#frantically googling like GOOGLE SHOULD MY STOMACH BURN??

[nyckie]

Hyperchondria's great, it's like am I having an allergic reaction to this wasp sting or am I just imagining it? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: if we were in a drama | pjs

summary | as always, you and your friend, jisung, plan a sleepover to begin a new drama together. and, as always, you have to pause halfway through the second episode so you can go through your new-drama-ritual.

genre | park jisung x reader, friends-but-not-friends in the romantic way, fluff

wc | 1.1k

a/n: rn i’m really into the whole you’re more than friends but not dating trope…also does anyone else do this when they watch dramas

GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY, you were sure Jisung would kill you right now. He would rip your phone out of your hands, throw it against the wall, and push you off his seventh-story balcony.

“Googling it spoils it for me too, you know!” he exclaimed, reaching for your phone as best he could. You jerked your hand back, rolling over onto your stomach and half-dangling off the bed. With a sigh, he gave up on his conquest, but that didn’t cease his complaining. “I mean, come on, who googles the first-kiss episode every single time they watch a drama?”

“Me, I do,” you said, frantically typing ‘when do they kiss’ into the search bar, followed by the name of the drama. Instantly, several YouTube videos and articles popped up, each with ‘kiss scene’ in the title. “Aha! Episode—”

“Shut up!” Jisung exclaimed, wrapping his arms around your waist. With a tug, you were sitting up on the bed again, pressed up against his chest. You mumbled a string of incoherencies, wrenching yourself from his grasp and turning to face him.

“I don’t see your issue. I mean, it’s not like the kiss episode spoils the plot or anything, so why lose your mind? It’s setting a precedent, a goal to achieve before we stop watching and go to bed,” you argued, frowning. He gave you an unimpressed look, rolling his eyes. You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Plus, the timing of the kiss scene is important. I mean, nobody wants to see one two episodes in, but nobody wants to wait for ten episodes. Right?”

“Right, okay, but wouldn’t you rather be surprised?”

“No, because I’ll be disappointed when the perfect-kiss-threshold passes and no kissing has happened yet. I need to know if this’ll be worth my time.”

“Oh yeah? When’s the perfect-kiss-threshold?”

“End of episode six to episode eight, obviously. Any earlier and things are no fun, and any later and things are boring,” you replied, talking as if this was some sort of scholarly information and that everybody should know your opinions on the pacing of dramas.

Jisung stared at you for a moment, a small smile forming on his face. His cheeks began to tinge a red color, and his ears were bright red, but that didn’t stop him from reaching for his goal.

“So, if we were in a drama, when would our kiss scene be?”

Ignoring the implications of the question, mostly for the sake of avoiding melting into a puddle of lovey-dovey-ness, you took it more seriously and genuinely contemplated it.

“Well, assuming you’d ever measure up to be the main male lead,” you mused, tapping your chin a couple of times. “I think we’d pass the threshold. God, we probably wouldn’t kiss until, like, eleven or twelve. We’d have a terribly boring drama.”

Jisung seemed appalled at your answer, maybe even a bit offended. “Seriously? What gives you that impression?”

Before you could stop yourself, you answered, “I mean, look at our relationship now.”

“What about it?”

“Are you kidding me? We’ve done just about every couple thing other than kiss. We go grocery shopping together, we hold hands whenever we walk anywhere together, we watch dramas and cuddle up together for hours at a time. We’d be the drama couple that goes fast but doesn’t want to admit it. The type to act like a married couple before we even called each other boyfriend and girlfriend.”

God, you wished you could keep your mouth shut. The moment you finished your tangent, you could feel your cheeks burning up, and you could see Jisung blushing even worse than before. He reached up and scratched his neck as if he was unsure how to respond to your slightly-too-real analysis of your relationship.

He shuffled around on the bed, returning to his position under the covers with his back against pillows propped up by the headboard. You stared at him for a second, loathing the silence between you before you did the same, feeling a sudden awkwardness with being near him.

“I mean, did you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Because, like, I’m not opposed, but…”

“I dunno, it’s kinda fun just being us, labelless and happy. Right? A couple of friends, pretending like they do normal friend things on a daily basis.”

Jisung slung an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You leaned your head on his shoulder, cuddling up against his side and feeling comfortable in his warmth. “I mean, a kiss carries a lot of meaning. A lot of commitment.”

“No, you’re right. We’d have to be, like, really sure if we were gonna go that far,” Jisung agreed, flinching slightly when you wrapped your hands around his waist. There was something nice about not being in a relationship but still being romantically involved with one another. Especially since you were tied up in the same friend group and would be teased to high heaven if things became official.

It made you happy, being with him and living in the moment. Never rushing, never going too fast, just being wrapped up in your togetherness.

“I think we’d make a bad drama,” you finally said, focusing on the soft-yet-nervous pattern of Jisung’s breathing. “It’d be too indecisive and slow.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he agreed, picking up the remote that he’d put down on his bedside table. “So, what episode do they kiss?”

“Seven. Right in the middle of the threshold,” you said, a deep sense of satisfaction pooling in your stomach. You could’ve giggled out of happiness for your current situation if you were brave enough. “I think we could make it by three in the morning if we played our cards right. It’s, what, 10? Yeah, three in the morning.”

“Is that factoring in differing episode lengths?”

“No, just rough estimates.”

“Well, let’s promise that we’ll go to sleep at three,” he suggested, leaning his head atop your own. “And we’ll forget about this ever happening. Deal?”

“Absolute deal.”

Jisung pressed play on the episode, but you weren’t lost on him turning his head ever-so-slightly, planting a small kiss on your forehead to signify just a little bit of commitment. To plant a little hope that, one day, you’ll reach your episode twelve and take the full leap. But, for now, you’d watch your drama and be happy as “friends.”

thank you for reading!

[scoundrels-in-love]

Hey, how are you doing?

I know Ukraine isn't Latvia, but hope you're doing as best as you can be.

Thank you for checking in on me, sweetie.

Latvia isn't Ukraine, but:

Latvia shares border with Russia and I happen to live about 130km/70 something miles away from it.

Latvia has wonderful past with Russia, including occupation for the whole duration of USSR. Although I am not so sure if Baltic sea is still as desirable as it was back then, it is still a fact.

A fact that has led to a lot of tension within the country, lasting to this day. There are lot of Russian people here, people that have lived here for generations and the presence is very tangible. I personally cannot get a job because I don't know Russian (not for lack of trying, though! I just suck at getting past certain point in it) and I am not in the cities or regions that are a lot more Russian dominated. In fact, when I was in high school there was great concern civil fights would break out when there was national voting if Russian should be seen as 2nd National language. And Russian schools are being shut down as "part of combining the smaller schools as we can't afford to fund them" that has been causing outrage this year, and so on as so forth, including a whole region having period of wanting to join Russia. Essentially, even if Russia didn't set eyes on us, the vibrating tensions could overflow very easily among people themselves and I don't trust my country's government not deciding to send our army to get involved, because we've always made noise and unnecessary stances to show our negativity towards Russia politically. If I ever need reminders of these things, I can just look outside my window at the apartment building on the opposite side, built by war prisoners, as is pretty much all of my city, because it was burned to ground during WW II.

I am doing the best I can, but did I cry and feel like throwing up when my friend messaged me "so the war's about to start huh" and I had to google frantically, with sinking stomach, what was the latest turn within last hour? Yes, yes I did.

There is no sense of security in my life right now, not with my unemployment and health, not on larger scale. I am tired. There is nothing I can do if my country, if my city becomes war zone.

So. If things fall in certain way and I disappear off the face of Internet... Remember me fondly? Ha. Ha. Ha.

[dirtychocolatechai]

meet-cute | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warning(s): fluff, awkward Bucky, vet appointment stuff, Alpine Request: Babes if you're lowkey taking requests can I lowkey make one? 👉🏼👈🏼🥺💕 something flirty and cute and maybe a lil spicy with Bucky and vet!reader where something's going on with Alpine? Not self indulgent at all 😻💖 Notes: This was the first thing I’ve written in months and it felt damn good. Funny story, I actually almost went to school to be a vet tech + shadowed a vet for two weeks and got to see some wickedly cool things.

This was a bit self-indulgent on my part because I had a cat who passed away some years ago because of struvite stones and I wished he had a happier ending like Alpine so I thought why not 🤷‍♀️💖

Taglist is open

(gif from google)

There’s nothing Bucky hates more than the stringent smell of industrial cleaners and clinical white walls - too many associations and shades of memory long laid to rest - except for when something’s going on with Alpine. The Turkish Angora was fine up until a few days ago when he started to hide away and sleep all day.

That wasn’t too concerning at first...

But then came the pained little noises, the frantic running back and forth from the litter box, the excessive grooming. The pit that started forming low in his belly grew, his instincts screaming at him that something was wrong, very wrong, with his little buddy. 

Bucky wasn’t about to fuck around and set up an appointment with the first vet office he could find that had a same-day opening. And now he’s trying not to fall apart at the seams while he waits for the docs to do their magic and tell him what the hell’s going on with his cat and what he has to do to fix it.

The vet tech collected Alpine a bit ago and every minute stretches into years, the cat’s pitiful meow echoing in his ears and those betrayed eyes burned onto the backs of his eyelids.

I know, Bub, I’m sorry but they gotta figure out what’s going on. It’ll be okay, they’ll take care of you. 

His ass went numb from the plastic chair ages ago, his leg jiggling up and down at a rapid pace as he chews on his thumbnail and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

God, he knows these things take time but he’d rather be back at home, curled up on the couch with Alpine pigging out on breakfast food and watching space documentaries. 

How much longer-

“Alright, Mr. Barnes?”

The heavy door swings open with a click, a kind, professional voice preceding a pair of sensible shoes as the vet steps into the room with a clipboard cradled against her chest. His eyes snap up, skipping over her completely to look at the tech holding his cat who looks absolutely miserable. 

She introduces herself but he’s not paying attention. He’s not meaning to be rude but all his focus narrows in on that white little face, the knot in his chest unfurling at the little mew.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he breathes, “Hey there, Little Buddy.” 

The vet doesn’t push, in fact, she seems a little enamored with how much he melts at the sight of his pet. Her own lips quirk up into a soft smile while she stands off to the side patiently as Alpine’s set down on the metal table.

Bucky gets in a few good scritches under his chin, the beginnings of a purr just starting to vibrate his hand when the vet clears her throat delicately. 

He clears his throat, heat burrowing into the apples of his cheeks. “Shi - uh, ‘m sorry.” A hand scrubs over the back of his neck. “I’m just - uh - y’know...” 

Her laugh trickles down his spine like warm rain, the sound effectively drawing his attention away from the cat rubbing up against his side. He gets his first look at her and oh.

A bare face and a no-nonsense hairstyle greet him, her scrubs and white coat adding to the overall doctor vibe but she’s still breathtaking. The natural beauty in the curves of her face, the slant of her brows, the sparkle of her eyes.

He feels like he got sucker-punched in the chest, his heart giving a sudden throb that has him coughing like an idiot as he scrambles to not look like such a jackass.

“So,” he clears his throat, scratching at the stubble along his jaw, “What’s - what’s wrong with him?” 

Glancing down at Alpine’s chart, she hums and writes a note before glancing back up with a reassuring smile. “Nothing that can’t be managed with a special diet and watching his water intake.”

It’s like the weight of the world disappears from his shoulders, his broad frame practically heaving with his sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking- ahem, ‘scuse me - thank god.” 

Her chuckle and sly smile have him blushing from the roots of his hair to the collar of his shirt, his stomach squirming in discomfort. Old habits are hard to break, especially ones his momma taught him with a box to the ear.

“You’re allowed to swear, Mr. Barnes,” she says, reaching down to run her fingers through snow-white fur. “We’re all adults here.” 

“No, no, I know...” 

“Hm, anyway, his blood work came back and everything looks fine which is a good thing.” 

And it’s back to business like that, any hint of personality hidden behind cool professionalism that Bucky thinks even Tasha would admire. Except for the playful gleam in her eyes as she sneaks peeks at him while going over everything they did and what they found. 

“Struvite crystals are quite common in cats at low levels, especially males because their tract is longer and narrower.” She pauses, flipping to a new page. “Depending on the severity, they can clump together in the urinary tract and actually form stones. That’s where the true problem lies because get one large enough, and it can cause a blockage.”

He’s listening with rapt attention, soaking in the knowledge she’s imparting to him all the while, petting Alpine who keeps nuzzling him and making little sounds. Honestly, he could listen to her talk for hours even if he didn’t understand a goddamn thing. 

She’s so animated when she speaks, holds eye contact and makes sure he understands everything without making him feel like an idiot. He’s had so many doctors who talked at him rather than with him, staring through him without seeing, more interested in the paycheck rather than their patients.

But not her, she cares.

Deeply.

He can see it all over her face and it’s utterly enchanting. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little enamored, charmed.

Turning the tablet towards him, she shifts closer and a waft of whatever perfume she’s wearing tickles his nose as she explains what the x-ray of Alpine’s abdomen found.

“These are the stones but thankfully they’re relatively small,” she points to several hazy white ovals starkly visible on the radiograph, “We caught them in time before they became a really big problem.” 

Shit, she smells so good...

 “Now, we’ll send you home with a special diet and see how he does. Also, make sure to up his fluid intake as much as you can. The food can take several months to start dissolving the crystals so we’ll have to do everything we can to help. Sound good?”

Bucky hasn’t pulled his eyes away from her face once this entire time, and how fucking creepy is that?

Quickly looking down at Alpine, embarrassment gnawing at his belly, he nods and wishes for the first time since he cut his hair that he hadn’t so he’d at least have a passing chance at hiding the blush burning its way across his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, picking up the ball of white fluff to hold against his chest, a makeshift shield. “Is there anything else I should do?” 

“No.” She smiles, writing another note and tapping away at the tablet next to her. “I do want to see him again in about a month for a check-up.”

Fuck, he doesn’t want to leave so soon.

The irony isn’t lost on him either.

How does he make this last longer? What can he do? If Sam was here right now, he’d be kicking him in the ass and bitching at him to ask for her number already, Ice Pick.

The clack of the chart being set down rings through the room, bouncing off the walls and sounding so fucking final that he starts to panic. 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. 

She’s already halfway to the door when she asks, “Do you have any questions?”

The word vomit spring from him, unbidden and sudden without any thought, more forward than he’s been with a woman in years.

“Can I have your number?”

As soon as the question leaves his lips, he curses, cringes and wishes he could snatch the very words from the air itself.

Great, I just hit on my vet.

No amount of backpedaling can salvage this but goddamn it if Bucky doesn’t try, stuttering out some half-assed excuse about wanting it just in case he thinks of something later.

When he glances up, he wishes he hadn’t. The vet tech is in near tears in the corner, biting her lips so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if they started to bleed.

But it’s the absolute surprised bafflement on the woman he just inappropriately hit on that does him in, makes him about ready to burn all forms of identification and run for the hills. 

Her brows nearly reach her hairline, her mouth slack, eyes startled. She gets ahold of herself before he does, and he barely stops himself from slapping a hand over his face.

Right when he’s thinking there’s no way he’s going to be able to show his face in the office again, her expression softens with gentle amusement and her lips twitch. 

Struck dumb, he can only watch as she writes something down on a slip of paper before handing it over to him. He barely believes the string of numbers and the cheeky little call me anytime :).

The wink she sends his way is there and gone, so fast he almost believes he imagined it. 

“For emergencies only,” she says, slyly. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he agrees, almost tripping over the cat carrier as he hurries to stuff Alpine back in. “Of course, thank you. I...appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, Mr. Barnes.” 

Bucky leaves the room in a stupor, the world sharply shifted to the left as he heads to the front desk to make the follow-up appointment, but not before hearing the whispered, “Girl, you’re lucky. He’s fine!” and the “He is, isn’t he?”. 

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 25)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 6423 Warnings: mention of injuries, fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 24 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Time stands still like the eerie calm of the earth before a storm and in less than the blink of an eye things move all at once. The clouds break open with the downpour of your tears, a tornado sends you in a dizzying frenzy to change your clothes, hellish winds are unleashed that blow you across town so quickly you nearly forgot to take your phone with you as you scrambled out of the Uber that raced you to the hospital.

Sam’s call was brief. Bucky was brought into the emergency room by ambulance, fading in and out of consciousness from a car accident. Sam nearly went into shock himself seeing his friend littered in cuts and scrapes. You didn’t have time to ask much else, barely even changing out of your pajamas. You swapped thin bottoms for leggings, quickly grabbed your bra and threw a hoodie over it all, not thinking about how your hair looked or bothering to pick out the crust that just began to take root in the corner of your eyes. You grabbed a bag tossing in your keys and wallet and clutched your phone in hand to run downstairs.

The fluorescent lights are blinding as you enter the hospital, searching for Sam through the chaos of chatter and noise. The beep beep beep of machinery all around you, coughing, crying, moaning wails from people that want help or attention or just a place to sleep off their drunkenness. The ER was a maze you knew every route of but your mind pushed the knowledge out needing more space to panic.

Where is Bucky? Where is Sam?

You remembered the nurses’ station, sprinting towards it and happy to see a familiar face that does not recognize you right away. You didn’t expect Stacie to; you looked quite different when you were not put together in professional clothes and on the verge of bursting into tears and throwing up at the same time.

Together you quickly found Sam, unable to hold back the dam when you saw him and asked about Bucky.

“He went up into surgery.”

“Surgery!?” you cried out. “Is he going to be okay? Sam what happened?”

He let out a long and heavy sigh. The harsh lights above were unkind, showing the depths of the circles under his eyes.

“His leg is broken and he has some internal bleeding but we stabilized him and…”

You knew how hard Sam works, how everyone in this hospital works, getting an up close experience from your time there so you hated to be this person, frantic and begging for answers that he didn’t have.

“Doctor Palmer is an excellent surgeon. I’m gonna call her assistant now to let them know I’m sending you up.”

You nodded, biting your lip and roughly wiping away fresh tears. Sam pulled you into his chest and you felt your knees buckle. Bucky had to make it through surgery, he had to! A heavy sob wracked through you as you thought of the worst. Sam squeezed tighter, wishing he could stay with you upstairs through the surgery. Hell, he’d scrub in himself if they’d let him just so he could say he’s done everything to help his friend through this.

“I’ll be up when I can,” he promised, walking you towards the elevator.

You forced a worried smile. “Thanks Sam. Do you know… did anyone call his parents?”

Sam clenched his jaw as he thought about it. “It was pretty crazy in there, I’m not sure. I could fi–” He was interrupted by someone calling his name and you knew you had taken too much of his time already.

Your stomach dropped as the elevator went up, bringing you to an unfamiliar floor with unfamiliar faces that made you feel like an unwelcome stranger in someone’s home. You let the staff know you were here for James but a by-the-books nurse wasn’t keen on giving you information. Without thinking straight you had stupidly answered no when they asked if you were family, and when you asked if Bucky’s family was called she wouldn’t tell you.

You exhaled a deep, calming sigh, not wanting to yell at the person that was just doing their job, but as you sink into the uncomfortable chair you can’t help but silently cry to yourself. This woman doesn’t know how badly you need to know if Bucky’s okay. She doesn’t know that you spent the last few months ignoring him and wishing you could take it all back. She doesn’t know how much you miss him, how you love him. Even though he broke your heart you couldn’t help yourself from gluing the pieces back together and you needed to tell him, maybe you couldn’t tell him the truth but Bucky needed to at least know that you didn’t hate him.

The clock ticks away slowly and no one has come to speak with you. You stare at Winifred’s profile. She hasn’t updated her status since late in the afternoon. Does she know? Did anyone call them?

You decide they need to know, they need to be here just in case. A wave of nausea rolls over you at the thought and suddenly you become dizzy in your seat. You’re hot, sweating in the hoodie and yet you push on. Shaky fingers google his parent’s names and hometown in the hopes they are listed. You find a number, hesitant to call at this late of an hour. Rebecca was a few hours behind, and you debated messaging them in hopes of a fast reply. Should you do that? Should you be doing this at all?

Fuck.

If you had some answers you could at least feel a little better about all of this. You messaged Rebecca on Instagram telling them what happened and leaving your number. Your cheeks burn like lava as you rest your palm against them, dialing the number that google provided which may or may not be correct.

The phone rings and rings, and with each unanswered ring your stomach twists a little tighter. Relief comes but only slightly by way of Winnie’s bubbly voice prompting you to leave a message. Your voice shakes as you do, letting out a strangled cry as you leave them the limited details you knew about Bucky. Are they sleeping?

It doesn’t take long before your screen lights up with a number you don’t recognize and you were relieved to hear Winnie’s voice. Someone did call her and George, and they were on their way to the hospital.

“Rebecca sent me your number. I’m so happy you’re there. We’ll see you soon sweetheart,” she said, with sobs in her voice.

After hanging up you saw a message from Rebecca repeating what you already knew. They asked if it was okay to call you and you were thankful for the distraction. Together you tried to comfort each other, worrying about Bucky making it through surgery, about their parents driving with little sleep and so much on their minds.

“They’re here,” you said spotting George first from down the hallway, “I’ll call you back.”

It had been at least a half hour since their call and getting up from the chair was slow, your body ached from sitting for too long but you didn’t care. George and Winnie wrapped you in their arms, tears flowing as you embraced. The tears poured a little harder as you gripped them tightly, realizing how nice it was to see them again but wishing desperately it was under different circumstances.

George withdrew first, going up to the desk to let them know he was there. Winnie cupped your face softly, her hands were cold but it felt good against the heat of your skin. The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile that released more tears down her reddened cheeks, her eyes already swollen and full of spidery veins.

Together you waited. Talking, pacing, crying, waiting, waiting, waiting until a short woman in green scrubs called out for the Barnes family. The three of you jump up and you feel immediately sick, holding on to Winnie’s arm as you try to read the expression of the woman before she said anything.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes my name is Doctor Palmer, I was the surgeon who worked on your son James.”

Winnie held your hand a little tighter, squeezing as every second went by until Dr. Palmer said he was stable and in recovery.

“He came in with blunt force trauma from a crash. He fractured two ribs and there was some internal bleeding from his spleen which we were able to repair with arterial embolization. However, James had a severe compound fracture of the tibia. We debrided the area and secured the bone with plates and screws. James is in the post op recovery room and he’s awake but not fully lucid.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the waiting room, with mixed tears of happiness flowing freely again. The doctor said a nurse would come by to bring you in to see him shortly and you couldn’t wait. You didn’t know what you would say to Bucky or if he would even be alert enough to hear you but you knew it was time to let him know that the past is in the past and you want to move forward.

A beat fills the room, steady like a metronome to keep the rhythm but the sound is unfamiliar. Too soft for the drums, not high enough for strings. Quick, simple. Piano? No. The sound isn’t broad enough. Keyboard? Yes. Electric, synthy. But it still sounds wrong.

Bucky tries to open his eyes but his lids are too heavy, bolted down by invisible chains. He sees the light of the sun through them. He tries to lift his arm to shut the blinds but even they are too sluggish to move, heavy like they were coated in cement.

He feels the scratch of a rough blanket against his skin, vague thoughts cross his tired mind wondering the whereabouts of his comforter. His toes are cold, feeling like tiny icicles are hanging off them. His right foot drags against the mattress. Was it always this uncomfortable? It’s his left foot that isn’t covered, a sock that probably came off in the night.

In a state of half sleep Bucky tries to wiggle the icicles off and suddenly his whole body feels like it’s been set ablaze. The beat quickens. A terrible pain fires through every nerve. There’s a sharp sensation in his hand when he tries to move it making him wince. His left side has a dull stabbing ache that increases as he takes a deep breath. Bucky feels sore all over like he was just hit by a–

And then he remembers.

His breaths are shallow, the tempo moving rapidly like the hook of an EDM song about to drop the beat as Bucky replayed the scene like a movie. He left the premier’s after party in an Uber never expecting the violent jolt of an SUV t-boning the car into a traffic pole. Everything after was a blur. There were flashing lights, noise, a steady bright light, an angel with the face of Y/N.

Bucky’s eyes fly open in state panic as he looks around wildly at his surroundings. His leg is in a cast, elevated by a sling. Needles in his arm, tubes around his nose, wires everywhere. He felt like a mess, he could only imagine he looked even worse but then all of his worries fade away when he sees Y/N, the angel at his side.

You’re asleep on the chair, elbow propped up on the wooden arm with your head leaning against your palm. It’s not comfortable at all but you didn’t complain, it wasn’t important. It was nearly five in the morning when Bucky was moved to a room. The walls were a dreadful sage green that looked more like dirty money in the dim light of dawn. The room was small but the lack of a second bed for the time being made things seem a little larger.

George went off in search of a third chair for the room as you and Winnie pulled yours up close to Bucky, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Sam came up to visit after his shift ended, introducing himself to Bucky’s parents. The tackling hug Winnie gave him was unexpected by his sleep deprived body but he accepted it all the same, giving her a reassuring hug that everything would be okay. Before he left you whispered a thank you in Sam’s ear, for treating Bucky and giving you a call. You promised to keep him updated as told him to get some rest, he certainly deserved it.

Bucky slept peacefully as you watched over him, your head falling forward and jolting you awake every time you had begun to fall asleep. Winnie had already fallen asleep but you were fighting against your body’s needs. You stared longingly at Bucky, wanting to be awake in case he woke up. George put a gentle hand on your shoulder, nodding with silent permission that it was okay to shut your eyes. A large black cup of coffee aided him in keeping watch and so you blinked slowly, your lids growing heavier with every languid motion until they remained shut for the next few hours. It wasn’t until the sound of rapid beeps that you were alerted into consciousness again.

Your head whipped up quickly with concern at the sound that slowly began to steady, finding Bucky awake with an ever so slight tug of a smile on his lips that grew once you locked eyes. It had been far too long since you looked at Bucky, truly looked at him without anger and heartache clouding your vision.

The scrapes and bruises that littered his face did not hinder any part of his handsomeness. His lips were dull and slightly chapped and yet it didn’t stop you from wanting to press yours against them. You lifted your eyes towards his, feeling blessed to be able to stare at the most beautiful shade of blue once more. They glistened with unshed tears as Bucky gazed back at you.

Your own tears came instantly, falling down the curves of your smile as you leaned over him. Your name fell softly from his lips and hesitantly you lifted your hand, wanting to reach out and caress his face. You pulled it back, dropping your head for a moment, squeezing tears out of your tightly shut eyes. Bucky was a blur when you opened them again but he was there, he was alive and you were more than thankful.

“Hey neighbor,” you sniffled. “It’s good to see you.”

No longer caring if you should or shouldn’t touch his face, you wanted to. Your thumb gently grazed the delicate skin of his cheek, early stubble scratching lightly as you brushed against it.

Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling him smile against your palm. “It’s good to see you too.” His voice was strained, still dry from surgery.

You took Bucky’s hand in your own, careful of the IV sticking out. He asked what happened, knowing he was in an accident but unsure of the details afterwards. It was obvious his leg was broken but you told him the specifics– the emergency surgery to fix his break and stop his internal bleeding, how Sam had treated him when he came into the ER. He smiled at that.

“You broke a few ribs too.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. “So that’s why it hurts to breathe.”

Your lips pulled tightly across your face, wishing you could take the pain away from him. The tension released when you felt Bucky squeezing your hand as if he heard your thoughts, offering you comfort when he was the one that really needed it.

“Oh, your parents are here,” you remembered, though you looked around, unsure of where they went. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to contact Claire.” The shock of Bucky’s accident made you forget to text all your friends until the early morning.

His face twists with confusion. “Claire?” Did you really not know? “Claire and I have been broken up for months.”

Your lips move without sound as you try to process what he said. You didn’t know what to say, wondering if Bucky hid his breakup as you had yours. Now you didn’t feel as guilty holding on to the feelings in your heart. You’re about to blurt out the words, to tell Bucky what you couldn’t say back to Peter but the sound of Winnie calling his name stopped you and you turned to see her running up to his bed.

“James, you’re awake. We were so worried,” she cried in his ear, contorting herself around machines while being mindful of Bucky’s injuries.

George walked in with a cup of coffee for you and you thanked him, getting up so he could get closer to Bucky. The warm brew felt good going down even though it wasn’t the best, forgetting to warn them about the cafeteria’s lack of quality. Good thing you weren’t relying on this to keep you awake, not since Bucky shocked every cell of your body into full alertness with his news. Though you were happy to learn he broke up with Claire it still didn’t mean what you wanted it to and you were thankful you hadn’t scared him off with an “I love you.”

Pulling out your phone you saw a text from Wanda, featuring a block of caps locked screaming with question marks and sad emojis. You typed back an update about Bucky, looking over at him with his parents and back down again to the message that was still in the process of sending. It took a few minutes before the message decided not to go through at all.

You excused yourself, letting everyone know you were going to update all your friends about how Bucky was doing. George commented on the terrible service in the room so at least it wasn’t just your phone. You probably could have stood on a chair trying to force better service somehow in different parts of the room but you also wanted to give Bucky and his parents an opportunity for privacy.

“I’ll be right back,” you said with a smile, passing a woman coming in with flowers for the person who had been brought into the other side of the room early in the morning. Your gaze lingered back at Bucky one final time before leaving.

George shared a look with Winnie and staring at her son she said, “Y/N was here all night you know...”

With your phone in hand you follow it like it’s a map with five full bars leading you to treasure. It only took walking around the whole floor to find a good spot on the opposite side of the building near a window for your text to go through. In between sips of coffee you recorded a message for everyone on the group chat, it was so much easier than typing it out and you were still very tired.

You decided to finish your coffee there, giving Bucky and his parents more time as you stared out the window at what looked like a bright and beautiful morning. A slew of notifications came on your phone as half the people responded. Clint was probably still sleeping but Natasha replied asking if Bucky needs anything. Though Peggy was in England she asked if there was anything she could do. Steve wondered if he wanted visitors and asked you to pass along his get well wishes. You typed back that you would find out, promising to keep in touch as the day went on.

When your cup was empty you tossed it into a nearby garbage can and headed back, not expecting to hear your name being called.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You turned to see Elena, concern etched on her face as she held onto your shoulder. Embarrassment washed over you as you remembered how you looked, feeling even worse when you realized that earlier in the week Elena was technically your boss.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay. A friend of mine came in last night, car accident. I’ve…” you took a moment to yawn, covering your mouth, “Excuse me, I’ve been here all night.” You slapped your face lightly to wake up, now wishing the coffee had been stronger. “He’s going to be okay though,” you finished.

“He? Is this Bucky?” she wondered, and you were surprised she recalled his name since the wedding was months ago. You sighed, nodding slowly as your lips pulled into a soft smile. “I hope everything works out.”

Elena hugged you before she turned around to see a patient, reminding you she was here if you needed her. It was really nice to know she was there for you, Elena had become more than a mentor in the time you’ve worked for her.

Heading back in the room you couldn’t help the smile that graced your face when you saw Bucky. The few minutes apart you spent were more than you ever wanted to do again. George moved down a seat so you could sit closer to Bucky, letting him know everyone was asking about him, wondering if he wanted visitors.

Bucky sought your hand again, smiling as your soft touch helped to ease the discomfort he was feeling. It would be nice to see friends but he was more than happy you were here with him. It wasn’t long before a nurse came in to check vitals and Bucky was relieved since he definitely could use more pain medication.

Winnie asked you to join her to get food since no one had really eaten and even though you didn’t want to leave Bucky you weren’t going to say no to his mother. Besides, you needed to steer Winnie away from the cafeteria and the nurse seemed thankful to have less people in the room.

Bucky felt settled after a dose of painkillers, easing the radiating aches from all over his body. George poured a cup of water, handed it to him and set aside the pink plastic pitcher.

“How’re you feeling James?” he asked, forcing a smile when all he wanted to do was cry looking at the state of his son, from the deep purple bruises on his temple to the scrapes that marred his skin.

Bucky gulped down the water, quenching the arid condition of his mouth. “M’okay, a little better I guess.”

“Your head feels okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, no one said I hit it or– ”

“Are you sure about that?”

George leaned in closer, as Bucky squinted in confusion. His smile dropped and his eyes grew stern as he organized his thoughts into a more appropriate lecture despite the disappointing anger that bubbled beneath his skin.

“I really wonder James, because see Y/N, a great girl who clearly loves and cares about you and you let her go.” Bucky tried to interrupt, to fill in all the details he hadn’t told him in the past but George wouldn’t let him. “No son, there has to be something wrong with you if you can’t see it.”

“Dad, it’s… it’s complicated,” Bucky let out with a sorrowful sigh.

“James, real love is complicated. It’s wild and passionate as much as it is frustrating, but when you find someone that loves you as much as you love them it makes overcoming obstacles worthwhile. Love isn’t easy but it is easy loving someone that makes you feel alive, that makes life worth living and when you find that someone you don’t let them go. Don’t let her go, James.”

Bucky sits with the weight of his father’s words heavy on his chest. It had already been hard to breathe and now things felt worse. He doesn’t know the full story, how a stupid mistake ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He wants to make it right, to tell you everything not that it would change anything. Bucky assumed that since you spent all night waiting by his side that you at least don’t hate him anymore like you used to, so maybe your friendship can be salvaged. Still, it’s going to hurt him to see you in Peter’s arms but Bucky would rather have you back in his life because not having you there at all is far worse.

You come walking in with his mom, smiling and laughing and it’s such a beautiful sight. The smile on his face can’t help but grow. Bucky watches as his father wraps an arm around his mom, pressing a kiss to her temple. She smiles looking up at him, pulling out sandwiches from a deli you had come from.

“Ohh and someone wants to say hello,” Winnie said, pulling out her phone, trying her best to connect to Rebecca on FaceTime despite the shitty signal. The connection is spotty and Bucky ends up having a regular phone conversation with them. They were definitely happy to hear he was doing better.

After the call Bucky asked about his phone and his mom found the bag of his personal belongings in the closet. She grimaced at the lack of clothes, realizing whatever he came in with was most likely cut off him in the ER, thoughts of the whole ordeal bringing tears to her eyes. Underneath his shoes were his wallet and phone which she handed him, surprised to see the screen had not cracked.

Bucky attempted to turn it on but it was dead. Normally you carry a charger with you but in the rush to leave your apartment that was the last thing on your mind. Your own battery had just passed half its life but you didn’t really care. There was nothing else you needed to focus on today besides Bucky.

His parents stay into the afternoon, getting a chance to speak with the doctor and meeting Natasha, Clint and Steve who arranged their visit together. They left shortly after since the room had gotten crowded between everyone and visitors for the person in the other bed. You and Winnie hugged, squeezing tight for a lingering moment, fighting the urge to cry again out of exhaustion and relief for the night you went through together. George gave an equally strong hug, one that Bucky watched from his bed, overhearing his parents making sure you had both their numbers.

You looked just as tired as they did and Bucky knows you should probably go home. He wonders if you’ll leave when your friends do but when the time comes and Natasha is shrugging on her jacket you make no move to do the same, only getting up to hug them goodbye.

Alone again, Bucky finds comfort in the silence between you, as the speaker for the TV lays beside him filling the background with noise. He watches as you set up the cards he received on the windowsill, making sure Clint’s it’s going tibia okay card is angled so Bucky can see it and smile.

When dinner arrives he frowns at cold peas and carrots, eats the bland chicken and enjoys the soup more than he thought. Bucky urged you to eat something more than the bags of chips and nuts you had been snacking on since the sandwich you split between breakfast and lunch. You insisted you were fine but he forced you to eat his salad, assuring you he was not in the mood to have it.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky groaned through an exhale, his eyes squeezed shut as hissed an unconvincing “yes” through his teeth.

“I need more pain meds and…” he shifted as much as he could trying to ease his discomfort.

“And what? Bucky, whatever it is I can get the nurse in.”

“I… it’s embarrassing,” he admitted.

You smiled softly, leaning close to remind him, “Whatever it is can’t be more embarrassing than the time I nearly shit myself in front of you. Remember? All my trips running to the bathroom hoping I could make it on time?”

Crinkles formed around his eyes as Bucky smiled, chuckling before he realized how much it hurt to do so, at the memory of your food poisoning and the weekend he spent helping you recover. And now here you were by his side, doing the same.

“It’s uh, my…” He looked away, blushing beet red as he squeaked out, “...my catheter. It’s not great.”

An array of expressions crossed your face. “Yeah… I can imagine.” When you finally locked eyes with Bucky again you couldn’t help but smile awkwardly, offering to go get him a nurse.

It took a few minutes to return as you looked for the nurse, coming back with a surprise, Wanda and Sam. Wanda held back tears as she carefully hugged him and Sam couldn’t help but go into doctor mode and ask how Bucky was doing.

“I’m good. Alive thanks to you.”

Sam grinned. “I can’t take all the credit, but you are lucky. Very lucky.”

The nurse lumbered in, tired from a long shift but his demeanor changed upon seeing Sam, the two of them knowing each other well. Riley had praised Sam’s skills having formerly worked beside him in the ER for a while.

“Riley, this is my boy so please, whatever he needs make sure he’s taken care of, alright?” Sam turned to Bucky, “You good? Do you need a sponge bath?”

Bucky sighed, “No Sam, I don’t need a sponge bath.” He blushed with embarrassment, rolling his eyes at his friend’s teasing. “I would really like to pee on my own though.”

“Riley, call the stream team!” Sam shouted a little too loud.

Bucky instantly regretted his admission, pinching the tender bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “It’s nice they let you out for some fresh air Sam, that padded room must get pretty boring.”

Sam wore a toothy smile, happy to see his friend was still in good enough spirits to rib him back. He and Wanda stayed long enough for the shift change and though Sam didn’t personally know the next nurse he introduced himself and wanted to make sure Bucky was taken care of.

Once again you made no move to leave when Sam and Wanda did, getting up only to stretch. Your bones creaked like old wood, stretching out stiff muscles until you felt the slightest bit of relief. The chairs provided were not the most uncomfortable but after almost a day they definitely took a toll.

Bucky notices the way your eyes grow tired, how every action has slowed. You’ve been in the hospital nearly as long as he has and he doesn’t envy you, even with his injuries.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, stirring you alert. “It’s late, you should go home.” Your head shook before you spoke, opening your mouth to protest but he cut you off. “I’m good, I promise. You’ve been here all day and night, go get some sleep in a real bed.”

It would look stupid if you argued at this point, as you tried to fight back a yawn. Bucky asked you for a favor before you left, to grab his keys and bring some clothes and his phone charger tomorrow. “Only if you don’t mind.” Of course you would.

“Oh and one more thing,” he said, his eyes pleading up at you. “Call me when you get home. I need to know you got back safely.”

You nodded, smiling softly, before entering the number from his bedside phone into yours. Leaning down you pressed your lips against Bucky’s forehead, letting them linger against the warmth of his skin. Upon pulling away you shared a moment, smiling back at each other before Bucky took your hand.

“Thank you Y/N,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. There was so much Bucky meant within those words and by the way you looked at him he believed you knew.

With his body on fire Bucky still rested easier than he had in the last few months, knowing at the very least he had you in his life again.

The subway rocks gently as you travel down the familiar route to the hospital, this time not worrying about making it on time to clock in but with excitement fluttering in your belly to be able to see Bucky again.

Last night you called him just before you went into his apartment, grabbing the few things he asked for and not lingering. You were a second away from crashing, having enough energy to plug your phone in before your face hit the pillow.

In the morning you showered, drinking a strong cup of coffee as you got ready. You didn’t bother with much but it felt good to look presentable. You grabbed Bucky’s things, texting people before you lost service underground. Rebecca thanked you for the updates and said they were looking to fly in towards the end of the week. George and Winnie would definitely be happy to see them again. They contacted you this morning as well, saying they would be seeing you at the hospital in a bit.

Bucky tried to keep himself occupied, shutting his eyes and eventually finding sleep for a few hours before the nurse needed to check his vitals. He stared out his window, watching the dark blanket of the sky slowly lift over the buildings, falling asleep once more before the next round of nurses coming in. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to heal if he can’t sleep but the doctor lets him know he should be released tomorrow or the following day.

It lifts his mood but the height of his spirits soar high above the atmosphere when Bucky saw you walking into his room. You look much more rested than he does and he’s happy about it. He savors your arms around him, feasting upon the scent of your floral shampoo, your smile bringing sunshine upon a gloomy world.

You put the clothes he asked for in his closet, taking his phone and plugging it into the nearest outlet, settling down again in the familiar chair beside his bed. You were just as excited to hear about Bucky getting released soon, the thought of him being just beyond your shared wall again was comforting.

After charging for a little bit Bucky asked for his phone, just to check a few quick messages. You got up to unplug it, the screen lighting up and making your mouth fall open. Bucky’s lock screen was you! Well, it was the two of you, from that time Winnie was testing out her new phone. It was a beautiful memory, a candid capture of a moment in time when you gazed into each other’s eyes, the corners of your mouths settled into a smile; two people holding back the feelings that were written so evidently across their faces.

You pretended not to have seen it, handing him the phone with the screen down. Bucky nearly forgot about the picture himself, his eyes flitting quickly your way as he tried not to breathe too hard and have the monitors give away his panicked state.

Your head was turned up towards the TV, watching The Golden Girls through the muffled sound of the speaker resting against the side of the bed. You couldn’t look at Bucky in the moment, not when you felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. No, you needed this time to collect your thoughts, to find the perfect words to express exactly how you felt and right when they were at the tip of your tongue you held them back.

Winnie and George walked in looking a lot better than they had yesterday. They greeted you both and settled in for the next few hours. They too were excited about his impending release, offering Bucky to recover at their home.

“No, ma I’ll be fine. The building has an elevator, I’m good.”

Worry crossed her face. “What about food shopping? What about bathing?”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “Well you’re not gonna bathe me if that’s what you think.”

You swallowed a chuckle, shifting your expression to a serious one offering your help. “For the food shopping,” you nervously added. Learning from the past, you shut your mouth to avoid the risk of digging yourself a deeper, awkward hole.

His parents left to get lunch for everyone since Bucky was sick of cold vegetables, and the two of you were alone again. He cleared his throat, licking his lips before asking, “You really don’t mind helping me?”

Your smile answered him before your words. “Of course not. Plus we still have a lot of pizza to try.”

You bit your lip watching the smile spread across his face, relief washing over him as things seemed to snap back into place as if nothing had changed. But Bucky forgot about Peter. You had been spending so much time with him this weekend he almost convinced himself things were different.

“Peter isn’t mad you’ve been gone all weekend?” Bucky asked, doing a poor job in hiding the uneasiness in his face as he anticipated your answer. He’s a glutton for punishment, reminding himself that things will never truly be the same again and little does he know how right he is.

“I broke up with him weeks ago.”

Your answer takes a moment to register, the realization hitting Bucky more than the impact of the accident. “Why?”

Haloed by the glow of the sun behind you, the words sang like the message of an angel, because there had to be some sort of divine intervention that brought all of Bucky’s dreams true when you answered, “Because he wasn’t you.”

A tear slipped down your face and Bucky lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and brushing it away. You cupped his hand against you, exhaling staccato breaths and smiling down at the man that brought music into a world that felt silent without him.

You leaned down, the tip of your nose grazing against his, your smile matching his as you closed the distance, pressing your lips together once more. The sound of love flooded your soul as you and Bucky found harmony at last.

EPILOGUE

🌕 if you like my work and want to support me please consider joining my patreon 🌕

[talkfastromance4]

something part 2--calum hood

a/n: thank you for all the love on the first part! 

word count: almost 4.3k

warnings: sexual situations, angst

read part one here

***

“Calum?”

Calum turns upon hearing his name, knowing it’s Y/N but then his eyes widen when he also sees Missy standing on the last step of the stairs. In his shirt. With no pants on. She also said his name and now his sharp headache is back.

“Have you seen my phone?” Missy asks then looks to Y/N. “Who’s this?”

Y/N’s eyes dart between Missy and Calum, her mouth open then she shakes her head in disbelief and turns back towards the front door.

“Y/N wait!” Calum follows her out the door, the hot cement burning his feet as he sprints. By the time he reaches her she’s already opened the door of her car. He closes it then spins her around, but she avoids his eyes. “Please, let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain, Cal. Last night was a mistake, we shouldn’t have done what we did. I’m not mad you hooked up with Missy, it’s fine. Let me go.”

She tries to turn around and open her door again, but Calum presses it shut while simultaneously pressing himself against her. He holds her cheek in his hand until she looks into his eyes, tears pooling inside them.

He’s taken back to his bathroom being in this same position.

“I didn’t hook up with Missy, she got sick and I offered her some clothes and we fell asleep. That’s it. And I’m not letting you go when I…when I feel like I just got you.”

He swipes at a stray tear that fell and she lets out a shaky breath.

“This is already so messy, Cal.”

“Then why did you come back?” he asks, and she averts her gaze from him catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Because I….”

“I heard you left with Max. If you hooked up with him then…okay, it happened. But why did you come back, Y/N?”

“Because I wanted to tell you I didn’t hook up with him. I didn’t want you thinking that what you and I did wasn’t…wasn’t something. It was more than that.”

Calum could fly with how happy her words made him.

“So, I didn’t hook up with Missy and you didn’t hook up with Max. We hooked up with only each other,” he clarifies making sure they’re on the same page.

“Yes, but we both ended up in beds with the accused hook-ups and not with each other,” she chuckles. “We’re a mess.” She places her hands on his waist.

“You slept with him?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes.

“He was too drunk to drive home so he crashed with me.”

“We’re both so nice, aren’t we?” he grins inching forward.

“Cal!  Someone just threw up in the living room!” Missy shouts from the doorstep.

Calum groans and ducks his head into Y/N’s neck. Her skin is cool against his lips, he forces himself not to take a nibble and have her moan like she did the night before.

“You should go clean up that mess,” she says hugging him to her. Her hands squeeze the back of his shoulders. “Then we clean up ours.”

“I like the sound of ‘we,’” he hums then pulls away. He squints in the hot sun scanning over her face. “I’ll kick everyone out, call the cleaning crew then call you and we can go out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she stretches up and kisses his nose before moving her lips by his ear and whispers, “maybe I can return the favor you did for me last night.”

Calum groans at the endless possibilities of that statement. She laughs pushing him away to open her car door.

**

It wasn’t until about four thirty when everyone was out of his house, including the cleaning crew. Y/N’s been on his mind the whole time. How they got where they are now has definitely been messy, but he wouldn’t want it to be any other way or with anyone else.

He’s checking his time on his phone after his shower, he wants to pick up her favorite flowers. His Beatles playlist is echoing throughout the house while he continues to get ready and puts on black jeans, a black tank top and his white and black polka-dotted shirt. Y/N once commented it was her favorite. As he’s applying his cologne he notices he probably should have shaved, some scruff is around his mouth, but he doesn’t have time now.

By the time he’s on the road there’s a slight traffic jam that’s delaying his timetable by fifteen minutes. He sends her a quick text about the delay then taps his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously.

Fifteen minutes turned into twenty when he finally arrived at the flower shop only to find it closes early in the winter months. Fifteen minutes ago.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me,” he grumbles and tries to Google other flower shops that would be open.

There aren’t any nearby, the closest one is ten miles in the opposite direction of where he needs to be. The sun is starting to sink below the horizon, and he looks up and down the block he’s on for any sign of flowers. Feeling defeated, he heads back to his car then spots some wildflowers sprouting along the guardrail. He picks an array of colors, purple, white, yellow, and a few small red orange looking ones.

He arranges them in a bouquet he hopes is presentable enough then searches frantically for some type of string to tie them together. The only thing he has on him is one of his chain necklaces. Calum sighs, sets the ‘bouquet’ on his seat carefully then unfastens his chain. He wraps and weaves it around the stems, fastening it together again.

When he gets on the road again there’s an accident, so he’s been redirected on a different route to Y/N’s house making him about a half hour late. He hopes she won’t hate him. He predicts she’ll shove his flower arrangement in his face.

His tires squeal as he pulls in front of her small home, Calum takes a deep breath and walks up her cement path. He hides his ‘bouquet’ behind his back and knocks on the door. He hears footsteps then the door opens, and he’s met with her gorgeous smile.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. There was traffic then the flower shop was closed and then there was an accident, so I had to take a detour,” he rambles in one breath then pulls his flowers from behind his back. “These are for you.”

“You’re so sweet,” she takes the flowers carefully and eyes up his necklace wrapped tightly around the stems. “And innovative. Why don’t you—what’s on your hand?”

He looks down when she touches his hand that held onto the flowers and he sees red bumps over his fingers and wrist. Upon seeing them his hand starts to itch.

“Umm…”

“I think you might be allergic to the flowers. Come in, I have Benadryl we can put on it.”

She takes his other hand bringing him inside. She sets the flowers on the kitchen table and leads him into her bathroom. He’s gazing at her decorations on the walls, watercolors and signs of positive quotes while she digs through a drawer.

“This should help the scratch and make it less irritated. I can—no! Don’t touch your eyes!” she gasps when she sees Calum scratching underneath his eye. She swats his hand away, her finger touching the corner of his eye lightly that’s already turning a little pink.

“Oops,” he mumbles then sneezes into his elbow. “I’m sorry. Now I’m the mess.”

“It’s okay. I’ll give you some Benadryl, but you’ll be very sleepy,” she pulls out a pill bottle.

“I don’t want to be sleepy on our date.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with hives and sneezes. We can stay in for a little bit. Here,” she hands him a small pink pill then fills a small plastic cup with water.

“This is not how I planned this night to go,” he shakes his head and takes the pill.

“Why don’t you tell me how you wanted it to go on the couch?” she smiles and kisses his cheek.

Calum’s laying on top of her while she scrolls through movies and shows on Netflix, the effects of the Benadryl were already acting. She’s playing with his hair while he mumbles about his plans for their night.

“I was going to pick you up your favorite flowers, they’d be in their own vase and everything. Not held together by my necklace,” his voice is muffled as his lips move against her stomach.

“I like how they’re held by your necklace,” she smiles stroking her finger over his forehead lightly. “Then what?”

“Then I’d pick you up, and I’d take you to the pier where there’s a bunch of…” he lets out a long yawn, “…a bunch of food vendors. There’d be a concert and we’d get ice cream or coffee before I brought you home and kissed you goodnight. I miss your lips.”

She selects a movie they both love and settles more into the couch, more into him and his warmth. Her arms wrap around him and she kisses the top of his head.

“Not what I meant,” he sighs, his body gets a little heavier, but he lifts his head. His eyes are droopy, and he has a loopy grin on his face as he purses his lips.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” she teases.

“You’re supposed to kiss me,” he pouts.

“I don’t know…you’re all drugged up.”

“Please? Wanna taste strawberries.”

“Strawberries?”

“Lips. Taste like strawberries. Now, kiss!”

He stretches up further and she giggles at his insistence and is all too willing to press her lips to his. It’s a soft kiss, his lips moving gently against hers. Calum sighs then drops his head against her chest again.

“Thank you,” he hums happily, squeezing her in a hug. “I’m sleepy.”

“I know, you can sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” she kisses his head again and continues to play with his curls.

Five minutes later, he’s snoring softly. Her fingers create designs up and down his back, she’s enjoying the soft noises he’s making and how he subconsciously squeezes her closer to him. Last night plays in her head as she watches the actors on the screen. She can’t help but look at Calum while he sleeps peacefully, his face is so cute.

It isn’t until about an hour and a half later that he starts to rouse awake. He flexes his muscles then lifts his head groggily.

“Am I dreaming?”

“No,” she chuckles rubbing at the sleep lines on his cheek. “How do you feel? Your eyes aren’t pink anymore.”

“My nose isn’t stuffy either,” he gives a tentative sniff then lifts his hand. “How’s my hand?”

She takes it delicately in hers, their fingers locking and unlocking, tangling and untangling. He’s free of hives, his eyes are brown and beautiful.

“Perfectly perfect,” she smiles.

Calum leans up to kiss her. “What time is it?”

“Only eight thirty. You still want to go to the pier?”

**

Calum and Y/N are walking hand in hand along the pier with a thousand stars scattered above them. Chatter and laughter carries them along as they sample food from people at their stands. One of the carts was a flower cart that Calum led her to with a Cheshire grin. There were arrangements in vases and even some flower crowns that Y/N was ogling up.

“Which one do you want?” Calum asks taking out his wallet.

“Mm, this one,” she points to a crown with dainty yellow flowers. Calum pays for it and places it on her head. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” he smiles then ducks down and kisses her.

They continue their evening eating more food and when the music starts to play it’s the song Calum was singing earlier this morning. Was that already this morning? He pulls her against his chest, his arms wrapped around the front of her chest as he sings Something to her softly in her ears.

“You were singing that this morning when I came in.”

“It was in my head when I woke up ‘cause it makes me think of you,” he rubs his cheek against hers. “You attract me like no other.”

On their drive back to her house, ironically Ashton’s song Drive is playing, and Y/N turns the volume up that Calum can’t even hear the wind blowing in his ears. Since it was a warm night, he had the moon roof open. The stars zoomed by like they were in a rocket ship. They’re singing along together at the top of their lungs then Y/N unbuckles her belt midway through the song.

“What are you doing?” Calum shouts turning the music down a little as she stands up poking her body through the roof.

“Turn it up!” she laughs.

He joins in her laughter glancing up at her as she lifts her arms into the air, letting the wind whip through her hair. Calum never wants to forget this moment, but it also makes him nervous that half her body is out the car, so he wraps his arm around her legs, his thumb subconsciously rubbing the skin of her inner thigh.

When he pulls to a stop in front of her house, the song fades and she looks down at him, a diamond smile on her face.

You and me

She kneels down in front of him, hair windblown with her flower crown askew.

You and me

“Is my hair a mess?” she asks breathlessly.

You and me

“You’re perfect,” he shakes his head, eyes flickering to her lips.

You and me

She grabs his cheeks kissing him. And they keep kissing up her walk, through the door, down the hall until finally stopping in her bedroom. Their hearts are racing as his shirt is removed and her jacket is shoved off her shoulders. She uses all her strength to push him onto her bed and straddles him.

“You think you’re in control?” he teases shifting his hands beneath her dress and over her ass. He gives her a squeeze.

“Remember what I said this morning?” she asks stamping kisses to his neck and collarbone.

“Refresh my memory?” his fingers slip underneath her panties, snapping them against her skin.

She lifts her head gazing down at him, biting her lip through a smile. “I want to repay the favor you did for me last night.”

She tugs on his belt for good measure causing Calum to groan, he swallows harshly as she unzips the back of her dress and yanks it off her body. Her breasts falling freely, and his mouth goes dry at the sight of her. She sits back on her heels; he follows her into a sitting position removing his own shirt then quickly meeting her in the middle for a kiss. A kiss with tongues and teeth clashing and Calum cups her breasts in his hands.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles tugging on her lip. She lets out a shaky breath then pushes him against her pillows.

He watches her undo his pants, aiding her by lifting his hips so she can tug his pants and boxers down. She crawls up his legs slowly, nails scraping his thighs, her eyes innocent as her lips un-innocently kiss below his navel. Calum strokes her cheek affectionately, then pulls on her lower lip with his thumb. His body heats up when she takes his thumb in her mouth, sucking lightly on his finger and he hisses when her hand grabs his already hardened dick.

“Fuck, you’re killin’ me already,” he sighs, and she smiles around his thumb.

She nips on his thumb, eyes still on him as she descends to his waist swiping her tongue over his hip bone. He holds his breath when she finally, finally closes her mouth around his head. When her tongue swirls his stomach clenches. She works herself up taking him little by little until he’s slicked with her spit. When she takes all of him in her mouth he lets out a loud groan, his fingers flying to her hair aiding the bobbing motion of her head.

“Feel good?” she whispers stroking him with her hand. She licks a long stripe up the underside of his dick.

“So, so good,” he pants. She smiles at the praise and Calum wishes he had a camera to capture the moment.

She bobs up and down at a faster pace, his thighs start to clench and as much as he wants to cum from her mouth alone, he needs to feel her all around him. Using all of his willpower he lifts her head off him, a line of spit hanging from her mouth and he groans pulling her in for a kiss.

He flips her over easily making her giggle at the swiftness. Before he moves his lips to one of her breasts, he stares at her. The flower crown is still somehow on her head, her hair splayed across her pillows, lips red and swollen from going down on him.

“What?” she breathes heavily, her fingers playing with his necklace.

Three words are burning dangerously on his lips, their history of bad timing has led to this perfect moment in time. Instead, he traipses his fingers down the curve of her jaw, past her collarbones, down her chest and in between her legs shifting them apart. She wraps them around his waist, and he nudges himself against her folds.

“Nothing, you’re perfect,” he shakes his head saying three different words pushing himself inside her.

She squeezes around him, her fingers tugging on his hair in pleasure, their bodies molding to one another. Two pieces of the same puzzle slotting in all the right places.

“Oh,” she gasps when he starts to thrust.

Her hips meet his in the perfect rhythm, their kisses messy, bodies sweating. A memory crosses his mind and Calum removes her hands from his hair moving them above her own head, pinning them together.

“You remembered,” she moans trying to break free from his grip just for fun. He tightens his hold, and she gasps.

“Wanna make all your fantasies come true, baby,” he grins sucking on her neck. “You take me so well…fill you up so good.”

“Cal,” she whines appreciatively at his words.

He feels her clench around him as she becomes slicker and then she’s gasping out curse words and his name as she comes undone around him. Her body trembles in delight and soon he’s coming as well. He pulls out, releases her hands so he can jerk himself on her lower belly. Her fingers find his hair again as she encourages his release with pretty sighs.

He sees her stomach glistening from his cum, his own hand covered, and he chuckles at a thought.

“What?” she pets his hair affectionately and he looks up at her. Her crown has broken, and she has yellow petals scattered in her hair and around her pillow.

“Now we’re both messy.”

“I don’t mind this kind of mess.”

**

The next morning, Calum regrettably had to leave early for an emergency band meeting. He tried to get out of it so he could spend more time with Y/N but it was about tour dates and some venues fell through the cracks. He got dressed quickly, eying Y/N sleeping peacefully and crouched in front of her and kissed the beauty mark by her eye.

“What time is it?” she groans then sees he’s dressed. “You’re leaving?”

“It’s early and I don’t want to leave but there’s a band emergency,” he sighs sadly. “I’ll call you as soon as we’re finished.”

“Okay. Give me a kiss before you go?”

He smiles and kisses her softly; he has to force himself to pull away or he’ll never leave.

“Sleep tight.”

She watches him leave through half-lidded eyes then falls back asleep with a smile on her face. He invades her dreams and when she wakes up she finds her phone has been blowing up. Curious, she scrolls through the notifications, one of them has a photo attached to it.

She opens it up to see Calum with Missy at a coffee shop with the headline ‘Calum Hood the BAE-ssist of 5 Seconds of Summer spotted with bombshell model Missy Robins: rumors of dating speculating.’

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat and tries to keep her mind from spiraling. He’s wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. He wouldn’t lie about meeting with the guys, right? What they did last night was something special, their messy journey ended in the perfect way.

Or did it?

She closed out of the article and saw messages from him and a few missed calls.

[9:19 a.m] Good morning (again) sweetheart, meeting’s almost finished I’ll pick up bagels and coffee and be right over

[10:45 a.m] if you see pictures of me and Missy, I’ll explain everything. Bumped into her but the meeting didn’t go so well…

[11:10 a.m] on my way to your door, hope you’re still in bed naked 😉

She sits up wrapping her sheets around her chest just as her front door opens. He used the spare key she gave him, and she starts to pull the yellow petals that are still clinging to her hair. She can only imagine what the meeting was about and how Missy was involved. Some petals clung a little tightly and it made her eyes sting with tears, at least that’s what she told herself.

Calum enters her room with a wide grin on his face, coffee cups in a holder and a bag in his other hand.

“Hey beautiful,” he greets happily and sits next to her.

“Hey,” she says thickly avoiding his eyes. A sinking feeling nudges her heart, past wounds beginning to rupture at this all too familiar feeling. The familiar feeling of being left.

“What’s the matter?” he sets the drinks and bag on her nightstand and tries to smooth her hair, but she pushes his hand away. “Y/N, talk to me. Is it about the photos?”

“What was your meeting about?” her voice is thick with emotion; she doesn’t dare look at him in fear she’ll really lose what composure she has left.

“It was about tour, but then…management spewed out this ridiculous idea--”

“Involving Missy?” she runs her fingers over the remainder of her flower crown, the loose petals resting in her lap.

“Yes.”

Her heart sinks lower and she takes a shaky breath.

“They want you to…to um, date her, hm?” her mouth quivers but she keeps her emotions inside, no matter how hard they’re boiling to get out. “Because the new single and album and all, right?”

“Yes.” He moves to hold her, but she pulls back.

“Things keep getting messier,” she jokes but her voice cracks and she hides her face from him. The tears start to fall.

“I told them no, I told them I’m already with someone I care about. I don’t want to fake date her, I don’t want to act anymore, Y/N. Please believe me.”

“I do, I do believe you,” she nods swiping at her tears, but they keep leaking from her eyes. “But if…this is your job, Calum. It can’t be coincidence that we’ve had all these roadblocks pushing us apart. Maybe we’re not supposed to be together.”

“No, no, no, don’t say that,” he scoots closer and cradles her cheeks in his hands. His face is blurry through her tears. “I’ve only wanted to be with you, Y/N.”

“Don’t,” she shakes her head. “Don’t say that, it’s making it worse.”

“Y/N, I’m not going to date her for publicity or the band. That’s bullshit.”

“It’ll help your album—”

“Are you really trying to convince me to do this? After all we’ve been through to get here? You’re giving up?”

“It’s not giving up when we never really had each other,” she whispers. Calum’s hands drop from her face, he stares at her stunned.

“You’re just saying that. We’ve both been burned in the past, don’t push me away.”

“You should probably leave. Please,” she cries not even bothering to hide her tears anymore. “I’ll be okay.”

“That’s a damn lie and you know it.”

“It’s easy to be alone.”

“It’s even harder to be lonely.”

They sit there in silence; her tears pat on her comforter. Calum opens his mouth as if to say something else, but he closes it and shoves off the bed. He slams the door on his way out, the sound echoing her shattered heart. Her shaking hands break the rest of her crown, the petals are a mess in her hands, and she sobs in the foliage. No way will her tears restore the life back into them.

Calum’s speeding home, his pounding heart matches the speeding speedometer. He can’t believe this. He’s pissed at management. He’s pissed that he was nice enough to let Missy sleep in his bed. He’s pissed she ‘coincidentally’ was at the coffee shop after the meeting. He’s pissed that Y/N put on a brave face and forced him away.

When the drums and guitar riff of Something plays through his speakers Calum punches the screen to stop it, his rings makes it break, the screen spider webbing in cracks. He’s met with radio silence, the only thing he hears is his heart cracking.

Taglist: @calpalirwin​ @myloverboyash​  @loveroflrh​ @iovehemmings​ @cxddlyash​ @princesslrh​  @spicycal​ @mysticalhood​ @notinthesameguey​ @wastedheartcth​  @itjustkindahappenedreally​ @calumance​ @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt​  @sarcastically-defensive17​ @another-lonely-heart​ @devilatmydoor​ @sanrioluke​ @mayve-hems​  @haikucal​ @thatscooibaby​  @suchalonelysunflower​ @burstintocolor​  @dead-and-golden​ @mymindwide​  @blackbutterfliescal​ @redrattlers​ @karajaynetoday​ @quasighost​ @i-like-5sos​ @creampiecashton​ @calpops​ @superbloomed-c​ @littledrummeraussie​ @sexgodashton​

[mod-kyoko]

soulmate alphabet?? ayo!!

okay okay how about S with ibuki? i think that one would be really interesting with anyone in dgr really who's ultimate is based around music but honestly i just really like ibuki hshshsj

heya! i love ibuki too. here you go:

for this one i'm referencing the song 'i squeezed out the baby, yet i have no idea who the father is' by masuna.

cw: slight vulgar language

it was on a day that you were frantically cramming for your exams that you found out who your soulmate is

you had just sat down with your flashcards, ready to pull an all nighter, when a song started playing in your head

at first you were annoyed, slumping down in your chair

of all times, why now did your brain decide to do this to you?

then you realized something off

you've never heard this song before

how do you know all the lyrics??

the song was playing in your head for a while, and you started laughing at how weird the lyrics were

"i squeezed out the baby, was it tyler, mark or brady, man my memory is hazy"

you wanted to know what the song is called, so you typed those lyrics into the search bar on youtube

a video came up titled 'i pushed out the baby, yet i have no idea who the father is' by a popular artist named ibuki mioda

you'd heard of her before, but her music wasn't really your type

coincidentally, you noticed that ibuki was performing a live concert right now, and someone was streaming it

out of curiosity, you opened the stream

ibuki was standing in the middle of the stage, aggressively strumming an electric guitar while fire burned around her

wow, she is pretty extreme

the next thing you noticed was that that song stuck in your head was the same song she was singing at that moment

she was singing at the same pace as that song in your head

your heart started beating quickly in your chest as you left the stream

the song was still playing in your head

you went back into the stream and, sure enough, she was still singing at the same pace as the song in your head

you didn't realize you were smiling widely as you admired the girl on stage

after you shook yourself out of your trance, you searched her up on google

you found out that she is based in japan

an article came up during your search informing you of a meet and greet that ibuki was doing in a week

your eyes lit up as you realized there were still tickets left

you decided, fuck it, let's meet my soulmate

and if she's not your soulmate, then you'll still be able to brag that you met such an awesome singer

~~

a week later, you had arrived at ibuki's meet and greet site in japan

after hours of waiting, you were finally at the front of the line

ibuki was sitting at a rectangular table in between two bigger men who were probably security

"he... hey," you nervously greeted her

she met your eyes, smiling

"hiya! nice to meet you," she then extended a hand

cue the nosebleed because she is so adorable

you took her hand, and ended up shaking for too long because of your nervousness though

"so, want an autograph?" she asked, picking up her notepad and pen

"well... actually that's not what i'm here for," you scratched your head

her smile dropped and she pursed her lips

"ouch," she pouted

you frowned, "ah, i shouldn't have said it that way! i'm sorry ms. mioda,"

suddenly, she was smiling again, but this time her smile was more mischievous

"i'm just kidding!" she began cackling, punching the shoulder of her body guard next to her "i'm so funny, hehe," she pretended to wipe a tear from her eye

with a nervous laugh, you continued to speak to her

"ms. mioda, i guess i'll just come right out with it... um... i think you're my soulmate," you blurted

the smile left her face for a minute, but came right back

her next words gave your stomach butterflies

"well then, let's test that theory, shall we?"

she then turned to the body guard on her left

"hey, why don't you lead them to an empty room?" she then turned her attention back to you, leaning forward with her elbows resting on the table

"i want you to go in there and sing your heart out, then we will know," she suggested

"okay..." you nervously cleared your throat

you have to sing?? what if ibuki hears you?? she is literally a singer, and you're not. oh no

the body guard led you to a soundproof room nearby, and then left you there by yourself

taking a minute to compose yourself, you took a deep breath

you decided to sing one of ibuki's songs that you really liked

it started out shaky, but soon you got into your groove, and you forgot that there was even a possibility someone could hear you

meanwhile, ibuki was in the next room over, running in circles and shaking her body guard by the shoulders while screaming to all her fans that she found her soulmate

after you finished singing the song, ibuki went herself to fetch you from the room

she opened the door and threw her arm around you, before leading you back to the meet and greet room

once you were back, she stood proudly next to you in front of all her fans

"what's your name, darling?" she asked

*stomach butterflies intensify*

"y/n"

she immediately turned to all her fans and yelled "everyone! this is y/n, and they are my awesome, ass-kicking soulmate!"

with that, ibuki requested that you stay until all the fans have left, so she can invite you to get coffee

"by the way, you sing really well. you should come onstage with me as my partner!"

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♧♤♧♧♧♧♤♧

I LOVE IBUKI THIS WAS SO FUN

woowee, this is a bit long. hope that's okay!

-mod kyoko <3

[high-supernatural]

Growing Close

Kai Parker x Female Reader/Character

Word Count: 1994 (ironic, lol)

Warnings: typical tvd themes, S.Assault mentions/details, trauma themes, surgery, blood (it’s a little gruesome but I cope through writing, so just be warned it can be triggering)

Summary: Kai and V grew pretty close over the weeks. Something happens to V and he is forced to handle it like a human. 

***since y’all like the one shots better than the series, I’m gonna write one shots for female readers under the name V for what I would’ve/will write in the series***

It has been a few weeks since Kai and V kissed. They grew closer in their own way. Neither of them wanted to admit their feelings for each other, they honestly didn’t know how to identify or describe those feelings anyways. All they both knew is that they wanted to be near each other always.

They started doing more things together. Instead of telling the other where they’d be in case something happened, they’d go together. They’d eat, drink, and just hang out together almost all the time. They still liked pushing each other’s boundaries, but now they were more comfortable doing it more intensely.

V liked to watch Kai get flustered when she’d walk out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and change in front of him, claiming it was what they did in her world so he shouldn’t worry about it. Kai liked to push boundaries with physical touch. He’d always be touching her in some way – surprise hugs from behind, “accidental” grazes and bumps, losing all concept of personal space.

Neither of them minded, but neither of them wanted to make an actual move on each other either.

Those few weeks were the best weeks either of them has had in a long time. There were no real expectations, no fights being had, nobody’s life to save… just vibes.

V left in the middle of the night one night and left Kai a note saying her friend called and that she’d be back in a few hours. When Kai woke up in the morning and saw the note but didn’t see her, he worried.

Kai called her friend and was told V never showed up, so he began searching town for any leads, coming up empty on each one before deciding to call it a night and try again early the next morning.

He didn’t know what to feel. He started off worried that something had happened, but as more and more leads turned out to be dead ends, he thought she might have left for good, and his emotions became unsettling.

He was proved wrong though. As he was dozing off he heard somebody fumbling with the door of the motel room and got up to investigate before V came through it, half asleep and looking like hell. She opened the door and took two grumbled steps inside before her knees buckled and Kai caught her by placing an arm around her waist, kneeling down with her and pushing the door closed.

He got down on one knee to lay her head on and tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t. She was breathing, and her heart was beating, it just seemed as though she was in a deep sleep Kai couldn’t understand.

A thousand possibilities raced through his mind. He saw her messy hair and bruises on her skin, but it still didn’t explain why she was asleep. He thought maybe something magic happened at first, so he tried to reverse it with no avail.

That’s when he carried her into the bathroom fireman style, thinking that putting her in the shower and turning the water on would wake her up like it does in the movies.

When they got into the bathroom, he got a glimpse of the back of her legs where her skirt wasn’t covering, and it all made more sense. He saw bruises in the shapes of bites and handprints, and realized that she wasn’t being attacked with magic, she was being attacked by regular people and rufies, and he became more frantic to get her conscious.

He didn’t know what to do. He had never experienced anything like this. He stuck to his shower theory and got in with her with all of their clothes on, pleading with her to wake up and tell him what happened, saying that he’s sorry and he should have been with her to prevent anything from happening.

His theory proved him wrong, she didn’t wake up in the 30 minutes he had sat there with her waiting, so he decided she should sleep it off. He took just her shirt and skirt off and wrapped her in a robe so she wouldn’t sleep in totally wet clothes. For what felt like days, he laid next to her waiting for her to wake up.

This had been the only time Kai could actually get inside of her mind; she was in a fragile state. He could see inside her mind and saw exactly what had happened. Instead of letting her remember everything, he modified her memories to make her believe she had gone for a walk, got into a fight, and came back with the bruises she had. He figured she would like that memory better than the reality and would deal with loopholes as they came, but hoped they never did.

He had expected her to wake up the next morning, but she didn’t, she was still just sleeping. He had woken by cold air as V had rolled all of the covers onto her. Kai leaned over to try to wake her, thinking she had woken and got cold, but when he leaned over, he felt her shivering and burning up. He remembered what she did when he had a fever and wet a washcloth with cold water to put over her forehead and continued watching over her, waiting for her to wake up.

He felt an unfamiliar feeling through all of this – he felt worried and didn’t know what to do about it, but also knew that V wouldn’t want anybody to know about it, so he took to google and was only met with a world of information that was useless to him in this moment. All throughout the day she was shivering and coughing in her sleep, and he couldn’t do anything to help.

To pass his time while she slept he decided to open her journal again to read the letters she had wrote to the Kai she knew in her world because the sudden silence from her began eating at him. He began to search for them, getting lost in each page she had wrote on in the process. More new emotions washed over him but he couldn’t tear his eyes off the pages. There had been so much she never told him about, so many boundaries he pushed that could’ve been triggers for her that she let him push. He felt a little guilty at this fact, even more so when he found the letters he was looking for. 

He read so much expression of pain and loss she felt towards the Kai she knew in her world, and so much joy and borderline possessiveness in the letter he found that she had addressed to him that she never delivered. He felt a new type of way towards her that he couldn’t describe, but he knew he had to do whatever he could to keep her near him.

She woke up late that night as Kai was dozing off and stumbled into the bathroom disoriented. He woke up to groggily ask if she was okay, but she didn’t answer.

He sat up and listened as the shower turned on and she got inside. He heard her coughing a lot more and just closed his eyes to listen, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do. It wasn’t until he heard silence that he wished she was coughing again.

Kai walked into the bathroom and asked V if she was okay before opening the shower when she didn’t respond. He saw blood on her lips and realized she had been coughing blood, then he saw a growing bruise on her lower stomach and panic came across him when she really wouldn’t wake up this time.

His magic still wasn’t helping. For once in his life, he couldn’t do anything but be a human and rush her to the hospital.

The hospital staff bombarded Kai with questions and wouldn’t let him near V by Jo’s orders. Feelings of helplessness grew extreme as he sat in the waiting room for hours with no updates.

Eventually, Jo approached Kai as he stood up to hear her immediate accusations.

“What did you do to that girl,” Jo said with an angry attitude.

“I didn’t do anything I—” Jo cut him off, “I have a hard time believing you. We just had to remove her ovary in the worst case of trauma and internal bleeding I have seen in my career thanks to whatever you did,” she finished angrier than before.

Kai had a look of sadness and remorse wash over him, “she’s my best friend, Jo, you have to believe me… I didn’t do anything,” Kai almost pleaded with her, “we’ve been staying together for months, since before the merge, she left one night and came back the next, she wouldn’t wake up, I didn’t know what to do—”

Jo cut him off again, “yeah, well, you also murdered your family, I wouldn’t put it past you to do something this horrific.”

“If I was the one who did this, why would I bring her here,” Kai asked, “if anybody knows my tact it’s you, I wouldn’t have brought her here if I did.”

Jo processed what he had said for a moment. “Either you suddenly gained a conscious or you’ve gone crazy then. Cops will be here to take her statement soon, I suggest you stay out of their way,” she snapped and walked away.

Kai figured out what room she was in by looking into every room until he found her sitting up in her hospital bed with her legs hanging over.

He walked in and locked the door behind him, “what are you doing, you need to be resting,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder trying to get her to lay back down.

“If I’m gonna die it’s not gonna be in a hospital with zero interior design aesthetic,” she said swaying slightly from the morphine, “just do me a favor and grab my clothes so we can get out of here before people start asking questions I don’t know the answer to.”

Kai grabbed her bag out of the small cabinet in her room and handed her clothes. She slid her way off the bed and avoided standing on the leg on the side she had surgery on, grabbing onto the bed so she wouldn’t fall as Kai watched, unsure of what to do now knowing that she’s always set in her ways and won’t argue them. He figured it was easier to help so she wouldn’t hurt herself than it would be to try and stop her.

She grabbed her shirt and dropped it when trying to unfold it. Kai grabbed it before she could process that it slipped from her hands – morphine is one hell of a drug.

“Here, lemme help you,” he said rolling her shirt to put it on her.

“I got it,” she tried arguing and grabbing her shirt from him before he slid it over her head faster than she could reach for it.

She struggled to find the arm holes but found them soon enough before throwing herself on the bed to put her sweatpants on the fastest she could in her morphine state.

V let out a dramatic breath and went to grab her backpack, but Kai got to it first and snatched it before she could, “I got it,” he mumbled.

She looked at him as if she was processing what he said, “I’m gonna find a wheelchair,” he spoke against the silence.

“I’m not about to roll out of here riding bitch in a wheelchair… we gonna stroll like mob bosses,” she chuckled and took a few steps before Kai rushed beside her and put her arm around his neck, compromising a wheelchair for someone to hold onto just in case.

Kai drove back to the motel where she promptly made a bee line to the bed and fell back asleep for another half a day. Kai threw her bag down before walking over to cover her up and sit beside her to read more google searches on his phone.

When she woke up the next afternoon she was starving and ate while trying to get the story from Kai. His first loophole, questioning.

“You uh… you left in the middle of the night to go to Audrey’s and left me a note. On the way there a group of people tried to jump you, you got stabbed and came back here,” Kai explained with extreme nervousness.

She just nodded and said, “okay, and then? I don’t remember almost four whole days there has to be more.”

“I don’t know. You had a concussion, wouldn’t wake up, and were bleeding really bad, magic wasn’t helping so I took you to the hospital,” he lied again, “you don’t remember because they had you on a lot of morphine.”

“Hm, weird,” was all V said, “wanna watch a movie?”

Kai was more than relieved that she didn’t ask more questions.

[your-eternal-muse]

All I Wanted (Was You) Pt. 2

Part 1

Summery: Reader finally gets to talk to Spencer about the events of their relationship

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Swearing, description of an arrest, manipulation, signs of a toxic relationship, JJ slander, slapping,  reader isn’t a good person in anyway shape or form, just you wait

Pairing: Criminal!Reader x Eventual Criminal!Spencer

A/N: Hey....it’s been a second...how y’all been? So this has been burning a hole in my google drive for weeks now, and I’m gonna be honest I’ve just been too damn lazy to post it. I truely started my new job, and guess what? I got covid, so that was real fucking fun. Plus I’ve been dealing with some personal shit that has not been entirely good for my mental health, but do not fret! I am doing much better than these past few weeks and weather its because of the iron supplement I’m remembering to take daily, or the fact that because I had covid, means the chances of me getting it again are slim, and I just don’t have it in me to care anymore is up in the air. And I do care. I wear my mask and social distance, but when it comes to me personally.....I couldn’t give a fuck. Anyway here it is, the long awaited part two. There are already four parts I have planned, so yay! Another series! Enjoy!

I’ve decided. I hate this fucking room.

I’ve also decided that I hate Agent Jareau. Or A.J. Or whoever the fuck she was.

I openly glare at her from across the table, since I can’t actively do the things that I want to do to her.

The man sitting next to her introduced himself as Agent Hotchner.

He’s the one that pulled Mathew back. Or Dr. Reid. Fuck.

“Ms. Y/l/n and I have spoken, and she has agreed to answer any and all of your questions. You have her full cooperation. On one condition.”

The annoyed grimace spreading across Jareau’s face slaps a smirk on my own.

“What’s the condition?”

I speak now, staring at my reflection in the mirror before moving eye contact back to Hotchner.

“I want to speak to Mat- Dr. Reid. Alone, with no surveillance, for a half hour.”

The room runs cold.

“No.”

“I will answer anything you ask. But only after my own questions are answered.”

I lean forward onto my elbows, still smirking. “You gotta give a little, to get a little.”

“We can answer any questions you have.”

“That’s not what I want. This is my one condition. You don’t give me this, you aren’t getting shit from me.” I spit, wishing I could grab her collar and throttle her.

“Listen here you little-”

“Stand down, JJ.” Hotchner has his arm outstretched in front of her, keeping her from jumping across the table.

“Yeah, JJ. Stand down.” I purr, and her jaw sets.

A cell phone rings.

Hotchner picks up, breaking eye contact with me for a second while he quietly asks, “Are you sure?”

Someone answers, and he doesn’t respond before ending the call and turning back to me.

“He’ll do it.”

Is it bad my heart jumped?

“What?” Jareau is staring at the side of Hotchner's face, but he keeps eye contact with me.

“You get a half hour. And if anything happens inside that room-”

“I don’t appreciate you threatening my client when she has just agreed to cooperate. Now, will you please uncuff her so she can go to the designated room?”

His face is a stone, barely showing any sign of his thoughts.

But he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the keys while moving around the table to where I sit.

They fall from my wrists, and I pull the sleeves of the sweater Sheila gave me down to cover the red skin.

“Follow me.” he says, and I stand, free for the first time since this morning.

Running only crosses my mind for a second before I follow him through the hallways, glaring eyes burning into my back.

He opens the door to another small conference room, allowing me and Sheila to enter.

“We’ll send him in once you’re ready.” he says and without another word, he closes the door.

Sheila turns to me. “Are you sure this is what you want?” She takes my hands in hers.

“Positive.”

“Okay. You get a half hour. Use it wisely.” She lets go of my hands.

“That’s the plan.” I shove them into my pockets.

She nods, before opening the door, and leaving.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I wring my hands.

The door closes.

He stands, staring.

“Hi.”

I swallow, anger rippling through my bones.

I storm forward, and I see him hold out his hands to try and stop me, but he doesn’t put up much of a fight.

My open palm meets the skin of his cheek and fire eats at my fingers.

We’re both quiet for a moment before I reach forward, feeling his chest, his sides, his pockets.

I feel a bulk under his shirt beneath his waistband on his back.

“Are you fucking serious?” I pull up his shirt, grabbing the phone from his hip.

He doesn’t meet my eye as I see it’s on a call. With a certain agent's name flashing across the screen.

I throw it to the ground, stomping into it with my heel until I hear it crack before picking it up and opening the door.

“Y/n please..”

I throw it into the room of agents.

I meet the eyes of the person who made the initial call.

“You’re fucking lucky the deals still on, Jennifer. Or those people's deaths would be on your hands. So thank your lucky stars that I want to prove my innocence because if I didn’t give a fuck, you would have a lot to fucking explain right now.”

I slam the door shut, locking it behind me. 

I stand, heaving, staring at the swirls in the wood of the door.

I wait until my breathing is less erratic to speak.

“You must think I’m fucking stupid.” My voice is oddly calm for the anger burning through my veins.

“I don’t. I’ve never thought that.” He moves to stand a few feet behind me. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

I turn then, moving into his face.

“How the hell was it supposed to happen!?”

I hear footsteps approach me as I stir the creamer into my coffee. 

Hands are on my waist, and I barely have time to set my spoon down before he’s turning me around, and capturing me in a bone crushing hug.

I laugh nervously, hugging him back. “Good morning to you too.”

He pushes me back a little bit, and his eyes are red rimmed and frantic. 

“Hey,” I cup his face, running my thumb over the apple of his cheek. “Talk to me baby, what’s wrong?”

Different scenarios run through my mind, all of them terrible.

None of them are what he actually says.

“If I asked you to run away with me, would you?”

My thumb stops. “What?”

His eyes dart back up to mine, and the sheer glow of urgency shining in his pupils makes my heart rate pick up.

“I need to tell you something.”

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me.” My hand starts to fall from his face, but his hands come up to grip my wrists.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Matty, just talk to me. Whatever it is, we can fix it, I can fix this.”

His eyes dart to the clock on the oven behind me, and his breathing picks up. “Shit.”

He licks his lips. “I-”

My front door slams open.

I jump back, hitting my coffee cup on the counter, spilling the contents.

Officers spill in and my stomach drops to my feet.

“Y/n y/l/n?” An officer comes forward, gun lowered, but finger still on the trigger.

I slowly raise my hands. “Yes? What’s going on? Matty, what’s happening?”

His grip on my arm is like steel, but officers come and pry him away from me, twisting my arm behind my back. His eyes dart between me and the people swarming.

“No! Please, this isn’t-, stop!” He’s shouting, looking around at the officers pool into my house.

I am acutely aware of the gun aimed at my chest.

My arms are pulled behind tight behind me, and it’s instinct to fight.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

“Y/n y/l/n you are under arrest for-”

I don’t hear the rest. All I hear is Matty’s voice, his fight to remove himself from the officer who was trying to cuff him.

No.

“Let him go! He didn’t do anything!”

He looks annoyed and frightened and tired all at once.

I’m being pulled away from the scene towards my front door.

“No! No Mathew! Don’t touch him!”

My wrists pull against the handcuffs, burning into my skin.

“Stop! My name is Dr. Spencer Reid! I’m an FBI agent with the behavioral analysis unit.”

I stop.

The officer stops.

The world stops.

“My badge is in my back pocket. I’m going to reach for it now.” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a leather badge, opening it to show the officers.

One nods, and they back off of him, letting go of his arms.

“What?” It’s broken and barely a whisper.

His eyes meet mine, and tears are freely rolling down my cheeks, and I blink to try and get rid of them, but it doesn’t work.

“You- You’re a-” I can’t breath. “What?”

My chest hurts.

“Y/n-”

I’m out the door.

The world is in slow motion.

Black coats and red and blue lights are everywhere.

I’m in the back of a police car.

He’s in the yard.

Staring.

“It wasn’t even supposed to. I got the call 5 minutes before they came. I didn’t have any time, I couldn’t do anything.”

“You couldn’t do anything?” I look at him in disbelief.

“You could have, I don’t know, not have lied to me?”

“It’s not that simple.”

His cheek is red.

I fight back the urge to reach forward and hold it against my palm.

We didn’t move, and I realize that this was not the best idea.

I move past him, going to stand by the window.

I never realized  how high up we were.

He turns with me, watching me as I go.

“Who are you?”

I hear him shift. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m an agent with the Behavioral analysis unit.”

“Doctor? What are you a doctor of?”

A doctor? A friggin doctor?

“I have 3 BA’s and PhDs in mathematics, chemistry and engineering.”

 I can’t help but let my mouth fall open.

I see a small smile twitch on his face. “I also have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

I shut my mouth and scoff. “That just proves that I know absolutely nothing about you.”

I start to pace, wanting to scream from the silence.

I go back and forth inside my head, wondering which question I should ask next. So many bubbled inside my head, it made my brain hurt.

“Why did you go undercover?” is what I settle on.

“We wanted proof that you had part in the murders. We couldn’t get that without inside information. I volunteered because from watching you, I know you’d take pity on me. It’d be believable that I didn’t know what I was doing. You wouldn’t feel intimidated by me.”

His hands are on my shoulders now, stopping back in front of the window. 

He’s close enough now that I can feel his body heat against my back.

I hated that he was right.

“You get defensive around women you consider a threat, and you don’t trust men bigger than you. I was a good middle.”

I really wish he would talk louder. It’d make me feel like he didn’t care. The soft tone he was using was sending comforting signals down my spine.

I don’t want to be comfortable.

I want to be angry.

“So it was all for your case then? Everything you told me, everything we did, all those promises was a lie?”

I take a chance, and turn to face him.

I wish I could stop crying.

“Was anything you told me true?”

“Yes!” His hands tighten around my shoulders, startling me. Realization flashes over his eyes and his hands hesitantly remove themselves from me.

He takes a breath. “At first, work was all it was. I was just supposed to observe you, your behavior and report back to my team. But after a few weeks, something changed. You were fragile, and compassionate. When I looked at you, I didn’t see a cold-blooded killer, or a sociopathic dominate. I saw you. I saw the way you cared for people, how you stood up for your clients, and I couldn’t help myself. I feel in love with you.”

His hands are back on me, now resting just above my elbows.

“I love you. Everything I told you about us and what I wanted to do, that’s the truth.”

I wipe my tears away with my fingertips.

“You asked me this morning, before they took me away, if I wanted to run away with you. Do you still mean it, or was that just a ruse?” I worded the question carefully.

“I mean it.”

I sigh, finally looking up into his eyes. “You don’t think I had anything to do with those murders, do you?”

He shakes his head.

I set my jaw. “I want to hear you say it. It’s the least you owe me.”

He swallows. “No. I don’t think you do. I never did.”

My fingers play with the fabric of his shirt. “Spencer suits you.”

He smiles softly. “Thank you.”

“What are you going to tell your team?”

“Nothing. I can’t. And even if I could I wouldn’t want to.”

“Why? I would think you’d want to tell them everything.”

“Usually I do. But they don’t see you like I do. It’s just better if they don’t know. For everyone.”

I can’t help it.

I lean my head against his chest, and let his arms wrap around me.

We stand like that for what seems like years before I feel wetness on my hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

I just hold him tighter.

I know that he’s talking about the present situation. But I can’t help but agree for an entirely different reason.

If he hadn’t been the one to come in that day, we wouldn’t be here.

He wouldn’t feel guilty.

I wouldn’t be licking my wounds, going over every conversation we’ve ever had, trying to figure out what’s true and what’s not.

I’d be sitting in a jail cell, wondering where I went wrong, and he’d be helping his team, with no personal connection to me.

I’d be alone.

I hug him tighter, closing my eyes wishing I could be anywhere else with him.

My pocket feels heavy.

There’s a damp spot on his shirt when I pull away.

“I’m bad for you, Spencer.” My voice breaks.

“Is it bad that I don’t care?”

“You should care. I’m not a good person.”

He places his hands on either side of my face, swiping away me tears with his thumbs.

He doesn’t respond.

He just leans down and kisses me.

Kisses me like it’s the last time he’s able to.

Which may very well be the case.

There’s a knock on the door and he breaks, still keeping his hands on my face.

Another knock.

He drops his hands, sighing, before walking over to the door.

His hand hesitates over the knob.

Another knock.

He unlocks it, and opens it. 

Agent Hotchner stands there, stone faced and slightly angry.

Spencer keeps eye contact with me, until Hotchner speaks.

“Reid.”

He looks down, and then turns and walks away.

Sheila walks in after they leave, closing the door once more behind her.

“How did it go?”

I shove my hands into my pockets. “I just want this to be over.”

She walks over, pulling me into a hug I don’t reciprocate. 

“It’s about to be.”

I remove my hand from my pocket, and set the recorder on the table.

Permanent Tag List:  @criminalcowboy @pinkdiamond1016 @eternityofaxiom @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @marvels-gurl @theamuz @write-from-the-heart @sungieeeeeee @mjloveskids666 @chococerealmilk @itzsoff @gia-kerks @doctorspencereid @imsuperawkward @andreasworlsboring101 @itsmoony @cielo1984 @heistmaster69 @nevvvv @theseuscmander @complementaryvacuum @waywardswain @lindaze @urie-bowie-mercury @spencerreidsimptime @holding-on-to-my-youth  @rainsong01 @ghostofmgg 

All I Wanted Tag List: @chill-sushi @notebookgirl30 @swiftingday @tj-drinks-tea @haylaansmi​

[suekre]

So ive followed you a VERY long time (like from the deviantart days lmao) and i only just realised that you were talking about ocd in that post. Just wanted to let you know that i have ocd as well and god it is exhausting and i know exactly how you feel! I finally start therapy for it in 2 weeks. Pls know that i love your art and you very much and appreciate everything you create and share with us. All the best!! X

Hey you, I know you! Thank you for coming to my inbox and sharing this with me, I appreciate that so much. :) I am SUPER happy for you that you are about to get the help you need, that is awesome. I wish I could have had it at the time!

(And oh boy, the good old deviantart days, haha! Always happy to have my longtime followers around! :D)

OCD is exhausting indeed. People who aren’t affected can’t imagine what a nightmare it is. I, personally, am more prone to intrusive thoughts than actual obsessive-compulsive behavior. When people hear „OCD“, they usually think of obsessive hand washing or „leaving out every black tile while walking through a kitchen“ or so, while it can manifest in other ways. I didn’t know back then. I just thought I was going completely crazy at the time. I think I mentioned my disorder at times but I never actually openly talked about my own experiences (where I come from, mental disorders are a big NO NO, because it’s all in your head, just pull yourself together, other people are ACTUALLY suffering, it’s just dumb thoughts, you just need to think positive, y’know).

I kinda feel like doing it now. Just to get it out, and also to occupy my brain and hands and hey, maybe someone else can pick this up and find themselves in my own experiences. I sure know how relieved I was when I found out I wasn’t alone with my what I thought was a ‚Very Weird, Unique and Niche Problem‘.  

I gotta admit first - I’m doing much better nowadays. Even my worst days, as horrible as they may feel at the time, do in no way compare to the hell I went through in the second half of 2015. I have come a long way since my last (and so far worst... omg, oof, I hope there won’t be another) episode of intrusive thoughts. But, oh boy, was it intense.  It was the absolute worst time of my life, ever. I’m not writing this to scare anyone. Anyone who is familiar with this, will know how bad it is and anyone who can’t relate at all won’t feel affected anyway and will maybe even think something along the lines of „What the fuck?!“. I get it. It DOES sound crazy.

I have always been an overthinker. I always needed more validation and reassurance than other people around me and for the longest time I had no idea why that was. It was usually subtle - always kinda there but never strong enough to actually affect my life in a negative way. I just felt off at times, and not always super good. But I was generally ok, I could always manage.

Until that one episode that changed my life forever. I know that sounds dramatic but, even though I am in a good place nowadays, it sure DID change my life. I was 31, I lived together with my then-boyfriend and I still remember the exact date. Friday, July 24th, 2015. I remember the exact moment when my entire mind collapsed. It’s so weird, it literally happened from one second to the other. I am not making this up to sound more dramatic, it was a matter of seconds.

I was on my way home after work and I felt… restless and stressed. It felt good to get off work (it was my first full time job and... it didn’t go well, to put it nicely) but I was no longer really looking forward to my week off, and our trip to our favorite Open Air the following week. I picked up some dinner on my way, I came home, and I saw my boyfriend in the middle of the living room, he was making some preparations for our upcoming trip. When I saw him, tall and handsome and smiling at me, I smiled back but inside I felt like crying. My smile was fake. Kissing him felt weird, and also fake. And all of a sudden, there it was. The life changing thought:

„I don’t love him anymore.“

A simple thought. I had weird thoughts before, like anyone does, but they never had any greater impact on me. This time, though, that one thought knocked me off my feet. Not literally, I had turned into a pillar of salt somehow. This was the Perfect Man Of My Dreams (at least that was what I thought back then). The man I wanted to spend my life with, the man who made me happy every day! How could that even be, how could I even think something like that?

I felt even more restless. I didn’t tell him, of course. When he asked how my day was, I put on my fake smile again and said it was okay. We ate our dinner (although I had instantly lost any appetite), and I kept looking at him and the thoughts... just kept coming back.

You don’t love him anymore. What if you don’t love him anymore?

On repeat. It was awful. I just couldn’t shake them off.

It’s the stress, I tried to tell myself. You’re overworked. It’ll be good, you just need some rest.

But I couldn’t relax. My heart was racing, my blood was pumping. I didn’t know what was going on. I begged him to leave his work undone and take me out for an after work drink and he agreed. All the time, the thoughts wouldn’t leave my mind. I didn’t want to think them, but they were merciless, they just kept coming back. I felt so helpless.

A few drinks later, I had calmed down a bit, at least so much that I could stand to look at my BFs face again without feeling guilty. There you go, I said to myself, not quite convinced, you’ll be good. It’s already wearing off. When we crawled into bed later, I was tired and relaxed (and tipsy) enough to sleep and convinced that this was just a little glitch, that things would be just fine in the morning.

When I woke up, I felt exhausted. My heart was racing... and the thoughts came back IMMEDIATELY.

You don’t love him anymore. You gotta leave him.

What. The. HELL!? Why are these thoughts still a thing? Why are they still there? Why do they keep coming back?

I kept trying to push them away but the more I tried, the more intense they became. As if they tried to spite me. I started losing focus on everything else around me, the world slowly started to blur. It was just Me And My Thoughts from here. I tried my best to hide my state, and I think I managed for a while, but I felt like a robot any time I talked to someone. When people would pick up on my confusion, I usually brushed their concerns off. It’s nothing, I’m good.

I mean... how do you even tell someone that you just. can’t. stop. thinking. about whether you still love your boyfriend or not? According to the world, that is something you “just feel and know” after all. Except that I didn’t. I had no clue. I couldn’t feel anything. But, according to the world, that was perfectly normal, too. “Honeymoon phase is over at some point, babe. That’s everyday life, you grow comfy, it’s no longer a flash of feelings every day, you know that. You guys have been together for a while after all, what did you expect?!” ... what I felt didn’t feel like comfy everyday life either, though. Comfy everday life shouldn’t come with high key anxiety, sleepless nights and a loss of appetite at any lived second. If that was comfy everyday life, I sure didn’t want it.

So, what do you do when you have no clue about something? Right! Google! Go and ask the world! “How do you know that you still love your partner?”, “Is the love gone?” ... I spent hours, DAYS doing that, but no answer I found was remotely statisfying (or maybe it was for a minute, but the reassurance never lasted long) and I felt that those articles didn’t actually understand what I was asking in first place. I would spend every day like that. Permanently asking myself the same questions, analyzing myself, testing if the Big Feels for the man had decided to come back... nah, not really. Maybe NOW? If I just look at him close enough?! ... maybe if I squint a little?! Fuck, still nothing! Niente! Nada! I am a horrible person, aaah!

(Our open air trip was an emotional disaster by the way, I felt horrible all the time, and the permanent rain didn’t help. -3/10, do not recommend).

If I had known at the time that I wouldn’t spend just a few days but (more or less) six months with this shit... oof. I was already exhausted after those few days.

Over the course of the next weeks I stopped eating almost entirely. I just couldn’t. This permanent tight anxiety knot in my stomach made me want to throw up at the mere thought of food. At my worst point I weighed 138 lbs (63 kg), at 6 ft 1 (1,85 m). I often joked about how I had almost reached runway model standard. I was sick, I was weak, I was scared, but I just couldn’t eat and the bits I DID force myself to eat were burned almost right away by my crippling anxiety. (I still have clothes from that time, and I sometimes beat myself up for no longer fitting into them before I remember that I should NEVER fit into them EVER again.)

Instead I smoked a pack a day. I hardly got any sleep and when I did, it wasn’t relaxing. Always in Fight and Flight mode. My body was at alert level any minute, any day. I’m still asking myself how it could be that I never actually... collapsed. I was always tired, exhausted and malnourished... I dunno, you tell me.

The thoughts never really disappeared. They kept coming back in all variations. You don’t love him anymore. You have to leave him. You may not want to, but you have to. You don’t love him. I had very few “good moments” in between but in those good moments, my mind was usually frantically looking for explanations and reasons behind all this. For ways to improve my relationship, to feel better about my boyfriend. I came up with the WEIRDEST shit. Almost every day I found something new that bothered me. One day he was a little boring. That’s it! We gotta go out more, do more stuff, that’ll change everything. ... aaah, no. Guess not. The next day, it was something else. The day after THAT, it was something entirely different again.

I was suddenly prone to making some HELLA weird impulsive decisions, too. „I gotta break off contact to that one person RIGHT now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!“, “I gotta talk to my mom about THAT particular incident in my childhood right now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”, “I gotta make a trip to the mall JUST NOW, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”… the decisions made total sense to me the second I made them, for about ten minutes at most, but the initial rush of relief started to fade again quickly and I frantically started looking for new solutions. Google was my best friend. I couldn’t go a day without googling exessively. Overthinking, pacing, googling. Any day, any hour awake. Over weeks. A few months even. My mind was constantly reeling. It was a bottomless pit.  

I cannot put into words how exhausting that was. Sometimes the idea of throwing myself out of the next window seemed SO tempting, not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted the thoughts to stop tormenting me.

(I was out of regular therapy at the time, btw. I thought about calling my therapist about it but never did it. I felt isolated, I literally thought I had to do this all by myself.)

At some point, a few months into it, I somehow transferred to zombie mode. The thoughts became a little less intense over time. They were never gone but not quite as nagging anymore. But any time I wasn’t in alert mode, I felt just hollow instead. Sucked dry of any joy, of any emotion, of any sign of life. I just... functioned. Still tried to hide it. I dunno how well I did with that. Probably not at all well. I kept it all to myself, just because it felt that ridiculous. Tried to find excuses. “I’m just tired.”, “You know, there’s a lot going on in my head right now, but I’ll be good.” ... truth is that I don’t remember a whole lot of that time, it’s all blurry. There are just a few significant moments.

Such as that one evening, after work, when I left the building, made a few steps and stood five (or ten? fifteen??? who knows?! not me.) minutes on the spot, motionless, because I could no longer remember my way home.

I got fired from that job, by the way. I’m sure it was mostly due to low performance, I get it, but I can’t blame my poor state alone - they were also assholes.

Anyway.

I had, of course, never stopped the googling and one day, after hours of browsing any niche I hoped I hadn’t browsed yet, I somehow found a blog written by a young woman like me. The description tackled almost all of my thought patterns and I was blown. away. She asked herself the very same questions, with the very same twists, and... she even had a name for it.

ROCD. Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I cried for what felt like hours. Out of relief. There was a person in this world who knew exactly what I was going through. And she even had tips how to overcome it. It wasn’t the first time I had heard about OCD, but as it had never affected me in any way before (I, too, associated it with compulsive hand washing and tile jumping), I wouldn’t have thought of it. After doing my own intense research on the subject, a huge part of me and my life finally started making sense to me. Not much was known about ROCD at the time, but it kinda didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was the OCD part. The subject of the thoughts is entirely interchangable. It’s the chain of thoughts itself that has to be broken. Don’t focus on the relationship. Break the chain instead.

The internet also recommended exposure therapy but as therapy wasn’t an option at the time (weird German laws... regular health insurance covers only a limited amount of therapy lessons within a certain span of time and I had used mine up and there was no way I could pay myself), I decided to try it myself, the key points being:

* No more googling, no more reassurance. Learn to live with the uncertainty, learn to live with Not Knowing.

* Let the thoughts happen. Watch them pass by. They’re just thoughts, they can’t harm you. Don’t fight them, just recognize them and let them stay, they’ll get less scary over time.

* Focus on other things, as hard as it is. Try to occupy your mind and your body. Any minute you spend doing something else but brooding is a win.

It all sounded so very abstract at the time, but I was determined to give it a try. Oh gosh, was it hard. After months of emotional torment and getting used to unhealthy ways of coping, it was SO DAMN FUCKING HARD to NOT google. To NOT think. It felt like torment all over again. How was I supposed to just let the thought sit with me!? It was scary, I didn’t want it! Just ONE little peek, only a second, come ON! I won’t do it again after that?!

Oh god, it was the worst, it really was. Trying to break the chain while I was so desperate to save my relationship was terrible. I honestly don’t remember HOW I made it... but I made it. I somehow... clawed and bit my way out of it. I went right through the pain and made it. It’s not actually a linear process but there comes this point (and I know a few people I met on online platforms who would back me up on this) when you know the worst is over. You just know it. Things weren’t exactly good by the time the thoughts were history but I had reign over my own head again, I could actually SEE the world again, and that was worth everything plus my body weight in gold.

I’ll stop right here because the following months weren’t about my OCD anymore, but about figuring out needs, figuring out myself and what I wanted from life and this particular relationship and it’s not quite relevant and another story. (I DID love my ex-BF but it turned out he wasn’t at all good for me, I had ignored all the red flags for too long, and it didn’t take long after this for us to go separate ways)

I hated this particular time in my life while it lasted but I have learned and taken so much from it. It has changed my life in so many ways. I learned that things are never set in stone, not for anyone. That there will always be uncertain times on our ways. That change is always scary. That it’s okay to be scared. That staying in crappy situations for the sake of it isn’t always the right thing to do. Sometimes, doing the right thing (aka leaving a relationship that isn’t good for you) can make you sad. Love does not equal compatibility.

Looking back, I am - in a very bizarre and twisted way - grateful for the experience. It was an incredibly important lesson for me that taught me to be kinder to myself, to look out for myself and to listen to my own needs. That I should put myself first at times. For the first time of my life, I really got in touch with myself and my own emotions. I learned to understand them, I learned where they come from. I learned to cut myself slack at times.

The list goes on and on, but you get my drift. I know myself inside and out at this point. That wasn’t always the case. Not until 2016.

It still comes back at times. Not with such full force, but it keeps creeping back in, pretty much any time I have to deal with uncertainty in my life. Bad news at work, not hearing from a friend for a while that I’m dying to hear from (inevitably thinking that they MUST be mad at me) or when I spot a few symptoms of sickness that I’m not familiar with (I practically never get sick). Not Knowing What Will Happen drives me CRAZY. I hate uncertainty, I need my life to be stable and calm to fully function.

Now, in COVID times, it’s mostly the fear of suffering from an incurable disease. AGAIN. I’m familiar with that, too. I’m not even scared of catching the virus, I just fell right back into overthinking any symptom I have, even if it’s just a short pain in the neck or whatever (you know, things that one usually brushes off). When my life was busier, I was MUCH better at handling those thoughts. Most of the time, they didn’t even come up in first place. Sitting inside and avoiding contact 99,9% of all times, and having little to no actual distraction („reading/watching movies“ doesn’t help me personally, it does’t occupy my mind enough, I usually just stare right through the pages/screen), however, leaves FAR too much time for the thoughts to unfold, once they come up.

This subtle but lingering concern for my health puts my body into a permanent state of anxiety once more. Fight and Flight mode. The pace of my heartbeat is always slightly, but perpetually, increased. It isn’t always outright panic attacks, it’s this constant state of having to be… alert. Something MIGHT happen, y’know. Be prepared. Relaxing and doing nice things becomes almost impossible. Instead, I get tired and exhausted. Depressed, even. It sucks the joy right out of me. I feel like living under a glass dome. I see what’s happening around me but I am unable to connect, emotionally. People keep living their lives and I can watch them, but I can’t be a part of it. It’s a deeply crushing feeling. I manage to somehow function but I don’t really feel alive. My abandonment issues and fear of „getting left behind“ kicked in again, too. I want to catch up and take part but can’t so I stress myself over THAT, too. This only adds to the exhaustion and makes me feel even more isolated.  

Hello, vicious circle, my old friend.

I didn’t even realize that I had such huge potential to fall right back into it. It all started… I dunno, by mid/end of January?? It’s a bit blurry this time. It is directly connected to Germany’s recent lockdown, though. A massive case of Not Knowing How Things Will Turn Out. I failed to take better care of myself in the past few weeks. And now I’m here. AGAIN. Ugh.

But well, as I said, it’s not as bad and, as I said, I have at least learned some important things over the years. In this particular case of intrusive thoughts, the first rule is: NEVER GOOGLE SYMPTOMS. And never google shit like „chances to survive (whatever illness think you have at the time)“, either. The mind longs for reassurance but googling symptoms is BAD, as we all know by now. It’s not even reassuring when you do it. Because you’ll inevitably end up diving through the vast internet for HOURS, picking up an entry that some person named Kevin made on a cancer forum way back in 2004, saying that his uncle died the next day after finding out he has cancer and that is, OF COURSE, what will happen to YOU, too. There is no other way. YOU WILL DIE.

Excuse the text walls. I took an opportunity to ramble about my own experience, for the first time ever since it happened (not including the few short talks I had with the few people I met on internet forums).

To anyone who made it this far: Thank you so much for reading. It sure felt good to write this down for once, even if it’s just a short summary (yes, really, I mean, we’re talking six-ish months here), and the descriptions fall woefully short. If anyone affected by the same happens to read this -  I am so, SO sorry you are suffering so much. You are NOT alone and you are NOT weird. Talk to someone. Open up. To your doctor, or you therapist, if you have one. To a person you trust. It is the worst but there are ways, there is help. I wish I had known at the time it started for me.

You know now. :)

P.S.: DON’T FUCKING GOOGLE:

[petiteoat]

IMAGINE ; YOUR LIFE AT UR UGW

You ´ve done it, weeks and months and years of battling with your body, you finally became disciplined enough to become the skinny model-esque girl you fantasasied about. Your lithe body easily fits into the smallest of sizes, you drop your phone through your thigh gap and catch rain in your collar bones, and you don ´t even get hunger cravings anymore, your stomach has shrunk to that of a pixie.

You and your closest friends arrange to go travelling, a trip of a lifetime, you work had and save money to get yourself on the flight and embrace a whole new culture, but as your friends laughingly attempt to pronounce the names of the food on the menu, you are frantically googling the calories. The next day as you venture through the city you joyously check your phone to see what your step count for the day is rather than looking around at the amazing sights and sounds.

You start your dream job, get along well with your coworkers and instinctively opt out of eating the cake that someone brings in for their birthday, instead you remain on the fringe of the otherwise carefree group who eat the cake without thinking of macros and calories and thigh gap and binging. But it´s worth it because you ´re so slim now, right.

You fall in love with someone who makes you feel like the only person on the planet, you listen to music and kiss in the dark and make memories and argue and make up and love so much that on your wedding day, as you stare into your lovers eyes knowing you have your whole lives to spend together, you think “i wonder how many calories are in the wedding cake. I shouldn’t have had champagne, 87 calories will make me look to bloated, I should do another lap of the hall to burn calories while making it look harmless·”. At least you’re thin though.

You enjoy family life and spend christmases surrounded by people you love with your whole being, and as they share anecdotes of their year you cut your slice of turkey into five slices, chew fifteen times and swallow more water. You miss the punch line of another joke, too busy in your own head, counting counting counting. But its all worth it because twenty years has past and you ´re still at a very low weight and your body is wrinkled now but at least it´s skinny, you will develop osteoporosis by the time you’re sixty and have a whole lifetime of missed opportunities behined you but its all worth it because yoúre skinny, right.

————————————————————————————————————————

Life is for living. Your body is not designed as an ornament to be as small as possible. As much as you may think not eating is a flex of your own control, really your eating disorder is the one in control, rather than yourself. If you were in control you could enjoy food without being dominated by it.

I use narratives like this to help me out as i am very early on in my own recovery. I can only hope you guys choose life over being skinny.

[hockeylvr59]

Wanting Whispers || Paul Bissonnette

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Needless to say I have been in a Biz mood and well certain someones have been talking innocent kink on my dash recently and that led to this. It’s a lot. Gif possibly by @plasticfilth​ but not sure because I found it on google? Also, this is probably the longest one-shot I’ve ever written so...

Warnings:  smut smut smut and more smut

Word Count: 8,235 

_________

It had happened so slowly but at the same time all at once. Months of chirps and insinuations ending with you flat on your back screaming his name. 

You’d heard rumors that Paul Bissonnette lived in your building when you first moved in, but it had been over a month and you hadn’t actually seen him. That all changed on a Friday night when you heard music blaring in the apartment above you. Yes it was a Friday, but you had a paper for graduate school due Sunday night and you were nowhere near finished. This was possibly the absolute worst weekend for your neighbor to decide to have a party. With the help of noise-canceling headphones, you were able to block it out enough to spend a few more hours working but eventually, your body started to fade and as you gave up deciding sleep was in order it was clear that the party was raging just as much as before if not more. Though you didn’t want to be that person, you really needed some sleep so after slipping on a sweatshirt over your pajamas you threw on a pair of sandals and grabbed your apartment keys, making your way over to the elevator and up one floor. 

Having reached the upper level of apartments, it was abundantly clear which one contained the party as the volume of the music increased. Knocking on the door you ran your fingers through your hair and waited for a response. By the time it was tugged open you were ready to give up but as the door gave way your eyes met the broad figure of the man you’d heard about. His eyebrows merely raised at your presence and you bit back your nerves as you looked up at him. 

“Listen...I’m your downstairs neighbor and I’d really like to be able to get some sleep tonight so can you please turn the music down a little bit. I have a 30-page paper due on Sunday and I really need sleep if I have any hopes of getting it done.” Your ramble was met with a critical gaze but eventually the man in front of you nodded. 

“We’ll turn it down.” He promised and after murmuring your thanks you disappeared back down the hall. By the time you reached your apartment again, the music was at a more manageable level, one that could be blocked out with some white noise finally allowing you to pass out as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

~~~

Though you hadn’t run into Biz prior to the party, since then it seemed like you were bumping into him in the lobby every other day. The first time you’d thanked him again for turning the music down and he’d asked how your paper had gone. The second you’d bumped into him as he was bringing a woman home when you’d caught the elevator just before it closed. It wasn’t until you were inside that you realized your neighbor had his tongue down a woman’s throat and immediately your cheeks flushed scarlet. You weren’t sure he’d even noticed you but as you stepped out of the elevator you heard him speaking your name telling you to have a good night. 

Eventually your random meetings became not so random. One afternoon Biz was showing up at your door to request you keep an eye on his place for him and bring his mail in while he was out of town. When he returned, he appeared at your door once more, this time a bottle of Pink Whitney in hand in thanks. Eventually payment for his favors progressed to dinners in his apartment and he’d become less of a stranger and more of a friend. There was an obvious age difference between the two of you and his latest hookup had pretty much become his girlfriend but you didn’t have many people in Arizona and while his cooking skills were subpar, he certainly knew how to make you laugh and could distract you from the pressures of school. 

Nearly a month of this level of friendship continued before Biz started in on the less innocuous subjects. Though it was clear that he knew what he was doing, the way he slipped them into conversation was subtle. One night it was inquiring if you had a hot date for Valentine's Day, the next it was a casual mention of how tense you seemed. Each time he alluded to your personal life a flush covered your cheeks and you quickly changed the subject throwing the conversation back at him. And each time he complied, changing the subject but his expression furrowed as he did so. 

Eventually things ended between him and the woman he’d been seeing and though it didn’t really change things, it did mean that you found yourself at Paul’s apartment more or that he was in yours. With more time in closer contact, there were more occurrences of innocent touches and grazes as you moved around your kitchen cooking dinner or as he tugged you down onto the couch to watch a hockey game. 

It had been nearly six months since you’d met Paul and he’d invited you up to his place to celebrate finishing the semester of school. An incredible dinner had been picked up and though he was cutting back on his drinking, he’d opened a bottle of wine for the two of you to toast with. Dinner and wine had ended with the two of you settled into his oversized couch as he flipped through tv channels. Instead of settling on one, suddenly he’d turned the tv off and instead shifted his body to face you. 

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer.” Confusion filtered across your face but after a moment you hesitantly nodded. “When’s the last time you got laid?” He inquired and immediately your cheeks burned red in response. At the same time, a low chuckle slipped from his throat and he shook his head. “Fuck I can’t tell if the flush just means it’s been a while or…” He trailed off and when your blush deepened he almost growled. “No...no fucking way.” He mumbled to himself. 

Feeling yourself starting to shut down, you pushed yourself to your feet. 

“I uh...I should go. Thanks for dinner, Paul.” You whispered, trying frantically not to cry as you started for the door. 

“Y/N. Wait.” Paul stated, his fingers ever so gently wrapping around your wrist. “I’m sorry. That was invasive...I just...you’re always so tense and almost withdrawn around me and I just...forget it. I’m sorry okay.” Nodding, you sent him a forced smile before pulling your wrist back and grabbing your things to head home for the night. 

~~~

With Paul once again leaving town, it was a few days before you spoke, though even that was through text messages. Feeling slightly guilty for just running out on him you sent a short apology. A little while later your phone buzzed in response. 

PB: No worries. My question was invasive and I’m sorry it upset you. Not judging you for it...just a little confused. 

YN: What’s confusing about that? 

PB: I mean is it because you’re like saving yourself for marriage because I totally respect that….

YN: You can say you think it’s a stupid idea. Because I can’t say I disagree with you. 

PB: So you’re not?

YN: No. 

PB: Then what gives?

YN: Why don’t you just think on that for a minute Paul.

For a few hours your phone remained silent and you tried not to think about everything you’d just implied. Instead you’d reached for a glass of wine and by the time Paul did respond, you were just on the wrong side of tipsy and your tongue was loose. 

PB: I got nothing. But if you want to explain I’m all ears, if not that’s ok too. 

YN: I’m not waiting for marriage but I am waiting for mutual attraction and trust. Needless to say, I’ve found neither. 

PB: You’re saying there’s never been a boyfriend you wanted to bone? 

YN: I’m saying there’s never been a boyfriend. 

PB: Girlfriend then? 

YN: I’m exclusively into men Paul. 

PB: Damn. 

You really didn’t know what to say to that so you dump your phone on your bed and by the time you return after brushing your teeth and washing your face you find a second notification of a message from your neighbor. 

PB: Another question you don’t have to answer. Have you even been kissed? 

YN: No. 

PB: Fucking hell YN. That’s just. That’s insane. 

YN: Gee thanks, Paul…

PB: You know I don’t mean it like that. God is there anything you have done? 

YN: Uh yeah...I mean. I’ve sent/received some risque photos, I’ve had phone sex, I’ve sexted. I’ve gotten myself off. 

When you didn’t receive a response right away, immediately the fear of having said too much started pushing down on you. Suddenly your phone rang and glancing down at the caller id you saw Paul’s name. You couldn’t remember him ever actually calling you before but your thumb hovered over the button for only a moment before you accepted the call, bringing your phone to your ear. Nothing but the sound of Paul’s breathing followed and for a moment you almost hung up figuring that it was an accidental dial. Then he spoke, his voice deep and throaty. 

“Fuck YN. You’re killing me right now.” He said. The sound of your name rolling off his tongue in this tone of voice was not something you’d heard before but your stomach coiled unconsciously at it all the same. 

“What did I do?” You whispered, biting gently at the corner of your bottom lip. 

“You tell me you’ve never been kissed and then admit you’ve had phone sex and touched yourself. That’s so fucking hot y/n and I almost can’t believe it.” Though you knew Paul didn’t mean any offense by the end of his statement, he once again hit a sore spot and you felt your breath strain in response. 

“Why is it so hard to believe that men have never wanted me? You’ve seen me.” You shot back, all of your insecurities of being 27 and eternally single crashing over you. 

“It’s hard to believe because I have seen you and gotten to know you YN.” Paul declared his voice losing some of his deep tone only to be replaced with softness. “You’re fucking gorgeous for one. And you’re one of the best people I know. Any man that turned down a shot with you is a fucking moron.” 

“Paul stop, please. I can’t...I can’t handle any more sweet words that have no real backing. I know you mean well but please...don’t just try and make me feel better.” 

“Trust me sweetheart...I’m not just trying to make you feel better,” Paul said, his voice nearly sinking into a groan. “There’s nothing sweet about how much I want to use my mouth, my fingers, my cock to make you fall apart. To see you experience just how good being physical with someone can be.” 

A gasp spilled from your throat and you found yourself breathing his name. 

“Yeah? You want that beautiful? Want me to make you see stars, to shatter you with pleasure?” Once again his name slipped from your throat, almost in a plea. “Yeah, baby? Are you attracted to me? Do you trust me? Promise I’ll take good care of you.” Your skin was on fire at his words and your brain was foggy with the mental image of him on top of you. 

You were just about to agree. About to give him anything he wanted when he spoke one more time. “How many glasses of wine did you have tonight baby?” 

“Three.” You admitted almost instantly, your mind and body pliant to whatever he wanted to know. 

“Then don’t answer me tonight. Sleep on it, think it over with a clear head, and get back to me.” For a moment you wanted to protest, you were plenty capable of consenting now, but Paul once again stopped you. “I don’t want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable so I really do want you to take the time to think about it when your head isn’t fogged over with booze and lust. Tonight doesn’t have to change anything between us if you don’t want it to.” 

As the phone line went dead, you tugged your blankets higher on your body, your mind racing to process what had just happened. 

~~~

It had been nearly a week since your phone call by the time Paul returned to town. He hadn’t reached out to you and though you wanted to, you hadn’t reached out to him. After spending a week lost in your own mind as you weighed the pros and cons of it all, you finally found yourself standing in front of Paul’s door, your hand lifted to knock. 

Within a moment of your short knock, the door flew open revealing a shirtless Paul. At the sight of him all of the questions and thoughts that you’d had running through your head vanished...except for one. Before he could even greet you, you had pushed your way inside his apartment, your hands wringing nervously. 

“I just have one question.” You exclaimed, your voice cracking. “Do you seriously want me?” You watched as Paul stepped closer to you, his hand reaching up to sweep a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Even that simple touch sent sparks through your body and you couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that you’d never felt safe when a man touched you, however innocently, until now. Any sort of touch had previously made you feel uncomfortable but right here and now you couldn’t help but want Paul to touch you everywhere. 

“I seriously want you.” Paul insisted, his body moving a step closer to your own. “But more importantly...do you want me? Do you trust me?” Immediately you started to nod but Paul refused to take that for an answer, his gaze pressing you to provide him with verbal consent. 

“I do.” You immediately breathed, Paul’s left hand settling on your right hip in response. Your pulse was racing, unsure of whether your consent meant anything was going to happen right now. With your gaze locked on his, you watched as Paul leaned forward, his eyes dropping to your mouth before his lips pressed gently down onto your own. Though you saw it coming, you still gasped in response and that action allowed Paul to deepen the kiss as his hands pulled you firmly against his body. Having never been kissed before, you tried to mirror his movements, hoping that that would be okay. 

You were breathless when Paul finally pulled away and though his eyes were dark, he simply dropped a single kiss to your forehead before stepping backward. 

“Just a little something for you to think about.” He teased. Your lips were swollen and your eyes blown as you gazed up at him and he only smirked in response. “We’re gonna do this right so be ready tomorrow night at 7 for dinner. Wear a dress or a skirt for me.” He instructed, and though you hadn’t expected any of this to include all of that, you found yourself nodding as you moved to leave Paul’s apartment. 

You knew you should run errands or do laundry but instead you curled up on your couch unable to stop thinking about the way it felt to have Paul’s mouth pressed against your own. 

~~~

Dinner the next night went far better than you expected it to. Conversation with Paul was as easy as it always was, but now there was an underlying current ready to light you up with a single spark. From dinner, the two of you returned home and sitting in his passenger seat, the anxious feelings of what you expected to come filled you. So when Paul simply walked you to your door, dropping another gentle kiss to your mouth before pulling away, you were slightly surprised. Sensing your confusion Paul chuckled softly before leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“As much as I want to drag you to bed...especially when you look like this...I’m not going to.” He explained. “I want you to be completely comfortable with me and I get that means taking things a step at a time. I know you y/n...I know you’re freaking out and overthinking every single physical act and that’s not what I want. I want it all to feel natural and right for you.” 

The fact that Paul clearly cared so much about even your unspoken needs reaffirmed that you were making the right decision. 

“Come inside for a bit?” You questioned and after examining your body language Paul eventually agreed. Grabbing a few bottles of water from the fridge you met him over at your couch and settled yourself in beside him, tucked against his side. With his gaze heavy upon you, you took the initiative to make the first move and shifted to kiss him. As your mouths explored each other’s Paul’s left arm draped itself around you, securing you to him while his right slid just under the bottom edge of your dress. The heat from his body urged you forward and gradually the two of you settled into a steamy makeout session, one that caused your skin to tingle. The more you kissed, the more comfortable you became and by the time Paul pulled away, his eyes were hazy and dark. 

“You’re getting good at that.” He teased softly. “A little too good.” He added, slipping his hand from where it was resting on your thigh to reach for the water you’d set on the coffee table. Watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, you basked in how his dress shirt clung to his skin, showing off just how strong and broad he was and as your eyes trailed down his body you noticed him straining against his pants. Watching you watch him, Paul surged forward with another kiss, the press of his lips against yours mostly sweet with a tinge of desire. “I should go.” He eventually murmured and though you didn’t want him to pull away, deep down you knew that he needed to because if he didn’t you’d be delving into waters deeper than you were honestly ready for. 

“Alright.” You agreed. “Thank you, Paul. For dinner. And for this.” 

“‘Course sweetheart. Anytime.” He replied and from your spot on the couch, you watched him leave, flipping the latch to secure your front door behind him. 

~~~

One week. One week and a beautifully tailored suit. That was what it had taken for things to rise beyond the level of just kissing. 

Paul had stopped by your apartment on his way home from a matinee game, just like he stopped by whenever he arrived home for the day lately, even if only for a few minutes. The moment you’d opened your door, you immediately felt your body respond because this was a suit you had never seen before and god did it do all the right things for him. 

Tugging him through the door, you’d pulled him down into a kiss. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he finally pulled back, like he knew just how much he was affecting you right now. Which to be honest he probably did know. Still, even if he knew his appearance was affecting you, the words that left your mouth next left him speechless. 

“Take it off Paul. I wanna explore you.” You’d been thinking about it for a while now and you knew that you needed this to be the next step. You were comfortable with your own body, you were comfortable with your own touch so you knew that his attention on you wouldn’t be that shocking. It was the male form that was new and you were certain that if you wanted to be comfortable having sex that becoming comfortable with all of him was key. Everything else seemed secondary. 

When Paul didn’t respond to you right away, you felt a small smirk growing on your lips at the thought of throwing him off-kilter even a little. Stretching onto your tiptoes you kissed along his jaw and your fingers anchored themselves in the fabric of his dress shirt. Paul’s silence didn’t last long and eventually, he nodded, his lips capturing your own once more. 

“Whatever you want sweetheart.” He agreed and immediately your fingers started fumbling to undo the buttons on his shirt. The moment your fingers met his hot skin, everything felt a little foggier, like you were already drowning in him. “Easy baby.” Paul murmured, sensing your desire. His fingers worked to assist yours in undoing the rest of his buttons and it was only a moment more before both his suit jacket and shirt were draped over the back of your couch. 

Tracing both your eyes and your fingers over his body, you focused on how tan his skin was, how the ink of his tattoos sprawled over his arms and abdomen, and how the hair on his chest felt under your fingers. He was all man and he hadn’t even taken his pants off yet. 

“See something you like?” Paul teased and lifting your gaze up to his, you watched as he once again swallowed hard at the look in your eyes. “Fuck.” He groaned and hearing that sound only made you want to know what other sounds he could make. Your hands quickly fell to his belt and you bit your lip trying to focus on undoing the leather restraint. Before your hands could fall to the button and zipper of his pants however, Paul was lifting them away from his body. “Should we take this to the bedroom baby?” He suggested and though waiting even one more moment to continue undressing him seemed like too much you sighed in resignation. 

The delay was made a little more bearable when Paul’s hands fell to the back of your thighs and he lifted you to wrap your legs around his waist. From this position you could feel him straining in his pants and you couldn’t help but moan at the thought of what was waiting for you, hidden from sight. Since the floorplans of your apartments were the same, it was easy for Paul to make his way back to your bedroom, not stopping until he had gently laid you back onto your bed, hovering over you to kiss you once more. With your hair sprawled across the pillows you felt him groan against your neck and in between kisses to your skin he murmured about how this could happen here but sex was happening in his bed because he wanted to see you writhing and shaking in his sheets. It seemed like a silly distinction to you but if that was what he wanted, you were more than happy to comply. 

First though, you had some exploring of your own to do, so after kissing him for another minute or so you gently pushed him off of you, signaling for him to roll onto his back. And to be honest, it was almost too much just how large he seemed in your full-sized bed. Perching over him, you pressed another kiss to his lips before wandering down his exposed body, exploring everything your eyes and fingers had before in a new way. A moment’s pause was spent over each of his scars, though that moment was longer when you reached the scar on his wrist that nearly cost him his life. It was hard to think of a world without this man. It was hard to think of your life without him and for just a breath you gave into the tears forming before you kissed over the scarred skin once more and then pulled away. 

Glancing up at Paul revealed a concerned gaze but after pressing your lips against his quickly, he relaxed, smirk returning to his face. Not once did he urge you for more, letting you explore him completely at your own pace but when your fingers finally found the button and then the zipper of his pants, his breath hitched. After a silent communication, he lifted his hips allowing you to tug his pants down over his legs and while you were at it, you slipped both his shoes and socks off of his feet leaving him in only his boxer briefs. 

This was the first moment in which you’d felt even the slightest bit intimated, because while you’d watched porn and had previously been sent a few dick pics, this was your first time seeing one in person and even the outline of his penis through the thin fabric sent a wave of anxiety through you. 

“C’mere.” Paul breathed, seeing your hesitation. Sliding back up his body, you accepted his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled your mouth down to his own. “We can stop whenever you want.” He reminded you and though your voice was tinged with a certain level of fear it was mostly defiant. 

“I want to keep going.” You insisted. Nodding, Paul kissed you once more, deeper this time, and as he swept his tongue against yours, his free hand grasped your own, guiding it to touch him through his underwear. With your brain focused on the way he was kissing you, there wasn’t any room to worry about anything, though your body was quickly registering how hot he felt in your hand, how solid but yet soft he was at the same time. You didn’t even fully realize that your hand was moving at all until you felt the sensation of skin on skin as you slipped your hand under his waistband to stroke him. 

“That’s it baby.” Paul groaned in your ear when your kiss broke and you turned your head to look down at where your hand was acting of its own accord. Though you could feel every bump and ridge under your fingers, it wasn’t enough and you pushed past the momentary anxiety to free him from his briefs, tossing them to the floor and exposing him to you for the first time. Initially you weren’t sure what you were thinking or feeling  as you peered down at his solid length. You may have had small hands, but girth wise you could barely wrap your fingers around him and lengthwise he was longer than your palm from fingertip to wrist. In your mind it was a good size and the way his cock curved slightly leading up to the uncircumcised head was appealing. If you had looked up, you would have noticed Paul’s slightly worried expression but you didn’t, too absorbed in the sight of all of him spread out for you and only you. 

The shifting sunlight through the window revealed a drop of moisture leaking from the head of Paul’s cock and instinct drew you to rub your thumb over the moisture, pushing Paul’s foreskin further out of the way. His only response was a hitch of his breath but you continued, trailing your short nails over his length lightly, almost in awe of the way he twitched against you. Exploring him was such an empowering feeling, knowing that his pleasure was entirely in your hands. You stroked him gently, let your hand drift down to cup his balls and even kissed your way from base to tip, your mouth feather-light against his skin. 

Having completed a preliminary exploration you looked up at him to see his eyes dark as he watched you. Kissing his tip once more you watched his response, your own blood pulsing through your veins as you watched his arousal heighten. 

“What do you need me to do?” You questioned softly. “Talk me through this Paul.” Your request drew a long groan from Paul’s throat. 

“Up to you baby...I’m happy with either your hand or your mouth.” Growing low in your belly was the primal need to make him cum and it was all you could really focus on. The slightly salty taste of him lingered on your tongue and though you knew your gag reflex would likely be a problem, you wanted to blow him, wanted to feel the swell of him in your mouth. Licking over his head once more, you parted your lips and focused on keeping your teeth out of the way as you sunk down on him as much as you could. It was a strange feeling but you repeated that action twice before shifting your hand to stroke what you hadn’t fit into your mouth. Though you were certain this definitely wasn’t the best blowjob, Paul kept muttering praises, urging you to keep going, to stroke your hand against him in a certain way, to pull back and breathe. 

You continued, doing your best to follow his instructions and feeling him twitch in your mouth as he groaned and grunted above you. Eventually though, Paul’s fingers in your hair drew you off of him and guided you up to kiss him again. 

“Just use your hand sweetheart. I’m so close. Want you to watch me.” Your toes curled a bit hearing that you were close to making him cum and you nodded, resting your head against his shoulder as you slipped your hand back down his body to stroke over his dick. Once more he directed you to do more of this or less of that and after brushing your thumb over his head once more you watched as his body shook and semen spilled from him as he moaned heavily in your ear. You couldn’t explain the pride you felt at being the cause of his orgasm and though a bright flush littered your cheeks, you kissed him again before sliding off the bed to wash your hands and retrieve a warm, wet washcloth for him. 

Letting him clean up, you settled back in bed next to him and let him curl you against his body as he napped for a few minutes while his body recovered. When he stirred he was eager to check in with you about what you were thinking, what you had enjoyed about that, ect. The way he was openly communicating with you and urging you to do the same with him only made you feel more secure and ready to share all of these experiences with him. 

~~~~

When you’d met Paul, the last thing you’d expected was for him to be the gentle, caring, dare you say romantic man who put all of your needs above his own. But so far, you had yet to see him act selfish, yet to see him do anything that he thought would make you uncomfortable and because of that you were flourishing under his attention, growing in your sexuality and as a person generally. 

You’d always thought that it would take you a significant period of time to open up to someone regarding being with them physically, but it had only been a couple weeks since Paul made his interest in you clear and you were beyond ready. Still, Paul had made no mention of anything further happening, continuing to let you set the pace. And you’d been dropping hints. Every single time you saw him. But he seemed to be completely oblivious. 

Or maybe he was less oblivious than you’d thought. Because you’d come home today to find a box sitting outside your door and when you’d gotten inside and opened it, hidden underneath a layer of tissue paper was a satin slip with lace around the bust. It was mostly white with a floral print and it was both sexy but modest all wrapped into one garment. If finding lingerie outside your door wasn’t enough to make you blush, the note tucked inside the box was. 

Clean yourself up, dinner will be ready for 7:30. I can’t wait to see every inch of you. 

Paul

Following his directions, you rushed into the shower, taking the time to shave leaving your skin silky smooth. Applying just the faintest coat of makeup, you teased your hair into some loose waves before sliding on the lingerie and then slipping into a little black dress over it. By the time you finished getting ready it was almost 7:30 and as you peered at yourself in the mirror, you had never felt sexier. Making sure that you had taken your birth control for the night, you slipped into a pair of sandals and grabbed both your phone and your keys before heading upstairs. 

Paul called for you to come in when you knocked on his door and you entered to find him pulling a dish out of the oven, snug jeans covering his bottom half while a white button-up was pushed up to his elbows. He looked incredible and you dropped your things in the entryway, slipping your shoes off before padding over to him barefoot. The moment you reached him he leaned down to gently kiss you and then murmured for you to go sit at the table. Shortly after, you had a plate of food in front of you along with a small glass of wine and a large glass of water. It didn’t take a genius to see that tonight was the night but while you’d thought you’d feel nervous, you just felt ready...that spark in your stomach just waiting to be lit. 

You laughed at Paul’s stories through dinner before helping him clean up the kitchen. As you finished putting the last dish away you realized that Paul had disappeared and when you went looking for him, you found him finishing lighting candles in his bedroom, blankets pulled down to the foot of the bed for easy access. 

“Paul…” You breathed, almost in awe that he was going to all of this effort for you. He cursed softly at the sound of your voice before turning, an almost sheepish look on his face. “What’s all this?” You continued, your body drawing you closer to his. As you pressed yourself against his chest, his right arm slipped around your waist and he bent to press his forehead to yours. 

“I know you probably didn’t expect all of this...nor do you think you need it.” He murmured and you had to admit he was right on both accounts. “But…” He continued. “If I’m the lucky son of a bitch that gets a shot with you I’m gonna do everything I can to make it good for you.” Your heart swelled at his words, at the fact that he was honestly going above and beyond anything you could have expected. 

“Can’t wait to see just what your definition of good is.” You teased, closing the distance between your mouths to kiss him. His lips on yours was definitely something you weren’t sure you could ever get sick of and while there was a nagging thought as to what would happen after tonight, you weren’t about to let that ruin things. What would come tomorrow was a problem for tomorrow’s version of you, tonight’s version of you was looking forward to having her brains fucked out. 

You honestly weren’t sure how long you stood beside Paul’s bed kissing, but eventually his hands slid from their spot at your waist down to your ass and he gently lifted you to set you onto his soft mattress. Finally breaking away from your mouth he leaned back and you watched as his eyes took in your body. 

“Give me a minute to memorize the way you look right now.” He mumbled and once more you felt your cheeks flush in response to him. You weren’t sure you’d ever get over being looked at like this. And you weren’t sure you wanted to. 

After a moment, Paul bent back down and you felt his breath against the shell of your ear before his mouth dipped to kiss and suck at the sensitive skin along your neck. “So beautiful.” He murmured and with one hand sweeping light trails along your side and over your arm you already felt your desire for him growing. But as impatient as you were feeling, you let him take his time, the same way he let you take your time with him. Thankfully, Paul sensed your impatience and after the dancing around each other that honestly felt like it had been going on forever, even if it wasn’t long at all, it was clear that he was just as ready to move things forward as you were. 

He’d thoroughly marked your neck up by the time his hands drifted down to the bottom of your dress and with a smile and a nod that layer of fabric was removed, leaving you in nothing but the slip and a thong you’d pulled out from the very back of your drawer. Paul groaned the second he saw you in the lingerie he had purchased and you saw the second his eyes darkened when he realized that your nipples were already pebbled through the thin fabric. 

“See something you like?” You teased, repeating his words from the first time you saw him. Realizing that you’d just thrown his own phrase back at him, Paul laughed and your smile widened. You’d never thought intimacy could be so easy and comfortable but with Paul, it was all of that and more. 

“I see things I more than like.” He finally responded and you moaned as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples through the thin fabric of the slip. In all the time you’d spent exploring your own body, you had never gotten as much pleasure from massaging your own breasts as you’d gotten from less than a minute of Paul’s attention on them. With your body arching into him, his large hands slipped behind your back for a moment to pull you closer to him. He continued, swapping to your other breast after a while until you were practically panting under him. 

“Paul please.” You whimpered and he smirked up at you. 

“Yeah, baby? What do you need?” He teased. “Trust me baby...I’ll destroy you all in due time.” His words were only turning you on more and you reached down to fumble with his button-up again. 

“Goddamnit Paul...take your shirt off.” You whined, wanting nothing more than to feel his bare chest pressing down on you. His smirk softened a bit and he rested back on his knees as he worked his shirt off of his body before laying back down over you, pressing some of his weight onto your body. 

“That what you want?” He asked. Your fingers scraped along his scalp as you nodded before quickly dropping down to run over his shoulders. He was so sexy and there was still a part of you that couldn’t believe that you were getting to feel him like this. 

After making out for a few more minutes, Paul’s hips rutting down against your own, he pulled back and started kissing down your body, flicking his tongue over your nipples once more before settling himself between your spread thighs. Just the sight of him there made you shiver but true goosebumps appeared over every surface of your body as he kissed from your knee to the crease of your thigh before repeating the action on the other leg. 

“You’re so wet for me.” He commented, his thumb pressing over the lace of your thong right where you needed him most. “So wet for me.” He repeated. “But I’m gonna make you fall apart on my mouth and my fingers just like I promised.” His eyes sought consent once more as his fingers slipped under the edge of the thong and when you moaned his name the fabric quickly joined the other pieces on the floor and for the first time you were truly exposed to him, only the slip still covering your body. “Stunning.” He declared, his hot breath dancing across your skin making you more and more needy for him. 

You’d thought you were prepared for this...but there wasn’t anything that could prepare you for the way Paul’s mouth felt as he dove into your core. It was obvious that he knew exactly what he was doing, but not only that, that he truly enjoyed it as well. His forearm draped across your pelvis to keep your hips in place as he worked your body over. You’d never orgasmed this fast before but within only a few minutes you felt yourself spiraling over the edge as his tongue fucked into you. He worked you through your orgasm, tongue soothing gently over your heated flesh while licking up all of the juices he’d drawn from you. Then for a moment, he kissed at your hip, letting some of your sensitivity ebb. 

Your break had barely begun when he slipped first one and then a second large finger inside of you, curling them and flexing them to stretch you out for him. As he did so, he moved back up the bed to kiss you and for the first time you tasted yourself on his tongue. It was dirty but sexy at the same time and you couldn’t control the endless string of moans against his mouth as he pushed you closer and closer to your second orgasm. 

“You’re so sexy.” Paul groaned and glancing over you could see just how much he was straining against his jeans. Reaching over you flicked open the button and gently drew the zipper down, hoping to provide him with some relief. The release of pressure was clearly appreciated because Paul’s fingers sped up inside you and you felt your second orgasm behind to crest. “That’s my girl.” Paul murmured against the skin of your neck. “C’mon baby. Come for me again. Let me feel you clench around my fingers just like you’ll clench around my dick. You’re so goddamn tight baby.” Whether it was his words or the way he curled his fingers to press against your g-spot, you were soon seeing stars and you cried out loudly as wave after wave of pleasure rushed through you. 

When you finally settled, you found Paul gazing down at you completely in awe. “You didn’t tell me you’re a squirter.” He groaned and an embarrassed expression graced your face. Having wiped his fingers on the sheets, Paul’s hand slipped into your hair and he tugged your mouth back to his. “No...none of that. You don’t know how fucking sexy that is Y/N.” He insisted. Though your cheeks were still flushed you focused yourself on Paul’s kiss, moaning as he nipped at the skin of your lips. 

“You’re so expressive, baby. I can’t get enough.” He assured you, his hands sliding to tug the satin slip up and off of your body. When he didn’t speak at first, you felt the nerves creeping back in but they were quickly silenced by Paul’s string of expletives as he eyed you. “You. Are. So. Sexy.” He repeated kissing each of your breasts and then down over the swell of your stomach before returning his mouth to yours. With the fire rising in your veins again, stronger than ever before, you slipped your hands down to push his jeans off over his ass before cupping him through his boxer briefs again. 

“I swear Paul if you don’t fuck me soon…” You trailed off. Paul wore a devilish smirk and he trailed his hands over your body. 

“What are you gonna do?” He teased. A frustrated whimper slipped from your throat and you squirmed against the sheets trying to quell the aching feeling that was starting to drive you crazy. “Answer me, baby.” Paul pushed, his thumb slipping down to put just the slightest amount of pressure on your throbbing clit. 

“I’m gonna explode.” You whined. A second whine escaped you as Paul climbed off of the bed and he chuckled softly at just how desperate you were for him. 

“Just give me a second sweetheart.” He insisted and you heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor and a nightstand drawer opening before Paul was beside you again, his fingers brushing away the frustrated tears that had slipped down your cheeks. You were feeling so much and yet it wasn’t enough and you truly felt like you were going to burst if something didn’t happen soon. 

Paul’s thumb lifted your chin, bringing your eyes to his own and then he guided your hand to help roll the condom down over his length. “You need to relax for me Y/N.” Paul directed. “This shouldn’t hurt but it might sting a little and I just need you to relax and focus on me. I promise you I’m gonna make you feel so good.” The sound of his words was grounding and you nodded, not sure whether to watch his face or the way his body connected with yours. Feeling the pressure of his cock head at your core had you choosing the latter and you gasped as he slowly pressed inside you, your body taking him eagerly. There wasn’t any feeling besides pressure, besides feeling full and you moaned at the knowledge that this was as close as you could ever be to another person. 

When you looked up at Paul’s face you could see him watching you, could see the strain to remain still. Brushing your thumb over his cheek you nodded up at him. 

“I’m good Paul. Promise.” You insisted. “Please move.” His shoulders slumped a bit in relief as he drew his hips back before thrusting forward again. The pace he set was slow and easy but it was already providing delicious friction. The way his body pinned you to the bed as he fucked into you made you feel so small and you were overwhelmed at all of the feelings rushing through you. 

When Paul shifted your legs to wrap around his waist, he slid even deeper inside of you and you cursed, tears prickling in your eyes. Immediately Paul froze, scared he had hurt you but you kissed him softly in reassurance. The feeling of him that deep didn’t hurt, it was just more than you had expected and you were certain you were going to feel him for days. 

As the friction built, so did the pleasure and gradually your moans grew louder and came more frequently. In turn, Paul’s pace increased just slightly and his grunts in your ear were swapped for the sound of his voice pleading for you to cum, praising you for just how good you felt wrapped around him. And just when you thought it couldn’t get better, Paul kissed you and though you hadn’t seen it coming, your orgasm hit suddenly causing your body to bow beneath him and a shriek of his name to spill from your lips. A low groan and a twitch of his cock inside you signaled that he had spilled into the condom and he collapsed half on top of you and half beside you as your bodies struggled to come down from their highs. 

With Paul’s face nestled into your breast, you laid there for a few minutes before he gingerly pulled out of you causing you to wince. The bed shifted as Paul moved to discard the condom but eventually, he returned, gathering you in his arms to carry you to the bathroom. He instructed you to pee and then guided you into the shower to quickly rinse off. By the time you’d returned he’d changed the sheets on the bed, the candles had been blown out, and a t-shirt was laid out for you to change into. 

Tugging the t-shirt over your body, you let Paul pull you back onto the bed and he tucked you into his chest. 

“You were incredible.” He whispered. “That was incredible.” It was a relief to know that he enjoyed that as much as you had, but now that the deed was done you couldn’t help but wonder what, if anything, came next. It wasn’t that you would ever regret this, there was no way you could when it had been so perfect. If you had lost your virginity as a teenager there was no way you would have gotten three orgasms from the experience like you did now with him. It was well worth the wait in your mind and you could only hope that the delay in getting here had been worth it for him as well. 

Sensing your mental turmoil, Paul groaned and shifted to tangle your bodies together further. “Turn that brain of yours off.” He grumbled. “I still have a million other things to teach you, don’t I?” 

It was just like Paul to quell all of your worries with one stupid phrase. There were so many things he could teach you...about sex and about life. If he was willing, well, you certainly weren’t going to turn it down. Not when it felt like this. 

[itstheanxietyforme]

The Set Up: Part 1

An introduction to Ella Evans, the (willing and totally consenting) sacrificial lamb to my #getmarcusmorenolaidchallenge (see my Set It Up drabble) 

Summary: Seeking an experienced teacher to lead an exciting new classroom! Grades K-8, all core subjects, experience with gifted students a must. Ella Evans just wants this interview to go well. Fate had other plans. 

(Eventual) Pairing: Marcus Moreno x OFC (I am categorically terrible at 1st person writing, thus the creation of this character)

Rating: PG-13 lite. 

Warnings: light swearing, OFC checks out Marcus because duh. Second-hand embarrassment from foot in mouth. Eventual fluff and smut, but slow burn here. 

Ella Evans checks herself over in the bathroom mirror of her modest apartment for the umpteenth time. She had managed to sweep her unruly thick hair into a low bun, though a few waves have already escaped, and her makeup is simple; a little bit of blush and mascara to frame her green-grey eyes. Dressing for an interview always resulted in her agonizing for hours, trying to land on what struck a balance between professional without being overdone. After trying on every combination of skirt, blouse, dress, and dress pant she owned (which was admittedly a small selection but enough to make problematic combinations), she landed on a knee length navy pencil skirt with a crisp red blouse. The only thing that Ella didn’t struggle to narrow down was a pair of sleek black flats; tripping over her own two feet because she attempted to strut in heels was not how she wanted this interview to go. And Ella would be the first to admit that she is far from graceful and with a profession that required hours on her feet, there was no sense in suffering unnecessarily.

The job itself was exciting enough, assuming of course she made it past the first interview. A one class, all subjects K-8 position with highly competitive pay. Given the range of ages and the discretely advertised “excellent teacher to student ratio,” Ella knew it likely meant some intense behaviors or needs amongst the kids. But then again, those had always been the kids that Ella loved most: the ones other teachers “couldn’t handle.” It was hokey, but those were her babies. The fact that the position would also be another 10 grand a year was huge, and would be the push Ella needed to go back to school for another masters. Maybe she could even save up to travel. No getting ahead of myself, she chides herself gently. 

Casting one last nervous glance in the mirror, Ella steels herself with a reminder: I’m a good teacher, and I can do this. On the way out, she grabs her work bag, a worn leather tote with lesson samples, extra copies of her resume and a few other essentials. The details that the school head, a Ms. Granada, has sent her were vague at best, enough so that Ella had briefly entertained the idea of this being a scam. A quick google search though had yielded enough information though to explain that it was a newer program for tweens and the application process posted was impressive. Worst case scenario? She would bolt for doors. Considering her current work environment, more specifically the human slug of boss she had endured for over 5 years now since moving to the area, anything would be an improvement. Hell, I’d work for an alien at this point, she thinks sullenly. 

It only takes a half hour for her to arrive at the coffee shop where the interview was taking place. “Due to massive renovations to our campus taking place this summer, we are unable to hold interviews at our site. We will be holding all interviews off-site and appreciate your understanding.” That’s what the follow up email had said when Ella learned she had an interview. Truthfully, Ella is almost relieved for a more informal environment, especially considering how nervous she is. So when Ella strolls into the small cafe a solid 15 minutes before her scheduled time, she takes a deep breath and tries to calm her nerves. 

Glancing around, Ella can’t see anyone she imagines to be the interview team. She spots a handful of children perched in a booth with mugs of chocolate milk and stacks of coloring books spread out; the booth to the left hosts five women, slowly sipping their drinks and laughing lightly as they glance over every once in a while. The sight makes Ella smile. Several teens or possibly even college students are scattered around, headphones on all of them as they stare mutely at their variety of devices. Beyond that, there are only a few other strays in the small shop, none dressed so formally as to make her assume they’re here to hire. It’s enough time to order a drink and try and calm her nerves. 

As she winds her way up to the counter to order, she is a mere four feet away the bar when she manages to trip on, well, nothing really. A hot flash of adrenaline spikes through her chest as she sails forward, but the panic settles slightly when she inexplicably doesn’t fall. The shock of the near miss reels back, just in time for her to notice what saved her. Or more specifically, who. Two hands are sealed to her arms, and slowly, she is pulled backwards and righted to her feet. It takes Ella a minute to calm her racing heart enough to turn and meet her savior, but the face she finds really does nothing ground her. No one should look that damn good on a Wednesday morning in a freaking coffee shop. And have lightning fast reflexes to boot.

Rich, warm brown eyes study her carefully, dark brows knit in worry. Even behind the glasses he wears, his gaze traps her on the spot as he looks her over carefully. And Ella, almost involuntarily, returns the favor. Dressed in a pair of nice jeans, a pale blue button up, and a leather jacket, he’s the picture of confidence, though the gentleness in his eyes puts her at ease. His skin is golden, and his strong jaw and full lips are dappled with a line of dark hair. He’s distractingly handsome, and it takes longer than is decent for Ella to realize that he’s speaking to her. 

“Miss, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Ugh, even his voice is nice, she thinks ruefully, but then the bell hanging by the front door of the shop chimes and Ella snaps back to reality. Her head snaps up suddenly and she cranes around the Adonis of a man in front of her to see a gorgeous woman stroll in. She’s dressed impeccably in a white skirt suit, complete with terrifying black stilettos and an impossibly nice leather attaché in tow. 

“Oh shit,” Ella mutters, much to the confusion of the man who is still very much so holding onto her arms. “I am so sorry!” She finally manages to say, looking frantically at the clock on the wall. Her interview is in 3 minutes. “I’m so— I mean, I mean thank you,” words spill from her lips as she watches the elegant woman take a seat at a large table near the window and immediately take out a stylus and tablet. Double shit. She looks back to her rescuer, whose eyes are crinkling in a mixture of confusion and mirth. “Seriously, thank you, and I’m sorry, for the, for swearing,” two minutes until her interview, “it wasn’t at you, or anything, it’s just...I just have this big interview in a few minutes and now my nerves are completely shot all to hell.” The confession falls off her tongue before she can stop herself, but she’s silenced when the man suddenly drops her arms. Those dark brows suddenly crease in the middle and the pouty mouth grimaces a little. A look of pity, she thinks, as she has succeeded in making a fool of herself in more ways than one. Before Ella can wedge her foot even more firmly in her mouth, the stunning woman in white appears beside them quite suddenly. 

“Ah, Marcus,” she speaks, her voice sultry and sure. The man, Marcus, returns a tight smile and then glances back at Ella with sympathetic eyes. “I see you have already met our candidate, Ms. Evans.” All of the blood drains from Ella’s face then, and the pit that settles in her stomach is a heavy thing. Suddenly, she wishes she had just knocked herself out cold on the coffee shop floor. In absence of reasonable injury, Ella settles for closing her eyes for a quick moment and saying a prayer to be struck down by lightning. The woman, Ms. Granada, waves a manicured hand to the small table she procured across the shop. “Shall we?” 

[pop-culturereference]

as long as i’m reflecting you

Summary: “I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet. I'm you, Hawks."

@hawksweek2020 day 1: Cliché

If you’d rather read on ao3 (or if you want to read my long rant in the chapter notes): https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203351

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Gen

Rating: G

Characters: Hawks, Dabi

Dabi towers over Hawks as he lies there, helpless, blue flame licking greedily at his face and wings. He can feel himself shriveling under the heat, but perhaps the worst part is this:

Takami Keigo.

Dabi knows his name. Dabi knew all along what Hawks was doing there, knows more than even his friends do—his name.

Hawks panics at the sound of Dabi’s boots crunching on the broken shards of his visor—He can’t die here! The battle is far from over, and he’s the only hero ready and equipped to deal with the aftermath. There’s not much Hawks can do, at this point, but he does have one option. Dabi needs time between using his quirk in order to recover. Use conversation, distract him, draw him in. In Hawks’s experience, villains never pass up a chance to gloat and throw their self-righteousness in everyone’s face. Get a villain talking about themself, and they won’t shut up. Even closed-off Dabi will likely blab his life story, thinking Hawks is about to die. It’s worth a shot.

“The only members of the League I found nothing on were you and Shigaraki. I found everyone else’s background, their families—but for you, I couldn’t even find a name. Who are you?”

Dabi sets a foot on Hawks’s back, leans his weight into it. Hawks pushes himself up with his hands as much as he can to prevent his ribs from snapping. He’s miscalculated. Dabi will keep his secrets over his ego. Hawks accepts his death even as he fights and pushes against it; he can’t die, but he’s going to, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s expecting Dabi to burn him to death right there, and he’s already bracing himself and gritting his teeth against the heat. He is <em>not</em> expecting Dabi to crouch down, one foot still on Hawks’s back, and whisper:

“I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet.” There’s a warm huff of laughter on his ear that has Hawks cringing away, then— “I’m you, Hawks.”

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

Hawks wakes up to the horrible smell of antiseptic solution and the annoying tug of compression sleeves on his leg hair. Then, of course, the swoop of vertigo that speaks of some Pretty Heavy Anaesthesia. He tries to cough the smell out of his mouth, but is met with a sore throat—more than sore, actually. It’s like someone’s taken literal sandpaper and dragged it down his entire esophagus. He gags, tries to sit up, is hit off balance by the vertigo, and promptly throws up over the side of the bed.

He leans back against his pillows and wallows in the agony his stomach acid has raked over his poor, abused, sandpapered throat.

“Can I get you anything?” asks a nurse holding a bucket. Oh, good. He’d vomited into a bucket and not all over the hospital floor.

Hawks gestures frantically to his throat with a plea in his eyes that the nurse hopefully interprets as “water,” or “cough drop,” or even, “please just slit my throat and put me out of my misery.”

The nurse hands him both water and cough drops. Hawks’s eyes water with gratitude. Well, either that or pain. Maybe both.

“Sorry, man,” says the nurse as he reaches to adjust Hawks’s blanket. “They had to do surgery on your wings, and you had a breathing tube.”

Hawks croaks in horror. “Wings!?”

“They’ll be all right. You also had some skin grafts for the burns.”

Burns. Dabi. I’m you, Hawks.

“Phone,” he demands urgently.

With his miraculously only-slightly-singed phone in his hands, Hawks shoos the nurse away and starts tapping and typing with frenzied vigor.

His google search shows him an article spotlight on him, featuring an interview with Tokoyami, who apparently saved him. Good kid, that Tokoyami. It also shows him that there were minimal casualties and that apparently the UA students were spearheading the clean-up and rebuilding of the battleground. Okay. Okay. Good, good. All of it good. 

Now, what he <em>really</em> wants to know: Dabi.

To: VP HPSC: 

get me every pic i ever sent u of dabi highest res possible asap

also the cam footage of lov hideout

To the number he’d found on Google for the news network he saw at the raid:

Hi, this is Hawks. I saw your news logo at the fight in Reika. I was wondering if you could send me any footage you managed to get of the villains. Thank you. Here’s a selfie for proof it’s me.

To: Dabi (Villain):

hey ik its a bit of a long shot but like i would love an explanation thanks xoxo <3

He knows Dabi’s claim is ridiculous. He knows, all right? What he’s actually hoping to find is some connection to Endeavor. There’s definitely <em>something</em> familiar about Dabi, and that, paired with the fire quirk, could explain it. 

The first replies he gets are the pictures and footage from the Commission. Hawks zooms in and examines Dabi’s hair. He always knew it was dyed.The roots come in a lighter color, which would make his hair look perpetually greasy if it laid flat; but instead, it makes his spiky hair look just the slightest bit detached from his head. As he looks at the pictures, he’s surprised to realize that he was already biased toward his Endeavor explanation in his head: he was thinking Dabi’s hair was white, like the color of Todoroki Shouto’s ice side, from whoever was Endeavor’s wife. Closer scrutiny shows that it’s actually a dark blond, like Hawks’s own hair. 

That doesn’t mean anything, though.

Dabi’s aesthetically stapled under-eye bags are right in the spot where Hawks has his natural eye markings.

The one picture he managed to find of Dabi shirtless (It’s okay, Hawks reminds himself. I’m a creep with a noble cause. It was for the intel) shows that the stapled purple skin covers the part of his back where Hawks has his wings. If Dabi had wings and they were removed, purple skin grafts or whatever those were would cover up the evidence quite nicely.

And… what Hawks learned during the raid. Dabi’s weakness is his own quirk. Fire. That’s Hawks’s own biggest weakness. That’s almost too much to be a coincidence…what if…?

As he’s looking over the Commission’s images, he almost drops his phone in surprise because Dabi (Villain) texts him back. 

Every intelligent thought in his head evacuates in favor of wtfwtfwtfwtf.

It’s a selfie—a close-up of Dabi’s face, right behind a hand that’s flipping him off. It’s just the puzzle piece that he needs, because the small gleam of light catches on the telltale glint of a contact lens, and Hawks can see where the edge of the blue goes lighter where it’s not covering the colorful iris underneath—Dabi’s eyes aren’t actually blue. And, what Hawks has always thought of as edgy eyeliner looks suspiciously similar to his other eye markings.

Another quick text to: Pres HPSC, VP HPSC:

i dont have any sort of long lost twin brother right??? or like an evil clone or smth??

Almost instantly, he receives a No.

It should be a relief, but his mind’s still going haywire. Dabi…is him? He is Dabi? Dabi is Hawks? Does Hawks is Dabi who? Shut up, brain, you didn’t connect shit. It Dabi, Takami Keigo Dabi Hawks… if Hawks? Who Takami Dabi… he…   

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

Maybe I shouldn’t try thinking when I’m high on painkillers, he thinks when he wakes up. 

As he looks around, he realizes he’s been moved to a more long-term room. Instead of curtains, it has a door, and there’s a TV and a nightstand. His phone is dead and he’s not about to call the nurse to come plug it in for him, so he switches on the TV instead, not sure how much he can trust his conclusions on the outcome of the raid if he convinced himself that he was somehow Dabi in the same 10-minute timespan.

The first thing that shows up on the news channel is a report about Hawks, and he’s greeted with the atrocious selfie he took to prove his identity to the news channel. His hair is a devastated battleground and missing completely on his burned side, he’s covered in gauze and medical tape, and his smile looks half-crazed. What was he thinking?

“Hawks is recovering in an unknown hospital, but he looks to be well. The real question is, will the Number Two Hero still be able to charm without half of his famous wind-swept hair?”

“I don’t know, Motome-san. Let’s look at some footage of the battle. I’m sure any lady—or gentleman—would be charmed by someone willing to go so far to protect them.”

Hawks rolls his eyes and scowls, but doesn’t turn off the TV. If they show his fight with Dabi—if he could get a quick glimpse of him—he could turn off the idiot switch in his brain that won’t shut up. 

Instead, what he sees is a streak of red that flies into Dabi’s hand. That’s one of his feathers. Dabi controlled one of his feathers. Dabi has control of Hawks’s Fierce Wings.

To hell with his pride! Hawks repeatedly jams the help button on the side of his bed, and a nurse arrives soon after, out of breath. Hawks feels a little bad for scaring the poor man, but he needs to charge his phone. As soon as it turns back on, he sends out the text to almost every single one of his contacts.

Hi all, this is Hawks. I’ve figured out the identity of the villain Dabi. It should help you lure him out and take him down. DABI IS ME. Text me with any questions. Go after him with fire, if you can.

Within three minutes, Hawks has rejected 7 calls. Text me with any questions, he said. Not call. He won’t be speaking with his sandpaper throat for at least the next month if he has anything to say about it. 

Someone with enough manners finally texts instead of calls. It reads: omw to kill you right now. should have finished the job last time.

Oh, shit. Did he really send that message to Dabi? 

Yeah. He did.

SOS this is not a joke, he sends to the HPSC. Dabi just texted me says he’s going to kill me right now. i’m in the hospital, can’t fight. PLEASE send someone

He answers the next call from Pres HPSC. “Can’t talk,” he rasps and tastes blood on his tongue. The president talks to him and he gives one tap for yes, two taps for no.

“Do you really want us to send someone?”

One tap.

The president sighs. “Hawks, as soon as you can speak, I expect the most thorough, detailed, in-depth report you’ve ever given in your life.”

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

With Hawks’s warning, they capture Dabi easily enough. He shows up at the hospital directly and comes face-to-face with Endeavor, who, knowing about his weakness to fire, easily takes him down.

When Hawks visits Tartarus a month later to interrogate Dabi, he wonders how he ever missed it. Without the dye and the contacts, there’s no denying that Dabi is Hawks. He’s left wondering, though.

“Why did you text me at the hospital that you were on your way to kill me? I immediately got Endeavor there. I thought you were a little smarter than that.”

Dabi just shrugs, his newly-regenerated red feathers rustling with the movement. “Obviously not. I am you, after all.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Cross Poison

(She appears briefly BUT read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

owo what’s this? another gift for @the10amongstthese3s?? yeh. I’ve lost all control hghhhfhghg it’s not even their birthday month yet but 🤟🤟 party hard

me: frantically google searches if luna is in fact moon in spanish (good news gang, it is)

also this is the third fic with a Pokemon move for a title. i am very ashamed of my lack of creativity

Word count: 6311

———————

“Catalina...Catalina...Catalina....”

Her eyelids were glued shut; no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t open them. Not that she cared- the lights would be too bright, anyway. She had felt like she was going blind the day before from just her nightlight.

“Oh no. She doesn’t look too good.”

“Stay out in the hall if it bothers you, Jane.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I think. It’s just a little bug.”

A soft moan breached her chapped lips. The sound grated against her throat like talons of fire- she needed water so badly.

“Catalina? Can you hear me? It’s Anne.”

There’s a cool touch on her hot forehead. Despite herself, she leaned into it, desperate for the coldness.

“Anne, I don’t think she’s going to be waking up anytime soon. She’s out cold.”

“I felt her move.”

“Still. She’s not going to be performing today. She looks...not good.”

That had to be Kitty. Aragon knew not by the voice, which was muffled and far away, but the choice of words.

“Yeah. We should go get someone to take care of her.” There’s a rustling right beside her ear; acrylic nails tap on a phone screen.

“Who are you texting?”

“Joan.”

There was disbelieving sputtered laughter.

“Joan? Are you serious?”

“Yes! She’s close to Catalina and she has a ton of vacation days saved up. I know she’ll take off if I explain the situation.”

“Yeah, and the minute Aragon sneezes she’ll keel over and die.” Kitty snorted. “You know what’s wrong with her. She can barely talk to people without losing her mind.”

There’s nothing wrong with my girl! Aragon thought fiercely. She tried to get up to rain hellfire on Kitty for saying that, but all of her limbs were heavy and weighed her down like ten ton pieces of lead.

“She just has anxiety.” Anne said dismissively.

“Saying whatever she has is anxiety is an understatement. She worries about EVERYTHING.” Kitty said. “Like— I have anxiety, but I know how to pee in public.”

“And yet you faint at the sight of a hatchet. So don’t even start.”

“It’s—!!”

Anne barked something, but Aragon’s hearing was fading out. She moaned again and then she could feel her head flop to the side on what she’s pretty sure is a pillow. Blackness consumed her—but she doesn’t know the difference from everything else she’s been surrounded by.

—

Freezing water cascaded down Aragon’s face, snaking down her neck and seeping into all of her pores. She jolted awake, breathing harshly, and whipped around to the man trying to comfort her.

She should have known. This was why she always tried to take care of herself—because she KNEW Henry would try and slither back into her life. Long ago, she used to comfort herself with that thought, her husband crawling back to her after realizing all of her replacements were horrible and nobody would ever be able to top her, but now it filled her with nothing but sticky dread that fuels her nausea.

She doesn’t want to feel his hands brushing back her sweaty hair, his lips when he kisses her and tells her how she’s still beautiful, his body when he holds her when chills wrack through her. She wouldn’t let that happen again- not ever. So, even with an illness weighing her down, she gathered herself up to her full size and—

Wait a minute.

Her vision may have been edged with blackness and very blurry, but she knew Henry was not as thin as the person on the floor of her bedroom. And definitely didn’t have blonde hair. In fact, he didn’t even have hair at all.

“Joan?” She said—or tried to. Her voice was so raspy and weak that simply saying a name hurt. The water that had been running down her face cleared her nose for a moment, but her sinuses were already pressing back in. Even in her own ears, she could faintly hear how nasally and wobbly her words were.

“Y-yes?” The girl on the floor responded. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! I-I was just trying to...” She glanced over at the bedside table and Aragon saw a bowl of water and a rag sitting on it.

Oh.

“I see,” Aragon blinked. “That makes more sense than...” She shook her head and pain ricochets through it.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said, looking down at the floor. “I—”

“Hush, love.” Aragon said. “It’s alright.”

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and that movement alone jarred her weak body horribly. She took in a shaky breath and put her head in her hands, massaging her pounding temples. She heard Joan scramble to her feet in front of her.

“C-Catalina?” She stammered nervously.

“I’m fine.” Argaon grit, and then her stomach churned audibly. She set a hand over it as Joan grimaced. “Actually- Can you hand me that rubbish bin?” She swallowed thickly. “And then give me some privacy?”

Joan’s eyes widened and she nodded frantically. She gave Aragon the trashcan and then walked out, hearing gagging and coughing a moment later.

—

Nerves were crawling and writhing in the pit of Joan’s gut like snakes. She could almost hear them hissing as they slid past each other, making her stomach roil. But she would not spill her guts, especially with Aragon being sick. She was supposed to be taking care of the queen—she couldn’t act like this!

And yet, her anxiety continued to rise. And it definitely didn’t help that there was flour everywhere.

Joan blamed it on the kitchen. It was, at least in part, responsible, being rather cramped because of the large island. One quick turn and smack! An arm-to-flour-bag collision sent the product flying to the floor, landing in a cloud of white powder.

And it was loud, too, making a rather distinct thump that likely resonated throughout the entire house.

And throughout the entire house meant—

The girl jumped from her position across the kitchen, dropping the measuring cups and spoons she had been carrying to squeak nervously. They clattered to the ground, much to her dismay, but she had to deal with it later. Right now, she had to face the door down the upstairs hallway creaking open.

Joan squeaked again and stumbled up the stairs towards Aragon’s room, tripping over her own feet and a pool of flour in the process. She attempted to urge the disoriented queen back into her room, idly brushing off the coating of flour that covered her entire being.

Aragon’s voice is rough and her accent mixes with the words horribly when she starts asking questions: “What happened? What fell? Are you alright?”

“Nothing! Nothing! It’s fine—everything’s fine so, please, um, go back to your room now! Get more rest, you’re still sick!” Joan yelled in response, voice faltering and increasing in pitch as she went.

“It’s only a slight fever, I’m fine. I don’t understand why you are so—”

Joan, not knowing what else to do, screamed. In surprise, Aragon responded with a sharp yelp. They were probably, most likely, definitely causing a disturbance by now. Joan would write five-page apology notes later.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Aragon asked, frantically now, her voice becoming a hoarse whisper due to illness.

“Um, I, um,” Joan felt her lungs seizing up in the way they usually did when she was about to have a panic attack, but she beat the feeling back. She couldn’t lose herself to her anxiety right now, especially with Aragon in much worse shape. “I-I’m dealing with it, d-don’t worry!”

“But what is it, that’s all I’m asking—”

“It is being dealt with!”

There was a brief pause, leaving the house in silence. Then, Aragon sighed, muttered a soft, resigned, “forget it, whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” and turned around to return to her room. Joan scampered back to the kitchen and braced herself against the sink, struggling to breathe for a moment.

She felt utterly pathetic. How could that simple interaction nearly spiral her into full blown panic? She had to get her head on straight!

After taking a few calming breaths like Aragon had taught her, she stepped back and then began cleaning up. She lost about half of the flour in the fall, much to her dismay, because it was a brand new bag. She made a mental note to pay the queens back for it, then moved on.

Once she finished cleaning up, she set everything she needed neatly on the counter. She glanced several times at the recipe she was going off of as she mixed the specific ingredients together, since she wanted this to be perfect. Aragon must have been feeling miserable- she HAD to make something good for her to hopefully cheer her up.

Several dirty dishes, incorrectly measured ingredients, and one incident where her long hair got caught in the mixer later, she has her treat tucked away in the oven to bake. She smiled proudly to herself, then moved onto cleaning up and making some soup on the stove-

-only to remember that she had no idea how to make soup. Even the recipes she looked up seemed way too complicated for her stupid fish brain. She worried over this for a long time before deciding to just make some porridge. Somehow, that is something she’s able to make.

Her mind whirled as she began taking out the necessary ingredients. The usual voices she heard in her head were, for once, not warbling over her, but rather Aragon.

Hot porridge. I’ll make hot porridge. She’ll like that.

Hot porridge will make her throat worse. It hurts right now. Cold porridge will cool it down and soothe it.

Cold porridge would chill her bones and make her fever worse. Hot porridge is softer on the stomach.

Hot porridge burns tongues.

Cold porridge—

“Aaagh, shut up!” Joan cried miserably, clamping her hands over her ears. It took her a moment to realize what she'd done and she looked around the kitchen bashfully, as if she thought someone had materialized nearby and watched her yell at herself.

“You’re fine, Joan,” She whispered. “You’re okay. You can do this. Just like you used to back then. It’s not that hard.” She paused. “Aaand you’re still talking to yourself. Good job.”

She shook her head and wracked her brain to remember what was needed. Water, milk, rice, seasoning. Easy.

And yet, it still took her three tries to make a simple pot of porridge. First she poured too much seasoning, then she burned herself on the stove and dropped the bowl she was holding, and finally, she somehow managed to turn the food into a gross goop that would only succeed in making Aragon even sicker. After finally getting it right, she sunk to the ground with a woeful noise, wallowing in her own shame.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind screamed. Can’t even make a simple meal? What an embarrassment.

She whimpered softly, feeling a panic attack rise in her chest, but she stamped it back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t.

Think about rain, She thought over and over again. Think about rain, think about rain, think about rain...

There was a crash of thunder- actual thunder. Joan jumped backwards, slamming her body up against the oven and staring with wide eyes as a downpour of rain suddenly came down against the glass back door. She scrambled for her phone, wondering if the queens did something to protect the glass from a storm, and then realized how stupid that was. She put her phone down as a blush blazed over her cheeks.

Stupid, Her thoughts hissed. Can’t you do anything right? Use some common sense.

She tried to think about rain again, but the peaceful drizzle she usually calmed herself with has turned into a raging storm within her head. Lightning slashed the mindscape as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appeared everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped when they split open like oozing wounds. She wondered if her cranium was being destroyed as the internal storm veered into a baby hurricane.

There’s a loud beep. It lanced through the tsunami and Joan’s eyes snapped open.

She’s on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching at her head. She rose slowly, feeling embarrassed.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind roared, but she did her best to ignore it as she took the cake out of the oven.

It’s an effort that takes a lot longer than it should, but when she finishes icing the cake, Joan has a brief moment of pride. She was satisfied with the result as she fawned over how pretty it was, even if it was thin and slightly deformed in shape, and the golden-orange frosting was gooey and haphazardly spread across the surface.

Joan cut a generous sized piece for Aragon, grabbed a fork and a plastic bag, and practically bounced up to Aragon’s room, the cake balanced precariously on the plate held behind her back. She was barely able to stop herself from chiming out loud when she saw the queen’s form upon entering.

Aragon was lying on her back, one hand resting over her stomach, the other drooped listlessly at her side. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her mouth was open slightly to breathe- her nose must be too stuffed to get air that way. Beads of sweat clustered together on her forehead. She doesn’t stir when Joan walks in.

“Catalina?” Joan called out softly. She stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed vomit in the waste bin. She winced. “Catalina?”

Aragon’s body shuddered in a way that sent jolts of anxiety crackling through Joan’s entire being. She moaned softly, then her eyelids peeled back and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Catalina?” Joan said again, this time much quieter. She edged towards the door slightly, expecting the queen to snap at her for waking her up. But instead, Aragon’s head rolled over the pillow to face her and she smiled weakly.

“Hello, little luna,” She croaked, her voice rough with illness. She sounded worse than she did earlier. “Were you baking?”

Joan blinked. “Ah… You…”

“Smelled it?” Aragon chuckled a little. “Barely,” She snuffled through her stuffy nose then made a very unqueenly face that caused a giggle to bubble up from Joan. “But it’s enough.”

She fell into silence as Joan sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She winced as she did so, even letting out a soft gasp of pain, and one of her hands shot to her stomach. Joan nearly dropped the cake reaching for the trashcan, but Aragon stopped her with a dismissive wave of her other hand.

“I’m alright, dear,” She said. “Just some cramps.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows against her headboard, breathing out softly through her mouth.

Joan quickly regained herself from her flash of panic. She pulled the cake out from behind her back and presented it to Aragon, beaming.

“Look! I worked really hard on this! Maybe it’ll cheer you up!” Joan nearly glowed with satisfaction. Aragon gingerly took the plate from her.

“Ah,” Aragon said. “Thank you.” She stared down at the plate as if it were holding a human heart rather than a sweet treat.

Joan continued to give her a look, one of adoration and anticipation, and Aragon has the choice to either swallow down her hopeless devotion to her daughter figure or swallow down the cake in front of her on an upset stomach, risking further nausea...or worse. She cast an uneasy glance to the trash can, but Joan doesn’t notice it through her eyeball-scorchingly bright radiation of bliss and pride.

“I’m sick, you know.” Aragon stated. Joan nodded, about to respond when Aragon continues, “So I can’t… really eat this right now.”

The realization appeared to dawn on Joan rather painfully, and in seconds the girl has apologies spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. Aragon can’t even get a word in edgewise to stop the torrent of despair coming from Joan, who seemed to think that she’s ruined everything— “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I should’ve known better, oh Catherine, I’m sorry—”

“Joan!”

Joan flinched away, nearly teetering off the bed. Hot shame poured down her throat and set her insides ablaze. At the same time, icy cold dread shoved its way in and the two conflicting emotions clamored for space inside of her until she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Joan.” Aragon said again, clearing her throat. She reached out and gently touched Joan’s cheek; her hand was shaking with exhausted tremors. “Think about rain, baby. You’ve got this.”

Joan closed her eyes. She imagined collapsing all her thoughts about nearly worsening Aragon’s sickness into dozens of raindrops and whisking them into a background storm. It works—for now. She opens her eyes again and Aragon is smiling at her, despite the tiredness and pain very obviously glinting in her eyes.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, PLEASE just let me sleep, Joan imagined her thoughts crying. You nearly poisoned me with your blasted cake! The least you can do is let me rest!

Joan put that into a raindrop, too, although it was a little harder to shove inside. The tone the internal voice spoke with sounded exactly like Aragon’s- what if she had said that out loud? What if she was upset with Joan? What if she wanted her to leave?

“Raindrops, baby,” Aragon murmured, caressing Joan’s cheek. Her shaking fingers press into the coolness of Joan’s skin, like she was hoping to lower her fever with the touch alone.

Raindrops, Joan repeated in her head, and she shoved the Aragon-mimicking thoughts into one of the shimmering droplets falling from her internal rainstorm.

“Good girl,” Aragon said breathily. Despite having to take a moment to breathe through a wave of dizziness and blink away the black spots that come with it, she’s still able to recognize the way Joan’s face would relax when she successfully blocks out her anxiety. “Good girl...”

Every worried thought suddenly exploded out of their raindrop, splattering icy water throughout Joan’s brain, but she could hardly care because Aragon is tipping over and she has to rush to catch her. Her hands grappling the queen’s forearms seemed to be enough to jar her awake, because her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly.

“Catherine?” Joan said worriedly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

Lightning cracked in her internal rainstorm, illuminating a puddle upon the mindscape that she always tried very hard to keep covered. There were three, actually- one wreathed in thorny vines around the edges with brilliant emerald flowers sprouting from the snarls, one with pinkish-green snapdragons lurking around the perimeter, and one that has soft white petals floating upon the surface. As beautiful as they may have been, she dreaded having their contents bubble out of the pools—and that’s exactly what was happening with the third puddle.

Images flashed behind her eyelids- a sickroom, stained sheets, a fretting king and a writhing, gasping queen.

“I’m alright,” Aragon’s voice surfaced through the clamor of noise resonating through her skull. She seemed to be too busy recovering from her near-blackout to notice Joan’s rising anxiety.

“That’s good.” Joan said distantly. The sickroom again, blood oozing down a bedside, half of a placenta sprawled out of a dark red abyss of torn flesh and blood and inflamed vaginal tissue. “I’m...I’m glad.”

She turned stiffly to the edge of the bed, and at first she thought she was moving to vomit in the trash can, but then she reached for the plastic bag she brought in with her.

Oh yeah, She thought. How could I forget? Stupid.

“What’s that?” Aragon asked after clearing her throat again. Her voice was slimy with mucus, but she was still doing her best to hold herself like a regal queen.

“Oh, just some medicine.” Joan pulled out a bottle filled with some kind of dark pink liquid. Aragon squinted at it and curled her nose. “I went shopping before I came over.”

“What is it exactly?” Aragon asked.

“Something that will help you.” Joan informed. “I also got ginger shots, throat coat, Ibuprofen, Motrin, Mucinex-”

“Are you trying to overdose me or something?”

A blush lit up on Joan’s cheeks and Aragon chuckled lightly. She gently touched the girl’s hand; hers is still shaking.

“I’m joking, baby.”

Joan smiled thinly, then unscrewed the lid of the bottle she’s holding and filled the cap up with the thick liquid. She looked at it, smelled it once, and was glad she’s not the one about to drink it.

“That’s probably enough, right?” She looked at the queen.

It was a big lid. A little over the stated amount wouldn’t be that bad, right? The more Aragon takes the better it’ll work! Probably.

“You’re the caretaker.” Aragon said.

Joan inspected the medicine-filled cap for another moment before handing it to Aragon. The queen stared at it like it’s poison. Joan giggled softly.

“Just...take it like a shot!” Joan encouraged her.

“Bold words from someone who has never taken a shot before,” Aragon said, earning a ruffled look from Joan. She flashed a smile at the girl, then punched her nose shut, tipped her head back, and downed the liquid as fast as she could. Almost instantly, she made an ungodly sound similar to that of a cat coughing up a hairball. Joan dissolved into giggles.

“Oh Lord,” Aragon said bitterly. She snatched the water bottle sitting on her nightstand and took a big sip.

“Hang on, there’s more.” Joan said before Aragon could get too comfortable with feeling like she was done.

It probably wasn’t good to take all that medicine on an empty stomach, but Aragon still wasn’t up to eat much, even when Joan told her she also made some porridge. She just shook her head and laid back down after taking several pills and shots of foul-tasting liquids.

Upon peeling herself out of the room, Joan was met with a rush of worry and fear that nearly caused her to spill the trash can she told Aragon she was going to clean out for her. She gripped the edges tightly and trekked into the kitchen, trying not to succumb to her nervousness, but it was so hard with every possible bad situation shoving its way in. Soon, several endings to this sickness were laid out to her- the least alarming one was Aragon recovering, but being deaf for life due to her high fever, but the others were much, much worse: Aragon seizing in the bed, foaming at the mouth; Aragon being dead the next time she checks up on her; Aragon being brain dead because her fever fried her brain; Aragon spewing blood and vomit from her mouth because Joan accidentally overdosed her; the other queens looming over Joan, their faces twisted with hatred and disgust, while Maria and Cathy wail over Aragon’s horribly pale corpse in the background; Joan being shunned and hated and called a killer for the rest of her life.

Then, she blinked and they’re gone, disappearing into the mist of her internal rainstorm and she doesn’t even try to scramble after them. Even if she wanted to, it’s almost impossible for her to pull thoughts back out of the storm once they’ve drifted inside.

She takes to washing the dishes she dirtied from making the porridge, and it took a lot of time because she knew that Jane was sort of a neat freak and would kill her if she left a smudge of rice on one of her pots. Doing the chore eased her mind slightly, got her away from thinking about every worst-case scenario, but she can feel them lurking in the back of her head, waiting.

The storm outside the house hissed. The backyard was turning into a small lake, swelling and churning and eroding the ground into a stew of mud and weeds. Joan walked over to the back door and stared out at the pouring rain. Weather like this reminded her of reincarnation, which was rather strange because she was the only one who didn’t come back when it was raining.

Aragon and Anne had told her about it a few months after everyone was settled. The queens came back first, all on the same day, all during a terrible storm with “thunder so loud it could chip bones”, as Anne had stated, and they all met the same day at the chapel Jane was buried at. Soon after, they got the huge house in ways they still couldn’t really understand, and then, four months later, the ladies in waiting appeared, although they came back in two day intervals. Maria on Monday, Maggie on Wednesday, Bessie on Friday, and then Joan on Sunday. However, they said the storm cleared up the day of Joan’s reincarnation, making them think that nobody else would appear. But that night was one of the brightest they’ve ever seen, and she showed up in their backyard, underneath the glowing moon. Completely naked, too. That part always made Joan very flustered, but she liked the way Anne and Aragon would laugh when she would-

Aragon.

A sudden gush of adrenaline sent Joan careening up the stairs and to Aragon’s bedroom. She nearly kicked the door off its hinges, but she couldn’t care because Aragon-

-was perfectly safe in her bed?

Joan blinked. As much as she loved seeing that the queen was okay, she couldn’t understand the sight. Was she hallucinating? Why did she have such a bad gut feeling all of a sudden?

She waited by the door, thinking that maybe something might happen, but nothing did. Nothing bad, at least. Aragon stirred at one point and sneezed in her sleep, which nearly made Joan fling herself at her and give her CPR (as if that would help even if she WAS dying, anyway—she didn’t know how to give CPR correctly at all).

Her nerves were on fire. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears, screaming, “GO! GO! SHE’S DYING! HURRY! YOU HAVE TO HURRY OR SHE’LL DIE!”

Cleves had once asked her how she managed to be so anxious all the time, and, at the time, she didn’t have an answer. But now she did: she didn’t manage it. Being this nervous was exhausting. And she hated it, but she didn’t know how to turn her brain off or quiet her flurry of worried thoughts that poured through her brain every second of every day.

The pet cat, Tea Cake, strolled by and meowed at Joan. She swore even IT was judging her nervousness. She sighed and finally left the room, despite her brain crying, “NO! NO! GO BACK! SHE’LL DIE!”

She collapsed down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she saw that the time displayed on the TV cable box read: 12:04. It was a double show day today, so she probably had another good four or five hours before the queens got back. If she could just keep Aragon alive until they took over, then it wouldn’t be her fault if she died!

She squeezed her temples against her palms. How could she ever think like that? Besides, she would find a way to blame herself, anyway. Just like-

A whimper bubbled to Joan’s lips, which turned into a sob. Suddenly, there’s tears running down her cheeks and she doesn’t really know why, but she does know that she hates them and they make her persistent headache worse.

She cried alone on the couch for a while, at some point flopping over to bury herself against the back cushions in a fetal position. She was planning on just crying herself into a pathetic puddle, but then her phone rang and she had no choice but to pick it up. The caller idea said that it was Jane, and usually her heart would leap in joy to see that her queen was calling her, but, right now, simply seeing her name said spirals of bad, bad things coiling through her brain.

“Hello?” She said in her best not-having-an-anxiety-attack voice.

“Hey,” Jane replied coolly. She sounded nonchalant, but Joan has become good at detecting the annoyance that would edge her voice whenever she talked to her. Even on a phone call, the stinging irritation was bristled around her words like needle-sharp thorns. “I’m just calling to check up on Catalina. How is she?”

Ironically, it was the one afraid of illness doing this. Perhaps it’s to make up for her not being able to physically comfort her fellow queen.

“Okay,” Joan answered. She struggled to keep her voice steady, but she knew it was wobbling treacherously. “She’s- she’s, ah— she’s sleeping. Right now. S-she’s sleeping.”

“I see.” Jane said. Then, she paused. “Are you alright?”

A whirl of new thoughts filled Joan’s head: Jane cares, Jane doesn’t care, Jane is worried about her, Jane is going to tell the others about how pathetic she is and they’ll all laugh at her, Jane knows.

“I-I’m f-ine.” Her voice cracked horribly and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She has the art of crying silently mastered, but she knows Jane can still hear her sharp breaths and hiccups and whimpers. The fact that the queen isn’t saying anything makes her feel even worse. Scenarios shove their way into her brain faster: Jane putting her on speaker so everyone in the theater could hear her break down, Jane hanging up on her so she doesn’t have to listen to her sniffle and weep like a baby, Jane laughing at her.

“Listen to me,” Jane spoke up. Her voice is firm and hard, but Joan swore she could hear softness seep through the thorns edging her words. “I’m the calmest voice you hear. Use me as your anchor. I’ll keep talking until you calm down.”

Joan was nearly startled into calming down. Was Jane...trying to comfort her?

“Remember that you are safe. Look around you.”

Joan sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. Her chest ached with the weight of her guilt and anguish, which are mixing together awfully inside of her. She whimpered softly.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. Catalina is okay. The cat is okay. Anna’s dogs are, regrettably, okay.”

“Wh-why regrettably?” Joan stammered, sniffling.

“Ah, so you are listening.” Jane said. Joan thinks she may be tipping her head. “Keep listening. I know you can do that, Joan. You’re a very smart girl.”

Jane thinks I’m smart, Joan thought dizzily. And then, those thoughts spiral downwards, That doesn’t make sense. Jane is dead. I know Jane is dead. I saw her— I was— I felt her blood.

Joan closed her eyes and remembered the way she tried to help Jane after she gave birth to Edward. She had tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but there was just too much blood and it wouldn’t stop coming out and the smell was so bad and everything was yelling and Jane wouldn’t stop screaming.

“-my voice.” Jane was saying, a little more frantic. “Don’t let yourself fall in.”

But it was too late. The petal-strewn puddle in Joan’s mindscape frothed over its own edges until every bad thing she tried so desperately to hide within its depths came pouring out: Nurses shoving through the sickroom, midwives clamoring in a panic, blood and birthing fluids and placenta and sweat and tears, a tiny baby soaked in blood- They all flooded her mind with full force.

“Joan? Joan?” Jane called loudly. “Joan, are you there? What’s going on?”

Joan doesn’t answer. She simply dropped her phone, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried.

An unknown amount of time passes. It’s nearly two o’clock when Joan looked up, though. Immediately, a headache crashed into her head like a sledgehammer. Sweat glided down her body, but it felt more like blood to her.

She had to check on Aragon, but she couldn’t bear to see the queen while she was sick. She was too afraid of possibly seeing her as a corpse, so she just half staggered, half crawled to the downstairs bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and stumbled into the shower to scrub off the feeling of blood coating every inch of her skin.

Leaving her to suffer, Her mind hissed. Good job.

———

“Alright, that’s it—”

Aragon had been laying in her bed for what felt like hours, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She threw her legs over the edge and hauled herself out, which nearly landed her face-first on the floor when she put pressure on her numb legs, but she managed to grapple onto the door frame and steady herself. After a moment of breathing, she’s able to start walking.

Joan isn’t anywhere in sight when she finally makes it down the staircase, but she can faintly hear Cleves’ shower running. She chuckled, wondering how her nervous little moon conjured up the courage to use someone else’s bathroom, but was proud of her nonetheless.

She poured herself a bowl of porridge and sat down at the couch to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; it was good to eat, especially something so light and easy on her stomach.

Somewhere down the hallway, she hears the shower sputter to a halt. A few minutes later, Joan trudged out, dressed in the same bumblebee T-shirt and sweat pants as she was in earlier. Her hair is still soaked, though, and she had a distant look in her dull grey eyes.

“Hello, little luna,” Aragon cooed over at her. She didn’t know if it was her fever making her delirious or if the girl’s touch starved aura was rubbing off on her or even if it was from her dreams of being with her daughter again, but she’s been itching to hold Joan in her arms. “You took a shower, I see. I’m not THAT contagious, you know.” She winked with a laugh, but Joan doesn’t react. She didn’t even look up at her. Aragon frowned. “Joan?”

Aragon set her bowl of porridge down after one more bite and walked over to where Joan had stopped in the living room. She’s clenching fistfuls of her shirt so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Something was wrong.

“Joan,” Aragon gently touched her shoulder, but even that is enough to make her jolt back. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Catalina.”

Joan looked up at her with wide eyes and there’s something in her gaze that she’s seen in Maria’s before, but much, much worse.

“Joan,” Aragon took her hands. “Think about the rain, baby.”

Joan’s eyes shut tightly and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, making a miserable keening noise that sent cracks through Aragon’s heart.

“Think of the mist and wind and distant thunder,” Aragon continued softly, stroking Joan’s knuckles with her thumbs. “The fog and lightning and rainbows.”

“I-I can’t-“ Joan gasped. She shook her head. “I can’t. Y-you— You’re—sick— not okay— just like—”

Suddenly, it dawns on Aragon.

“Oh, Joan,” She murmured. “Oh, baby.” She cupped the girl’s tear stained cheeks. “You’re worried that I may end up like Jane, don’t you?”

With a feeble whimper, Joan nodded and then sobbed again.

“My poor girl,” Aragon guided Joan over to the couch and pulled her into a tight hug. Joan clung to her instantly, burying her face into her chest and clearly not even caring if she may catch whatever the queen has. “You have a lot of pent up anxiety over that, huh?”

Another nod, this one much weaker. Joan’s entire body is now wracked with weeping. Aragon holds her tightly, afraid she may fall apart if she didn’t. She stroked her soaking wet hair and rocked her back and forth.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Aragon whispered. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Joan, surprisingly, doesn’t argue against that claim. With a frown, Aragon realized it’s probably because she doesn’t have the energy to.

Joan cried for a long time, and all Aragon could do was hold her and wait until she’s well enough to talk to. However, when the sobs do eventually die down, Joan was already far gone in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful, at least, with her head resting atop Aragon’s chest. The queen closed her own eyes, feeling her illness take control over her once again. She, too, fell asleep, but awoke some time later to someone standing over her. She jumped back, instinctively holding the girl in her arms tighter.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Aragon answered. She was surprised that Jane was standing so close to her.

Jane nodded. She glanced down at Joan and expression became something that Aragon couldn’t really discern. She pursed her lips.

“Is she okay?” She finally asked quietly.

Aragon blinked, then looked down at Joan. “She...went through some stuff earlier.” She said. “She was pretty freaked out. Had an anxiety attack. She’s been asleep since.”

The flat line set on Jane’s mouth turned into a frown. She extended a hand and gently touched Joan’s head, then pulled back.

“I see.” She whispered. So many emotions were flashing in her eyes. “Well.” She turned away. “Take care of her. Oh— and yourself.”

Aragon watched her walk to the staircase and disappear upstairs, then looked down at Joan in her arms. She pulled the girl closer.

“Will do,” She said, long after Jane was gone.

[dreamcatcherfication]

We’re Lost and Delirious and Can’t Be Found - Part 1

I’m genuinely concerned @katherinehxward hacked into my google drive and read my murder mystery au before requesting this, haha. But I still loved the prompt, and I’m happy to write this! I’m dividing this request into two parts because the plot I wrote doesn’t really fit in one long fic.

Hello (almost forgot that part)! This fic was requested by @katherinehxward who had a very specific request you can read here. I’m happy to deliver, and thus this fic was born! I don’t have much more to say other than I hope you enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I’m a sleep deprived cracker.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of murder, panic attacks, suffocation

Of all the queens to make bad decisions, Anne was notorious for doing so. Usually it was Kat she dragged into her shenanigans, but this time it was Cathy who she had roped into her adventures. It was innocent enough, so Cathy didn’t question Anne’s sudden interest in checking out their neighbor’s garage sale. There wasn’t even anything interesting, besides the occasional old plate with a strange stain on the side.

Despite Cathy’s disinterest, Anne kept picking up and inspecting new items. For someone who tended to be so reckless, Anne was being extremely delicate with the antiques of the garage. “Cathy! Look at this,” she called, waving Cathy over to one of the corners. Anne was staring directly at an old answering machine, one so old that even the queen herself had trouble figuring out how it would work.

Unimpressed, Cathy raised an eyebrow. “It’s an answering machine.”

Anne still had an excited grin on her face. “Exactly!”

“So…?” Cathy trailed off, unsure of Anne’s intentions.

Picking up the dusty machine, Anne presented it like a prize. “Do you know how cool it would be to have one of these?” She spoke in an old, mocking voice, “Ah yes, and we Tudors love all things old fashioned, here is our most modern technology,” she gestured to the machine and broke out into giggles. “Come on, it’ll be funny!” she pleaded with Cathy.

Rolling her eyes, Cathy couldn’t help but agree. “It’s an incedibly stupid joke -”

“It’s still funny though.”

Cathy relented and pulled out her wallet. “This is the only thing we’re buying. We’re not covering the entire house with antiques.”

Eagerly, Anne nodded. “You got yourself a deal.”

With that, Cathy went to the woman in charge of the sale and started pulling out her money. “How much is it for the answering machine?” she asked, pointing to the device in Anne’s hands.

The elderly woman’s eyes went dark as she stared at the machine. “No one ever wants to buy that. It’s been collecting dust for too many years. If you’ll take it off my hands, you can have it for free.”

“Done!” Anne agreed before Cathy could contemplate the strange actions of the old woman. Already dragging Cathy out of the garage and back to their house, Anne was jumping on the balls of her feet. “We got this thing for free Cathy! That’s one helluva deal.”

A nagging tugged at Cathy’s stomach, making her feel sick, but she ignored it. There was nothing to be worried about, so she didn’t waste her energy trying to figure it out. “Yeah. We should go through it later, see if there are any old messages.”

“Ooh, spooky. Maybe we’ll hear the secret love confessions of the old owner,” Anne theorized.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

It was sometime around midnight when Anne crept into Cathy’s room, the answering machine securely in her hands. She had been waiting all day to go through the messages with Cathy, and it was finally dark enough to set the proper mood. She knocked on Cathy’s door, the only one with light still peeking out beneath it, and presented the machine when Cathy opened the door. “It’s time,” Anne smirked, pushing her way into the room, setting the answering machine down on Cathy’s desk.

Sighing, Cathy closed her door behind Anne and walked over to the answering machine. “You don’t even know if it will work.”

“Of course it’ll work,” Anne gasped. “It may be old, but it’s not broken.” On that cue, the handle of the machine broke off and clattered to the floor. “That doesn’t count,” Anne defended her statement, glancing at the broken piece on the floor.

Cathy ignored the blunder and sat down at her desk, playing with the machine. She had checked the Internet earlier on how to replay some of the old messages, so it didn’t take long for voices to start playing. Anne leaned in next to Cathy as she waited for something interesting to be said. The voice on the line was a husky male voice who slurred his syllables together more often than he had a consistent accent. “Martha, I told you to stop calling me when the kids aren’t at school. They like picking up the phone, and sooner or later I’m going to have to explain to them why you can’t come over anymore.”

Anne and Cathy shared a look before playing the next message. “Goddammit Martha, you’ve got to stop calling. I get that you’re lonely and all that, but don’t bother me anymore.”

“This is the last straw, I’m telling you Martha.”

“Rich.” This time the man’s voice was stronger. He was confident in his words, each sound carefully practiced. “I buried the body. Now you have to come through on your end of the bargain.” And then the machine clicked off, all messages done playing.

Unable to take their eyes off the machine, Anne and Cathy were both stuck in varying degrees of horror. Anne didn’t expect the answering machine to actually have anything interesting to say, but right in front of them, it had just played something about, “A body,” Cathy murmured, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Did we just listen to someone admitting to burying a body?!”

“I think we did,” Anne replied, shock still in her system. And then she burst out, “We have to call the police or something -”

“Woah woah woah,” Cathy cut her off. “First off, we don’t know who died. We don’t even know who sent the message. We don’t know where the body is buried, and we don’t know how old this message is. For all we know, this guy could be dead, or in prison. This machine has to be - what - at least fifty years old? We aren’t going to find anything.”

Standing and throwing her hands up, Anne huffed, “So we aren’t going to do anything?”

“Anne, there’s nothing we can do,” Cathy spoke reluctantly. Her eyes were trained on the ground, burning a hole into her carpet. 

Marching to Cathy’s door, Anne pulled it open and spit, “Well this was a waste of time.” She slammed the door behind her, going back to her own room.

Cathy knew Anne wasn’t actually mad at her, but it still stung to have her friend yelling at her. There was so much Cathy wished she could do. She wanted to find the murderer, figure out who died and where they were buried. But the fact of the matter was all they had was a vague message from an antique answering machine. Who knew if it was even real?

“Hello?” Anne broke the silence around her. Slowly spinning in circles, she glanced up and down trying to find anyone else. “Is anyone there?” she called again. The only thing surrounding her was infinite blackness, the crushing weight of nothing holding her in place. She couldn’t move, could hardly breathe and couldn’t see. Everything was black.

It was stifling, the way the black suffocated her throat after each breath Anne took. She inhaled and only choked more on the inkinesss around her. “Anyone,” Anne begged, when the darkness started to press on her chest. She wasn’t having a panic attack - she knew what those felt like - but it was an eerily similar feeling. The tightness of her chest, the inability to breathe, the fading of the world.

“What’s going on?” Anne kept asking for answers she wouldn’t receive. “Please, let me go!” The blackness only got tighter and tighter. A tear slid down Anne’s cheek as she blinked rapidly, trying desperately to keep it from falling. 

Momentarily broken from the bonds holding her in place, Anne lifted her hand to her face. A sob came from deep in her chest when she couldn’t even see her hand through the darkness. All the light was gone. Anne couldn’t even see her body to prove that she was still there. A deep, existential pit took root in Anne’s mind. If she couldn’t see her body, was she really here? Or was she just another part of the endless blackness. Was this death? Anne couldn’t remember her first death, but if she couldn’t manage this for the short time she had been here, (how long had she been in the dark?) how had she made it through five hundred years?

A frantic shaking started to jerk Anne around, pulling her back and forth. She screamed in pain as she was forcefully ripped from the black and back into reality.

“Anne!” Cathy shook the beheaded queen, trying to get her to wake up. She needed to talk to her, but Anne was stuck in sleep. She kept shaking and calling for her friend before Anne practically flew out of her bed, tackling Cathy to the floor.

When her eyes dilated back to normal, Anne scrambled away from Cathy. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, rubbing her head. “I just…” her voice trailed off, unable to explain what had happened.

“Did you have the same dream I did?” Cathy asked, her voice trembling.

In a split second, Anne’s head snapped towards Cathy. “You had it too?”

“With the…”

“Blackness?” Anne finished for her.

Nodding, Cathy looked down at her hands. “Yeah, that one.”

The two sat in silence for a moment as their breathing evened out. “I think I know why this happened,” Anne piped up, her voice small and fragile.

“Why?”

“We both dismissed that answering machine, and whatever that guy meant by ‘burying the body’. Maybe it’s guilt trying to tell us we can’t let this go.” The more she spoke, the more convinced Anne became of her theory. “We have to try and find that body.”

Cathy was not convinced in the least. “No, Anne, we shouldn’t. It was a weird dream we both shared, but that doesn’t mean we should go looking for a body. Not to mention we have no idea where to look.”

Anne stood up robotically and made her way to her door, wide open from Cathy’s entrance earlier. “The answering machine will lead us there. Trust me.”

Fumbling her words, Cathy groaned and followed Anne. “How is an answering machine supposed to lead you to a dead body? Anne, this is crazy.”

Ignoring Cathy, Anne moved through the halls until she was in Cathy’s room where the answering machine was still perched on her desk. “It might be crazy,” she shrugged, “But you’re the one who keeps me from doing anything too stupid. So are you going to let me do this alone or what?”

Grunting in frustration, Cathy shook her head. “Of course I’m not going to let you do this alone. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Let’s try not to get too deep into an old murder plot, okay?’’

Winking, Anne picked up the machine. “Can’t promise anything.”

It was cold out, the winter frost biting at Cathy’s exposed nose. She had been smart enough to bring coats and scarves, knowing that Anne would forgo those in her need to find a body. “‘Do you have any idea where you’re going?” she asked when Anne made yet another sharp turn across the street. The two of them had also neglected to use a car for fear that the rumbling of the engine would wake one of the other queens.

“Nope,” Anne replied confidently, “but the answering machine does.”

Sighing heavily, Cathy simply gave up. “Okay, fine. I trust the magical answering machine.”

“You have to really trust it for this to work,” Anne urged, grabbing Cathy’s hand. She put it on the answering machine and watched her hopefully. Despite the cold surrounding them, the answering machine was warm, it’s circuitry practically humming with life beneath Cathy’s fingertips. The warmth ran through her fingers and up her body, leaving behind a pleasant tingling sensation.

Shrugging, Cathy whispered, “It does feel kinda nice.”

“If you trust it, then we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

All the skepticism in Cathy’s brain turned off as she nodded. “I trust the machine. It’ll lead us to what we’re looking for.” She and Anne shared a grin and followed the answering machine further from the queens’ house.

The lights around them slowly faded as they came across a wooden gate with the words DO NOT ENTER! carved into the side. Bypassing the warning, Cathy and Anne hopped the fence and made their way onto the grounds. There was a menacing house at the end of a cobblestone walkway, but they didn’t walk towards it. Instead, the answering machine told them to go around the house to the under kept backyard.

When they made it to the backyard, Cathy and Anne froze. The answering machine fell from Anne’s hands onto the ground with a soft thunk as the two girls were brought back to reality. “Is that...?”

“I think it is,” Cathy responded, her breaths coming out as shivers.

Because right there in front of them was a body-sized mound of dirt with two shovels laying on top. 

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

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree@boleynhowards@annabanana2401@babeebobo@dont-lose-your-queerhead@everything-insanity@mindless-pidgeon@i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six@thedemidisaster@its-totes-gods-will