#maybe we do need to touch more grass n get therapy

[scrunchie-87]

Ohhh i see, having my mental state being only supported on chansaw for like 2 years is what made me so emotional towards other ships with chandler and veronica being with literally anything else

[plaidbooks]

Cabin Life - First Date

A/N: I seriously fell in love with this AU so hard. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in a cabin with Sonny. Once again, thanks to @berniesilvas for fueling this AU and letting me scream at her about woodsman!Sonny.

Tags: injured birds, otherwise none

Words: 1529

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

After that meeting, Sonny called you, asking you on a date. You weren’t quite sure what to expect; you were still new in coming back to the woods, and you weren’t sure what a date really entailed. But, your parents were quick to mention, if it was a date with Sonny Carisi, then it would be fine.

“Everyone loves Sonny; he’s the nicest guy around, and a breath of fresh air in the community,” your mom said.

He showed up at your place that afternoon; he lived in a cabin about a mile away. Within walking distance, but not something you would particularly do on your own. He didn’t seem to mind, though; he wasn’t even out of breath.

“Hey doll. I was thinking we could go for a stroll in the woods? There’s a meadow in between our cabins that’s just breathtakin’ in the setting sunlight,” he said, smiling.

You agreed, grabbing your coat; the autumn air was starting to get a little chilly. Your parents greeted him, and he waved back, telling them he’d bring you home at a decent hour. You stifled a chuckle; you were both in your late 20s.

Your shoes crunched over the leaves covering the ground, Sonny crunching along right beside you. He was telling you about his family, about how they wanted him to visit for Thanksgiving, so he’d have to go back to Staten. As he talked, your hands brushed, and you gently took his hand in yours. He tripped over his words for a moment, then smiled and interlaced his fingers with yours before continuing on.

It had barely seemed like you had been with him before you were coming out of a copse of trees into a meadow. Soft grass to your knees swayed in the gentle breeze, and bees buzzed from flower to flower. The sunlight was dimming as the sun sunk beneath the trees.

“Wow,” you breathed, and Sonny squeezed your hand.

He took a step into the meadow, then stopped and turned to look at you. “Just wait; it gets better,” he promised. Eyes wide with awe, you let him guide you forward into the meadow, your eyes trying to take it all in. It was simply beautiful.

Rabbits hopped through the grass on the other side of the meadow, and you caught a family of deer standing just beyond the trees, watching you.

“Ohh! Lavender!” you announced, your eyes finding the purple flower swaying just to the right of you.

Sonny turned and found it. “I love lavender; it smells so good.”

“It’s a natural stress reliever! I infuse it with my oils and lotions,” you replied, smiling at him.

His eyes widened slightly. “Ya do? Do ya make lots of oils and lotions?”

“I’m trying to make more, actually, as well as soap; I only just started researching natural, herbal remedies. Now, if only I could keep my lavender alive,” you said sheepishly.

He gave you a grin. “Ya know, I grow lavender, too, fer the bees. Maybe I could take a look at yours? See if I can help?”

“Oh, would you please? I’d be so grateful!”

“Absolutely, doll. And maybe once ya have some oils, I can buy some off ya.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not giving me a cent; you didn’t charge me for that slice of apple pie, and I’m not charging you for oils. Besides, here.” You took a lavender flower between your thumb and forefinger, crushing it, then held your fingers to his nose. “Smell.”

He did as you asked, the intake of air tickling your skin. “That smells amazing,” he sighed.

“You can do that for a quick rush of stress relief; it’s for a quick fix, not long term. But it helps,” you explained.

He grinned widely at you. “Well, I’m certainly not stressed right now.”

You opened your mouth to slip out a retort when you heard a little chirping by your feet. You glanced down and Sonny must’ve heard it, too, because he also looked. He gently parted a patch of grass and uncovered a baby bird there. It looked barely old enough to leave its nest, so why was it there?

Sonny quickly ripped his plaid jacket off his shoulders—exposing the tight, white shirt and his strong arms—then swooped down. Carefully, he picked up the bird, who was chirping incessantly now.

“Poor little thing; probably didn’t succeed in his first flight,” he cooed, his expression soft as he looked at the creature. Then, he glanced up at you. “I’m sorry, doll. Do ya mind terribly if we cut our date a little short? I wanna take this little birdy home, make sure it’s okay before releasin’ him.”

You felt your respect for him grow. “Not at all. Mind if I tag along?”

“I’d love that,” he replied, smiling. 

************************

You followed Sonny to his cabin, the bird chirping constantly. He brought it inside, placing it on his kitchen table and taking a seat in front of it. You sat down next to him and watched the bird while he scrolled through article after article on his phone pertaining to nursing birds back to health.

“Okay, so, this here says that the bird may just be in shock, and to put it in a cardboard box with a slightly ajar lid or towel. Then wait ta see if it flies away,” Sonny explained.

You nodded. “Should we take it back to the meadow, then?”

“Yeah; it’s a lil’ far, and I don’t think he’ll know how ta get back….”

You stood, smiling, “then let’s take it back.”

Sonny found a small box, and he put the bird—still nestled in his jacket—inside. Then he gingerly picked up the box, and you both headed back the way you came.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he said after a few steps. “I’m just draggin’ ya all over the place, and fer no real reason, and we missed the sun settin’ in the meadow.” He looked to the darkening sky, and picked up the pace of his steps.

You placed your hand on his shoulder. “Sonny, you have nothing to be sorry for; you were trying to help an animal in need. If anything, that makes you more attractive.”

A pink tint appeared on his ears and the spots on his cheek that his beard didn’t cover. “You really think I’m attractive?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “One of the most attractive people I’ve met.” That dopey smile of his grew twice as wide.

**********************

You both waited in the meadow until the baby bird finally regained its senses and flew from the box. Then Sonny figured it was time to take you home. You linked your arm with his as you walked, and he walked closer to you, your body heat colliding.Once at your cabin, you searched for something to say, to keep him there; you weren’t ready to say goodnight yet.

“Oh! The lavender!” you announced, and Sonny smiled, as if he knew you were delaying. You tugged him back to your herb garden, and he took a close look at your slowly dying lavender with the light of his phone’s flashlight. He touched the crumbling leaves, then the soil, his brow furrowed.

“What kinda soil are ya usin’?” he asked, his voice serious.

You rose an eyebrow. “Just…regular, I guess?”

He nodded before looking up at the black sky covered in stars, judging what, you didn’t know. “Ya may need ta replant it elsewhere,” he finally said. “Ya need soil with good drainage; this soil is a little compacted. If ya separated it from the others, put it in soil mixed with grit, it should do wonders here.”

“Ugh, you’re a godsend, Sonny. I’ll dig it up and replant it tomorrow. Thank you so much,” you replied, giving him a hug.

He chuckled into your ear. “Don’t thank me yet; wait ta see if that fixes the problem first.”

You leaned back, nodding and smiling at him. He grinned back, and then you were kissing, his beard tickling your chin. You both still had your arms around the other, holding each other close as your lips moved against one another. He licked your lips, and you sighed, letting his tongue explore your mouth, rubbing and dancing with your own.

Slowly, he pulled his lips from yours, then snuck another small kiss, then another, and another. Finally, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing in the other’s air.

“Best. First date. Ever,” you murmured, and he huffed out a laugh against your lips.

“Even with the bird?” he asked, making you laugh this time.

“Especially with the bird,” you replied, and he smirked before kissing you again. You could never tire of his lips against yours, his beard tickling your chin, leaving a slight rash. Your hands when to his soft hair, and you grabbed a handful, giving him a soft tug. Everywhere he touched sent fire through you, and with his body pressed up against yours, it felt like you were an inferno. And you knew that from this moment on, you didn’t want to be put out.

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Revelation Part 2

Harry Potter Marauders Era- Post Hogwarts 

Link to Part 1 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: M 

Credit: Song in chapter: I forget where we were Ben Howard and a clip taken from the TV show Rescue Me (it was so fitting)

_________

You stormed back into the house muttering about how much you wanted to kick Regulus in the shins.

“Did daddy already piss you off?”

Sirius said with a smirk as he looked up from his place at the kitchen table. He clearly could see that you were in a less than happy state but he needed answers. The scowl on your face told Sirius that he was lucky to not be killed.

“You know if I didn’t adore you so fucking much I would bitch slap the hell out of you and yes he made me mad.”

You said before sitting down across from Sirius. He smiled innocently before making a drink appear in front of you.

“Is there booze in this?”

You questioned. Sirius nodded.

“It appears that is what you need.”

You laughed bitterly. Hell yes, you needed booze and Sirius needed to make sure that the drinks kept coming. If you got drunk, that would be just fine. Harry wouldn't be waking up anytime soon and if he did, Sirius could tend to him.

“You have no idea.”

You muttered. Sirius was quiet for a moment before finally deciding to speak again.

“Y/n, I normally don’t pry into your life mostly because we know everything about each other but I am feeling a bit left out and confused at the moment.”

You took a drink, knowing that it was time to tell Sirius the truth. All of your dirty and most passionate secrets were about to come spilling out to your best friend.

“We dated for three years.”

You replied. Sirius was clearly surprised. How did he and James not pick up on this? Were they that distracted that they didn’t notice you with Regulus? The better question was what did you really have in common with his little brother (other than an impeccable gift of sarcasm)?

“Wow...so was it some weird sex thing or an actual relationship?”

“It was an actual relationship combined with mind-blowing sex that would make Satan himself blush. Do you remember my friend Samantha?”

Sirius internally gagged at the word “mind-blowing sex.” To him, you were the funny girl that tagged around with the Marauders. Sure, Sirius was aware that you had lost your virginity but he wasn’t for sure to whom it was...now he knew.

“Yeah the girl from Ravenclaw, you used to study with her a lot.”

You shook your head.

“Samantha was actually your brother and I can tell you that there was no studying going on. Most of the time when I came back to the common room I was wondering if I had remembered my underwear.”

You had to stifle a look at the expression on Sirius’ face. He was quiet for a few moments longer before speaking again.

“So both of you are into some freaky shit, huh?”

Taking a sip of your drink, you only batted your eyes at Sirius.

“It depends on how you define the word freaky.”

You said replied with a sly smile. Had this conversation been with James there probably would have been a lot of yelling and screaming. With Sirius, it was a pleasant yet uncomfortable experience that both of you should look back on and laugh.

“Well, you call my brother daddy. That is some information that I could have totally gone without knowing. Now I can’t look at my little brother the same way. I'm going to call him daddy now just to witness his reaction.”

Sirius was relieved when you smiled.

“And that doesn’t surprise me. Let me make sure to find a camera because that will be an uncomfortable experience for both Regulus and myself.”

Sirius grinned.

“It was a very uncomfortable experience for me to hear earlier. Well...more like the rug being pulled out from underneath me. So, all jokes aside, what happened between the two of you?”

Your face darkened. This wasn’t a memory that you ever wanted to think about...the break up a week after graduation. It was like having the rug pulled out from under you. You still felt that way when you thought about it. Something had you convinced that Regulus was the one for you and maybe you still felt that way.

While you were in America, you had tried dating others but it never worked out. You always compared them to Regulus. They were always annoying you, talking too much, and didn't know how to touch you. Unbeknownst to you, you were the lucky one. You hadn’t been bitten during a moment of what was supposed to be exciting.

“Regulus decided that he didn’t want to disappoint your parents. They would never accept me because I am a blood traitor so bye bye Y/n.”

Sirius frowned.

“Is that why you took off to the states?”

You nodded.

“That would be the reason.”

Sirius’ was quiet again. He was trying to think of some “big brother-like” bit of advice that he could give you that might be helpful but he couldn’t think of anything. Everything that he had to offer sounded a bit condescending or downright cold…

Positive one, Walburga Black won’t be your mother-in-law Positive two, we don’t have to worry about James rolling over in his grave. Positive three,...

Sirius was sure that there were positive number three and if you gave him time he could come up with more.

“Why are you sitting here in my brother’s coat if you are so mad at him?”

You realized that you were still, in fact, still wrapped in Regulus’ coat. In your subconscious, you were enjoying having Regulus’ comforting scent around you.

“We were outside talking and he put it around my shoulders before pissing me off. I told him that he wasn’t getting his coat back and he isn’t. I’m a petty bitch and am going to keep this coat like that gold-hoarding dragon from The Hobbit.”

Sirius chuckled. He again realized how much that he had missed you over the past year.

“Alright Smaug junior, go take your gold and hide upstairs because I hear the front door opening.”

You jumped up and ran up the stairs as Regulus stepped in. Sirius took a sip of his tea before meeting his brother’s face. Regulus’ cheeks were pink from the chill of the evening.

“Is that hot?”

Sirius nodded.

“Just pour it on me.”

Sirius smirked as Regulus grabbed the blanket that was on the back of the couch and curled up in it.

“You know, a lesser man would have come back in for his coat. How are you doing, daddy?”

Regulus glared at Sirius before going to pour himself a cup of tea. It took all that Sirius had not to burst out laughing at the sneer on his brother’s face. Regulus looked like Sirius had force-fed him a lemon.

Y/n just missed a fine moment.

“Never call me that again! Maybe I don’t want to get punched in the face. Y/n is mad and I’m an idiot.”

Sirius shrugged.

“You said it.”

Regulus groaned sitting down. He wanted to apologize to you but he knew at the moment he would be better attempting to baptize a feral cat.

“I was trying to do her a favor.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t do Y/n any favors and let her make her own choices or possibly use the balls between your legs to tell mum and dad to fuck off?”

Regulus’ lip twitched at this brother’s comment. It was so easy for Sirius to talk about telling Walburga and Orion to fuck off. He wasn't the one that had to be “the good son.” That was all on Regulus’ shoulders. Sure, now his efforts were shot to hell but Regulus was doing the right thing...the noble thing.

“Have you forgotten what is on my left arm? Y/n is an auror and she is going to be working for Moody soon. What a fucking joke we both would be. A death eater dating an auror...and the other way around. I did her a favor.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you aren’t a death eater anymore. You are just acting like you missed your little nap.”

Regulus crossed his arms, reminding Sirius of the little boy that would turn Grimmauld Place into a literal nightmare on Elm Street when he didn’t have a nap during the day.

“She said...well screamed at my face...that she should have dated you because you would have been so much better to her.”

Sirius winced.

“Ouch. To be fair, she and I would kill each other. I would be better off dating you...with our family history no one would bat an eye.”

Regulus didn’t want to think about his family's pureblood history at the moment. He had enough on his plate.

“If you were dating me, I would kill you. Now I get to sit back and watch the two of you play house with James’ kid. Just a thought but you two may want to save some money for the therapy that child is going to need.”

Sirius stood up and shook his head.

“Nah, the little tyke is going to be just fine.”

Regulus wanted to make a snarky comment but decided not to.

“Where did Y/n go anyway?”

Sirius pointed to the stairs.

“Upstairs with your coat that is no longer yours. I would suggest leaving her alone unless you want to lose an eye. If you do bother her and lose an eye, I will forever compare you to a pirate.”

Regulus stood up and moved to leave the room.

“Yeah, well, fuck you.”

Walking upstairs, Regulus poked his head hesitantly into what was your room. When nothing was thrown at him, Regulus figured out that the room was empty. He had no idea what he was going to say to apologize to you. If you didn’t want to hear what he was going to say, you would let whatever words that he has to offer go in one ear and out the other. It wasn’t like things were before. He couldn’t just grab you and have his way with you anymore. Things were different and Regulus wasn’t sure if they would ever be the same.

Regulus stopped outside of Harry’s nursery at the sound of your soft voice singing. Looking into the room, but not making his presence known, Regulus watched as you cradled Harry. He stepped back outside the door with his back against the wall. Had Regulus forgotten how peaceful it sounded to hear your voice? When you weren’t being sassy (and things weren’t tense) you were the most calming person that Regulus had in his life.

Don't take it so seriously, no. Only time is ours . The rest we'll just wait and see. Maybe you're right, babe, maybe. Oh no, and that's how summer passed. Oh your, great divide and range of green green grass. Oh, maybe I hold on fast, to you . Hello love, my invincible friend. Hello love, the thistle and the burr. Hello love, for you I have so many words but I, I forget where we were

Stepping away from the room, Regulus knew it was best that he walked away for now.

Regulus didn’t see you the next morning either. You were gone before he woke up. It was Remus that told him “gently” that you had decided to go back to work as an auror. Regulus hated the thought of that altogether. You had no reason to go to work With the Potter family fortune, you could live comfortably and raise Harry. It wouldn’t be your style though. You were probably doing this just to spite him.

Your choice of being an auror was the topic of the first fight that the two of you had as a couple. It was funny, especially now, for Regulus to think that the first fight happened weeks before the breakup. Now he should have seen it was the beginning of the end.

“You’re what?!”

Regulus snapped. The two of you had met at the top of the astronomy tower. Graduation was a few weeks and you decided to drop the bomb of your career to be.

“You heard me. It's what I want to do, Reggie.”

“You do realize what I am right? I don’t think that it will be looked upon very highly for you to have a boyfriend that is a death eater.”

You smirked.

“No one technically knows anything right now as it is so…

Regulus pulled himself out of his memory when you stepped into the kitchen with Marlene McKinnon on your heels. Sirius quickly leaned over and playful elbowed Regulus in the side with a smile that said, there is your woman.

“I’m an idiot. I never should have broken up with him, Y/n. I’m just a mess.”

Regulus watched as your eyes fluttered in his direction before looking away...as if he were not even in existence.

“Marlene, there is hope. It comes with batteries. Trust me, no man is worth that much aggravation. I understand why Dorcas loves women. Let me tell youI am a big supporter of the lesbian community. I wish that I was a lesbian.”

Sirius, Regulus, and Remus both looked up at that. It took all that you had not to laugh at the expression on the face of every man in the room.

“What?”

Remus questioned. You put your bag down before turning to face Remus and a very amused Sirius.

“Like gay guys, they really have it made. So think about it, you’re a guy and your with a guy who has the same interest as you that's like a win-win situation. First of all, you both like to have a lot of sex and if you’re both interested in sports you can go to hockey games, football games, quidditch matches. It's all blowjobs and ball games.”

Sirius immediately started laughing so hard that he almost fell out of his chair. This was going to be one of those Y/n conversations that he had missed so much over the past year.

“Blow jobs and ball games?”

Remus questioned, stifling a laugh, before turning to Sirius wondering if his lover was going to make it through this conversation. You, meanwhile, smirked over the top of the drink that Marlene handed you.

“Sweetie, no matter the sexual orientation every relationship goes great until the both of you start having secret evil plans to piss each other off. This doesn’t apply to Sirius and Remus because you two are the perfect relationship having freaks.”

Sirius grinned.

“You think so??”

You groaned.

“Buzzkill, Marlene. So what you are saying is even if you and I were doing each other, we would be doomed?”

Marlene nodded before deciding to use your comment.

“There is hope. It comes with batteries.”

You were watching Regulus out of the corner of your eye. He was only blinking with a small amused smirk on his face. Clearly, he had no idea that this was the conversation that everyone in this room had on a regular basis.

“I’m going to take a nap.”

Sirius stood up to take his empty cup to the sink.

“Remus and I are taking Harry clothes shopping. Do you have any requests on what not to buy?”

You shook your head.

“I think that you two will be just fine. Marlene, what are you doing tonight?”

Marlene was gathering up her sweater and handbag.

“Going to find a new boyfriend that runs on batteries.”

You gave her a thumbs up before turning and walking out of the room.

(1 hour later…)

You lay awake staring at the ceiling. From the time that you had laid down, your mind was on Regulus. Being back in the same house was quickly wearing on you. Every moment that you looked at him, you wanted nothing more than to get your hands back on your former lover.

Face it, princess, you still love him and want nothing more than to fuck his brains out.

You could take your own advice and invest in a good vibrator. It wouldn't be good enough though. Nothing would be as good as the real thing.

There is nothing wrong with teasing Regulus and let him see what he’s missing.

That could be the most promising advice that you could give yourself at the moment. Sitting up, you let your eyes fall to the trunk that was in the corner. It was the one trunk that you hadn’t unpacked yet. You knew inside was one of Regulus’ school white dress shirts. After one very steamy sex meet up, you may have just taken it back to the Gryffindor tower with you.

You didn’t want to think about how over the past year that you would wear that shirt when you wanted to feel close to Regulus again.

Don’t be a buzzkill.

You thought as you shook the thoughts from your mind. Grinning evilly, you slid your dress, bra, and knickers off before opening the trunk and looking for the article of clothing that you needed.

Stepping outside of your bedroom door, you stood dressed in only Regulus’ shirt unbuttoned halfway with nothing else underneath. You had sent Sirius a message and told him to take Harry out for ice cream. This would be enough to keep Remus and Sirius out for a bit longer. You would have enough time to work your “magic.”

You peaked your head around the corner before walking into the living room. Regulus sat rather unsuspectingly minding his own business with a book on his lap. You weren't sure what would happen after this incident took place. Were you ready to take Regulus back and risk having your heart broken again? You weren't sure 100%. Time would have to tell on that one but getting laid for the first time in years sounded nice.

Time to put this plan into action

The moment that you walked casually through the living room you were never more thankful to be such a good actress. You were able to keep your face straight without blushing when Regulus looked up and dropped the drink that he was holding in his free hand. The only regret that you had was that you couldn’t see the expression on his face. You have paid money to be able to see what his face looked like.

Casually, you walked into the kitchen acting as though you didn’t see him. You had no idea what you were going to do in the kitchen. After standing still for a moment, you opened the refrigerator to look for some mystery item that would catch your eye. You had been pawing through the refrigerator for all of three seconds when you heard Regulus’ voice.

“One question, is that my shirt?”

_________

@amelie-black @regulusheadcanons @truly-insatiable @fandomsxxregulus @realgaytrash @quuenofblacks @lucasfilms77 @exhsle @hazncalsgal @jessyballet @knreidy1 @teletubiswszpilkach @mimisparkle12 @acciosiriusblack @fific7 @rubyroscoe1 @bennyberry @criminalyetminimal @whymyparentscheckmyphone @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @fandom-trash-worth-it @hankypranky @summer-novak @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @marichromatic @stuckinsaudi1 @untoldshortsofthefandoms @sprnaturallover @wontlookaway @shitfaceddaniel @deanwherescas @mycuddlycorner @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @knight-of-gleefulness @sparkleofpizza

[reidneedsahug]

The Team’s Reactions To You Getting Landed in The Hospital

Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, Garcia, Emily, Reid

Penelope Garcia

WHO THE FUCK DID IT, BABY, THEY WILL BE DEAD BEFORE DAWN

Okay, not really, but just you wait, she will hack her way into whoever’s pc she needs to to exact vengeance.

Movies. Lots of movies.

You might be stuck in this stuffy, seratonin killing room, but do not fret, Y/N, you shall be entertained.

Gifts and visits every single day. (Your favorite so far is the fluff pen that writes in ten different colors and doubles as a highlighter and flashlight.)

Oh, she will find a way to get your favorite snacks into that room. She will.

She’s dusting your desk every single day while you’re gone, making sure all your emails and such are in an easy, assorted manor.

She’s really not going home until you’re comfy, and feeds you the latest gossip every damn day.

Aaron Hotchner

No, you are not laying a finger on any files or case work until you’re cleared.

Yes, you are to stick to the strict diet that your doctor prescribed you.

And NO… oh what are we kidding here, all you’d really have to do is plead just the right way and you’d get whatever you’d want

He really wants to double down but damn it, Y/N, you beg just the right way

After work cuddles every day he can make it, and he never misses a call (though it’s mostly him calling you, what can he say, he’s worried and you’re so so fragile)

He knows you get terribly bored with no mental stimulation for days at a time so he’ll let you do a limited amount of research for them here and there.

The whole incident that landed you in the hospital has definitely imprinted into your head, replaying again and again. He helps coax you gently into distracting yourself with little games and smiles and giggles while you let everything slip from your mind.

Derek Morgan

You might have a scar or two, maybe a few stitches and welts. All of em are getting kisses, mamas.

He. Is taking. Care of you.

Coffee? Bam, got you. Cold? 18 more blankets. Here, let me fluf these pillows- You been eating good?

You are not getting physical therapy, no matter how much it’s recommended, so Morgan is the one to get you walking around again, nice and easy, his hands on you at all times.

He likes taking you outside, and even though you complain about the cold 87 times a day, you’re grateful for the air, the sun light.

He sits you down on this nice little bench by the grass, warm hot chocolate in hand.

Yeah, the praises he gives you might be sappy, but you’re listening to every single one. You’re gonna be okay, because you’re strong and so so brave. And still so pretty *waggles eyebrows*

Goddamnit, Y/N, if you don’t start getting some rest he’ll have to start snuggling you to sleep. Don’t test him, he will.

Spencer Reid

Y/N, PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE OKAY

Oh, thank Newton, you’re alright. What meds are you on? What? That barely does anything! No no, don’t listen to those pushy nurses. 1/3 people suffer a medical mishap within their life time and God help us, you will not be one of them.

Spencer has a thing with touches. He doesn’t shake hands, doesn’t like the awkward firmidity of it. But you? All the hugs a skinny profiler genius can offer are coming your way.

He wants to hear everything about your day, everything. He’s sure you’re tired of hearing all the fun everyone else is having, and he wants to make you feel important.

He definitely gets a tad bit jealous when all the good looking nurses start hitting on you. What can he say, he’s a little insecure…

He’s been doing your desk work for you while you’ve been away. Hotch may or may not know about this, but he always has extra time after he finishes his work so he thought he’d relieve you of some pain. Okay, a lot of pain. About 70 files so far. He’s not sorry.

Emily Prentiss

WHO DID IT, POINT EM OUT, TWO TAPS TO THE HEAD AND THEY’LL BE GONE.

Oh, you bet she’s sneaking Sergei into that hospital room. Animal therapy is pretty effective, after all.

Don’t worry about your pets, she’s got em.

Your plants? Watered.

Scared of someone breaking into the apartment? She’s already tackled security.

Don’t worry your little head about a thing, honey, Emily Super Spy Prentiss has got your back on everything and more. Your gas tank’s full, btw.

David Rossi

You assure him you can pay your own medical bill, but he is not having it.

All of your expenses are paid for, including medications, resuscitation fees (you flatlined once fresh out the ambulance, not fun), and everything else.

He’s also buying you a vacation. Yes, yes, Y/N, we know you’re the FBI’s hardest damn worker, but a week in Florence is not going to kill you.

Fuck that stale ass hospital food, you’re not laying your mits on another plastic tray.

You don’t think you’ve ever eaten so much home made pasta in your life time, but you’re sure not complaining. Man can cook. Even his Tupperware’s fancy.

You’re getting Get-Well-Soon presents left and right. Two bottles of wine, more chocolates then you can count, and even cold hard cash. What’s next, a car?

[debu-neko-kun]

Brand New Moo

A brand new story, idea courtesy of the ever-excellent commissioner (https://www.deviantart.com/doom7951) I really really liked working on this for ideas that may be obvious! Stay tuned for more flubby boys soon-ish! Contains: male weight gain, ssbhm, male lactation, human to boy-cow, cute fat gay stuff

James slumped down in the seat. It felt so wrong to be waiting here, he thought, thinking about what his boss would say if he saw him sitting here… he tapped his foot on the floor, hoping that would make him feel busy, but it just earned him a dirty look from the receptionist, so he opted to just slump deeper into his chair.

“James Rode?”

He sat up, smoothing out his button-up shirt. “Yes?”

“The doctor is available to see you now. Please enter the door to the left.”

James entered the office, expecting to see a sterile hospital room with gurneys and little jars of tongue depressors… Instead, he found himself in a carpeted room, the walls all wood paneling and decorated with diplomas and woodsy paraphernalia like bundles of herbs and wooden carvings.

Perhaps he knew less about this therapy stuff than he thought.

“Hello, Mr. Rode. I’m pleased to see you’ve made it; have a seat, if you’d like.”

James hesitated by the door. ‘I would *like* to go home…’ he mumbled, but stepped his way to the wide couch situated in front of the desk. He gently lowered himself into it, feeling more than a little small with his slender frame surrounded by so much empty seat.

“A little introduction, if I may.” the therapist smiled, tapping the plaque on his desk. “Dr. Maxwell Sweet. I used to own Sweet Farm Dairy, if you can believe it.”

“Never heard of it.” James spoke.

“Ah, well, can’t impress every time.” he chuckled, continuing on about his schooling, but James was already zoning out, sizing him up in his head. Dr. Sweet was slim, pale, well-dressed… probably didn’t spend too much time outside anymore, if the dairy story was to be believed. He wore glasses, making him seem bookish, and the clean-shaven face and well-kempt part in his smoothly combed brown hair made him seem concerned with appearances… not much to go on yet, but James felt like he’d make a respectable adversary in the boardroom regardless.

“…but I felt genetics wasn’t as fulfilling by itself. Are you okay, Mr. Rode?”

“Hmm?” James snapped out of his focused expression, taking a moment to rub his sharp blue eyes. “Sorry, a little tired. Late meeting yesterday…”

“Do you have a lot of late meetings, Mr. Rode?”

“James,” he corrected, “But yeah, I suppose I do. It’s the only way to stay ahead out there, you know?”

“I understand.” Dr. Sweet smiled, scribbling something on a pad on his desk. “Would you say this is the main source of your stress? The pressure to succeed, that is.”

“I, uh-” James stammered. “Are we starting already? I thought you would say when we were starting.”

“Just building a picture, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to let you know when we get into the real stuff, if you’d like.”

“Okay, well… thanks.” James wilted a little. He wasn’t used to this, showing his cards so openly…

“Stress is the main reason you’re here, correct?”

“Yes… I mean, well, I’m here because of my boyfriend… I didn’t notice anything, but my boyfriend Kriss says I’ve been acting stressed.”

“Stressed in what way?”

“Distant… angry, sad, stuff like that. He says I haven’t been eating either, but I mean, when do I have the time? There’s just a lot to do, and nobody gets that. Nobody understands how hard it is to keep doing the same damn thing day after day, never getting a moment to just stop and relax. It’s not my fault I have to stay a few hours over every day, it’s not my fault I miss the train, it’s not my fault I have to stay with this job or else-”

James stopped, noticing the psychologist watching him intently, a furrowed-brow intensity in his expression.

“Sorry.” James sighed, folding his arms over his ribs, his gaze drifting back to the dried lavender on the wall. “Yeah. Just stressed.”

“I see,” Dr. Sweet said, underlining something on the pad with a quick scratch. “Well, I’m very glad you came to see us, James. I think this treatment will be very helpful in getting you into a better state of mind.”

“Yeah… that’s what Kriss said, too. What is this treatment, anyway? Are you just going to ask me about my past and… give advice, or something?”

“Oh, nothing like that, no. You see, I specialize in a sort of blended treatment. It’s quite ahead of its field, really. Good for people with a lot of stress and little time on their hands.”

Dr. Sweet drew a pile of papers out of his desk, dozens of forms and documents all neatly compiled into a novella of legalese. He set it gently on the desk, in front of James, and extended a pen out for him.

“…Provided you’re willing to participate, that is.”

James took the pen and the papers, sitting back to read over the front page. It was mostly filled out with his insurance information and medical history, employment information from his company, current address… everything except his name. He flipped it over, just finding more information about liability and “understanding patient responsibilities.” Just thinking about pouring over fifty sheets of legal information outside of the office, and for free, made him flip back to the front.

“Alright… well, whatever gets me out of here faster, I guess.” he murmured, scribbling his name at the bottom of the paper.

“Excellent! If you don’t mind, I’d like to get started immediately.”

Dr. Sweet’s drawer slid open, and out he pulled a small bottle of milky white fluid and a syringe.

“W-What is that for?” James asked, shocked at the sudden development. The therapy scenes in movies certainly hadn’t mentioned needles.

“Just something to help you become a little more pliable. We need you like putty for the hypnotherapy to take hold; don’t worry, it only lasts for a few minutes, and it’ll keep you relaxed for the rest of the day. That’s not so bad, is it? I promise you won’t have to keep up with any medication from here on out.”

Despite the cold sweat forming on his brow, James rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. Dr. Sweet drew some of the liquid from the bottle with a casual precision, stood up, and slowly approached the nervous patient.

“Hold still, and…” James felt a small pinch, followed by the dull ache of the injection. “That’s it. You’ve done wonderfully already, James.”

“Hmm… thank you, I guess.” he grumbled, letting out a heavy sigh.

“The medication should activate momentarily. While we wait, why don’t we pass the time with a bit of word association?”

The room around them was already starting to feel a bit… warmer. Familiar, even. He adjusted his collar a bit, leaning back against the couch.

“Do you know how this works, James?”

“I just say the first thing that comes to my head?” he asked, stifling a yawn with his palm.

“Correct. Alright now… your first word is “barn.””

“Tractor.”

“Good.” Sweet smiled. “Your second word is ‘pasture.’”

“Uh… grass. No, hay.” He muttered hazily. He felt like laying himself down on a soft patch of land, sunlight warming his pale flesh,,,

“Very good, James. Don’t think too hard about them. Now, your third word… ‘milk’.”

“Moo…” he spoke dreamily, still thinking about the sunlight and the field. A bubble of lucidity popped to the surface suddenly, bringing a blush to his face. “N-No, I, uh, I mean cow. Cow, that’s it.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Sweet continued, scribbling more notes on his pad. “And when you think of cows, what are some words you think of?”

“Big… u-uh, soft? I don’t really know…”

“That’s fine, James. Imagine a cow standing in a field… what do you think it’s thinking about?”

A warm, electric tingle trickled down from the top of his head, flowing into his spine and down his back. He tried to focus on the words… what does a cow really think about?

“Uhm… eating? How nice the sun is on its back?…”

“And how do you think it feels when it’s warm and fed? Do you think that would make a cow happy, James?”

The tingle turned into an odd, pulsing sensation, coming from somewhere in his core… or maybe deeper than that. A warmth in his cells.

“Y-Yeah… doctor, this feels… weird…”

“The medication can be a little strong, especially the first time. But just focus on my words… would that make you happy, James? Softness, warmth, food… nothing to think about but being tended to? I like to think so.”

“Hmf… y-yeah, that’d be nice…”

Soft… warm… hungry…

“Good,” Sweet began, suddenly dropping his pen. James jolted upright, forced free from his mental drift as quickly as the pen hit the desk. “That’ll conclude our session. Remember what we’ve talked about today; it’s always good to stay in touch with that simple, wholesome part of yourself. Try and slow down a little, and indulge it; I think you’ll be feeling a lot better if you do. See you again in a week?”

“Y-Yeah… yes, that’d be fine.”

“I look forward to it. Be well, James.”

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

The sun was just beginning to set by the time James arrived home. Warm wafts of sweet and savory air swept around him as he shuffled through the threshold, inviting him straight through the living room and into the kitchen. There, a tall, clean-shaven man with swept back blonde hair stood, whistling to himself. The creak of the floor alerted him to James’s entrance, the apron-clad gentlemen turning to greet him.

“Oh, hey! I thought for sure you’d be running a little late, I’m not totally done with dinner yet. How did your appointment go?”

“Mm, that smells wonderful…” James murmured, slumping into one of the dining chairs. “God, I’m starving….”

“Here,” Kriss, his boyfriend of two years, spoke, setting a dish of buttered buns in front of him. “But don’t fill up before you get to the ham. I worked really hard on it as a nice reward for you finally going to that clinic. Speaking of…”

Kriss sat down in front of him as he stuffed a bun into his mouth, propping his face up on his hand. “You didn’t say how it went.”

“The appointment? Right, sorry… it was okay. Good, actually. It was good. It was kind of weird, and I didn’t think I’d need a shot for psychotherapy, but… it was nice. I feel all calm and… gooey? I can’t really explain it… really hungry, too. Mostly hungry, actually.”

James reached for another bun, nibbling on it gently. 

“Well, I guess it’s working already. I haven’t seen you eat like that in… well, ever. It’s nice, honestly.” 

The oven alarm beeped as James polished off a third bun, absentmindedly chewing while Kriss got up to retrieve the ham. 

Soft… warm… hungry… the words bounced around his brainstem, burying themselves somewhere in the middle of sub and thoughtful consciousness. He remembered saying them, but the meaning was mostly detached… regardless, they just sounded so right. 

His ruminations were interrupted by a loaded plate being placed in front of him, also interrupting his roll supply. He breathed in the delicious scents of brown sugar in the ham, cinnamon in sweet potatoes. It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before; it was comfort, it was calm. It was… “Mmf, Kriss, this is incredible. Is this a new recipe? I could eat this forever!” he lit up, happily nibbling on the ham slice with gusto. 

“Oh, uh… we had it last week, actually. Whatever they gave you sure made you hungry, huh?” he chuckled, looking a little confused, but relieved at the new development. After all, it was healthier than watching him starve himself on coffee and the occasional stick of gum. In only a few moments, James had the entire plate polished off, and returned to munching on bread rolls. “Want some more? I made extra in case you wanted to take some to work, but-” “There’s more?” 

Kriss hadn’t seen him this happy since he’d said yes to their first date. 

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

“A-Ah, Kriss-!” 

“Shh, we’re almost there.” Kriss cooed, shouldering the bedroom door open, his boyfriend carried bridal-style in his arms. Normally, this would be like carrying a bag of flour, but after his uncharacteristic gorging, James felt more like a sack of potatoes. Or, perhaps, one large sack filled with one very large, round, painfully full potato in the center. 

“I’ve never eaten so much in my life…” James whispered as he laid out on the bed. He immediately curled onto his side, holding his stomach in his hands. “I can tell… are you sure you’re okay, babe? You can tell me anything, you know.” “I-I’m fine, honestly… just ate too much.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” A familiar silence crept out of the dark now, cutting into the dim room between them. Finally, James spoke, “Kriss, I just- well, I’m not good at this, I haven’t… been there, like I should have. We’ve been together for a long time now and I still haven’t really… opened up.” Kriss sat down on the bed next to him, looking at the sheets next to James. James reached out, grabbing Kriss by the hand. “I’m sorry. Really. I’ve been too into my job and I want to spend more time with moo-”

He hiccupped, covering his mouth in sudden embarrassment. “You! God, I’ve had cows on the brain lately…” 

“You certainly eat like one.” Kriss smiled gently, poking his stomach. “H-Heh… so, uhm,” James said, “Will you give me another chance? To show you the real me… not the work me. Actually me?” Kriss leaned over, brushing the tousled hair out of James’s face. “Of course, sweetpea. You know I’ll give you all the time you need to get back in your own head again. And while you’re still trying…” 

Kriss cupped his cheek, and leaned in to plant a little kiss on his soft lips. “Maybe I can do something to keep you motivated.” 

“C-Careful, my belly’s still sensitive…!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kriss woke before James-- given his “work early, work late” schedule, this was an uncommon occurrence, but not an unwelcome one. He liked the way James looked peacefully slumbering; it reminded him that he could still stop and relax, that at least he wasn’t hard-wired to run until he dropped. That the hamster wheel didn’t spin forever. He snuggled up closer to his slumbering partner’s back, looping his arm around his side in a gentle embrace. Kriss’s fingers brushed his chest, expecting to feel cool, taut flesh on ribs… instead, his hand touched soft, plush breast. 

“H-Huh?” he muttered, startled, his hand recoiling instantly. He knew James, and had never known him to be any more than twiggy at best. Panic rising, he threw off the sheets and flipped on the bedside lamp, exposing the tubby imposter. There, on the bed, was James-- or, at least, he thought it was… same messy black hair, same little blotchy brown birthmark on his shoulder, same pink underwear. This James would have been a perfect replica, if it weren’t for one big thing: 

This James was fat. 

Well, fat was pushing it, but he definitely had a lot more of it than when he went to bed. His back, once a bony map of shoulder blades and ribs, was now a padded mat of pale pudge, the vaguest hint of love handles forming at his sides. Butt fat pulled his briefs tight, the waistband receding back to squish the tops of his cheeks into two blubbery cupcake tops. His thighs, once slender and toned from his constant jogging around the office building, smooshed together like gently dimpled bags of thick jelly. 

“Mmmn?...” he stirred, sitting up. His round face squinted against the harsh light, and he raised a chubby hand to shield himself from it. Kriss’s green eyes darted up to his rounded arm, down to his puffy chest, back up to his cutely dimpled chin, back down to the subtle dome of his belly. 

“Kriss?... Oh no, did I oversleep?”

The words clogged in Kriss’s head; what could he say? James was nervous, prone to panic at the slightest change… “You’re… you-” he choked quietly, staring in disbelief. James, following his line of sight to his belly, let out a little yelp of surprise. 

“W-What happened to me? I-I didn’t eat that much, did I?...” he stammered, poking the peachy flesh of his abdomen gingerly. 

“Impossible…” Kriss whispered, stepping back towards his boyfriend. “Maybe it’s just… water weight? Temporary swelling? Are you allergic to anything?” 

Pressing the gentle swell of his arm, it was impossible to think this could just be temporary. “I don’t think so…”

“Well, in any case, I think we should call a doctor.” Kriss said, stepping over to the dresser. “If I can find my phone…” 

“Just… use mine.” It took a moment to tear his eyes away from his freshly-plush body long enough to reach for his cell, thumb tapping the home screen. The time-- 5:55 am-- appeared on the screen.

“Oh! No no no, I’m going to be late!” 

“James, the doctor-” 

“I’ll go after work! I need to get ready; how did I forget the early meeting? I never forget!” 

James scrambled to his feet, butt bouncing in his underwear as he bounded into the bathroom, the door shutting quickly behind him. “Kriss, can you find a white shirt for me, please? And my good watch!” 

“If they still fit…” Kriss mumbled with a sigh, shuffling to find his clothes. So much for the fast-track relaxation therapy. 

‘Give it time,’ he thought, ‘Nobody changes overnight.’

But as he pulled out the obviously too-small button-up from the closet, he suddenly began to doubt these words. 

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

James rushed into the office, speed-walking his way through the lobby to the elevator. He barely managed to squeeze by in time for the doors to shut, his belly bumping against the metal as he slipped in. 

“Ouch…” he murmured, regarding his sensitive new softness with a little rub. It was only with this did he notice how stressed the buttons were on the shirt, or how a thin sliver of belly fat was drooping out of the bottom. He quickly pulled his pants higher to disguise it, tucking in the shirt like he wasn’t covering for a freak medical condition. Not like it helped much… the fabric was still ungodly tight against his chest, outlining his newly-blossomed moobs like half-filled water balloons in cloth, and similarly highlighted the uncharacteristically pudgy belly beneath. At least his pants had always been a little big for him… they, at least, did a little better at preserving his modesty. 

He waited impatiently for the ding, and squeezed through the doors before they’d fully opened, managing to narrowly avoid two coworkers on his way to the meeting room. They said something he didn’t quite hear, but he heard the word “wide”, which was enough to make him flush gently. No time for that, he thought, walking as fast as he could muster with what felt like fifty extra pounds bouncing on his frame. Sweating lightly, he finally arrived at the meeting room, slipping in just before the last coworker. They scoffed at his speedy entrance, but upon seeing his unusually rounded face, decided that it wasn’t worth starting a fight over-- he was clearly suffering enough if he looked like *that* after just one day. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen…” James’s boss began, addressing the crowd. And so it was, James thought, letting the voices around him whisper out into the back of his mind. He’d wait until his name was called, he’d give his report, and then he’d be back to hammering out the numbers until home time. The daily routine… though, there was nothing ‘routine’ about today, as the chair was quick to remind him. Where he used to sit at the edge of the seat, he now filled it out plentifully; so much so that the chair arms touched his sides if he fidgeted an inch or so in either direction. It was an alien feeling, being so plump- he couldn’t even bring himself to say it, but the words hung there in his mind. 

Round. Chubby. Soft. Thick. *Fat.* 

He grabbed his thigh amidst his anxious ruminating, fingers squishing pliable blubber beneath the trouser fabric. The sensation sent warm, pleasing tingles across his flesh, rumbling deep into his core. It felt… nice? 

He scanned the room, making sure nobody could read the feelings passing through his mind and body, but everyone else seemed to be knee-deep in their own happy places too; zoning out to cope was half of the job, after all. A sudden, deep gurgle bubbled in his belly, his hand shooting up to grab at his belly. Where his thigh had been plush, his belly was absolutely pillowy… the silky smooth glob of fat oozed around his fingers where he pressed, sending out another wave of delight across his body. As if to respond to his pressing, another gurgle rumbled against his palm, and he could feel his stomach rising like slow baked dough with his breaths. In, out… warm, soft. He couldn’t help but smile, sucked into the world of squishy comfort. Even as his belly rose in the *out* breath. Even as the chair began to press into his sides ever so softly. Even as the buttons stressed and strained, struggling to keep up with his widening form until- 

*PING* The first button on his shirt reflected off a steel mug, snapping everybody out of their stupor with a jolt. 

“What was that?” the boss asked. Everybody looked around, but thankfully James’s airy belly was covered by the desk. 

“Hmm… well, in any case, that’s the long and short of it.” the boss shrugged, shuffling some papers in his hands. “James, you’re up.” 

James looked up, half-lidded in a relaxed daze. “Huh?...” 

“Your numbers. You *do* have your report, don’t you?” 

Like an apple in a cauldron of caramel, the thought of the report slowly bobbed back to the top of his focus. 

“O-Oh, right, yes sir, I uh…”

He reached for his briefcase, grasping at air beneath the desk. 

“Is everything alright, James?” 

Everybody in the room shuffled, slumped, retreated back to the comfort of the sounds and sights of desert islands and snowy cabins. Meanwhile, he was out in the open, and floundering. 

“They’re, uh… late. Late client.” he smiled nervously. The boss looked at him, eyes narrowed in confusion, but simply shook it off. 

“Just have them on my desk by tomorrow, okay? Now, who’s next?” 

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

Back at his desk, (and with his pants hiked higher than ever) James let out a deep sigh, wincing as his buckle pinched sensitive belly fat. 

“Just keep it together, James....” he whispered to himself. He tried to bounce his leg, but found that it just made the rest of him bounce too, and stopped. He logged into his computer with one hand, the other squeezing the stress ball on his desk, but it only reminded him of how much softer he was… 

Throwing the ball in the trash can by his foot, he decided his best bet was to focus on his work. Not on the fat ass threatening to blow out the seat of his pants, not on the small overhang his belly would surely be creating if he wore his pants correctly. And not on the strange warmth rushing to his head… just financial information, market watches, and emails. 

Five minutes later, and he was still staring at his home screen, unable to bring himself to start working. There was just something at the back of his mind, something creeping up on him; a deep hunger that swelled up inside of him like a consumptive balloon. 

“That’s it… just hungry is all…” he assured himself, pushing away from his desk. All he needed was an early lunch, and it would be back to work as usual. Something light…

Before he knew it, he was sitting down at the cafeteria with three hefty cheeseburgers and a heaping plate of thin fries drowned in cheese. 

James took a thick, mouth-filling bite of a burger, losing himself in bliss. 

“Mmf, so good…” he moaned to himself, prompting a blushing intern to speedwalk to the exit. One hefty gulp down, he sucked down a glob of sugary vanilla milkshake, chasing it with a handful of fries and another bite of burger. Not only did it chip away at the hunger, but his worry too. Suddenly he felt okay; eating like this felt *right*. He absentmindedly rubbed his belly, the gentle touch enough to rip away another button and rub cheese onto his shirt. He didn’t care; why should he? The belly beneath his hand was soft, fat, and jiggly, and it was fun to pat and wobble. And the more he ate, the more he was able to wobble it. One burger down-- and another button popped-- he felt twice as comfortable. Arm fat billowed out in his shirt, small rips forming that pushed dollops of fat through. Pant fibre finally reached capacity, pulling back from his pudgy calves as his thighs claimed ever more real estate within them. Fingers and toes chubbed into cute little sausages. Wrists, ankles, and neck slowly became less defined. Cheeks chubbed, chin flubbed; his masculinity was smudged by the heaps of fat, androgyny taking the wheel. 

But still he munched, a happy grin on his face as he grazed the haystack of fries. The warm feeling in his head turned hot, two points burning the warmest… but two points on his chest gained his attention the most. His chest-- rather, his breasts-- ached terribly, prompting a whine from the freshly cherubic gentleman. Pudgy fingers pawed at the last button left on his shirt, but it was simply too tight to be undone. Instead, he opted to just rub at his moobs beneath the fabric, gulping his shake heartily. Finally, the button popped, and he let out a sigh of relief as his fat breasts plapped onto his belly. The sudden motion forced milk out of the little pink nipples in small rivulets, drops running down the curve of the swollen mounds and dripping onto his belly. 

“G-Guh…” he groaned, scooping the last of the food into his maw just as his belt buckle burst off. He was exhausted, but sated… for now. Already, his mind was feeling clearer, and already he was starting to regret the sudden gorging… he was huge! And was that… milk?! “Sir, if you’re going to be in here, you need to put on some clothes-” 

The security guard looked taken aback as James turned and unsteadily rose, his pants open and his shirt hanging free. His ass fat rose behind him like two fat pumpkins squeezed into a pair of briefs, rising up with plentiful flesh visible. 

“A-Are you okay?...” 

James huffed, wobbling on his feet as he attempted to center himself. “I’m- *bruuuarp* o-oh, sorry…” 

The guard just stood, watching him slowly lumber out of the cafeteria and off towards the elevator. 

“They don’t pay me enough for this…” 

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

The slow drive was filled with a quiet anxiety, wondering if Kriss was right: what if he had just gone to the doctor in the first place? Why didn’t he just go to a real hospital to see why he was dripping milk all over the upholstery? That was it, though. He knew why he was like this… where else could it have come from? 

Doctor Sweet. 

Sweat dripped from his apron of a belly as he squeezed in through the front door. The receptionist simply buzzed him through, and he waddled straight into the pastoral office. 

“Aha, James! Right on schedule. Please, have a seat.” 

James panted heavily, taking the time to rest on the doorway before he entered. 

“What… did you do?” he huffed, continuing on towards the desk. “Look at me! This… has to be some kind of reaction… to that medicine!” 

The doctor smiled, unfazed by his bloated appearance. “I’ll say. I’d be more than willing to explain it, if you’d just have a seat.” 

James stopped, the exhaustion he felt quickly overtaking his urges towards aggression. “F-Fine…” 

The massive boy collapsed in the seat like a falling boulder, nearly taking up the whole couch with his bulk. 

“Excellent. Now then… you said there was a reaction, yes?” 

James gestured to his body. 

“So… chills, fever…?” 

“I’m fat! I’m huge! I’m… l-leaking!” he burst out, wobbling in anger. Try as he might to seem imposing, he felt like a bowl of pudding. 

“Oh. Oh dear, I see the problem… you must’ve skipped the waiver.” Dr. Sweet sighed, shaking his head.  “Well, too late for take backs now, I’m afraid.” 

James put his hands on his belly in worry. “W-What do you mean?”

“Well, if you’d read the waiver… you’d see that this therapy involves a permanent genetic alteration.”

“G-Genetic?...”

“Yes. We force a mutation-- I won’t get too deep into it now, there’s really no use-- to shave off the rough edges, essentially. I felt it would be important in your case to emphasize the potential for softness, and it seems your body agreed. Surround yourself with soft, and become soft.”

“That… that’s-” James struggled, trailing away quietly. 

The doctor continued. “You see, I was like you at a time. Angry, frustrated, stressed, upset at life… but my time as a dairy worker gave me new insight. Being surrounded by gentle docility at all hours of the day taught me to be gentle and caring myself. But this process took years... once I started in medicine, I spent endless hours trying to find how to distill this process into a formula, to turn the experience into a chemical.” 

James watched him with confusion, hands gently kneading his fat to keep himself calm. 

“Well, I discovered it alright. It’s a bit unwieldy, but with a little guided thinking, it works wonders. Really brings the farm experience home, wouldn't you agree?”

James looked down at his belly, at his nipples streaming milk onto his bellybutton. “Y-You’re saying I’m turning into…”

“A cow, yes. You’re well on your way, in fact. Here, take a look.” 

The doctor withdrew a handheld mirror from his desk, and held it up for James to see. He felt like he was staring into a barber mirror, only instead of finding himself with a new haircut, it was fuzzy cow ears and a set of tiny, nubby horns on his head. And somehow, it didn’t feel wrong… in fact, he felt pretty cute.

“Oh… woah…” he murmured, poking the ear gently. 

“See? Nothing to worry about! And just as stated in the forms, you’ll be paid a weekly sum for participating in this new therapy. I doubt a cow would be acceptable in an office building, aha.”

James patted his cheeks, a smile forming on his face. 

 “And if you’ll allow me…” 

The doctor set down the mirror, and withdrew a familiar milky white bottle. 

“...I’d like to finish what we started.” 

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Kriss waited in the kitchen, checking his watch every few minutes, waiting for James to get off of work so he could take him to the hospital. He shouldn’t have even let him go to work… what if he was more sick than he thought? What if it wasn’t just swelling? What if-

*Thud* The front door shut, and Kriss sprang up from his chair, scrambling into the living room. 

“James-” 

The breath caught in his chest as he took in the full scope of his boyfriend. The 200-and-change chubster who had left that morning had blossomed into a wide, easily 600 lb. wall of blubber. He stared up at his polished, nubby horns, at his furry ears, down at his absolutely shirt-shredding tits… blood rushed into his face so fast he stumbled, nearly falling forward. 

“Oh no, are you okay?” James asked, bright blue eyes full of worry. He waddled forward, belly rippling against the front of each knee as he slowly walked like he was wading through waist-high waters.  His chest swayed back and forth, barely contained by a tiny stretched-out tee. Despite being more than three inches taller than him, Kriss suddenly found himself pressed face first into warm boy cleavage, peachy flesh enveloping him. James’s flabby, pillowy arms pressed around his back as he cuddled him in an embrace. 

“What… happened?” he breathed, head spinning as he tried to process the changes in his boyfriend. 

“O-Oh! Right… it’s part of the therapy! Dr. Sweet made me into a big cuddly cow, and I really like it!” he smiled, clasping his chubby hands together. “Though, we may need to get some new clothes… these shorts are kinda tight on my butt.” 

For added emphasis, he slowly turned around, revealing the skin-tight shorts had all but retreated into his huge, bare ass, the rolls of his back flab sagging down to nearly meet the top of them. 

“A-Aha... “ Kriss said, woozy once more. He clutched the wall to keep from falling over. 

“Do… do you not like it?” James asked, timidly pushing his fat thighs together. His ears twitched gently, sending an arrow straight through Kriss’s heart. 

“When I read the waiver, I didn’t expect it to be like, well… all of this. Babe… you’re so adorable my head is going to explode. ”

A happy smile brightened his face once more, and James let out a little laugh. “G-Gosh, don’t scare me like that!” 

Headrush fleeting, Kriss managed to push off the wall and back into the arms of his lover. He pecked at his blubbery neck, giving him gentle kisses up and across his cheek. 

“O-Ooh, these are nice…” Kriss murmured, squeezing his arms around his chest. “You’re like a big stress ball, I love it.” 

“H-Hey, careful, they’re still a little full…”

Kriss moved in for a kiss on the lips, pulling away to give his chest another little squeeze. “Full? Like… with milk?” 

James nodded. “You’ll have to milk me until the pump arrives, otherwise they’ll get too full and I’ll start to ache… that is, if you want to. I can still just go to the clinic-” 

Kriss tugged at his shirt, freeing one of his blubbery boobs. His thumb traced the nipple gently, practically melting James into a puddle. 

“A-Ah, god, have you done this before?...” 

“No…” Kriss said, bringing the breast to his mouth. Sweet, creamy milk flowed onto his tongue, which he swallowed down. “But I can learn.”

[darknessisafriend]

Therapy

Somehow Tumblr swallowed an anon request of smut with Leonard Kraditor x Reader so I hope this anon will be able to read it! anyway enjoy!

TW: mention of depression

Leonard sighed, he was only twenty minutes into group therapy and he wanted to go away, he didn’t see the point in this, spending time with people just as tired of life as him; what did his parents want? Accelerate the moment where he would kill himself? He had enough of himself, he didn’t need to hear other sad and pathetic stories. He started bouncing his leg, he knew the therapist wanted everyone to talk and he didn’t want to.

“I don’t feel like talking, sorry.” He lifted his eyes towards the person who seemed to feel like him. You, a young woman, wearing a dark hoodie, jeans and converse shoes. You were bouncing your leg too, showing your annoyance, unconsciously rubbing the scars underneath your sleeve.

“Y/N we won’t force you to talk. But as you can see, no one judges, and you can speak freely.” Said the therapist, trying to get you to talk. So, Y/N, that was your name, he liked it, how come he hadn’t noticed you since the start?

“I know that, I just don’t want to.” You tried to give them a smile, but it was hard when you were in a place you didn’t want to be in, the great idea of your parents. “Listen, can I take a break?” you ended up asking, you felt like you were suffocating here, you needed fresh air.

As soon as the therapist allowed you to, you quickly left your chair, determined and not looking back, you were tired of this shit. Leonard watched you leave, and he suddenly felt like going after you, perhaps because you too didn’t want to be there.

“Huh…I gotta take a break too.” He quickly said, not waiting for the answer of the therapist and leaving the room. His eyes searched for you, you were not on the corridor, you must have been outside, it’s what he would have done, get fresh air into his lungs, making him feel at least a little bit alive. So, he went outside, and here you were, sitting on the steps of the front stairs, looking at the little park in front of you, wondering how tomorrow will be, how hard you wished that something happened, something that would get you out of this infernal circle of emptiness.

“Y/N?” you were startled by the voice calling your name, and it wasn’t the therapist, but instead a voice that was unknown to you. You turned your head, to see a man, with clear eyes and dark curly hair, hands in his pocket, he was in your group therapy.

“Can I join you? I’m tired of that bullshit back there too.” He said, slightly shifting his weight on his other leg. He had to try to get to know you, and he hoped he won’t be rejected like it happened so often, for one reason or the other. You opened and closed your mouth, pleasantly surprised that someone felt the same as you do.

“Sure.” You replied, watching him as he approached you and came to sit on the steps next you. He rests his forearms over his knees, looking down at his hands before looking at you.

“I’m Leonard by the way.” He extended his hand towards you and you shook it, finally some normal interaction with someone.

“Nice to meet you Leonard. I’m- well you already know my name.” you rolled your eyes with a little smile, making him giggle. “So…you don’t want to be here too, right?” you asked him to be sure and he nodded.

“My parents kept insisting that I should come here. I was tired of hearing that, so I came, and I hate it.” He explained with an annoyed look.

“Same, it doesn’t make me feel better. It’s already hard on a daily basis, like I understand the purpose but personally, I don’t need to spend time hearing dark stuff even more.” You replied, you felt like you could tell him; he seemed like a nice guy and trustworthy.

“Yeah, exactly! I just want to forget, have fun, make friends and try to have a normal life, enjoy it as much as I can!” retorted Leonard almost passionately. And you couldn’t help but smile at this, you wished those things just as hard as him, you were tired of being lonely in your little bubble.

“Well, what do you think of not going back to this place and just have fun instead?” you grinned mischievously; now that you detailed him, he was rather cute, with his little teddy bear look.

“Sure, what do you want do? I’m more of a party guy you know, clubs, bars, concerts…” he listed with a little grin, as if it was a victory that he enjoyed those things like many people of his age.

“I was thinking of something else…” you teased him, trying not to giggle at the slightly confused look he gave you, you were of playful nature and you enjoyed flirting when you felt like it. Then it was as if he was starting to understand, he glanced at you with interest. “This.” You added before leaning closer to him and placing your lips upon his. You instantly felt him press his mouth against yours even more, he had wanted this too, since he noticed you back in the room.

“Actually…I’d prefer that too.” He grinned against your lips, his hand cupping your chin. He didn’t seem like it, but his way of touching you was full of confidence and charm, it was the most exciting surprise. Soon, he deepened the kiss, and your hands went to bury in his soft hair, the way his arms had wrapped around your waist, he wanted you.  “I’m tired about my failures, false hopes…I’m tired of trying for nothing. And I’m tired of feeling like I will forever be this fucking depressed guy who lives with his parents.”  He let out, as if he needed to release the pressure inside him, share a bit more of his uneasiness.

“Then show me who you really are Leonard.” You murmured, looking at him in the eyes and he couldn’t help but chuckle happily, nobody had ever asked him this. So, he got up taking your hand, pulling you up.

“Come with me.” He smiled already leading you away from that group therapy. You ran with him, crossing the street and reaching the park you had been looking at; it was peaceful at that time of the day and it gave intimacy to anyone who wandered there. You just loved how touchy-feely he was, a kiss and now he wasn’t letting go of your hand. And he was smiling, genuine and playful.

“Your parents will see you relaxed and happier. They won’t even question it.” You giggled, imagining the surprised face of your own parents.  

“Yeah and they’ll leave me alone, they stop watching over me like a criminal.” He replied, and he couldn’t wait for that moment. He loved his parents, but they were way too clingy and protective of him.  

“I’m sure they’ll stop.” You reassured him, you were someone with very little confidence over yourself and anxiety but with others, you were always optimistic, showing them the positive side of the situation. Though you were starting to see the positive side of going to group therapy; you had met Leonard. This thought gave you a sudden rush of excitement, something you hadn’t felt in a while. “Hey, come look over there, there’s something you should like.” You teased him, pulling him out of the path to walk on the grass, between trees and bushes.

“Really? What’s there?” he asked naively, his eyes searching around. You suddenly, leaned your back against a tree, pulling him closer to you, against you actually. He giggled, understanding your little trick, he was falling for your mischievous spirit; it amazed him, you suffered depression like him and yet, with him you managed to get your head out of the water and make smile. He couldn’t help but kiss you again, this time passionate, his hands by each side of your face while your hands went down his body, squeezing his firm butt, earning a needy groan from him. That’s it, you were completely into him, would it last? You didn’t know but you didn’t want to have any regrets.

“Leonard…I want you.” You murmured against his lips, he briefly stopped, another happy smile forming on his lips, he slightly nodded, his mouth traveling to your neck. You hummed in delight at the feeling, your hands gripping a handful of his hair while the other caressed his chest.

“Maybe I should listen to my parent more often….” He joked, never stopping his kisses, his hands caressing you; it made you giggle.

“I agree!” your hands traveled down his chest to reach his lower belly, sliding underneath his pants, feeling him getting hard. His moan died against your throat and his kisses became more heated, hungry, his tongue licking a sensitive spot behind your ear.

“C-come on…let’s do it…before someone notices.” You murmured excitedly, arching your hips against him, stroking him the best you could through his underwear and finally letting go of him to unbutton his pants, you needed him inside you, right now. Leonard’s mouth left your neck so that he could look down and help you take your pants off as well.

Once you two were bottomless, you were even more excited, feeling your womanhood barely a few inches from him. He captured your lips once again, his manhood rubbing against you, making you both moan without restraints. To your great surprise, Leonard lifted you, making you wrap your legs around him but it was harder than what it seemed in the movies and before you could understand what was happening you both fell in the grass,  gasping in surprise as you fell and Leonard landed on you.

“Damn you’re heavy!” you laughed heartedly, keeping your arms around him.  

“Shit sorry!” he chuckled embarrassed, detailing your face to make sure you were okay.  

“It’s okay, don’t stop what you were about to do.” You reassured him, gently stroking his face, and pressing your hips against him. It instantly made him forget about this little incident and woke up his desire even stronger. He briefly licked his lips, settling well between your legs and looking at you as he slowly penetrated you. He watched in amazement your gasp of pleasure, the way you rejected your head back, your arms tightening around him.

“Oh fuck…. you feel incredible.” He breathed, filling your jaw with sloppy kisses as he started to thrust, making you both moan, it had been a while since you had been in such an exciting situation and it made you forget all your problems.

You two didn’t even try to muffle your moans, enjoying the moment too much, you felt more than okay, alive. Your hands clutched his sweater as he thrusted faster, it was too good to take your time, without forgetting that you could get caught. Your little moans were music to his ears, and only encouraged him to continue, he felt connected to you, emotionally, you both suffered and understood each other unlike anyone else; perhaps you were even the one he would love forever. Because yes, he felt in love with you, some could say he easily fell in love but fuck them, he won’t repress what he is feeling for you. You playfully bit his earlobe, grinning as he groaned, you were making him crazy and you felt like you could do this forever. Your screams of pleasure grew louder and quicker each time, followed by those of Leonard, you were close to climax and it was the most wonderful feeling, freedom, happiness.  

“Leo…I’m…!” you couldn’t finish your sentence that you came, soon followed by your lover in a last groan, his arms barely holding his own weight. Then, he slowly laid on your chest, burying his head in the crook of your neck. You both stayed silent for long seconds, catching your breath and simply enjoying being together.

“I like this therapy.” You said after a while and to this Leonard burst out laughing, and you found yourself loving to hear it.

“Yeah me too! We should do that more often” he kept laughing happily, his thumb stroking your skin, really, meds and therapists had never made him feel this way, but you, from the moment he met you, he felt better and just normal, ready to move forward with his life.

“Then, why not make it permanent…see each other often…” You suggested hoping he would feel the same. He stayed silent at first, making you think you had perhaps done a mistake and that you would be disappointed again. But then, he lifted his head to meet your eyes, detailing your face, you were serious and had an hopeful look, and it gave him hope too, for happiness. He slowly nodded.

“Yes, I want to be with you Y/N. I want to take care of you and have your comfort.” He replied with a tender smile, you blinked away the tears in your eyes and lifted your head to kiss him, like a promise. For the first time, you and Leonard felt like you were truly alive, and part of a welcoming world.

Tag list: @skaravile​ @lyoongx​ @weirdflecksbutok​ @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv​ @sgtsavoytruffle​ @ohcarlesmycarles​ @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercuryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix​ @the-joaq-is-extra​

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 21

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20

HI LOVIES. Please enjoy a Friday update on the Frat Boy universe. This one is a bit of a breather after the TUMULTUOUS ANGST of the last chappie. Shorter than my usual, but it’s all the chapter needed. Tons more y/n and Harry interaction on the way in the next! Have a safe and happy day loves xx

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Things I want:

Live a life that helps others

Financial freedom

Experience a great love

Visit the the Pincio Gardens in Italy

To have more dreams and fewer nightmares

Doodle more

Acquire a first edition book, either because an old  friendly man who owns an antique bookshop decides to give it to me in a bonding moment, or because I have accomplished #2 and I am celebrating being a Boss Bitch

To be happy

Please note: not necessarily in that order

 It was taped above my desk, waiting for me to bring it in to the next session. I hesitated to write number 6. It was a dream I hardly entertained after committing my scholarly life to pursue medicine. I used to love to doodle. All the time. Since elementary school. I doodled so much my mom dedicated a wall in the house to my illustrations. She hung a sign above it that affectionately said “Y/N’s Doodles.” Seriously, you couldn’t get me to stop. Even if it was gross sappy sketches of my crush Billy who I would NEVER show on the playground at recess.   

 My doodling stopped how these things normally do. Because life grew busier than anything else, and the sketchpad and easel my dad had bought for me at a garage sale became ignored, collecting dust in the corner of my room. At some point, it’d become a year since I’d drawn anything, and then it was two, and three, and by this point I’d realized I was the one who’d need to create her own stability in life and medicine was the more logical fit. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value in drawing anymore, I just had other things take up my time. It became a comfort just knowing I used to draw. Paul had paved his way, and now I was on my way to do the same. At least with medicine, my soul felt fed. It was almost comfort enough. 

  “oH WE GOT A ROGUE ONE.” 

 A flying toenail hit my eye. 

 “WHAT THE-” I flailed my arms, as though there were a thousand more coming. Renny’s mouth opened in shock, her guilty body hunched over her bent leg. Clippers in hand.  

 “Sorry!!” Renny burst up laughing.

 “oH MY GOSH CAN YOU DO THAT OVER A TRASH CAN OR SOMETHING?!” 

 “IT HAD A MIND OF ITS OWN!!” she screamed back. 

 I blinked rapidly, my left eye watering up and spilling painless tears. “Well I’m going to have conjunctivitis at the studio later. Or I’ll be stumbling in blind.” I wiped it away.

 I heard another clip and she put up her hands with another giggle. 

 “All done. And you won’t stumble, I’m going to be there.” Renny extended her leg, her perfectly trimmed foot nearly touching the ceiling.

 “You’re just going to solicit Zayn to be his next subject.” 

 “Maybe,” her grin grew devious. “But also because I want to see if he captured the angelic beauty and complex nymph nuances of my best friend.” 

 I put a hand to my chest, still aching from uncertainty. “Honored.” 

 “Want to watch another episode until it’s time to go?” 

 This whole lazy morning had been an OC Housewives bingefest. She’d seen it on my homepage and had a complete spazz, twitching whilst proclaiming but i’ve been trying to get you to watch this show for YEARS!! When she saw the old season I was on, though, she didn’t have to question why her pestering had miraculously worked. She didn’t mention him aloud besides giving me a pointed look. And so, we watched it, even though I wasn’t really in the mood to see anything about Harry right now. It’d hurt more than I thought to walk away from him last night, and to see how sad he looked when I did. 

 After last night, he hadn’t posted anything to social media. He’d called, twice, but I knew he was drunk, or worse, and I was tired, and whatever he would say he could tell me in the morning. Even though I knew he wouldn’t. 

 And he didn’t. 

 And therein lay the problem. 

 It hurt to see his family on my little box of a computer screen, weird to see his life and get glimpses of his childhood. I felt like a hacker spying on home videos. But then I reminded myself that thousands of people had already done the same. At this point, it was just… morbid curiosity.

 “Nah, I don’t know if I can handle any more of that right now. Dr. Rhinecuff is going to yell at me if I don’t return these scanned copies to him by Monday.” 

 “Ew, he smells like meat.” 

 “RENNY!!” 

 “I’m just saying. That one time I went with you it smelled like pastrami in his office. He has a PhD, but isn’t with-it enough to buy air freshener.”

 “He likes pastrami sandwiches, let him live.” 

 She scrolled on her phone, not bothering to respond, and my gaze turned to the window. 

 “Hey Renny?” 

 “Hm.” 

 A bird flew close to the glass, halting just before it hit it, then zooming off in the opposite direction. “What’d you do when your parents were fighting?” 

 “Ummm…” I knew the question registered in her mind when she stopped scrolling, suddenly concerned. “Are your parents okay?”

 “Yeah. I mean, kind of.” I glossed over it, not caring to get into the bitter details. “I was just curious.” 

 “Uhh..” She plucked at the soft cotton of her cotton candy pajamas that were fraying at the knees. “I lost my virginity to Zach,” she half-laughed.   

 “Zach? Neighbor boy Zach?” 

 Renny nodded. She always sounded a little sad when she talked about him. Zach was the hot college boy who shared a backyard fence with Renny, the girl who may or may not have used her kitchen stool to peak over and see him workout on the grass every summer he came home. I’d known they’d slept together. I just didn’t think he was her first. 

 “I just tried to be out of the house as much as I could,” she said. “Found my true love Mary J.” 

 “Oh.” 

 “It was shitty, but I’m glad I got it over with.”

 “The divorce or your virginity.” 

 “Both,” she chortled. “Why what’s up? Are you sad or something? I have a j in my drawer.” 

 “No, no, I’m fine.” Mostly I was just wondering what it must be like to feel so sexually liberated. In my house sex wasn’t talked about. At all. The inevitable sex scene in every other movie would result in my dad blaring out “WHAT KIND OF MOVIE IS THIS!” in an attempt to make it less awwkard, but having it backfire and only make it horrendously more awkward. I wasn’t saving my virginity for anyone in particular, but after all those romance novels, I wanted it to be… something. I wanted to feel something towards the person where it would justify something I’ve kept to myself for so long. I wanted it to be intense. I wanted it to be like the books. Like a Frank Sinatra song that swept up your heart and transported you back to a time of gentlemen and cigars and women in long evening gowns with fur coats and martinis. 

 “I wish I could just get it over with,” I confessed. One half of me screamed YOU’RE IN YOUR TWENTIES HAVE ALL THE SEX while the other half said YOU’VE WAITED THIS LONG DAMN IT HOLD OUT A LITTLE LONGER. I didn’t know which part of me was compromising more. 

 Renny leaned in, quick. “Would you do it with Harry?” 

 Like the flip of a switch, I remembered the sensuous heat of his body against mine, wrapping me up and pressing me against him where we just fit. And I couldn’t imagine how much better it’d feel to be even more connected to him. 

 “Maybeeee…?” 

 But then there was last night. 

 I cringed. No matter how with me he’d seemed… he couldn’t have been present after mixing whatever the hell he took and a handle of alcohol. Did I really want someone like that? Someone who could only give a shell of themselves? 

 “No, I wouldn’t. Or- ugh, I don’t know. I don’t know if it could ever mean as much to him.” 

 Renny nodded. “I mean, don’t let him pressure you, obviously. If he does, I’ll kick his baby maker smack into his prostate. Prostate. See, anatomy. You taught me that.” 

 “Haha, no, he’s not like that.” My brows stitched. I was confused why he wasn’t more like that, actually. We’d known each other for several months now and he hadn’t even put a finger in me. When I thought about it, it actually frustrated me. Don’t pressure me to do anything, but I wanted to be pushed to do something. I was never the bold one in areas like this. 

 Not that I should be so willing to do anything with him anymore anyways. Something shifted in me when I’d seen him last night. It wasn’t a shift I could easily describe, but it’d set me a foot apart from my heart. A bit of me was shocked that it had happened so suddenly. 

 But this shift was new, and my heart still wanted what it wanted. I knew that if I watched any more OC Housewives with Harry’s toddler curls and surfer tan, I’d be sucked right back into speculating about what our future kids could look like. And if I saw him? 

 You were right, Harry. You are fucked. 

 I cringed again. That was harsh. That was very very harsh. 

 I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to apologize. What if my pheromones went berserk and magnetized me to his side??

 Renny was right.

 I needed therapy. 

 The clippers were tossed back on my desk.

 “Thanks,” she said. “Have you started on your DG Double P yet?” 

 DG Double P = Renny Speak for DG Pretty Please. 

 I groaned. “No. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, honestly. I have to-”

 “NO!!! Don’t tell me. We’re not supposed to tell each other.” Her hand extended in panic.

 “Fine. I can keep a secret.” 

 I was getting a little too good at that lately.

 She moved onto her belly, splaying her arms out in a dramatic fashion, face squished against the comforter. “Isn’t it just killing you inside.” She was dead serious. 

 “Yeah, more than you know.” 

 And I was serious, too. 

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

 I wasn’t expecting people to dress up as much as they did. Donned in my only pair of yoga pants and a chunky white sweater, I walked arm-in-arm with Renny past girls in cocktail dresses and guys in button-downs. 

 Something that sounded like a baby’s cry filled my ears, but it was gone as soon as we walked through the doors to the on-campus gallery.  . 

 “Woah did you hear that?” 

 Renny nodded, tossing her head back. “There’s a baby somewhere.” 

 It reminded me of the bodiless screams in my nightmare. In my chunky sweater, I shivered undetectably.

 The on-campus gallery rotated exhibits throughout the year, but this time, student sculptures were on pedestals, nightmarish portraits hung on the walls, and red and orange tapestries swooped down and across the ceiling in a cirque-du-soleil moment as if to secure us beneath fire. Some students had separate booths, but other pieces of work trailed seamlessly into the next. 

 A tree made from photographs and newspaper took up the center of the space. Zayn had been so adamant about his muse having life, I wondered if that was the focus of this exhibit - to capture natural life. But I suppose all art did. 

 “It’s the circle of life exhibit,” Renny stated, as if reading my thoughts. 

 “How’d you know that?” 

 She held up a pamphlet she must’ve grabbed from the entrance. 

 I quickly scanned the room, hoping to find Zayn quickly so I could skip out just as quick. 

 Several of my professors were here, including Dr. Rhinecuff. When he saw me, I raised my hand, but he raised his cup of red wine awkwardly and looked away. 

 My hand wavered. 

 Odd. 

 Zayn was standing by the tree, speaking with an older woman. Her skin was a rich brown, short hair hidden beneath a chic scarf. The man beside her looked around the same age with graying facial hair, a pocket hanky, and beaded bracelets. Art professors. 

 I caught his gaze, and he gestured me over. 

 “Y/N, these are my instructors. David and Ebony.”   

 Their eyes lit up in recognition. “He did you a great justice,” David said, gray moustache twitching with the words.

 Ebony beamed. “Oh yes, a piece was already sold. He’s going to be the next big wig before he graduates,” she gushed. “Zayn, I’m sure you’ll be splitting the profits with the heart of the piece.”

 She gestured to me and his smile widened, but my stomach sank faster. 

 “I didn’t know these pieces were going to be sold.”

 Ebony sensed my concern. The wine in her glass swirled. “We thought allowing the pieces to be shown and auctioned was a good way to replicate what many of them should be doing once they graduate. The whole department gets involved, and these kids put in a lot of work, and the reputation of starving artists isn’t something we want to buy into here.”

 I nodded. “I mean, that’s great. That’s… really amazing.” 

 Zayn couldn’t meet my eyes. He knew. He could sense my hesitance, too. 

 “Now he can finally afford a nice dinner to take you out!” David proclaimed. 

 We were all quiet for a minute. “You know, for a thank you dinner,” David covered up. Zayn’s brows scrunched and he shook his head a bit, not knowing where David’s comment came from. 

 “Do you do this regularly?” Ebony asked, steering the conversation away from an awkward moment. 

 My ears pricked up when I realized she was looking at me. “Excuse me?” 

 “Well I was just thinking…” a light laugh lifted as if her idea would be outrageous. “Would you mind sitting in for one of my classes on Monday? Our model had a sudden death-” 

 “My God,” David proclaimed. 

 Ebony waved her hand. “-in his family. I haven’t called to replace him yet.”

 It quieted as they looked at me, waiting for a response. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t usually do this. At all. It was a chance thing.” 

 “Luck be the artist.” David raised his glass. 

 Ebony followed suit, looking at my empty hand. “You just going to let her stand there without a drink?”

 “Yeah, Zayn. What kind of treatment is this?” I teased. 

 He did a slight bow. “Apologies. We’ll walk to drinks, immediately.” He pulled us away, leading us further into the showroom as his head dipped low to my ear. “Renny just passed us to meet Felix and them. They’re through here.” 

 We stepped under an archway that led into a darker-lit room, but his hand stopped me beneath the nook. “Did yeh notice anything?”

 Yeah. I was noticing how close we were in this archway. He saw my eyes start to squint in thought and he turned me around to face the room we’d just left. 

 “Look closer.” 

 My eyes roamed the crowd, trying to find some sort of person, or pattern he could be referring to. With a brief seize of my heart, I expected to see somebody from the gang. 

 “Look at the artwork, Y/N.” His breath warmed my skin. 

 The paintings all seemed to be bright, though sticking to red, orange, blacks, and grays. Wait, forget a pallette pattern. The next painting had blue and purple, too. One sculpture looked like a writhing ghost, twisting and reaching for something above. Or maybe it was an unearthed tree root. Despite all the bold colors, there was something off-putting about how bright they all were. It wasn’t a soothing brightness. It was almost violent. The orange and red writhing tapestries warped the ceiling into something hot. 

 “Is it hell?” I chortled, but quickly quieted. I expected him to take offense, but his hand went lightly around my waist with a small smile.

 “Could be. See-” his arm extended out to scan the perimeter “-all this art is supposed to represent death, but challenge the notion of it through color.” 

 “How so?” 

 “Yeh know it’s usually your blacks, and your grays, s’depressing shit. But we’re born from death. Before life, there was nothing, but something. It’s bold and necessary and there, and no one really knows whatever comes before. Or after.” He looked at the room, taking a sip of wine. I watched as he swallowed, and I imagined the wine running down. “What is death but an uncertain existence.” He said the thought almost happily, looking at me with a slight smirk. “Could be anythin’.” 

 He took a deep breath, letting his hand touch the top of the archway. It was then that I noticed it wasn’t just plain drywall. A collage of photographs ran all along the inside. 

 He wasn’t as tall as Harry, but his hand still reached the top, scuffing across a picture of an African landscape taped over a toddler eating fruity pebbles. 

 “They’re pictures. Everyone donated one,” he said. 

 A strand of words were painted over the collage, running from one end of the archway to the other, and I tilted my head back to read it. “Things... that…. make... m..e …...feel alive.” 

 “Everyone was able to design their space in order to control, to some extent, how their art was perceived. Everyone was a part of the transition space.” 

 “Very nice,” I noted, slightly put-off. I hadn’t been expecting this art show to be so… professional. “Zayn, this is amazing. Like, really, truly, professional-grade stuff is happening. The presentation, the pieces, everything.”

 His smile grew wider, putting cool hands over my eyes. I flinched, but let him. 

 I felt him come closer. 

“Listen now,” he urged. 

 I listened, but I wasn’t sure for what. There was the familiar busy rumble of people mingling, parents visiting their kids, and professors droning on about the talent of their students. But it was chatter. I couldn’t make out one conversation over another. I shrugged up against his other hand that was atop my shoulder. 

 “Sometimes you need to change where you’re planted to understand.” 

 I hoped he could see my cross expression because I couldn’t tell if he was bullshitting me right now. It’d been a day. It’d been a night. And I wasn’t in the mood for more philosophical ramblings - especially about death. “I don’t know what you mean,” I sighed. 

 “Meaning I have to move you closer to the speakers.” He let out a breathy laugh. “Jus’ keep your eyes closed, okay?” 

 I nodded. His hand moved, tilting my head to its side. Eyes still closed, I became self-conscious imagining people trying to move past me, and here I was, planted, eyes closed in the middle of the archway. My cheeks heated. It was unnerving knowing people could see me when I couldn’t see them. And anyway, I must’ve looked ridiculous. 

 “What do you hear?” he urged. 

 “I hear a lot of people talking,” I griped. 

But right when I was about to open my eyes-  

 I heard a familiar chirping through the chatter. 

 “Birds?” I opened my eyes. 

 “Observance can be taught, sometimes.” Zayn leant back, looking mighty proud of himself. 

 “Why are there birds?” 

 “We’re entering life,” he smiled, backing into the space. I tipped my wine back, several long gulps lightening my step as I followed him. Immediately, I noticed much more natural, earthier tones. For being a room of life, it was surprisingly darker than the prior room.

 Renny, Felix, and Andre were huddled in the center where a makeshift wall-on-wheels covered in vines divided the room in half. 

 My eyes widened, trying to adjust to the dimness. “It’s a lot darker in here.” 

 “All intentional. They decided to play with light in here. People usually think of life being bright ‘n that, but it’s also when we experience varying degrees of darkness. There’s a balance to things and the trouble is finding it.” Understanding laced his voice as his dark eyes bore into mine, almost completely black. One look from Zayn and I was reminded of all the weight I’d been carrying. I fidgeted, uncomfortable seeing myself in his eyes. 

 “Y/N, get over here!” Renny called. My shoulders visibly relaxed. My saving grace. “You didn’t tell me you did this,” she said lowly as soon as I got close enough, shocked excitement barely contained. Her giddy smile gave it away though. “Miss sexy secret keeper over here.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 She playfully poked my sides, but Andre and Felix avoided my gaze. Something wasn’t right. And it stirred my stomach, my body already knowing, somehow. 

 I turned in slow motion, the charcoal drawings in my peripherals stopping me in place. Framed amidst the vines, my face was etched onto paper, scrunching and twisting in various expressions. But my body was attached and twisting, too. And it was bare, bent over, spread out, laying down… My eyes scanned over them a dozen times in a second. 

 I was naked. 

 In all of them. 

 One was titled “21st Century Love.” In this one, I faced the viewer, but looked past them, sorrowful eyes, brows furrowed, breasts I’d never shown on full display. A hickey or two on my neck. A painful sting gripped my chest. I looked sad. I looked so sad.  

 Tunnel vision, a blurred Renny rushed down to the floor, and a distant part of me registered something wet splatter on my feet. 

 The wine had dropped.

 I’d dropped it. 

 I was trapped in a shell. My body was numb. 

 “Babes, you okay?” Renny asked, her voice somewhere far away. Somewhere outside the shell, her voice drowned in the busy rumbling, with the birds, with the watchers. People were watching me now. I was being watched. “Felix, grab some towels!” she barked. 

 I looked horrified, towards Zayn, but changed my mind just as fast. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even breathe. 

 He didn’t know me at all. He could stare at me for a thousand sessions and paint every crevice, sunspot, blemish, and mole and still not see me. How was an artist this blind? How could he not know that this was the last thing I could ever want? How could he picture me so… intimately?

 The paintings seemed to swirl into one before bouncing back out into their separate exposees. 

 Because that’s what it was. 

 An exposure. 

 A stranger could pay to have me in their home. 

 The floor spun, vision spotting. 

 My lungs tightened, tearing me away from Renny, from Felix, from Andre. From Zayn, the artist who painted a confused girl so unashamed. So honestly. Savagely and Unabashedly. 

 “I didn’t want this.” 

 And it was when I was halfway out the door that I realized the voice had come from me, a mantra pushing my shell all the way home. 

part 22

[jbbuckybarnes]

I wanted to

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (5k words) Description: You’ve been gone for 5 years, living in the forest for now. He just witnessed his friend stay back in time and come back as an old man. Maybe you could help each other and fall in love along the way. Warnings: Nightmares, crying, PTSD, awkwardness, canon typical violence, slight angst, fluff, not proofread A/N: I wrote this in my notes a few months back and it is a little openended, but after I figured out that it’s 5k words long, I had to post it. I hope y’all like it anyway, even with how awkward it’s written.

M A S T E R L I S T

You reappeared, the last thing you remembered was turning to dust, alone on a walk. Then the news got to you. 5 years, you were gone for 5 years. Your living situation was currently homeless. You were living in a forest, thankful that it was summer, and waiting for the government to start solving problems. On your daily walk by the cottage that always had a lot going on and the equipment all around it you saw a figure in all black, sitting against a tree, clearly sad. Nobody else was there and you weren't afraid of anything at this point, so you went to the person.

"Um, excuse me? Is everything alright? Do you need help?" You asked coming to a hold 4 steps away from them. A man with long brown hair and ocean blue eyes looked up at you, eyes red and streaks down his cheeks. "No, thank you. I think you'd need my entire life story for that." He sniffled. "Well, I'm currently living in the forest cause I've been dead for 5 years and nobody seems to solve the entire missing people and housing problems, so I think I might understand your hurt a little bit. What's wrong?" You crouched down to be on his level. Now that you looked at him, he looked way bigger and potentially dangerous than you previously thought. You both just sat in silence for a few seconds. "You know when you want your friend to be happy, even if it hurts you like being torn to shreds?" He asked, staring into the distance. "Yeah. It's the worst when they don't consider that pain." You were picking grass from the ground. "Multiply that hurt times 100. That's how I feel right now." He sniffled again and you inched a little closer. "Tell me what happened." "Well. Hi, I'm Bucky, formerly known as the Winter Soldier, frozen and unfrozen since the mid 40s. My friend who wasn't made to kill but still equally frozen just went back in time to choose his first love over me and his other friends in this time. And he came back as an old man. I should be happy for him. He had a great life and probably found his peace. But I would've loved to spend those decades with him, my other friends and maybe some new people." A tear ran down his cheek. "You would've needed the support, the love from a true friend. Let me tell you something. A true friend would always choose his friends over his love. No matter which situation. And I hope you're gonna have some damn great decades. Better than he had them. Cause you didn't live in nostalgia. Okay?"

You didn't know how your daily walk turned into a therapy session with a former assassin but this was needed. "Okay." He nodded with a tiny smile. "You need a hug?" You smiled back and he nodded sniffling. The moment your arms had surrounded him he started sobbing. Way too many emotions coming through, thinking of all those years he did everything for that small boy from school. "It's okay, let it out." You murmured, stroking his back. "It hurts." He got out. "I know. For a reason. It hurts because you cared. A lot," you said and felt arms hugging back. "Thanks." He sniffled again. "No problem." "What's your name, therapy stranger." He laughed loosening the hug and wiping his tears away. "Y/N." "James, but call me Bucky." He finally had a true smile on his face. "That's gonna hit you a few times, Bucky. Don't drown in it, okay?" Your hands were on his shoulders. "Promise."

You sat side by side in silence after that. Just relaxing with a view of the forest. "Can I help you with your housing problem?" His voice broke through, a little groggy but calm. "I don't know if you can." You grinned, throwing away a flower petal you had picked. "Well, now that Steve is definitely out of question as a third roommate...you might be a good shot. You don't have to. Just an idea. I can also just help you search for a flat." "I'd like to. An actual shower would be nice again." you giggled. "There's one in there. I can, you know, ask if you can-" "You don't have to." "Well, but I want to. You don't deserve to die for 5 years and then not have at least THAT luxury." He chuckled at how dumb this all sounded. "I guess." You grinned. He stood up, "Let's just walk in there. Ignore any question about Captain America or Steven Grant Rogers & get you to a shower and a hairbrush." "Thanks for subtly insulting my hair." You boxed against his arm and heard a chuckle.

A knock, "Can I come in without risking a punch?" "Yeah." You giggled, standing in front of the mirror in a shirt that he gave you, getting knots out of your hair. "You look like a new person, Y/N." He grinned leaning against the counter. "Imagine what a good 10 hours of sleep would do to me now." You smiled before making a grimace at the pain on your scalp. He watched you starting to frown into the mirror at your hair strands. "Can I help?" He came closer. "Depends on how gentle you can be." You chuckled. "I had sisters, I know how to do this without anyone crying, darling," he said proudly. "Well, then help away." You shrugged. His hands were gently going through the hair strands on your left side while you went on with the right side. Your eyes wandered to his patient but slightly frowning face that was concentrated on your hair and you smiled. "Didn't think helping a stranger would end this positive." You giggled and he looked up with a smile. "Good things happen to good people." "Well, bad things also happen to good people." You looked at him through the mirror with a soft smile and saw him shake his head to get rid of a thought. "It'll get better," you whispered. "I know," he whispered back, letting the brush glide through your hair. "Damn. You really are good at this." "Of course. Didn't wanna hear my sisters cry at me for an entire week back in the day." He chuckled at the fond memories on his mind. Would he go see them if he could? No. He didn't want to interfere with their life, everything happened for a reason. When you were finally done with your side you exhaled exhausted and turned around to him. "You look pretty in it." He smiled down at you and you followed his eyes. Oh, yeah, this was his shirt. "Uh, thanks." You answered touching it.

"Who's the pretty girl you got with you, Barnes?" Sam looked up from his drink in the kitchen and eyed you. "Our potential third roommate." Came back. "Oh." He set down his cup of coffee. "Hi, my name's Y/N. I've also been gone for 5 years and currently live off of forest food cause our government is a burning pile of trash," you introduced yourself dryly. "What did you do before?" "Was the definition of a homebody." You shrugged. "Hm, not to come off wrong but...we're Avengers and that means cleaning & errands might end up in your hands cause of missions. Any problems with that?" He smirked. "Not really. I just want sleep, food, water and a roof over my head." "What music do you like?" "Pop, Rock, Hip Hop." "Favorite sports team?" "Not my area." "Favorite movie?" "The Matrix." "I like her." Sam looked at Bucky. "Does that mean I can just stay with you from now on? Cause I literally don't have anything else out there other than my knife and a missing persons file for my mother." You asked. "Of course. Why would we let you sleep in the forest?" Bucky looked back at you. "You never know."

"Welcome to your new home." It has been a few days since you all met and gotten to know each other better. Bucky had just opened the door to your room and a bed frame and mattress were already in there. Together with a decent laptop and phone. Clothes had been ordered a few days earlier, but you were still mainly living in Bucky's clothes. There had been multiple occasions of him hiding somewhere in the house or outside to just get it all out, but you always found him and calmed him down. "Oh god, you didn't have to-" "But I wanted to." With a soft smile he closed the door behind you As soon as you used both devices and logged back in, you were searching for your friends and family members. Then world news & government aid. Then Steve Rogers and then Bucky. Sure, you'd learned about them in school years ago but a little refresher on their history and more reasons to be mad at Steve weren't a bad idea. "Gone for a press conference." Was yelled through the apartment by Sam and a door closed. Shortly after there was a knock on your door. "Come in." Bucky's head peaked in with a shy smile. "Something wrong?" You asked. "No, just wanted to say thank you for being there for me so much the last days. You don't have to but you do it anyway." His hand wandered through his hair. "You're the one giving me a place to stay after all this mess." You smiled back. After a bit of silence he breathed in, "Wanna make dinner together?" "Sure."

"Am I ever getting my clothes back?" He grinned down at you. "No. Too comfy." You grinned back in your giant shirt from him. "It's okay, you can have 'em. They look better on you anyway." Now the smile got softer. "Thanks. Always prefered men's clothing." You handed him something he needed for the food you were preparing. There was a comfortable silence across the room while you two continued until the food was ready. "Thanks for cooking with me." He smiled like a little boy. "Of course, Buck."

You woke up from whimpers next door. It was 2am and you really needed sleep, but you got up and walked to his room. When you slowly opened the door you saw him toss and turn a bit with a frown on his face. "Bucky. Hey, Bucky. It's okay. Wake up." Your hand wandered over his head and arm. With a little gasp his eyes opened, "Y/N?" "Yes, I'm here. You had a bad dream." You gave him a concerned smile. "Thank you for waking me up." He smiled sleepily. "Of course." You stood up. "Can you stay here? I don't want to dream that again." His hand reached out and landed on your legs. "Sure." You shrugged and got into the bed next to him. Big arms were snaking around you and hugged you close into a spoon position. "Thank you." He whispered before you drifted off.

Your eyes slowly opened and you found yourself to be in a room that wasn't yours. As soon as you heard little huffs behind you, you knew where you were again. The hand that was over your waist was tried to be removed but without luck. "Bucky. Let me get up." You grumbled. "Hmm?" He asked half asleep. "Let me get up," you mumbled. "No." He grumbled and pulled you closer. "Bucky!" You squealed and got a deep chuckle back. "What's wrong, darling?" You only crossed your arms in response. "Good morning to you too." He chuckled. "You're definitely awake," you mumbled and the arm around you instantly loosened after he realized what you were talking about. "Sorry," was mumbled. "Nah, it's fine." You smiled and finally turned around, "Sleep well after the nightmare?" "Yes, thank you for staying." His tired eyes were shimmering. "No problem." You got hair strands out of your face. "You look adorable right now." He laughed. "I feel more like a squished teddy bear." You pouted and got a giant grin back. "You were a good teddy bear though."

He still occasionally cried and you came to his room whenever you noticed or heard, but he got better, even after visiting Steve. A mission finally called for both of them, not a good sign. Seeing him in his full gear for the first time was overwhelming but fascinating. "Be safe you two idiots." You smiled at both of them. "Don't redecorate the entire house." Sam grinned. "I'll try my best." You chuckled before giving both of them a good hug. The second one came with a kiss to your temple before they were out of the door. You were worried the second they were out of the door, but the two weirdos would be keeping each other safe.

After the mission had turned into a national problem and back, the two men finally came in through the front door exhausted. "Hey, darling." A familiar voice broke the silence and you fell into his arms. "I'm so glad you both are back unharmed," you mumbled. "Of course! We need to annoy the hell out of you. Don't we?" Sam chuckled. You hugged him too before dragging them both into the kitchen to make them some sandwiches. "Sooo. How did it go?" You grinned, knowing well that both of then were ready to explode at the inability of the government. A grumble, "Don't get me started." "Smith is a fucking idiot." "Yeah, and that Tom idiot from mission control." "And Sharon's contact." "Literally anyone involved except for a few." Bucky concluded. "Well, I painted a wall in my room while you were gone and fixed the faucette in the bathroom." You smiled at them accomplished. "Without US!?" Sam said fake offended. "How could you? Let us fail at it first." Bucky joined in. "Can't believe you two manage to keep each other alive." You laughed before starting to clean the counter.

"It's pretty." Bucky smiled at your wall after sitting on your bed and staring at it for a good minute. He was not sure if he liked pastel colors on the wall but guessed they made sense for you. "Thanks. Stood in the paint aisle for almost two hours for the right color." "You think I should paint mine too?" He looked over to you at the desk. "If you want to." A quick shrug. "What color would you pick?" "Maybe...a dark warm purple. Or a tapestry with a lot of moody but colorful things going on. Or maybe just hanging up a few decor pieces in black and brown, fitting to your furniture." Your mind was working with all the possibilities. You didn't notice the soft eyes on you, "I think actually...the best one would be getting a few hang up tapestries that you like and change them up every now and then and the other half of the wall with the decor idea." "Y/N?" He snapped around to get you back. "Huh?" You shook your head and saw his nose crinkle with a chuckle. "Search for some and show them to me." He nudged his head towards your laptop. You grabbed it and fell onto the bed next to him and both of you spent the entire evening checking out tapestries on Society6.

Hands wrapped around your sides before picking you up unexpectedly. With a squeal you found yourself on the shoulders of the super soldier. "I was just trying to hang this up." You giggled. "Thought I should help." He chuckled. "My head literally almost smashed into the ceiling." "But it didn't." The tapestry was put up next to the frames and shelves you had been working on all afternoon while he was at the compound. "It's pretty. Thanks for making it that way." He smiled down at you after letting you down again. "No problem. I love doing this kind of stuff." "Pizza?" "Pizza."

"W-" "Just take it. Wear it everyday and use it if you need to." You were looking down at a bracelet that they got configured for emergencies. In case of imminent danger you just needed to press down a button. "But why?" "You live with two Avengers, we'd feel better if you wore it." Sam added. "Oh okay." You were intimidated by the tech. You studied Hydras infiltration into S.H.I.E.L.D. in your freetime after the files came out and while you were aware that your phone was technically also a tracking device, this felt a little bigger than some phone that can be encrypted by a VPN. You put it on anyway, these two idiots would never want to harm you. "Why not simply use my phone?" You looked up. "You better have two devices than one. If somebody gets your phone a bracelet will be the least suspected thing on your body." "Hm. Okay." You looked at the beads of the bracelet. Looked not too expensive but also not cheap. "Guess I'll get used to it." Two relaxed smiles came back at you. Good.

Arms wrapped around you while you made yourself french toast. A grumble and exhausted exhale. "You'd think with two soldiers you'd have people in the house that are used to early mornings." You chuckled. "Not when you slept like shit and have a roommate that feels like a good surface to fall back asleep on." Sam grumbled in his groggy voice. "You want one?" A soft movement on your shoulder was given back. You added one more slice to the pan and leaned back against him. "Damn you, soft woman." He mumbled squeezing you closer and making you giggle. "You awake or falling asleep again?" You chuckled. "Awake. Unfortunately." He whined before letting you go and taking his toast. "Drink your coffee, birdie. 's gonna be fine." You grinned. He tossled through your hair before making his way to his chair. "You havin' any plans for today?" "Hm. Maybe I'll go adventure the city a bit. Quite a bit has changed in the last 5 years." "You bringing dinner on the way back?" His head dipped to the side like a puppy would do it. "Sushi?" "Sounds good to me."

You'd been all around the Central Park area to scope out new places and what had changed. A few big companies went down after the decimation and smaller shops moved into the places. One of them was actually a sushi place and you already felt it slowly getting colder and the sun was getting lower. You made your way to that block. It was a bit further from the park and not much tourist attractions near, so you could slow down your pace a bit. You never made it to the entrance. You were yanked back by somebody and silenced with a hand over your mouth. You opened your eyes again to an empty street, only darkly clothed men all around. How did you not see them earlier. "Well, if it isn't our Avengers girlfriend." A dark voice said behind you, manifesting into a man coming to a hold in front of you. The man holding you let you go a little, knowing you wouldn't run with all these men around. "What do you want from me and who the hell are you?" You said stronger than you thought you could in this situation. Your hand wandered to your wrist, pressing down the little dent in your bracelet. "The Handler, Hydra, we don't want anything FROM you, we just want you. They'd never let their friend die at our hands. They wanna save you, don't they." "You wanna take me to get them?" You made clear out loud. "Yeah. You wanna come with us normally or do we need to use strength on you?" "I come with you, but only if you can prove you're really Hydra and not just some human trafficking gang." You played the game, they wouldn't take long. "Girl, you wanna see prove?" The man grinned. "I know all his trigger words. You wanna die at the hands of Bucky Barnes or do you wanna live?" "Not sure how long you can keep that promise of me living." You smirked, hearing a faint jetpack coming closer. In seconds somebody grabbed you, Sam kicked down the mysterious man and multiple men fell to the floor. You didn't look at the scene but had enough self defense training to kick the man holding you where the sun doesn't shine before ramming an elbow into his sternum and your hand into his face. A metal hand grabbed over his mouth before his body turned limp. "Stay behind me!" You heard from Bucky, finally getting you out of the shock and did as he said. Your eyes were trying to stay as far away from anything trauma inducing as they could. Bullets were kept from hitting you by black vibranium and you flinched at a cry behind you. "Sam, get her out of here." The arms from this morning suddenly felt possibly threatening for a second, then like the only safe option. "Close your eyes." He quickly told you before flying you up to the next best roof. Redwing hovered above you shortly after and you were pressed to sit down on the floor. "Stay here. Gonna make sure everything is safe." You were shaking, heard a few more gunshots and the little computer over you scanning everything around. "I'm just saying. You better tell her soon or she'll never start training to do these things." "She shouldn't need to. Even if I do." The two flew up in front of you, Bucky immediately coming straight towards you with a concerned face. "Didn't know you could break noses, darling." He huffed before grabbing your shaking form close, letting you sob out the shock. "I'm so sorry, Y/N." He mumbled into your ear. "H-home." "We'll bring you home, darling. You're safe now."

"They waited all this time for her to go into an area of the city that's calmer. What the hell could they want from me or you?" Sam was stressed. "They always want me for something." Bucky muttered. "Hey, that's not your fault. Okay?" "I know, but I'm still the reason this bullshit happened to her." "You don't know that." "They wanted to kidnap her to lure us in. Told her they knew the trigger words." Bucky growled. Your pitter patter moved towards the kitchen. Red swollen eyes staring at the two men for a second before you went for the fridge. "He said "come with us or die by Bucky's hands" like it wasn't part of the same plan," you mumbled taking out chocolate pudding, "Which makes me question if they have more stuff to get you with." "I honestly don't wanna try it out without having Steve to kick your head back to normal." Sam shook his head. "I need to call Shuri, Cho & Banner," Bucky muttered before making a quick way out of the kitchen. You sat down on the counter, spoon deep in your comfort food. "You feeling better?" Sam asked. "A bit." "Bucky's still not over you breaking someone's nose. That was badass for someone that's not an agent. But also risky." The last sentence was accompanied by a stern look. You gave a soft smile back, "I knew you both had my back." "I can teach you a few more moves if that helps you." He grinned. "Would always love to learn from my favorite Captain America." You laughed towards the end of the sentence.

"I'll be back in a few weeks. Promise." Bucky looked down at you, regretting that he needed to go to Wakanda. "Gonna miss you." You squished your face into his chest. "I'm gonna miss you too, darling." He smiled down. You pulled his head down a little, making his breathing hitch and his cheeks flush. A soft kiss was pressed onto his forehead before he could get his cool back. "Now nothing can go wrong." You giggled and he grabbed you into a tight hug again with a chuckle before you parted ways and he flew away in the Quinjet.

In the following weeks you got at least one voice memo per day. Sometimes a picture of a beautiful Wakandan flower. Mostly diary-like updates. You kept his room clean, changed the tapestry to a more colorful one, stole some more jumpers and maybe one of his throw blankets. "Sam told me you're a thief again?" He said when you finally video called after a month. "It's getting colder, your jumpers are the best, what else am I supposed to do?" You pouted. "I also see my throw blanket around you right now." He laughed. "I miss you, okay?" You said flustered. "I miss you too. Next time I'm gone I demand to steal something from you too." He grinned. "Alright," you agreed, "How are you doing?" "I think they only test one or two more times for stuff and then I'm gonna be back." "Prepare for the longest hug in the history of hugs." "Alright, darling. Ugh, I need to go. Annoy Sam for me, will you?" He smiled truly happy. "Of course. See ya, Buck."

"No, don't go back before punching. That gives me too much time for defense. Surprise effect." Sam explained to you while showing you some of the things he learned in the military. "So, like this?" You punched him and caught him off-guard. "Damn, girl. You're getting really bold around me, huh?" He smirked. "Thought Captain America could take a hit from someone like me." You chuckled. "Oh, you could easily win against me with the right training. I think Bucky would be hard for any agent or soldier." "Another point for me disliking Steve, thanks. Goes onto the list." "You have a list?" He asked impressed. "C'mon. Good doesn't mean sane." "You're more protective than I thought you'd be." He winked continuing the session. "Why wouldn't I? Physically I'm not a match, but mentally?" You smirked, diffusing a punch. "Fair point." He shrugged, dodging your next punch. "Gaaah." You threw yourself at him in a cuddle attack. "You tired?" He laughed catching you. "Yeah." "Sushi?" "Please."

With a gasp you woke up from a nightmare. A weird one too. Nothing made sense but it had involved your two roommates. After grabbing the water bottle on your bedside table and drinking from it you had calmed down, but not enough to fall back asleep. *I had a nightmare.* *Can't fall back asleep?* *No :c* *Sleep in my bed if it helps.* You had silently made your way to Bucky's room and laid down in his bed, surrounded by his smell. Something about that did wonders to get your eyelids heavy in an instant. The next morning you were greeted with wiggly eyebrows at the kitchen table. "You act like we don't have a nightmare routine." "Yeah, it's real cute. You should try seeing how oblivious you both are. Drives me insane." "Excuse me?" He held his hands up and stayed silent about it for the rest of the week.

You started sleeping only in his room after that day, since it just felt better for whatever reason. You really felt the parts of your day where he was missing. And one morning you finally woke up to arms being tightly wrapped around you with a face pressed into your back. "Bucky?" You whispered tired and turned around. "Hm?" He grumbled half asleep. "I missed you." You grinned squinting. "I missed you too, darling." He peaked his eyes open with a soft smile. You inhaled to say something but held yourself back from doing so. "Missed you more than anything." He grinned with his hand getting your messy hair under control. "Anything is a lot." You giggled. "I know, darling." He pulled you closer, having you in his personal space. "I slept way better in here." You smiled. "Really? Was it because of the bed or the stolen clothes?" He chuckled. "Both." Another giggle left you. "I really want to kiss you right now," he said with his eyes locked on yours. Words failed you and you nodded with a shy smile. Lips touched yours slow and hesitant, testing the waters, making sure you feel comfortable. "I waited so long to do this, god. I'm so madly in love with you." Everything just left him like a waterfall of words. "I love you too, Bucky." Your face lit up. "Sooo, we're gonna stay in this cocoon for a few more minutes?" His hand went down your side. "Of course, you idiot." You laughed. A few more minutes had turned into an hour. Spent with kissing, touching, giggling and content smiles. "You want french toast or not?" You sat up. "I want you...wait...that came out wrong." He laughed. "Oh no, Buck. You meant that the way you said it, player." You grinned. "I mean...it wasn't a lie." Innocent eyes landed on you. "You'd have to kick Sam out for that." You laughed and gave him a little wink, making him blush. "Maybeee I need 5 more minutes." He cleared his throat. "Alright. Good to know." You smirked before leaving the bed next to him warm, while he needed to calm down from any fantasies playing out in his head.

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (38/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series. 

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.  

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for being my beta, @imagnifika​ for the cover art, and all of you for being awesome, whether you read this story or not ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

The thing about being a starting pitcher is that Killian rarely plays. It’s every five days usually, and Killian is too competitive to simply be able to sit and watch while everyone else gets to be out there on the field. If it wasn’t absolute murder on his shoulder, he’d be in Al’s office every damn day asking why he can’t be out there.

Understandably, having to watch his teammates play without being able to help has been killing him more in this past week than it did while he was out on injury, and that was actual hell.

Rob did a fantastic job that first night clinching the first game for them by making it nearly impossible for the Dodgers to get on base, and Killian, while he didn’t play his best, pitched a good enough game and had help from Eric’s three-run homerun for them to win the second. It’s simply that everything after that has been a bit of a nightmare.

They lost two incredibly close games in a row in California to tie things up, won the next one, and now they could clinch the entire Series at home in New York.

Tonight.

With Rob pitching and Killian sitting on the bench.

And as much as Killian would love to get to be an active part of it all like he was during the winning game last year, he would give absolutely everything for them to win tonight so that he doesn’t have to get up on the mound tomorrow. The pressure and desire and want  is so damn intense that it makes Killian’s heart ache, but he knows that this isn’t really about him. No part of him could be selfish enough to want to lose today so that he could have the possibility of the glory tomorrow.

That would be ridiculous, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’d do if he wakes up tomorrow morning with a stiff shoulder and he’s got to get out there and play.

Sighing, Killian stretches out his legs to the seat in front of him as a whisper of wind whirls through the stadium to bring in the late October chill. He fiddles with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, pulling them down to cover his wrists where chill bumps are rising, and he wishes that he had a hat on to protect himself from weather, his ears likely red from the cold. It’s only seven in the morning, most of the stadium completely empty except for the maintenance crew and a few people in the offices, but Killian knew that this would be his only time to take it all in with no one around him.

An empty stadium is nearly as magical as a packed one.

He’s spent his entire life building up to things like this. Sure, there were times when he had other goals. He wanted to be a teacher, wanted to get his degree and help others, but that was always the fallback goal. It was never the main one.

Baseball has been his life.

Lately, though, Killian’s been thinking about life outside of the game more than ever. It’s insane because he feels like he’s one of those obnoxious people who only lives and breathes baseball all the time, especially with what’s going on right now, but his mind has managed to find a way to wander elsewhere.

There are saved searches on his phone about going back to Vanderbilt to finish his degree and a sent message in his email to an advisor asking if it would be possible for him to finish in New York instead of having to take classes in person. He hasn’t told anyone that he’s thinking about it, not yet. Telling someone makes it real, and Killian’s not entirely sure that he wants it to be real quite yet. He’s a grown ass man, but change is still terrifying when he’s grown comfortable in his life.

Baseball isn’t forever, though, and while he may still work in the sport later on, he’s not going to be someone who goes throughout his entire life living out the glory days through memory.

Tonight, might be another big moment that defines his life, but the past six months have been pretty life changing as well. Hell, the past year has been.

Things are changing in ways that he wants and ways that he doesn’t, and that’s simply how it is.

“So, we woke up at the ass crack of dawn so that you could sit out here all by yourself?”

Killian twists his head to the side to see Emma standing a few seats over dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, scarf wrapped around her neck and Yankees cap on her head. He was so wrapped up in his own mind that he didn’t even hear her move toward him.

“Hey, love,” he smiles, reaching up and holding out his hand so that the cool tip of her fingers touch his as he intertwines their fingers while she settles down into the seat next to him and props her feet up on the seat in front of her. “I told you that you didn’t have to come with me.”

Sitting here reminds him of another time in San Francisco when he put his heart on his sleeve and willingly handed it over to Emma to crush before they decided that they would give the two of them a go and simply see how things worked out. If she had said no that day, he could have listened. But damn is he glad that she said yes.

Or, well, technically, he was the one saying yes.

Either way, everything in his life shifted.

“I know, but you get all moody and introspective, and I didn’t want you psyching yourself out.”

“I would not do that.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Just a little bit.” His hand flexes against hers, shifting his fingers the slightest bit so that he can get a more comfortable grip on Emma’s hands. “What have you been doing while I’ve been sitting here being introspective and psyching myself out?”

“I was taking some pictures. It’s kind of cool to see the calm before the storm, you know? And then David called me with some work stuff and to give me shit about us making out being all over Instagram, so I sat on a bench and talked to him for awhile.”

“He called you this early? Is he crazy?” 

“I think David forgets that not everyone wakes up this early, and he has no qualms about waking me up. Usually I’m much meaner to him.”

“I’m surprised you’re not being mean to me.”

“The coffee we had at home really works wonders.”

Killian almost opens his mouth to say something about Emma referring to his apartment as home. But only almost. They’re both aware of the living situation, have joked about it to each other and others before, and they don’t need some kind of official discussion about things. It’ll all happen naturally, and when the time comes, they’ll talk about it. For now, things are perfect just as they are.  

Life has been crazy with his injury and then Walsh and Brennan and the aftermath of them being absolute assholes. It’s gotten crazier with the World Series and how much press he’s now getting, both for the games and for his relationship with Emma, much of which is now weirdly being caught on camera. All Killian really wants is a bit of normal here.

The sun continues to rise in the sky, darkness shifting into an orange glow that will eventually turn into bright sunshine that makes it difficult to see without a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. The grass on the field is wet with condensation, water coating the blades, and if it wasn’t freezing out there, he thinks he’d go out and sit along the edge of the back wall instead of in a stadium seat.

Bringing Emma’s hand to his lips, he presses a kiss to each of her knuckles before pulling their joined hands back down to rest on his thigh.

“I think,” he starts, not entirely sure where he’s going, “that I could stay out here forever. I don’t know…maybe I feel things too deeply compared to everyone else, but this place has always felt like home. I can’t imagine what things would be like if I’d been drafted somewhere else or if I’d never been called up at all.”

She hums next to him, and Killian looks down to see Emma’s thumb rubbing across his knuckles like she always seems to do. “What’s that thing you’re always saying? There’s no such thing as ‘what ifs.’ Not in life and not in sport. What happened, happened.”

“Doesn’t keep me from wondering.”

“It doesn’t keep anyone from wondering, twenty-nine.” Her hand squeezes his again, and Killian’s mind dares to ask once more what his life would be like had he not met Emma. It’s a question he doesn’t want an answer to. “What if my parents had kept me? What if Ruth had never decided to foster a shitty teenager with an attitude issue? What if I had never met Neal or Walsh or Ruby or anyone who has impacted my life they the way they have? What if I never met you?”

“You’d be missing out on the best sex of your life.”

Emma knocks her foot into his as he snickers at his own awful joke. “You’re full of yourself.”

He shrugs. “It happens. And I know. I’m just – my stomach has been in knots over all of this for an entire month. I’m not sure my body is going to make it ten more hours. Or hell, possibly even thirty-six. I’ve had to hype myself up for all of this, and I’m a little…fuck, Swan, I’m exhausted and excited, and I’m scared I’m going to have some kind of adrenaline crash.”

It’s Emma’s turn to bring their hands together so that she can brush her lips over his knuckles. His heart stutters at the movement.

God, he loves her. It’s actually insane how much. Truly, it shouldn’t be possible.

“For one, getting up and coming to the stadium before the sun even fully rises is not something that’s going to help with your exhaustion.”

He twists his head to look at her, and she’s got mischief in her eyes and a smirk stretched across her lips that he has to kiss away. She still tastes like coffee.

“Also,” she whispers against his lips, kissing him again, “you’re not going to crash. Not yet. I know you’re really big on not riding on what happened last year, but you’ve got to do that. You’ve been through this before, and you made it. Those butterflies in your stomach are being felt by everyone who’s involved with this team, and hanging out by yourself the entire time isn’t going to help things. Why don’t we go get breakfast together? Or maybe go back to bed?”

“How about a game of catch?”

“What?” Emma laughs as she pulls back from him with furrowed brows? “I am not playing catch with you. Are we five?”

Killian shakes his head and chuckles as he stands from the seat and begins to stretch his shoulders out, letting go of Emma’s hand and rolling his shoulders back as he laughs at himself.

“We’re twenty-eight. I know you remember your birthday last week. And come on, Swan. I play a game of really expensive catch for a living. It’s part of my job to work on my arm today, just in case, and I need a practice partner.”

“That’s what Will and Eric or August are for.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, reaching forward to tug her up only for her weight to go dead so that he can’t move her, “but they’re not here. You are.”

Emma closes her gaping mouth, and her lips move in different directions while her nose scrunches up so that little crinkles appear around her eyes under the shade of her hat. “Okay, but if there’s one misogynistic quip about me throwing like a girl, I’m breaking up with you on the spot.”

“There’s nothing wrong with throwing like a girl, Swan. It’s pretty badass. But there’s something wrong with throwing like shit.”

“I’m not going to throw like shit.” Killian starts walking over the chairs, easily maneuvering through the stands with Emma following behind him. “But I ask you to remember that while I pride myself in my fitness, it’s in things like Pilates and running or boxing. It’s not in baseball. You, meanwhile, do this for a living.”

“These sound like a hell of a lot of excuses.”

“That’s because they are.”

“There’s no excuses in baseball.”

“I thought it was crying.”

“Fuck no,” Killian scoffs. “There’s a lot of crying in baseball, and anyone who tells you something different is a liar.”

“I can’t believe you just called Tom Hanks, America’s sweetheart, a liar.”

They have to go back through the tunnels to get a bucket of balls and some gloves as well as a few towels to wipe the grass in the bullpen down since it’s wet and neither of them are wearing the right shoes for this, but they do eventually get to the point where he can lightly toss the ball back and forth between the two of them. He’s not going to pitch at full speed, not until he has Will later, but it’s soothing to simply be out here getting a little movement in. He’s been back for two weeks, practicing for four, but it’s still all brand new again to him and shaded under a light that wasn’t there before.

Emma isn’t bad at all. She’s actually rather good, a natural some might say, and he jokes with her that if sports broadcasting doesn’t work out for her, she might take up a career in this. Naturally that gets him an eye roll or two, but she keeps on throwing until the sun is high in the sky and the day has truly begun.

Killian’s ready for it.

Everything seems to pass quickly then. The entirety of the Dodgers team walks out onto the field for their scheduled practice while he and Emma are still messing around in the bullpen, somewhere between still doing a bit of practice and Killian backing Emma up against the wall to make out with her. No one sees them, though, the loud blaring of music startling the two of them away from each other, and Killian presses Emma a little further into the wall while he buries his face in her neck so that he can muffle the sound of his laughter.

He’s not entirely sure that works, especially when Emma is doing the same, but they eventually manage to grab their things and slip inside so that an entire professional team isn’t aware of the fact that he was using the early morning stadium to kiss his girlfriend.

That would certainly have been something.

There is an actual practice that Killian has to attend today, an hour of which needs to be spent with him running on the treadmill and then getting massaged by Archie to work out any knots and kinks in his shoulder and to make sure that it’s not inflamed. Killian is always terrified that he’s going to be told that his shoulder is inflamed again and that he won’t be able to play on a day where he thinks he’s going to be able to. That would completely screw up the lineup, and…No, now isn’t the time to think about that.

Killian tells Emma that he’ll see her later, that he’ll probably come bother her wherever the network has her sitting even though he’s splitting the time in the game between the dugout, the clubhouse, and the suite where his family is going to be sitting. She has to go home and get ready for the day, and even if she didn’t, he very much doubts that she’d like to stick around and watch him run.

And then they’re both off.

Let the game begin.

-/-

“Are you guys going to win today?”

Now, that’s the question of the day, isn’t it?

Killian looks down at Roland who is dressed in head to toe Yankees gear, all his dad’s of course, and there’s a nervous smile on the kid’s face. Roland is almost never nervous. He has that childlike faith in everything even with all of the tragedy in his life of having lost his mom, and he nearly always believes that things are going to work out. There’s no good or bad, just the belief that things will work out the way you want them to simply by the power of wanting them to.

If only it were that simple.

“I don’t know, lad,” Killian answers honestly as he reaches down to pick Roland up, easily putting him on his shoulders as Killian walks him down the hallways to the suite he’s staying in for the game. Roland was in the clubhouse for all of the pre-game celebrations, and the kid heard and saw things that he probably didn’t need to hear for several more years.

A decade, really. Maybe two.

Yeah, definitely two decades. There was some creative swearing.

“Why not?”

“Well, because we can’t predict the future, and the other team is really good too.”

“But I want to win.”

“Me too,” he sighs as he pushes open the doors to lead to the suites. “And everyone is going to try their best. But you know what?” “What?”

“I think if you cheer extra hard, it might help your dad out, okay? He might lose because the other team is good, but you’ve got to cheer him on no matter what.”

Roland’s ankles hit against Killian’s collarbone, and Killian pretends that the bony lad doesn’t hurt like hell when he hits him. “I can cheer really  loud. Like, Grandma says that it makes her ears hurt.”

“If you’re not making Grandma’s ears hurt, you’re not cheering loud enough.”

That sentence pretty much sums up why he’s the best uncle in the world, Killian thinks. It’s basically the equivalent of giving kids a pint of ice cream right before they go back to their parents.

Killian pushes open the suite doors and ducks down underneath them so that he doesn’t knock Roland out. Everyone is situated on the couches and around the tables in front of the TV, and no one pays him any mind as he puts Roland down so that he can run to where Addy, Lucy, and Leo are. He imagines that between the four of them, they’re going to make everyone’s ears hurt from their screaming.

Maybe Killian will go spend time sitting in the dugout instead of in here, but it’s a long game. He’s got time to move around as long as he does make time to study Robin’s throwing patterns against each batter.

“Hey,” he murmurs to Elsa in the kitchen area while she pops a chip into her mouth. “I don’t know that it’s good that you’re playing hooky from work and letting the girls do the same with school.”

“Shut up,” she says in between crunchy bites of food, her hand covering her mouth. “You think that joke is funny every time, but it’s not.”

“It is.” Killian dips his head down and presses a kiss to Elsa’s cheek. “But I fully approve of the skipping work thing, especially when your husband’s lazy ass took the entire week off.”

“He’s supporting his baby brother.” 

“Younger, Els. Younger. I don’t need you encouraging that.”

Her bottom lip sticks out. “But it’s so fun to see your ears get all red with embarrassment.” 

“Every single thing I’ve ever said about me being glad to have an older sister in you and Anna? Yeah, I’m taking all of those back.”

“You can’t.” She swipes another chip through the dip. “They’ve been said, and I keep them all in my heart right next to where Addy told me that even if she got to choose her mom, she’d still choose me.”

“Classy.”

“I know,” Elsa laughs. “Where’s your better half?”

“She’s working.” Killian pinches his brows together. “So we’re not even going to pretend that I could possibly be the better half?”

“Nope. Just like Liam isn’t the better half either. And don’t make some quip about being equals. Just let me have this. I’m already stress eating chips.” He laughs while reaching forward to drag the bowl away from Elsa so that she can’t eat anymore, but she doesn’t let him, grabbing onto it and pulling it back. “I didn’t say to stop me. World Series week is like the holidays. The calories don’t count until my jeans feel a little snug next week.”

“Ahh,” Killian sighs in understanding. “That’s likely a good thing for how many baked goods I’ve sent your way.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the dugout?” Ariel questions as she steps up to them with her glass of water in her hand. “It’s kind of a big game.”

“It’s also kind of the top of the first inning, and I’m not playing.”

“Excuses.”

“A legitimate one. How’re you holding up, A?”

She waves him away and reaches for the pitcher of water. “I’m fine. Eric is the nervous wreck. I have enough confidence in you guys that I won’t worry until, you know, we’re losing.”

“Only worrying when we’re losing? What kind of method is that? You have to worry all the damn time.”

“That’s how you have a heart attack, and I have not suffered eating healthily and exercising so much to have a heart attack this young.”

“This is where Liam would tell you that it can happen to anyone in any age.”

“Where is Liam?” Killian questions as he looks around the suite for his brother only to have him nowhere to be seen.

“He and David are sitting in David’s regular seats because David was complaining about Mary Margaret and Leo not wanting to use them. I imagine he’ll be up here soon when he realizes how expensive food is to buy.”

“They’re such old men.”

“Says the man who was wearing a sweater while drinking a cup of tea and reading in his apartment last night instead of coming out to dinner with all of us.”

Killian sputters a bit as he narrows his eyes at Ariel. “First of all, there is nothing wrong with doing any of that. Second of all, how could you possibly know that?”

Ariel shrugs, mischief in all of her features. “Emma sent it in the group text.”

Of course she did. A man can’t even relax in his own home without being called out for it.

“Who is in this group text exactly?”

“Oh, just me, Elsa, Anna, and Belle. Don’t worry. Not everyone gets to see the embarrassing pictures of you drooling in your sleep.”

He’s going to kill Emma.

Or get his revenge. Somewhere in between those two.

There’s a loud groan from everyone watching the game, and that’s when Killian is reminded that there’s a game going on. He didn’t know that he could possibly forget, but apparently being teased about how he spends his nights will let him do that. When he sees what’s happening out on the field, though, Killian wishes that he’d been able to completely and totally forget about the game.

There are three men on base for the Dodgers, only one out, and one of their best hitters is up to bat.

Fuck.

This is not a good start.

This is a long game, but bad starts can change the momentum of absolutely everything. It gets in everyone’s head. The losing team is convinced that they’re going to lose, that they can’t come back from this, and the team that’s ahead gets all the belief in the world with their abilities.

Momentum shifts are everything, and it’s not time for the momentum to shift. Not yet.

And yet it does.

Robin throws what Killian knows is a good fastball and Rob’s specialty, but Stewart hits a sharp line drive down past third base that Arthur doesn’t get to. By the time that he does, the Dodgers already have two runs, Stewart is on second, and Ferguson is sliding into home before the ball can get there.

0-3 for the Dodgers eleven minutes in.

Shit.

Now it’s time for Ariel and everyone else to get nervous.

And it never gets better. Not really. There are times and chances and shots that have Killian grabbing onto his hair in frustration, but nothing comes of it. Nothing at all. Every single time there’s a real chance, something happens: the Dodgers have an unbelievable get, someone fumbles when the Yankees should have an easy chance at a double play, or every single person somehow forgets how to hit.

Until they don’t.  

Because now it’s the bottom of the ninth, and after an absolutely incredible eighth inning, it’s now 7-9.

They’re only down by two runs.

(Two runs.)

Killian is pacing back and forth in the dugout now exhausting every bit of emotional energy he has left in him. He left the suite the moment that first inning was over, texting Emma and Liam that there’d been a change of plans and he wouldn’t be meeting up with them after all. There was no way that he was going to be anywhere other than with his team when things were going to hell.

Being two runs behind is both nothing and everything.

There have been plenty of times when they’ve come back from a deficit like this. There have been plenty more when they’ve blown a two-run lead. And yet, like fifty-five thousand people in this stadium know, this isn’t any other game. This is The Game, and they’re closing in on the golden hour of chances.

It’s win now or come back tomorrow for one last chance of glory or crushing defeat.

Best of seven means nothing when there’s the possibility of there only being one game left.

“You’re going to exhaust yourself if you don’t sit down,” Robin tells him from his seat behind him on the bench.

Will has just stepped up to home plate, his bat in hand and feet in position, and Killian can’t breathe. His lungs have stopped taking in air.

“How could you possibly be sitting down for this? Is your blood not on fire?”

“I just pitched five innings, mate. My adrenaline high is gonedown. I’m exhausted.”

The ball is launched through the air toward Will, and Killian immediately knows that he shouldn’t take a swing at it.

He does.

Strike one.

“Shit,” Killian murmurs, kicking his foot at a water cup on the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

“Funny, Fisher, I told your wife the same thing. Aren’t you supposed to be warming up?”

Killian doesn’t even have to look to know that Eric is rolling his eyes. “I’m grabbing my stuff to do just that.” There’s a warm hand on Killian’s back, and he turns to look at it just as a “ball” is called. “Take some deep breaths, man. We’ve got this.”

“Aye,” Killian sighs, “we’ve got this.”

Strike two.

“Shit.”

Ball two.

Ball three.

Foul ball.

Killian’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he opens it up to see Emma’s name.

Emma: They’re having to censor you on television right now.

Emma: Just thought you might want to know that. Literally every time they show the dugout, you’re cursing. Ruby is getting a kick out of it.

Killian moves to text her back, to say something witty in response, but then the wood of Will’s bat is making contact with the ball and it’s flying gone, gone, gone…

Until it’s caught in the outfield.

Out one.

“Fuck.”

They’ve still got a shot. They have to. And as much as Killian hates cheering for Arthur King and hates that he only got a monetary fine for what he said to Emma and about her, he’s exactly who Killian has to cheer for now as Arthur hits a line drive that enables him to get on first base.

That’s progress.

It’s even more progress when Eric hits a triple sending Arthur into home.

8-9.

Holy fuck.

They might do this. They just might.

Killian still can’t breathe, but this is obviously his natural state now. This is how he’s going to have to live out the rest of his life.

Emma: Okay, now I understand all of the cursing. I’m freaking out.

Killian: Me too. We make quite the pair.

Emma: The best pair. It’s all going to be okay, twenty-nine.

He smiles down at his phone, his lungs taking in a bit of air at that.

Killian: It will be. I love you.

Killian: A frankly ridiculous amount.

“Out,” the umpire yells, and Killian immediately rests his head against the dugout railing, his nails digging into the hem of his sweatshirt as sweat drips down his back even with the late October chill whipping through the stadium as the night fully comes into effect, the sun long since gone.

Out two.

“For fuck’s sake,” Al yells, throwing his hat to the ground and slapping his hand against the railing. “Why would you swing at that, Whale? You could have fucking walked, and then we’d have two men on base with one out. That changes everything.”

It’s not Whale’s fault. It’s not. He messed up, sure, but it’s a team effort. Killian doesn’t always believe that when he’s the one pitching. It’s hard to get that out of your head when you’re being yelled at by managers and fans and people online sending death threats, but it’s true. It’s not one person out there even when it feels like it.

Killian’s going to have to remind himself of that tomorrow.

No.

He can’t go there. They’re not going to play tomorrow. Booth is up to bat, and he’ll get Eric home. Then it’ll be tied up, and they’ll have their shot to close this out right here and right now.

Hope bubbles up in Killian’s chest, his throat closing up with excitement and anticipation, and that lack of breathing thing comes back again as his knuckles go white from the strength of his grip on the railing. When he looks to the right, he sees that Robin’s knuckles are just the same.

They might do this.

Roland and Addy have to be screaming their heads off up in the suite. Killian almost wants to text Elsa or Liam to see what’s happening, but his eyes are glued to the field as August swings his bat at the very first ball.

It’s a fucking foul.

Strike one.

“Come on Booth,” Will shouts out, clapping his hands together. “You’ve got it, man. Be smart about it.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s helping, Scarlet.”

“It is, Professor Jones. I’m a great motivational speaker.”

Killian’s lips stretch into a smile, a bit of calm returning, until the ball flies from the mound again, whipping through the air and curving into the strike zone at the last minute.

August doesn’t swing.

Strike two.

The stadium absolutely erupts then, hands clapping together and feet hitting against the floor while thousands of people scream, a mix of cheers and boos for August. If anyone can handle this kind of pressure, can handle the weight of world on his shoulders and the pressure, it’s August.

Pressure is a privilege.

He’s likely not feeling too privileged right now.

And as suddenly as the noise started, it calms down. While there are still people talking and cheering and making all kinds of noise, Killian can’t focus on any of it. All he can focus on is what’s right in front of him.

One. Two. Three.

Foul.

One. Two. Three.

Foul.

Killian’s stomach flips, his entire hand going white, and Will is grabbing onto Killian’s forearm so tightly that he could break the bone there.

One.

Two.

Three.

There’s a thwack of ball against Booth’s back, and it absolutely flies into the air. It’s flying, and Killian nearly jumps out of the dugout to get a better view of where it’s going. It’s got to be a home run. It’s got to be. That’s where it’s headed, and Killian’s arms break out in gooseflesh beneath the thick material of his sweatshirt.

They’re about to win the fucking World Series for the second time in a row.

Holy shit.

But then the ball dips.

It dips, right at the line of the back fence, and the ball is caught.

The. Ball. Is. Caught.

The ball is caught, Booth is out, and the game is over.

And just like the ball, Killian’s mood dips, every high hope crashing down around him and weighing down on his shoulders while his stomach flips before everything heavily settles in its place. This isn’t how today was supposed to end. They were supposed to come back from their bad start. They were supposed to win.

They didn’t, though. They lost, and even though Killian tries to be encouraging to everyone around him as they all finish up their post-game on-field routines, in his head he knows that they’ve only got one more shot at this.

They’ve got one more shot, and a lot of it is resting in the palm of his hands. Killian has been a screw up for this team so many times before, and he doesn’t know if he can do that again.

He can’t let everyone down again.

The mood is subdued in the clubhouse as everyone strips out of their clothes, just a constant murmuring of curses and complaints. Even Al is quiet when he’d usually be fired up yelling at everyone, a combination of disbarring comments and encouragements, and that may be the most shocking part of it all.

Reporters begin to fill the room as well as agents and wives and the occasional child, and Killian sits in his locker with his head between his legs taking several deep breaths to calm himself down. His heart is beating far too quickly. It’s thumping in between his ears, and that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

It’s simply not.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft and very much Emma’s, and Killian looks up to see her softly smiling down at him, Jeff no longer trailing behind her with his camera.

The smile that stretches across his lips is forced and half-assed, and he knows that Emma can tell. She steps in between his knees so that his head rests against her stomach while her hands brush through his sweaty hair. They don’t say anything else, simply stay there together while Killian breathes in the scent of Emma’s perfume on her sweater and shivers run down his spine at her touch.

He is undeniably a fan of every part of her, but being able to simply be, to exist, with her is one of his favorites. There’s nothing quite so soothing as knowing the person you love will always be by your side no matter what happens.

They lost. They did. It’s what happened, and there’s no changing it.

Tomorrow is the last chance.

It all comes down to the last one.

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @onepunintendid​ @authorarsinoe​ @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog​ @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ @carpedzem​ @tornadoamy​

[mollymauk-teafleak]

apricity for fjorclay? xxxxxx

boop boop trans cad is pregonate

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3

apricity: (n.) the warmth of the sun in the winter

—-

Caduceus didn’t realise where he was going, where his feet were taking him, until he was nearly there. When he realised, he gave a resigned sigh and kept going.

Some things didn’t change. Even when you thought they had.

The clearing was tucked away so neatly behind some overgrown hawthorn bushes that you’d never know it was there unless you pushed through them. Cad wasn’t fool enough to think that there was a single corner of the Blooming Grove that his family didn’t know about but this was always the easiest place to pretend he had privacy.

However, he did remember squirming between these bushes to be a lot easier when he was a little one. And when he wasn’t eight months pregnant.

It was still doable, however, with a whispered plea to the bushes themselves to just give him a break. He must have sounded suitably exhausted because they parted immediately, heavy berries swaying with the movement, the frost that encased them catching the pale sunlight. Cad thanked them sincerely and stepped once again into his childhood bolt hole.

A twisted ash tree, ancient and wearing fungus and polypores the way an aging dame would wear fabulous jewels, had been bowed by time and wind and winters like this one, it’s branches spreading out to form a slightly domed roof. The trunk was sunken slightly, giving a perfect place to set your back and sit beneath it and everything was always close and slightly warmer than it was beyond. The way the shadows fell, like fingers, it made Cad feel like he was in the grasp of someone, small and supported and safe. He felt hidden.

Easing himself down against the tree was more difficult now he was large and unwieldy, in far less control of his body than he’d ever been. But he managed. He sighed and let his eyes close, deflating a little, putting a hand on his stomach the way he’d been doing ever since he was made aware of the three little lives taking shape inside it.

He needed to stop getting worked up like that. It wasn’t good for the babies.

Cad hadn’t meant to get frustrated, he never did. But it was getting harder and harder to bite down on thoughts he never even would have entertained back when he was younger and the Grove was the only home he knew and ever expected to know. Back then, he’d just turned them into a hard little knot in the back of his mind and covered them with other thoughts, telling himself sternly that he had no right to entertain them. They were his parents. They were his family.

They were always right and he wasn’t.

But then maybe if he hadn’t spent his childhood and adolescence thinking that way, he would have spent less hours sitting in this little clearing wondering why he was angry and feeling guilty about it.

Caduceus exhaled and leaned back, grimacing slightly at an internal kick aimed directly at something vital inside him, “Hey, hey…”

“They’re still acting up, huh?”

Caduceus looked up, not surprised or startled, though he did blush. Fjord’s entrance through the hawthorns wasn’t as smooth and he ended up with curls of cracked ice on his shoulders and a few twigs in his hair, though he seemed far more focused on Caduceus.

“It’s a little cold to be sitting outside,” Fjord approached gently, like his husband might bolt again, “Don’t you think?”

“I don’t get cold easy,” Cad shrugged, trying not to sound petulant, like Fjord wasn’t right to be treating him with kid gloves right now, “I’m covered in fur and my stomach’s a space heater.”

Fjord laughed at that, though it wasn’t meant to be a joke. He came up and gestured to the spot next to Cad, “Can I sit there?”

Cad swallowed, touched that Fjord would ask permission, nodding hard. He realised then how much he wanted him near. As soon as he was seated, the frost covered grass crunching underneath him, Cad leaned into his shoulder. He was wearing the battered old coat Cad liked to see him in, the one he’d given him way back when they’d started dating, worried his fur-less boyfriend would get too cold in the winter.  

“So…I was out back chopping logs for your mother but it sounds like you and your brother had a bit of a bust up?” Fjord began levelly.

Cad felt his cheeks heat up more, “He just…he just made some comment.”

“Ah,” Fjord made a non committal sound, waiting to see if his husband would elaborate.

“Just something about the city not being a good place to raise children,” Cad muttered, “He wasn’t…I mean, it’s just his opinion but…”

Fjord nodded slowly, pulling in closer, both because he could tell Caduceus needed some comfort and because he was growing cold.

“They’re still acting like my moving out was some reckless teenage thing,” he eventually got out, voice shrinking, “Like they’re still waiting for me to realise it was a mistake and come home with my tail between my legs. They don’t understand it’s my life now.”

Fjord nodded, reaching over to put a hand on his knee, “They do seem like they’re trying to be very…patient.”

“Exactly!” relief seemed to flood Cad’s features and suddenly the words were pouring out, “It’s just the same as when I brought Charlie home with us. They still see me as a little kid, like they don’t have to take anything I do seriously because it’s ‘oh, Cad will come to his senses soon and come back and run the Grove while we go do exactly what we’re telling him he shouldn’t be doing’…and it isn’t fair! It’s not fair to you or Charlie or the babies or…or me!”

Cad winced as those last words echoed through the clearing, caught in the ash’s fingers and bounced back at him. His ears fell and he cringed, like he was expecting someone to come and punish him immediately for saying what he’d said.

But Fjord only looked at him with a gentle sadness, hand still stroking his knee, “Cad, you’re allowed to feel what you feel. There isn’t anything wrong with being frustrated with the people you’re closest to. I mean, hell, you get annoyed with me sometimes, right? And you still love me.”

Cad blushed at that, “But you’re perfect…”

Fjord chuckled, leaning in and kissing his cheek. His lips were cold.

“I’m not. No one is, not even your family. But they adore you. Love’s funny, it sometimes makes you say things and think things that, in the end, aren’t best for everyone. But part of loving people is being able to say what you’re feeling and work with them to make everyone happy again.”

Cad bit his lip, nodding slowly, hands coming to cradle his belly like a comfort blanket, “I know…and I love them too. I really do. That’s why I wanted to have my babies here.”

“And we’ll all love them just as much too,” Fjord shrugs, “And we’ll make mistakes too and work through them and get better because of them. That’s how family works.”

Cad exhaled, resting back against the tree, looking up through the branches. The sunlight caught in the snow resting in the forks and boughs and turning the leaves to glass, split and shone in all directions.

“When did you get so insightful?” he murmured.

Fjord laughed, “When you sent me to therapy.”

“Oh yes. I remember. That makes sense.”

Fjord grinned, leaning in and kissing him again. Cad turned to meet it this time, catching his mouth, ears twitching happily. It lasted a good few heartbeats, the only sound around them the song of the birds who braved the snow.

Eventually, Cad drew back and sighed, “Okay…best go back to the house, I have some apologies to make. And a conversation to have, I suppose.”

“Alright,” Fjord nodded, “Let me know if you’re getting worked up though. Stressful situations can trigger labour.”

“I might be okay with that,” Cad winced as he rose up and all his new weight surged downwards again, concentrating in his already unhappy ankles and tailbone, “Joking.” Fjord had been spending the last eight months fretting constantly and he wasn’t eager to set him off.

As adorable as it was.

“And you are perfect,” he added, catching Fjord’s hand and threading their fingers together, “Just so you know.”

[itisannak]

Losing You (Harry Styles Angst)

My feet barely hold me up, walking for so long is a real-life nightmare. But I am used to real-life nightmares. I rest my hand on my bump, taking a shallow breath and walking up the small hill. At least he has a view… I take a sip of my water, trying not to sound too tired or out-of-breath when I get to him. Sighing, I take the last few steps. I can see it from where I stand; it’s been a while since the last time, not too long for me to get over it yet. I sit on the grass, bringing my knees as close to my chest as my bump lets me to. I run my fingers over the marble, feeling how cold it is today, even though the sun is up. ”She is almost here, you know. She is moving all the time, and I swear, at any minute, I will pop.” I chuckle, stroking my belly. ”She is almost here… But you are not. I still don’t get it, Hazza… I still don’t get how you are gone. You know, I haven’t been here since the funeral. My doctor said it stresses the baby. But I just wanted to see it once more, get my brain around the fact you are 6 feet deep in the ground when you should have been painting the nursery and writing lullabies for our daughter… I can barely stay at our house. It reminds me of you and our memories, and it sucks. I might find comfort in it one day, but now it hurts me so much… I cry myself to sleep every night. How could you leave? How could you do that to me? I have been going through the circles of grief every day, all of the stages on the same day. Only to reach acceptance every evening and go all over again at night, every time I try to close my eyes. What am I gonna tell her? What am I going to, Harry? I have been going through the conversation in my head, hoping that by the time she asks, I will be ready. But how am I supposed to be ready? I have been going to therapy… My sister dragged me to it. But it doesn’t work, not yet. I hate talking about it, but I love talking about you so that only reopens the wound. At the funeral, so many people told me so many stupid things. That one day I will find love again, that one day this will become numb and it won’t hurt so much. That at least I will have our daughter… But how can I find love again when I have had my one true love, the one and only love I needed? How can this pain become numb? I pray to God that she doesn’t look like you, because she will remind me of this pain constantly. But then I pray she does because she will be the last thing that would be tying me to you. Gosh, I don’t even know anymore… It’s like the day I buried you, all my common sense left me. My friends say that it is harder for me to accept it because I am pregnant and my hormones are all over the place. But I think it would be the same at any point it would happen. I wish it didn’t happen. I wish it hadn’t happen… But it happened and I guess at some point I should move on. Anyway, on to happier stuff. My doctor said she is almost in position, so going in labor can happen at any minute. Your sister will be in the room with me, she promised to cut the cord carefully. I know we agreed on naming her Sydney since she was conceived there, but I want to name her Harriet… Give her a little something of her dad… That way she gets to keep you forever.” I sob, biting my lip and moaning as I feel my chest tightening. ”I have to go… I can’t stay out for long, I get tired so easily.” I push my body off the grass, trying not to lose my balance. I touch the tombstone, grazing my fingers over it softly. ”Soon, we will meet again my love… Soon. Until then, farewell, sweet angel…” I sigh, feeling my cheeks turn hot from the urge to sob my eyes out, stay here and talk to him, hope this will bring him back. But it won’t. I know it won’t.

 I open my eyes, gasping for air. Harry is hovering above me, rubbing my arm and trying to soothe me. ”It was a dream… Just a dream, my love. Whatever it was, it is far gone…” He states, reaching for the nightstand to give me some water. ”You are here.” I gasp, touching his arm to make sure he is alive, next to me and breathing. ”I am here.” He sounds confused but still tries to comfort me. ”I saw you were dead. And I was visiting your grave…” I am still upset, but watching him take care of me gives me some peace of mind. ”(Y/N), I am here, sunshine. And I am not dying any time soon… It was a nightmare, my love. And now it is over. I am here, you are here. Syd is here, safe, moving inside your tummy. We are all ok.” He hugs me, pecking on my forehead repeatedly. ”Are you sure? You don’t feel sick, or anything?” I ask him and he shakes his head no. ”I am perfectly fine. It’s pregnancy stress, love. Nothing is wrong.” He assures me, cupping my face with his hands and bringing me to kiss his lips. ”I want you to do a full check-up, just to be sure. Please.” I plead for him, making Harry sigh but nod. ”If it is going to make you calmer, darling, we can go to the doctor tomorrow. But, I am telling you, I am not going anywhere. I am not leaving you and Sydney alone. I am not leaving my girls… I am not leaving the love of my life…” He helps me lay on my back, placing a hand on my tummy. ”I was thinking that maybe… Maybe we could name her Harriet… It is sweet and I like the idea of her being your spitting image, name and all.” I suggest, rubbing my thumb over his hand. ”Harriet, huh? Wanna know a secret? I was never a big fan of Sydney, either way. I like Harriet, though…” He whispers, stroking my bump. ”Of course you do…” I whisper back, tilting my head to the side so I can press my lips on his.

[rpausandwhatifs]

There’s This Guy|| Elliot Drabble

@danhowell-rp

@felixpierp

@shanedawson-rp

Elliot had been fighting it for so long, that it was causing him to lose sleep. He didn’t want to bring it up in family therapy because maybe he could learn how to work through his problems without a trained mental health professional in the room. It wasn’t the best decision, but he had walked himself out of his room and down the stairs. Making sure on the way down that the girl was still outside.

Persi had been doing this futile assignment her therapist gave to her to read a book about personality disorders and anxiety to help her answer her questions and move along in her sessions to a point where she wouldn’t need to take them. They were visiting in London with Bryony, but the three parents had stepped out for a little while and trusted that the two were old enough to look after themselves. A beautiful day, she had her hair out of her ponytail, allowing herself to relax in order to get settled into the book. Criss-cross applesauced under the tree, she viewed the pages and started to fill her head with the words, her long orange locks blowing in the wind. It was a rare and gentle moment for her. 

Elliot watches from the sliding door and begins to think about what he’s about to do. He’s basically giving her (and Persephone) cannon fodder, and he has a hard enough time as it is trying to figure out all of this out. Who knows? It might even be a passing thing but he wanted to test it on someone other than his parents, who he felt like would be uncomfortable at best, and probably disgusted worst-case scenario. Plus, Persi is gay(?), right? It won’t feel weird if he is, but it might be the person; you can’t help who you love, right?

The boy was so tangled in his thoughts that his saunter through the grass made him trip on his own awkward feet, exclaiming before tumbling in front of her. He sighed and stared at the sky a little longer on his back, his entire train of thought derailed.

Look, Elliot! It’s your cousin Harlan!

Baby cousin! Gimme a hug!

...

H-heyy Harlan...coming to babysit?

Yeah, but first I gotta finish my homework, your parents aren’t leaving for a little while...c’mere I’m not a stranger gimme a hug, cuz!

...

Ugh! Your sister snuck out again *sighs*...

*shrugs* You can call Papa and Otosan, and then come back, we can play a game- Oooo! Dibs on the good controller!

Du är så lat! Just go upstairs and get the other on.

The-then I’ll lose...

Then wrestle me for it! Show me how strong you are!

Y-You’re so big! I hate wrestling...

Why do you hate wrestling?

Because Persi is too big and she hurts my arm...

Do you like..wrestle with other boys?

Ew, no...why would I do that?

Cus sometimes boys wrestle! I wrestle with Reiner and stuff.

Again. Not me. Also huge. And ew. 

Okej! Jag fattar!..And stop saying “ew.”

Stop talking other than English.

Make me...*looks at him, raises brows* Jag slår vad om att du inte kommer

Ha-harlan..

Tell me why it’s gross to wrestle boys.

...

“Ellie,” Persi said, “Yo, why are you being weird?...Helllooo!” 

Elliot snapped out of it and turned his head to look at his sister, “Huh?”

“The fuck?!”

“Papa told us not to curse,” he replied, turning his head toward her.

“I don’t care. You came out here, ate shit on my patch of grass, then stared at the clouds...*sighs* What do you want?”

“I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“*scoffs* Oh that’s easy! You were born. Next question.”

“Noo! Persi...I-I-I’m...I think I’m a bigot.”

“Bigot? Do you even know what that word means?”

“I don’t like people...right?”

“No, dumbass-”

“I’m serious, Persi! Stop! I think I have a problem with sombeody...”

“Oh! Is someone picking on you?” she finally caught on, straightening and narrowing her eyes.

“Well...It’s hard to explain...”

“Is it a teacher? Another kid at school?..School bus?” she asked sitting up, feeling her chest drop that someone might be bullying her baby brother.

“He’s older than you...” he says sheephisly.

“Ew! Did you say something to Dad or Dan?”

“N-No...” he feels like the world is closing in on him.

“Some fucking perv is diddling you and I have to say something. Ellie this is serious shit, how long has this been going on? Do you know where he lives?”

“N-No! I-I-It’s something wrong with me...” he timidly tries to explain, finally sitting up and leaning over and points to his chest, urging his sister to keep her voice down.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. What he’s doing is wrong and that fucko is about to go to jail!” Persi exclaimed, shutting her book and starting to stand up when Elliot grabbed her arm in attempt to get her to sit back down, then jerking away from him, “NO ONE FUCKS WITH MY BABY BROTHER! Come on, we’re telling Dad.”

“STOP!” he yelled, his voice cracked, “It’s not like that! I don’t think I like...act like a normal boy, or I don’t think I like boys like Harlan or if I’m supposed to grow up like...I WANNA WRESTLE WITH HIM AND I DON’T KNOW HOW!”

“...W-...Is Harlan diddling you?” Persi whipped around to face her brother, the disgust on her face, “Wait, what? I dunno what you’re trying to say...Is he making you uncomfortable or touching you in the no-no zone?”

“N-No, no! Nothing like that! I just...I guess...can you like teach me how to wrestle with Harlan?”

Persi was completely perplexed by her brother's request, "Huh? What? Why? And why Harlan specifically?"

"Well if you were here that one time he was babysitting me he wanted to wrestle and I said ew and he told me it was bad to say ew to wrestling with other boys."

"Wait, like how him and Reiner wrestle? Like how boys just kinda roughhouse? Why do you say ew? That's weird."

"'Cus it's the first thing I say when he says it, but it's not how I felt. I dunno why I said it, and that's why I said that something is wrong with me and one of my friends called me a bigot because I don't like touching boys, but I like touching boys, I just don't know how."

Persi sat back down slowly and attempted to digest what her brother was explaining. She watched him try to use as much as his sixth grade vocabulary can muster. It made sense enough that his friends weren't helping him much, but the whole thing with Harlan wasn't clicking for her. Her eyes looked to the sky as she pushed her hair back and sighed, "You...Do you think you're not tough enough?" she asked.

"That's, like, part of it, but my friends don't wrestle, and I don't hang out with like big boys like Reiner or Harlan."

"So you want to learn how to wrestle because you want to wrestle with Harlan to be tougher?" she asked carefully.

"Kinda. I wanna learn how to wrestle so that I can only wrestle with Harlan," he admits with confidence.

"So the word you were looking for is probably homophobe. Just thought I let you know. However, if I think you're saying what I think you're saying then I really think you need to talk to Dad or Dan."

"I don't think they would understand-OWwwwwah!"

"Fucking idiot! Our parents are gay grown up boys! Gay means you like boys!" she bursted, extending a leg out to kick his, "You're not a bigot, though, and you're not a homophobe. Thank God."

"So you're calling me gay?" he asked, sitting up on his elbows.

"No. I'm calling the feeling you have towards Harlan gay...do you like girls?" she corrected him then asked swiftly as to not cause any awkward tension.

"I mean yeah, who doesn't?"

"Bigots and gay boys."

"So I'm a bigot," he nods and offers his answer, causing the girl to throw her foot down into his chest and knocking him back, "OWwwah! Get your dirty foot off me! This is my Versace shirt Otosan bought me!"

"How dumb are you?" she asked with a bite.

"Dumb enough to lay in the grass and think your foot is dirtier than the actual dirt I'm sitting in."

"Maybe you are a bigot," she scoffed, but trying not to be too mean on her innocent sibling.

"Seriously, Persi! What do I do?" Elliot whined, "Tell meeee!.."

"Alright, alright! Stop crying...Well. Do you wanna wrestle for real or do you wanna like they do on TV?" she asked.

"There's a difference?"

"Oh my god- yes! Absolutely!" she exclaimed.

"What's the difference? D-Don't show me!.."

"Uh, Reiner did competition wrestling for a while...And that's like sumo where you're trying to make him tap out or go outside the circle. The one on TV, which is fake, by the way, is a lot more slamming and jump moves and got some interesting drama," she said with a smile.

"Who's cuter?" Elliot asked innocently.

"What's your thing? Like why do you wanna wrestle Harlan?"

"He's..big..?"

"Not enough! I like Reiner and he's big. Do you like being held or do you like bonding with him or something like that? You understand that these are contact sports, right?" she folded her arms.

"Oh...ew."

"Why ew?"

"Because my friends and I don't play contact sports."

"Well then you're just gonna have to be different. Teach them and see if they like it."

"Again, I only wanna do it with Harlan."

"Stop dancing around why you like Harlan so much and just tell me."

"Uhh...cus..I-I'm not supposed to. He's our cousin. You can't have a crush on family."

"He's not our family technically...not blood anyway."

"What?"

"That's why I'm not completely grossed out. See, you're old enough now so I can tell you."

"What? That I'm adopted?"

"Harlan is, actually..."

"Wait...really?"

"Well, technically. Harlan has a mommy, but she couldn't take care of him, so Uncle Felix and Uncle Shane adopted him."

"Whoaa...but is it still wrong?"

"Yes, because he's too old. He's got 10 years on you, easily."

"Well can I still tell him how I feel?"

"Absolutely! He’ll still probably answer more of your questions, too."

Elliot was finally able to relax, pushing his hair back from his forehead and let it flop back down. Persi started to pick up her book and opened it to try and find where she left off. He watched her, sucking his teeth, causing her to flip the book and inhale sharply, widening her eyes at him. "Teach me to wrestle!" he whined, "And stop hurting my arm! C'mon! We fly back to the states tomorrow and I wanna try it with him."

"Ugh! Fine!" Persi said, moving her book and getting on her knees, "Get up, just like this." 

Elliot moves as his sister puts her hair in a ponytail, "Alright! What do I do?" he asks, taking a heavy huff to prepare himself.

"Mentally prepare yourself to be grabbed...Physics dictates that your lower torso is the center of gravity so he's gonna grab your torso to get you off your feet and knock you on your ass."

"Ew-OWwwaah!" he exclaimed at Persi slamming her palm into his forehead, followed by her bonking him on the top.

"Stop. Saying. Ew. Open your knees and brace yourself," Persi said.

"H-How else do I prepare?" he asked, his shoulders still wound up. She puts her hands on his shoulders, trying to roll them.

"You've gotta loosen up. You can think clearer if your muscles aren't tense...What did it for you? With Harlan?" she asked, showing him to shake out his nerves.

"Arms...I-wow!...I like-yeah- I like his arms,” Elliot surprised himself with how automatic the response flew from his lips, then realizing how his heart felt to say it. 

“That’s normal. And yeah he’s got nice arms, makes his hugs feel like you can trust him,” Persi said. 

“When do you not trust a hug?” Elliot asked with a raised eyebrow.

“If you’ve been heartbroken, you’re me, or their energy is wayy off. Now, when I approach you I’ll try and go easy but I want you to try push back and pin me to the ground,” Persi explained, making sure to lock eyes with her brother, and get herself in position to tackle him with a small expectation he’d go down like he always does, “Ready? It’s gonna happen fast.” She recieves a nod, but just before he pushes her shoulders a little.

“Hey..uhh Persi?” he asked nervously.

“Hm? What?” she asked, popping her head up.

“I’d trust a hug from you, Persephone, too! Also, uh, thanks for not being whole jerk...” he admitted with a little smile. 

Persephone looked at the boy and grimaced, but Persi felt like she might well up with tears because she really didn’t think she was a good sister, let alone he could trust with Persephone and everything, but she figures they should since their circumstances are unique.

[One Week Later]

“So...how was England?” Harlan asked, sitting on the couch, leaning back and flipping through something to watch as he settled into the easiest $200 he’s ever made. Persi had to go to work for the night and since her parents didn’t know when she’d be back (or if she was coming back that night), Harlan could use the down time and the money for when he went back to school after summer break.

“It was cool as usual, my mom, dad, and Otosan went out more by themselves so Persi and I got to hang out,” he started, watching the other’s sweatshirt-clad arms rest by his head, while he chose something to watch, settling by adjusting his hips into the couch. For the first time, Elliot was sweating, and not because it was too hot or because he rarely got in trouble, but because of the boy’s dark brown hair lazily gelled on top into a neat quiff, the soft curve of his body molded into the couch, making his sweatshirt ride up a little, “Uhh...how’s college?”

“UHm...I’m really busy. Was doing a lot of work and then I had a few projects. I like the library up there. The events are pretty fun. I was a little surprised freshman year but they don’t..do much for sophomores,” he said, looking at him with a sigh then furrowed his brows when he saw Elliot, “You okay? You feeling alright?”

“I think I like boys...” Elliot says, not realizing how quickly he jumped into the topic, “But I-I’m new a-and...Persi said for me to ask you for some advice.”

Harlan tried to understand what he was saying and sat up a little more, “Elliot...you know I’m too old for you, right?...I didn’t mean to make you feel nervous or uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I know...but uhh..you made me realize it, so in a way you’re responsible  for making me like this,” Elliot started, getting a little more comfortable and uncrossing his arms, slinking into the couch with him.

“Oh, am I really?..What’d I do?” Harlan chuckled lightly, tilting his head up and shaking his head a little in disbelief.

“I learned how to wrestle because I wanted to wrestle with you. Also, I sorta learned how homophobic it was to say ew all the time.”

“Ahh...so your sister is a good influence on you...” he said with a nod, smiling still to keep from spilling over with a giggle, he wiped his mouth and scratched his little hairs growing along his jawline just clustered enough to say he was trying to grow a beard. 

“Yeah well, sometimes she’s good. I just wish sometimes was a little more often, but she’s still my sister and I love’r!” Elliot says pridefully, then backing up a little when Harlan looks at him, “Uhh..uhm yeah, she said this means I’m starting to go through puberty, but I gotta ask my dads about it.”

“Well I’ll tell you right now, it sucks, like pojke gör det jävla suger...enjoy being young, Elliot. Revel in that innocence for as long as you can...but if I heard you correctly, you said you wanted to wrestle me?” Harlan caught him before he wavered off and downplayed his gesture. 

“Uhh y-yeah, but I just wanted to learn because I like how...uhh..strong you are~ and uhh it feels really nice to get hugs from you,” Elliot continued, not expecting him to pick up on it, his sweat getting a little worse as he struggled to look the boy in the eye that was staring him down. 

“Bluush! Är du inte en söt?~..There’s nothing good on anyway..so get up, lemme see what you got! I’ll go easy on you as long as you’re not weird about it, okay?” Harlan mentioned as he sat up, slapping the boy’s knee as he got up.

“Uhh I’ll-I’ll try..maybe we should have a code word for if it’s too much?” Elliot asked, slowly getting up as he felt like he was about to throw up, but he could practically imagine living in the boy’s arms. Harlan rolling his sleeves up and standing over him just caused his knees to weaken just a little more. He didn’t remember him being this big, or brawny, or smelling so good.

“HOw aboouutt...hm..what’s your favourite colour?” he asked, taking in the boy’s obvious hesitation at approaching him.

“Black,” he answered quickly.

Harlan rolled his eyes at his selection and shook his head, then asking again, “What’s your second favourite colour?”

“Why doesn’t black work?” he quickly asked back.

“Too many hard consonants. If you can’t breathe, you can’t get your lips together to create blah noise and the ack is just gonna sound like you straining against me. Pick another colour,” he quickly explained as he tried to fashion a ring out of some pillows and throws.

“Oh. Orange then. I like how it sounds! OORRaannnggggEEE....”Elliot added, which made Harlan giggle and nod, shuffling over towards the circle in the middle of the room, “Oh hey can you just talk to me about how this whole puberty thing goes? I really don’t feel all that jazzed about asking my parents..I’m their baby and all..”

“Maybe later, cus I wanna talk to them first to make sure it’s okay. Especially since you have this little crush on me, men jag berättar inte för dem om det...” Harlan said shaking out his limbs and getting on his knees while he rolled his neck, “That’ll be just between us boys.”

Elliot got a wave of excitement and anxiety, a little frustrated that he spoke in Swedish over whatever the last part of the sentence was, but he thinks he’s not gonna tell his parents. It made him wonder, but it also made him worry. Was he just not going to tell them right away? Was Persi onto something about Harlan being a perv? His head was swirling and he was both scared and confused, which Persi told him he needed to clear his head before he engaged in a fight or any sort of activity like this. “Yeah..uhh yeah..sure..” He awkwardly gets on his knees and stares at Harlan before thinking of something that might calm him down, “H-Hey, Harlan?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Uhh before we start..c-c..would it be too much to ask for a hug?” he asked, shy and timid and feeling the full weight of his question despite what he’d just explained. 

“Sure. Anytime. Never saw harm in a hug,” he says brightly and pulls his forearms in as he embraces him. It was so surreal to think that Elliot looked to him as such an influence. Elliot squeezed against the boy and sighed a huge deep sigh, allowing his body to relax into his. Harlan rubbed his back a little, feeling him relax, giving him a soft kiss on the top of his head before giving him a playful shove, “Alright, now come on, cuz! Ge mig allt du har!“

[shreddedparchment]

You’re My Mission Pt.11

It’s My Fault, I Wasn’t Sure What I Wanted. 

09/30/2018

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 11,964

Masterpost

Warnings: Violence, blood, angst, you’re gonna hate me again

A/N: Man, I have been so excited to get this one out because it’s such a huge turning point for Bucky and the reader and now that I’ve written I don’t know if it’s any good. I feel like it might suck...I’m also really sleepy. I’ve been working on it since I got out of work and the day before too. So from 7 p.m. until now 3:40a.m. I’m sorry if it doesn’t make any sense. xoxo Sleepy...Also, I might take a few days to rest now. So if you’re hard up, check out my other series, The End of the World. It’s a Thor x Reader series but it’s close to my heart and also will eventually tie into this one.

*The reader is never described save for strength and muscle growth. The pictures I use do not indicate skin color of the reader, ethnicity, or body shape and the images are used simply for reference to certain styles or aesthetics.

Another dance. Another club. Another night of possibilities. Or that’s how you want to see it. Last night when you’d returned from the lake soaking wet after your swim with Nat, you're pleasantly surprised to see Bucky leaning against the outer wall of your hut.

For once he isn't fidgeting. He stands there staring down at the coarse yellow grass that surrounds your hut compound and doesn’t seem to notice you at first when you approach.

You’re very aware of the way your white shirt clings to your body, see through because you’re still wet. You reach down and pull the shirt from your skin, but it clings to you again so trying to pull it away is pointless.

Luckily, it’s getting darker. In the darkening sky, Bucky is bathed in the orange light of dusk and you take the moment to appreciate the way his arms stretch the fabric of the white t-shirt he's pulled on over his black muscle tee.

You lick your lips finally ready to be seen and clear your throat.

Bucky looks up, his eyes though are not the same bright happiness they were earlier in the afternoon when the possibility of the two of you seemed so clear. Still, you can see that he is happy to see you.

His lips curve up into a small smile and he pushes from the wall to approach you.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You feel unsure as he closes the distance between you and stops about three feet away. You don’t know how to address him or what to say exactly. This is all so unfamiliar and you’re not even sure where the two of you stand.

“I came to see you.” He admits.

The energy between the two of you is different and though it makes you nervous, it pleases you.

“Oh.” You look down, smiling and then biting your lip because his voice is soft as he speaks to you, and never did you think you’d hear him sound so gentle with you. If you’re honest however, the night when you’d been in Shuri’s lab recovering from your wounded had, he’d sounded very similar before Steve had arrived. You’ve never heard this tone before however, not even when you’ve overheard him talking with Kara.

What does this mean?

You kick at a small grey stone by your feet and watch as Bucky's feet come into view, reducing the distance between you to a foot.

You look up finding his blue eyes warm and inviting.

“I uh…I know things have been a little,” He narrows his eyes, straining to find the right word to describe what he’s trying to say. “Strained? Between us. It's my fault I wasn’t sure what I wanted. What I was prepared for…”

You watch him struggle with his thoughts and realize that he’s still struggling with what he seems to want. That was the reason for the lack of pure happiness in his eyes. That’s what was different about this afternoon and this moment right now.

He looks down at your feet and frowns for a moment before he looks back into your eyes, his blue eyes reflecting a strange torture you’ve never seen before. You were discovering so much about Bucky now that things were shifting. Where was that pain in his eyes coming from?

“I'm not safe, Y/N for anyone and I-"

“Y/N?” Aman's voice floats out from the compound and a second later his beautiful face peeks out from the outer wall doorway. “I heard voices, is everything alright?”

You turn to look at Aman with wide eyes, annoyed by the interruption but understanding of his worry. He knows Bucky as Sergeant Barnes, the man who has given you hell for months.

He must find it suspicious, seeing you and Bucky standing only a foot apart, looking into each other's eyes. Though Bucky stands with his hands held behind his back, the way he’s leaning in towards you is startling.

“Yes, I’m fine, Aman. Thank you.” You turn back to Bucky and keep your eyes on his chest as you wait for Aman to take the hint.

“Okay…” Aman says slowly, warily. “I’m right inside if you need me.”

You shut your eyes. He’s so sweet but he needs to go away. “Okay, thanks.”

When you open your eyes and look up at Bucky his mouth is curved into an amused grin.

“What?” You demand.

“You have very protective friends. I’m glad.”

“Well, he just worries. He’s seen how-"

“How cruel I’ve been?” His smile is gone again, and he sighs heavily as he considers you. After a moment he brings his right hand forward and takes your left one gently between his fingers.

“You’re going to Nat's surprise party tomorrow night, right?” His thumb is stroking the back of your hand and it's so distracting that you struggle to find your voice.

“Er…yes. Of course. Nat knows by the way. It was stupid of Steve to think he could surprise a former assassin.” You shake your head and relish in the warmth of Bucky's fingers around yours.

“But Steve’ll keep trying.” Bucky says, amused as he huffs a laugh.

“Y/N, dinner is ready.” Aman's voice floats out towards you again.

“Jesus…” You say under your breath. “Okay, Aman, I’ll be right there.”

“You should go. Eat. Tomorrow's training is cancelled. That’s why I came, to let you know. Steve is demanding I help with the planning and preparation.”

“Oh.” You nod, disappointment coating your tone.

“But I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Bucky assures you.

This softness of his has you so thrown that you struggle to nod. His voice is so gentle no sign of annoyance or irritation. He’s surrendered his tough front completely and for the first time you can fully see the sweet man underneath. The unsure man.

“Okay.”

He releases your hand and moves around you.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night.” You watch his retreating back and smile when he turns to look at you one last time.

When he’s gone you turn and march straight into your compound. You’re gonna kill Aman.

Spending the early morning shopping is not how you like to start your day. You’re not exactly averse to retail therapy. You like shopping when necessary and occasionally for recreation, but you have to be in the mood! So, having to shop for an outfit for the night drives you a little crazy. Especially since Nat is with you and she’s also unhelpful at choosing outfits.

“Why does it have to be the eighties?” Nat asks, her husky voice full of annoyance as she sifts through several tops on a rack in one of the more affordable vintage shops in the Golden City.

“I guess Steve liked it. He got T’Challa to rent out the entire club.” You rifle through a stack of shorts and frown because you don’t see anything you’re willing to wear.

You don’t want to do a skirt again. It was too short last time and you were cold while you were in the club though you gave it little thought as distracted as you were at the time.

“You know, it’s going to give it away completely when you show up already dressed in an eighties inspired outfit.” You smile, finding it so cute that Steve wants to try and surprise his friend. He’s like a big kid sometimes and it amuses you. He’s so serious most of the time, it’s nice to see him cut loose. You wish Bucky would cut loose too.

Your smile is wiped away by a sad pout at the idea of Bucky and his tortured eyes from the night before.

“Serves him right trying to surprise a former assassin. He’ll be so disappointed.” She turns towards you and laughs lightly as you shake your head at the amusement she gets from disappointing Steve.

You move over to a new stack of clothes and begin to rifle again.

“Find anything?” Nat wonders and moves over to see the stack of shirts you’re going through.

“No. Let’s try another shop.” You move for the door and lead the way out of the small shop and head towards another vintage shop you know of where the prices are a little higher.

You and Nat meander down the bustling walkway avoiding people as they hustle about their Friday morning. “Steve told us that you all might have to really go on the run soon.”

Well, if you’re being honest, he told Bucky and you eavesdropped.

“We’ve had a few close calls. That’s why we’re all here now. Regrouping for a bit before we really start to move. It’s going to be hell but nothing new.” She shrugs, moving aside as a toddler runs between the two of you with his mother chasing him shouting in a language you don’t understand. She’s not angry however, she’s laughing as he runs, and you smile at the sight.

“Maybe you should change your hair?” You offer, and Nat looks at you, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I mean, your red is beautiful but it’s not exactly incognito. Dying your hair a different color might help you avoid being spotted on some cameras at the very least. Out of the three of you, I hate to say it but you’re the most noticeable with that red hair.”

“You’re right.” She agrees, reaching up to touch her red locks. “I could get a cut too.”

“Ooh, right here.” You push her into a small salon and shove her into the nearest seat while a startled hair dresser greets the two of you. Maybe it’s too early because you two are the only ones in the salon. “It’s on me. Happy birthday.”

Nat falls onto the soft and plush purple seat and watches you with a small smile. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“I’ll go check the other shop while you get your hair reworked.” You don’t wait for her to reply but you can hear her try and protest.

“No, wait!” She calls out as you disappear through the door.

You move into the shop a few doors down with a thatch roof awning and colorful red clay walls with several white designs around the large windows. Once inside, you marvel at the beautiful refurbished wood walls and floors. They didn’t even paint over the labels, stamps, and stencils of the wooden items they used to build their shop. It was the most unique interior you’ve ever seen.

You’re greeted by a nice young black woman with a crown of tightly coiled curls colored in a stunning teal. “Welcome, can I help you find something?”

“Actually, my friend and I are going to a party tonight and they have it themed around the eighties. Do you have anything vintage from around that time?” You wait as she nods then motions you towards a rack towards the back of the shop.

“We just got a few items in a few days ago. You’re in luck. Lots of good stuff. Do you need any help making a selection?” She asks, kindly smiling as she stands off to the side after showing you the two new racks of clothes.

“No. I think I’ve got it. Thank you so much.”

She nods and smiles then moves back to the counter near the doorway where she sits and continues to read a book you hadn’t noticed she’d set aside when you walked in.

You find your outfit almost as soon as you begin to sift through the small selection of dresses. You know you don’t want to do shorts, no short skirts, so dresses seems to be the only other choice and you strike gold!

You reach for it with quick hands and gasp quietly at the sight. It’s nothing special really. The dress is a long, almost ankle length with a long slit that stars just above the midpoint of where your thigh will be. It has three-quarter sleeves with a V-cut neckline, but the top of the dress is reminiscent of a standard button up shirt. It’s white, feminine, and worthy of a party with easy flowing material that will keep you warm. You hurry over to the accessories table and find a simple red belt with a black belt buckle. You know exactly what shoes to wear with it too.

You don’t have to buy them because you already own them. You smile, pleased to have found something you actually like, and you can’t help it, you think about what Bucky might think when he sees you in it. Will he like it? It’s pretty. He has to like it.

You spend the next forty minutes looking for a suitable outfit for the birthday girl and find it in both the eighties collection and the sixties table. You choose a black and white checkered skirt from the sixties table and a studded red halter top which you quickly pair with a thick black leather belt from the eighties assortment. Nat is going to kill it in her outfit! She’s going to look so hot that none of the guys are going to know what hit them.

You’re so happy with your finds that you rush back to the hair salon to brag about your purchase but stop when you see Nat and your jaw drops. Her hair is short, cut just below her chin and a stunning light blonde. It’s almost ice blonde save for the slightly darker color around the roots.

“Oh my god, Nat!” You squeal and hurry forward with your bags of clothes.

“Is it too much?” She asks, finding humor in your reaction.

“Are you kidding? It looks amazing! It’s going to take them forever to figure out you’re you. And I got you the best outfit!” You hold up the bag and shake it, your belts rattling at the bottom.

“You what? I was going to buy my own outfit. You shouldn’t be spending your money on me, I know that-”

“It was cheap, I promise.” You know that Nat knows your situation and you’d rather not think about the money. “And it’s your birthday! Whether you like it or not, you won’t be paying for anything today.”

Nat gets up and shakes her head but she’s smiling and happy. You pay for her hair makeover and the two of you make one final stop in a shoe shop before you retreat happily and confidently back to your hut.

You stroll into the small indicated nightclub at half past nine, just as Steve instructed. Nat looks amazing! The red studded halter really draws the eyes to her breasts and you giggle as you stop in front of the club, eager to see some jaws drop. The checkered skirt is high waisted, and the thick black leather belt perfectly balances the outfit so that it’s not too much. The shoes you bought, a pair of bright dark blue knee-high boots finish her outfit. And with her new hairdo teased and styled Nat looks like she’s ready to film the hottest new eighties hair band music video.

“This is too much.” She complains as she pulls the halter top up a bit.

“You look amazing. Trust me, everyone went all out last time too. Remember to act surprised.”

At this she smirks. She reaches over and fixes your hair. She’d spent half an hour carefully curling and brushing your hair through so that it fell around your shoulders in big and soft flowing waves. Very eighties but not over the top.

“Are you excited?” She asks you.

You have avoided talking about what tonight really means for you because it’s Nat’s night. You bite your bottom lip and nod. “I’m so nervous.”

Nat smiles, “You look beautiful. I think the time is right.”

You hope it is. You can’t wait to see Bucky. You’ve been drifting through the day forcing yourself to focus on task after task to keep him out of your mind. It didn’t work. He’s all you thought about. The way he’d held your hand last night. The softness of his voice and the promise of tonight. You feel your heart begin to pound and before you can lose your nerve you pull Nat to the club door where a tall white man with white-blonde hair and tanned skin lets you through.

Tonight’s club is subterranean. You and Nat have to walk down several steps before the floor evens out. You can hear the strange ear worm rhythm and the distinct drums of David Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’ as the two of you make your way through the dark gray adobe walls of the club entryway. Overhead is a shining installation of mirrors angled this way and that reflecting the teal and orange lights of the wall sconces.

Even with the music booming, you can hear the chatter of the crowd. Just as the bongos start, you and Nat break through the entryway into the underground club where the dance floor is already booming with couples and groups dancing to the easy, swaying music. Immediately to your right is a small alcove big enough for two or three people where two bar stools sit at the end of the long and yellow illuminated bar. People are clamoring for drinks.

The room extends back along the entryway you just walked through where tables are lined against the wall with comfortable red leather seats around low black tables, each one with a set of artificial candles to give the tables a soft glow. The room in general is bathed in hot pink and purple light with yellow, teal, blue, and green lights flashing in time with the music. Past the dance floor and at the center of the medium sized room is a clearly designated area with a sign that says, Happy Birthday, Nat!

Behind that designated area is more dance floor and cozy tables where people are lounging and dancing. You see Steve’s familiar blonde head, his growing hair slicked back. He’s wearing sunglasses! You shake your head and push Nat in his direction.

You recognize most of the people you pass. You know only a few personally but you’ve seen all these people around. A few fellow cadets but mostly technicians and other locals who work more immediately under T’Challa. You don’t see Ayo, but Okoye stands by the reserved area with a look of slight discomfort. She’s wearing a dress! T'Challa must be somewhere there but you can’t see anyone who might be seated yet.

You spot Aman at the center of the dance floor, swaying to the music with Joshua and two girls who look so happy to be dancing with such good-looking men you’re sure they might faint. When Aman spots you his eyes light up and he raises his hand up in the air to wave at you. He gestures towards your dress and gives you two thumbs up.

You smile, happy that he approves, and wave back. As you push past the crowd, you scan the rest of the seating area and find T’Challa and Sam deep in conversation, leaning over the low table to talk. Nakia, T’Challa’s girlfriend and possibly intended if the rumors are to be believed, sits beside her King, her hand in his casually as Shuri points down at her wrist where some kind of schematic is projected from a bead. Why can’t she just have fun?! She likes fun. You know she does.

She must be telling a joke however because she throws her head back and laughs as the projection disappears. Nakia shakes her head, smiling widely.

Sam suddenly looks up and spots the two of you approaching and his eyes go wide as he eyes Nat’s outfit.

“Wooo, Black Widow!” He exclaims, impressed by her curves maybe? “Now how exactly did you know that to come dressed like that? Hm?”

Beside the seats, Steve looks down at Sam with the smallest of pouts. Well, at least he tried to surprise her.

This brings everyone’s attention to Nat and as she moves towards the reserved area, blushing, the rest of your friends break into applause and cheers. The dancing and lounging crowd follows suit and soon the whole club is cheering for Nat, temporarily drowning out the music. As you both reach your friends, Nat sits herself down on Sam’s other side to the left of the three-sided square. T’Challa looks across the short table at Nat and nods, smiling kindly.

“Happy birthday, Natasha, and I wish you many more.” His accented voice rings pleasantly in your ear.

“Ugh, if I can get through tonight without dying of embarrassment I’ll consider myself lucky.” Nat reaches up to touch her cheeks as Sam smiles at her with a wide wicked smile.

“Are you blushing? You know you look good, you’re not embarrassed.” He teases.

“Yes,” Nakia agrees. “Happy birthday. We have a gift for you but since it is not appropriate for the general public make sure to stop by the armory tomorrow morning.”

“My gift is better.” Shuri interjects. “They bought you a gun. I crafted you new weapons.”

“This is not a competition, sister.” T’Challa says with a laugh.

“The argument of a loser.” Shuri smiles at her brother and he laughs, completely at ease.

Okoye bows her head to Nat. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Nat smiles, blushing more.

Sam seems to find this endlessly funny and nudges Nat with his left elbow with that same wicked smile. She slaps his arm and they launch into hushed conversation as the music shifts into Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’.

“Wow, Y/N!” Steve exclaims pulling your attention away from the empty seats and the bustling crowd. You turn to face him, turning your back on the bar. He gestures down to your feet then back up to your hair. “You look beautiful.”

You spread your dress to the sides, letting him get a nice look at it. You’re so proud of your find. He looks down at your feet however and points.

“Are those white cowboy boots?” He smirks, staring down at your feet.

You’re proud of those too. You won’t be shamed for wearing them. “Are those sunglasses? Indoors?”

“You like ‘em?” Steve reaches up and adjusts them. He’s wearing stark white pants with black wingtip shoes. His shirt is a soft and tight ocean blue turtleneck with long vertical lines from his neck all the way down to his waist where the shirt is tucked into his pants and held in place with a black leather belt. “How do I look?”

“Steve, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way because I love you but…you look like a douchebag.” You laugh as his shoulders slump, his mouth curving into that disbelieving half smile.

“That’s what Bucky said.” He shakes his head.

The sound of his name drives your heart back into a frenzy. He isn’t here. Where the hell is he?

“He is coming, right?” You lean in close so that Steve can hear you over the music.

Steve shakes his head and your heart clenches. “I think so, I thought he would be here by now. I’m not sure what could be keeping him.”

You relax, for a moment you thought he was saying Bucky wasn’t coming. A slender hand with a wrist laden with silver and gold bangles of varying sizes suddenly creeps up behind Steve’s shoulder and taps it to grab his attention.

Steve turns around. “Kara! You made it.”

Lead fills your heart at the sound of her name, but you quickly remind yourself that you have nothing to worry about. You and Bucky had kinda made plans to be here together, right?

“Bucky?” Steve says. Your ears tingle at the sound of his name and you realize that Kara must be looking for him to. Had Bucky made plans with her as well? That doesn’t sound right. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. He may be around here somewhere.”

Steve is so wide you only get to see the back of what Kara is wearing as she weaves into the crowd. She’s wearing a simple black halter peplum dress with a floral skirt and a black bowler hat on her head. Her hair is crimped once again. She accessorized the dress with a pair of black combat boots—hey you did that first!—a single black glove on her left hand, a black cuff over that, and a long golden chain around her long neck.

She looks great. Like she belongs in the hip part of the eighties. You chew on your lip as you watch her disappear into the crowd, trying hard to ignore the way your heart clenches nervously. Steve is too busy leaning over to talk over the music with Nat and Sam that he doesn’t notice your nerves. You shut your eyes trying hard to ignore the way you suddenly want to bolt. You can’t run forever. You have to stand your ground.

Tonight, is your night. You won’t back down. You look great, you love your dress. You love your shoes. You love your hair. Your makeup is flawless. You won’t let Kara’s long legs deter you from what you want. Tonight, you make Bucky yours.

You sigh as Billie Jean comes to an end and the club is plunged into temporary silence.

“We hear that it is a very special woman’s birthday today. Natasha, happy birthday from all of your friends!” The crowd cheers.

Nat leans over and smacks Steve on the arm as he laughs at the way she blushes again, Sam is also tickled and chuckles with Steve. They look like pack of siblings and the sight makes you smile. Nat looks up at you, smiling wide.

“Happy birthday, Nat.” And you truly mean it. These people that saved your life, all three of them, deserve so much happiness. They do so much for the world that you wish you could force the world to give them everything they want.

Nat’s face suddenly goes serious.

“What is it?” You ask, suddenly concerned for her.

“Guess I’m late to the party?” Bucky’s smooth timber sends your stomach into a sudden flutter as the unmistakable synth and drums of The Human League’s ‘Don’t You Want Me’ fills the club, drowning out the laughing and chatting voices of the crowd.

You swallow hard, so nervous. Is it possible to die from nervousness? You’re sure it is because you can’t feel your heart beating. You turn around quickly however, eager to set eyes on him.

Bucky stands before you wearing a pair of distressed black jeans. You can see a tight white t-shirt underneath his acid washed denim jacket. His dark hair is slicked back into an effortless bun and he’s finished the look with black boots and a pair of slightly tinted black sunglasses.

You eye him up and he seems to do the same. Before you can say anything, he smiles softly at you, the right corner of his mouth parting to flash that breathtaking smile.

“Wow, you look…”

“So, eighties?” You provide, your nerves making you talk nonsense.

He smiles fully now, laughing slightly at your suggestion.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “So, eighties.”

And then you stand there…and say nothing. What can you say? This song seems to be asking the important questions though. Does he want you? Doesn’t he? Why isn’t he asking you to dance already? Sure, it’s only been a minute since he arrived, but you want his arms around you. Instead he moves past you, his eyes shifting nervously as he moves to the only part of the three-sided seating area where no one is sitting. He plops himself down on the left side of that sectional, wishing Nat a happy birthday as he passes her.

A hand suddenly grabs you, pulling you into the three-sided square. Nat sits herself beside Bucky and pulls you down on her right-hand side. Right beside her.

“Isn’t this fun? She says forcefully and looks from Bucky to you and back to Bucky.”

“Yeah.” He says, “fun.”

You smile at her awkwardly disappointment flooding your limbs.

Wait, why are you disappointed? You still have the rest of the night. But Kara is here. If she sees him here, she’s going to come over and start talking to him. Should you make a move? But you’re not sure that’s what he wants. What if he’s still unsure about what he wants? The way he’d made it sound the other night—it sounds like he’s struggling to take that next step. And you don’t want to force him if he’s not ready. You know that his past was tough though you don’t know exactly how or why. With his PTSD…forcing him into something he’s not ready for could cause more damage than good. You look over at him and see him smiling softly as he stares across the way at Steve who suddenly shoots forward to Nat.

“Hey, Nat?” He leans in close so that he doesn’t have to completely shout. “How about you help me get some drinks?”

“Oh, that’s such a good idea.” Nat says in a way that sounds way too rehearsed. These idiots are plotting something and you’re not sure exactly what. “What would you like?” She asks Bucky.

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

“How about you, Y/N?”

You look her in the eye and after a moment shake your head too. “I’m not in the mood.”

She rolls her eyes at you and gets up. “I’ll be back. Scoot over, Y/N so no one steals my seat.”

You frown at her, knowing exactly what she and Steve are doing but you obey because then it’ll look like you don’t want to sit next to Bucky if you don’t do what she says. It reduces the space between you and Bucky considerably.

Your legs feel suddenly numb as your heart sends out a wave of nervous energy throughout your body. You watch Nat and Steve scurry off to the bar and shortly after T’Challa and Nakia join the mass of dancing people. Sam offers his hand to Okoye but when she simply stares at it he shifts it to Shuri who takes it and shimmies with him to the dance floor. After a minute, Okoye drifts closer to where her King and Nakia are dancing to better stand guard.

And now you and Bucky are alone in a huge U of red reserved leather seats. You look over at him and then quickly look away, picking at your dress for a bit.

The song ends and shifts into the next. You reach down, placing your right hand between the two of you, resting your arm casually as you watch the dancing crowd. Another song passes the two of you buy and you sigh. Something has to happen! You can’t stand this waiting.

“Why were you late?” You ask. He squints at you as if he can’t hear you, places his hand beside yours, and leans closer to you so that you can ask your question again.

“What?”

You turn your head so that you can lean closer to his ear. “Why were you late?”

“That’s classified.” He replies, smirking as he sits back up straight. He leaves his hand beside yours however and you relax despite his teasing.

Eddie Money’s ‘Take Me Home Tonight’ draws a cheer from the crowd and yet another song has passed the two of you by. You’re thinking about this fact, lingering on the fact that Bucky might very well never ask you to dance. You shouldn’t push him though, right? What if he’s changed his mind and he doesn’t want to be with you after all? What if he would never be ready?

You lean forward slightly, your elbow locked, and stare at the tips of your boots. Just as you are about to succumb to the darkness of your thoughts you feel the tiniest tingle spread from the tip of your pinky as Bucky’s own pinky subtly touches yours. You blink and smile like an idiot. Maybe it was just an accident? You wipe the smile from your face. Clenching your lips shut tight.

You feel the gentle graze again but this time it lasts a second longer and you’re sure that it’s not an accident. You smile again, your eyes glued on your boots as you let the feeling of his finger touching yours flow through you. The Police’s ‘Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic’ comes next and Bucky’s pinky continues to graze your own.

This has to be on purpose! There is no way that his fingers keeps grazing yours this consistently without it being on purpose. Either way you can’t wipe the smile from your face.

Your heart stops as his pinky suddenly slides up over yours. He hooks it around your own and your body begins to hum. It’s such a small gesture, this very subtle grabbing of your hand, and yet somehow you feel your body tingle as desire chokes you and slowly spreads down over your chest, into your stomach, and down to your toes. You’re absolutely glowing. Is this his answer? Is this his way of telling you he’s in?

You look at him and find him watching you smile. His eyes are brimming with the same happiness you saw before Nat had interrupted you yesterday. His smile is so sincere that it drives your heart into overdrive.

You lean in to ask him whether this is his way of telling you that he’s ready.

“Y/N!” Aman’s voice suddenly draws your attention and you turn to watch him walk towards you.

You’re gonna kill him. That’s it. Tonight—no, right now. You’ll take him outside, find a quiet alley, and kill him.

“Why are you not dancing?” He demands. He doesn’t stop walking and instead moves to sit between you and Bucky giving the two of you no choice but to pull apart and make enough room for him to sit.

Aman places both of his arms on the backs of your seats. He smiles at you and then turns to look at Bucky. How Bucky’s face can go from pure bliss to utter contempt in less than a second is a mystery but if looks could kill, Aman would be dead.

“Aman!” Nat’s voice suddenly reaches your ears and you turn to look at her as she approaches. “It’s my birthday, come dance with me.”

The timing is too perfect. She’s removing him on purpose and you could kiss her!

Aman, never one to refuse a dance, jumps to his feet and take Nat’s hand. You see her give Bucky a pointed look but you’re not sure what it means. She disappears onto the dance floor with Aman leaving you and Bucky alone again, only instead of inches you’re two feet apart now.

You listen to the song finish and the DJ’s voice comes over the audio system again. “King T’Challa would like to wish Natasha a very happy birthday!” The crowd cheers. You look over at Bucky and decide that this can’t go on much longer. Since he’s not going to ask you to dance, you’ll just have to ask him!

“Bucky-?”

“Y/N!” Steve’s even monotone interrupts you and you want to strangle him.

You look up at him and convey with a single look just how much you want to kill him. He seems unphased however and holds his hand out for yours. Just as he promised, the smooth piano and synth for Somebody’s Baby begins to play. It’s followed by the sweet guitar riff and Steve can’t help but smirk down at you.

“My dance?” He asks.

You look at his hand and feel a tight squeeze in your chest as you wish desperately for Bucky to reach out and take your hand instead. To tell Steve that this is his dance and that he can’t have it. Maybe that’s what Steve was trying to get to happen too but as you turn to look at Bucky to see if he’s going to do it, he simply sits there staring at Steve’s hand with wide and perplexed blue eyes. He looks at you and with disappointment you realize that he’s not going to take your hand.

You give him one last glance as you take Steve’s hand and get to your feet. He pulls you out onto the floor and spins you twice before pulling you against his chest.

Steve leans down towards your ear and says, “Sorry. I really thought he was going to stop me.”

You want to cry, this is so upsetting! “So did I.” You admit, pushing yourself up to dance on your tiptoes so that you can talk by his ear as well.

Steve gives your back a soft rub to try and comfort you but holds you tighter all the same. His hug helps but your heart is no longer soaring.

“He’s not ready.” You realize, saying it to Steve and watching him nod breaks your heart a little more.

You turn your head as the two of you sway to the rhythm of the song and you watch Bucky watch you and Steve dance, his brow furrowed as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he struggles internally with something. As Steve spins you, a part of you notices a strange black mass among the crowd but then it’s gone.

Maybe Bucky might still come and take you away from Steve? He looks like he wants to. He looks away from you, down to the floor, and you pull your gaze away from him too. Steve spins you and as the song begins to come to a close you take another quick glance towards Bucky and freeze as Kara sits beside him.

Unlike the other times, Bucky doesn’t smile, his eyes are still glued on you as he listens to her talk. He responds to whatever she’s saying to him and finally he looks at her. She points up at the ceiling as the song finishes and the rocking guitar of the Outfield’s ‘Your Love’ fills the club. She smiles at him and then reaches for his hand.

You want him to pull away, to get up and come get you. You’re not an idiot, you know that’s the song they danced to last time. You’d never forget it.

But he doesn’t pull away. She grabs his hand and she pulls him up onto his feet. As they head towards you to dance among the crowd, Steve’s arms begin to drop seeing as your designated dance is over.

“No.” You tell him and pull his arms back around you. “Please, Steve, don’t let me go.”

Steve is slightly startled by your tone because there’s panic in it. Consuming panic and heartache. This isn’t how this night was supposed to go. Steve holds you, swaying slightly but really, he’s searching the crowd for what has you so upset.

“What was that?” He suddenly asks. “I thought I saw…”

You feel him sigh heavily as he finally sees Bucky and Kara dancing. “Steve, what am I even doing here?”

He doesn’t have an answer for you. You’re so close to being done. You and Steve continue to dance, and he spins you around, trying to keep them from your sight but it doesn’t work completely. You catch glimpses of them and again, though you should notice it, a black mass shaped like a body appears to be winding through the crowd. It appears for a second then disappears.

Instead of noticing the black masses you notice Kara and Bucky until about a third of the way through the song, you see Kara take Bucky’s hand and lead him towards the bar. Are they going to get drinks? Something doesn’t feel right.

Bucky follows, looking unsure and confused. He shoots you a glance but then disappears into the crowd by the bar.

This isn’t happening.

You suddenly let go of Steve and walk towards the bar, weaving your way through the dancing couples. You follow the long bar, looking for the back of Bucky’s head. When your eyes reach the alcove you noticed before as you came in with Natasha, what you do see is the back of Kara’s head, her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips pressed firmly against his. Bucky’s hands rest on her shoulders.

How do you even begin to describe the sorrow you feel in this moment? How did this night, so full of promise and happiness transition into such a nightmare?

“Y/N? What’s the-What?” Steve asks, not believing his eyes.

How many seconds have passed? Steve moves to pull you away, it can’t have been more than five seconds, but it also feels like three hours. You yank your arm out of his grip as anger and heartbreak warp your mind. You’re not sure why he leaves but you don’t care. Maybe because he senses that you need to deal with this on your own?

You don’t know why Bucky is taking is taking so long to reach out to you. You don’t know why it’s so hard for him to just be with you. You don’t know why he didn’t ask you to dance or why he agreed to dance with Kara instead of coming to take you away from Steve. You don’t know why he can’t just be the sweet man from last night or the man who cried at your side in Shuri’s lab, or the man who wrapped you in a towel and laughed at you as you shivered. You don’t know why he followed Kara into that stupid alcove and you don’t know why he’s letting her kiss him for so long. You don’t know why the idiot closed his dumb eyes.

You are sure of one thing however, you’re done.

You don’t cry despite the pain coursing through you. Your heart is in pieces, so much has happened in such a short amount of time that you can’t take anymore. As you make this choice, this decision to forget Bucky and forget the way you feel about him, he opens his eyes. He sees you watching, and he quickly pushes Kara away.

No. You see him mouth but you’re done. There’s nothing to protest. As he pushes Kara aside you turn and move back towards your reserved seats to tell Nat bye because you can’t stay anymore.

You get only a few feet before you feel his grip on your left wrist.

“Y/N, no! That’s not-”

“Bucky let me go.” You say calmly, well half calmly, your eyes are blazing with anger and hurt. You two aren’t even together but this feels like such a betrayal!

“No, please listen to me.” He pleads but your heart is unmoved. There’s no patience left in you, no hope. You’re tired of hurting like this.

“Let go of my hand, Bucky.” You say flatly.

He pulls you close, raising his metal hand to rest it against your cheek. “No, I know what that looked like, I-I want you. Please?”

It hurts too much! You’re about to yank your wrist out of his grip but you see that same black mass from the dance floor over his shoulder and your eyes widen as you notice the shimmer of steel as it flies towards his neck. You don’t think, you react. You flip the hand he’s holding to take hold of his wrist and forcefully pull him behind you. He’s so focused on rectifying this nightmare of a situation that he doesn’t resist your tug. You raise your hand because if you don’t you’re going to take that knife straight in the forehead.

The metal pierces your hand and you scream in pain. You mean to react, but you don’t move in time as the man in black’s fists flies down towards your face. He lands a good punch against your jaw and feel your lip split at the corner. You taste blood. Bucky seems to realize what’s happening because he spins you around behind him and with his metal arm punches the black mass. The black mass, a man in black tactical gear, staggers back from Bucky’s punch but you can see the rage in his eyes as he charges towards the man and knocks him to the ground. Screams begin to fill the club as others are apparently attacked as well.

It’s a bizarre scene as non-soldiers rush the exit to get out, their screams mixing with KC & The Sunshine Band’s upbeat ‘Give It Up’.

You hear Steve shouting orders into the crowd at the cadets that are present, and the room seems to burst into a full out brawl as many masses of black storm the club.

“Fuck!” You grunt, staring down at your bleeding hand, a massive knife sticking out. You have almost no time to react to it because another man in black is rushing you.

Instinct takes over and you reach for the knife in your hand and yank it out blocking the punch the man throws at you then drive the knife into the weak spot of his tactical gear, underneath his left ribs, twice. He groans and falls to the ground.

Beside you, Bucky is still fighting off the man that stabbed you and another two. He’s moving fast, ducking underneath punches, sidestepping kicks, grabbing limbs and twisting them to knock the attackers off balance.

Suddenly, Steve is beside you. “You need to get out of here, we’ll handle these guys. Make sure the others got out okay.”

“You’re stupid, I’m not leaving.” You insist, your anger forgotten in favor of your love for your friends.

Steve grabs your hand and looks it over. “You’re useless anyway. Go.”

“No! Not without you guys!” You protest.

Steve frowns, “You’re both idiots!” He pulls lunges over you and you duck as he dives at another man in black.

You turn as another man in black rushes you, his large lumbering body slightly frightening in its size. You ready yourself for the fight but find it unnecessary as Bucky seems to have finished with the other three he was fighting and dives in the way of this one. The man pulls out a gun and aims it over Bucky’s shoulder at you. You hear a bang and duck, a bullet flies over your head and shatters one of the bottles of liquor on the bar. Bucky races to the man before he can fire again and places his hand over the barrel as the man lets the bullets fly. You hear the sharp sound of bullet hitting metal. Bucky delivers two uppercuts and a right hook effectively knocking him out. He keeps the man’s gun as he falls and hurries back to you.

“Are you shot?” He asks in a slight panic.

You shake your head. “No, you?”

Bucky doesn’t answer you. Instead he reaches for your right hand and looks the stab wound over.

“Who are they?” You wonder.

“Hydra. I think they’re here for me. You need to get as far away from me as possible. Y/N? Do you hear me? You need to run.” He orders. He’s not Bucky in the moment, he’s Sergeant Barnes.

“You’re as stupid as Steve, I’m not leaving here without you.” You argue.

He reaches up with his right hand and grabs the side of your face pulling you close so that he can stare into your eyes.

“Headstrong woman. For once in your life, listen to me and do what I’m ordering you to do. Run. I’ll find you. Get safe and wait for me.”

“Bucky…”

“Go!” He shouts as he releases you and pushes you out of the way as another Hydra agent attacks.

You take one final glance at Bucky, Steve, Nat, Sam, T’Challa, Nakia, Shuri, and Okoye all fighting what must be thirty Hydra agents. Scattered among them you see Aman, Joshua, a few of your other hut mates, Kara, and the rest of the GP also fighting.

“Go!” Steve screams, “Help the civilians! Aman! Go with her.”

Aman punches the agent he’s fighting, knocking him out, then rushes to your side and with strong arms pushes you out of the club. As soon as the two of you are on the street again you begin to tend to the wounded. Most of the people have small scratches and scrapes from falling in their rush to get out as fast as possible. No one is seriously injured, except for you with the large knife wound in your hand.

Aman sees it and he pulls you over to look at it. Everyone is looking at your stupid knife wound tonight. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Get to the infirmary. I’ve got the civilians here.”

“Now you’re telling me to run?” You demand, upset that you can’t stay and fight alongside your fellow cadets.

“We have been training for this for three years. You are not ready. Survive the night. You are not a coward for running if that is what you are thinking. You are surviving. I need my friend. Listen to Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers. Find a safe place. Go.”

“Aman,” You protest, your voice weaker because you know he’s right. You might be able to hold your own against one single Hydra agent but a whole room full?

“Survive.” He insists and pushes you away.

You turn and trudge along with a purpose driven gait. The people around you part for you, moving out of your way and ducking into doorways and underneath awnings and behind food carts. The Golden City streets are no stranger to conflict, but this kind of violence is new. For many years Wakanda has been safely hidden behind its cloaked borders, but now, open to the world, Hydra has gotten in.

They’ve got a foothold on Wakanda now and you know what will happen. T’Challa will make sure that they are driven out. He’ll use Nat and Sam and Steve…and Bucky. He’ll recruit all the cadets into finding the source of this corrupted poison and he’ll burn it to a crisp.

If there’s one thing all of you know now is that you can’t cut off Hydra’s head, you must char them to the bone and then pulverize what’s left.

You reach down and rip a long piece of your white skirt and begin to wrap up your right hand. You’re breathing heavily from the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through you. Your eyes are sharp, alert, and you’re so glad that you’ve been training with Steve, Bucky, and Nat. Each one of them have taught you something different and you know it’s the only reason you’re still alive.

You’re still a cadet however, you’re not trained for real combat, just like Aman said. Still, you’ve been studying, and you know where the nearest weapons cache is, so you wipe the blood off the corner of your lip and break into a steady run. You avoid looking anyone in the eye. They’re curious and scared and you’re wearing a torn white dress covered in blood. You’re a sight.

As you run your mind rushes over the events of the past fifteen minutes. Kara kissing Bucky replays itself in your mind and you painfully remind yourself of the resolution you made to yourself in the club. Nothing’s changed. This was a life or death situation. When this is over, life goes back to normal. This changes nothing. You’re still done, and you know what you need to do.

You know that it’ll have to be done now. There will be no waiting for morning. You’ll need to go now before he can stop you. Does he want to stop you? You shake your head, driving that thought away. Who cares if he wants to stop you?

That lip lock in the club was clear enough of a message. And if that wasn’t enough all the moments that slipped by were. You deserve to be happy and you deserve to be given the opportunity to put James Buchanan Barnes behind you. It has been nothing but heartache and missed chances from the beginning and you want to be free of this pain.

As you reach the intersection that you know leads to Steve’s apartment you duck as the blazing red umbrella rod of the nearby akara cart comes swinging at you. You slide forward with the moment of your run and quickly reach for, of all things, a broom leaning against a large orange brick building. You shove the bristle end of the broom between your thighs and use them to break it off. The akara cart owner, a woman in her forties screams and as the Hydra agent swings his rod, the woman rushes between the two of you. You dive forward and thrust your makeshift staff behind the woman’s back, blocking the rod. At the same time, and as gently as you can, you kick the woman in the behind so that she goes flying across the narrow street and out of the way.

There’s the sound of outrage as some younger kids are knocked to the ground by her heavy body but when they turn their eyes on you and see the scuffle they help her up and push through the crowd to get away.

The streets are thick with nightlife and you take several quick glances at your surroundings as you use your considerably less developed arm strength to hold off your attacker. There’s a lower level over the edge of the orange building and fighting by the river would be better than fighting in the street. It will also take you closer to the weapons cache.

You’re bent backwards over your legs now, almost lying on the floor, groaning to keep from being flattened. How do you get him over the edge?

You suddenly curl in on yourself, using your staff to lead the attacker’s rod over your head where it hits the cement walkway with a loud clang. You bring your staff up, hitting the attacker underneath the chin and use the moment of surprise to land a right hook that Bucky would be proud of. But he’s still too far away from the edge.

You run at him, shoving your knee into his chest, just like Nat showed you, and because you know you won’t feel it now thanks to the adrenaline you’re feeling, you headbutt the guy in a move that Steve would claim he taught you.

The man goes tumbling over the edge and you don’t hesitate as you jump down the ten feet to join him. Your attacker lands on a plastic table, crushing it to the ground flat. You roll as you land, gasping as your leg hits the ground hard. It hurts but it’ll probably just bruise. The fabric of your dress rustles audibly as you pull yourself up to stand and it wafts out around you in the warm night air that flows in from the water.

People, diners eating at riverside restaurants, scream in surprise and scatter as the Hydra agent slowly gets to his feet. You can see him clearly now. He’s about as tall as Bucky is, not as wide, and he’s dressed in head-to-toe black tactical gear like the rest of them. Even his face is covered. Not fair that he can see you bleed but you can’t see him.

He sees you clearly for the first time too maybe because he tilts his head to the right as if he’s confused by what he sees. You hold your rod out back behind you, very much like Bucky had done when he’d first attempted to teach you to fight with the staff.

“What’s the matter, asswipe? Never had a pretty girl in a dress kick your ass before?”

He looks at the rod in his hand and tosses it over into the river. That’s littering!

He picks up his hands, ready to fight you without weapons. You can see a gun on his hip. He could just shoot you and be done with it. But maybe he has something to prove?

You smile, glad to fight hand to hand. The staff is useful, but the memories attached to it are rather painful. You lower your stance and drop the makeshift weapon. It clatters against the stone ground at your feet and you hook your hand into the slit of your dress, whip it back out of your way as you take your boxing stance.

“Come on, asshole, I haven’t got all night.”

He closes the distance between you his fists rising and falling with each step of his approach. As he comes within range he begins his assault punching first with his left. Then his right, left, right, right, and left. You block, keeping your arms tight and high, absorbing as much of the impact as you can to keep your head safe.

His approach has brought you into the confines of a classy and expensive restaurant. You can hear the classical music playing over the audio system. The highbrow clientele mutter in surprise. One single woman seems to realize what’s happening because she suddenly screams and gets up and runs for the exit, knocking several people’s glasses over. They look up and see you suddenly step towards the agent as he punches with his right. You block it and sneak a quick uppercut that sends him staggering back into a now empty table. Several water glasses fall and shatter on the floor.

The rest of the diners finally seem to understand what is happening because there are more screams and even the bartender jumps over the bar and races for the exit.

The agent recovers quickly and lifts his foot into a kick as you rush forward. It falls hard on your stomach and sends you up off of the ground onto a table where you feel plates and glass break beneath you. You gasp, the wind knocked out of you, but you know you have only a second to recover. He’s over you, bringing his right fist down hard. You roll to your left and fall to the floor. You sweep your legs beneath him using your strength to knock his feet out from under him. He falls on his back and this gives you an opportunity to stand over him, straddling his torso. You bring your own right hand down for a punch, but he blocks it, catches your hand and flips you up over his head onto another table. You groan but hurry onto your feet and turn just in time to block his left hook.

He’s bigger than you. Stronger than you. You block his punches over and over, retreating with the force of his blows. You think as fast as you can, trying to find a way to overpower him or outthink him. You need to find a way to get the upper hand.

His mask. You sidestep a punch, rolling around his side like you did with Steve when you were sparring. Your elbow hits him hard on the ribs and it gives you the chance to reach for the water pitcher on the table now in front of you. You spin around to throw the water at him to saturate the fabric around his face to make it difficult to breathe, but his fist makes contact with the left side of your face and you stagger back, momentarily stunned.

You have no time to be stunned! You push past the daze, forcing yourself to concentrate on the small things. The water pitcher is not in your hand anymore. You can hear it clatter as it falls to the floor. You shake your head violently, shaking off the dizziness and this time step towards him as he punches avoiding it. He doesn’t expect it and he tries to step back. You punch him, hard, a well delivered uppercut that knocks him off his feet.

He falls hard onto a chair, his heavy body causing the wooden legs to break beneath him. With him flat on the ground you sit on his chest, squeezing his ribs with your strong thighs and punch his face. Right side. Left side. Right side. Right side. Over and over again, you punch him until he finally stops moving.

His face is a bloody mess and your fists are no joke either, red and swollen. Very carefully, gasping for air, you place your hands on his chest and push yourself up off of him. You stagger to your right, falling against a table which you use to steady yourself. Two deep breaths is all you give yourself. You remember his gun and reach down to unholster the weapon. The smooth black metal in your hands is phallic and glorious as you relish in the ease with which you will be able to get to Steve’s apartment now.

You quickly check the safety, pop out the clip to make sure the gun is loaded, snap it back into place, then stagger out of the fancy restaurant’s front entrance.

Finely dressed people in silks and embroidered cottons gasp and clutch at their wives and the wives clutch their pearls as you glance over at them. You point into the restaurant and sigh, so tired you could fall asleep right there on the ground.

“Call the guard.” You breathe. One man dressed in a fine black silk suit reaches for a phone. He doesn’t have beads?

You leave him to call the guard and stumble your way up the steps that lead back up to the narrow street this fight had started in. The more you walk the better you’re able to. You’re jogging by the time you reach the intersection again and this time there’s no one to stop you. You run along the familiar narrow street and then turn towards Steve’s building. The usual doorman is gone, probably out in the street dealing with all the kerfuffle. You push the button for the elevator and lean against the wall, listening to the soothing drum beats of the elevator music. When the door opens an older black woman gasps at the sight of you and you give her what must be a frightening smile because she backs up against the wall as you pass her and then slinks into the elevator and proceeds to ram the button for the first floor.

What must you look like?

“Four…five…six…seven…” Eight! You stop in front of his door. Would he be home already? Probably not. Luckily, you have access. You press your beads to the lock and the door gives two beeps before it clicks. You push the handle down and quickly slide into his apartment. It’s dark and you like it that way. Still, as you delve deeper into the entrance hallway you pick up your stolen gun and aim it at all the dark corners, making sure to keep your back to a wall at all times in case someone should be hiding behind a counter or bookshelf. The kitchen is clear, the living room is clear. A quick check of the bedrooms and you know it’s all clear. Feeling slightly more relaxed you move to the small beige sofa you’d fallen asleep in so many nights ago, watching the Princess Bride.

That feels like a lifetime ago. You sit slumped forward, your right hand cut open…again. Your lip is probably busted. Your left eye you can feel swelling. If only he hadn’t landed that stupid punch. As you breathe in you feel your ribs, just underneath your chest, ache. That kick he’d knocked the wind out of you with must have done that damage.

You try to sit up straight, the gun held tightly in your hand but your arm loose so that the gun rests between your unladylike open legs. The dress is long enough to cover you anyway, the slit giving a nice view at the small cuts up and down your right leg.

As you stretch your back you feel a pull on your back left side, just underneath your ribs. A cut, no doubt, made by the plates and glasses on the table you’d landed on.

You twist your left arm back towards the cut and feel hot sticky wet where your fingers touch. The tear in your dress, the cut, is at least six inches long. You gasp as the pain begins to finally catch up to you.

You’re so distracted by it and the demands it’s making on your body that you don’t hear the two beeps of the door. You do however see the shift of movement from the corner of your eye and quickly raise your gun, pointing the barrel at the intruder while your left hand is still reaching back to touch your cut.

“Woah, easy.” Steve raises his hands in a clear sign of surrender. With your adrenaline pumping again it takes you a few seconds to register that he’s not a threat and slowly you lower your gun back to its resting spot, hanging loosely in your right hand between your legs. “Jesus, Y/N…”

“I know, I know. I look pretty tonight.” You smile at him; the gesture makes the corner of your lip hurt and you relax your mouth again and lick where it hurts. You taste blood still.

You look him over and see that he’s also not entirely spotless. There’s dirt and blood on his pants. His blue turtleneck is torn on his left bicep where he was cut with something. There’s a small patch of darkness around it where it bled.

He reaches down to his beads and you raise your gun again, pointing it at his head this time. “Stop.”

He eyes you, not believing what he’s seeing.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“I’m calling Bucky, he’s looking for you.”

“Well, don’t.” You spit. You lower your gun and lean back, groaning as your body protests.

Steve lowers his hands and moves to you, dropping to his knees to help you lean back. He takes hold of your foot and carefully removes your white boot. He examines your ankle first as he begins the assessment of your injuries.

“Sprained ankle.” He frowns and moves his hands up along your leg to check for broken bones.

“Hey there,” You say huskily as his hands make it high up on your thigh. “I think you outta buy me dinner first, Cap.”

“Very funny. No broken bones.” He says then moves on to your hands. He pulls the gun out of your hand and you let him, relieved to feel even a little safe. “How’d you cut your hand again?”

“That first guy that attacked in the club. Had a knife. I could either take it in the head or hand. Tell me, did I make the right call?” You tease.

Steve frowns at you as he feels up your right arm and then moves to your left. “You’re awfully chipper for someone who just had the snuff kicked out of them.”

“You should see the other dude.”

“No broken bones. Where else were you hit? Other than your face?”

You reach up to touch your left eye and realize that you can’t see out of it anymore. It must be swollen shut now.

You sigh and remember the kick to your lower chest. “Ribs.”

Steve, still wearing his frown, places his hands on your sides and slowly moves them up along your ribs. You squirm.

“That tickles.”

“Sit still.” He chastises but there’s a bit of amusement in his voice.

“Well, those are the wrong ribs.”

“What other ribs do you have?” He demands, not understanding.

You reach for his hand and place it just under your chest. “That’s not your ribs. But it is probably a deep tissue bruise.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that? I quit college before I could go to medical school.”

“Anything else?” He looks worried now as he watches your wounded body slump on his couch. After a moment you push yourself up again, groaning with the pain of it.

You reach with your left hand towards your back and Steve follows your hand, leaning behind you to get a look at your wound. “Another knife wound?”

“Plates. Maybe a glass?”

“Y/N,” He leans back again so that he can look up into your face.

“No, Steve.”

“He’s worried out of his mind. Let me call him.”

“I said no.” You make your voice hard, intent on doing this your way. You’re done playing to other people’s wishes. This is what you want, and this is how it’s going to be.

“Why?”

You look at him and frown. He knows why. He was there. “Seriously, Steve?”

“If it’s about that kiss, Y/N, that kiss was-”

“It’s not just the kiss, Steve but I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t the last straw.” You feel your lip quiver as the pain of what you’d seen tonight is renewed. “He doesn’t want me, Steve. Not really.”

“Y/N,” Steve begins. He’ll always be on Bucky’s side. That’s his best friend, his brother.

“He’s been nothing but mean to me since I got here. He’s hurt me. A lot. Intentionally sometimes. And he’s had his chances to make a move. Don’t think I didn’t notice what you and Nat were doing. Tonight, was a golden opportunity to do something and he did nothing. Well, no…that’s a lie.”

Steve watches you, his narrowed brow absorbing the range of emotions you struggle through.

“He let his fingers graze mine a few times. But he never grabbed my hand. Silly, right? Something that small? Oh, and then he let his best friend take me out onto the dance floor. Then he danced with another girl. And he kissed her too.”

“Alright, so what are you going to do? Avoid him from now on? That’s not exactly going to work.”

“I need to go, Steve. I need to leave. I can’t stay here. Wakanda is over for me. There has to be somewhere else I can go to finish out my training.” There’s an empty hollow silence that follows your words as Steve processes what you’re saying.

“You’re gonna leave?” It hurts to hear him say it like you’re betraying them.

“I have to. I can’t be here, every day, and I deserve the chance to find a life outside of this agony!” You angrily spout the last bit, frustrated with the guilt you feel at abandoning your friends.

“When will you-”

“Immediately.” You answer his unfinished question with determination. You’re not staying here another day.

“What am I supposed to tell Bucky?” His voice is so aghast at the prospect of having to break this news to his friend and for a moment you hate Steve too. You know that he’s going to put Bucky first but who’s putting you first? With your parents gone…there’s only you. You must put you first.

“I don’t care what you tell Bucky, Steve. Tell him I died, for all I care. I need to get out of here tonight.” You stare into his deep storm blue eyes and communicate your own sense of betrayal at his hesitation to help you. “Now.”

He seems to see it because he looks down at your wounded hand and thinks for a few seconds. When he looks back up at you he nods and gets to his feet, reaches into his pocket, and moves across the hall into the kitchen.

With his flip phone pressed to his ear he looks back at you with melancholy blue eyes. “Hey Vision, it’s Steve. I need a favor.”

@bionic-buckyb @mdgrdians @ulired @biawol @markusstraya @queenof-wakanda @slice-of-thunder @clockworkherondale @shonaldo @lilulo-12 @dsakita @just-trying-to-survive-marvel @coldfacedwarf @zoey-odinson-stark @animegirlgeeky @paetonsfandom @caramelsunrise @until-theend-oftheline @a-n-gela @dirtylittlelamb @moonlessnight14 @el-dibidibidorado1 @marymooonlastrage @calliope-musings @buckybarnes4lyfe @lexie10123 @wantingtobekorra @unadulteredscreams  @sunflower-sunlight-sunset @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel @auraliqhts @bucky-in-wonderland @marydragneell @beezyg @peterfromtheavengers @kaylaphantomhive @caramelizedmen @bexboo616 @hayleymoondance  @i-got-red-on-my-ledger

[marshmallow-phd]

The Experiments

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Experiment AU

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that are stored down there….

Warning: none

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

The afterlife was a strange place. Heaven, hell, purgatory - wherever you were, it was not how you’d imagined it.

It was just an open field of wildflowers and overgrown grass that went on well beyond what your eyes could see. No one else was around save for the little black-haired boy playing with a butterfly just a few feet away from where you sat. The sky above you was a beautiful dream-like blue with only a few pure white clouds obscuring the color here and there. The boy’s giggles made the perfect background music as you closed your eyes and let the gentle breeze caress your face.

“Mommy!”

You opened your eyes, confused. The boy was now looking at you, the butterfly long forgotten, and pointing off into the distance. You moved your gaze to the direction the boy was pointing to. Another figure had appeared several hundred feet away, their back to you and head leaning back to look at the sky.

The boy ran over to you and grabbed your hand, tugging until you got to your feet. Letting you go, he waddled towards the stranger, looking back at you every few minutes or so to make sure you were following him.

As you got closer to the stranger, you noticed it was a man. Someone familiar.

The boy tripped over his feet, letting out a short cry as he fell against the tall grass. On instinct, you ran to him, making sure he was okay. He was sniffling and the noise was enough to make the stranger turn around. You gasped.

“Junmyeon?”

It couldn’t be. Sure, it was his face, his eyes, but his hair… it was a shorter style and black rather than the sandy blonde you had come to know. But as soon as his eyes met yours, he gave you that small smile you’d missed for so long.

He closed the distance between you, kneeling down to check on the boy as well. The sniffles had died out and the boy was now grinning, looking back and forth between you and Junmyeon. Looking back at you, the latter reached out to you, his fingers just a breath away from the skin of your cheek. You raised your hand with the intent to place it over his, but it fell through him as if he were simply air, a ghost of a memory.

Junmyeon frowned, pulling away. He started fading away, truly becoming an apparition.

“No, no, no, Junmyeon!” you cried out frantically. “Don’t go!”

“Mommy?”

Down at your feet, the little boy was disappearing too, tear stains barely visible on his cheeks.

You reached out to both of them unable to grasp onto either one. Then, you were all alone. The sky was no longer a beautiful blue, darkening as the clouds grew into a wall of foreboding gray. Raindrops began to fall, hitting your face to blend in with your own tears that pooled over from your eyes. Soon, you were soaked.

Nowhere to go and all alone, you lied back in the grass and closed your eyes. Perhaps you were in hell after all.

**

You felt the tips of your fingers first. They twitched, although one hand was restricted by an unknown force. Then your hearing came back, the only noise a beeping that went along with your heartbeat in your chest. Little by little, your limbs woke up with only your eyes left to open. It took extra effort, but eventually they lifted to pull away the darkness and reveal a big bright blur.

You couldn’t focus on anything within your sight. The lighting was harsh making you cringe back into the pillow behind your head. Staring up at the ceiling, you just waited for your eyes to adjust and become comfortable being used again.

A heavy weight pinned down your left side. You turned your head and a strangled sob escaped.

Junmyeon was asleep, cuddled up to you on the hospital bed and holding your hand. His head was resting on your shoulder, his breath ruffling the hospital gown against your skin. Tentatively, you reached out to him, running your fingers through that familiar blonde hair. It was soft in your touch, just how you remembered.

At the movement, his eyes flickered open, searching for the source. The corner of your mouth pulled up as soon as he looked up at you.

“(y/n)!”

Frantically sitting up, Junmyeon pulled you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around you. He cried as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Your brain was still in slow motion from waking up so it took a moment for you to return the hug.

“Are you free?” you whispered.

Junmyeon’s cries stopped and he pulled away to see your face. He nodded, that small smile making an appearance. “We’re all free.”

You started to cry yourself, unable to believe that this was really happening. “Everyone made it out?”

He nodded again. “Everyone. The bombs went off according to plan. The building is completely destroyed.” He cleared his throat, frowning. “Everyone got out of the building in time, according to the news.”

“Everyone?” you echoed, unsure of where he was going with this.

“Including Dr. Wang.”

“Oh.” You weren’t sure how to feel about that. You didn’t want anyone to die, but if she was still out in the world then she could still continue on with her work. And you still didn’t know who had started all this in the first place.

Junmyeon cupped your cheek in his palm, caressing the surface with his thumb. “We’ll be alright. Now that you’re awake, we’ll be okay.”

“How–” you stopped yourself, unsure if he wanted to revisit that moment. But you needed to know. “How did you stop?”

“You.” He let out a short laugh, dropping his hand to his lap. “When I was under their control, I couldn’t hear or see anything myself. It was like I was in a black pit with no way out no matter how hard I climbed or screamed. But then I heard you. I heard you…,” he looked you in the eye and took a deep breath. “I heard you say ‘I love you’ and that pulled me back.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I do love you.” Junmyeon pulled you into a kiss, careful not to hurt you.

“I love you, too.”

Pulling away, you leaned your forehead against his. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

Junmyeon chuckled. “Thank you for coming to get me. Luhan said you were about to strangle Anya when she first told you no.” Realizing his phrasing, he flinched before straightening up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” You grabbed his hand in yours. “It wasn’t you. Don’t blame yourself. I know that you would never hurt me.”

Junmyeon was still struggling by the look on his face. With caution, he lifted his free hand to your neck, barely tracing what you assumed were the bruises left from the attack.

The door to your room slid open slowly and a familiar head poked in.

“Junmyeon, how is she – Oh, my god, (y/n)!”

Nada ran to you, throwing herself on you and squeezing you in a hug that cut off your air supply.

“Hi, Nada.” It came out more garbled than you meant to.

“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry!” She let go immediately, sitting down in the chair to your right.

Junmyeon also left the bed, settling down in a chair as well, but kept ahold of your hand.

“How are you feeling?” Nada asked, leaning her elbows on the bed.

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Everything seems to be functioning, that is.”

She smiled. “You seem fine. You had us worried for a while. It’s been a week since the incident.”

Your jaw dropped. “I was out a week?”

“The oxygen had been cut off from your brain for a significant amount of time,” she explained. “We were worried about your brain function but all the tests came back normal. You were even able to breathe on your own. It was miracle. The only thing left to do was wait for you wake up.”

“Brains really like to be dramatic, don’t they?” you mumbled. That got a few chuckles out of your audience. “How’s everyone else?”

“Fine,” Nada answered. “They had a few scrapes and bruises, but they’re all healed up now. Not a trace left.”

“Good,” you sighed.

You were still having a hard time believing that this was all real. EXO’s main headquarters was really gone and everyone had really made it out safely. You were able to live your life without looking over your shoulder constantly; free to live it with the man sitting beside you now.

It took less than ten minutes for the rest of the boys to realize you were awake and come crowding into your room. They were all talking at once and – while the doctors were frustrated, thinking it was too much for you – it was music to your ears.

You had to go through a few sessions of physical therapy. Even though it’d only been a week that you were in a comatose state, they still wanted to make sure that all your limbs and nerves were working properly.

The boys were adapting well, breezing through their assimilation classes with hardly any difficulties. You sat in on a few lessons to help, but as you weren’t really needed, you stopped going. There wasn’t much of a schedule to your life anymore. According to Anya, your family had removed your things from your apartment and put them in storage. A missing person’s report had been filed, but all leads ran cold. Maybe in a few years, you’d be able to go back and explain, give them some closure to your disappearance. But for now, although you were free, it was still too risky. EXO Applied Sciences still existed, if just a bit unsteady, and Dr. Wang was still out there, though you didn’t believe she would try to come after all of you again.

Despite all that, your favorite moment of your days was this right here; after the sun had gone down and you were in your room you shared with Junmyeon. Usually, he waited until you were in dreamland to fall asleep, but this time, he’d drifted off first, giving you the freedom to just lie there on your stomach, face turned towards him as you just barely ran your fingers over his hair.

He looked the most at peace like this and it made your heart soar, knowing you could stay with him like this forever. Risking the possibility of disturbing his sleep, you let the urge to touch his cheek take over, grazing your knuckles from temple to jaw.

Junmyeon woke with a gasp, making you jump. His breathing was erratic and his eyes searched around until they landed on you.

“Junmyeon?” You propped yourself up on your elbows. “What’s wrong?” He sat up, avoiding eye contact with you. You followed suit, concerned. “Junmyeon, what is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you prodded. Again, he shook his head. You shifted closer to him, resting your chin on his shoulder as your fingers laced around his arm. Lacking a shirt, you could see a thin sheet of sweat on his chest.

Why hadn’t you noticed earlier that he was distressed?

He seemed to be leaning away from your touch. You took a guess as to what his dream might have been. “Was it about… what happened back at the lab? The last time?”

Sighing, he nodded.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” you urged, placing your hand on his cheek to force him to look at you. “I trust you, Junmyeon.”

“I know,” he mumbled, obviously still unconvinced. “You tell me all the time.”

You pouted your lips, thinking. Yes, you did tell him all the time and he’d brush it off, never taking the time to believe you. Maybe it was time to show him?

The two of you hadn’t… done anything yet. Although, you weren’t sure why. But everything had been kept to semi-passionate kisses and other forms of affection. No one was around to hear anything, so maybe it was time to try.

Making up your mind, you shoved the sheets off of you and climbed into Junmyeon’s lap, facing him as your legs straddled his waist.

His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “What are you doing?”

You smirked. “Showing you.”

Before he could speak, you pulled him to you, connecting your lips with his. At first, he was hesitant, still unsure of your intention. But as you grabbed the hair at the back of his head suggestively, he started to kiss you back with even more ferocity. Pulling away for just a second, you removed your shirt before diving in again, pressing him closer to you this time.

A low growl vibrated his chest and without warning, he flipped you over to your back so he was now hovering above you. Both of you were breathing erratically, the only sound in the room save your heartbeat in your ears.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a voice so quiet you almost missed the way it was trembling.

You nodded, knowing your own voice would be an unstable mess if you spoke out loud. As gently as he could, Junmyeon lowered himself between your legs and brought one hand down to your waist while the other arm kept him up so his weight wasn’t completely on you. It was too long of a wait, but the two of you were finally becoming one.

[lavendermenaceart]

Atlas Touch

Summary: Spencer never thought the universe held him in high favor. Trauma after trauma stacked on top of him as the years went by. He fears he’s reaching a dark place he’ll never recover from. 2,324 words.

Warnings: Angst, trauma, Knives, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of suicidal ideation and death, etc. It gets fluffy!

Pairing: ReaderxSpencer Reid

A/N: This was a request from @allmyawesomeness Enjoy! Here’s the song this is based off of

When will I feel this as vivid as it truly is

Spencer Reid remembered almost every second of his life in vivid images. He remembered every word he ever read, every face he’d ever seen, every motel and hotel he had been in. Spencer Reid remembered every kick, every punch, every second spent bound and tied. He remembered every moment even when he was high out of his mind on Dilaudid. He remembered every gun, knife, and any other weapons that had been pointed at him, used on him, or someone he loved.

Fall in love in a single touch

And fall apart when it hurts too much

He remembered the exact face the love of his life made as the bullet ripped through her brain. He remembered the tearful smile on her face, and the fear trying to hide in the depths of her eyes. He remembered trying not to recount exactly what happened to the body when the brain was damaged, shot clean through, as he fell to his knees. He remembered the blood that pooled around his feet and knees. It wasn’t even purely hers, as her killer had committed suicide with the same bullet.

Can’t we skip past near-death cliches where my heart restarts

As my life replays

He remembered being tied to a chair after being ambushed in a cornfield. He remembered the face of the man who had held him captive and gave Spencer peace through syringes filled with Dilaudid. He remembered dying, feeling like he was suspended in a warm pitch black abyss. He remembered being ripped through the abyss and back into life. He remembered the split second of anger. Please, let me go back.

All I want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed

He remembered the countless hours spent at JJ’s house when one of their team had died. He remembered sitting in his bathtub full of cold water, trying to keep himself from heading outside to try and find a new supply of Dilaudid or anything that would take the edge off, to find peace and slow his mind. He remembered the anger and betrayal when the team was finally told that Emily was alive and well. He remembered feeling an irreversible rift tear open between JJ and himself. The rift repaired itself slowly, as did the rift between all the members.

I know, I know the siren sound

Just before the walls come down

He remembered finding out his mother was only getting sicker with age. Soon she would no longer remember him and he wanted so badly to reverse it. He remembered feeling angry that he took this course in his life, instead of doing something with medical research. Maybe he could have found a cure for dementia and schizophrenia if he had. All he could do was research and look for solutions. Those solutions led him to a woman in Mexico that gave him medicine unapproved by the FDA that would help his mother.  

Pains a well-intentioned weatherman

Predicting God as best he can

He remembered people bursting in and for a split second he thought it must be police or government agents but something wasn’t right. He remembered waking up next to the woman’s body, a gash in his hand and blood all over him. He remembered the months spent wasting in jail as his team scrambled to find the answers his mind couldn’t procure. All the restless nights, the death of his one friend, and the pain he caused when he poisoned the drug supply that ran through the prison. He remembered the beatings and the isolation. He remembered the joy he felt when his team had managed to clear his name and spring him from prison. He remembered the joy being sucked away when he had to go back to interrogate Cat Adams after she had kidnapped his mother.

The infuriating frustration of dealing with a narcissistic psychopath could never be topped. His team and himself got her back safely, though. Catherine had been manipulating a previous victim, pretending she had feelings for the younger girl so she would do her bidding. That broke the whole operation apart when Lindsey heard the Cat was pregnant.  

But God I want to feel again

Rain or shine

I don’t feel a thing

Just some information upon my skin

When he was captured by Merva he felt vehement hope and faith in his team. Even when the knife was pressed deep into his throat. Something changed when he heard the gunshot that tore through Merva’s side. Spencer felt the jolt of shock and all the pressure of having another body pressed against his was relieved as the old man fell into the grass and dirt.

When that gunshot went off, he remembered every moment he had been shot, tied up, kidnapped, beaten, cut, high, and hurt. He saw Maeve’s steely gaze as she tried to be brave her death. He saw his mother’s open mouth, screaming “I hate you!” He felt the sting of her slaps on his cheek. He felt the ropes used to restrain him and the pinprick of a needle entering his skin. He felt relief that Garcia was going to be okay.

But he felt no relief to still be alive.

I miss the subtle aches when the weather changed

The barometric pressure we always blamed

All I want is to flip a switch

Before something breaks that cannot be fixed

After that case, something in Spencer broke. He felt a rising bitterness towards his job. For the remaining year, he stayed at the BAU, not having the guts to quit and his team not having the heart to fire him, he couldn’t apply himself as he usually would have. He cared people were hurting, but he felt that he was losing faith in the fact that what he did mattered. He was a cog in the machine, and as soon as they knew he was rusting they would replace him with a new one. He was nothing to anyone if he didn’t care and if he didn’t apply himself.

And Spencer Reid wanted that.

Invisible machinery, these moving parts inside of me

Well they’ve been shutting down for quite some time

Leaving only rust behind

Spencer Reid wanted to be hated. He wanted to feel the contention between him and his team. He wanted to force Prentiss’ hand so she would have to fire him. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. No matter how depressed and numb he got, he couldn’t manage to give up his life’s work on his own. When the time came, Emily look him in his eyes and told him, “I know what you’re doing.” and then more softly, “I’ll let you free”

I know, I know the siren sound

Just before the walls come down

His life, from that moment on, began a terrifying free fall. He got what he wanted, but he still wasn’t happy. Instead, he fell deep into a stagnant pool of heavy depression. He barely read, barely ate, very rarely went outside. He stopped taking calls, responding to texts and emails, and never answered the door. It wasn’t until his best friend, Derek Morgan, broke down his door with tears in his eyes and wrapped Spencer in a hug that knocked the air out of him, that Spencer accepted he truly had a problem.

Pains a well-intentioned weatherman

Predicting God as best he can

But God I want to feel again

Oh god, I want to feel again

After that day Spencer worked hard at his recovery. A week into his first therapy sessions he ran into you as you left your last session of the day.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. “ You huffed, reorganizing the pile of reference books and journals stacked in your arms.

“Oh, it’s no problem. Don’t worry.” The low raspy voice sounded familiar.

“Dr. Reid?” You looked up from your books, blinking in shock. You had seen him at many conventions and public speaking events. You were a fan of his work, both what he did with the BAU and his medical journals and papers.

“Uh, Yes. Have we met before?” He glanced from you to the door, shoving his hands in his pockets. You couldn’t tell if he didn’t like you for some reason or if he just wanted to leave.

“Oh, no. I’m just a fan of your work. I’ve read most of your medical journals and papers. It’s helped me a lot in understanding some of my clients.” You smiled, trying to appear more friendly, something you still needed to work on.

Your smile seemed to relax him, as he smiled back. “Thank you, that...means a lot to me. It’s not very often I meet uh, fans of my work.”

“Oh, I feel like that’s the case with a lot of people in our field.” You shrugged, a silence falling between the two of you as you both left the building side by side. You thought it was odd, but for some reason, it didn’t feel awkward. It was just...synchronistic. “I’ll see you soon?” You asked as you were ready to split from his side to go to your car.

Dr. Reid seemed shocked by this, stammering for a moment before nodding and saying “Yes, most likely. See you soon.”

          And you went your separate ways until his next session. From then on, it became something of a habit. You met with him after his sessions and you both talked on your way out until one day you got the nerve to ask if he’d like to meet for dinner the next day.

“What, really?” Spencer was looking better, his face shaved and you noticed he was filling out his clothes more than he had when you first met him.

“Yeah, if you want to. I don’t know, I just thought...we were friends, you know?” You looked all around his face, just not in his eyes. You were too afraid, too scared to be let down.

“We….we are. We are friends.” You caught the crinkles in his eyes and realized he was smiling. You couldn’t help but grin, blushing in embarrassment. Your outburst of insecurity made you feel like a teenager again. “Yeah, I would love that, Y/N.”

You both went over the place and time, a nice Italian restaurant that was between where you both lived. It was warm with low lighting and the food was delicious. Spencer looked amazing and you both felt an unfamiliar warmth in your hearts as you looked over each other's outfits and the way your features were exaggerated in the warm candlelight. The conversation was an easy flow, Spencer throwing out his facts and you digging for more. You wanted to know more. You wanted to map all the pathways in his brain.

There were moments during the dinner where your eyes would meet his and maybe it was the candles, maybe it was the venue, but you felt bolts of lightning strike your nerves. A few times you wanted to jump in your chair. Meanwhile, Spencer was having trouble keeping his mouth under control. As he heated up in his suit, his eyes constantly locking and unlocking with yours across the table, he couldn't stop talking about the physiology and psychology of love

From then, it was all uphill. Spencer was making his recovery by your side. There hard days, but he was strong enough to get past him. He spilled most of his hardships to you, never going very in depth but stating basic facts. He went to prison because he was framed. His ex-was murdered in front of him. He was kidnapped and fed Dilaudid. He used to be an addict. He had been shot and kidnapped multiple times. He had gotten anthrax on a case. The trauma piled higher and higher and you stayed by his side through every breakdown and every insecurity.

He was there for you as much as you were for him. He danced with you when the mood struck you, drank coffee by your side every morning he was off from his new job as a professor and public speaker. He held your hand during the dinners with his old team, as the jokingly interrogated you over delicious pasta.

It was 3 years. 3 years exactly when you proposed. You were afraid Spencer would never ask, so you decided you would do it yourself. You went to his favorite bookstore and then his favorite coffee shop. You took him on a long ride, only stopping when you found a field and you could see the stars again. After you ate and a comfortable silence fell between the two of you, you brought out a dark purple velvet box with a simple golden band with a clear engraving on the inside.

“This is how galaxies collide.”

Down my arms, a thousand satellites suddenly discover signs of life

Your wedding attire contrasted with his. Black and white. Yin and yang. You could hear soft chatter from the small crowd around you, mostly a mixture between Spencer's friends and family and your own. His old team and new co-workers mingled nicely though there was an obvious difference between the two groups. One was weathered by endless years of trauma while one was tired from grading papers all night.

 As you spun in slow circles, your cheek rested against Spencer's shoulder you could hear his heart beating wildly in his chest. You tilted your head back, meeting his eyes with yours. You felt that same jolt of energy you did 3 years ago. He was focused, but not on the dance or the crowd of people encircling them under the night sky and beautiful string lights.

“What are you thinking about?” You whispered softly, watching his vision clear as his eyes locked onto your face, lit warmly by the lights twinkling above the dancing pair.

“You. Always you.”

[foursideharmony]

Changeling AU: The Good Doctor

Word Count: 1,799

Warnings: Therapy visit, sad family story, vomit mention

Pairing: None

Summary: How did Roman survive his time in the special needs school without being Undone? He had help...

A/N: I actually went to a psychiatrist as a child. This was roughly 30 years ago at this point, I remember very little about it, and anyway it didn't actually help me. So apologizing in advance if this doesn't accurately reflect contemporary therapy visits.

The couch was soft, at least—upholstered with brown faux-leather that had worn a little in spots but was still perfectly serviceable. It reminded Roman of some of the antique furnishings at Caer Flamingo…which would have been more comforting if he had more confidence that he would ever see Caer Flamingo again once St. Dymphna’s was done with him.

“Just wait right here, Roman,” the receptionist said in a sickly-sweet, chirpy tone, “and the counselor will be with you in few minutes. Feel free to play with any of the soft toys or action figures in here, but please don’t touch the figurines on the shelves. Do you want a cup of water before I leave you alone?”

“No thanks,” said Roman, flinching at the slight tremor that came unbidden to his voice.

“All right.”

She left the room and swung the door until it was just ajar, leaving Roman alone with his thoughts and about twenty different stuffed animals and superheroes. He didn’t pick any of them up right away, instead investigating the contents of the room.

The figurines the receptionist had mentioned were clustered along the numerous bookshelves, and like the toys, consisted entirely of cartoon characters. The groupings were more-or-less sensible—three Looney Tunes characters, a couple Disney Princesses, a few others that Roman didn't recognize but that shared an art style. If he wasn't supposed to touch them, did that mean they were there for the counselor's own enjoyment? If so, that was...unexpected.

Directly across from the couch was an armchair upholstered in the same faux-leather. Presumably that was where the counselor would sit while interrogating him, although at the moment it was occupied by an absurdly large plush of Winnie the Pooh. Someone had put a fake lab coat and a pair of spectacles on it. Roman wrinkled his nose at the crude attempt at humor, and decided he'd seen enough. He turned sideways on the couch and drew his knees up to his chest. It wouldn't be long now...the counselor would arrive, barrage him with questions, and pick apart his soul. They would declare that Roman was abnormal and needed to be fixed, and maybe put him on some sort of medication, and just like that, his life as one of the Shining Host would be over when it had barely begun. Lady Valerie had said so.

Roman balled up his fists and pressed them to his forehead, forcing himself not to sink into despair. Lady Valerie had said...but Thomas had said something quite different, something much more hopeful...he had to hold onto that.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone abruptly started singing baritone right outside the room. There were no words—just “dum da dum” syllables, but the tune was...a fanfare? Roman was painfully reminded again of Caer Flamingo, with its trumpeters and troubadours...but then the song continued. A hand came through the narrow gap in the doorway, fingers wiggling in time to the music, which sounded more and more awkward the longer it continued. Finally, the singer reached a crescendo and flung the door wide, springing into the room like a jazz dancer closing out Act 1.

The counselor—as Roman assumed this was—wore a tan suit, a grass-green necktie, dark-rimmed eyeglasses, and a goofy grin. “Good afternoon! My name is Dr. Picani, I use he/him pronouns, and I will be your counselor for today and the foreseeable future! You must be Roman...unless you prefer a different name?”

Roman could only blink in confusion. He had never met a regular mortal grown-up who behaved like this. Was it a trick of some kind?

“Um...Roman's fine,” he said.

“Ah!” Dr. Picani continued, shutting the door firmly and crossing to the armchair. “Dr. Pooh Bear! Thank you for keeping my seat warm!” He moved the plush to the floor and settled into the chair, pulling a small notepad and pen out of his jacket pocket. “So then. I'll start with the same question I ask all my new patients: Do you how do, Roman?”

Had he heard that right? “Do I...what?”

“Listen again,” said Dr. Picani, in a tone of hushed excitement. “Do you...how do? Did you hear it that time?”

“'How do you do'...backwards?” Roman guessed.

“Not backwards, exactly. More...turned inside out. Like the Simpsons, in that one Halloween episode! You've seen it, right? No?” He cleared his throat and shifted in the chair, changing the mood of the interview. “Roman, do you know why you're here?”

Roman looked away. “Because my parents think I'm crazy,” he said bitterly. “And my teachers, too. At my real school, I mean.”

“Let me stop you there,” said Dr. Picani. “I don't want you to think St. Dymphna's isn't your real school. It can seem like a different world here, and maybe you've heard it's only for people who are full of delusions, and it's only going to be temporary...but it's still real. As real as the Ghostbusters.”

Roman's gaze snapped back into position. Despite that out-of-the-clear-blue reference to some old movie, that description was almost suspiciously relatable. That first week, after the theme park...

“Let me explain the situation as I understand it,” the counselor continued. “Roman, you're here because you're having trouble living in the world outside your head. My job is to help you figure out how to do that...without necessarily changing who you are as a person. The unique person that you are is a worthwhile one, and you shouldn't have to turn into someone else in order to get by. I want you to know that.”

Roman felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes. This was reminding him so much of what Thomas had said in the junk pile that it was painful. He blinked the moisture down and put on the haughtiest expression in his repertoire. “You're reciting,” he said. “Like a speech. You don't really mean it.”

“It's true, I do practice saying things like that. Using the right words is an important skill in my job here. But I also mean it. My goal is to help you, Roman. But I can't do that unless you cooperate with me.” He turned a page in his notebook. “Why don't I let you do some of the talking for a while? Do you remember how your troubles started?”

Troubles... Roman decided to humor the misconception for the time being, and suddenly the words were spilling out. “Yeah, it was when we went on vacation to Disney over Christmas. Everything there was just so...wonderful. It's like every kind of story come to life, all in the same place. They make it so you can really believe in magic. And so...so...so I did. And I found out that it was real, all of it, even after our vacation was over and we left.” The tears came again, too thick and fast to be stopped. “There really is magic. Why won't anyone believe in it?”

He fully expected Dr. Picani to shoot him down, but to his amazement, the counselor was nodding thoughtfully. “That makes a lot of sense. You're probably not the first.”

“The first...what?”

“The first to enter Chrysalis in a theme park.” Roman's eyes bulged with shock, but Dr. Picani was forging ahead. “After all, don't they call it The Most Magical Place on Earth? Where Dreams Come True? I always found those commercials to be pretty corny, but the place is focused on imagination and art. Why shouldn't it be capable of connecting susceptible individuals to the Dreaming?”

Roman leapt to his feet, hand scrabbling at his hip to draw the sword that he was not presently wearing. “How do you know these things?” he demanded. “You're not Kithain! I'd be able to see it if you were!”

The counselor slowly stood up, walked over to the desk in the corner, and took a framed photograph from it. He handed it to Roman, who examined it. It was an older photo, in color but with that slight smudginess that indicated it was taken using film rather than a digital camera, and depicted a girl in her early teens, and a boy several years younger, posing on monkey bars in a playground. The boy was just recognizable as a young Picani, while the girl...

Roman's eyes widened again. The girl shared a family resemblance with the boy, but...while the camera could only capture the mortal seeming, there were the little tells in her appearance, in the cant of her eyes and the shape of her nose. She was a changeling.

“No, Roman, I am not one of you. But my sister is. Or was, I guess. She's still alive, but we've barely spoken in years. She was...she lost her fae self, you see.”

“She was Undone,” Roman stated, running his fingers over the glass in the photo frame.

“Thank you, that's the word I was looking for. Our parents thought she was crazy. And so did her teachers. They wouldn't believe in magic.” Roman looked up. Dr. Picani was still smiling, but now it was a sad smile. “So Laura was put into psychotherapy in order to 'cure' her of her 'delusions.' The therapists wouldn't believe in magic either, and by the time they were done, Laura was a normal—completely human—girl.”

Roman felt the blood leaving his face and he began to grow dizzy. Autumn People... He let himself fall back onto the couch, setting the photo aside lest he drop it from his trembling hands. The dizziness got worse and he leaned over, letting his head droop between his knees.

“Easy there,” said Dr. Picani's voice, sounding oddly far away. He sat beside Roman—he felt the movement of the cushions—and rubbed his back. “Do you need the nurse? Or something to throw up into?” Roman shook his head as the dizziness subsided. “Roman, I'm not going to let that happen to you. That's the main reason I became a therapist—so that if I met any other young changelings, I could help them come to terms with their place in the world without making them turn out like Laura. And now I've met you. When they gave us your file, I found your story so familiar...I requested to have you as my patient. You can talk to me about your world, and I'll know that it's real. You're going to be all right. You're going to be you. Are you willing to work with me on that?”

Roman carefully sat up, noting with satisfaction that his head no longer spun. He allowed himself a careful smile. “I think so.”

“Then permit me to ask once more—third time's the charm, right?—do you how do?”

“Do...I...pretty good?” Roman guessed.

Dr. Picani beamed.

A/N: As of this writing, there have been two “Cartoon Therapy” episodes, and Dr. Picani's tie is color-coded for each. I chose to continue that theme here. Green is a color often associated with faeries in folklore because of their ties to nature.

Taglist: @k9cat