep worries about my partner, they’d talk to me about it. So, nothing too dramatic.

Dendrobium: Who is the last person that you said “I love you” to?

...I’d rather not talk about them.

False Goat’s Beard: What is something you are good at?

Does writing shitty slashfics count?

Foxgloves: What’s something you’re bad at?

Do you want a list or something?

Freesia: What are three good things that have happened in the past month?

Well...I started dating Jackie.

Garden Cosmos: How was your day today?

Tiring, so the usual.

Gardenia: Are you happy with where you’re at in your life?

...It could be worse, honestly.

Gladiolus: What is something you hope to do in the next year or two?

...Uh...if my relationship with Karlos and Jack lasts...well...uhm...God, don’t tell them I said that, alright? But...getting married seems...nice...

Glory-of-the-Snow: What are ten things that make you happy/you’re grateful to have in your life?

My friends. They’re great, I don’t know where I’d be without them. Especially Tiff, they do so much for me...don’t tell them I said that, they don’t need any more of an ego boost.

Heliotropium: What helps you calm down when you feel stressed?  

A good book, audiobook or ASMR and a scented candle in an otherwise quiet room usually does the trick.

Hellebore: How do you show affection?

Usually through words, I didn’t get that damn doctorate for nothing.

Hoary Stock: What are you proudest of?

My work, I guess? My writing? Wait, no, I just remembered my longest work of fiction is a crackfic about mythological characters- I take that back.

Hollyhock: Describe your ideal day.

Just having an entire day to myself, no need to do any work, no stress, no deadlines. 

Hyacinth: What do you like to do in your free time?  

I take care of my pets and plants, read books, write.

Hydrangea: How long have you known your best friend? How did you meet them?

Oh man, it’s been a few years now. Uhm, my longest friend in the Foundation is Foster, we met in high school, but like I said we’ve had a bit of a falling out. Then it’s Tiff, I met them when I first joined the Ethics Committee. I met Karlos and Bright a few years later, and I’ve known Han for the least amount of time, but it’s still been years.

Irises: Who can you talk to about (almost) everything?

Uhm...Hm...Probably Tiff or Karlos. Han too, he’s a good listener.

Laceleaf: How many friends do you have?

A few. On top of the previously mentioned ones I’m also quite close to Clef, Kondraki and Light.

Lantanas: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?

Literally, any kind of compliment either of the O5-1′s or O5-11 gave me. Do you have any god damn idea how fucking hard it is to impress the Ones? And Ten...well, he’s just really nice and I appreciate him.

Larkspur: What do you think of yourself?

Anyway, next question!

Lavender: What’s your favorite thing about yourself?

I have great fucking puns and if anybody says otherwise, they’re fucking wrong.

Leather Flower: What’s your least favorite thing about yourself?  

Do you want a list?

Lilac: What’s something you liked to do as a child?

Exploring, I guess it never really changed, I like spending time in nature, I just never have the time to.

Lily: Who was your best friend when you were a kid?

........Probably one of my siblings.

Lily of the Incas: What is something you still feel guilty for?

A lot, but let’s not talk about that.

Lily of the Nile: What is something you feel guilty for that you shouldn’t feel guilty about?  

Jesus Christ, what’s with these questions?

Lupine: What does your name mean? Why is that your name?

I had to look it up, and apparently, Jeremiah means “Yahweh will exalt”. I had no idea my name actually had a religious meaning. When I was born I was named after my grandma, and when I was changing my name I decided to kind of keep with the theme and named myself after my grandpa. He doesn’t know, actually, I never came out to them, but I like to think he’d be happy that I named myself after him

Marigold: Where did you grow up? Tell us about it.

Like I said before, in a small rural town on a small farm. Not much to talk about, really, I was a typical kid that grew up on the farm. Always got in trouble and always hurt myself doing stupid shit.

Morning Glory: What was your bedroom like growing up?

I was quite a tomboy and I loved cows, so just imagine a room with walls painted to resemble a pasture with cows on it and cow-themed furniture. Handmade too, by my grandpa and Pa, of course.

Mugworts: What was it like for you as a teenager? Did you enjoy your teenage years?  

I uh...I’d rather not talk about it.

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom.

Ma was a great woman, she always cared for me and my siblings, she treated me like her own kid straight away. Didn’t even batted an eye. Never made me feel weird or wrong for liking “boy things” like other adults outside of our family. She was quite fiercely protective of me too, quite a mama bear, I must say. A strong woman, could probably suplex a bear.

Onions: Tell about your dad.  

Pa was...well, Pa was just wonderful. He didn’t even hesitate for a second to take me in when his sis and my biological mother died. He was the first person I saw when I woke up at the hospital. He always made sure I was happy and taken care of. He taught me how to hunt and fight and play soccer and football. He was always very loudly supportive of me. I cannot express enough just how much I’m grateful to him and Ma.

Orchid: Tell about your grandparents.

They were very kind, your traditional old couple. I loved granny, but I was always closer to my grandpa. He taught me how to fish, I could always confide in him. He’s a great guy. Granny was wonderful too, I remember I always helped her out in her garden, she’d always scare me with potato bastards- I mean potato beetles, sorry, old habit- I fucking hate these motherfuckers. I love all animals, except for these ones. Potato bastards can suck a dick.

Pansy: What was your most memorable birthday? What made it be so memorable?

[Heavy sigh] My 4th birthday, my older brothers decided it’d be a fun idea to pick every potato beetle they could find from granny’s garden and throw them at me as a “birthday present”...........You know, I think I just realised why I hate these beetles so much.

Peony: What was your first job?

My first official job was in the Foundation, they hired me right when I finished college to help contain one anomaly, then I just stuck around and worked in Human Resources. I don’t think working small chores in our neighbours’ farms for some pocket change counted as a job.

Petunia: If you’re in a relationship, how did you meet your partner(s)? If you’re not in a relationship, how did you meet your crush/how do you hope to meet your future partner(s), if you want any?

I met North when he started working as a junior researcher in the same Site as me. Bright, I knew for longer for uh...obvious reasons, but I first met him in person during a disciplinary meeting. I also worked as an Ethics Committee Liaison in Site-19. You can imagine our relationship wasn’t the best at first.

Pincushion: How do you deal with pain?

Die.

Pink: Where is home?

Well, that sure is a deep fucking question. At this point...I don’t know, honestly.

Plantain Lilies: If you could go back in time, what is one thing you would stop/change?

...It’s...let’s not talk about that.

Prairie Gentian: Who is someone you look up to? Describe them.

No way in hell I’m telling you, he could read this blog.

Primrose: Describe your ideal life.

Living in a cottage in the forest or mountains as a fairly famous writer, with a spouse and a few kids.

Rhodendron: What is something you used to believe in as a child?

Soulmates. Then I grew a brain.

Ricinus: Who’s the most important in your life?

...So anyways.

Rose: What’s your favorite sound?

Uh, so you know how I listen to ASMR? Probably tapping.

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory?

Any kind of holiday with my family, we’d always get together and celebrate.

Sage: What’s your least favorite memory?

Let’s not talk about that!

Snapdragon: At this moment, what do you want?  

...Hm...Well, I am kind of hungry, I guess after this I should go eat something.

St. John’s Wort: Is it easy or difficult for you to express how you feel about things?

I think I’m kind of...intermediate on that scale. Generally, it’s easy for me unless it’s something very personal.

Sunflower: What is something you don’t want to imagine life without?

...yeah, another question I’m skipping.

Sweet Pea: How much sleep did you get last night?

Not a lot, I’m quite tired today.

Tickseed: What’s your main reason to get up every morning?

Work, I guess? Mostly just routine.

Touch-Me-Not: How do you feel about your current job?

Fucking stressful and exhausting, but it could be worse. That’s talking about my chairman position. But my work on Project X? I like it, one of the more pleasant jobs I had at the Foundation.

Transvaal Daisy: What’s your favorite item of clothing?

...Yeah, just take a guess.

Tropical White Morning Glory: Describe your aesthetic.  

Cozy, dark and gold.

Tulip: What would be the best present to get you?

...That’s a bit personal, actually.

Vervain: What’s stressing you out most right now?

The sheer amount of these questions, Jesus fucking Christ.

Wisteria: How many books have you read in the past few months? What were they called?

Unfortunately, I don’t have time for books lately, I did listen to a few audiobooks though. Also, I’m planning to revisit the Warrior Cats books because nostalgia and I need to know what the fuck is happening with these cats lately.

Wolf’s Bane: Where do you want to be in life this time next year?

Hopefully not dead.

Zinnia: Give a random fact about yourself.

Uhhh...hm...I’m petty, but you probably knew that already.

[fly-flower-fanfics]

Sleepless Nights

Bruce Banner x Male Reader

Warnings: None

~~~~~~~~~~~

I laid on the roof outside my bedroom window, my arms folded behind my head. The stars twinkled above me, dancing on the black blanket that was the night sky. It wasn't too cold or hot, and there was a gentle breeze.

I couldn't sleep for the life of me, and I was bored as hell. It was three o'clock in the morning, but my internal clock was fucked. I stretched and reached a hand up towards the sky, turning it invisible.

I liked playing with my invisibility, but sometimes I forgot that I was doing it. It was rather comedic when I'd be watching something on TV at the Stark Towers, accidentally invisible, and someone would come in and change it. I'd yell at them, and they'd lose their shit before yelling at me in return.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position and climbed back through my window. What was there to do? Maybe I could make something to eat. It's not like I had anything better to do.

I quietly tip-toed down the hall, making sure not to wake up Bruce. He was my best friend and sometimes stayed over when he didn't necessarily want to be in the Tower. He's been more stressed lately, and I was able to calm him and keep the Other Guy away sometimes. It didn't always work, but at least out here, there wasn't anyone else to get injured. Just a bunch of trees.

In the kitchen, I dug around in the refrigerator for some milk and grabbed a bowl and some cereal. Call me lazy, but I didn't feel like cooking at this hour. I put the milk away after I was done with it so it wouldn't go bad, but I left the box out just in case I wanted more to eat.

I set the bowl on the island in the middle of my kitchen and proceeded to climb on top of it as well. Sitting cross-legged, I grabbed the bowl and started eating. I only paused when I heard shuffling coming from down the hall.

Bruce entered the kitchen, his hands balled around the sleeves of his worn-out, grey pajama sweater. It nearly covered the boxers he was wearing. His eyes looked up at me, and his eyebrows furrowed in before a small smile spread over his lips. 

"I see a floating bowl of cereal."

I looked down and noticed that Bruce was right: I was invisible. I set the bowl down and made myself visible before jumping off the island. 

"What're you doing up, Bruce?" I asked.

I walked closer to him and met his eyes. They were a bit unfocused since he had just woken up, but they were also sad and frightened. 

"I, um, I had a nightmare," he mumbled.

I took his covered hands in mine and rubbed my thumbs over the back of them. Bruce's nightmares seemed to be getting worse lately, and I didn't know how to stop them. I just would hold him through them.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Tears clouded Bruce's eyes as he shook his head. My heart broke at the sight, and I pulled him into a hug.

I hated it when Bruce cried. Low and behold, my gay ass developed a huge crush on the teddy bear. There were things that I understood better than most, and it lead to my feelings developing past a friendship. 

"Could, uh, could-could I sleep with you tonight..?" Brice asked after we had separated. He refused to meet my eyes, and his cheeks were coated in a bright red.

"Oh, Bruce... of course you can. C'mon, let's go."

I offered my hand to him, and he took it. The two of us walked back down the hall to my bedroom, and I sat him on my bed. 

"Arms up," I instructed, but he only looked at me. 

"Why?"

"Your sweater will kill me while we sleep," I replied.

Bruce only replied by tightening his grip on the material balled up in his hands. 

"Bruce, listen." I knelt in front of him and gave him a smile. "Why would I make fun of you? If you can accept me for me with this-" I gestured to the top surgery scars on my exposed chest. "Then I can accept you for you, too."

He didn't reply or say anything. He stayed quiet, contemplating for a moment or two. 

"If you want to keep it on, I won't make you go shirtless. I just ask if you would put on a short sleeve shirt. I have a thing about long sleeves in bed..."

I knew it was a weird phobia, but I was always afraid that the sleeves would somehow choke me in my sleep, even if I wasn't the one wearing it. 

"And you can accept me for my weird ass phobia of sleeves."

This caused Bruce to laugh a little as I stood back up. His laugh sounded like an angel's. I wish it wouldn't ever stop. 

"Okay," he said softly, easing his arms over his head.

"Do you want another shirt?" I asked as I slipped the material off of him. 

"No...no it's okay."

I climbed into bed next to him, and he laid down. I nearly burst out laughing: he was laying there like a board.

"You big idiot, I'm just me. I'm not gonna bite unless you want me to."

My words caused Bruce's cheeks to flush again, and I pulled him closer to me. 

"Lay your head on my chest. Drape your arm over my stomach. You'll be more comfortable."

He followed my instructions, and I instantly felt his body relax more. I combed my fingers through his moppy hair and used my other hand to rub his back. 

"Better?"

"Better..."

His grip around my waist tightened a little, and he stretched himself out, laying his one leg over mine. God, he's so perfect. 

"Now try and sleep. I'm right here, okay? I'll be here for any other nightmares."

Bruce nodded, and I smiled softly down at him. I combed my fingers through his hair for what felt like hours. His breathing had become soft, and his body laid still. Eventually, I, too, fell asleep with my fingers still tangled up in his hair.

I wasn't quite sure when I woke up, but Bruce was still in my arms. A sigh of relief left my lips, knowing he didn't have anymore nightmares from the night before. 

"You talk in your sleep."

I was a bit startled by Bruce's voice because I didn't think he was awake yet. This earned a soft chuckle from the sleepy genius. 

"Oh, y-yeah. Sometimes."

He tilted his head and looked up at me, his eyes seeming to stare right into my soul before he blushed and looked away again.

That filled my heart with love and dread. Fuck. I probably embarrassed the hell out of myself.

"Did I wake you up with it?"

"Oh, no. I was already pretty much awake when you starts talking. We held a nice conversation, actually," Bruce said, slowly untangling his body from mine. 

Jesus. Christ. 

"What did we talk about?" I asked, hesitantly. 

"You know... stuff..."

Bruce didn't look at me this time, sitting on the edge of the bed and obscuring my view of his face. 

"Bruce..."

"Wetalkedaboutsexuality," he rushed out.

"We talked about wha- oh. Oh..." 

I hadn't ever told Bruce I was gay; it was just something that I didn't talk about. I did make a couple jokes here and there, so I assumed that he knew through that. By the tone of his voice, I'm assuming he didn't pick up on it. 

"You told me, um... you-you told me you...you loved me."

My heart stopped, and I felt myself disappear. I wished I could do more than just be invisible.

"Well, well yeah. Of course I love you. You're m-"

"Not that way. You know what I mean." 

I closed my eyes, tugging on my hair as I pushed myself into a sitting position. Fuck me up the ass and call me Tony.

"Did you mean it...?" His voice was barely a whisper. 

"Yeah..." My voice was softer than his.

Bruce looked over his shoulder to face me, his eyes sad when he realized I was invisible. He reached his hand out along the covers to search for me. His wrist bumped into my knee, and he carefully placed a hand on it. 

"Let me see you."

"Bruce, I-I don't-"

"I want to tell your face before I lose the guts to do it."

I swallowed thickly and allowed myself to become visible again. Bruce turned and reached up to cup my cheeks. 

"I love you, too."

Tears pooled in my eyes. After being made fun of for years, fighting my own personal demons, there was someone out there that loved me for me.

"God, Bruce..."

I reached forward and cupped his cheeks before pressing my lips into his. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it was the best kiss that I had ever had. 

"S-so I'm assuming you'd-you'd be okay with being m-my boyfriend?"

I laughed and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. 

"Bruce, I'd be more than okay with it. I love you. God, I love you."

I pulled him into a hug and made him lay down with me.

We spent the next couple hours talking about ourselves, things like limits and what frightened us. I knew it would be a bit of a challenge, but it was one I was prepared for and one I wouldn't lose.